Before he could get a chance, somehow had done that to Penelope for him. Given the state of that encampment, the only thing they seemed likely to find of Penelope was a corpse – if she was lucky…
Vol saw another man, and he gulped. Gods, he thought himself devilish, but he could not have done this. Only a true devil could have done this. The man was laid against a tree, his head angled towards the sky, as though he was comfortably bathing in the son – of course, no man could be comfortable when his guts were between his legs.
Nor really could a man be comfortable when his head was detached from his neck, and placed in his hands. Or when his eyeballs had been plucked from their sockets, and one balanced delicately on the tongue of his wide open mouth, and another pushed deep into a hole carved in the centre of his forehead.
