Day Four Parts 7 -9

Varon took the basket to the side of the cavern watching as Lyria left her arm pointing through the flames waiting for its return. Halle moved to help him empty it and gave a startled gasp as she lifted out the first sack, it weighed far heavier than she believed possible. There was a second sack and Finn groaned with the weight in that. Varon ran back and passed the basket back to Lyria watching as her arm disappeared from sight.
Halle and Finn had opened the sacks and their jaws had dropped in surprise. Before they could speak Lyria’s voice came again asking Thadd to speak and this time everyone noticed the distress in her voice.
The basket came through again and Varon reached for it, more relieved as it was much lighter this time and easier for him to carry. Expecting Lyria to come through he was therefore startled when her arm disappeared and her voice full of tears spoke once more,
“Orlan, forgive me dear one, I cannot return tonight. Please, I beg you take care of my packages.” The flames then died and Orlan cried out and leapt forwards telling Thadd to sprinkle Lyria’s powder, something was wrong and he was prepared to risk the flames for the first time.
The youth looked at him sadly showing him the empty pouch; Lyria had probably put some in the packages but they would not find it in time.
“I’m sorry Orlan I cannot…” his voice caught in his throat as he saw the look of anguish on Orlan’s face.
“NO!” he howled, raising his staff threateningly at the younger man; his hair flew around his head wildly, a feral gleam in his eyes.
“Lyria, no…” his voice was broken and he reeled as if drunk when Thadd placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, urging him to sit again.
“NO,” he threw the youth off looking around wildly before spotting Halle knelt on the floor with her back to him,
“What was so important in those packages that she could not return to us,” he was calmer now, the gleam fading from his eyes and he rested his hand on Halle’s shoulder.
Moving closer Thadd was stunned to see the unconscious body of a fey child who could only be Lyta cradled in her arms, her face was abnormally pale and he could tell Halle was concerned about her.
“Lyta, Goddess preserve us all!” Orlan stood upright, shocked beyond all reason before turning to Finn to see what he had. A small blond head nestled in his arms and Anjii glanced over suddenly shrieking and rushing forward,
“Hoppy! Oh my… Hoppy,” snatching her son from Finn she sank to the floor covering his small face with kisses. He didn’t stir either and she looked at Finn and Halle in concern,
“What is wrong with them?” her voice demanded an answer and Halle drew a deep breath before answering.
“I believe Lyria gave them something so they could come through the flames uninjured. I have no idea what she gave them or how long it’s effects will last.”
Anjii looked at her then at her son and Lyria’s daughter before speaking.
“Why didn’t she come back through the flames with them?” she uttered the words everyone had been thinking and looked at Orlan pleading for an answer. His eyes had glazed over as she spoke and a look of unutterable sadness stayed with him.
“She had planned on doing so, but was prevented when a strange man burst into her home.” He looked around and his voice was full of horror,
“Lyria is a captive of the invaders…she is with the two-sided man!”

Seconds only had passed as Geron ran through the destroyed doorway; he saw Terrill pulling a small odd looking female away from a fire; the Warlord had reached out to poke his hand through the strange flames till Geron caught at his arm.
Snarling in temper Azhmel turned and lashed out with his sword, if Geron had not been prepared he would have been sliced in two as many of the natives had been.
“Sire, tis I, Sire, please,” he called out trying to break through the blood lust he could see in Azhmel’s face and slowly the red glow of bloodlust left his eyes and they became his usual pale yellow colour.
Terrill held the woman loosely by the arm and Geron risked looking at him to try and warn him to follow his lead. Before he could speak Azhmel looked at his Mage and uttered,
“Translocation is a difficult skill to learn and yet you appear to have mastered in during a bloody battle…” he paused and waited to see if Terrill would respond.
“I didn’t think you had the guts to lie to me Terrill.” His arm moved faster than either Terrill or Geron could anticipate and his blade rested underneath the Mage’s chin cutting through the fabric of his robes.
“I did not lie to you Sire,” Terrill kept his face and voice serene and calm,
“I told you I did not know how Mage Gwinn translocated more than one person or the fleet which brought us here…” Azhmel interrupted him,
“Sophistry! You did not say that you could translocate yourself, you know the impression you gave was that you could not perform this magick…” biting the words out Azhmel fought to control his anger.
If he did as he wanted and killed Terrill now then the odds on them returning to Qol would be negligible. None of the students could possibly be as advanced with their studies as Terrill.
“I am watching you little man, do not think that you have become totally indispensible to me,” the threat was empty but Terrill knew that the Warlord had a very short temper and if he transgressed once more he would be following in Mage Gwinn’s footsteps.
Lowering his eyes in submission Terrill hoped to deflect the Warlord’s by showing him the strange female. He hoped he could protect her but he needed to use her to revive Darell; it had taken him forty years and now he could taste the success waiting for him.
“Sire, if you would allow me to question this female?” he forced the words out and watched as Azhmel glanced at her, disinterested at first but then his eyes widened slightly as he took in the strangeness of her.
Outside Glinn had jumped from the stationary wagon; he recalled Terrill’s orb falling and scrabbled around the sacks searching for it. As his hand reached into the sack for it he realised that Terrill would possibly believe it had been lost to him and instead of returning it he put it deep in an inside pocket.
Scurrying across the middle of the village he gloated that at last he could teach himself something more than the others would know. He could fill Terrill’s shoes one day.
Reaching the door he took in the scene at a glance, Geron was stood nearly blocking the opening but beyond was the frozen scene of Azhmel and Terrill.
He gasped in shock when he saw the woman and all eyes went first to him then to the silent figure who was calmly stood watching them. She was totally different to the women he had seen killed in the arrow storm on the day they arrived.
Barely four feet tall she looked like a child at first but then he took in the subtle differences between a grown woman and a child; the curve of her hips and breasts, the way she planted her feet and straightened her back as if in challenge to them all.
Her skin was a delicate olive tint, nothing like theirs or the other native people and her hair was long and glossy black, hanging straight to just below her knees. The huge violet eyes watched his every move and Glinn swallowed twice as he returned the solemn gaze.
Lyria moved her head slightly and the last rays of the dying sun illuminated her head and everyone in the room gasped as they saw the delicately pointed ears which showed she was more alien than they had believed.
Terrill moved to her and spoke aloud and she frowned, puzzled not understanding his speech. He still held her arm, preventing her from moving away and was unconsciously taking note of how cool her skin felt, and the subtle scent of her perfume.
Azhmel surged forward and roughly threw Terrill to one side grabbing Lyria with both hands on her bare arms. The next instant his body sailed backwards knocking Glinn down before hitting the wall with a crash.
Howling in pain he shook his hands violently; they looked to have burns on both palms. He fell to his knees crossing his arms at the wrist in front of his chest, moaning in agony and trying to keep control of the situation.
Geron gasped shocked, he had never before seen Azhmel injured or in pain before and he was unsure whether that was a good or a bad thing. He looked at the small woman and a glint of respect was hastily hidden as he decided he would have to tend to Azhmel first before questioning both Terrill and her.
“Sire let me help...” he moved to grip Azhmel’s elbow to help him up and was rebuffed by a hideous glare from his blood red eyes,
“You do not touch me ...ever...” He broke off as a cough nearly overwhelmed him. Crying out again he forced his legs to work and clumsily managed to stand. Hunched over he tried to ignore the gnawing agony growing in his stomach and the stinging pain in his hands.
Both Geron and Terrill were alarmed at the blooming blotchy patches of colour on his face and neck; Lyria had moved away, flattening her back on the wall watching as his body appeared to ripple between one form and another.
A moan came from the youth who Azhmel had knocked down and Geron reluctantly hauled Glinn out of the way, forcing him to sit on a bench. Azhmel staggered forward to stare deep into Lyria’s eyes; he was angry they could all see that but there was something else there and none of them were certain they could identify it.
The skin on his face rippled once more and Lyria cried out in fear and fell to the floor as slowly the man’s features blurred and a huge head seemed to blur in its place. Horny protuberances appeared down the side of his jaw and a long pointed nose became clear.
Two enormous fangs poked down from the top jaw and his mouth opened wide roaring out in pain and rage.
His clothes stretched and tore and the crude leather jerkin was torn away to reveal a broad hairless chest; double rows of spines ran parallel down to his waist. The skin thickened, turned darker, drier with scales appearing on every exposed surface.
Both arms twisted and appeared foreshortened with three thick scimitar shaped claws on each, yellowed and thickened, ugly and repugnant they all could visualise the damage which could be inflicted on tender flesh by them.
Azhmel half-turned groaning as he fought to control his golem, his beast. Geron and Terrill both saw his skin stretching impossibly as his rib bones elongated and moved to form rudimentary wings which were forcing their way out.
“Help me, Mage,” the words were ground out of the huge mouth, but not as a plea but an order and Terrill came to his senses and reluctantly moved forward his mind racing as he tried to find something to halt or even reverse the transformation.
“Tell me Sire, how...” he flapped his hands unable to form a sentence,
“Sleep,” as the Warlord forced the word out he threw his head back and released huge gouts of smoke and flame into the air igniting the thatching on the cottage causing Glinn and Geron to run for the open doorway.
“Fire, fire, fire,” the student screeched in panic forgetting that one of the earliest magickal skills taught was the suppression of a fire. Geron was organising a chain of men to fill all available buckets at the well in the old fashioned way, when Terrill’s other student Rikh arrived; after looking in horror at the smoke he swiftly delved into his pack to produce a small earthenware jar.
Calling Geron he indicated he needed to be on top of the burning roof and within minutes one of the wagon’s had been pulled forward and the youth was boosted up by two burly soldiers.
Passing him a bucket of water Geron watched as he sprinkled a powder into the bucket turning the liquid thick and viscous, murmuring under his breath all the time.
Inside the cottage Terrill had found his small piece of green Chrysoprase tucked in the pocket of his robe; after placing it into a small metal cage he swung it from a chain which was held tightly between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand while speaking slowly, slurring the words of the spell, continually coaxing and ordering the Warlord to close his eyes and sleep.
The heat was intense and small pieces of thatching kept falling over them. The Warlord appeared to be impervious to the heat and as a hot spark fell on Lyria she would close both hands over it smothering the heat.
She showed no sign of being burnt, unlike Terrill who had a nasty sore patch across both cheek and forehead. His robes were smouldering in a number of places but he dared not deviate from the Warlord.
