As the fires range around them, they shout and wave hands at rows and rows of walking corpses, as if directing the largest theatrical performance the world has ever seen. But as the dead do what they are told, the eyes of their generals betray the terror they feel, standing among the living dead, sweat coming down their cheeks and necks as fires rage around them. The only gravitas to this strange band of scared commanders is provided by General Goront, a large heavily-built man in his sixties, once a respected veteran, and now the dealer of death. He is focused and unmoved. What must he feel to know that he might at this moment be commanding the corpses of his friends, relatives and loved ones, animated by the evil spirit of Lydian? Nothing. He must feel nothing, if he is to remain sane. And nothing is exactly what he seems to feel.