Kassad dreamily noted the four arms, retractable fingerblades, the profusion of thornspikes on throat, forehead, wrists, knees, and body, but not once did his gaze leave the two thousand-faceted eyes which burned with a red flame that paled sunlight and dimmed the day to blood shadows. The Shrike, thought Kassad. “The Lord of Pain,” whispered Moneta. The thing turned and led them out of the dead city.
