Day Five Parts 1 - 8

Day Five
Flies buzzed over the bodies of the dead natives of Gryph: the soldiers who had rampaged through the town were cursing now at the heat and stench as they dragged the dead out of the gates and left them stacked like cord wood.
They had all collapsed due to some unseen force late the previous evening and were nursing violent headaches. Fist fights were flaring up and the sergeants who were on their feet had their work cut out preventing a full scale riot.
Benar stood at attention, his eyes focused on a point directly over the general’s head; General Creed had ridden in just after dawn, looking like hell and the first thing he demanded was a drink.
The wagon masters were going to be in trouble as they were still many hours behind with their supplies so a search of the town had been made and now this place had been found.
“It happened here as well you say?” The general drained his tankard and shuddered as the ale slid down,
“By the God…isn’t there anything better than this gnat’s piss?” He looked at the soldier who was rifling through the stacked barrels and the man shrugged as he prised the lid up and smelled the contents carefully.
He grabbed another tankard from the shelf and scooped it through the liquid before presenting it to Creed.
“Try this one sir, it does at least smell better,” he grinned as he spoke showing yellowed teeth with a huge gap at the front where they had been kicked out in a bar brawl many years earlier.
Creed tentatively sipped it and nodded in approval,
“Put that barrel aside for me…it’s not fine wine or brandy but it will do.”
Benar waited for the other man to offer him a drink, it might help to get rid of the nagging pain he felt which was lodged directly behind his left eye going straight into his brain.
Creed sipped again and stood and turned his back on the sergeant as he looked out of the window and watched the clear up.
“Has that boy heard anything from the Warlord since your arrival here?
“No sir, he has been trying to contact the Mage but he has had no success,”
“You had better offer him some motivation then Sergeant; men tend to try harder when they are in fear of losing a body part.”
A raucous noise outside made him stoop and look into the air and he watched as a flock of crows slowly circled overhead cawing loudly as if seeking something.
“Is that all they have done today?” He feared the birds, huge black ugly creatures that would peck the eyes out of anyone unwary enough to get too close.
“Yessir, they haven’t pointed out any natives…I don’t like it sir…there would have been signs of survivors…”
He broke off sighing silently, as he knew that the next task to be given him would be to search every building for people and anything else of interest. It didn’t matter to the general that most of the men were unwell; he would probably remain here and drink himself into a stupor whilst they did all the work.
“Search every building Benar, I want every man, woman and child that still lives outside by the end of the afternoon. Something on this infernal world brought us here and I don’t like it, no…I don’t like it at all.”
Turning to face the younger man he glared directly in his eyes,
“I want to go home…I want my own things about me…Any man that doesn’t want the same is not who I want serving under me…They wouldn’t have the proper motivation to get things done…Do you want to go home Benar?”
He leant forward then awaiting the response and Benar grinned tightly,
“I have a wife and son back home sir. I too want to go home. Whatever you want, I am your man,” they exchanged long looks and Creed bowed his head once in acceptance.
“Get a drink Benar and we will work out who is going where in this benighted hole…By the end of today I want answers or by God someone will pay.”
He casually reached and swiped the table clear to pin his map down and Benar suddenly knew that this man was not to be compared with other commanding officers he had served with in the past.
A glimmer of respect went through him as he first helped himself to a small tankard of ale before getting his own map. He looked forward to getting back to doing his usual work and receiving his just rewards.

Colonel Klimm stood and looked at the natives lined up in front of him. An old woman leaned heavily on the shoulder of a young man; a husband and wife clung together with two children holding their legs. They looked like a normal family but as far as Klimm was concerned looks could be deceiving.
No-one had cried out in alarm when his men had entered the small croft; there were no dogs barking or even geese to use as guard dogs. He couldn’t understand why they were not cowering in fear.
He had waked that morning freezing cold, his head had pounded uncomfortably for hours and his ears were bleeding.
Staggering from his small tent he could see the rest of his men collapsed on the ground and had instantly decided that something on this world had attacked them in the night.
It had taken half the morning to get his men back on their feet and he was determined to have his vengeance.
“Tell me what you did to drag our fleet here?” He spoke to the man, his tone calm and even, and it took a moment before the people of Galiana realised he was talking to them.
“We did nothing to drag you here, anyone is welcome to visit and stay,” the older man spoke, his smiling face trying to placate the strange painted men.
“Do you take me for an idiot?” Klimm had been questioning them for some time while his men searched the cottage and outbuildings and his temper was starting to fray.
“Please forgive us, we are but simple people and we do not understand what you would have us say…” The native man spoke again, anxious to help the strangers who he had obviously offended in some way.
“Tell me how…Tell me, are there larger towns and villages nearby. Perhaps someone there could help us?” He decided a change of tack could be to his advantage and was rewarded by exclamations and happy smiles.
“There are many villages and towns inland, my father spent many years as a travelling minstrel before he passed and I can tell you where to go,” the young woman spoke then and Klimm nodded before calling the Mage students Denon and Matha to bring their maps and drawing equipment.
Overhead the crows cawed but no longer swooped and swirled before showing inhabited areas to the marching army. Klimm chewed his thumbnail worrying about their unusual behaviour.
He had seen the crows at work before and they were usually better than two thousand fully trained men; now they were dead eyes in the sky and this troubled him greatly.
Matha hastened up, he was not as frightened of the Colonel as his friend and, had managed to strike up a rudimentary relationship with him.
“Morning sir, can I help at all?” His tone was light, polite and disguised his discomfort. He looked at the natives and could see red marks and bruises where slaps or worse had been dealt to them.
“Get this fool to mark on your map where the next villages and towns are. Someone there may be more forthcoming with some information,” he stood holding his riding whip behind his back and waited impatiently as Matha unrolled his drawing and held it down on a large flat rock with three small stones.
Beckoning the woman forward Klimm stood behind watching as Matha marked out where they were and showed it to her. She tilted her head studying carefully for a long moment and just as Klimm had decided she needed encouraging she exclaimed aloud in wonder.
“Of course I can see now what you have done here…I have never seen anything like this and did not know what you meant by it,” her eyes smiled happily at Matha and he found himself returning it, pleased at last that they were communicating freely.
“Here and here look you have drawn the river perfectly,” she pointed and drew lines with her finger,
“This is Birrh town; it is nearly as large as Gryph but does not have the large underground chamber. See and beyond Birrh is the smaller village of Leagh…”
For the next hour she led them across much of the land pointing out even the smallest insignificant hamlets as well as the larger. Matha was impressed by her knowledge of the area and she explained that as a child she had lived a nomadic life.
It sounded idyllic to Matha but after Klimm had dug the end of his whip in his shoulder a few times, he had ceased to question the woman about her private life and concentrated on completing the map.
Finally her voice fell silent and Klimm leant over him studying what she had told them. Gryph appeared to be the major town, Creed and Benar should have no difficulty in controlling the people there.
The Warlord was in the far village of Durrh near to the massive mountain range. He frowned as there were no towns marked beyond them and questioned the woman further.
“I do not know of anything beyond the Forbidden Territory. It is forbidden to go there, so… no-one has gone there.” Her face was innocent of any guile or deceit and Klimm knew he had all the information he was ever going to get from her.
He tapped the map absently as he thought about his options; he stared at the family as he did so but he was oblivious of the anxious faces.
“There…” he tapped on the town of Birrh,
“We march there first and will set up a permanent headquarters.”
Matha nodded seeing the logic of his statement, take out the largest target first then the smaller ones would be easier to control. He reached out to pick the map up and Klimm rested his whip lightly across his wrist,
“Copy as many of those as you can, I want as many men as possible to carry them. Once we are settled I can then send raiding parties out without fear of them getting lost.”
Hurrying away Matha missed the signal from Klimm to his sergeant; he was too busy worrying about getting the copies done and whether Denon had succeeded in contacting Mage Terrill.
The order to march came twenty minutes later and Matha and Denon sighed as they tried to balance their work on sacks in the back of a large wagon; unable to contact Terrill they had set too with a will and were hurriedly churning the smaller maps out.
They had to come past the small cottage and Matha had looked up wanting to wave to the natives, they had been unthreatening and helpful and he would like to come back and talk with them again someday.
Flames were already licking at the thatching of the cottage as they passed it; there was a bloody patch of grass where the family had stood but no bodies were visible.
“Oh no…no…no…” Matha moaned as he suddenly saw movement at the upstairs window. The older man was forcing himself to his feet, his face a bloody mask. The thick glass of the windows was resisting his feeble attempts to smash through.
A loud scream was heard from in front of them and as he struggled to stand Matha realised it sounded like his female helper. He couldn’t see anything from his vantage point and hoped that he was mistaken.
They worked for an hour then the wagon was suddenly pulled to the side of the trail, causing them to fall from their seats and drop their maps.
“Sorry young sirs,” the driver called out cheerfully,
“There appears to be some sport up front and I thought you would like to see it.” He tied the reins tightly then jumped on his seat and was looking over a field of waving corn.
It was a beautiful sunny day and both Matha and Denon were excited expecting to see the hounds chasing hares or rabbits; the most popular sport of the military.
Shielding their eyes as they looked the corn twitched and to their horror the naked figure of the woman from the cottage emerged.
She looked around frantically trying to find shelter; further behind her the corn was moving and a brief glimpse of one of the huge mastiffs was seen racing toward her.
Matha gripped the side of the wagon and willed the woman to hurry and get out of the savage animals way; there was blood on her back, he could see it from where he stood and knew that once the hound picked up her scent she would never escape it, it would track her for as long as it drew breath.
The driver of the wagon jumped down and ran further up the trail trying to find out what had happened. He was grinning when he returned moments later.
He came to the back of the wagon beckoning both men down to report,
“He ain’t a happy man our Colonel. He took a liking to the woman and decided to have a spot of rumpy tumpy with her on the back of my mate’s wagon before we set off.” He paused to see if both men were listening and beamed happily at the intense expressions on both faces.
“Well he strips of buff naked and starts to get up under her skirts but she weren’t having any of it. She kept saying that now she was wed she couldn’t tup with another man. He wasn’t having any excuses…He has a powerful appetite for the ladies does our Colonel…Where was…Yes…he apparently must have told her that she was a widow woman so she could shag whoever she wanted to in future…Well that’s when she went …well she went mad like,” he burst out laughing and shook his head,
“I’ve been on three campaigns with him and never a scratch has marked him and now he is sporting a nasty cut across his mush and has a knife stuck in his back…She has really got him good.” His voice was full of admiration for the fleeing female.
“It’s a shame really as she was a looker and we haven’t had any decent looking women for quite some time.” With that he left them and climbed back to his vantage point on the seat.
“She’s nearly done for now, her legs have gone poor bint. I would prefer a nice clean knife to the jugular rather than be ripped to pieces by one of those great ugly things.”
As he spoke the horrific sound of growling came to them followed by a scream of such intensity it made their ears hurt. The hound’s master rode out into the field and was soon seen jumping from his mount and doing something before coming back, vile curses filling the air.
Matha was sickened when the man and animal drew near as both were liberally sprayed with blood and the hound carried something in its mouth.
“Stupid bloody creature didn’t want to leave go,” the rider was wrapping a grubby bandage over a row of bite marks on his arm.
“I like a bit of titty as much as the next man but this bloody animal had his teeth sunk into hers so hard I had to cut it off!” A roar of laughter came from the watching soldiers as they watched the hound lie down in the dirt and chew his prize.
Matha felt his stomach rebel and began to heave, before he could move Denon gripped his arm tight enough to bruise it, desperately hissing in his ear,
“For God’s sake don’t do it…They are watching us like hawks…We have to be strong or they will inflict all sorts of torments on us before we meet up with Mage Terrill again.”
Gagging on the bitter taste Matha manfully held his head high and remounted the wagon; he slid his eye around the soldiers and noticed all were watching him carefully.
His hand shook as he poured some water from a skin into his cup but he was proud of the fact that when he lifted the cup to his mouth there were no signs of his discomfort.
Denon climbed up a few seconds later and picked the maps up exchanging a long speaking glance with his friend, they both could only pray that Terrill contacted them before too long, this world was far more dangerous than they had ever expected.

“Oh praise the Goddess…this one is a girl,” Lyria laughed as she delivered her niece and carefully passed her to Halle’s competent care.
“Mikel, come and see your children,” she called to her brother who had prowled every inch of the caverns throughout the night.
Running footsteps sounded as first Hoppy then Lyta preceded the fey man.
“What...?” he couldn’t speak as he craned his neck to see his wife,
“Is Nera alright?” Lyria was surprised to hear the anxiety in his voice; he had never been overly demonstrative as a child. His wife must be someone really special.
“Nera is just fine…As are your son and daughter,” she wiped her hands as she stood and moved away from the glowing fey woman.
“Oh Nera…” he fell to his knees and placed a loving kiss on her mouth.
“I was so worried for you all…The fire…We shouldn’t have had to come through if I had listened to you and moved closer to…” Nera’s face fell and he exclaimed anxiously,
“I am sorry. I was selfish and thought that we could continue to live on our own…”
Lyria interrupted him by reaching down and passing his tightly swaddled son into his hands,
“Mikel, meet your son,” she turned to Halle and took the other baby and gave her to her mother.
“And now…Meet your daughter,” she stood back and the rest of the cavern saw the smiles which lit their faces.
Looking around Lyria noticed there were more people here than she had realised. Varon had returned to the entrance and had brought a small group of refugees from the massacre with him.
Shocked and frightened but uninjured they had screamed in fright on seeing the other strangers; only the presence of Orlan and Lyria had stopped them from fleeing.
“It seems to me that the stories of the fey disappearing are both true and untrue.” Orlan spoke breaking the silence and everyone looked at him in surprise.
“I have always believed the fey to be nearly gone from us. Lyta and Lyria were the first I had ever seen and now look at us… We have four adults and four children amongst us.” He swept his staff around the cavern and the others looked around before agreeing with him.
“Are there any others Lyria?” He queried her and she took a breath before speaking,
“There are a few Orlan…Not as many as I would like but…we are increasing,”
He wanted an explanation but knew that time was short, a feeling of urgency was flowing through him and he needed to open the inner chamber and set the wheels in motion for the saving of his people.
“I cannot know why you would keep such a thing secret, but, the secret was yours to keep…One day perhaps I would like for you to explain.” He moved away and looked at the whole company,
“We have today a great task to begin; the Warlord has become his beast…If you do not decide what to do now then our world will be lost. Already I can feel he is changing it…There is a darkness coming which I…I do not know how to stop,”
He moved to the huge coverstone and pointed with his staff,
“Behind here is where the Old Ones came when they arrived on Galiana. It is said that they left behind many wondrous things. They also left us instructions in how to find them and they too are behind the stone.”
“How do you know this Master Orlan?” Thadd had moved closer and was studying the symbols carved into the stone.
“A long time ago boy, I had to do actual work when I joined our order. There was a scroll which told of this cavern. On my first visit to Gryph I came searching and found the entrance but, I never managed to move the stone, my magick alone was not enough. I am hoping that we have the means to do it today.”
He looked pointedly at Varon then Geron and both men shrugged, the stone was big but if they had to move it then they would devise a way.
“I think I could move the stone,” Terrill came to stand at the side of Orlan and smiled.
“Well done man,” Varon clapped him on the shoulder relieved to be spared some hard work.
“How will you..?” Orlan waved his staff and Terrill chuckled.
“I have thought about it all night, wondered how to lift and move such a heavy stone and then I came to wonder how the stone came to be here originally.”
Everyone was listening to him speaking, their interest caught in his explanation,
“I mean look at the size of it, it wouldn’t have come through the cavern so how did they do it?”
Puzzled looks were on all their faces and they watched as Terrill went to stand at the side of the stone. He didn’t reach half way up it and as he looked at them all, the impish smile on his face made a few laugh aloud.
He began to walk up and down and Geron knew what he was going to do as soon as he heard the words. A flash of light and clap of thunder blinded and deafened them and when they could see the stone and Terrill were missing.
The hole in the chamber wall looked dark and ominous causing the entire assemblage to shudder and take steps back.
Another rumble and a flash of light preceded Terrill’s reappearance; giggling like a small child his eyes gleamed brightly as he moved towards Geron.
“Where did you leave the stone?” Geron moved over and asked the question and Terrill could hardly speak for laughing.
“I don’t think the Warlord will be any happier with me now than he was yesterday. I’ve just left him with a present on his flagship.”
Geron stared at him as he continued,
“I can only translocate to places I have seen and know. I was not going to return to the village or to where we were on the beach. Ergo his personal deck on his flagship now has a huge stone covering it!”
“I wish I could have seen it Master,” Rikh moved closer and Terrill patted his arm.
“I’m sure you will one day lad,” as he spoke he looked at the opening he had revealed.
“Well, what does it show us then?” Before he could move toward it Darell ran up to him,
“Ter…Ter…Are we going to play now Ter? You promised we could play,” he hung on Terrill’s robe and looking down Terrill felt his heart squeeze tightly.
“We are going to play now Darell while the others go and check out the new cave,” he led Darell back to the wagon and after hunting around for a few minutes found the sealed jar which Farl had provided.
“We are going to find out what this book has to say Dar; it’s a magick game as the book is written in invisible ink.”
The small boy’s eyes went round with surprise,
“Invisible ink…Can Lyta and Hoppy play too Ter?” Terrill blinked at the sudden question,
“Well…yes if they want to…certainly they can.”
Orlan had lit the end of his staff once more and seeing Terrill was occupied decided he couldn’t wait any longer before investigating.
Stepping forward briskly, he held his staff high; Lyria appeared at his shoulder and they both entered the chamber together.
Behind them Geron had organised regular torches for everyone; as they entered their initial gasps of wonder faded away as they took in the scene before them.