His transformation appeared to have halted and the huge eyes were blinking as they watched the stone swing back and forth; Terrill scarcely dared to breathe as he kept the beast mesmerised.
On the roof Rikh had begun to pour his thick gel on the flames, wherever it touched the flames died away and did not return. He chanted while he worked and the bucket stayed full to the brim, never emptying until every inch was thickly coated.
Geron watched from his perch on top of the wagon impressed in spite of what he had previously thought of the young man’s abilities as a trainee mage; he had never expected this bumbling youth to be the one to save them from many hours of hard backbreaking work.
Looking down he saw Glinn peering from behind the wagon he had occupied for most of the day. The youth had held much promise according to Mage Gwinn and Geron had not seen any signs of it yet.
He was reminded that it was the action of Glinn which had caused the recent problem and vowed to keep a closer eye on him in the future.
Chaos reigned throughout the village; horses whinnied in fear of the thick clouds of smoke. Soldiers either afoot or on horseback would appear briefly chasing reluctant villagers.
The hounds which had been brought by the slavemasters were heard barking and growling, terrorising anyone who came upon them. Overhead the Warlords avian army cawed and fed on the extra insects which appeared attracted by the scent of blood.
Rikh finished his chanting and at Geron’s query had waved his hand indicating the fire was smothered and could not reignite; there were no stray sparks left to fire the thatching.
Jumping down Geron made his way back to the doorway slowing as he heard the sonorous voice of Terrill as he fought to put the beast that was Azhmel into a deep sleep.
His feet made no noise as he entered and took in the scene at a glance. Azhmel was swaying from side to side, his eyes looked heavy, tired and he was fighting to stand up.
As they watched his face blurred again and the human form became more dominant; bones and flesh were moving once more into their natural positions.
The native woman was to the side of Terrill and as Geron watched she was extinguishing the last of the burning thatch in her bare hands. She looked up into his eyes and smiled gently at him; a smile which seemed to bring sunshine into the cottage and lighten his soul and unbeknownst to himself he smiled back.
Terrill was aware of the others watching and waiting but, he did not dare move his eyes from Azhmel. He was amazed that he had never before felt any shapeshifting magick in the Warlord; Gwinn must have known about this and possibly Bruce too.
He didn’t want to think of what could have happened had the Warlord completely transformed; he wasn’t even sure what he was transforming into; the shape was not quite a dragon, he laughed at himself, of course he wasn’t a dragon; the beasts were mythic in origin so no way could Azhmel have transformed into one.
The Warlord knew though, just as he had known how to stop it. Why would he do stop the transformation? Terrill was full of questions but now for he could not take his attention from the Warlord.
The beast had gone now and the Warlord stood there gently swaying; his eyes closed and knees bent and he crumbled into the waiting arms of Geron.
“We must get him out of here, put him somewhere safe and out of the way of the men,” Geron spoke to Terrill urgently and the Mage nodded in agreement.
“You go quickly and see what you can sort out; I will be fine for now,” he knelt on the floor where Lyria had hastily laid a blanket and helped Geron to lay the Warlord down.
Geron quickly left and Terrill took one last glance at Azhmel before finally looking closely at Lyria.
“Hello,” he spoke and laughed nervously thinking how silly that sounded after the drama of the past hour. Lyria watched him a puzzled frown on her face, she could see his mouth move but the words made no sense to her.
His black eyes stared at her and she could barely contain her shudder of fear; he was one man from Orlan’s conjure in the Convocate chamber and the beastman on the floor was the other.
“Why do you not answer or speak to me?” Terrill spoke once more and reached out a hand to touch her arm.
Lyria frowned at him and risked speaking,
“Who are you and why did you come here?” Terrill looked at her and knew instantly why she did not answer him, their spoken languages were totally different and he was going to have his work cut out devising a way for everyone to communicate.
Closing his eyes he concentrated hard hoping that he could speak with her that way. Nothing, he couldn’t establish any contact with her. He assumed that he had reached her without the crystal orb because of her fear and charged emotions.
When Geron returned he would slip away and find the orb, it was imperative that he establish some form of communication with her. He looked down at the Warlord and pursed his lips; this would take more serious consideration, at this moment he had no idea how to deal with this situation.
Outside Rikh had finished putting the fore out and seasoned soldiers were clapping him on the shoulder and back relieved to have been spared the back breaking work of putting fires out on top of the gruelling day they had already had.
Geron had spied two old friends and now had Akhri and Hahmon working frantically just outside the village to erect the Warlords tents. Farl the wagoneer was also enrolled in helping and he had nearly unpacked his wagon ready to put a soft mattress in for transporting Azhmel.
Most of the soldiers themselves acted as well trained unit and they knew that temporary bivouac quarters would not to be erected here; sergeants had paced out distances and five miles past the village, underneath a huge rocky outcropping from the strange mountain range row upon row of orderly tents were springing up.
Picket lines were strung for fastening the thousands of horses to; and an area of scrubland well away from the convenient fresh water stream was being cleared for fresh latrines to be dug.
Armies marched well on full stomachs; disease was the thing that everyone feared the most so particular care was always made with the toilet facilities.
The Warlords first glorious campaign twenty years earlier had very nearly ended up in disaster when cholera and dysentery swept through the camped soldiers due to lack of basic hygiene.
Eighteen thousand men died in six weeks then and once the burials had finished the Warlord then hung over two thousand sergeants for negligence. He was a stern taskmaster and his men and soon come to realise that.
Now grizzled soldiers unpacked their folding shovels and nagging at the raw recruits encouraged them to set too with a will digging row upon row of toilet facilities, all of them muttering that it was a strange place and they must be extra careful.
Glinn watched the proceedings with dismay, he had hoped to ingratiate himself with the Warlord by pointing out Terrill’s actions and all he had done was cause a monster to surface.
He had wandered around in a daze watching Rikh of all people be treated as a hero and the bitter taste of defeat followed him. Everywhere he went a soldier had grumbled at him and either with the back of a hand or the flat blade of sword had flicked him on his way.
It did not matter that he wore Mage robes; he had not proved himself to them at all. Back he went, to where the cottage containing Terrill and the Warlord was.
He slumped on the hard earth outside and pulled his knees up to his chin resting his face on them while he waited to see what would happen next.
As he had cast the first sleep spell Terrill had studied the Warlord intently. No signs of his beast remained and anyone looking at him now would think he was just a man. His hand had hovered over the blade which was on the floor. If he killed him now would it make things easier for everyone?
Lifting the sword he had felt the weight strange in his hand; it was sticky with blood from who knows how many natives and he had hastily placed it at the side of the wall. He could not bring himself to cause more blood to spill today.
He tended the Warlord’s hands, treating the unusual burns with some of Rikh’s cooling gel before wrapping them in a layer of soft cotton cloth; Lyria had watched and knew she could treat him better but did not dare to offer her help yet.
She tried to converse more than once with Terrill but the strange sounds he made meant nothing to her. The screams of her friends had made her heart pound in fright and she was thankful in the foresight which had made her send Hoppy and Lyta out of the way to safety.
Reaching out with her mind she fretted as she was unable to make contact with Orlan. His distress had broken the empathic link which had been a part of them for so long. Until he calmed down she could not instruct him on the simple herbs to revive Lyta and Hoppy.
If they were not revived within the next day, perhaps two at the most then they would begin to fade as their small bodies were unable of taking food or water, and then they would die.
Geron was away less than half an hour before he swept up to the broken door, riding with Farl on his wagon. Terrill had by now cast a second deeper sleep spell on the Warlord and they could move him without disturbing him.
Scooping the Warlord’s body up Geron had hastily looked around before placing him in the back of the wagon. He didn’t want the rest of the soldiers to know what had happened just yet.
He still remembered Col and the strange marks around the porthole in the Warlord’s cabin. They looked suspiciously like they could have been made by the claws which had appeared on the end of the beast’s arms.
Calling to Terrill he helped the Mage up to sit with the Warlord. Turning to the small woman he once more felt his heart leap at the tentative smile she offered him.
Taking a deep breath he bent and lifted her up waiting to see if he too would burn as Azhmel had. Nothing happened, he released the breath gustily, relieved that he was not plagued with the same effect he casually passed her to the Mage.
Rikh had come running and was now scrambling up on his own, his face glowing with pride at the praise which had been heaped on him.
Glinn waited uncertain that he should accompany them until Terrill called his name and held his arm out to help him up.
Geron looked at Terrill and spoke softly, for his ears alone
“Go to the tents and the two soldiers I left there will help you set things to rights. Farl here...” he nodded at the patiently waiting driver,
“He will organise food for you. Wait there; do not do anything until I return. I must organise the safety of the rest of these people. Don’t let anyone in with the Warlord and do not let this woman escape.” He spoke the last for Terrill’s ears only and backing away slapped the hind quarters of the horse which had been quietly standing ready to pull its heavy burden.
Geron should not have been overly concerned that the soldiers would run rampaging through the village. He had previously ordered that the survivors be placed safely together; now he saw that Nemon, one of the slave masters had taken charge of what he would refer to as his herd.
A fierce hound was seated at Nemon’s side, bred by the slavemaster for keeping his herd under control its hackles rose as Geron drew near; a warning growl began low in its throat and Geron rested his hand on his knife which was sheathed at his waist, he knew how vicious Nemon encouraged his dogs to be and was not prepared to take any chances with it.
It had never bothered Geron in the past when men, women and children had been branded and sold as slaves. Slaves who escaped were hunted by the great mastiffs and the damage their huge teeth could inflict was enough to deter most from running away. His healthy coin chest was proof that there was money to be made that way.
Feeling nauseous at the thought of the misery he had helped contribute on innocent people, he silently vowed that never again would he allow it to happen.
“Geron, man, what a bloody sorry looking herd these are,” Nemon punched the other man’s bicep in greeting,
“Can you tell what they are saying... it sounds like the scratching of nails down a black slate to me?” Nemon went up to an old man and jabbed his finger in his chest and the man responded by crying out loudly whilst gesticulating wildly.
“Leave them Nemon... we don’t know anything about them and until we do they should be put somewhere safe.” Geron’s mind was working frantically to try and come up with a logical reason to prevent the usual practices as Nemon’s jaw dropped and he turned to look at him.
Towering over most men at over six and a half feet tall, his musculature made him look enormous but he would run to fat as he got older unless he was careful; with a jagged scar running from the end of his right eye down to his lip, his face had a demonic expression which caused many of the soldiers who knew him to fear him.
