The silence of the ancient temple was obliterated by a sound like a mountain grinding its teeth. From the cavernous throat of the lower halls, the Sand-Drake emerged—a monstrosity of primeval Earth and jagged obsidian. It was fifteen feet of shifting, predatory architecture, its body composed of compressed desert sand that flowed like water, reinforced by plates of black volcanic glass that shimmered in the dying firelight.
Its amber eyes, as large as dinner plates, locked onto the gathered caravan.
"Form the phalanx!" Damon's voice cut through the air, his sword singing as it left its sheath. "Western shields to the front! Northern mages, prepare the containment circles!"