Kensis awoke as the sun touched his face; squinting at the grass underneath him he thought he had drunk some bad beer and passed out.
Blinking hard to remove the gritty feeling from his eyes he reached to push himself up and frowned at the peculiar feeling in his fingers. Looking down he noticed blue grey scaly patches had covered his hands and arms and when he turned his arms up his fingers had thickened and joined into two thick claws with a thumb.
Moaning in fear and pain, his hips skewed as he walked and looking down he saw the same leather trousers he always wore but his feet were unshod cloven hooves.
In panic he turned away desperate to find a healer and only then noticed the ground around him was strewn with the bodies of other soldiers. They weren’t dead; he saw some move and twitch as he had done minutes earlier and knew they would be feeling the same terror as he did.
He looked closer at the nearest man and saw other changes; he bent to examine the things which appeared to have grown out of his back; surprisingly delicate bones were covered by leathery skin forming wings.
Twisting his neck he could just see that he too had grown the same sort of wings. His head had changed; scales covered every inch of skin making it look larger, heavier; sharp horny spikes ran from his ears down his neck and across his chest.
His eyes had changed; he found he could see for hundreds of feet without difficulty, if he had looked in a mirror he would have seen eyes like a goats with pale colourless irises and horizontal slit shaped pupils.
A loud flapping noise caught his attention and he looked up to see a huge reddish-gold beast flying through the sky; he recognised it and the events from the day before came flooding back to him.
Moving rapidly across the camp he was waiting when the Warlord lightly landed in front of what had been his tent. An ululating call alerted the rest of the men to his presence; they stirred and climbed to their feet looking around in confusion.
Azhmel lowered his head and looked at his new grey winged army; they would scour the surface of this world, nothing could hide from them and they would search for what he needed to survive.
He focused his mind on them and sent the thought of what he needed with the image he held in his mind; they were always to search for these beings, they were not allowed to harm any, they were to bring them to him as soon as possible.
The greywings would blindly follow him for he was their creator but, they still had needs. The need to feed was the most important and Azhmel sent to them the image of what they could eat.
Nothing else could satisfy their hunger, to try and eat other things would bring about the end of their existence. He allowed them the rest of that day; they would feed then they would spread their wings and fly over every inch of this world.
This time tomorrow they should return here and tell what they have found. Kensis was the first to test his wings; he ran a little way and they flapped uselessly to begin with.
An updraft caught him and for a moment his legs worked uselessly scrambling in the air. He pulled them tightly together; arrowed his body and he found the ground skimming past at an incredible speed.
Rising high over the camp he hovered and looked around him; there were men hiding in the tree line and he knew these were what he could feed from. Racing through the air he grazed the tops of the trees tearing away vegetation in his haste to satisfy his need.
He was too noisy and it was alarming the men below so they kept silent, hiding and waiting until they were certain it was safe.
The thrill of the hunt fired his blood and he silently drifted behind a large outcropping and waited. One hour passed and he began to think he had made an error; a twig snapped signaling someone was approaching and he floated up a tree and balanced on a branch watching and waiting.
The odour of stale perspiration reached him, heady, musky salty he allowed his senses to gorge as he watched the men sneaking underneath him.
Three men, all large, a veritable feast he decided. The first two had passed as he flipped upside down and grasped the last in the line by his head. A quick twist and his neck snapped like a twig; no sound had escaped his lips so Kensis stashed his body on a high branch and moved onwards.
The other men had noticed their companion had gone and now had swords and knives ready to defend themselves. The weapons would probably have worked if they were facing a normal foot soldier.
He plucked the largest of the two tis time and once more snapped his neck. Taking the body back to his tree he skewered it to the trunk by his sword; the aroma of the blood was stirring his senses and he decided a frontal attack would be best this time.
His prey was not a large man so he easily overpowered him. He didn’t break this one’s neck but tucked him under his arm and took him back to his tree; it was his tree, he had marked it as his own by pissing around the base. Anyone going near it in future would be classed as fair game and they would die.
His captive was pleading with him; he offered him money, lots of money if he would spare his life. He was crying now and Kensis found the prey’s scent seemed sweeter, tastier somehow.
He flew up to his branch and the prey screamed hysterically when he saw the two dead bodies; Kensis looked around for somewhere to store him while he ate.
Casually using the knife he had taken from the prey he held him against the trunk and drove the sharp blade through his shoulder pinning him in place.
The bone crunched as the blade slid over it and his prey howled out in pain striking out with his free arm; Kensis ignored the pain as he flew onto the opposite branch where his first kill awaited him.
Cradling the body in front of him he ran his hand over the clean shaven scalp, soothing and stroking it as a parent would stroke a child. He nuzzled at the nape of its neck and the food scent was stronger now.
The live prey fell silent as it watched Kensis delicately feeling where the head joined the neck; before he scored a thick deep line with a sharp claw.
Very little blood had welled out but the live prey still felt his stomach churn when he saw Kensis lick the area; closing his eyes in pleasure as his thick tongue delicately tasted.
Kensis knew what he was seeking was close now, his mouth watered and unable to wait any longer he ripped the head away and discarded the body. He poked his finger in the cavity left behind and slowly found his treasure.
Impaling it on a sharp claw he gradually eased the small fleshy nodule out and placed it in his mouth. The live prey heaved and retched vomiting until nothing but bitter bile was left to bring up.
Kensis rolled the nodule around his mouth letting the salty, sweet taste flood over him; he squashed it against the roof of his mouth and a feeling of disappointment went through him.
He had wasted most of the precious liquid it contained when he had punctured it; he wouldn’t make that mistake next time. He reached out and pulled the sword from the prey fastened to the tree trunk.
This time he worked swiftly and carefully; the body was dropped and he held the head between his knees. Using his powerful claws he cracked the skull away from the soft area then with careful precision he used the sharp sword tip to cut through the soft brain until he exposed the small grey nodule.
Crushing it against the soft palate of his mouth, he groaned deep in his throat at the exquisite taste; slitting his eyes he watched the live prey try to pull the knife from his shoulder. It knew he was next and was frantically trying to escape.
Kensis slowly chewed the tiny nodule savouring every second the food lasted. Already he felt stronger, fitter and more able to perform his duties for the Warlord.
He swallowed the last of the nodule and gave his remaining prey a smile; he decided that live prey may be the best way to enjoy food in future.
Drawing the knife out of the tree caused the prey to scream once more; he noticed it had soiled itself but the smell didn’t bother him. He twisted the prey and forced its face into the rough bark of the tree.
The last thing the prey felt was its own knife entering the nape of its neck before that which was Kensis placed his mouth on the huge open hole and sucked once, twice, thrice until the nodule shot into his mouth causing every enhanced sense to explode with ecstasy.
******
“Cap’n, Captain Lantz sir…Hang on sir we will soon get you out of there,” the sailor called out as he lowered a rope ladder over the side of Azhmel’s flagship into the deep water.
The captain was treading water carefully; his sharp knife gripped tightly in his hand as he watched for signs of the sea creature which had attacked the small boat he had been on.
On deck the first mate had quickly gathered as many men as he could arming them with harpoons or gaffe’s telling them to keep their eyes peeled whilst he supervised the rescue.
Lantz felt the rope ladder touch his shoulder at the same time as the huge triangular shaped fin appeared less than twenty feet away from him. He reached out with his free hand trying to grab the nearest rung without losing sight of the enormous torpedo shaped creature bearing down on him.
“Cap’n sir just grab hold tight sir and we will pull you up,” the mate had sharp eyes and he had seen the deadly threat at the same time. Lantz reached up again and managed to wrap his arm through the lowest rung,
“Pull me up…quickly now,” he could see the multiple rows of sharp teeth as the animal opened its mouth and heaved a sigh of relief as the ladder moved up. He twisted and kicked his legs high out of the creatures way just in time and seconds later landed on the deck in a heap with the men who had frantically pulled him up.
“Are ye alright now Cap’n?” He nodded as he rolled onto his hands and knees, breathing heavily.
“Yes, thank you. Without your timely intervention I would have been dessert as the beast has already dined well today.” The last was added grimly as he reminded the men that his boat had four oarsmen who had all died when the animal had attacked and capsized it.
Lantz stretched his arm out as he spoke and briefly shook hands with his rescuer.
“Righto then, now tell me what was so all-fired important that I had to come over here and lose four good men?” He wiped his hand over his scalp and flicked the water away looking carefully around and taking in tell tale signs that all was not right here.
Men were clustered around; all carried some form of weapon and were casting him looks which made his stomach tighten with a twinge of fear.
Leading him across the companionway to the bridge deck the mate had kept silent and Lantz raised his eyebrows in surprise when he was shown directly into the quarters which had formerly housed the Warlords Admirals.
Halting on the threshold he was stunned to see eight more ships captains seated around the large war table.
“Come in Lantz, grab a seat and have a drink …You are going to need it,” he made his feet move further into the cabin and gratefully accepted the tankard of spiced rhum offered him.
A tap of his shoulder caused him to turn swiftly but it was only the mate with a pile of dry clothes and a towel. Draining the tankard he passed it back for a refill and stripped off disregarding the men assembled there.
When he was dry, dressed and seated he took another drink before asking,
“So who is going to tell me why we are here?”
“Has anything unusual happened recently?” The question came from Krigo whose ship they were on.
“Unusual…Apart from landing on a wrong world you mean? Or do you mean congregating on the Warlord’s flagship without his permission?” Lantz threw the sarcasm in as it was the only thing he could think of for the moment,
“Don’t be an idiot all your life Lantz…Has anything happened over the past twenty four hours since they all abandoned us without any consideration as to what we were going to do while they are off having fun, pillaging and raping.” This came from Bajj, a small bandy legged man who was swigging rhum directly from the stoneware jug.
Lantz tolerated the man because his sailing skills were second to none and he had single-handedly been the one to save the fleet when they had first arrived; battered and shaken no-one but Bajj had been thinking clearly and without his quick thinking they would all have run aground on the rocks.
Looking over his tankard at both men Lantz knew that something was seriously wrong, combined with the attitude of the men on deck. He began to chew on the inside of his cheek a nervous habit he had acquired years ago.
“There was an incident early this morning. One of the watchmen fell overboard and by the time we fished his body out something had k…” His voice stopped as he intercepted looks from everyone crowded there.
“His eyes and tongue were gone,” Krigo continued detailing other injuries they had found on the man and Lantz nodded in agreement.
“Yes he had all those injuries…How could you know this?” The tiny hairs on the nape of his neck prickled when every captain seated told him they had lost men with the same sort of injuries.
“Some form of sea creature then?” Lantz shrugged but the others cried him down,
“Not so Lantz, I found three men on deck with the same injuries and they were bone dry and stone dead.” Captain Orff chimed in. A tall thin man he carried a zigzag scar down one cheek from an encounter with an angry swordfish which gave him a perpetual grotesque smile.
Lantz had worked closely with Orff before and for him to agree with the others there had to be some validity to the wild claims.
“My first mate says he saw a flying creature come on board and kill the first victim.” Krigo saw the skeptical look on Lantz’ face at the mention of a flying creature and he called out to the sailor on guard outside the cabin, for the mate to be fetched.
Within minutes the mate had returned and he brought with him the sawbones who had examined the bodies of the dead sailors.
Questioning the mate closely Lantz could not find any holes in his story to prove that he was making up the tale. The sawbones went into detail regarding the injuries on the bodies he examined and pronounced them all identical.
Dismissing both men Krigo was surprised when the mate tugged on the sawbones jacket and vociferously encouraged him to speak up.
“What’s wrong mate? Is there something more we need to know?” The captain wasn’t a fool; he trusted his crew implicitly and knew that if the mate had other information it would be important.
“It’s the sawbones sir; he has seen injuries like these before.” The mate’s bombshell caused every captain to look at the man with varying degrees of surprise and suspicion.
“The injuries were identical on the boy murdered here…On this ship, less than two days ago.” Krigo exclaimed aloud at that,
“And you only tell me now!” The withering look he gave to the hapless man made even Lantz cringe.
“I’m sorry sir but I was given specific instructions by the Warlord’s manservant not to reveal how that poor child had been killed,” he held his hands out pleadingly and Krigo impaled him with a stern stare which told him he would have to do some creative explaining later.
Another round of rhum was passed around and Krigo decided they had been loosened up for his other news.
“There was something else happened this morning which I suppose you could call unusual,” he nodded outside and sipped his drink before continuing,
“It’s best you go see for yourselves because you just wouldn’t believe me if I started to tell you,” the words had barely left his mouth and the others surged out of the door calling for the ever faithful mate to lead the way.
Fifteen minutes later they returned sweating and silent. They took their seats totally subdued and unsmiling.
“How the bloody hell did it get here?” Lantz voiced the question on everyone’s lips as he drained his tankard once more.
“A flash of light and a rumble of thunder and bang…One enormous stone appears in the middle of my ship. We estimate it weighs in at over thirty thousand pounds. Two perhaps three days and this ship whether we like it or not is going to end up on the ocean floor as the bloody stone falls through the decks one by one and causes it to sink.”
Before anyone could speak the sailors on deck called out in alarm and rang the ships bell calling every able bodied man to battle.
The eight visiting captains swarmed onto the main deck, swords at the ready while Krigo moved to the wheel and watched as the mate organised the men to help the gunners.
Pointing overhead towards something the watchman in the crow’s nest had seen the mate began to run back to his Captain. Seconds later something swooped from the sky and before the frightened eyes of everyone on deck snatched the running man up and flew towards the beach with him wriggling frantically.
Lantz snatched a harpoon from the man at the side; aimed and fired in one smooth movement; a wing was pierced and a wolfish smile crossed Lantz’ face as he held tight to the rope which was tied to the end.
Bajj followed suit, his aim was true and the harpoon went through the other wing causing the flying creature to howl in pain and frustration as it dropped his prize into the sea.
Krigo waved the boat that was moored at the orlop to fetch him and jumped down watching as Bajj carefully pulled his rope reeling the creature in. Its wings were still keeping it aloft but it was fighting a losing battle, every man on board could tell that.
Finally it hung in the air over the deck, only the power in its wings keeping it from crashing down onto the deck. It hissed and spat at them and many of the sailors marked the sign of the evil eye on their chests, hoping to divert the creature away from them.
Two good pulls and it could no longer fly and had to crouch on the deck no more than six feet away from the men who had hurt it. Turning his sightless eyes onto them both, the captains momentarily loosened their grip on the ropes.
The creature pounced and landed on Bajj; pressing its claws into the side of his head. Lantz lashed out with his sword and to his horror it bounced from the thick scales covering the creature’s skin.
Bajj was screaming in pain and Lantz tried once more to get his sword through the scales but to no avail. The only vulnerable parts were its wings so He quickly threw his rope to Orff and grabbed hold of the one Bajj had dropped.
“Quick man pull his wing over there, stretch him tight,” Lantz passed his rope to more men and they pulled the line tightly; tearing the delicate area the harpoon had pierced.
Bajj had fallen silent and the frightened sailors knew he was dead. They managed to anchor both ropes between two of the three masts tying the tightest knots they knew how.
The creature fell silent and the men gagged when they saw that he had managed to rip the fallen man’s tongue out and he was eating it hungrily.
The boat docked and the frighten mate jumped up onto the deck and stared at the creature which had snatched him up as if he was weightless.
“By God Cap’n I thought I was a gonner there sir...” He fell silent when he saw the bloody mutilated body of Bajj before rushing to the side of the ship he vomited copiously as he realised that could have been him.
Hurrying onto the deck the sawbones knelt at Bajj’ side and felt first for the pulse in his throat and then at his wrist. Shaking his head sadly he brought the man’s arms together and crossed them over his chest.
Standing and signaling for the ships sail master to bring a piece of damaged canvas sail for a shroud he then turned and studied the tied up creature and frowned in disbelief at what he saw.
“Captain Krigo sir, could I have a word,” he had delayed from revealing all he knew before and over a dozen men were now dead. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
Lantz and the other captains looked away from the body on the floor as Krigo came forward; they wanted to hear whatever was being said.
Everyone crowded around as the healer pointed to their captive,
“I don’t know how sir, but that is the murdered boy. He is come back…transformed somehow into that …that monster,” his face showed the conviction of his words and he looked over his shoulder at the creature which had fallen quiescent, watchful, waiting for someone to make a mistake.
Lantz studied the creature again and felt icy fingers crawl up his spine as the eyeless sockets seemed to feel his gaze; the head turned to watch him and he had to break contact and turn away as his flesh crawled at the implied threat coming towards him.
A thought occurred to him and he gripped Krigo’s arm in alarm,
“What happened to the boy’s body?” The horror in his voice struck everyone and they waited for Krigo to answer,
“I don’t know...” the healer interrupted pointing over to a solitary tree further up the beach.
“He was buried there on the instructions of the Warlord’s man. He said he hadn’t had much of a life but should have a glorious death.”
Krigo nodded as something else came to him,
“There was a strange fire up there too and when I sent men to investigate they found the remains of two men, burning in a fire the likes of which they had never seen before.”
“If he was buried there…Where did you put the bodies of the men he killed from here?”
Krigo pointed closer to the ship where five mounds of rocks covered the men he had lost; they were the first casualties of his campaign and he had thought to give them an honoured burial.
Lantz pointed further down the beach to where his ship was anchored; a solitary mound showed where his first loss was buried.
“I think we ought to move the fleet away from shore, look for a way around the land to try and catch up with the Warlord. If the dead sailors come back like him…We are going to need help with destroying them. Some of the Mage black powder perhaps?”
“We don’t have any left…Damn it…We could have done with at least one of those students leaving here. They never even considered what we were going to do after they went charging off on their bloody quest.”
Krigo moved to grip the side of the ship, his keen gaze sweeping the horizon then the sea closer to them. Hundreds of triangular fins filled the water and he noted the sharks were far larger here than on Qol.
He came to realise that they had been attracted by the bodies of the natives which had been disposed of in the water when the beach was cleaned up. That was the first mistake on their arrival; no… he corrected himself.
The first mistake was allowing the battle plan to continue when they knew they were not in the designated area. The old Mage had caused them to be lost here and the bloody High Warlord and his bloody soldiers had just carried on with their original plan.
He turned and looked at the other men and knew that his next words would cause a lot of discord amongst them but, he hoped they knew he spoke from the heart and he wanted the best for them and the men who served under them.
“Gentlemen…” he waited until everyone was concentrating on him, Captains and common sailors alike,
“I don’t know about you but I want live to enjoy the money I have already made. I have no family on Qol so I could very easily live here, in comfort as it looks to be a pleasant world.”
He heard a discontented rumble and held his hands up,
“Yes I know some of you have families at home and you deserve the opportunity to go back. I believe the Warlord made a mistake here, slaughtering all these people. I also believe that he will be doing the same over and over again as he goes through this world searching for a way to get all of us home. Well what if he doesn’t need to take us all? If there are some who would like to stay here and live the rest of our lives in peace?”
He took a deep breath and continued, fixing them with his fierce gaze,
“We sailors have always been ignored unless we are carrying his bloody precious soldiers to some battle or other. He never once gave us a decent reward; we have had to fight for everything single little thing. I for one have had it with him. I propose we follow him up the coast if possible and get that new Mage of his and see if he can take smaller groups back…They never considered that option did they? If the bloody Warlord gets in the way then there are enough of us to get rid of him. He is only a man for God’s sake and men can die on the point of a sword and be replaced by other men.”
Nods of approval came from some of the men, Lantz and Orff were the first to agree with him and he held his breath waiting for signs that his men would follow his lead.
A group stood heads together talking quietly at first then as differing opinions were voiced they became heated.
“Lads, lads please…No-one would be forced to stay behind if they don’t want to stay then they can go home if it is at all possible.”
“So if we ‘elp you find this ‘ere Mage then you will make him take us ‘ome?”
Krigo opened his mouth but the man continued,
“An jus’ ’ow would we know that you’ve done yer best ter git ‘im to work ‘is dirty magick and tekk us back? ‘E could say ‘e’s tried but we wouldn’t know that fer sure.” The sailor folded his arms across his chest waiting for Krigo to reassure them.
“I give you my word that I will not rest until we know for definite that you cannot return. I will not just accept what the Mage tells me as truth either, we all know that the Mage can lie just as easily as the rest of us.”
The sailors huddled together again then in agreement stood near to Krigo,
“We are wid yer fer now Cap’n, but if’n yer let us down then there will be a blurry mutiny on yer ‘ands. We will be telling the rest of us poor ‘ard workin’ saps wot yer ‘as said ‘ere terday an’ they will be a watchin’ too.”
“I expect nothing less than that from you, just as I expect you to obey me while we are under sail. I will be taking Bajj’ ship and captaining it; you men can either all come with me or if there is another you can berth there. We leave nothing on here as this ship is already listing badly and it won’t be long until it goes to the bottom.”
“What about him?” They all looked at the creature and Krigo shrugged.
“Make sure he cannot break free from the ropes and he can go down with the ship, a watery grave may be better than the existence he has now poor thing.”
“I don’t like the sound of that Krigo,” Lantz spoke up and voiced his growing concerns,
“What happens to those sharks if they eat what he has become? Something on this world caused him to be brought back like that. There was the strange fire on the beach and two bodies burnt. What if burning is the only way to stop more of these from appearing? What if the men we buried are turning like this even now as we speak?”
“Well what do you propose we do then?”
“Abandon ship then set her on fire. Get the bodies up and put them here and burn the lot of them.”
“Dig up the dead?” The utter horror he felt at this statement caused Orff to pale, a feat no-one had ever thought possible.
“They are not going to dig themselves up,” Lantz felt the same horror but knew it was something which would have to be done.
“Very well, that will be the last task before we leave.” Krigo spoke and quickly delegated tasks to every man there.
Signals were sent and soon a flotilla of small boats was seen surrounding the ship as panicked sailors ruthlessly cleared everything they could find.
Krigo looked at the two chained chests in the Warlord’s cabin and handled the heavy padlocks.
“We have no means of opening these, leave them where they are. If they had been important he would have ensured they went with him. They probably hold his clean nightshirts and breeches,” he laughed with the sailor who had brought them to his attention and they left the cabin, firmly closing the door behind them.
There were two boats left when they reached the main deck and Krigo looked around sadly. His ship had been his only home for more than thirty years and he would miss her greatly.
He took two steps then paused listening intently as a small sound reached his ears. Bending down he looked under a pile of discarded sailcloth and saw the small figure of the ships cat.
She had given birth as they had arrived on this world and Akhri had found her and brought her and her four mackerel babies up on deck where the mate had continued to care for her.
Flattening her ears at the stranger she lashed out batting his hand away.
“Why you ungrateful madam,” Krigo licked the blood from the back of his hand,
“I ought to leave you here to drown…You haven’t been killing the rats and mice on this voyage. Ouch.” He grabbed her by the scruff of her neck and received another long scratch as punishment for disturbing her. It took him minutes to tuck her children in his waistcoat and she sniffed at him before baring her teeth balefully at him.
Ceasing her struggles for now she would wait until he put both her and her babies down before exacting her revenge.
He looked at the creature fastened down even more securely with nets and extra ropes and prayed the God would forgive him for what he was about to do.
The body of Bajj lay in the centre of the deck and Lantz had personally fetched the other twelve who had been buried so they too could be destroyed.
He took the burning torch from the mate and touched it to the lengths of oil soaked rope which were coiled on deck. The sailors had carefully trailed them over every inch of the ship, through the holds, cabins and galley.
Finally taking extra care they covered the fourteen bodies on deck. None would venture near the creature so Lantz once more had stepped in with his gaff and draped the drenched rope over it.
It took a few minutes for the fire to catch properly and he was coughing by the time he stepped back. The cat was once more wriggling and sank her teeth into his hand as the smoke alarmed her and with a pained gasp he let go and the last he saw of her was when she fled across the deck.
The mate went to find her but Krigo held him back, the smoke was too thick now to see properly and the flames were began to crackle as the fire established a good hold.
“Wait, get in the boat and we can net her then; she will end up in the sea and will no doubt be grateful of a helping hand then. I do still have her children,” he opened his jerkin and the mate smiled at the four heads peering out at him.
They watched as flames began to appear from opened portholes and cabin windows. It ran up the three masts burning brightly belching thick clouds of smoke into the afternoon air.
They didn’t see the flames burn through the nets holding the creature down; they didn’t see him slyly open eight of the shrouds and release the other creatures which had finished their transformation.
He stared intently at them, his mental communication as yet imperfect yet sufficient to get them up and in the air away from the fire.
As they rose from the deck the horrified men in the boats watched as they circled overhead, testing out their wings. Krigo urged the oarsmen to hurry, all thoughts of rescuing the cat gone from his head, he wanted the sails raised and the ships to be moving further away from the shoreline. He didn’t know how far they could fly and was unprepared to wait around and see for himself.
The bosun was urging the rowers to go faster; they could see the flying creatures and didn’t need the encouragement as all had watched the damage the smallest had done. God only knew what the largest would do.
Lantz had his sails raised and was already moving as were the rest of the fleet. Krigo could see the sailors on Bajj’ ship; all were racing around, frantically preparing to get under way as soon as his men and he were aboard.
The mate cried out and the rowers redoubled their efforts, the creatures were coming for them. They reached the ship and were hastily hauled aboard; Krigo had already signaled for the anchor to be raised and the men were like monkeys in the rigging as the huge sails were hauled up to catch the precious breeze.
Abandoning the smaller boat caused Krigo a pang, as there were other items he had brought from his ship which he had wanted to keep. He preferred to keep hold to his life though as things could always be replaced.
The ship swayed and began to surge forwards and he placed his hands on his hips watching as the flying creatures fell behind. Safe, they were going to be safe. He didn’t want to contemplate what would happen to the creatures or the area that they now occupied.
A tiny mew caught his attention and he called the mate to take the kittens. He doubted that they would survive without their mother but he would give them a chance. The odds for their survival were probably the same as he and his men had.
The fleet was moving gracefully away from the shore, hoping to follow the coastline up to where Azhmel had gone with the Mage.
Krigo moved to the stern of the ship and looked across to see Lantz on his portside and Orff on the larboard. Both men raised their hands triumphantly to him and he nodded and returned the gesture.
Watching his ship burn he felt sadness and regret but knew that they had done the right thing. The smoke was still thick and dark across the clear blue sky when he thought he saw something rising from the deck.
Shading his eyes he leant forward watching intently his heart pounding heavily at the thought of another of the monsters coming to life.
Violet and silver sparkling lights suddenly shot high into the air in a huge circle; reaching from the deck all the way into the heavens. Impossible shapes seemed to writhe and dance from top to bottom causing him to grip the wood tightly in shock.
The lights were coming from the stone, he realised that as he continued to watch. They continued to shine brightly even as the great ship sank underwater and the flames were finally extinguished by the sea; they continued to rise into the sky for a very long time afterwards.
A wet bedraggled creature eventually crawled out of the sea and looked around at her new home. She missed her babies but would soon forget about them.
Tentatively walking across the hot sand she kept her eye out for anything moving. She was hungry and missed the regular meal of fresh fish the man would have given her by now.
Ahead of her there were long grasses growing and she made her way there; slinking sinuously as she explored her surroundings. A crackling noise in front made her drop to her belly and inch forwards as she looked for what was making the sound.
A small furry animal around the same size as she was chewing on the leg of a crab it had caught earlier that day. His sharp teeth broke the shell easily and he was gorging on the sweet meat when he became aware of the cautious green eyes watching him.
He cracked another leg and scooped the meat out on sharp claws, flicking it through the air to land just in front of his guest. Sniffing it carefully she tried a small amount first then wolfed it down hungrily.
They fed happily until the crab had gone and both sat cleaning their paws and whiskers for a while. The cat was purring softly and the furry companion was interested in the noise she was making.
He nuzzled her neck and she screamed and attempted to break free; turning and rolling over striking with her claws. He grasped her by the neck with his teeth preventing her from biting him. Seconds later he moved away leaving her rolling around like a fish out of water as she cleaned herself.
Returning a few minutes later with a large flat fish he placed it on the ground before sitting and watching as she lay watching through slitted eyes purring happily as she accepted his gift and his continued attentions.