Nemon always carried the boka, a whip with a dozen leather strips tightly bound together; each strip was then knotted every few inches and once completed soaked for a day in a strong vinegar solution to tighten the knots making them as hard, and sharp as broken glass.
An accident with one of these whips was the cause of Nemon’s scar and he was known to lash out at anyone who upset or annoyed him. Geron kept a watchful eye on his hands as they gripped his boka tightly now.
“Bollocks you say...Put them some... have you lost your fucking mind or what?” The look of profound amazement would have made a lesser man laugh.
“Don’t you want to know why before you fly off the handle,” Geron fought to keep his tone even when all he really wanted to punch him in his foul mouth.
“Why? Fucking why? Go on then boss man; tell me why I shouldn’t start putting the Warlord’s fucking brand on his new fucking cattle?” He leant forward as he shouted the last words and fine spittle sprayed across Geron’s face causing him to grimace in distaste as he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.
“Because first and foremost they are alien and we don’t know what diseases or sickness they may carry. Do you really want to get that close to them before we can get our healers and the Mage to check them out?” Geron knew the other man had a tendency to paranoia over his own health and held his face tightly under control as Nemon stepped back wiping his hand down the side of his trousers.
“Sickness... Why the fuck weren’t we warned before? You’re fucking having a laugh aren’t you? You want them all for your fucking self,” Nemon hissed the words out and Geron leant closer, conspiratorially to answer him,
“We are keeping it quiet but one of the females came into contact with the Warlord and the touch of her skin... well...” he glanced around as if ensuring no-one was eavesdropping on their conversation,
“His hands were burnt very badly,” he decided to give him the truth there, the best way to get someone to believe you was usually to put one or two parts of truth into any fabrication.
“Fuck me.” Nemon had paled at Geron’s words and took another step away from the group of natives.
“So what are you gonna do about it then?” Nemon flicked his boka making the strands crack loudly and the hound leapt forward snarling at the people cowering there and they all cried out in alarm.
Geron’s arm shot out and gripped Nemon’s whip hand,
“Don’t do that... If they have a blood sickness... well...” he left the other man’s imagination to fill in what he hadn’t said.
Nemon pulled his arm away angrily,
“Like I said what the fuck..?” Nemon looked mulish now as he waited for an answer.
“You will have to wait till tomorrow with the rest of the men. The Warlord will be able to tell us more then.” He hoped that the Warlord was recovered by the next morning as he could only delay the man for so long.
Turning away he spoke over his shoulder at Nemon,
“Remember do nothing for now, keep them safe and away from the other men –I do not want another plague on my hands.” With that parting statement he swept off to where his horse was waiting patiently for him and leapt lithely into the saddle.
Taking a final look around the village he noticed the crows had started to roost, every roof had two or three of the creatures and as he followed the trail to the encampment each tree he passed had new inhabitants.
As he rode Geron chuckled to himself, if Nemon had any sense he would have rushed to wash the blood from his hands and face in case these natives did carry a disease.
Around him he could see stragglers struggling into camp, they would be kicking themselves at missing the first encounter. Many of the soldiers relied on the looting which followed a battle to fill their purses until the Warlord paid them.
His face went blank and he thought of all the men who were going to be dissatisfied over the next few weeks. There were no signs of wealth on this world and all the serving soldiers expected generous rewards for accompanying the Warlord.
He needed Terrill to solve the communication problem and then he could speak with the small woman. Once again his stomach did a flip at the thoughts of her. He was a solitary man as a rule and he had never paid much attention to the females on Qol.
The Warlord’s court was usually brimming with women and a few had tried to attract his attentions but he had been uninterested in their petty games and intrigues.
It took Geron less than twenty minutes to reach the main camp and he slid from his horse passing the reins to one of the younger men who tended their needs.
Here too the crows were roosting; the sides of wagons and picket lines all had the immobile bodies of the feathered army.
Akhri and Hahmon were outside the Warlord’s tent and he nodded his thanks before walking in and looking around. The cage which housed Corvus stood there with its door open but as yet there was no sign of the huge bird.
Geron knew that without that bird the rest of the crows would be without direction and control and would prove dangerous to anyone who got in their way, he would have to pass a warning onto the men.
Inside the tent a bare pallet rested on the floor and a circle of stones had been laid containing a small cheerful fire. The Warlord still slept; his colour was better and the sleep looked more natural. Terrill sat on a small stool at the top of the pallet whilst the strange female lay on a cover and appeared to be asleep.
There was no sign of Glinn or Rikh and Geron was thankful, he may have chance to discuss what had happened without any unnecessary people listening in.
“So how is he?” he nodded at the Warlord and waited with interest for Terrill’s response.
“I have relaxed the sleep spell now and although he is deeply asleep it is not one forced upon him, if we spoke loudly enough he would awaken,”
“Well in that case let’s keep it down then shall we,” Geron turned at a noise behind him and met the cheerful face of Farl holding a plate of food and a tankard of ale. Thanking him Geron moved further into the tent and lowered himself to the floor near to Lyria.
He drank half the ale first washing down the accumulated dust of the day.
“Speak softly Mage and tell me where we are,” he could listen and eat before making further plans.
“I am unsure what you want me to tell you,” Terrill was concerned that Geron still served the Warlord and was not seriously considering committing treason.
“I want you to tell me everything you know about the beast we saw, I want you to tell me about this woman and if SHE can help us, I want you to tell me you can get the men home...” Geron broke off as he could hear his voice rising and Terrill had jumped up and was hushing him.
Taking a deep calming breath he lifted the cooked fowl on his plate and took a huge bite from it waiting for Terrill to continue.
“Sorry, I know you have questions but I have questions too... Such as if... if I tell you something will you rush to repeat it to the Warlord or would you keep the secret. You are in a trusted position with him and I am teetering here holding on by tooth and nail to stop him from doing to me what he did to Gwinn.”
He paused for a moment and waited till Geron nodded once in agreement. Both men were on strange ground, never having trusted anyone before they were fighting their usual instincts to go it alone.
Geron fixed him with a hard stare while he continued to eat and Terrill knew that now was as good a time as any to trust him. Slowly releasing the spell of cloaking which hid his true form he allowed his eye’s to revert to a darker shade of violet than the sleeping woman.
His body shimmered and instead of a man touching six feet with dark skin there sat a small man no taller than four and a half feet with olive tinted skin.
Geron forgot to eat, to breathe as he watched the Mage transform. It took mere seconds and Terrill stayed silent waiting for the other man to respond.
As his magick filled the air it touched Lyria and she stirred and awoke. Gasping in shock she sat up and looked hard at Terrill then at Geron. Terrill still had his robes on and he looked like a child trying its parent’s clothes on.
“My God, you... you are one like her...you are an alien too...How?” Geron fought to control the burst of panic he initially felt, if Terrill was an alien, were there others disguised the same way?
“I don’t know how my family ended up on Qol, I was born there as was my brother and that is as much as I can tell you.” He did not feel safe sitting near the Warlord as his true self so to the amazement of Lyria spoke his incantation and resumed his usual guise.
Murmuring in her language she stood and moved to his side, lifting his hand and examining it and looking deep into his eyes. She went to Geron then and lifted his hand as if waiting for him to change and gave him a shy smile of encouragement.
Geron’s mouth went dry and he felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment, Terrill laughed softly,
“So the lady wants you to be like me, I believe you have an admirer Geron.”
“I’m sorry... I’m not like him...Terrill, can you fix it for us to talk...cast a spell or something?” Geron wanted to talk with the woman and find out more about this world and if he admitted to himself, more about her.
“I spoke to her... at least I think it was her, on the way to the village... before the attack.” Terrill leaned forwards and Geron urged him to continue.
“She spoke to me earlier in my mind... said things which no-one else could know. I believe she can help us. Look at his hands... I have never seen burns like that... they must have been made by a powerful magick. She could perhaps help me to find a way to send everyone home.”
“Well speak with her again man, find out what she knows.” Geron paced the tent impatiently before pausing in front of Terrill,
“I need to find out more about his beast... there is a child who needs vengeance and if his beast murdered him... I will not rest... cannot rest until I know what happened,” he gripped Terrill’s arm tightly as he spoke,
“Hurry man...you must speak to her now, before he wakes up. If he is the killer then I guarantee he will never wake again.” His words hung in the air, bleak and harsh and Terrill knew felt the same anger towards the Warlord as he had felt towards Gwinn for the past forty years; his brother still lived but was yet not alive and he hoped to be able to find a way to revive him here on this world.
“I would if I could just find my crystal, I dropped it in the wagon and it has gone, without it I fear my attempts will continue to fail.”
Geron stood and went to the tent opening where he spoke with Hahmon for a few minutes; the other man rushed off and as he waited he spoke with Akhri,
“Have you seen Corvus, the biggest of the crows?” At Akhri’s negative response he warned him to beware of the other crows in the morning,
“If anything has happened to Corvus they will attack anyone, watch your eyes and warn anyone you come into contact with, spread the word.”
Hahmon came back then empty handed but accompanied by Farl,
“Now zur, I bain’t seen that dur crystal zince he done drop it on the floor of the wagon. It rolled about zum but I don’ think he be broke. I have looked at everything I took off but I cain’t find it zur.”
Geron already knew the man enough to know he would not lie about this and nodded his thanks. He turned to go and found Farl offering him a sealed earthenware jar.
“A’ fore I fergitz zur, Mazter Terrill dun azk me fer zum of this, could yer give it to him if’n it please yer lordzhip.”
Taking the jar Geron went back inside shaking his head negatively at the unspoken query in Terrill’s eyes.
“Farl says he has not got it and it didn’t break,” Geron passed the jar to Terrill who absently popped it inside his voluminous pockets; he had forgotten the request he had made to the wagoneer; the Mage thought for a moment before speaking.
“Glinn has to have it. He is the only one who could have taken it. I must deal with him before he tries to use it,” standing up he made to leave the tent but paused as the Warlord moaned as if in pain.
He had hoped Azhmel would sleep for longer but did not dare to put him back under, he was working with an unknown entity here, not fully man and not fully beast the Warlord could react badly to prolonged magick and the end result would be catastrophic.
The Warlord opened his eyes then and took in the three watching faces, Geron impassive as usual, the Mage biting at his lower lip dark eyes fathomless and the strange woman whose violet eyes showed her ear of him.
He remembered what had happened then and sat bolt upright causing Terrill to exclaim in concern.
