The Sorceresses of Lazaronia

… 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.