Benar stalked towards the group of soldiers gathered outside a large building. He was hot, dusty and tired and until now thought everyone had either died on the previous day or escaped.
When the message had reached the tavern where General Creed had made their headquarters that a large group of people had been found alive he had want to shout out in relief.
They needed information and Creed had begun to snipe at him, insinuating his assault when they entered the town had been unnecessarily harsh. Benar knew it was because he was uncertain of his tactics on this world; General Bruce had been the brilliant tactician and his loss was immeasurable.
“So how many are there?” he asked the young soldier who was nearest him,
“A lot sir, it’s packed in there,” the soldier was new, this campaign was his first and in his eagerness to please he snapped smartly to attention.
“I’m not a bloody officer, you call me Sergeant,” leaning close to the younger man Benar impaled him with an angry glare; he knew the younger recruits were feeling proud of their behaviour but he was unimpressed as they had faced unarmed men and women.
“Well get on with it then, show me,” he nudged the soldier with the handle of his sword and he hastily threw the door inward.
Stepping forward Benar sniffed and smelt the coppery odour of blood with the acrid odours of stale perspiration and urine. There were torches lit on the walls and smoke drifted hazily overhead.
There was a gasp of fear from the people near him and he knew they could see the blood on his clothes and body; he had deliberately not cleaned it off as fear of a person tends to be a good motivation to reveal every secret they were hiding.
Slowly walking down the long flight of stairs he noticed the height of the ceiling and faint carvings on the wall. His boots stirred puffs of dust as he walked and the men behind him coughed quietly as they waved it away.
Walking to the centre of the main floor he was unsurprised to find every eye focused on his raised sword. Planting the tip in the earth he gently leaned on it and swept his sharp gaze over the various tiers packed with people.
Husbands held their wives and children close; fathers held daughters, mothers held sons; trying to ease the paralysing terror felt by all. Benar knew that he had to tread carefully here if he wanted to find anything useful for General Creed.
Looking around he took in the different features shown by everyone; delicate and pale they held no resemblance to his people and would be unable to infiltrate and cause problems later.
A small boy around four years old watching him, his blonde hair tousled and dirty; blue eyes awash with huge tears. He reminded him of his son Holt, named after his dead brother. A fist clenched around his heart and he renewed his pledge that he would find a way home.
“Who is in charge here?” His voice carried to the far sides of the chamber without effort and he knew that some clever building had been done to allow such a thing to happen.
At the top of the room soldiers were silently filing in surrounding the natives, intimidating by their very presence.
No-one stood up to claim any responsibility and with a sigh Benar picked his sword up and pointed randomly to five people. His men grabbed them and brought them forward forcing them to kneel in front of him.
Two men and two women with the child he had originally seen were there and they all began to weep. The boy looked around for his mother and an adult man at his side hugged him close.
“I ask just once more and then someone will die…Who is in charge here?” He stood at the end of the hostages and casually stroked his hand over the fine blonde hair of the boy. Not a sound came from any of the natives and with a sigh of regret he swung his sword and lopped the head from the man holding the boy.
Terrified shrieks and screams came as they watched his blood spurt high covering those near him with the spray from severed blood vessels.
Benar moved to the other end of his line of hostages and rested his bloody sword on the nape of the other adult male.
“Who…Is…In…Charge?” He paused between each word and the man shook his head,
“We have no-one now…Orlan gave the chain of office to Obadiah as you were coming, and he, Obadiah was at the gates when you arrived. I believe he must be dead now or he would be here in the chamber with us,” he risked looking at Benar and manfully managed to hold a shudder of fear back when he took in the hard dark eyes and scowling face.
Benar thought for a moment before asking,
“Where is this…Orlan? He will surely be able to help his people now.” He turned and watched the room expecting someone of importance to stand up.
“He…He is not here…I have not seen him since yesterday when he…” the man broke off biting his lip as he suddenly knew he should not reveal what Orlan was doing,
“Carry on man… when he…what?” Benar turned, his interest piqued and the certainty that the man knew something important.
“I…I forget sir…” the man was unused to lying and his face flushed guiltily. Benar had never seen anything like it before but, it was unnecessary for him to think about what it meant. He had seen and heard enough men trying to evade the truth that a falsehood, a lie such as this was easy for him to pick up.
Flicking his sword at the man Benar casually cut the lobe from his ear causing him to cry out in alarm at the sudden gush of blood.
“Do I look like a bloody fool? Tell me do I?” He looked over at one of his men lining the walls and repeated his query,
“No Sarn’t definitely no fool Sarn’t,” the soldier had been the recipient of many of Benars’ scathing looks and sarcastic comments over the previous long months of training and knew better than to attempt any sort of friendly repartee with the dour older man.
“Right so as we have established that I am not a bloody fool, you… you will start to talk to me or else you will lose another part of your anatomy. IS THAT BLOODY WELL CLEAR?” He spat the words at the frightened man and once more raised his sword.
“Please sir, please I do not… Please…” the man began to sob and Benar raised his eyes to the ceiling very nearly out of patience with him.
“Orlan…Where is he? Now,” Benar decided enough was enough and hauled the female huddled at his side forward, pressing his sword tip under her chin. She shrieked loudly and the man looked around the chamber, hoping a friend or neighbour would help him.
“Orlan…Orlan has gone to the old caverns to call for the Old Ones to save us.” The man kept his tone flat as he told everything he knew and Benar smiled grimly; pleased that at last he had something useful to report to the General.
Leaving the sobbing man behind, he mounted the stairs and found two of his more useful men leaning on the wall. They had been on every campaign with him and he knew he could rely on them to get the job done.
“This is a bloody place Sarn’t,” Jarl spoke, he towered over most men at over six and a half feet tall and had keen eyes and a keen intellect.
“As far as we can find there is no military based her; in fact no officials at all, no police or anything. I could grow to like it…If we were staying but seeing as we are going home then…” He swiftly changed what he was going to say at the red angry light in Benars’ eyes.
“Have you searched everywhere around the town fully?” He decided to ignore the remark, and concentrate on the search.
“We haven’t gone through deep undergrowth and such but mainly yep we have,” Jarl was picking his teeth and spoke absently not paying full attention to what Benar was saying.
“Good…So where are the caves then?” Benar watched as they stood up straight and exchanged glances,
“Caves…What caves? We didn’t find any caves,” Snaith the other man straightened then and looked up at Benar. He was short for a soldier, just under five and a half feet he always looked slightly ridiculous when marching with the rest of the men.
To cover his feelings of inadequacy he had pushed himself until no-one could beat him in one-to one combat with a blade; he also excelled in what the men called sneaky work. Light on his feet and fast he could check out an enemy encampment and be back in his own camp bed without anyone knowing he had ever left.
“The bloody caves where the old leader Orlan is going to do a ritual or some such shit to call the Old Ones for help.”
Jarl stood upright then and threw the piece of wood away which he had been poking into a hole in his teeth,
“There are a lot of thick bushes and trees which we didn’t force our way through, it wouldn’t take us long to get back there and have a quick shuftie just to see what there is.”
Benar tapped his fingers on his mouth as he considered his options; he suddenly smiled and told the others to get some horses ready, both the General and he would be accompanying them with a half centurie of men.
Jarl and Snaith looked at him as if he had lost his mind; neither liked the idea,
“C’mon Sarn’t we don’t need all those men just to search for a few caves. Give us an hour, two at the most and we will have them for you. Then you could fetch the General and just have a little look around before you actually find them.”
Benar looked at them and snorted, he knew they disliked the General and would do anything to avoid spending any time in his company.
“Fine…Two hours and then we ride come what…” he was turning away and saw the smirk on both mens’ faces.
“Just because I let you get away with a lot doesn’t mean I can’t start and give you stable duties,” both men straightened as the last thing they wanted to do was clean up after thousands of horses.
“You know you can trust us, don’t do anything until we come and fetch you,” Snaith made his voice whiny and Benar snorted again,
“Go on the pair of you and hurry up as there are two pitchforks waiting for you,” he watched as they hurried away and contemplated his next move.
Re-entering the opening to the chamber he noticed it smelt even worse now than it had an hour earlier when he had first entered. He looked at the tiers of seats and people and knew that they could be contained here for the night but they should be put to work through the day; there were thousands of soldiers needing feeding and the wagons still had not caught up with them.
Snapping his fingers the youngest man in his command ran up and waited for instructions,
“Get out and find me a slavemaster. He can come and sort through these people and earn his reward. At least that will be one man working gainfully,” the young soldier looked puzzled but ran off when Benar waved his hand at him.
His long legs once more descended the stairs and he wandered around the walls looking at strange drawings and symbols. He neared a huge tapestry and thought it held a vague resemblance to a map he had seen of the world; it was as he stood there he felt a slight cool draught around his legs.
Reaching out he pulled the tapestry to the side to reveal a darkened corridor. Cursing under his breath he grabbed a torch and made his way inside. Snapping his fingers he was soon joined by another soldier who led the way with his sword held ready.
There were a series of smaller side rooms; with chairs, tables and simple beds they looked like guest rooms for visitors. Another larger chamber was at the end of the passage, this was filled dark wooden ornately carved cabinets; some held various curios and others were filled with books and scrolls.
He called out and one of his soldiers rushed in; sword drawn ready for anything untoward,
“Bring me the man who I questioned earlier.” He wandered around and pulled the occasional book from the shelves flicking the pages before throwing them on the floor.
The man was violently pushed into the chamber and fell to his knees in front of Benar babbling incoherently.
“What’s this room used for?” He leant on the edge of a table and watched as the man looked around before answering,
“I…I’m not certain as I have never been here before but they look like the books of Orlan.” He dipped his head and Benar passed him a thick tome,
“Read this for me,” Benar rested a hip on a small table and watched as the man raised his eyebrows and shook his head,
“Tm sorry sir but, I cannot…” he broke off as Benar closed his eyes for a moment and drew a deep breath,
“And just why can’t you read it to me?” His voice held implicit warning,
“I don’t know how to read,” the simple explanation forestalled Benar from taking his frustration on the man.
“Well get out there and send me someone who can read it to me,”
“There is no one sir,” Benar stared hard at him and he explained,
“Only our priests read sir, there are no priests here now…”
Gritting his teeth Benar sent him back into the chamber while he collected half a dozen of the books to take back to General Creed and his fool Mage student.
A high pitched scream made him look at the soldier waiting near the entrance; calm and relaxed he announced the arrival of the slavemaster.
More shouts and screams reached him and he grinned at the soldier. The slavemasters of the Warlord were legendary and it was usually their hard work which made every man’s purse heavy at the end of a campaign.
He frowned as he left the room; books tucked under his arm. Who would purchase these slaves this time? There were so many difficulties still to be surmounted before they could go home.
Ruthlessly burying thoughts of his pretty wife and sisters as he mounted the stairs he saw the small boy who had reminded him of his son. His mother was crying and trying to pull him back but the slavemaster had him gripped firmly by the neck of his shirt.
“Ho, Benar, piss poor lot of cattle here. I doubt we would get much for all the bloody lot of em if we threw em in a pot,” the slavemaster, Yellen spoke out of the side of his mouth as Benar passed him.
“Do what you can Yellen, do what you can,” the Sergeant hurried up the stairs once more. He was hungry and thirsty and hoped to deal with both before Jarl and Snaith returned.
Entering the tavern he noticed the Mage student Jonah prowling around the room, picking up bottles and jars from behind the counter he would lift them to his nose and smell each gingerly before replacing them.
“You Mage, come look at these and see if you can read these,” he dumped the books and fetched a pitcher of water. It was tepid and stale but he drank it anyway.
Creed was writing in his notebook and Benar noted he hadn’t drunk too much, his hands were steady and eyes were alert.
“What did you find Benar?” The General pushed a plate with the remains of a roasted bird towards him. Hooking his foot around the leg of a stool he sat down and began to eat, pulling a wry face at the dry leathery texture of the over-cooked bird.
“There is a large chamber further in the town; that is where I got those,” he nodded at the books the youth was examining,
“People were in there too,” he chewed on a scrawny leg as he spoke and wished he was at home eating a meal cooked by his wife; the meat would have been succulent and juicy and would have melted in his mouth.
“People you say…How many?” Creed rested both elbows on the table watching him carefully,
“I made it between three and four thousand.”
“Excellent…So what can they tell us?”
“Not a lot.” The General’s face fell at Benars words,
“Honestly sir they are as thick as stumps…A raw recruit has more about him than these beggars,” he shook his head in disbelief,
“They live just as they please; no one to answer to…Some of the men would like to stay behind when we leave,” the last words were dropped in casually and he waited for Creeds response.
“Would they by God… Well that would not be my decision to make…The Warlord is the person to decide who stays and who goes.” Shoving his chair back Creed stood and moved to the open doorway looking out in the strange landscape.
The trees and plants were different to the ones to be seen on Qol; even the air smelled strange, exotic and unfamiliar. Overhead the crow army flew in lazy circles occasionally cawing and screeching but not as they should be.
A shiver of fear went through him, the only reason they would act strange would be if something had happened to Corvus. He knew their behaviour was linked to the larger bird who, in turn was linked with Azhmel.
Had something happened to the High Warlord? He worried for a moment then ruthlessly pushed it to a far corner of his mind. As he couldn’t do anything about it he refused to waste time worrying needlessly.
“Oh my…God.” The soft exclamation came from the Mage student and he spun and looked at him in surprise.
“General, I believe you should come and look at this sir,” he was holding one of the largest books open and his eyes held a gleam of excitement.
“What do you have…Jonah isn’t it?” Creed rested his hand on the youths shoulder and leaned forward eyes scanning the pages opened before him.
Benar moved to the other side and crowded in doing the same.
“This book is…Well I’m not actually sure what it is but… Tell me what does this say to you?” He pointed with a finger and both Creed and Benar frowned at the unfamiliar writing.
“It’s meaningless…Just squiggles…What you mean?” He waited and listened intently,
“That’s what I thought when I first opened it; random meaningless squiggles. Then I thought well how could it be anything else…We are on a strange world the language should be strange and different…I am surprised that Sergeant Benar was even able to communicate with the natives,” he took a breath and watched both men nod in comprehension,
“Even on Qol there are people who do not speak as we do. Mage Gwinn used to do a translation spell for when that was the case…Who has translated here? Look at the book again…” He turned the page back then waited till Benar and Creed looked down again.
The words rippled and blurred before rearranging themselves across the pages.
“Why did this not happen when I looked at them in the chamber?” Benar was secretly impressed with the youths’ discovery.
“I think I triggered it with the light from the candle,” they both moved their eyes to the single light on the table,
“I could not see the pages properly so I brought it close and spoke the words for the flame to grow…A simple magick we are taught at the College. Whether the words or the light helped I am unsure but I turned the page back and this happened.” He offered a tremulous smile and was rewarded by Creed grabbing his shoulder.
“Well done boy, very well done. Now we might stand a chance of getting things done.” He looked at Benar over the lads head and they exchanged grim smiles; this meant one step closer to their return home.
“There are hundreds of books in the chamber sir, perhaps if Jonah went there..?” The Sergeant didn’t want to carry every tome back here, it would take him hours and he had a feeling that time was of the essence.
“Yes, take him there but make sure he is well guarded…Take plenty of these candles too…It may be that the composition of those helps…I have heard Mage Gwinn numerous times…”
He fell silent as he remembered how the Mage had died; someone should have stopped the Warlord and he had expected Bruce to say something to diffuse the situation, too late had he realised The General had allowed it to happen deliberately.
He couldn’t understand General Bruce’ reason for allowing it and as the man was now dead he had no way of finding out why.
“General Creed sir,” Benar brought him back to the moment and he listened as the Sergeant detailed how his men were searching for the man Orlan and some caves.
“Good man, right take Jonah to start on the other books and I will start here going through these.” He was pleased to be doing something at last and finally allowed himself to believe they would go home soon.
Outside Jonah kept skipping to keep up with the long strides of the Sergeant; his head kept swiveling from side to side as he studied the strangeness of the town.
Wrinkling his nose at a disgusting odour he held his hand up to his face covering his nose with his sleeve trying to breathe through the thin fabric.
“My God what on earth is it?” His eyes had begun to stream and he looked at the Sergeant amazed as he showed no sign of discomfort.
“Yellen is hard at work,” as Benar spoke a high pitched scream rent the air causing Jonah to reach out and grab his arm in fright.
“Yellen…Who is Yell… My God…” Jonah paled as they walked around a corner and he thought he had walked into a scene from hell.
A huge fire was blazing and the crackling of the dry wood filled the air; through the flames and smoke he saw crowds of people lined up, held in place by soldiers with swords drawn ready to jab them with the sharpened point if they tried to run.
He watched horrified as a tall native male was pulled in front of a heavyset man of Qol and forced down onto his knees; a flash from a sharp blade and his hair was sheared and tossed into the flames.
The acrid stench of burning hair reached Jonah at the same time as a white hot branding iron was placed on the thick fleshy part of the slaves’ thigh, burning the small hairs away and scarring the flesh in the thickened shape of a stylised Y, Yellens mark.
This was the source of the smell which offended Jonahs nostrils and he gagged once more as the fresh burning scent was joined by the smell of human faeces as the man screamed and soiled himself in pain.
“Oh God…Oh my God…Oh…” Jonah mumbled as he stood horrified watching as a smaller native woman was pulled forward and forced to her knees.
Benar was unconcerned with the scene; he had seen it many times before and turned away pulling the student with him. Behind him there was another scream and Jonah found himself running ever faster trying to flee the scene.
His legs shook so much he had to stop and hold onto the side of a building and take huge gulps of air. Benar paused and looked at the youth. He looked so young and frightened. It seemed an eternity since he had been so young,
“Come on lad, it is the way of the world for them to be treated like this,”
“Our world…Not theirs…It’s not right; they aren’t our enemies or even the Warlords’ enemies. We shouldn’t be doing this to these people…They could have offered to help us without all this.”
Jonah looked at Benar and shook his head sadly,
“You just don’t understand do you? It isn’t necessary to treat them like animals. They…” The expression on the Sergeants face stopped him and he fell silent; whatever he said here was irrelevant as they would continue as they had always done.
Briskly setting off he tried to put the scene behind him; he thought if he could find something in the books then the barbarism he had just witnessed would stop when they returned home.
The chamber was empty of people; two soldiers stood outside the doors and Benar detailed them to remain, no-one was to be allowed in whilst the Mage was there.
It smelled better without the press of bodies but the sting of stale urine still burnt his nostrils. He would make sure the place was swilled out before nighttime and the lock down.
Jonah gasped when he saw all the books and scrolls; in Mage College the students were never given unrestricted access to any written magickal tomes, Mage Gwinn had always said it was a recipe for disaster to allow imperfectly trained boys near them.
Benar leant on the wall and watched as he placed candles on a small table. He waited for the youth to remember he hadn’t brought his tinder box and straightened in surprise when with a flick of his wrist Johan absently lit every candle at once.

