The Living God

The sorcerer Zinixo had declared himself the Almighty, and none could doubt that the end of the era was at hand. Not in the thousand years since the War of the Five Warlocks had the world known upheaval on such a scale. Goblin hordes ravished the Impire. Dragons incinerated entire legions in the space of a heartbeat. The slave-sorcerers of the Covin practiced whatever barbarities Zinixo required—and the chorus swelled with each victory: "Almighty!" Soon would come midsummer, and the Nordland Moot, and the smell of blood upon the air. Soon the mad dwarf-sorcerer would truly reign supreme—unless Rap of Krasnegar could conjure a miracle at the end of the millennium. Rap and his rebels were recruiting any magic-users the Covin had not yet perverted. And when the time came to move against Zinixo—if it came—they would aim one single, killing blow against the tyrant. It wasn't much of a plan. But it was all they had.