“Steady Sire, you must take your time, you are still injured,” he held a mug to the Warlords mouth and encouraged him to drink.
“Tell me what is going on, now,” he did not dare show how weak he felt or the discomfort he felt in his hands and had always found attack to be the best form of defence.
“We are fully encamped Sire, Mage Terrill has tended your burns and as yet there have been reported injuries from anyone else coming into contact with the natives. I ordered them segregated until we could determine how you were injured and ensure that no-one else suffers the same fate.”
Geron kept his report brief and to the point, his no nonsense attitude and demeanour reassured the Warlord slightly.
“Have you questioned her,” Azhmel nodded at the silent figure seated on a stool; he felt there was something about her but couldn’t determine what it was at the moment.
“There appears to be a language issue Sire, I was about to search for my crystal and see if I can contact her that way,” Terrill interjected smoothly.
Before the Warlord could answer the opening to the tent was pushed back and the dishevelled figure of Glinn stood there crystal glowing in his hand.
His eyes glowed blackly and Terrill knew they were in deep trouble; the youth had managed to merge his some of his consciousness with the crystal.
“Liar..! You are a bloody liar, you conspire against the Warlord and I know this and I can prove it.” The youth had joined with the crystal; dismay was written on Terrill’s face... how much had he discovered?
Feeling in his pocket for his precious piece of stone Terrill prepared to speak the words to translocate away from the camp; he looked at Geron’s face and knew that he must expand the spell to include both him and the woman.
“What do you mean? Conspire against me? Explain,” Azhmel forced his legs to work and stood shakily looking first at Geron the Terrill finally taking in Glinn’s changed appearance.
“Sire I have seen it all in the crystal, I heard them discussing killing you while you slept!” The last was spoken triumphantly and Geron decided to risk speaking,
“He misheard Sire, once again a Mage meddles and we are at loggerheads. If he could have heard the conversation I stated that I would have no compunction in killing the woman for injuring you,” the lie rolled from his tongue smoothly and Azhmel paused with his hand resting on his knife.
Terrill was nodding in agreement with Geron,
“He is but a student Sire and is trying to use equipment which is far beyond his purview. He has never before touched one of the Mage crystals, it takes years to master the use of one and yet he stands here and says he has seen treason tonight, yes Sire I said treason and that is what this... this... child is accusing us of,” he moved towards Glinn holding his hand out for the crystal but the youth stepped away behind Azhmel and refused to relinquish his treasure.
“Nay, I’ll not give it to you. The Warlord is the only person I will give this too,” he gripped it tightly, his eyes blazing his conviction and looked to the Warlord waiting for a sign that he believed him.
The tableaux of people was frozen none dared move for fear of causing a fight in the confined space. The harsh breathing of Glinn was the only sound to be heard.
Geron could feel the tension and knew that the Warlord was fast, faster than a normal human warrior in battle. He was unsure how much his injuries would slow him down if there was to be a battle.
The next instant the fluttering of wings coming through the opening distracted them all as Corvus finally returned to roost for the evening. He swooped too close to Glinn and caused the youth to cry out dropping the crystal into the fire where it shattered on the hot stones.
Terrill had been awaiting a distraction and this was perfect his needs. The magic contained in the crystal was loose, wild magick and he needed to use it before it escaped; it swirled around them in a vortex filled with a myriad of colours and without hesitation he stepped into the centre and raised his arms high.
The noise was incredible deafening to the people of Qol, to Lyria it was worse with her delicate ears, it pounded through her head before exploding in her brain. She began to scream and the noises which escaped her throat were worse than the howling from the wild magick.
Glinn was convulsing on the floor, he had been in control of the orb and the escaping magic swept through his mind destroying it so badly that for the few months left of his short life he would need tending as if he was a new born baby.
Azhmel roared aloud but this time his beast could not break free, he was too drained of energy for it to even try. He snatched his blade ready to attack but he was unsure of whom to strike first. Outside the tent Akhri and Hahmon drew their swords unwilling to enter.
Terrill knew what he wanted the magick to do and he using every skill and fragment of knowledge available to him called on the power, encouraging it to concentrate on his voice.
Rikh felt the magick crawl over his skin as he sat eating his supper on the back of the wagon; jumping to his feet he threw his plate aside to rush through the camp like a madman.
Other soldiers who were eating their supper were attracted by the disturbance and rapidly drew their swords and followed the young Mage.
The Warlords white tent was lit from the inside with an emerald green glow which shot high into the night sky and was visible for miles around.
Terrill continued to chant and every person in the camp felt a strange tickling inside their heads; they all fell to the floor moaning in agony before losing consciousness.
The green glow expanded outwards and into the sky, running across the horizon until it surrounded and enveloped every inch of the surface of the planet.
Deep in the caverns of Gryph Orlan felt the tickle and knew instantly that powerful magick was being performed but, before he could do anything he too was affected by the noise and slumped on the floor.
The Warlord tried to reach Terrill, he was the only person left standing and he too was beginning to feel the pain from the magick. Finally his eyes rolled up in his head and he too fell down unconscious.
Terrill lowered his voice and whispered his words changing what he wanted the magick to do. He held his hand up and gradually in the centre of his palm the magick returned and first writhed and wriggled before turning into an amorphous ball before solidifying once more into a solid crystal orb.
His robes had changed from the rich emerald green he usually wore to pure white; the bands which shrouded his head had disappeared and revealed his pointed ears. His long flowing hair was freely seen; where it had been glossy black earlier it was now thickly streaked with grey.
Going first to Geron he rested his hand in the centre of his chest where it glowed briefly, as the other man moved and regained his senses he moved to Lyria and did the same for her. He waited until Geron could speak before telling him to collect what he needed - they were leaving the Warlords camp, for good.
Stepping outside he made his way to Akhri and Hahmon reviving them then Rikh; he moved swiftly then wanting to have his group far away from the camp by the time Azhmel came too and could organise his loyal soldiers.
At the wagon he revived a surprised Farl and asked him to load the wagon with as many supplies as he could.
“Moight I be azkin’ zur where we be a’ goin’?” Farl forced the words past his dry lips and Terrill paused.
“We are leaving the army Farl and leaving the Warlord’s service. If you don’t want to accompany us speak now... I will not force you to.” His violet eyes looked kindly at the taller man and Farl wiped his face with a dirty piece of rag before answering,
“Well zur, yer lordzhip, I’ze inclined to b’lieve that you be a good man, you ‘ave treated me an’ my ‘orses well and I think we would loike to come with yer. I don’ ‘old with all this a’killin’ that haz been ‘appenin’ tedn’t roight, tedn’t dezent, these people aren’t fighting proper loike. Zo zur, I b’lieve we will ...” Terrill interrupted him, the man could be very garrulous and time was of the essence at present.
“Good man, quick as you can then Farl. There will be...” he did a quick tot in his head,
“Seven... no eight including yourself; don’t whatever you do forget the large chest it is vitally important we take that if nothing else...and Farl... thank you.” Hurrying back to the Warlord’s tent he met Geron carrying Lyria; his eyes looked out of kilter and there was a trickle of blood running from his ears but he was recovering rapidly.
“Hurry Geron, place her in the wagon and come back...we must get everything we need now because we will not be able to return again,” he reached and gripped Geron’s arm,
“I’m sorry it happened now, we needed more time but I hope I have changed things enough to give us a chance of doing some good now.” Pushing Geron forward he hastened forwards meeting Akhri and Hahmon helping Rikh. A quick word with all three reassured them and he was relieved to find they would all accompany him.
Re-entering the tent he looked around and firstly went to the cage which housed Corvus the huge crow. The door was ajar and he swiftly fastened it with twine then a holding charm, crows have sharp beaks and it could soon peck through the strands. He was taking the crow with him and did not want to take any chances with his or his companion’s eyes.
He checked Glinn out first and as he neared him he could feel that the youths mind was destroyed,
“Oh Glinn, I am so sorry, this shouldn’t have happened. If you would just have waited...” he pressed his hand on the boys forehead and did what he could but unless he wanted to commit cold blooded murder there was nothing more to be done.
Geron reappeared then and looked disgusted when Terrill insisted they take the youth with them.
“Leave him here, he deserves what he got for betraying you,” Geron believed in black and white no second chances should be given and he wanted to finish the youth off there and then.
“No Geron, he is my burden, if I had been more vigilant and careful then this would not have happened. He won’t be with us for very long, his mind is destroyed by the first wild magick. Once that touched him he was lost.”
“So why take him and slow ourselves down, leave him here...let the healers tend him,” Geron was getting impatient with Terrill and couldn’t understand why he wanted to bring along something which would never be useful.
“I must bring him Geron, one day you will understand why but, for now, he is my responsibility and he comes with us,” Terrill spoke firmly and the other man conceded defeat by giving him a wry smile.
Looking on the Warlord his face altered again,
“I am not leaving him behind alive,” he made to draw his sword and Terrill spoke softly,
“I know what he is now Geron and it will take more than a sword to kill him...If you pierce his skin you will release the beast and at this moment I cannot help to contain it...Come quickly, I have a lot of work still and I don’t know how much longer they will be unconscious.”
Cursing under his breath Geron swooped and picked Glinn up, throwing him over his shoulder uncaring if he hurt the youth; Terrill grabbed the cage with the bird and once more had to force Geron to continue, he loathed the birds and the thought of having one with them all the time made his skin crawl.
Finally all were assembled around the wagon and looking at Terrill expectantly. Rikh had scrambled onto the back of the wagon and was arranging Glinn whilst he listened to what was being said.
“My friends we are on a precipice at present...I could leave you all behind and when the Warlord comes around he would believe you if you told him I had enchanted you. Or you can come with me...It will probably be dangerous and we will be at risk of being caught every single day. If we are caught there will be no trial...executed in the most painful manner possible will be our fate,”
“Maister Terrill, we believe that with you we are on the right side, the good side. I know I speak for most of us when I say...Hurry up and do what you are going to do, we are with you all the way,” Akhri voiced the words, his dark brown eyes honest and untroubled by the decision he had made; the others all spoke up in agreement then.
“Very well if we are all in agreement, I have to collect something and then I am sure the lady can tell us where to go.”
Before they could do anything else he had them seated on the wagon and, with his crystal held aloft he walked around the perimeter making an enormous circle in the earth as he included wagon and horses in the spell.
As he chanted softly the orb glowed brighter and brighter before a white flare blinded them all. Blinking against their streaming eyes they all gasped when they saw the coastline and the Warlord’s fleet still anchored there.
