The man who entered the room was dark-haired and short. Unlike the other members of his tribe, his skin was marred by lines and creases, and there was a look of intense worry in his eyes. He took the staff from the silver-eyed man before dismissing him, and gestured to the chairs that surrounded the table in the centre of the room.

“Please sit,” he said, seating himself. “We had thought this planet uninhabited. I’m only sorry that you have encountered us at such an inopportune time. A few days ago, while preparing the ship for departure, we experienced massive engine failure, hence the chaos you have witnessed.”

“This, this… is a ship?” Dunsany said.

“Of course, I forget, our level of technology may seem to you somewhat confounding. Had we known of your presence we would have revealed ourselves more gradually. I’m only grateful that our translation device” — he gestured to the staff- “enables us to communicate. Clearly your language is not dissimilar to that of other cultures we have encountered.”

“Sorry, but I think that you have misunderstood the situation,” Katya said. “We’re not actually from here, wherever here is. We were brought to this place by sorcery and, in the process, our ship was destroyed.”

“I wonder,” Kelos said, “is it possible that whatever magic powers your ship is responsible for the Llothriall being brought to this place? After all, the failure of your… engine does seem to somewhat coincide with our arrival.”

“Magic?” Master Illiun said. “I’m sorry, but that word is unfamiliar to me.”

“You know, magic? Sorcery?”

Illiun shook his head.

“Perhaps I can demonstrate?” Kelos held out his hand, gesturing for the translation staff. Illiun handed it over and the mage placed it on the table before him. “Just something simple, to help you understand.”