Green fire and acrid smoke fanned the ruins of the city all around him as he held the Spear of Lug, with its blazing runes, aloft. His mind was filled with foreboding at the imminent approach of the Legun incarnate. No! Not that! He was missing something here. Something Milish had said to him – something important. Instinctively he turned to the oraculum, as if to discover what he was looking for through its illumination. The power woke in him, suddenly, explosively – it erupted out from his brow to every cell of his body. He woke up, tossing and turning inside a circular tent. There was only a single source of light, an oil lamp, somewhere in the background. He had no idea where he was or how he had got here. ‘Rest now, Mage Lord! You are safely returned to us!’ It sounded like the voice of an Aides. He tried to sit up but lacked the strength. Judging from the pallid light, he figured it must be night outside but approaching dawn. He lay on a camp bed. The Aides was seated cross-legged by his side, the same woman who had been cooling his brow with the cloth.