A stiff breeze was blowing and the salt in the air stung their lips and cheeks. There was no sign of any sentries and Geron frowned, if he was still in the employ of Azhmel he would have reprimanded the men for being sloppy.
“I will not be long, stay here quietly if possible,” Terrill walked away and as they watched he faded then finally disappeared.
“I hope one day he will teach me how to do that,” Rikh spoke softly and they all looked at the young man and smiled. The earnest expression on his face glowed in the soft night air.
“I am certain that at the appropriate time you will be instructed how to do many things,” the softly accented voice that spoke came from Lyria and they all gaped as they realised they could understand her.
“How...How can this be?” Geron queried her and she smiled again, the smile that made his stomach clench and his pulse rate rise.
“I do not know what your priest did, my ears burnt and for a while I thought I had lost my mind. It was only a moment ago that I knew I could understand you.”
She smiled and her perfect white teeth gleamed under the light of the moons.
“I am pleased that we can now speak. There is much I must know of you and your people...Why you are here... How you came here?”
Her voice faltered and Geron reached out for her hand holding it in a comforting clasp, squeezing firmly; his rough thumb stroking the sensitive skin soothingly.
“When Terrill comes back we will go and we will talk; everything we know we will tell you... I’m sorry we are here...we shouldn’t be...there was an accident,” he couldn’t form a full sentence but his words must have made sense as she returned the gentle squeeze on his hand with a smile.
“Thank you, I would like to hear more of your people; your families must miss you,” she spoke and the yearning in her voice caught at their hearts,
“You have a family Miz?” Farl spoke and asked the question they all wanted to know,
“I have a daughter, she is very beautiful and special...” she paused and looked at them pleadingly,
“We must go to her as soon as we possibly can or she and her friend will die and it will be my fault,” a fat tear welled on her eyelid and trickled down her soft cheek.
“I cannot believe that you would do anything to harm a child,” Geron spoke up and she nodded,
“Not intentionally, never that but she was in our village when you attacked and I managed to get her and her friend away as you arrived.”
Geron assumed that she had sent them down a dangerous trail and was about to reassure her when the air at his side appeared to thicken and Terrill was once more stood at his side.
There was a large crate on the floor and the men set too with a will to make room for it on the wagon. Lyria exclaimed in distress at what he held cradled in his arms and reached forward to take the small limp body of his brother from him.
“What the...Where the bloody hell has he been?” Geron felt a surge of anger at the Mage and raised his hand angrily,
“Please Geron, I did not do this. Gwinn did this more than forty years ago...I have searched for so long,” he sighed tiredly before kissing the small face and passing him to Lyria.
“I didn’t know what Gwinn had done to him so dared not try to revive him in case he turns out like that abomination,” he waved his hand towards the cage holding the frozen body of the crow.
“Forty years? Man...How..?” Geron could not speak as he had no idea of how it could have happened.
“I will tell you everything but we must leave here quickly, there is something here which has all the sailors terrified; they were preparing to weigh anchor and move further along the coastline,” he looked at Lyria as he spoke and noticed how gently she cradled Darell’s tiny body.
“What is it...There was nothing when we left?” Geron queried anxiously drawing his sword and looking around examining the darker shadowed areas.
“A beast of some sort...It appeared just after sunset and within minutes had badly mauled three sentries. The healer doesn’t think they will survive their wounds and he was nearly hysterical as he claimed to have seen the identical same wounds on the child Col.” Terrill placed his hand on Geron’s shoulder before continuing,
“It could not be the Warlord as I have not left his side,” his eyes were perturbed,
“Could there be something that we missed... something else which killed the boy?”
“No, I am certain it was Azhmel. There were signs in his cabin...the wrappings were his,” Geron bit his lip thinking rapidly,
“My Lady, can you tell us if there is a creature like the Warlord’s beast which would..?” He described the injuries that Col had suffered and Lyria choked back a cry before shaking her head, her eyes looked troubled and her eyebrows were pulled tight as she frowned and spoke,
“I know of nothing on Galiana which would do that...Tell me what did you do with the child’s body?”
Geron pointed to the trees which were a few minutes away and explained they had buried him there. Lyria stood before passing Darell to the reluctant Akhri,
“We do not bury our dead, they have always been sent to the Realm of the Dead on the edge of the sacred flames.”
“We must look at it... quickly before we are noticed,” she held her arms out to Geron and he sheathed his sword briefly while lifting her down.
Terrill bit his tongue; the sense that something was terribly wrong grew worse as the three of them hurried to the sad little grave. As they drew near they could see the earth had been disturbed and Geron drew his sword holding Lyria behind him.
There was no small mutilated body in the earth; the canvas shroud was shredded and the covering stones were scattered around.
“How can this be? Something has dug him up...An animal perhaps... a hound?” Geron kept his voice lowered as he knew that sounds travelled over water at night and he didn’t want to alert any watchers on the ships to their presence.
Lyria picked the shroud up and was examining it, poking her fingers through the tears in the fabric,
“No animal did this,” her voice was barely audible and when she looked up both Geron and Terrill were alarmed by the pallor of her face,
“He is become undead... he has awakened again,” she sounded terrified and shrank closer to Geron looking around frantically.
“You must be mistaken,” Terrill questioned her,
“How can you know this?”
“Look...Look here and here... This was scratched from the inside out, not the other way,” she poked her hand through the canvas and both men were forced to agree.
Before they could speak a cry from the direction of the wagon attracted their attention; another cry...a different voice and the clatter of a sword on wood caused Geron to sprint off.
Terrill and Lyria were but seconds later in following and had the same view as he did.
Rikh was standing on the back of the wagon and had managed to conjure a line of fire in the earth. With him stood Farl holding the child Darell and Akhri with his sword in hand, tears falling on his cheeks.
The other side of the line showed Hahmon on his belly, no movement from him so they were unsure if he was alive or not. Further up the youth Glinn was sprawled and a shadowy figure leant over him making strange sucking sounds.
Geron paused in his headlong dash his sword glinting in the light of the magickal flames,
“Stay back...Let me see what it is...My God!” The horror in his voice sounded loudly in the night and caused Terrill to move closer, his hand already holding his precious orb.
Lyria waited and watched as Geron advanced on the creature and as he closed in it suddenly heard the sound of shifting stones and spun around hissing at them.

“Please Goddess...no... This is not...” Lyria felt her throat close with tears as she saw what the creature had done to Glinn.
Both eyes had been cruelly clawed out; threads from blood vessels and nerves hung loose. The thick viscous fluid usually contained within had leaked and was smeared not just down his cheeks but, around the creature’s mouth.
The creature was chewing on something gripped tightly in its hand, and to her horror she realised it was the remains of Glinn’s tongue which had been ripped completely out of his throat by something with tremendous strength.
Geron fought to control the fear he was swamped with from taking over, he wanted to weep as he looked at what used to be the small body of the child, Col.
Something had happened though, he no longer looked human; fingers had become thick claws and most of his body was covered by thick heavy scales which hid the dreadful wounds he had been buried with.
“Col, Col boy...it’s me...Geron,” he risked speaking and the creature hissed angrily at him then opened its mouth wide a bestial howl erupting from it.
“Kill it quickly Geron,” Terrill urged him, his voice barely registering as he did not want to attract the creature’s attention.
“It is not natural you know that; the child died in the most awful way, you have to kill it.”
Geron nodded sadly and reached with his sword gauging the distance,
“You will have to behead it,” Lyria spoke from behind him and he acknowledged her words as he raised his hand once more, an imperceptible tremor flowing through him. He had killed hundreds of men in battle but the thoughts of killing this child.
He hardened his thoughts then, it was no longer a child but a creature made by Azhmel; the scales were identical as were the scimitar shaped claws. Here was the final proof he needed that the Warlord had murdered the child.
He began to swing his sword for the stroke needed but was startled by the sudden sound of flapping as from behind the boy a pair of wings unfurled and he rose into the air beyond Geron’s reach.
“Quickly Mage we need a fire shield,” he screamed at Terrill while running to get Lyria and push her underneath the wagon. Behind him the men on the wagon had already done the same but he could hear the terrified whinnying from the horses and feared that if they bolted the wagon would overturn and kill everyone underneath.
Terrill held his orb high and a sheet of lightening flowed towards the flying figure, it briefly enveloped it before the creature moved further away out of his range and he swore angrily at himself for allowing it to happen.
Rikh allowed his fire to die and crawled from under the wagon; he held the tiny body of Darell close and was shaking uncontrollably with shock and fear. Farl rushed to the head of the horses and began to sooth the terrified animals; fighting with them as they tossed their heads champing the bit between their teeth.
Akhri slowly walked to his friend; instead of sheathing his sword he stood it upright in the soft earth where he could reach it quickly if needs be. As he rolled Hahmon over he began to murmur a prayer for the dead under his breath.
The creature Col had dropped like a stone from the sky onto Hahmon’s head and Akhri had heard the snapping of bones so knew his friend had died quickly with a broken neck.
His sightless eyes looked up and Akhri gently smoothed the lids over them; he thanked the God the others had returned when they had, before the creature had tried to feed from him.
Terrill moved to the body of Glinn and sighed softly, this was one death that was a blessed relief. He felt Rikh come to his side and gently wrapped his arm across the frightened youth’s shoulder.
“Master Terrill, it is my fault Glinn is dead sir,” Rikh still held the small boy tightly to his chest and was softly stroking the face as he spoke,
“I deliberately pushed him from the wagon hoping he would distract the creature from Hahmon and the wagon. I did not know that Hahmon must have been dead instantly...I thought that Glinn...Well he was as good as dead and...” he drew a sobbing breath and Terrill hugged him close, trying to dispel some of the tremors he felt.
“It was not your fault Rikh, do not blame yourself. You probably saved the lives of the rest of your companions by sacrificing Glinn. I would have done the same had I been here.”
Geron came to stand at their side, his sword was drawn and his eyes were searching the night sky in case the creature came back. Lyria was with him and she looked even smaller cowering in fear.
“We have to leave now Mage...Before it comes back,” his voice was urgent and Terrill agreed. Before they had taken three steps Rikh had halted them,
“We cannot leave the bodies here for...for it to feed on again,” he was outraged and had looked to Akhri for support.
“I would not like to leave Hahmon here like this sir; he was a good friend to me and deserves a decent burial.”