“Have you got everything you need?” He didn’t want the youth to realise he was impressed by his casual use of magick,
“If there is some fresh water I would appreciate it but I can manage, thank you Benar.” Jonah ran his hands over the spines of some of the books his eyes gleaming as he thought of the knowledge they contained.
An old, dusty copy caught his attention and he pulled that out and moved to the table, his mind already intrigued by the title “Legend of the Fey”.
With his head down and thoroughly engrossed he was oblivious to Benar leaving him alone; the story that was unfolding to him stirred his imagination as none had before.
Outside Benar once more told the guards to let no one near the student, he was a precious commodity and if anything happened to him the consequences would be dire.
A shout caught his attention and he saw Jarl cantering towards him,
“Are you ready? We have found your caves. Snaith stayed behind cos he’s a sneaky little bastard and he can get close and check things out while we gather up whatever you need.”
“Excellent… Well done; now get over to the horse master. I want the General and my horse readied and I will gather the rest of the men. Ha…”
Running back to the stuffy tavern his thoughts pounded through his head with each step,
“I’m coming home Emmie. To you and my boy and nothing is going to stop me.”
Creed was watching through the open doorway and knew that if Benar ran things were coming to a head.
“My men have found the network of caves we were told about sir,” Benar wasn’t even out of breath as he reached the tavern and he immediately related the preparations he had made.
Creed agreed and ordered an extra centurie of men be prepared and ready to leave within ten minutes; he was taking no chances on losing their quarry.
Forty riders and forty men on foot stirred the sun dried earth and caused a dusty cloud to hang thick and heavy in the hot afternoon sun. They too were eager to do proper soldiering as they called it.
Within half an hour they had reached the entrance to the caves; Snaith materialized from the thick undergrowth waiting till all the horses were tethered until he spoke.
He held a number of torches he had fashioned while waiting; Benar clapped his shoulder in approbation, his men were well trained and every so often they proved it.
Keeping his voice barely a whisper he pointed out the main entrance,
“There are signs that a number of people entered sir and if you examine the prints the odd person has come out and had a look around. Checking things out I would imagine sir,” he kept his eye on Creed as he spoke and the General agreed with his assessment.
“I want half coming inside with me. We don’t know if there are any sideways and passages so everyone be on their toes. Do not go in and kill anything that moves. I want prisoners and I want this man Orlan unharmed. Is this clear?”
His gimlet stare impaled every soldier there and they all muttered their agreement. Creed led the way to the entrance and paused to draw his sword before ducking to avoid banging his head.
Benar was close on his heels filled with the conviction that whatever happened here today, the man Orlan was crucial to his returning home and he would not let him escape regardless of any consequences.
Military Research
Originally, the cohort was a sub-unit of a Roman legion, consisting of 480 legionaries including six centurions. The cohort itself was divided into six centuries of 80 men commanded each by a centurion. (However the first of ten cohorts had five double-sized centuries totalling 800 men.

Azhmel reached out a foreleg and pulled the canvas from his tent out of the way, searching for the cage which should contained Corvus. He roared angrily as there was no sign of it and he knew the only person who could have stolen it was the Mage traitor Terrill.
Yet one more reason for the Warlord to destroy him as soon as he was found. Overhead his avian army circled uselessly, without Corvus they were incomplete; without a decent |Mage he could not replace Corvus. Reaching out angrily he grabbed a young sapling and ripped it from the earth flaying the ground as his temper knew no bounds.
His greywings were in the skies now; they had fed and were completely loyal to him. He had given them instructions, find the traitor Terrill, find the traitor Geron; finally they needed to find the ones who had eluded him earlier.
His great head swayed from side to side as he contemplated his next actions. The slavemaster could probably find out where these elusive ones were hiding. He would pay him a visit; he needed to make his new presence know to the rest of his army anyway. He had cast off his childish form and now they should be shown exactly what he was and what he could do.
Unfurling his massive wings he launched into the air, rejoicing as the updraft caught him and tossed him high above the clouds; he dropped lower causing the sun to glint on his red-gold scales illuminating the ground below with his giant shadow.
It took mere minutes for him to fly the five miles between the major encampment and Durrh village; as he neared the village he sent a mental call out and was pleased when hundreds of his greywings joined him.
In Durrh village Nemon had finally recovered from whatever had attacked everyone, native and soldier alike. His sharp eyes had noticed blood in every person’s ears; he knew of no natural illness which would affect everyone so his thoughts went to the unnatural and he knew they had all been attacked.
As he stood watching them cower away from the flick of his whip he became aware of their speech and it slowly dawned on him that he could understand the sly conversations behind raised hands.
Magick had done it; he was one of the Touched and could feel new magick at work. Yes, magick was the only way that he and the rest of the soldiers of Qol could understand these people.
A dense cloud crossed the sun blotting the bright light out and caused him to look up hoping it was not a rain cloud. He just had time to see the shape was monstrous when he was knocked off his feet by the draught generated by the massive wings.
Screams rent the air from the natives who saw the apparition land lightly in front of them. Nemon felt a scream building in his chest as the huge head was lowered towards him.
“Do you not recognise me Nemon?” The voice sounded loud in his head and he shook his head from side to side as he frantically tried to back away.
“Nay I know none like you. Who are you..? What are you..?”
“Look closer Nemon…Look into my eyes and I will tell you all,” the glowing orbs fixed on the slavemaster, pinning him to the floor while Azhmel spoke in his mind.
“Sire..? How…How can this be..?” Nemon was stunned at the revelation and his mouth fell open as he took in his size and shape.
“Suffice it to say that you know me and you will continue to do my bidding,” the voice now spoke aloud for everyone to hear.
Vaguely Nemon was aware of the calls from other soldiers in the background; the sound of running feet over rough ground announced their arrival and Azhmel roared aloud at the sight of their drawn swords.
Greywings landed in a circle surrounding him baring their sharp pointed teeth in silent threat at everyone there.
“Listen to me…I AM your Warlord and you will obey me,” in thunderous tones Azhmel subdued everyone there; Nemon was studying the nearest creature and spoke suddenly, interrupting the Warlord’s tirade.
“Kensis..? My God…It is you…Kensis,” he couldn’t disguise his horror as he looked at what his friend had become.
“Yes…This body was known by that name,” Azhmel reached out and gently stroked his first before speaking again,
“I tell you this once and once only so listen well all who are here; you will pass my warning onto everyone you see…Anyone who does not obey me - beware as my greywings need to feed…Leaving the village after dark is forbidden unless you have no wish to live…I have placed certain restrictions on them…Do not think you can trick either them or me for I will find out and I will destroy you.”
The village fell silent as they listened to Azhmel change their lives forever. Nemon eventually managed to stand; as the Warlord finished speaking he had some questions,
“What about these…These cattle sire? Do I..?” the Warlord turned and sent a fulminating glare at him,
“Do with them what you will but remember this…The small ones with the pointed ears are mine and you will not damage them in any way. If you find any you will save them for me…Any of you who fail me…” the implied threat caused the slavemaster to shiver in fear.
Seconds later the village was emptied of Azhmel and his creatures and the soldiers looked at each other in fear and trepidation.
Nemon turned and looked at the still cowering villagers; if Azhmel wanted some strange looking people then these would know of them and answer some questions.
Twitching his wrist he flicked the boka at the nearest old man knelt on the floor; the individual tails gently stroked his face stinging as he pulled back and put his hand up to cup his cheek.
Blood coated his palm where the tiny embedded hooks had torn into the flesh; Nemon rocked back on his heels and hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his trousers,
“Well now you miserable little fuckers, who here is gonna tell me where I can put my hands on some of these special fucking folk eh?” He grinned evilly and beckoned the native to join him.
Draping his arm over his shoulders Nemon began to stroll around the village taking the visibly frightened man with him. He kept silent as he walked; using a series of hand gestures to the men he usually worked with he soon had an enormous fire roaring ready for him to begin his work.
There were a row of saplings which someone had planted as a windbreak and Nemon decided they would suit his purpose. Snapping his fingers he pointed and the native was hauled away and manacled between two of them.
The terrified man began to beg and plead; Nemon was uninterested at that time. He wanted information but most of all he wanted his new herd to fear him; if they feared him they would be less likely to disobey him in the future.
Calling for the signalman Nemon waited until the horn had been blown three times; this was his standard signal to arrange such a gathering.

Rubbing his hand over his smooth scalp Nemon watched and waited until the natives were encircled by the soldiers contemplating what he was going to say to them.

Gradually it fell silent and he looked carefully at the people assembled there; the prisoner who was chained had ceased to struggle and cry hoping the savage invaders would realise they had made a mistake and would release him.

“Right you miserable little fuckers, you have heard our Warlord and now you are going to hear me.”

Suddenly the boka flashed and the tongues attached to it writhed through the air before striking the exposed flesh of the prisoners back. He arched his back and screamed loudly trying to pull away, the manacles tearing into his wrists causing the blood to run down his arms.

Nemon stood watching and waiting and as the man relaxed thinking his punishment was over the boka struck again; blood began to well from the second strike showing a dozen fine criss cross lines. In horrified fascination the assembled crowd realised that there were hundreds of hooks embedded into the leather and, when the boka was pulled back they were tearing through the prisoner’s tender flesh.

Crash! The boka was raised at the same time as thunder echoed around them, huge fat spots of rain intermittently hitting the ground. Nemon's arm rose and fell mechanically now, there was no skin left on the prisoners back, a raw bleeding mass of macerated flesh was all that anyone could see.

“You will obey my Lord Azhmel and you will obey me!” Nemon had to scream to make his voice heard over the sound of the thunder. The terrified villagers had fallen to their knees and were clutching each other with desperate hands.
They didn’t know what this new man wanted but were prepared to give him anything to prevent scenes like this happening again. The prisoner hung limply in the manacles and they all could only pray that he would never recover consciousness again.
“Please Lord, I beg you, tell us what you want and we will find it for you,” a frail old man stood up; his knees were trembling but he forced them to stay in place.
Nemon turned as lightening flashed across the sky and his expression caused many to cry out in their fear of him.
“I want you to tell me of these other people the Warlord wants. I want you to tell me now. If you don’t fucking well give me what I want then there will be more fuckers fastened up here like him!” Nemon reached and lifted the head of the man he had viciously whipped.
His eyes were wide and staring but no life existed in him; the old man swallowed painfully and nodded his agreement, no-one else was going to be beaten while he was senior elder of the village.
“I will tell you everything Lord, there is no need for any more beatings…” he hung his head in submission and Nemon moved closer and placed the bloody boka underneath his chin forcing his head back.
“I will fucking decide if there are no more fucking beatings not fucking you; let me fucking well tell you this worm, if I don’t like what you are telling me not only you will feel the weight of my fucking whip but another five of your friends and fucking family will too…Is that fucking well clear..?”
The old man nodded his agreement and Nemon ordered him to follow indoors,
“Lord, may we not deal with...?” He pointed to the body and Nemon looked at him and smiled evilly,
“He stays there until I decide differently,” moving indoors he waited for the old man to follow.
“Lord please, there are the other bodies too. They must not stay like this for more than a few hours,” the old man looked to the far side of the village where the dead from the previous day were stacked; he was genuinely frightened, looking at them closely every few minutes and Nemon sighed before querying,
“And just why don’t we want to leave the fuckers where they are then?” He crossed his arms watching as the old man searched for the words to explain,
“We cannot leave the dead unburned Lord for…”
“Unburned? What do you mean un- fucking burned? We won’t be having any of your heathenish ways anymore. We have burials and we have them when I fucking say so and not fucking before.”
The old man wrung his hands in fright,
“Please Lord you do not understand,”
“Fucking well make me understand then?” Nemon moved into the dry room of the village tavern and accepted a tankard from one of the soldiers lolling there sheltering from the storm.
“If our bodies are not burnt then our essence will not join with the Old Ones and we will become zomb, of the undead, destined to live yet not live, feeding on all we know and love,” the horror in his voice held Nemon captive for a moment then a nervous laugh burst from him,
“Zomb..? I’ve never heard of anything fucking like it before. What an absolute load of fucking bollocks.” The slavemaster took it as if the elder was lying to him and reaching out cuffed his head violently.
“Lord I do not lie to you, it is the truth. You must not bury anyone…It is the oldest law we have. It was given to us by the Old Ones a thousand years ago…” His voice trailed off at the looks of interest given him by the lounging soldiers and Nemon.
“Nemon you should listen to him…It is their world and some very weird shit has happened since we arrived here,” the soldier who passed him a tankard spoke and everyone nodded in approbation.
“Please Lord, I would not lie over this…It is our most sacred thing…You can watch and you will see that I speak only the truth” face shining with sincerity the elder clasped his hands in front as he waited for Nemon to speak.
“Get it done then and I will be watching you from here,” he took a long drink and watched the man dithering,
“Lord we usually…” Nemon interrupted him,
“The fucking fire is there…Either they go on that or they get buried when I say so…Fucking decide now,” Nemon turned from him to refill his tankard and heard him scurry outside.
“I don’t like it Nemon,” the lounging soldier sat upright, his voice loud in the enclosed space,
“This world doesn’t feel right…And that creature who says he is…”his voice was cut off abruptly as the slavemaster caught his throat and hissed at him,
“Keep your fucking voice down you bloody idiot. I don’t rightly know what’s what but for now I am gonna do as I have always done. Look after number one fucking first and bollocks to the Warlord,” he looked over his shoulder as he spoke and made sure that no-one was close enough to hear them.
Outside the storm was blowing over; heavy rain had eased into gentle showers, and the villagers finished their hasty preparations. Never before had anyone been killed by such violence and they were all sickened by the casual way Nemon had added to the carnage with his particular brand of cruelty.
Fearful that if he took too long with the preparations the elder hastened back for Nemon to watch as they celebrated the lives of their friends with their oldest ceremony.
He was sad as they could not go down to the fast flowing river and send the bodies from there but he knew this way was better than burial.
“Lord we are prepared if you wish to join with us,” in his innocence he had expected Nemon to sorrow for what he had done,
“Join you..? Fucking join with you..? Have you lost your tiny little mind altogether..?” Before he could berate him further the elder hastily backed down the steps hoping that the continued rain would prevent the tall savage from following him.
Nemon stopped at the door and the glare he gave was sufficient to warn the elder that he had tested Nemon’s patience to its limits.
The bodies had been arranged in a pinwheel around the fire; before their shrouds had been stitched into place rich oils and sweet smelling herbs had been placed into their dead hands.
The villagers did not dare linger anymore and the elder signaled for ceremony to begin. A lone voice began to sing sadly as he walked around the outside edge and lit each body individually.
Theirs was a close community of around four hundred; the loss of more than one hundred people was devastating and the emotions came out in the singing. Once all the bodies were burning the elder rejoined the rest of his people and gave his voice to the ceremony.
The soldiers from Qol stood away from the gathering, not as a sign of respect but to disguise their fears as they believed burning damned a person for all eternity.
As the sound of the singing reached its crescendo a golden sparkle appeared like a carpet covering the ground emanating from the bodies, twisting and turning, spiraling into the sky.
Inside the tavern the soldiers turned to Nemon and the expressions on their faces said what they were all thinking; if this is the essence of these people then perhaps, just perhaps the story of the zomb was not as far-fetched as they had previously believed.
“It’s a fucking magick trick,” Nemon blustered and went outside moving directly into the golden cloud shaking his boka with every step. The cloud whirled around him, flowed through him; he dropped the boka and fell to one knee head bowed down as if in prayer.
In the tavern the soldiers had stirred restively stepping outside but none dared to go to him. The village elder moved forward and held his hand out; the lights flowed through him and around him too and he had a peaceful and serene smile on his lips.
Nemon took the hand offered him and stood; turning to the tavern gasps came from the soldiers as they saw his dark brown eyes had turned golden in colour and the scars on his face were smoothed away.
He reached out his arms to the soldiers as the rain stopped suddenly; the sky was lit with a myriad of colours and he spoke in a voice which was not of the earth but rather from a host.
“Lay down your swords visitors to Galiana. This world is our world, a peaceful world; blood must no longer be spilt here. These people are under our protection now and we will not allow any further harm to come to them.”
Nemon moved his arms in a circle and the golden cloud crackled with arcs of light shooting forth from it. The nearest soldiers dropped their swords and the light flowed over them, drawing them into its soothing presence.
Some backed away holding their swords firmly against the unseen enemy; as their swords touched the golden light flames ran up the outside edges to cover them completely; when the flames dissipated the soldiers had disappeared completely.
Others fled beyond the confines of the village, unprepared to accept what was happening to their friends and colleagues.
High in the sky Azhmel and his greywings felt some unknown force brush over them; they didn’t recognise its odour; diving down furiously to investigate.
The whole of Durrh village was enveloped in an ethereal golden glow; Azhmel had an odd premonition as he drew near and hastily pulled away before he touched it.
His greywings weren’t as diligent and half of them collided with the glow and instantly disappeared; Kensis cried out a belated warning as he narrowly escaped hitting the barrier.
Hovering in the air Azhmel extended his head sniffing suspiciously all around; sending a mental call out he warned the remnants of his army to avoid this place and join him at the main encampment.
“Who are you?” He sent the question out with his mind and was instantly engulfed with the many minds and spirits of the people who had been slaughtered below.
“We have become the protectors of this place. You can no longer enter here and harm our people. Leave our world. Leave our world without any further acts of violence. Leave our world alone. Leave our world.”
The susurration of the words filled his head and arching his head back with a howl of pain he spat great gouts of fire down below; the village remained unharmed as the fire dissipated against the new shield.
Over and over again he tried to obliterate his newest enemy; pain eventually made him discontinue and screeching in anger he eventually left to join with his greywings and plan his next course of action.
Below the barrier the villagers of Durrh clasped hands, hugged and kissed each other in relief; they didn’t understand what had happened but were aware of a great presence which told them they were safe and would remain safe providing they did not leave the confines of the village.
Nemon stood upright and immobile; arms spread wide his body glowed with a billion tiny motes of light; as they watched him they saw roots and tendrils sprang from underneath his skin driving deep into the earth.
From his arms and fingers thick branches and tiny twigs erupted; he grew ever taller reaching high into the sky and spreading over miles. The glow swirled once more around him and a thousand leaves burst from every exposed area, shining brightly under the now blazing sun.
All signs of the unique storm were fading, the grounds dried up and the flowers once more gave a sweet scent into the air; large bumbling bees appeared drinking from the nectar and going from plant to plant lazily whiling the afternoon away.
The unarmed soldiers of Qol stood uncertainly; they had never before relinquished their weapons to anyone and they felt naked and defenceless. All kept their eyes trained on the newest tree which was in front of them; most had seen magick performed by various Mages’ but this was a different type of magic, elemental and powerful it terrified them as nothing had before.
Azhmel’s avian army which had been circling listlessly overhead was transformed in an instant by the golden lights; feathers becoming varying shades of gold and silver, beaks became softer and their eyes retained a golden glow.
They returned to earth and this time when they sat on the edges of the fences and buildings none were frightened or intimidated by them; exclamations of delight came from natives and invaders alike as the birds opened their wings and danced in delight and upon opening their beaks sang sweetly, the song lightening heavy hearts and spirits.
The elder moved forward laughing happily, encouraging everyone to join him,
“Come, come we must celebrate, food and wine for all. We must celebrate the lives of our friends and protectors; we must celebrate too the new lives which have come to us,” he gestured to the solid golden tree which cast its shadow over every inch of Durrh village,
“This is our new tree of life; you must make sure that you stay underneath its shadow…Step beyond the protective shade and our enemy and his creatures could get you…These…” he stretched his arms wide and many of the birds flew to land lightly on him, their long tail feathers fanning him and their songs still filling the air.
“These are rebirth, these give hope, we must pray for the rest of our world. These birds are symbolic; they must leave us, visit every place and tell our people not to despair, we too will be reborn as these benighted creatures were, the black crows will be no more and the magickal firebirds will take their place.”

