Mordecai reeled as he regained full consciousness, shocked and disorientated. That voice... it was like nothing he'd ever experienced before. Losing control of his own body - that had been terrifying. There were a multitude of different ways that kind of power could be used for corrupt purposes.

Still panting, he looked up an saw the girl, Rhiannon, beckoning to him, and his companions. She seemed remarkably cheerful for someone who had just performed an act of enchantment on at least three grown men and a dragon. Who knew who else might have been ensnared? Did this child, a mere youngster, have control over her own power yet? At any rate, she had managed to lead them to the relative safety of the Sepulcher. 

Planting his staff solidly into the ground, he hoisted himself up, groaning loudly. His joints felt stiff and worn - the strenuous running hither and thither through the city had not done any favours for his old age. Nevertheless, he finally managed to force his legs into motion, propelling himself towards the inviting gates and enthusiastic girl within. He feverishly hoped that his companions were also able to overcome their bewitchment - the road would almost certainly become overrun by soldiers of both sides within the hour, crushing any bystander that remained.

As he neared the entrance, his tired gaze fell upon Rhiannon's head. It was clotted and matted with bloodstains, but no sign of large wounds. There were, however, several smaller cuts and grazes on her face and hands. 

"Child, you are hurt. Please, allow me to heal you."