Lyria interrupted them; her face was haunted by what she had seen,
“You cannot bury them. They may come back like the creature. They must be sent on their way by flame.” She was adamant and unyielding and although they wanted to argue with her there was no time for anything else.
It took but seconds to arrange both bodies on broken branches they collected from close by. As they worked they were aware of lanterns being lit on the ships and the chances of arrows being fired at them grew the longer they remained.
Akhri went to use his tinder box to start the fire but Lyria held him back.
“Let me do this for your friends,” she stood for a moment eyes closed in silent prayer then cupped her hands together and blew softly.
A pale glow began within her hands and seconds later she opened them to reveal a tiny globe of lavender fire in each palm. Awestruck they watched as she stroked the robes covering both men at the same time.
The flames ran around their bodies and within seconds were burning fiercely. As they stood there Lyria basked in the heat and Terrill noticed how the flames seemed to come from her eyes.
“Allow me to take your brother Terrill,” her voice sounded unearthly, deeper and imperious, an order which could not be refused.
“Why?” he was slightly suspicious of her and after searching for all these years was unprepared to risk losing Darell again.
“He is fey, you are fey, and I am fey. The flames are fey. I will take him through the flames and when we emerge from the other side he will be well.”
Her sincerity and certainty convinced Rikh who still held the child and before anyone could stop him he handed him to Lyria.
Walking to the head of the flames she smiled mysteriously at them then without waiting walked straight in.
Geron took a step forward but Terrill gripped his arm tightly,
“She will be alright friend Geron, of that I am certain.” He remembered when they had entered the village but a few short hours ago, she was stood in the flames then and they had not burnt her, he could only pray his faith in her was justified.
Images moved through the flames; no longer Lyria and a child but something mystical and magickal walked there. It seemed to take forever but less than two minutes passed before Lyria walked from the flames and stood in front of Terrill and Geron.
She smiled again, the mysterious smile which made Geron hold his breath against the emotions which swept through him.
“Terrill, take back your brother Darell, look after him carefully he has missed you.” As they looked down at her the eyes of the child opened and he smiled sweetly before holding his arms out.
“I knew you would find me Ter,” he wrapped his arms around Terrill’s neck tightly and they all watched as the Mage wept happily.
A whooshing noise overhead caused Geron to call out in alarm,
“Arrowstorm...they are firing arrows at us; quickly get out of the way. Mage we have to go...Now!”
Terrill hurried to the wagon, he wanted to talk to Darell but that would have to wait until they were somewhere safe.
“Lyria, where are we going now? We need to find somewhere safe and regroup... Do you know of such a place?”
Lyria looked at the size of the wagon and the horses and guessed they could safely be hidden in the underground catacombs of Gryph; she desperately wanted to go there and see to Hoppy and Lyta anyway so nodded to Terrill.
“Can you get an image of it in your mind; I need to see as much as possible, if you can get an image in your head...” He placed a hand on her head and intently studied the orb.
“I see a cave? You want us to hide in a cave?” When she nodded he pulled a wry face,
“We will have to be hunkered down to ensure no-one materialises with their head in the roof but I believe I can do it.”
More arrows whooshed overhead as he spoke and Geron jumped as one grazed his arm leaving a bloody streak behind,
“Terrill we have to go man, come on or the next arrow will really injure someone,” he looked at the Mage and was pleased when Terrill pointed to the wagon.
“We will be gone in a moment, quickly now all of you, on the wagon and get down low; I don’t know exactly how high the cave roof is and I should hate for you to lose your heads.”
Lyria was handed up and Akhri helped her to a seat before passing Darell to her. The child hadn’t spoken again but, tucked his thumb in his mouth and sucked it while his large wide eyes took in everything which was happening.
Farl clambered onto the seat at the front holding tight to the reins of the horses; with a last look around Geron vaulted up and sat close to Lyria. He still had his sword drawn in case of another attack by the creature Col had become.
Once more Terrill began his circle and this time he firmly imprinted the image of the cave in his head he had made two complete circles around the horses and wagons when he became aware of a sense of danger burning between his shoulder blades.
He did not dare hurry the incantation, one mispronounced word could leave them all materialised inside a wall rather than the caves. As the surroundings blurred he was aware of a swooping creature and ducked as they blurred and were translocated away from the beach.
Behind them the creature shrieked with rage as its prey escaped. An arrow from the ships hit it on the wing distracting it and it changed direction gliding with the stiff sea breeze before pouncing on one of the archers lining the deck of the nearest ship; it had a huge hunger to fill and would begin here, tonight.

Azhmel felt the cold seeping through his clothes; he couldn’t understand why he felt so uncomfortable and tried to remember where he was. His eyelids felt too heavy to open all the way and it took him a few minutes to force them open into slits.
What had happened here? His tongue felt thick and dry, stuck to the roof of his mouth and he forced himself to try to swallow.
“Geron..?” He tried calling out but the word was barely audible to his own ears; he managed to open his eyes and studied the ceiling. It moved, rippled with the breeze and he suddenly knew he was in his tent.
His mind was still cloudy and vague flashes came to him of a bright green light and the most incredible pain in his ears which had exploded and tore the top from his skull.
Moving an arm was incredibly painful and he stared curiously at the bandages covering his hand; he reached and tentatively touched the top of his head and was relieved to find it still in place.
The headache was fading slightly and it was with some difficulty he managed to roll onto his side and then onto his front. He lay gasping for breath before pushing up onto his knees; his head swam alarmingly and he thought he would vomit if he made any more movements.
“Geron..?” He tried calling out again, this time he heard it but he doubted anyone outside the tent would hear it.
Looking around he saw a low bed and table; there was a cup on the table and he prayed that there was something in it to drink and ease his dry mouth and throat.
It took him five minutes more to crawl over to the bed and when he reached it he collapsed with his face buried in the soft sheets; it was fear of suffocation which eventually made him lift his head.
He was still bone numbingly cold and great shivers kept overpowering his body. Before he reached for the cup he checked to see how full it was, he didn’t want to spill it and waste any.
Barely half full he managed to clasp it between both bandaged hands and lift it to his mouth, teeth clattering on the side as he shivered violently. The liquid wasn’t water or tea, it tasted medicinal and he wondered if it had been given him after he injured his hands.
The liquid was cool, soothing to his parched throat; he fought to control his shaking and managed to drink it all with barely any being spilt.
Dropping the cup on the floor he looked at the bed; the blankets looked warm and he desperately wanted to feel warm again. He also wanted to get up from the floor as his shin bones and knees hurt with kneeling on them.
Resting his head on the bed once more he stretched out his arms and once he reached the far side he pulled as hard as he could; a groan of pain escaped him as his hands flared into intense agony, slowly his chest moved further over the bed until more of him was on the bed than the floor.
He was breathing heavily now and it took his last burst of energy to drag his legs up and roll onto his side; he clawed at the blanket and pulled it up over his shoulders snuggling into the softness and waiting for blessed warmth to fill him.
Opening his eyes he realised he must have dozed off; he was warmer now, his feet tingled as hot blood flowed to the ends of his toes. He could move now without feeling as if his body would shatter into a million pieces.
Whatever had been in the cup appeared to have helped him. Gingerly lifting his head he found he could move now without dizziness overwhelming him. He twisted to sit upright on the edge of the bed and kept the blanket wrapped around his shoulders.
His pillow attracted his attention and he stared absently at the dark red stain which was exactly where his ear would have rested. He raised his bandaged hands and touched both ears softly; the ear which had rested on the pillow was clear and dry but the other ear left a thick bloody smear on the bandage.
“Geron..?” His voice was louder now and he knew he should have been heard. He listened carefully but the silence from outside was oppressive; he had never before not heard the men who were camped around him.
Standing up he wobbled precariously for a few seconds; holding his arms out for balance he raised his right foot and carefully placed it a few inches in front of the other.
It took ten minutes for him to shuffle across the uneven floor; finally he stretched his arm out and gripped a pole which was used to tie the heavy fabric door flap open.
He straightened his spine and took a few deep breaths; his men would not respect him if he walked out looking like a cripple.
Striding through the flap he took just three steps then halted, his mouth falling open in shock as he took in the scenes of carnage before him.
The camp fires were still burning, some brighter than others; if the two moons had not been high in the night sky it would have been difficult for him to see the extent of the devastation in the camp.
Most of his men were on the ground shivering and shaking uncontrollably; others would never move again as they had either fallen into the fires and their bodies were now being consumed by the flames.
He spotted a bucket of water, obviously meant for watering the horses but his need was desperate again and, without hesitation he dunked his head in it, holding his breath for long seconds, before raising it up and shaking his hair like a wet dog.
“Aaargh,” he groaned as the water entered his ears but it had done the trick and whatever had muffled the night sounds was flushed out
Suddenly he heard angry screams coming from the horses; with difficulty he managed a pathetic attempt at running and had soon reached the picket lines.
Most of the horses were calmly eating from the troughs of oats in front of them; Fury was not one of those horses. Azhmel counted at least four men who would not rise again; two men had huge purple and black bruises on the side of their faces where his great hooves had kicked out, shattering the fragile bones in their heads.
The other men looked to have fallen or tripped over the rope of the picket, breaking their necks as they did so.
It took him ten minutes to calm the horse down; he managed to hobble him tying the rope around his hooves tight enough to stop him kicking out at any more of his unconscious men.
The fires were crackling louder now and the smell of burning flesh turned his stomach.
He couldn’t understand where Geron was, for twelve years if the Warlord had so much as sneezed, his champion would have been there with a handkerchief at the ready; now when he was needed the man was nowhere to be found.
He grabbed a bucket of water and made his way to the first man shivering uncontrollably; he reached down and pulled him into a sitting position, poured a dipper full of water down his throat and slapped his cheeks until a look of recognition appeared.
“Can you hear me?” The Warlord was uncertain that he was talking normally or shouting at the soldier and was relieved when the man answered him.
“Good, now find yourself a bucket...Every man needs water...Hurry, we may be under attack,” before the soldier could query his meaning, Azhmel had moved onto the next immobile soldier and was once more hauling him up and pouring water down the unfortunate man’s throat.
As he worked he slowly began to feel better himself; flashes came to him once more showing the green light and a strange dark haired female.
He drew near one of the large fires and managed to reach and pull a soldier safely away from the flames. His jerkin was singed and his back slightly burnt but he would live; Azhmel froze when he saw the burns and looked down at his bandaged hands.
