In Mot’s wake ran Ramyl the Chained, a reclusive power of the deep desert. He resembled nothing so much as an emaciated, skeletal ape, twice the height of Artur’s armor and covered in dozens of dangling chains, each link larger than a man. There was something unpleasant about the way his joints moved as he loped through the sands. Ramyl’s price had been steep, to put it mildly, but well worth it, to Kanderon’s mind. He was a relatively recent immigrant to Anastis out of a labyrinth, and his alien magic would be unfamiliar enough to be a severe challenge for the Havathi powers.
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