Prolog.

The smoke was oppressive. It crept south into the Shu from the Shen, where sorcery had birthed fires when the invaders breached the Gate of Winter.

It brought chaos. Within it combatants recognized neither friend, foe, norfleeing civilian. Men struck now and wept later. Animals careened around inpanic. The heavy overcast turned back the light of day and worsened seeing.

Qushmarrahan, Dartar, and Herodian alike prayed for rain. Rain might quenchthe fires and cool the killing insanity.

Qushmarrah was lost but its men fought on. While Nakar lived they dared notsurrender.

The surrounding horizons were clear. It seemed the city was circumvallated bywalls of light. The clouds grew rapidly darker nearer the heart of the city.

Above the acropolis, over the citadel of Nakar the Abomination, those wereblack as the breath of Hell. The citadel's tower pierced their low bellies.

Lightning shattered darkness. Thunder crushed the uproar in the streets. Ahundred thousand smoke-teared eyes looked toward the sorcerer's stronghold.

Clouds above began to swirl, to stream inward, forming a whirlpool in the sky, a celestial maelstrom.

An end-of-the-world flash and crash rattled the city to its foundations.

The rains came. They fell in torrents like none before witnessed by man.

The sorcerer sat on his dark throne, amused. He would wait a while longerbefore he crushed the invaders. They would perish in agony, every one, Herodian and Dartar traitor ...

Something moved in the shadows at the far end of that last temple of Gorloch.

He sprang up, robes flying, eyes wide. He did not recognize the man but knewwhat he must be. "You!"

"Yes, High Priest." There was soft mockery in the voice. The man wore peasantgarb. He was too tall to be Herodian, too dark to be Qushmarrahan. The breathof the desert informed his voice but he was no Dartar. "Another has come."