A flicker of memory stirred and once he had poured the dipper of water down the soldiers throat the Warlord stood and moved away; he lifted one of the bandages to his mouth and with difficulty managed to release one of the knots holding it in place.
Carefully unwinding it he pulled it away and revealed a mass of ugly dead skin. It looked charred as if from a fire but, he somehow knew that a regular fire had not caused his injuries.
A shout from behind him drew his attention back to the scene and once more he turned his attention to his men. The next man he revived was a sergeant and he struggled to remember his name,
“Kensis isn’t it? Sergeant Kensis?” He plucked the name from mid-air and was rewarded with a pained grin.
“Yes my lord, you have the name right sir,” Kensis had never spoken directly to the Warlord before so was unaware of how he should address him.
“Can I leave you to get these men into some form of order, I have to...”
“Yessir, no problem sir, leave it with me sir,” The Warlord didn’t need to complete his sentence before the well trained man had interrupted him.
Azhmel’s hearing had returned fully and the sound of screaming men, whinnying horses and crackling fires was overpowering.
He was making his way back to his tent when an alarmed cry had sounded and he was surprised by men running towards him, away from the supply wagons.
“Run my lord, run sir,” Sergeant Kensis was racing towards him fear oozing from every pore of his body,
“Run sir, the fire has gotten into the Mage supplies and his black gunpowder is going to blow,” the sergeant grabbed Azhmel’s arm forcing him to safety.
The Warlord had turned and started to run when Kensis shouted but found the word Mage was drilling a hole through his mind, releasing his trapped memories.
“NO!” He fell to his knees before raising both hands to the heavens,
“Damn you Terrill! Damn you Geron!” Furious with both men he felt his beast stir deep inside him.
Generally he fought to contain it, only releasing it when it was too hungry to stay dormant, then he would allow it a small glimpse of the outside world when it would find a victim and feed.
Usually the anticipation of a meal was enough to control it; once satiated it would rest and allow his human side to dominate and see to its needs. The anger he now felt was all that his beast needed.
Incandescent rage engulfed him and howling into the air he was one instant a man the next a fire breathing beast only remembered and talked about as a legend.

White light filled the underground catacombs of Gryph; when it faded away the wagon was there with two very frightened horses. They kicked out with their back legs and then reared up, pulling their reins from Farl’s hands.
Calling out for help he jumped down before they could break free; Akhri ran to help as did Geron, it was too small an area to have two large horses rampaging free many would be injured if they did not act fast.
They could hear panicked screaming and Geron hoped that someone wouldn’t take the opportunity to slip a knife in his ribs while he was distracted.
Akhri was losing his grip on the reins and his horse managed a last frantic kick before a sharp crack was heard and it collapsed subdued as its front leg snapped like a twig.
Farl shouted something but it was indistinguishable in the panic; he ripped his jerkin off and covered the panicked animal’s head and eyes, thereby preventing it from seeing any escape route.
Geron eventually managed to get a firm grip on the horse he was helping to calm its frenzied bucking; it took him a few more minutes to finally get the animal under control.
“I’m sorry Maister Geron,” Akhri began to speak, he stood holding the injured animals reins soothing its tremors,
“It was jes’ too strong fer me sir,” he looked apologetic and Geron clasped his arm,
“No need to apologise my friend, it was an accident. And, do not in future call me either Master or sir. We are I hope friends and you will call me Geron as will everyone else here,” he included Rikh and the disconsolate Farl who had returned then and they nodded in agreement.
He drew his knife prepared to end its suffering and Lyria held his arm,
“What are you doing Geron?” She could feel waves of pain coming from the horse and wanted to help it.
“There is no need for you to see this Lyria, go away and let me stop any more suffering,” he tried to turn her away but she held his arm tightly,
“Why don’t you heal it?” She had treated many animals over the years and thought that everyone should do the same.
“Lyria it has a broken leg, we can’t heal broken bones in horses. They have to be put out...” he broke off as she tutted in exasperation,
“Can’t heal broken bones? I’ve never heard the like. Stand aside Geron and let me show you what a proper healer can do,”
Feeling for the break in the leg Lyria began gently stroking both the upper and lower part of the limb; then she closed her eyes tightly and began to sing.
Her words were unknown to all there and Geron moved closer to watch and listen. He noticed the animal’s limb was glowing from the inside and was fascinated to see that as Lyria sang the glow grew brighter for a few seconds more.
When she stopped singing and released the leg he reached out an enquiring hand and stroked down the forearm and the knee down to where the broken cannon bone had been.
“What have you done here?” She smiled at the awed faces watching her,
“Bone is a living thing; if it is broken it needs to grow for some weeks before it mends. I have just...encouraged it to grow rather faster than normal. I will bandage it now but within two or three days she will never know her leg had been broken.”
Geron felt Akhri and Farl move closer to him, intimidated by the stares aimed at them.
Orlan stood watching them approach; he was unsure of how to respond to these savages and instead he waited for Lyria to show him the way.
“Orlan,” she walked up to him and stood on tip toe to kiss his cheek. He was not ready to forgive her for the fright she had given him and harrumphed as he pointedly stared first at Geron then moved on to Terrill.
Finally his gaze dropped to Darell and his jaw fell open; how could a fey male child be with them? He knew there had been no fey births since Lyta; he must have arrived with the savages.
Lyria looked around and spotted Halle kneeling on the floor with Anjii and Harry; her face lit up as she spied the dark head of her daughter and saw the smaller blond head of Hoppy placed close by her side.
Darting away to join them she left the others standing around and staring at each other, uncomfortable with the situation.
Terrill moved from the side of the wagon towards the oldest person there; he could sense the power emanating from him and knew that this man was the one he should be speaking to.
Orlan looked closely at him before jumping up with a sprightliness which belied his age and exclaiming in surprise,
“Why... You are fey. How...how can this be? Come please, sit here beside me and we can speak. Thadd...Thadd. That boy is never where I want him...Thadd, ah yes boy, we need tea for... I’m sorry Lyria didn’t introduce us,” he led Terrill to his seat whilst watching as Thadd hurried over to the fire which had a bubbling pot suspended over it.
“I am Orlan of Durrh; please won’t you tell me how you come to be here?” He sat down and placed his elbows on his knees looking intently at Terrill and Darell who had crawled onto his brother’s lap.
Thadd bustled forward and handed both men thick earthenware mugs which steamed and passed an aromatic aroma into the air.
Geron stood hesitant for the first time. Should he join the Mage group or Lyria and her group of healers; before he could move a deep voice sounded behind him.
“Here man you look like you need a drink,” he turned and found his face level with the chest of an impossibly tall man who was holding a mug towards him.
He took a sip and was surprised to find not just tea but the bite of some form of spirit, taking a longer draught he looked up at the smiling face of Varon,
“I thought we were a large race of men but to find a giant here...” He thrust his arm out to shake hands and waited, the overture of friendship seemed the proper thing to do.
“Varon of Birrh at your service,” the man shook his hand vigorously and Geron hoped there were more men like him to protect this world from the wrath of Azhmel.
“Geron of...Geron, at your service,” he bowed but Varon laughed and pounded his shoulder.
“I am only a little man here; there is no need to bow to me. He is the most important person here,” he pointed to Orlan and Geron nodded in understanding. By now he had found himself shepherded over to the fire.
Akhri, Rikh and Farl followed in their footsteps, all were silent; the events of the day were now weighing heavily on them. Akhri wanted to grieve for his friend Hahmon, but knew this was neither the time nor place.
Geron sipped his drink letting the strong alcohol warm him while he watched Lyria work he allowed his thoughts to wander.
Lyria; her very name was exotic. From the first moment he had seen her he was bewitched. His mouth had gone dry; unable to speak he had gazed into her beautiful eyes and wanted to snatch her up and protect her from anyone or anything which meant to harm her.
She made his body betray him, his ‘nads ached every time he was near her; her subtle scent made his head swim and he found his mind thinking of other things which caused his hands and legs to shake like those of a callow and untried youth.
Snapped back to the present by angry raised voices he half raised up thinking they had been found. A red haired vixen was exchanging strong words with Lyria, pointing to the children beside her, her resemblance to the boy child was apparent by the shape of her nose and chin.
His gaze sharpened with keen interest; these must be the children she had miraculously spirited from her village earlier that day. How they had ended up here many hundreds of miles away he would have to wait to find out.
“How could you do this Lyria, they are just babies!” Anjii was furious at the small fey woman and intended to tell her exactly how she felt,
“They can never go near the fire or light...you have condemned them to a...”
“Oh Anjii, I have done no such thing,” Lyria moved to embrace her friend but was held off by her stiff unyielding demeanour.
“Do you really think I would do that to my own daughter as well as your son?” she knelt down as she threw the question over her shoulder,
“I had only minutes to do something and if you don’t like my solution then just think that they could both be as dead now as so many of our friends and neighbours are.”
“What...What do you mean...Dead...How can they be dead...The attack was here, at Gryph?” Anjii’s voice carried out through the cavern and everyone turned and watched as Lyria stood and spoke,
“The attack in Gryph was made of just one part of this Warlord’s army. He split his men and another came to Durrh,” before she could say anything else Geron stood and added,
“There is another third force who had yet to come across a town or village,” his tone was apologetic and when Lyria looked accusingly at him he shrugged,
“There was no time to tell you... things had happened so fast,” he half extended his hand to her, before allowing it to fall back by his side, the gesture a plea for her understanding.
“Where are these soldiers going?” Thadd asked as his mind raced, would they be able to prevent any further loss of life?
Rikh jumped up pulling one of the maps he had made from his pocket and unrolled it, pointing out the route General Creed had initially taken. Colonel Klimm was now in charge there and he would stick to the plan like glue unless he received new orders.
No major dwelling places were marked on the map but, if he deviated and came a few miles inland he would eventually be rewarded by more villages and large towns and would cause devastating loss of life.
“For now he will continue on that path, there is no way to tell him what comes ahead now as we have control of Azhmel’s eyes in the sky. We could perhaps try and confuse him with misleading information.”
Geron had remembered they had the cage containing Corvus with them and as long as he stayed there the Warlord would be unable to communicate with the rest of the crows.
Lyria had lost interest in discussing strategy and tactics, they meant nothing to her; while the men were crowded around the map she was going to revive Hoppy and Lyta.
She felt the need to hurry; the longer they lay like this, immobile and unmoving; the more chance there was of them becoming sick.
Anjii had stayed watching over the children and now observed as Lyria searched through her large basket. The basket had been a joke for many years as wherever Lyria went she apparently took most of her home in it.