“Ter, Ter, whatcha doing Ter?” Darell sat on the edge of the wagon watching as Terrill poured vinegar from the sealed red cabbage jar over Mage Gwinn’s book. On the other side of the wagon Hoppy was perched, and standing at the older feys’ side was Lyta.
“I hope I am going to make the invisible writing show Dar; that way we will know what Mage Gwinn was doing before we…Aaah yes Dar, look here,” Terrill exclaimed as the vinegar acted like a catalyst on the blank pages.
Four heads bent closer and watched, intrigued as the words slowly came rippling to the surface, revealing the book as Mage Gwinn’s personal diary which covered the past one hundred years. Terrill frowned as he read the date entry on the first page; looking at Gwinn he had thought the Mage was between seventy and eighty years old yet according to his diary he was at least twice that.
Darell and Hoppy wrinkled their noses at the odours which came to them,
“Pooh Ter…That book smells so bad, where has it been?” All were now waving their hands in front of their faces to dispel the lingering noxious odours and fumes.
“For everything in magick to work there has to be an opposite and equal Dar. Mage Gwinn used something…Probably his own urine to make his ink…I use the vinegar to neutralise it…This isn’t proper magick anyway but a schoolboy trick…” Terrill was shaking the book to dry it and remove the last of the scent as he spoke.
Lyta cast a quick glance around to make sure Lyria was still with Orlan; she wanted to question Terrill without her mother being there.
“Master Terrill sir,” she began politely fixing a small smile on her face,
“No need to call me Master, or sir, child,” Terrill looked down at the dark glossy head and smiled kindly; he had an inkling of what was bothering her but had not dared to speak to her before.
“Terrill then…Terrill how…How can you say that I am a dragon..?” Her earnest lavender eyes latched on his face eagerly waiting for his answer. Darell put his thumb in his mouth and leaned on Hoppy watching as Terrill searched for the words to explain.
“I said that our mother was a dragon too Lyta. I don’t know what Darell remembers but my earliest memories of our mother were watching her fly over the trees in the forest where we lived. She would only do it very early in a morning or late at night, just in case strangers were lurking and saw her. She was so beautiful to watch; when she came back to us it was as if she was trying to tuck her true self inside her outside skin and she would…Shimmer between what she had been and what she wanted to become. When I look at you Lyta it is as if your human body is shimmering and trying to hide your true form which is a beautiful dragon.”
Lyta chewed on her lip thinking hard; Terrill began to flick through the book waiting as she organised her thoughts,
“Why has no-one here ever seen the dragon you say I am?” Her voice was truculent and Terrill could see she wasn’t convinced by his words.
“I can’t answer that yet…Have you ever seen a dragon?” The thought came to him and he looked at her,
“Well no, I’ve never heard of them before so I don’t know what…”
“Never heard of dragons? Well bless my soul, I thought everyone had heard of dragons…Hmm…Would you like to see one…Hey..?”
Three heads nodded at him and he tucked the book back in his pocket; he had waited all this time before reading it, a few more minutes wouldn’t matter.
In the other chamber Orlan and Lyria stood and gazed in amazement at the carvings on the walls; strange impossible creatures were there, horses with wings were shadowed by horses with huge horns growing from the centre of their heads.
Animals with the heads of eagles and the bodies of lions seemed to dominate and guard the scene; Orlan clapped his hands together in delight, these were the Gryphon from ancient times, they were what had stood once upon a time on the tops of the stone pillars outside the gates of Gryph; the town was named after them.
Other images showed giant men with the bodies of horses or the heads of bulls; women without legs but with single tail finned bodies or, women with huge feathered wings rising half way up the walls.
Above them on one side alone was a thick scaly creature, it too had wings and claws and was breathing fire on the scene; Lyria recognised aspects of it as belonging to Azhmel and clutched Orlan’s arm, hurriedly explaining what the Warlord would transform into.
On the other wall were similar creatures with wings and long serpentine tails; the bone structure was far more delicate but all had fierce expressions as they faced the creature.
From the cave doorway Geron was nodding as he saw all the creatures and Orlan called him forward,
“You know what these creatures are…How can this be? Please, tell us more,” he waited while Geron moved closer and lifted his arm pointing as he spoke,
“We were taught in school about these creatures. See this one is known as Pegasos, the winged horse; there are still a few wild ones and a decree was issued that no-one could go near them, the Warlord was hoping they would begin to breed again and then he could have mounted flying soldiers.”
“This is a unicorn, they once roamed our world in great herds but slowly they died away; in the Warlord’s throne room on Qol is a case and it contains the horns from the last known pair, hunted to death by his father.” The disdain in Geron’s voice showed how he felt about the previous Warlord.
“These are the Centaur and Minotaur, not much was known of them; they would only give their loyalty to only one person, the Warlord and his family offended their leaders and there were bloody battles going on for generations. We were on the brink of our final campaign to bring them to their knees when we found ourselves here, on your world.”
He gave Lyria and Orlan an apologetic look before continuing with his explanations,
“Mermaids live in our seas, they are the most beautiful creatures ever to exist and their singing voices are hypnotic tempting many an unwary sailor to jump overboard and breed with them, they then abandon the man in the sea and he would drown because he could not swim back to land.”
Varon had been listening from the edge of the chamber and snorted his disbelief at that; Geron gave him a knowing look,
“You may laugh but if you ever come across one of our warships be sure to shout up as a lot of the captains and sailors are deaf; our healers have made a fortune damaging their ears so they were not tempted by these fish people.”
Moving further around he stood underneath the figure of a woman cloaked in thick white feathers with huge delicate wings wrapping around her,
“Angelicus or angels, they are no longer on Qol, they abandoned us to our fates many years ago. It is said there was a huge argument between the Warlords ancestors and these people. They are said to have eaten the souls of anything and anybody until a great battle occurred and they were cast out.”
“Gryphon, guardians of truth and justice, these animals were supposed to go with the Angelicus; I do not know what the truth is regarding either of these as we only know what was allowed in school,” he moved and stood under the large flying creature which was breathing fire.

