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desire, set my human blood on fire; mystic powers, hear my plea: from this form, let me flee…”
    With each murmuring of the incantation, his hand upon the crystal stick changed. His pale skin turned leathery and dark, his fingers stretched forward, longer and longer, as bones cracked painlessly and reformed effortlessly, while carefully tended fingernails turned to claws, while hair sprung from his leathery skin.
    His cloak fell away, as did the tunic and pants beneath, as his form lengthened, shifted and morphed into something strange, beautiful and deadly. 
    Iragos felt the power deep within his bulging muscles, the venom in his blood as he fell to all fours, now covered in sleek, black hair, yellow eyes now spotting the shape of a human form lying in the shrub, curled like a ball.
    Iragos leaped, a black panther at last, silently stalking his prey on powerful paws tipped with glistening claws. His shoulder muscles rippled with each step, ribs visible against his slinky black hide, whiskers sensing motion in the invisible air.
    The figure in the brush stirred, startled, and rose to one knee — Kronos!
    The panther Iragos roared, a biting sound that seemed to silence the very forest itself. Kronos shuddered, then stood, raising his own crystal staff, this one gnarled and bent, the glass smoky and spiked along its gleaming black length. 
    The dark mage’s lips began moving as Iragos leapt, front paws extended, mouth wide, slashing and tearing at Kronos’ maroon cloak with a fierceness that would have been impossible only moments earlier in his physical “man” form. Kronos screamed, stumbling back, too shocked to transform himself into something more powerful than a panther.
    At least, for the moment. 
    Kronos lay on his back, scrambling away on his palms, backing into the trunk of a mossy green tree as his gorgeous cloak sagged off of him in tatters. 
    Panther Iragos stalked forward, claws itching to slice, teeth bared and drooling to tear into the dark mage’s weak, human flesh. It was forbidden to mortally wound a fellow mage, Iragos knew – even in animal form – but the Council said nothing of scaring one to death!
    Kronos shivered, scared eyes half-lidded as he mumbled incoherently to himself. Iragos was half afraid he was plotting some spell, but Kronos was only cursing his fate.
    Iragos neared, intending to slice the boots off Kronos’ feet, to shred the last of his magnificent cloak, to slap the staff away from his trembling hands when suddenly a crack rang out and the tree above Kronos’ head splintered as a bullet sheared off a towering branch.
    It landed on Iragos’ head, causing him to yelp when another shot fired out, this one striking the dirt at the temporary panther’s paw. Iragos bolted, using his powerful legs to steal away from the rifleman’s sights and leaping deeper, ever deeper, into the forest.
    He was breathing heavily when at last Iragos returned to his crystal staff, glowing black with the fever of his spell. As at last he returned to his physical state, he slipped back into his clothes and rested on the ground, chewing on a local root to get his energy back while he recuperated from the powerful spell.
    He hung his head, tired from the exertion of the spell, frustrated that he hadn’t been able to do more to scare Kronos out of his plan. After all, the dark mage was still on Synurgus and clearly had found an ally among the people of the Valley.
    Then again, as far as Iragos could tell, Kronos didn’t have the orb – yet. He stood, rested, and leaned more heavily on his staff than he had in the past. He would have to keep a close eye on Kronos, starting with finding out who his mortal ally from Below might be…

13

    Lutheran Augustus waited until the sounds of the forest quieted to approach the wounded man. The muzzle of his hunter’s rifle still smoldered as he kept it cocked and aimed, awaiting the roar of the wounded panther at any moment.
    He would have loved nothing