A gurgling growl came from the cellar’s entrance, rising up from the darkness below. The two looked at one another warily, Trent struggling to his feet. Milo dashed across the chamber, snatching up their swords, passing the Wolfshead blade to his friend. Trent took the weapon and turned to the pit.

“Stay back, and be ready for anything,” he said to Milo before advancing warily. He peered over the edge.

The blinded Wylderman didn’t look quite so monstrous anymore, crumpled below in the darkened basement. If anything it looked less beastly and more like the human it had once been. It lay in a pathetic heap, its neck twisted at an awful angle, a burbling whimper emanating from its throat. Even through the gloom Trent could see its neck was broken. He stood over the hole before dropping through, landing astride the crippled Wolfman. Its bloodied sockets stared into space as Trent knelt down beside it, moving his face until they were inches apart.

“You were human, once,” said the youth from the Cold Coast. “Tell me what I need to know and I’ll end your misery.”

The beast moved its mouth, muzzle twitching as it tried to make words.

“You . . . like me . . .” The monster managed to laugh, a wheezing rattle escaping its horrid lips.

B6 P3 C2