“I was taught that there were dragons and fire drakes, each are mortal enemies of the other. We believed that the dragon was the ancient symbol of Qol; on our flags are pictures of dragons holding crowns; the Warlord is not a dragon…As Mage Terrill said he is a fire drake…I do not know what to believe any more…”
He fell silent and Lyria moved to him, her eyes shone with compassion and she placed her hand in the centre of his chest before speaking,
“Geron you are not to blame for what Azhmel has done in the past; you have now made the decision to help us and we thank the Goddess for your help,” she stood on tiptoe and placed her lips on his mouth gently kissing him before clasping his hand tightly and drawing him to the centre of the chamber.
Varon raised a knowing eyebrow and looked at Anjii and Harry who were crowding into the room, Lyria was not known for showering kisses on just anyone.
In the centre of the room was a plinth holding an enormous crystal orb, far larger than the one Terrill kept tucked away deep in his pocket. The centre of the orb was blackened and looked dead.
Orlan felt his heart drop; he was relying on the magick from this orb to help with the spells needed to perform. Lyria brushed her free hand over the surface removing a layer of dust and a faint hum sounded.
“Touch it again Lyria,” Orlan ordered autocratically. With a wry smile she released Geron’s hand and placed both palms firmly on its surface. The same faint hum sounded but nothing more.
Rubbing his nose thoughtfully, Orlan moved his staff to his left hand and placed his right hand firmly on the surface. There was no increase in the hum and he felt a surge of disappointment.
Geron reached over Lyria’s shoulder and placed his large hand at the side of hers and once more the faint hum sounded. Orlan’s eyebrows nearly disappeared in his hair line in surprise; he had not expected any of the strangers to affect the orb.
Harry and Anjii came next and as each touched the orb the hum came, slightly stronger now as Geron and Lyria kept their hands in place. Moving around them the giant Varon placed his hand on the surface and this time a faint silvery flicker was seen deep in the centre.
Orlan looked around and beckoned Thadd to try, nothing, no sound at all and the old priest bit back an exclamation as he had been hoping Thadd would become one of the eight.
The young Mage student Rikh came next and to his relief his touch did not affect the orb. Gesturing for Akhri and Farl to come and try Geron gave both men a smile of encouragement. The expressions of fright on both mens faces soon faded to relief when nothing happened.
Thadd was sent to fetch as many of the others as possible in and the healers Finn and Halle quickly came and touched the orb, the hum began to pulsate and the silvery flashes were joined with golden ones.
Behind them Banya held onto Thadd’s arm and was helped into the chamber,
“Orlan no,” both Lyria and Finn exclaimed aloud as they could see the poor youth was still ill; the old priest disregarded them and Banya slapped his hand down. Nothing, the orb once more stayed unresponsive.
Banya was bitterly disappointed, he knew something special was going to happen in the cave and had wanted to be part of it. He allowed Thadd to settle him down and sat listening to Terrill playing with the children.
The fey brother of Lyria was complaining when Thadd insisted that both he and his mate were to join the others and touch the orb; they too returned to their places, happy that the orb had rejected them.
Thadd and Orlan now had the same pinched expressions, most of the people had been tested and they still needed one more. The other priests who had accompanied them from the Gryph Convocation all filed past and the orb ignored them; finally all that were left was Terrill and the children, plus a father and daughter who had managed to find their way there after the massacre had begun.
Orlan believed they should have asked Terrill in straight away, the fey male was overflowing with magick and he was confident that he would become the eighth.
Allowing Thadd to bring the father and daughter in was a waste of time but Lyria gave him such a look, she had heard the laughter from her daughter and the others and wanted them to have a few more minutes of fun before their lives were changed once more.
The man Beal touched the orb and smiled relieved that he was not chosen, he didn’t know what Orlan wanted the eight for, he had missed the Convocate announcement that they were to search for the Old ones.
Turning he watched as Klee his daughter reached past Varon’s shoulder to press her hand on the crystal surface; the tall man looked down at the bright shining red hair of the girl standing close to him, she laughed as she reached forwards and Beal knew that she was the final one, the eighth.
The orb vibrated loudly; sparks filled the previously dead centre; there were excited gasps from everyone who had been chosen. As that happened in the inside cave, Terrill had cast his spell in the outside chamber to bring forth the image of a large violet-blue dragon for the three excited children.
They had not heard the silent footsteps of General Creed and Benar approaching the cave with their soldiers, swords drawn ready to attack. They saw the faint lights of the group ahead and charged screaming out their battle cries.
With the flash of light near Terrill, the six foot shape of a perfectly formed dragon appeared, and turned breathing fire and smoke towards the soldiers pouring into the cave.
Lyta screamed and sent out a mental call for her mother as the first soldiers appeared; Lyria paled and grabbed Geron who drew his sword and pushed his way past the others in the inner cave.
Hoppy cried out and dropped to the floor calling for his mother and father; Anjii and Harry had no weapons but they ran from the cave anyway desperate to reach their only child.
Varon reached out lifting Klee out of the way charging into the cave with his staff at the ready; Akhri and Farl drew their swords, ready to defend these people if needed.
Outside Mikel pushed his wife and their children behind him, the soldiers pouring into the cave were ignoring him, believing he was a child. He reached into Lyria’s open basket and found her pack of herbs; he too knew nearly as much magick as his older sister and could help defend everyone here.
Banya pushed to his feet; he could hear the disturbance but was unable to see what was happening; biting his lip he reached and began to pull the bandages from his eyes.
Darell launched from the wagon into Terrill’s open arms, his high pitched shrieks echoing throughout the caverns.
Orlan swore softly, words he didn’t realise he knew; he had failed to put magickal guards at the openings and now all could be lost if he failed to act.
Terrill gripped his brother tightly, they were never going to be separated again; he still had control over his dragon apparition and if he could touch his orb he could turn it into something more substantial, enough he hoped to frighten the attacking force.
Orlan raised his staff high and began to speak loudly; he called on the Goddess in a voice made all the more powerful by his closeness to the sacred chamber.
Terrill gripped the orb and spoke softly aiming it at his dragon illusion, the smoke that trickled from its nostrils became thicker; the flames that burst from its mouth grew white hot and overflowed onto the advancing soldiers.
Creed looked up and felt his bowels turn to ice as the monstrous head of a dragon leant over him and covered him with flames; howling in pain from the touch of the flames on his face, he felt his eyebrows and eyelashes dissolve with the heat.
He dropped his sword and staggered back into the arms of Jarl; the tall soldier staggered but after seeing the chaos beyond his General gratefully grabbed him and pulled him backwards out of the way of any further attacks.
Benar managed to raise his arm and take the brunt of the flames there, the stench of his singed hairs made him curl his lips in distaste. He felt rather than saw half the men at the side of him fall back away from the dragon.
Mikel moved forward and through a coarse powder into the air; within seconds the soldiers it touched screamed in terror and threw their swords down fleeing from the images they saw.
Benar shook his head fighting his fear; he knew that his quarry was in the cavern and nothing was going to frighten him away. He bent low and crept forward studying the scene in front of him. His heart was pounding frantically but he was determined to succeed, he wanted to go home and see his family.
He thought he recognised the creature from books he had seen whilst at school and knew they were hard to kill; only a precisely aimed sword could sever the nerves in the neck and paralyse the creatures long enough for someone to cut their heart out.
Jumping into the fray he struck out with his sword as hard as he could to the back of the dragons’ neck. His sword passed through it just as the head turned and breathed fire into his face; he fell on the floor and the flames went over his head and back, igniting the clothes he wore.
With a frantic cry he began to roll in the earth as Snaith reached for his legs and pulled him back out of the cave and away from the horrors inside. The rest of the soldiers tried to follow as Orlan finished his chant and aimed his staff at the entrance.
Banya finally managed to uncover his eyes and squint into the Stygian darkness in front of him; his breath caught in his throat as he vaguely discerned the outlines of the dragon and the soldiers attempting to creep past unnoticed.
The roof around the entrance began to dissolve, turning to sand and trickled down sealing the opening; General Creed’s soldiers began to panic as they thought they would be trapped inside with the fire breathing creature.
Exchanging frantic looks they decided to charge through past the dragon and hopefully out of the entrance which was rapidly becoming blocked.
Banya moved forward to try and stop their advancing into the cave; his body partially crossed the body of the dragon and caused them to realise it was not real. He hadn’t realised the soldiers would see him as he stood there; he also could not see the certain death coming to him from their drawn swords.
Finn called his name and he half turned, distracted; the first blow from the sword missed him entirely and through the soldier of balance. Before another stroke could be made Geron was there and the nearest soldier didn’t stand a chance, his sword plunged deep into the chest, twisted and was withdrawn.
The second soldier was moving onto Banya and without hesitation Geron hurled his sword over the youths’ head where it spun over and over before embedding in the soldiers head.
With a queer sigh he collapsed onto the floor, his eyes rolled into his head dead instantly. Terrill relaxed his spell on the dragon and it winked from existence leaving the sound of trickling sand and quiet sobbing filling the air.
“Is everybody alright?” Geron looked around for Lyria and Lyta and relaxed slightly when he saw them safe behind Orlan.
Miraculously no-one had been injured; frightened out of their wits but no physical injuries were found. Varon stood at the side of Terrill; he had been prepared to defend the small Mage even though he did not know him well, Lyria had vouched for him and... He was fey.
Darell was weeping softly into Terrill’s robes; Hoppy clung to both parents his eyes wide open and his teeth chattering in fear, a single tear hung on the edge of his lashes but he refused to cry.
Nera moved towards her husband after placing her babies onto the small bed which had been fashioned for them; tears flowed from her eyes as she reached clenched fists and hit him fiercely,
“How could you put yourself in danger like that? Do you not realise that you are all we have...If something had happened to you...” her voice broke as he pulled her close, smoothing her hair away from her face he tenderly kissed her cheeks, a silent apology was exchanged between them as he pulled her into his embrace.
Around the cave hushed tones were exchanged; Thadd stood side by side with Rikh and both had armed themselves with pots of powders and short heavy branches in case they were needed.
The other priests who had come with them were crowded down near the fire, away from the entrance and all the trouble. Orlan looked at them with dismay, he would require some of their assistance to complete the ceremony and the spell and he doubted they would have the strength to continue.
Finn and Halle were with Banya and both exclaimed in distress at his eyes, calling out for Lyria to come quickly. Leaving Lyta with Anjii and Harry she hurried forwards calling Varon to bring her basket.
Geron watched fascinated as she led the youth into the darkest corner she could find. She cleaned away the yarrow which had been smeared on the bandages pots of boiling water were brought to her and she bathed and rinsed tirelessly washing away yellow pus and crusted dead gnats which had come to the surface of his eyes.
On occasions one of the others would come and volunteer to help and she refused, her voice keeping the youth distracted from the renewed pain he felt.
Mikel came and leant over her shoulder querying how he was injured and the tale was told of his nightmare journey through the swamp and Lyria’s treatment afterwards.
Varon interjected and told of her theft of his flask of kvass and everyone laughed at the indignant expression on his face. Farl went and searched on his wagon, triumphantly finding a bottle of the strong Rhum most of the soldiers and sailors drank and gave it to the big man.
He grinned and pulled the cork out with strong white healthy teeth before taking a healthy drink. His breath caught at the smoothness as it slid down his throat and he smiled appreciatively before offering the bottle to the rest.
Lyria frowned at them but knew that they were distracting Banya and for that reason she bit her tongue and didn’t stop the banter. Finally the debris stopped coming from his eyes and she gently dried his face.
Her eyes were sad and she held her hand over her mouth to prevent crying out in frustration for him; tears welled in her eyes but no sign showed in her voice as she spoke to the youth,
“Can you open your eyes Banya for me Banya?” Everyone had silently moved closer and held their breath as his long lashes fluttered on the pale skin of his cheeks.
Most bit their lips to prevent their outcries from being heard; Halle wrapped her arms tightly around Finn’s waist holding him up as tears streamed down both their faces.
Banya’s sightless eyes looked out at them, bloody and scarred they could tell he would never see again. The skin around his eyes and nose was also scarred where the gnats had burrowed underneath the surface.
He lifted his hand and patted Lyria gently,
“Do not weep for me please, I knew the chances of this happening were high, you saved my hearing and my life and for that I will be eternally grateful,” she rested her hand on his and leant forward kissing his brow, her tears fell and he wiped them from his cheek.
Terrill had been watching and he moved forward and spoke softly,
“I know that you have tried everything Lyria but may I try something, I promise it will not make him worse,” he looked to Finn first before Lyria and the tall man opened his hands wide,
“Please you can try...” His words were disjointed but his meaning was clear and Lyria moved aside, into the arms Geron held open for her. With a tired sigh she rested her head on his chest and his large hand came up and soothed the pain from her tired shoulders.
Terrill had pulled his small box from his voluminous pockets and was searching through the contents; he smiled triumphantly and gave the box for Darell to hold.
Turning Banya around he lay the boys head in his lap and stroked the hair from his face, all the time speaking softly so only the youth could hear. Banya nodded once and Terrill looked up at the people watching in concern.
“Could we have some privacy, something hung between us so you cannot see what I am about to do?” Both Lyria and Finn made to object they wanted to see what he was about to do, Banya spoke first,
“I know what he is going to do and it is alright, please could you do what Mage Terrill asks?”
A blanket was found and using one of the dead soldiers’ swords fastened to the wall, stretched in front of both men and finally anchored to the side of the wagon.
Silence fell and they listened and watched waiting for what they believed would be a miracle; the light from Terrill’s orb grew brighter and brighter and they backed away from the blanket shielding their eyes.
Banya cried out and both Finn and Lyria made to move forward but were prevented from doing so by Orlan putting has staff across them. He didn’t know Terrill well but as they had spoke through the night he knew that he would never harm someone who was little more than a child.
Eventually the light faded and all sounds ceased; Finn would wait no longer and strode forward pulling the blanket down and dropping to one knee in front of them. Terrill was leaning back with his eyes closed in weariness; Banya leant forward with his elbows on his legs and his eyes resting in the heels of his hands.
“Ban... Banya...Are you alright?” Finn stretched out a trembling hand and gently rested it on the youth’s shoulder. Banya lifted his head and looked at him smiling strangely,
“I am better than fine Uncle Finn,” he stood and helped Finn up and moved into the light where everyone could see the result of Terrill’s handiwork.
“Aaargh” General Creed called out in pain as Jarl lavishly slathered butter along his burnt face. He reached out and slapped the man’s’ hand away; the burns were less painful than his tender ministrations.
Benar walked stiff legged to the makeshift bar in the tavern and searched for a barrel of the drink they both favoured. His back and legs stung dreadfully but he was not prepared to allow Jarl to tend his injuries.
They had struggled back to town only a few minutes ago; less than two hours since they had ridden out so confident in their abilities to capture one man. A groan from upstairs came from one of the other injured men and Benar shouted for Snaith to fetch drinks for them, it may help.
The wagons still had not arrived and he was cursing the incompetence of the drivers who usually were makeshift healers on military campaigns so kept all their medical supplies to hand.
He had despatched riders to hurry them along and would wait before putting anything on his wounds. Pouring three brimming tankards he carried his and the Generals over to the table. Jarl rolled his eyes and moved away to take a long draught of the drink left for him.
“Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks,” Snaith came downstairs and kicked a stool out of the way,
“I’m sorry Sergeant, I didn’t see any signs of that...That creature,” he shook his head angry at what he saw as his negligence.
“It wasn’t your fault...It wasn’t a real bloody dragon anyway, it was magick,” Benar dropped the bombshell and felt three heads swing towards him.
“Magick..! How..? Who..?” Jarl spluttered through his drink and Snaith whacked him on the back as they waited for Benar to continue,
“My sword went right through the bloody thing; it was an illusion,” he drained his tankard and went back for the barrel,
“For an illusion it managed to injure more than a dozen men,” Creed spoke scathingly as he held his tankard up for a refill.
“I can only tell you what I saw sir,” Benar knew how the General felt, and if he hadn’t seen it for himself he would have been incredulous too.
“I can tell you what else I saw,” Jarl blurted hoping to diffuse the tension which was building between both men,
“Geron...The bloody High Warlords bloody own champion!”
“Goddamnit...How the hell did..?” Creed stood up violently through the table away, spilling papers, plates and his tankard on the floor.
“A bastard traitor and we didn’t know...All these years he has stood and looked down his sanctimonious nose at us and he turns traitor. By God I wish I had seen him...” his voice trailed away as he remembered the ignominious way they had been routed.
“Was the Mage...Terrill there too?” Benar queried wondering how Geron had reached the cavern before them.
“No Sarn’t, there was an old guy with long hair and a beard waving a stick about, no sign of anyone else who could do magick,” Snaith had seen the small fey male with a glass orb but didn’t think he was relevant so failed to mention him.
“We need information,” Creed stood back as his table was righted,
“Get to that boy, Jonah, don’t let him out of your sight, he may find a way of communicating with the Warlord, Gods...What a right royal fuck up this mission has been.” He moved over to the window and looked at noticing the pile of bodies which hadn’t been dealt with.
“Don’t get the men to bury those near here,” turning to Benar he glared at him, the pain from his burns making him testy.
“Take them to the caves and seal the bodies inside with the traitor and the others there.”
“Are we not going back to get the man Orlan? Now we know the dragon was an illusion we can prepare...” Benar wanted to return; determined to capture Orlan and find out the secrets of this world; determined to get to the bottom of why they had arrived here; determined to return home.
“Go back? Go bloody well back? I think not...We had our arses kicked today and I’m not prepared to risk meeting them outdoors where they could conjure up something else. No...Let the youth go through the books you found; he may manage to glean something useful from them. I want you to organise riders to go to the Warlord and find out what has happened... I can’t understand why the Mage has lost contact... Damnit Benar I’m tired of searching in the dark for clues, I want bloody answers!”
Creed flopped back down and picked his tankard up, dismissing Benar with an autocratic wave of his hand. The Sergeant stood for a moment clenching and unclenching his hands before stalking outside, Jarl and Snaith hot on his heels.
Once outside his eyes went flat and hard with the temper he was holding back; looking around he noticed the miserable new herd belonging to Yellen kneeling abjectly on the floor.
All had been branded and shorn, from the oldest to the youngest. The only ones not to have been marked were the smallest of babies and they had learnt through experience that they would not survive branding.
The men could start and work for their evening meals and he called out to attract Yellen’s attention.
The slavemaster jogged lightly towards him and grimaced in sympathy at the reddened burns showing on Benar’s arms. Before he could speak Benar told him to get the herd moving the dead, Snaith was to direct them to the cavern; each body was to be searched, stripped then sealed inside.
Yellen blinked in surprise but nodded and cracked his boka lightly; he could knock a fly from a horse’s ear at twenty paces without injuring the horse with his whip and had never unintentionally harmed one of his herds with it.
A tongue nicked the top of the nearest male native’s ear and he yelped and clapped his hand over the bleeding cut. Yellen snorted and stood with his hands on his hips eyeing his reluctant workforce.
As Benar and Jarl moved away they could hear him stirring the natives; encouraging them to follow Snaith to the stacked bodies. There were alarmed cries from them as they were told to bring the bodies of their dead with them.
The boka flew through the air, snapping sharply and three were bloodies by the tiny hooks embedded in the leather strips. They reluctantly took hold of the corpses and began to stagger after Snaith.
As the bodies were disturbed once more, they released noxious gases which even the invading soldiers gagged upon; soon everyone had tied kerchiefs or strips of fabric torn from robes or dresses, over their mouths.
The native people were frightened, restless; hurrying anxiously as they realised the corpses were nearly a day old and could rise again as zomb within minutes.
Yellen watched open mouthed as the previously listless herd began to race frantically to the caverns carrying the bodies; he turned to say something to one of his men and his eyes caught a movement at the bottom of the pile; toes wriggled on the foot of a supposedly dead body.
“Why the sneaky bastards,” he murmured to his companion and pointed out the offending limb,
“I thought these bodies were all checked by our men, look at that; thinking they can hide there and escape later,” both men moved forward the slavemaster cracking his boka and the soldier drawing his sword as they drew near.
A female native suddenly screamed; she and another woman dropped the male body they were carrying; Yellen looked over at her and she ran to him grabbing his arm, crying hysterically, pointing to the body,
“You must kill him, chop his head off quickly before he finishes rising,” she was shaking the slavemasters arm and he shook her away,
“What are you talking about woman, he’s already dead...” the arm twitched visibly on the body she had been carrying and she wrapped her arms around her middle great wracking sobs coming from her body.
Other natives called out then and slowly Yellen realised the dead were coming back to life.
“Please quickly, you must cut off their heads before they begin to feed,” a man ran up to Yellen, his face chalk white; terror etched for all to see.
The soldier with Yellen had reached the pile of corpses and stuck his sword into the twitching foot which had originally attracted their attention. A living person would have cried out or screamed, blood would have flowed from the deep cut but nothing happened.
“What the..?” Yellen choked in disbelief as the impossibly mutilated body of a dead native man sat up and its sightless eyes appeared to stare right through him.
All around them natives who had been carrying the dead away were dropping the bodies, screaming in fear as they slowly came back to life.
Inside the tavern Creed stirred at his table when he heard the screaming; gripping his sword loosely he made his way to the door where he paused for a moment, thoroughly perplexed at the scene in front of him.
Expecting to see an attack by an as yet unseen enemy he watched as both the soldiers of Qol and the natives ran around in a panic. Ahead he saw Yellen; usually a steady, reliable man in a fight, backing away from an advancing figure, already injured he thought by the state of its clothes.
“General...General Creed sir...Watch your back sir...They...They are undead!”
Yellen called out to the General as he saw a figure advancing from the side of the tavern where it had been dropped. Creed spun to the side and with a smooth twist his sword struck cleaving cleanly through the neck causing it to drop like a stone.
No blood...The thought came to him as he heard a crunch of feet on stones behind him and turned once more to see the figure of a female coming at him, arms outstretched.
He noticed her eyes were totally white and colourless; her face blank, until she came within scenting distance; a mew came from her mouth and an expression of hunger appeared.
Lifting his sword he first jabbed at her to no effect; she was to close now for him to swing his sword and with a lithe move which belied his age he rolled underneath the outstretched arms and rose behind her where within seconds he had once more cut straight through the neck.
Benar and Jarl had almost reached the chamber when they heard the raised voices behind them and they turned and ran back swords held tightly. They came across a native woman hiding and Jarl jabbed his sword in her rear causing her to cry out in fear and pain.
“Oh please sirs, please, you must stop them...Take their heads I beg of you...Please sirs...” she broke into a frenzy of weeping that even Jarl’s repeated jabs could not stop.
Leaving her there they moved forward carefully, their keen eyes searching for the cause of the commotion. As they turned the corner they saw Creed decapitate a female and then, further away Yellen did the same.
Another soldier came into view and he had been unable to pull his sword in time; he held both arms of a nightmare figure of a man and was frantically trying to hold the drooling mouth away from him.
Without hesitation Creed stepped forward and kicked the figure away; once the soldier was clear he swung his sword and once more the figure dropped to the ground.
By now there were hundreds of the undead moving and Benar and Jarl had dived into the fray; swords swinging in tandem dealing final deadly blows out to any that came near them.
Slowly, slowly the tide was turned and the heavily armed men began to make headway. Benar grimly thought to himself that this was harder work than when they first attacked the town the previous day.
In the distance they could here other soldiers calling out and Jarl after having made sure Benar and the General could cope ran off taking most of the soldiers with him.
The undead went through the town and out to the caves and every one had to be accounted for. He began to feel anxious as he hadn’t found Snaith and he was usually in the thick of any fighting.
The sun was starting to set and the thoughts of any undead wandering around outside in the dark caused all the soldiers to redouble their efforts to eliminate them all.
Reaching the cave Jarl noticed there were still a handful of bodies which had not risen; hastily organising firewood chopped and placed in the caves he managed to strike a spark with his tinder box soon making it impossible for any undead to come outside.
Jarl arranged the soldiers with him in teams to search for any injured soldiers; and to finish clearing away any undead which they had missed.
Hurrying back to the town he saw that the wagons had started to arrive and heaved a sigh of relief as he saw the extra men who had arrived.
“Wait up Jarl,” he heard his name and on looking around was relieved to see Snaith strolling towards him, sword dangling from his right hand.
“You alright?” the laconic query and raised brow showed signs of concern and Jarl laughed,
“I am now but for a while there I thought things might get a bit hairy,” as they turned the corner neither saw or heard the small boy behind them advancing with arms outstretched.
“Ow bugger it,” Snaith exclaimed and reached his hand down to the back of his leg rubbing where cramp had just struck, both man paused while he manipulated the muscle.
A slight whisper of air was all the warning Jarl received as the figure launched itself at him and buried his teeth in the tall mans thigh.
“Bloody hell...” he reached down and latched his hand at the back of the undead boys neck gripping tightly,
“Oh God look ...It’s just a boy,” he was sickened by the size of the child; in the heat of battle killing children never bothered him, but, to callously do it turned his stomach.
The feral creature was growling and struggling now and he gripped it even tighter as Benar and Yellen advanced towards them.
“Is that another one?” Yellen raised his voice and at Jarl’s affirmative reply swiftly came towards him with his sword ready to strike when Jarl released him.
Benar was looking at the bloody teeth marks on his thigh as Yellen swung the sword,
“Did it bite your leg Jarl?” Snaith noticed the urgency in his tone and gawped as on his friends answering yes, the Sergeant sadly struck and cleanly took Jarl’s head spraying blood all over the three of them.
Jumping back Snaith crouched with his sword drawn,
“Bloody hell Sarn’t... What did you want to do that for?” He kept the tip of his sword raised and waited for Benar to answer.
“He was bitten and according to the natives that meant he was infected and would turn into something even worse as he was not dead.” The absolute horror in the normally stoic Benar’s voice caught at Snaith and convinced him that he told the truth.
Lowering his sword he allowed Benar to examine him to make sure he had no bites anywhere.
“Right then Yellen, I am going to leave you in charge of the clean up here while I go with Snaith to make sure our Mage scholar is safe. I hope to God that the men I left with him kept him safe as I have a feeling in my gut that we are going to need him and his magick, and sooner than I dare to think.”
Inside the chamber Benar’s men had barricaded the door preventing any of the undead from reaching them; the attack had caught them unawares and two men were injured before they could seal the chamber.
Benar had been explicit with his instructions; protect the Mage at all costs so they had done exactly that, instead of joining in the battle they had retreated into the main chamber.
Jonah was still in his room; the man in charge had instructed him to seal the room from the inside and he had pushed a heavy cabinet over hopefully blocking the entrance and preventing any of the creatures from entering.
Both injured men had been dragged inside and placed on the benches to recover while their four remaining colleagues proceeded to defend the chamber. It hadn’t taken long for a workable barricade to be placed there; the room was filled with heavy wooden benches perfect for their needs.
The young student sat on the floor with his back on the cabinet and his feet wedged on a bookcase. Tightly held in his hand was the medallion Terrill had given him and with which he could communicate; tears were flowing down his cheeks and he shook with fear every few seconds.
Once the chamber had been sealed the soldiers had relaxed and pulled a pair of dice out, no-one would be entering so they could gamble without any fear of being caught.
“Please Master Terrill, please talk to me...Please Master I’m so frightened,” his litany was repeated over and over again. His eyes fell on the book he had been reading, Legend of the Fey, and he thought of how he wished it was true and not just a legend.
Engrossed with the dice the gaming soldiers had not heard the moans of their injured friends as they had transformed; the first indication they had received that something was wrong was when the man lined up to throw the dice had staggered and kicked the piles of money over.
He had clapped his hand to the side of his neck and blood was spurting between his fingers from the savage bite which had been inflicted on him.
Before the other men could move his companion had moved and bitten the nearest; chaos ensued for the next few seconds, the two men first infected were beheaded but it was too late; every man was infected.
They had fallen silent unsure of what to do next; one man fatalistically accepting the situation had slashed his wrists and told them when he was dead they were to sever his head.
Jonah had called out wanting to know what was happening and the soldiers had told him to block the door; whatever happened he was to keep them out.
It had fallen silent outside for a few minutes; Jonah had hastily done has he was told; fear giving him extra strength; he had just caused the cabinet to fall with a tremendous crash when he heard snuffling and snorting from around the door.
Throwing his body against the cabinet he had kept the creatures at bay; he didn’t know how much longer he could keep them out; as they fully transformed they gained great strength; with each attack he found his energy reserves failing.
If anyone ever needed a mystical being, as described in the legend, to rescue him, Jonah did now. The creatures outside the door threw their weight at the door and for a second it moved; wedging his legs on the bookcase opposite Jonah pushed back, straining till the veins in his neck stood out, straining until his kneecaps popped with the added pressure he had placed on them.
The weight on the door fell away and he held his breath as he relaxed slightly; he didn’t know why they kept leaving but he was grateful for the chance to rest.
Lifting his foot he managed to knock the book down and pull it towards him; he just remembered reading something and wanted to see if it would work. Flicking through the pages he came across the picture he had seen when he first started reading.
Benar reached the outside of the chamber and pushed to open the door. When it only moved a tiny amount before hitting an obstruction he knew his men had obeyed his orders for keeping the Mage safe.
Raising his fist he hammered on the door, calling for the men indoors to come and clear they way. He waited impatiently for a few minutes then hammered again.
Snaith exchanged a look and went to investigate the outside of the building, searching for other entry points. Benar threw his weight against the door again and managed to move the barricade an inch or two; insufficient for him to see past or even get an arm through.
The smaller soldier came back shaking his head, no windows showed anywhere on the outer walls. He nipped away and returned moments later with three more burly soldiers who applied their not inconsiderable weight with Benar to clearing the obstruction.
Jonah had seen the bowl in the picture; looking up he could see it fastened securely to the wall at the back of the table where he had been working. He read through the instructions given and knew that he still had water for filling the bottom as told in the spell.
Listening intently for sounds in the passage he decided that he had to risk leaving his place of safety to fetch both; standing he rested for a moment and waited for the blood to flow back into his cramped limbs.
Biting back a moan he managed to move silently across the floor, he slung the waterskin over his shoulder and reached for the bowl; there was a strange fastener holding it in place and it took him seconds to work out how to open it.
Behind him he heard the snorting begin again at the door and heard the creak of the hinges as the creatures once more attempted to reach him.
With a desperate pull he had the bowl in his hands as the door moved an inch...6 inches and he launched his body across the gap hoping that the surprise he gained would help him to shut it again.
Benar and his men repeatedly charged at the door pushing the barricade back a few inches each time. They managed to push it far enough for the smaller Snaith to get his head through and make sure the chamber was clear.
Seconds later he was inside and pulling the barricade away to allow the others to join him. Benar stood with his sword drawn; the sense of urgency he had felt earlier was almost overpowering him now, if they didn’t get to the Mage soon all would be lost.
Jonah wept silently as he was overcome with a sense of relief that the door had knocked the creatures back. He knew the next attack would be his last if the spell didn’t work; he had no strength left to repulse them.
Sliding his back down the cabinet he placed the bowl between his outstretched legs; he carefully dropped his medallion in the centre and organised the leather thongs which usually kept it fastened securely to his neck around the outside edge.
Lifting the waterskin he trickled water into the bowl while reading the words from the page in front of him. He blinked suddenly as his eyes appeared to sting for a moment, unaware that the strong magick he was calling on had turned them into crimson burning orbs.
With swords drawn they slowly descended the stairs of the great chamber; Benar saw with dismay the headless bodies of three men he had left guarding the youth Jonah. He raised his empty left hand and lifted the three fingers in the centre, silently warning the men with him that they were still in danger.
Jonah plunged his hands into the water and called out softly to Mage Terrill for help; in the caverns Terrill felt his medallion quiver at the same time as Orlan felt the dead stone from his old medallion burn with renewed life.
Both Mage and priest moved close to each other as they felt someone trying to form a magickal bridge; Terrill recognised the smell and the taste of the magick as coming from Jonah. A pang of guilt went through him as he realised he had not communicated with any of the remaining three students for over a day.
“Who is it Terrill?” Orlan reached and gripped his arm with a strength that belied his age,
“Is it the Warlord?” As he spoke the crowd around Banya fell away and gawped in horror at his words.
“No, no...Azhmel has not the power to do this yet...However I did not believe Jonah to have the power either. The taste of the magick is his though,” he delved in his pocket and pulled his orb out then grasped his medallion,
“Speak Jonah...I am here,” his voice altered timbre and reminded Rikh that for years Terrill had disguised his true self from everyone.
“Oh thank God I have found you.” The relief in Jonah’s voice was apparent for everyone to hear as it appeared to come from the orb in Terrill’s hand.
“Master please...I don’t know if you can help me but I am in terrible danger from some creatures which came back to life from death.”
“Zomb!” The horrified tones of Nera were the loudest in the cavern and her eyes filled with tears and she hugged her children tightly,
“How are you talking to me Jonah?” Terrill didn’t understand how his student had managed it and he felt puzzled at the sound of his students voice.
“I...I am in a library Master...There are hundreds of books...This one is called the Legend of the Fey and it describes a ceremony...” Orlan shook Terrill’s arm to attract his attention,
“If your student has done the ceremony as written we can rescue him,” Terrill nodded and told Jonah to describe everything he had said and done while Orlan listened carefully.
Outside in the passages of the Great Chamber Benar and his men came across the three soldiers who had been infected. Their eyes were not the blank eyes of the dead who had risen; they still retained some memories of their lives before.
All three held swords but they were clumsy and uncoordinated; the passages were too narrow for Benar and his small force to get in close and do their work so they had to back away and entice them to follow.
Jonah paused and listened, the snuffling had gone and he expected a renewed charge within minutes.
“Master Terrill, please if you can help me it must be now...They are going to attack again and I cannot hold them off again,” he closed his eyes and waited for an answer to come.
In the caves Orlan swiftly drew a large circle with the end of his staff; Varon was told to fetch their precious barrels of drinking water, to save Jonah it would have to be sacrificed.
Orlan drew a large cross in the centre of the circle and made sure each groove was deep enough for water to run through.
He stood one barrel to the eastern side of the cross and the other barrel to the west and rested his staff across both. Standing at the northern most top of the cross he closed his eyes and began to chant unhurriedly, carefully enunciating each word; the slightest mistake would cause the boy to drown.
Jonah could hear the sounds of swords clashing in the corridor; he didn’t know Benar was there as there had been no shouting by any of the soldiers.
Orlan opened his eyes and they wore the identical crimson glow that Jonah’s had,
“Terrill, speak to the boy; tell him to keep calm; he must hold his breath and above all not to panic for the next few minutes.”
The clashing swords had fallen silent and Jonah fatalistically closed his eyes as Terrill told him, taking a deep breath at the same time.
Orlan rose into the air and floated over to where his staff lay; resting on one knee he leaned over and plunged his hands into the grooves of the cross and let the water cover his hands.
Benar despatched the last soldier with a sharp blow to the back of his neck and paused to catch his breath before moving on silent feet down the passage once more.
Jonah felt something happen to the base of the bowl, it rippled and moved under his questing fingers and he suddenly found his wrists gripped by a strong force.
Squeezing his eyes even tighter he felt his body pulled forward and unbelievably head first into the bowl. Orlan resumed his chant and pulled firmly and stood with two wrists gripped in his hands. He placed the hands onto his staff and folded the fingers firmly around its knobbly surface.
Benar tried to open the door to the room where he had left Jonah and found it too was barricaded; he called the youth, banging loudly on the door but by now Jonah’s head had disappeared through the bowl and he could not hear his rescue come at last.
Orlan beckoned to Varon and Geron and told them to stand where the barrels were and raise his staff as he spoke, they were to grip it tightly and not to drop it or all would be lost.
Jonah felt the blood pounding in his head as he held his breath; he felt certain his face was wet, the pulling on his wrists resumed and his mind went blank; slowly his body disappeared into the bowl of water.
Behind him the cabinet was rocked free by Benar and his men and Snaith managed to wriggle into the room as Jonah’s feet disappeared from view leaving the water swirling lazily in the bowl.
“He isn’t here Sarn’t,” he spoke as he moved the cabinet away to allow Benar inside. The tall man stalked in angrily and swiftly looked around taking in the bowl of water which still swirled.
“How the bloody hell has he gone then?” Benar ground his teeth as he looked around before kicking the bowl over in temper.
Orlan had lifted Jonah out at the other side just in time, when the bowl overturned so did both barrels spilling the water over both men holding on to the staff.
Varon braced his arms and legs once more and with a final glance at Geron they both straightened their arms and Jonah swung free in the cavern.
Relaxing his chant Orlan drifted slowly back to the ground and snapped his fingers. Jonah opened his eyes and gasped, drawing breath into his starved lungs.
Varon and Geron had moved him away from the circle as he released his hands from the staff and fell onto the floor. A hand reached out to help him up and he looked into the strangest eyes he had ever seen.
The smiling face of Banya was in front of him and as he pulled the stunned youth to his feet he spoke,
“You can thank Master Terrill for my new eyes; I believe he calls them opals.”

