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… the black shape loomed above him … he felt its claws clamp around his middle … Tensely he waited for those sharp talons to pierce his flesh. … Feathers fluttered only centimetres from his face. … the creature’s carrion stench hit his nostrils. …… The creatures waited—and waited …And the chieftainess got tired of waiting and allowed her gaze to wander elsewhere. …“They’re coming—the mighty lords—the Lords of Piksenville—on ferocious, fire-breathing steeds!” …The Chief Angel of Death stared in the direction of his mate’s raised claw.… He signalled: “All right: in for the kill.” …Then, as one, two cruel, open beaks jerked downwards.Left to die in Lazaronia’s desert, Mark learns Esmé is aware of his plight. But she is nearly half a world away—with not enough time to stop the fearsome vulcarrions known as the Angels of Death from tearing him to pieces.