Elam the Gatekeeper could not stop quaking in his boots at the earthly thing that stood before him. He could have been imagining it, but the thing appeared to be impatiently tapping its foot, although it had no feet that he could see. Its hypnotic emerald eyes stared, bored, at him, and Elam felt it would consume him. He wished Ackhor the Cron would hurry up. The thing on the doorstop of the Fighting Camp refused to explain anything until Ackhor appeared. What was more unsettling was that five what he assumed were bodyguards stood a few paces from the impatient leader, green points crackling on their heads. Although, he wasn’t sure he was looking at a head at all. This was why Crinte had deserted, with the best warriors of course. At least, that was the story circulating around the Fighting Camp. But every...

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