Matha and Denon had a pile of maps ready to pass out but after a whispered discussion had tucked them in a trunk away from Colonel Klimms’ keen eyes.
They had watched as he had drunk himself insensible earlier; he had been sewn up by his driver and the army had halted while he had slept off the alcohol he had been given to numb the pain.
For three hours they had lingered; all the soldiers had been adequately fed by the wagoneers while they waited; now they lazed around playing games of dice and cards.
The Mage students had prepared a large number of maps but both did not like the idea of armed groups of soldiers roaming the countryside, terrorising the native people who lived there.
They now believed that the army was going about the campaign in the wrong manner and were trying to decide how they could influence the Colonel into changing his tactics.
“He isn’t going to listen to us Matha; we need something from Mage Terrill and the High Warlord to slow him down.”
Denon had allowed Matha to convince him the campaign was wrong; both students were still distressed over the scene with the native woman earlier. If they squinted behind them, the smoke from the burning cottage could still be seen.
They had only continued their journey for an hour before the wagons had once more been pulled up and word had been sent that the Colonel had collapsed due to blood loss from his wound.
“Denon...What if we tell Klimm we have heard from Mage Terrill?” Matha hissed at his friend, carefully looking around to make sure no soldier was near enough to hear them.
“And why would we want to do a crazy thing like that?” Denon squeaked after initially choking,
“Well...I thought that we could send him off on a wild goose chase. That would give us chance...”
“You idiot...The only thing that would get us is a knife in the rib...” Denon broke off as the wagoneer returned and hauled a large sack of potatoes from the rear of the wagon.
“You may as well make yourselves comfy lads; we are staying ‘ere for the night. Word is the Colonel ‘as lost too much blood to continue today. Move ‘im and he would probably croak.”
The bandy legged driver whistled through the gap in his teeth and grinned,
“I dunno about you but the loss of all the top nobs ain’t no great ‘ardship. P’raps if they all pop orf then they would arsk us ‘ow to do thangs proply like.”
Swinging the sack onto his shoulder he moved off to his fire and was seen minutes later peeling the potatoes at a great rate. With nearly a thousand men to feed he had pressed some of the newer recruits to galley duty and they were working just as hard.
“This is our chance Denon. We can go and say that Master Terrill and the Warlord have communicated with us and shown us the way to go.” Matha was eager to skirt as many of the large native towns as he could; a repeat of today was the last thing he wanted.
“I don’t know Matha it seems too...” Denon looked around for inspiration,
“What if they have secret codes...They may have arranged to say certain words to confirm that the message actually comes from the Warlord.” Leaning forward he gripped his friends’ arm,
“Leave it till tomorrow. See what condition the Colonel is in. If he is ill then we can easily stay here for another day and that way it gives Mage Terrill more time to contact us.”
Matha worried his lip again, he had chewed it raw earlier and it didn’t take much before it began to bleed again.
“Alright, but first thing tomorrow we have to have a plan. I refuse to let any more of these people die like...” His voice broke as he remembered the man burning in the fire.
There had been no sign of the rest of the family; he could only pray that Klimm had done a cleaner job of killing them than he had of the father who was seen burning alive.
Overhead the crows still flew listlessly; they frightened both students; the lead crow was with the Warlord and his party – if something had happened to Corvus would that explain the unusual behaviour of these birds.
Savoury smells wafted from the large cooking pots; the driver didn’t seem to be good for normal soldiering but as a cook he was excellent; no man allotted to his wagon would go hungry while he was in charge.
Matha ate just enough to stop the soldiers from tormenting him; he had not regained his appetite since the scenes earlier that day. He watched as Denon wolfed a huge bowl of goat stew, he obviously had a stronger stomach.
“Denon...We will try to contact Master Terrill again...I have been thinking of how we could amplify our call.”
“How we can..? There are no ways to do this.” Denon spoke flatly, refusing to listen at first.
“There are always ways...Do you not remember what Mage Gwinn used to teach us. You must never doubt your magick...If you believe it will work then, it will work. Keep it simple, he used to say.”
Both students shared long looks as they remembered the fate of Mage Gwinn; nodding decisively they decided to try every means at their disposal to contact Terrill.
“Rikh used to have lots of ‘happy little accidents’ let us hope that we do too,” Denon joked as he watched Matha prepare the items he needed; salt and water, plus various herbs and fresh flowers he had seen.
The sun was just beginning to set as he studied the layout of his magick spell; a circle of salt to contain it, a bowl of hot water with crushed rosemary and the torn petals from the forget me knot flowers which were growing in abundance.
He lit a large white candle with a magickal flick of his fingers; pleased that it burned steadily. Holding his bowl over the top of the flame, he swirled the liquid anti- clockwise whilst counting to ten and then reversed his direction.
As the water rippled he immersed his medallion making sure it was totally covered, chanting softly, insistently. The flame flickered then grew and bathed the outside of the bowl, singing the hair from the back of his hands and arms.
Matha was prepared for the flare and knew he would be uninjured if he did not panic and move away. He lifted the sharp knife he had taken from the wagoneers supplies and slashed the palm of his left hand allowing the blood to mingle with the contents of the bowl.
Denon paled as he saw what Matha had done; a blood spell was the most dangerous of all; if the Mage did not respond his friend could die as his spirit would became lost during the search.
“What are you doing..? This is not what I agreed to!”
“Asca...Tula Sinome...Tua amin..!”
Matha called softly in the old, forbidden language,
“Hurry...Come here Master Terrill...Help Me!”
Denon held his own medallion tightly in his hands; when Mathas’ summoning spell worked he needed to hear what was said.
******
Banya looked beyond Jonah and grinned at Orlan who was offering something towards him.
“I believe this belongs to you young man,” holding his hand out Jonah felt his jaw drop as Orlan allowed his medallion to coil in his palm.
“It looped around the staff as we brought you through,” Jonah thought he had gone mad for a moment; all he could see were these strange natives and those eyes, those eyes made him shudder right into his shoes.
“Where is Master Terrill?” He was looking around and could see no sign of the man who had taught him for years.
“I am here Jonah,” the voice was the same but the figure who moved in front bore no resemblance to the man he knew.
“You are not Master Terrill...” his voice tailed off as Rikh came into view, a happy smile on his round face.
“Jonah, I have missed you so much. You will not believe the things that have happened.”
He hugged his school friend who was twisting his head, stunned to see the Warlord’s personal servant moving away with an exotic looking woman; his arm casually draped around her shoulders.
“Rikh... Thank God...Where are Master Terrill and Glinn?” Jonah clutched his fellow student’s robes praying that he hadn’t lost his mind with the shock of the past few days.
The small strange looking man fixed sad violet eyes on Jonah and shook his head causing long flowing black locks to spread over his shoulder and expose the tips of his elegant ears.
“Jonah, my boy, you are taking your scepticism to a new level,” the voice sounded like the Mage master but Jonah was unconvinced,
“A trick...You have deceived Rikh by some form of trick but you will not deceive me...” He clutched his medallion as he spoke and a sly expression came into his eyes,
“Only Master Terrill can talk through these, talk to me and I will know it to be the truth.”
“I could do that but this is infinitely more believable to you,” Terrill instantly morphed into his previous form and caused concerted gasps in the cavern.
“It was you!” Orlan choked the words out,
“It was you who began all this,” the accusation was hot and angry and Terrill looked puzzled.
“Began..? I don’t understand...I began nothing,” he allowed his image to reverse as Orlan moved in front of him,
“I saw your image in a spell. You were holding the arrow up for a youngish man,” he was spluttering with rage and Lyria slipped free of Geron to rush to his side; concerned for his health as always.
“I helped with the dying of the feathers at the end but that is all I did...” Terrill broke off and looked at Orlan oddly,
“There was an incident with the Warlord when he came to check them out but...That happened over a year ago,”
“Yet to us it only happened two days ago.” Lyria’s voice was unusually grim as she spoke remembering how Orlan had suffered afterwards.
Terrill was distressed at the looks given him by his new friends and allowed his spell to dissipate so he became the small fey man once more.
Jonah took a step away still mistrusting his eyes but believed he could clear the problem up.
“I saw something in the library...In the book I was reading,” he was diffident and unwilling to put himself into the forefront of attention.
Orlan turned his head slightly and thought back to what he had been reading; it had been many years since he had first opened its pages and there were things inside which had not made sense at the time.
“Come and sit boy, speak and we will listen.” He wrapped an arm around Jonah’s shoulder and brought him to the fire,
“Lyria dear girl, is there by any chance tea?”
Snorting at his cheeky smile Lyria moved to the kettle, the fire was fluttering strangely and she studied it for a moment, not wanting to alarm the others.
Using the last of the water she made drinks for everyone in the cavern and then instructed Varon to allow the fire to die away. He gave her a querying look but obeyed her as he always did.
Mikel and Nera had settled the babies with Darell, Hoppy and a reluctant Lyta. All needed to sleep and recuperate as the following day would be long and trying for them.
Geron watched as Lyria moved to where the entrance used to be and ran her hand over the wall as if feeling for something.
“Is something wrong?” He had crept on silent feet to her and she jumped startled,
“Shhh, don’t disturb the others,” beckoning him into the shadows she tapped at the dirt which Orlan had caused to fall,
“Alright... Tell me,” he rested his hand on her shoulder and stooped to listen carefully,
“The fire is starting to fail because we have no fresh air coming into the cave. Without fresh air we will all suffocate.” His head jerked back as he took in the importance of what she was saying.
“I thought it was starting to get stuffy but assumed it was because there are a lot of us crammed in here now...Damnit,” Geron grimly looked at her wondering if this hole in the ground was going to be the last thing he would ever see.
“Do not worry so Geron, Orlan and Terrill will be able to solve this. Come we must listen to this boy. He has information which may be useful to us in the future.” Her eyes glowed strangely as she looked up at Geron and he reached and cupped his hand around her neck,
“Do you know what we were just chosen for Lyria? I...I am for the first time in my life uncertain of what to do next and I admit it scares me.” He lowered his head and rested his forehead on hers grateful for just these small moments alone with her.
Lyria reached up and touched his cheeks, her eyes still held the strange glow but they were serene and full of confidence,
“Together we are strong Geron, I don’t know where we will be going but if the orb of the Old Ones chose us then we will be the best people for the task ahead. Come; do not start to doubt yourself now. Your strength is going to be crucial to our survival.”
Pressing a soft kiss on his mouth she laughed as his hands reached to hold her, lithely twisting from his grasp. She promised so much with her eyes tha he allowed her to take them both to where Jonah was beginning to feel more comfortable with the changed Terrill.
Before any words could be spoken Terrill grunted and then gasped with pain pressing his hand to his chest; Lyria rushed to him from behind as did Finn and Halle from the other side.
“No-o-o Matha my boy,” his face drained of all colour and his legs gave way, without the support of Finn he would have crumpled onto the ground.
“Now what..? Who is Matha?” Thadd looked to Rikh for an explanation; the two students had started rudimentary friendships which both were striving to make succeed.
“He is another student; he is with Denon, they were both sent on the furthest route across your world with the rest of our soldiers.”
Rikh and Jonah pressed close anxious to help but soon moved away when Lyria snapped at them.
“Terrill dear one, tell me what is wrong?” She held his hand tightly, wiping a damp cloth over his forehead.
“Matha has performed a blood spell to contact me...Aaah...” He lifted his medallion and they could all see it glowing unbelievably hot on the end of the leather thong.
“I must answer him or we both will be in great danger,” he took his orb from his pocket and concentrated for a moment but a pained grimace crossed his face,
“I do not have the strength, he has bound me too tightly and I...” his voice faltered and he bowed his head over his knees hiding the growing discomfort he felt.
“Use my strength Master, both Rikh and Jonah spoke, eager to prove their usefulness.
“I cannot...I need another like me to allow me...” He fell silent and Lyria spoke,
“You have me dear one, take what you need,” Orlan and the others growled and Geron had taken three steps towards her his face flat with disapproval.
“I cannot use you either Lyria. I need a male fey to help me.”
All eyes flew to Mikel who had his back to the group and was watching his wife nurse his son, oblivious to the conversation behind him.
Lyria moved to his side and rested her hand on his shoulder; he grinned up at her and patted her hand before looking at his wife once more.
“What? You want me to do what? Are you totally mad?” He jumped up and shook her hand off glaring first at her, then the crowd watching him.
Lyria didn’t speak aloud but concentrated first on him, then on Nera who lifted her head and stared hard at him; a tear trickled down her cheek and Mikel moved forward to wipe it away before tenderly kissing the head of his son first then his wife.
Moving to the bed where his tiny daughter lay, he knelt for a moment and then kissed her before standing and holding his hand out to Lyria and allowing her to pull him forward.
“What just happened here?” Geron spoke to Varon his face puzzled,
“They are fey...They can mind speak which can get pretty irritating to the rest of us mere mortals especially, when they are talking about us,” he threw the last in as Lyria passed him and she flicked his arm and smiled sweetly,
“Remember who looked after you when you were ill Varon; how bad you said my medicine tasted...I can make it taste a whole lot worse, just for you.”
Varon promptly shut up, a sheepish expression on his face.
Mikel knelt in front of Terrill and the Mage stared at him until a grimace crossed his face and he rubbed his chest where his heart was once more.
Mikel held both hands out, silently offering his help. Terrill brought the orb between his hands and both men closed their eyes concentrating fiercely.
Nera put her son back with his sister and joined Lyria, her eyes were worried but she didn’t speak. Lyta’s eyes flew open, awake now; she left her bed and padded barefooted to stand with her mother and new aunt.
The glow from Terrill’s orb grew brighter and brighter causing those near it to shield their faces from the glare. Lyria could see the strain on Mikels’ face and she was terrified Terrill would take too much from him.
Behind them Darell opened his eyes and knelt on his bed, thumb in his mouth he watched what was happening before jumping from the bed and fearlessly walking into the glow and placing his small hand on the orb.
A flash of violet light filled the cavern and blinded everyone for a few minutes. Wiping away the tears which streamed from his eyes Orlan looked at where the three fey had been and cried out in horror as their place was empty.
Consternation filled all their faces and they turned to comfort Lyria and Nera only to find the three women were handlocked in a triangle, their eyes closed; faces serene but filled with a delicate soft light.
The two babies began to cry and Halle and Anjii lifted and cuddled, trying to calm them. Worried glances were exchanged but none dared interfere or touch the three fey.
Moving to Orlan Geron reached out a shaking hand and spoke,
“Do you know what is happening?” He had seen all sorts of magick but this was beyond his comprehension.
“Geron isn’t it...I have never ever seen three fey in the same room together before today so I promise you I certainly don’t understand their magick.” He fell silent knowing how frustrated the other man felt,
“Will they be alright?” Geron voiced the fear everyone felt and was afraid to ask.
“Fey magick is very powerful. Lyria has only ever revealed a small amount to me. I cannot in all honesty say whether they will recover or...” as he spoke there was a loud crack overhead and they looked at the roof fearful that it was going to fall on them.
When a second crack was heard Orlan quickly ushered as many as he could into the inner chamber. Geron refused point blank to accompany them; he was staying with Lyria in case he was needed.
******
Matha opened his eyes and gazed blankly at his friend, bloody crimson orbs which chilled Denon to the bone,
“I have found him; but, he is not as we knew...He is...He is coming for us,” he could barely force the words past the pain he felt. He had done something wrong with the spell and unless Terrill could help, they would both die.
“Coming for us..? How can he be coming here for us..?” Denon looked around as if expecting to see a horse or a wagon bearing their teacher.
“We must be somewhere clear of the soldiers, an empty field is suggested,” Denon frowned at his friend, it was close to nightfall but the camp was well lit and if anyone saw them...
Thinking rapidly he decided distraction would be the only way to prevent their discovery; he still couldn’t see any sign of Master Terrill and wondered if he had managed to work a simple translocation spell.
Rifling through their trunk he found a small pack of magick powder they had brought with them; thinking rapidly he also took one of the maps they had drawn and a candle.
“How long Matha?” He leant over his friend and was horrified by his pallor; his hand was still pouring blood into the bowl and he realised that was where Matha had made his error in the casting.
“A few minutes... It is all I can get from him. You must hurry Denon; I can no longer walk and will need...” He fell silent and with a last horrified look Denon slipped from the bottom of the wagon and hastily pushed his way through the nearest hedge.
He ran at an angle forward and away from their wagon; falling to his knees he pulled clumps of vegetation up to leave a hollow in the ground. Opening the pack of fine black powder he carefully tamped it into the hole.
His breath was coming in anguished pants and he fought to keep the noise down. He rolled the map into a tight strip and poked one end firmly into the powder then, replaced the plug of vegetation sealing the hole.
Backing away on his hands and knees he laid the rest of the rolled up map on dry grass and leaves, moving anything wet or damp away from the crisp paper.
He plunged the candle into the earth and gently laid the end of the map over the wick before racing back to the wagon. As he reached the hedge he turned and focused all his attention and called upon his limited magick and lit a small flame.
The wick flared and caught, without waiting to see that the map would burn he scrambled back through the hedge and hopped onto the rear of the wagon.
Matha had slumped near to unconsciousness; Denon lifted his friend to the edge of the wagon. He would have to remove his hands from the bowl so prayed that Master Terrill was near enough to sense them.
Lifting Mathas’ bleeding hand he swiftly wrapped it in the belt of his robe, fastening it tightly, hoping to slow the blood loss. He set the bowl down carefully; to spill it now would be disastrous.
Pulling the medallion from the bowl he tied it to his friends arm, hoping that it would still be linked to Master Terrill. Casting a quick look over his shoulder he saw the faint line as his magickal flame ran through the field.
The wagon driver was stood with his back to them so Denon risked sliding over the far edge of the wagon and lifting his friend over. He held his breath and waited for someone to call out but all remained silent.
Looking into the sky he was startled by a small soft violet glow coming towards him; it was too early for the twin moons to rise; he came to the conclusion that this must somehow be the rescue he was waiting for.
He took a step away from the wagon then cursed under his breath; he had not destroyed the maps. Matha moaned loudly the sound echoing off into the silence of the early evening.
“Shhh be silent, you will get us both killed,” as Denon muttered he was shaken by the large explosion which suddenly came from the field behind him.
Disregarding the maps he lifted Matha higher and plunged away from the wagon; the violet light was nearer and lower but he still could not distinguish any shape in it.
Colonel Klimm struggled out of his tent; his wound still pained him but the large quantities of alcohol he had consumed had deadened most of the feeling.
“Magick..! Someone is attacking us with magick!” His sergeant ran forward and passed him his sword.
“Quickly, go back and guard our students, they could be in great danger,” Klimm could always be relied upon to find the crucial part of any mission and magickal attacks meant only one thing as far as he was concerned.
In the field Denon watched as the light came lower and lower before dropping to the ground in front of him. When it died away he could see no signs of Master Terrill,
“Quickly Denon you must come now or the advantage we have will be lost,” the voice came from a strange man but sounded like Terrill and fatalistically accepting this help, Denon stepped into the light.
The sergeant had grabbed his horse; it would only take him a few minutes to reach the wagon occupied by the mage students if he rode there. Soldiers had fanned out into the field where the magick attack was taking place; smooth and well ordered without need for instruction from him or anyone else.
Denon laid Matha down and looked into the odd faces looking at him; three strangers with violet eyes gazed at him with kindly eyes. One who looked older than the others rose and bent over the unconscious student; he stroked the pale face before speaking,
“Nae saian luume’...Cormamin lindua ele lle,” the old words flowed from him and Matha began to breathe easier as the binding of the spell was broken.
“It has been too long...My heart sings to see thee,” Denon automatically translated the words in his head and knew that somehow this strange person was Terrill.
The maps! He remembered them again and turned away facing the wagon. He had never before cast a spell on something in an enclosed box and was unsure it would work.
He could hear Terrill talking to Matha and had gradually moved away from them concentrating on the back of the wagon. He didn’t notice the sergeant riding hell for leather down the track.
Finally the spell released its fierce grip from around Terrills heart; Mikel and Darell felt the renewed strength in him and exchanged triumphant smiles. The orb flickered and began its regular pulsating; looking for Denon, Terrill was horrified when he saw the horse bearing down on the unaware youth.
Denon heard the pounding hooves at the same time as he prepared his spell and without thinking released the spell in the direction of the horse. Terrill watched horrified as the soldier exploded in flames and fell from his terrified mount.
“Denon..! Hurry lad, quickly we must leave now,” he grabbed his student and pulled him into the light, forcing him to his knees and to hold Matha tightly. The driver of the wagon had jumped up as the sergeant charged past and cursed at the shocking sight of the burning sergeant. He pulled his favourite sharp knife from the waistband of his trousers and casually licked the blade; throwing it just as the violet light surrounding the group opposite lifted into the air.
Denon felt a slight sting in his side but was too frightened by the whirling lights around him to move and investigate what it was; Terrill, Mikel and Darell all held the orb tightly and concentrated on returning to the chamber in Gryph.
The lights surrounding the three fey women rose into the air spinning in a circle overhead faster and faster blurring the eyesight of anyone trying to watch.
A cloud of choking dust fell smothering everything and everyone who had not moved into the inner chamber. Geron reached and tried to touch Lyria but was thrown violently across the cave by an invisible hand; his head cracked the wall and he lifted his hand to wipe away a streak of blood.
Varon ventured out to try and bring him to safety but he shook his hand off, unwilling to leave them alone.
“You must come to safety Geron, the roof is caving in,” the giant called out and fear was in his face as he held his arm up to protect his head from the rocks which were beginning to fall.
The tall soldier looked up at the roof then back to the three serene fey and suddenly gave a bark of laughter,
“The roof isn’t coming in Varon; if it was there would be more debris; it is going up and out. Lyria is doing it so we can continue to breathe!”
As he finished speaking there was a final loud crack and the whole of the top of the chamber disappeared allowing fresh air to flow inside and showing the twinkling of the early stars breaking up the night sky.
Choking dust had disappeared outwards and slowly the others came from the shelter of the inner cave. Orlan shook his head in bemusement,
“Praise the Goddess,” he spoke loudly and they all murmured in agreement even the soldiers of Qol.
“I think this fey magick is very powerful, dangerous and needs more studying before we allow them to use it again,” Orlan moved towards Geron and spoke for his ears alone.
“Ha!” Varon had overheard what Orlan said,
“Don’t let Lyria talk about allowing her anything. She could probably turn you into a...a...toad without batting an eyelid,” he chortled as he spoke causing Orlan to cast him a darkling glance.
A bright violet light appeared overhead and they watched open mouthed as it drifted through the opening in the roof settling on the floor. Slowly dissipating it revealed two strangers dressed as Jonah and Rikh, a rejuvenated Terrill, Mikel and to their amazement a fey youth of around fifteen years of age.
“Darell..?” Hoppy looked at him and the youth smiled and knelt in front of him, hugging him gently,
“Yep, it is me Hoppy. I will still play with you if you will let me.”
The cave was buzzing with conversation, amazement on all their faces; Geron stood with his hands clenched watching and waiting for the only person he cared about to come back to him.
Mikel stood and moved to his side and reached out a comforting hand touching Geron on the arm,
“They are alright my friend.” The tall soldier looked down on the small fey who barely reached his chest.
“What are they doing? I thought they were trying to help you, then they made the roof disappear...Why are they still like that?”
Mikel closed his eyes for a moment listening carefully,
“Praise the Goddess. Lyria is sending a call out to the fey. There are others who live quietly; hidden away from the rest of the world. She has asked for their help...”
As he spoke the silent trio seemed to sigh simultaneously and open their eyes. Nera sought her husband, anxious to see that he had survived his ordeal with Terrill without mishap.
Lyta looked around and her eyes looked first at the older transformed Darell before moving on to the smiling eyes of Banya. She pulled a strand of hair up to her mouth, nibbling the ends as she pensively studied both youths; her eyes assessing them in a manner which promised some interesting confrontations in the future.
Looking around her Lyria was aware of Geron’s anxious gaze and a small smile tickled the side of her mouth, causing her cheek to dimple briefly. Lifting her head she locked eyes with his and began to make her way towards him.
He reached out to touch her arm as a cry came from the mage students,
“My God he is bleeding, Denon...How did..? Please we need help...A healer? Mistress Lyria!” Rikh called the loudest and with a wry smile Geron allowed her to slip away from him.
The four students had gathered around each other and Rikh had been bandaging the cut on Mathas’ hand when Denon crumpled to the ground. Turning him over the sight of a large knife sticking out of his back and a huge bloody patch on his robes appalled them all.
Looking over their heads Geron wanted to tell her that it was too late for the youth, he had lost too much blood; after what he had observed earlier he decided to bite his tongue, miracles seemed to happen on this world all the time.
Finn and Halle were already preparing the things from her huge basket which she would need; she was humming under her breath as she examined the wound without removing the knife.
Denon forced his eyes open as he heard the beautiful music and looked into her kindly eyes,
“Angelicus...” He breathed the word and lost consciousness then, his head falling limply back on her arm; causing his friends to cry out once more as they believed he had died.
Snapping her fingers twice, Varon materialised at her side and scooped the youth up in gentle arms. Geron recognised a well trained signal there and watched as she proceeded to perform what he knew to be complex surgery with simple instruments.
On Qol the youth would already be dead; their healers were rough and ready and only in the Royal palace were there signs of any skills.
“We need more water,” Finn spoke loudly and Varon looked up at the opening to the sky, wondering if there was a local stream which he could reach.
Terrill stepped forwards and tapped his arm,
“No need to leave now dear boy, if you can get me all the empty barrels I will be able to fill them for you.”
Everyone hunted for something to hold water, soon there were empty barrels, jars, skins and Lyria’s precious kettle and large cauldron mounded in the centre of the room.
Walking around them murmuring softly Terrill briefly held his orb over each container; the temperature seemed to drop and all felt a cold chill before watched as a mixture of rain and snow poured into each filling them to overflowing.
Farl and Akhri exclaimed and dashed to get the buckets they kept on the wagon for the horses; the poor creatures were limp and lifeless and deserved a cool drink and wipe down with damp cloths.
Laughing excitedly Hoppy and Lyta scooped the fine snow up and threw it at each other, momentarily lightening the mood. Rikh took the kettle and hung it over the fire. He tried to light it magickally but was anxious about Denon and, instead of re-igniting the half burnt twigs and branches, he lit the hem of his robes.
Exclaiming in frustration he stamped on the edge, close to tears as once more he felt his confidence failing. Jonah surprised him by clicking his fingers and lighting the fire, but also with the comforting hand he placed on his friends shoulder.
“Don’t worry Rikh, I know that you have it in you to become a great Mage, take your time and you will get there.” He smiled and for once there was no malice in his words as there once would have been.
Once the kettle was bubbling they carried it to where Lyria calmly waited; eyes closed she held her hands over the wound and the knife, singing softly, her words still muffled and indistinct.
Working as a team, Finn pulled the knife free, gently easing it from the torn flesh; Halle slapped a cloth with crushed yarrow and feverfew onto the hole and they waited for a moment to see if the blood flow would stop.
Frowning heavily in concentration the three healers watched thick viscous fluids quickly soaking through the cloth; Lyria moved Halle’s hand away and to the horror of those watching, poked her finger deep into the hole.
“Lyta, I need my needles and thread,” she spoke absently and heard Lyta skip off. Less than a minute passed by and she returned holding her mother’s sewing kit open for her to see its contents.
Pointing to the finest needle she had, and a piece of strong white thread she instructed Lyta to prepare the needle then pour some of Varon’s strong kvass over both thoroughly coating every surface.
For the next hour they watched as she took tiny delicate stitches, sewing up the torn blood vessel inside before finally finishing with a neat row on the outside.
“Terrill,” she spoke softly and he moved closer leaning over her allowing his orb to shine brightly over the scene.
“He needs to sleep now, he lost a lot of blood and I have done all I can to encourage him to make more. I want you to make him sleep deeply for the medicine and magick to work properly.”
Speaking the old language once more, Terrill put the youth to sleep for the next full day,
“Quel kaima tenna’tul’re,”
“Sleep well until tomorrow.” He bent and marked the centre of his forehead with a curious symbol. Lyria made a mental note to ask him about it when she had a few minutes to spare.
The thought made her smile as she realised wearily she hadn’t had a spare moment for a number of days; she wanted a meal and rest before anything else was inflicted upon her.
Leaving Finn and Halle to bandage Denon she stood upright and massaged the small of her back, rolling her head around on her neck before yawning loudly.
Orlan was watching her carefully and nodded as if deciding something,
“Enough has happened here today,” his voice reached everyone and they looked at him wondering what else he was about to say now,
“It is too late for talking and working, I want everyone to make sure they have eaten something and then we will all sleep. Tomorrow will soon be upon us and, with the Goddess’ help; we will be departing from this place for good.”
His words stirred feelings in everyone there, hope, fear; relief no-one could have described how they felt.
Geron sat with his back on the wall and drew Lyria down, holding her across his knee as a parent would hold a child and they both ate the bread and cheese Farl brought to them.
Lyta came to her mother’s side and Geron drew her into his embrace too; looking around, Orlan was pleased to see Varon had gone to sit with Klee, the eighth and her father. He could not understand why the orb had chosen her, a child and first thing in the morning he was going to talk to her father and see if there was something special about her.
The moons rose fully outside and Nera sang that night; her voice was strong, positive and an affirmation that they would fight for their futures and for the lives of everyone on Galiana.

