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and his followers watched on in silence, knowing better than to interfere. The Norfel knew when to be bold, and when to stay quiet. It was their secret stealth like nature that had kept them from extinction.
The wizard leaned forward, and patted the Slardinian on the head. Alteus expected the reptilian to lunge for the sorcerer’s throat, but he did not. In fact, he noted with unease the reptilian’s wagging tail – a sign of welcome and greeting.
The spell complete, the sorcerer looked into the Slardinian’s eyes. They were glazed, as if not seeing the world properly. Smiling, he knew his incantation had charmed the creature to his will. He would follow the wizard and do his bidding until he was released from the spell. Confident, Lorkayn turned and walked away from the clearing, his new pet, the Slardinian, walking behind him silently.
Behind them, the Norfel drew sharp breaths of relief. Alteus was glad to see them both go. He would mourn the deaths of his fellows that had died today, but would celebrate the fact that Rannos still stood intact. He, like the others, knew how close their village had become to annihilation: the power of the wizard was palpable, and unlike anything he had ever witnessed.
He prayed for Nagoth, and hoped he had done the right thing in sending his scout to Malana for aid. “May Untaba guide you,” he murmured for his friend, bowing before the statue.
The gold statue of Untaba looked on, unmoving, staring at the retreating wizard as he receded into the distance. At its feet, the broken chain slowly began to disintegrate into dust, the spell that had split it asunder weaving its last black magicks upon its metal.
Overhead, thunder boomed across the gathering clouds in the sky.
    6. City Of Gold
 
 
The pale sun breathed new life to the dull morning.
    Keldoran emerged from the mage’s small tent, acknowledging the watery sun with a slight nod. It had been quite a night; he did not think any of them had slept a wink. Following the departure of the strange storm, the rain had stopped abruptly. The mage had urged them to try and get some rest. He had sounded nervous, which, in a mage, caused immense concern to the rest of them. Mages were never afraid, they were heroes of the people, protectors and solid in all things. To see one of them genuinely worried about the night’s events made them seem, well, only human.
    He was not sure why, but he sensed a foul tinge to the morning. The air he breathed appeared thin, and reeked of an odour he could not place – almost like charred, rotting meat over a fire. Keldoran noted the trees at the side of the road swaying, althought he could not detect any breeze. Something was wrong, the land was trying to tell him.
    As he stared at the trees, trying to determine if they were actually moving or if it was just his addled imagination playing tricks, a groan issued from the tent. Slowly, Relb poked his head through the entrance. “What time is it?” he muttered sleepily.
    “Time to get up,” smiled Keldoran. He was used to early mornings, having been raised on a farm. He noticed the pained expression in Relb’s eyes. “Hey, at least the sun is out,” he continued, trying to sound uplifting.
    A noise to the left of the tent alerted him, and he saw the juggler, Corg, sat on the road cross-legged, eyes closed, rocking slightly from side to side. Keldoran’s eyes widened in surprise – he had thought he was first up.
    Corg was mumbling to himself softly. It seemed to be some sort of early prayer ritual. Not knowing anything about the Bu’kep race, Keldoran thought it best to leave the juggler alone for the moment. Walking away, Keldoran moved to the edge of the road to relieve his morning’s water.
    He had barely finished when his eyes caught movement behind the trees that marked the road’s edge. Before he could say anything, a green humanoid burst forth from the trees, almost knocking him over in its rush to get to the road.
    Keldoran stepped