In the soldiers’ major encampment outside the village of Durrh, Azhmel roared in frustration and anger at his greywings; over two thousand had just vanished into the golden cloud over the village and he did not dare to venture near in case something happened to him.
Overhead the remaining black crows wheeled listlessly, preparing to settle and roost on the trees for the coming night. Azhmel knew he was letting his temper rule his head and that he was allowing the traitors to get the better of him.
Kensis stood in front and waited for the Warlord to give them new orders; the night was coming and with that the need to feed would soon be upon them.
Azhmel searched through the former belongings of his; in his true form he had no need of clothes but...Something there was stirring a memory. A crackle of paper reminded him of the maps the traitor and his cohorts had drawn.
Yes! That was what he wanted; to lead his greywings further afield and find the rest of his army. This place was contaminated now and he was unprepared to waste any more time on a place he could no longer enter.
He would leave here; relocate where there are more people. Guards, he could leave guards behind, they could feed on the deserters and any natives who left the safety of the village; if the situation here changed they could always call him back.
It didn’t take long for his search to reveal a map and he bent his great head over it, eyes half closed as he studied the lines drawn upon it. Images came to his mind; he remembered he had other soldiers, sailors who were his to do with as he pleased.
He would return to his warships first; they would be sent to search for islands, there could be many islands on this world where what he sought were hidden.
Humming loudly he called his greywings close; eager to leave this cursed place and set his new plans in motion, he forced new instructions into their minds.
Leaping into the air Kensis followed as Azhmel flew towards their original landing point. The twin moons were rising as they left the camp; hunger was beginning to crawl in their bellies but the compulsion to follow their Lord was too much and they had to go with him.
For five hours Azhmel forced his greywings to accompany him; then hunger pains broke through causing them to fall behind. Scanning the ground he was dismayed to see the occasional scattered cottage or croft with very few people living there to feed them all.
He rose higher extending the range of his vision and a bright light caught his attention; sparkling and twisting into the sky. Kensis moaned and the pain registered with Azhmel, he could investigate the light later, first he would need to feed his army or they would die.
Folding his wings, he dropped and landed lightly in an empty field; he had already sent the mental summons to call his greywings to him. Sacrifices would have to be made if he wanted to keep his alar army by his side.
Searching for the weakest, the ones who were collapsing with exhaustion he called them forward; giving them to the strongest. By allowing those to feed he would not lose his advantage in the air.
Kensis had become the strongest of the Warlords new army; he stood waiting for the gift Azhmel had told him was to be his. With his capture of three prey, he had fed well the previous night, better than most, and could have lasted longer if necessary.
Azhmel beckoned to him, a large forelimb wrapped around a small, slight greywing,
“Feed Kensis...Feed and stay strong, I need you to do a great task for me.”
Looking at the offering, Kensis had a sense of vague recognition with the new prey; his brain revolted for a moment and he turned to the Warlord to speak out but, the words would not come and, with the great golden eyes fixed on him, he submitted and buried his teeth in the nape of the greywings neck.
If he could have spoke he would have begged the Warlord to leave this one alone, this one was once his younger brother.
Eight hundred greywings were sacrificed to feed their stronger brothers; the strong ones then helped the weak until more food was found. Azhmel formed a new plan and sent Kensis and four others over unexplored land seeking signs of habitation.
The psychic link between them was strong, encompassing hundreds of miles; when they found large areas filled with people they were to signal the Warlord immediately; his greywings could always be diverted to feed properly.
Moving on Azhmel concentrated on the column of light he had seen; it still reached the sky but, seemed to be fading. He thrust his powerful wings faster and left his creatures to follow in his wake.
As he drew closer he smelt the ocean below and recognised it as where his fleet was anchored; there would be plenty of food for his greywings if they made it here as the ships were full of sailors.
Dropping through the clouds he was stunned to find no sign of his fleet; there should have been hundreds of ships yet none were visible. The thick column of sparkling light still shone and he flew towards it lazily banking on the thermals as he studied the water below.
Underneath the ocean the light was stronger and he could make out the outline of a ruined ship; keen eyes scanned the rest of the water and with relief he saw no other wrecks.
He would still need his fleet to return home with his trophies so there was yet another mystery for him to solve. He dipped lower examining the ship in more detail then through his head back and roared, breathing fire high into the night sky.
His flagship! It was his ship down there. His nostrils twitched and he scented the contents of the trunks he had left behind. They were still here; he needed to take them to safety.
He could swim underwater for a short time before it affected his heat gland; without hesitation he dived beneath the surface, his long tail sinuously writhing through the salty water enabling him to keep his balance.
Small brightly coloured fish fled from his presence, afraid another denizen of the deep had arrived to feed on them; large grey torpedo shaped sharks moved closer investigating the new intruder.
Swatting the closest with his sharp tail, he tore a strip of flesh from its side; the blood leaked into the water, seconds later it was mobbed and torn apart by the remainder of the group. Absorbed in feeding they totally ignored Azhmel as he swam past them and their grizzly bounty.
As he neared the ship he felt a prickle of danger deep inside his mind and slowed his rapid descent until he barely moved; the lights glowed violet and silver tempting him to move closer, taunting him from aboard his ship.
Drifting now he allowed the ocean currents to gently move him until he was parallel with the ship; from there he was able to see the massive stone, the source of the lights.
Deep in his psyche he felt a subliminal warning of danger and began to kick his legs trying to move away; he left it too late and the lights sensed him and swarmed through the water breaking their smooth rhythm, attacking him, stinging and burning everywhere they touched.
Erupting in a fountain of water he frantically flew away from the lights; the beach loomed closely and he collapsed onto the sand just beyond the reach of the angrily buzzing lights.
Closing his eyes in concentration, he urged his greywings to come to him; he gave them the image of where he lay then, prepared to rest until they arrived. There were enough of them to go underwater and bring his precious cargo to the surface.
A rustling noise to the front caused him to open his eyes wide and peer into the darkness; the figure that moved across his line of sight was familiar and he relaxed slightly, a greywing had already joined him.
The figure moved closer and he reached out with his mind; there were none of his instructions there. Confused by the blank mind, he reared up over the figure and saw subtle differences; these wings were more delicate and this body had smaller scales.
Frowning he stretched out a forelimb; the creature tilted its head backwards and hissed from a gaping maw, empty sockets fixed on his face and he realised that this creature was an unwilling creation of his, it had risen from the body of his first victim.
Somehow he had to have left a piece of skin, or saliva in one of the wounds he had inflicted in his urge to feed; the metamorphosis must have begun then. How the child had returned to life was yet another puzzle for him to resolve.
Overhead the sound of wings flapping caught his attention; the figures that advanced on him looked like his greywings yet, once again on reaching out with his mind, he found they were as blank to him as the creature which stood defiantly in front of him.
Repeating his mental call to the greywings he ordered the strong to come to him immediately, he wanted to capture the creature, to study it, and then, when he had found out all its secrets, he would destroy it.
Dropping from the sky Col’s creatures attacked the Warlord, their sharp claws skittered over his scales uselessly; Col leapt impossibly high without using his wings and landed on the back of the massive neck.
His transformed claws were smaller, more delicate; they found soft, damaged areas where the underwater lights had burnt through the scales. Azhmel arched his neck in agony, snapping with his huge jaws as he tried to catch the creature which was damaging him.
Silently his greywings materialised above him; falling from the sky it took five to subdue each creature; despite himself the Warlord was impressed with their strength and endurance.
The smaller Col creature jumped from his back; he noticed burns running across its wings and knew that if the creature had been undamaged he would have had difficulty in catching and containing it.
Ordering his greywings to take the creature prisoner, the Warlord watched as the small being managed to use his razor sharp teeth and claws to damage at least a dozen of his strongest warriors.
Eventually they pinned it to the floor; Azhmel stood over him, slowly dragging a scimitar claw down the small body he tore through the small scales which covered every exposed surface.
Revolted by the putrid scent of death the Warlord came to realise this was not a living creature as his greywings were; there had been stories of the dead returning to life but this creature did not live, his remaining tissues were rotting away and the stench of putrefaction made even the Warlords nostrils curl.
Something on or in this world had revived him; of that Azhmel was certain. Dimly he recalled the regret he had felt when taking the boys organs but his need had been fierce.
If they had remained on Qol, Mage Gwinn could have supplied what he needed and none of this would have been necessary. Looking on the creature Azhmel knew he would have to destroy it and the others it had created completely.
Ordering his greywings to hold them in a circle, he backed away and gazed impassively down on them; once more he was going to have to sacrifice part of his army.
As he took a moment to reflect, the Col creature looked back at him as if mocking his failure to control him; Azhmel took one heaving breath before he obliterated it with great gouts of flame; the greywings holding him were also destroyed, even the grasses burnt where they had stood.
Turning to the other captive creatures, he launched huge balls of fire to ignite each of them; once again killing the ones that held them immobile.
Again and again he sent gouts of flame into the beings until all that could be seen were piles of ash and the odd charred bone. A brisk sea breeze sprang up and within minutes had dispersed the residue thinly over large areas of land.
Azhmel was bone weary now; instead of moving away from the beach to the safety of high ground, he stayed there and arranged his greywings in a protective circle. The moons were high in the night sky when he eventually relaxed and closed his eyes and slept.
Many miles away Kensis had felt the first insistent calls from Azhmel; he had disregarded the calls as his mission was of more importance. Now the summons faded away as his master slept.
The first greywing had found something of interest; his senses were overloading and he knew that Azhmel would want him to remain here and observe.
He found a tall, sturdy chestnut tree; its heavy unpleasant odour would camouflage the pungent aroma which wafted from him. Settling comfortably in the thick foliage, he would watch and wait until dawn; when dawn came he was going to investigate the huge hole in the earth which gaped before him.

Far out at sea Krigo stood on deck and used the Mage spyglass to observe the coastline and then the stars. He was drawing his own charts of this world and hoped the other captains were as vigilant; the time would come when the information would be necessary for their survival.
The fleet was spread out over hundreds of sea miles; every sailor had been given a task; they were to look and listen. Anything unusual would be investigated and marked on the charts. Information however slight would be shared; no-one would have an unfair advantage.
He turned and focused the spyglass back to where they had fled the flying creatures; the lights were fading rapidly now, they had heard a commotion a little over an hour ago but no-one had wanted to return and investigate.
Shuddering inwardly at the thought of the flying creatures Krigo realised he had already made his mind up, it didn’t matter what the Warlord wanted he was never returning to that particular stretch of beach.
He glanced to the left and right, raising his arm to acknowledge Captains Orff and Lantz, they were as eager as he to move away from this cursed place. He was pleased that they had agreed with his assessment of the situation; without their backing the fleet would no doubt still be at anchor and God knows how many more deaths there would have been.
“Rhum Cap’n” Cern, the first mate materialised at his side with a tankard and he accepted with a nod of thanks.
“No ill effects then from earlier?” He questioned at Cern had nearly been the latest victim; without the swift reaction from Lantz and his now deceased friend Bajj, Cern would have been left to burn with his ship,
“No sir, I’m alright thankee. The lads and me...Well, Cap’n, we’ve been talkin’ and we reckon tomorrow we need to find somewhere to moor and get everybody ashore and tell em what really happened back there.” His eyes fastened on Krigo’s,
“There will be mutiny on some ships cos not everyone will be ‘appy just acceptin’ the signals. You needs to stand up and tell em hexactly what ‘appened and I can say my piece too.”
Krigo gnawed on a thumbnail and studied the horizon, he knew Cern had lots of friends on the other ships that would listen to him and make the next few days easier.
“I agree lad. Tell the barrelmen to keep their eyes peeled for land. At the first sign of a large enough place, we will heave too and have a major pow-wow. In fact I reckon we ought to get loaded to the gunwales cos we bloody well deserve it.”
Cern grinned showing his appreciation; very rarely did ships captains allow the whole crew to get drunk as it played havoc with the smooth operations expected aboard every ship.
Krigo dismissed the mate and took a long drink of his hot rhum; he would stay on deck making his observations for the next two hours before seeking his berth.

Glossary of Naval Terms
Barrelmen are lookouts based in the crow’s-nest.
Loaded to the gunwales is a naval term for getting extremely drunk.
Copyright Protected April 2008