Exclaiming happily she pulled out a tightly wrapped packet and opened it sniffing at the bitter compound it contained.
“What is that?” Halle had joined them and was curious as to how Lyria had done this to the children and her method of revival. It may benefit a good healer to know to do this for a patient one day.
“This is very dangerous if it is used wrongly. I make it by boiling the bark of the Dendron tree and fire ants,” Lyria was pouring water into two small bowls as she spoke,
“You have to give the exact same amount to revive as you give to paralyse or that person would die. That is why I never tell many of my students how to make it or use it.” She looked directly at Halle as she spoke and the healer nodded her approval.
“There is mention of this in a very old scroll at the hospital but the warnings about using it are so frightening that I would never dare to use it.”
“If it is so dangerous then why did you use it on our children?” Anjii was even more frightened for the life of her son and needed to understand why Lyria had placed both children in the gravest of danger.
“Cu’ra’ree is the only medicine I know which paralyses the whole body, this includes the twitching eyes and lids. For someone who is not fey the fire latches into a tiny corner of their mind and, it would eventually flare up, out of control before consuming them,”
“But Lyta is fey...so why..?” Anjii interrupted, her brows drawn together in confusion,
“She is a child of fey yes. Until she becomes a woman then she is just as vulnerable as the rest of you to the flames. That is why I had to do this to both of our children.”
She made both women sit quietly now as she worked; a tiny strip of wood was used to scrape the Cu’ra’ree and she counted out individual grains of the sticky brown substance. She stirred the grains into both bowls then looked up,
“It is ready...Would you prefer to wait and see if Lyta recovers before giving it to Hoppy?” She looked into Anjii’s pale face as she spoke,
“Just hurry and do it Lyria, I know you will have done everything possible...” she took a deep breath bracing herself and watched as Lyria first dripped a tiny amount onto Lyta’s tongue.
“I need to allow the Cu’ra’ree to work on her throat first; without the ability to swallow she could drown,” rigidly keeping her eyes on Lyta she waited for what seemed like minutes but was in actual fact only a few seconds before smiling at the tiny movement from the back of her tongue.
She allowed another dribble of liquid to coat her tongue fully and this time the movement was instantaneous; she poked a small polished stone of turquoise underneath her tongue.
“Come Halle, get your eye dropper and start to drip this down Lyta’s throat while I deal with our little Hopster.”Her excitement was contagious and spread around the room causing everyone to draw near and watch.
Hoppy moved his throat even faster than Lyta had and soon he too was showing signs of coming around; a smaller piece of turquoise was lodged under his tongue, she had to be careful with its placing as he was missing two front teeth.
Halle passed Anjii another dropper and Lyria moved closer to Lyta, and with one finger resting on her daughter’s head and one on Hoppy’s she began to sing.
Geron felt his throat work convulsively at the beauty of it; there was nothing on Qol like the sounds which came from her throat. He felt better, revived as if he had slept for a full eight hours and knew that the effect would be greatly amplified in the children she touched.
Not a sound could be heard from anyone as they watched and waited. The flames in the fire flickered until the barest embers showed red and still Lyria sung; Halle and Anjii continued to drip the liquid down the small throats and kept smiling at each stronger movement from them.
Lyta’s mouth opened as a small fledgling bird’s would, eager for sustenance from a parent; Hoppy copied the movement seconds later and they knew a corner had been turned.
Lyria still sang and the torches died through lack of attention and in the dim light they noticed a flickering glow pouring from Lyria into both children.
“Mamanee,” the voice was higher than Lyria’s but still had a sweet melodic tone and Geron grinned in relief and hoped he would get to hear more of it.
Bending her head over in silent prayer Lyria fell silent for a moment,
“Praise the Goddess...Anjii, you must now rub every inch of Hoppy’s skin to get his blood flowing.”
She moved around and began first to rub Lyta’s arms then legs to stimulate her to blood flow; every inch of their small bodies needed massaging to stop their skin from dying.
“He’s moving a little, his eyes are twitching and his mouth is opening and closing like a fish,” Anjii choked over her tears and Lyria closed her eyes thankful that he was recovering.
“Need some help?” Geron had moved closer and was watching her frantic movements as she tried to rub all Lyta’s limbs at once. At her grateful nod he picked both legs up in one large hand and briskly rubbed them all the way down to her toes.
“It burns mamanee,” Lyta’s voice croaked and Lyria felt her eyes fill with tears,
“It will soon go away little one, be strong for me,” Lyria felt the pain for her and wished there was more she could have done. Lyta spat her stone in her hand and looked at Geron with interest, cocking her head on one side as she studied him.
“Does it wash off?” She reached a small hand out and stroked the skin on his hand which was still vigorously rubbing her feet.
He laughed and paused looking at the inquisitive face,
“It does not wash off, no. May I introduce...”
“You are Geron, my mother has told me. She likes you.” Geron looked puzzled as he had been with them for the past few minutes yet Lyria had barely spoken to her. Before he could question her Hoppy caused the assembled group to chuckle happily.
“I’m hungry,” Hoppy was recovering fast and Anjii sped away looking for something to feed him. She returned moments later holding two dishes of a thin soup and Lyria thanked her for thinking of Lyta.
“When he has eaten Anjii he needs to be up and running around for as long as possible, and make sure he drinks lots of water...he needs to flush his system...as do you young lady.”
Lyria suddenly swayed as tiredness overwhelmed her and Geron quickly gripped her arm.
“You need to rest, it is still the middle of the night and it has been a long day.”
Halle nodded her agreement, Lyria had used her own magick to help Orlan earlier that morning and she looked dreadfully worn and tired.
“I know you are still worried about Lyta but I will watch over them both and if you are needed it will take me but moments to wake you.”
Geron steered her across the cavern and found a quiet space where she could sit and rest. She stared intently at Lyta for a moment and was rewarded with a bright smile and a wrinkle of her nose as she nodded in agreement.
Sitting down she looked over at Orlan and Terrill, both men were slowly getting to know each other; she was convinced that when the new day came they would have a workable plan in place.
She sighed and Geron looked down at her before easing his arm around her shoulders and pulling her close,
“You should try to sleep, tomorrow will be coming soon enough and you need all of your strength.” He too could feel exhaustion creeping up on him and let his eyes drift shut, hoping she would follow his example.
Varon had already broken the ice with the other men, a strong drink and plates of food had soon encouraged friendly behaviour; they now sat around the fire waiting until others were ready to discuss the preparations for the new day.
The night was nearly over and none of them knew if they would survive the next twenty four hours.
Kensis turned to help the Warlord to his feet and found an eighteen foot tall monster facing him, thick scales covered every inch of its red -gold body which ended with a long serpentine tail covered in thick horny growths.
Two enormous wings rose from its back, gossamer thin they seemed almost too fragile to lift such a massive beast.
It fastened its blood red eyes on him before roaring out loudly its pain and anger.
“Die...The traitors will all die,” he turned towards Kensis and smoke trickled down a huge nostril as it leaned over and inspected him.
With eyes glowing hypnotically at him the soldier discovered he was no longer able to move either his legs or arms.
“Are you going to turn traitor?” The question was fired at him and he managed to shake his head, his face as grey with fear,
“No sir, never, I have always been your man,” Kensis stuttered his answer out, convinced he was in the middle of a nightmare and he would soon wake up.
“Good...And to make certain you stay my man...” The beast raised both forelimbs and using one of the razor sharp scimitar claws prised up a large scale to nick the blood vessel underneath.
The thick viscous blood welled up and Kensis quivered as Azhmel beckoned him forwards; he was but a step away when the Warlord reached out and caught hold of him, tearing his jerkin away from his back.
A casual swipe of a claw tore through the fragile skin where the beast dripped one drop of his blood into the open wound. Kensis fell to the floor and screamed, his voice broke and he ran out of breath but the scream echoed on and on into the night.
The soldiers near that heard him turned and most felt as if they had walked into the gates of some form of hell when they saw the monstrous being stood over the writhing man.
One man near him turned and ran, his arms pumping as well as his legs and he cried to himself,
“Oh my God save me...I beg you please save me!”
The beast turned and watched him running for a few seconds then leant forward breathing huge gouts of flame and smoke over the running man. When he raised his head the thing that burnt fiercely bore no resemblance to a human being.
“Hear me soldiers of Qol. I am your Lord and you will join me...Obey me or you will die!”
Azhmel gave them no opportunity to refuse, any who ran were killed where they stood; as he had revived his crows with single drops of his blood he now formed a bigger more formidable army than any had ever seen before.
For half of the night he searched around the camp for new recruits and managed to infect more than eight thousand men, leaving them writhing on the ground while his blood began to change them.
It wanted two hours till dawn and the great beast knew he could change no more men that night unless he fed and rested.
The soldiers who were lined up waiting for his bloody caress heaved sighs of relief when without warning he spread his wings and caught the faint breeze which lifted him up above the camp.
He roared out aloud rejoicing in his new found strength and power as he stretched his long body out, testing his wings to their fullest. Soaring high into the air the huge body appeared graceful and elegant as it rolled through the clouds.
It took him mere minutes to cover a hundred miles and his sharp eyes were scanning the ground ahead looking for signs of the traitors as well as food.
A strange scent made him slow down and circle lazily whilst he explored it. He opened his mouth wide and breathed in letting the smell flow over his tongue and taste buds and he found himself salivating hungrily.
He looked around and found he was high up near the strange mountain range which crossed the whole of this world. Swooping close to the snow covered peaks he examined the ground for signs of habitation.
The scent became richer, muskier and he found himself crooning softly in his throat desperate to attract it. Below he spotted a mountain hut and flying in a large circle he came banked and returned for a closer look.
Outside the hut he could see footprints in the snow and he just knew the owner of the footprints was the same person leaving the delicious musky aroma behind.
He landed lightly in the snow and stretched his long neck out in every direction, taking huge breaths of air in trying to find where the scent came from.
His limbs were trembling with anticipation; he knew that whatever was here would nourish him for more than a few days. Slowly he moved through the thick snow, his body heat was such he began to melt the thickest, deepest drifts.
Inside the hut the man worked frantically casting the fire spell and drawing the symbols for Gryph,
“Hurry it draws close,” the woman was anguished as she knelt near the window watching the monstrosity draw ever closer. She could hear her husband begin to recite the words of the blessing and rushed to grab her cloak and snatch some small items up and place them in her basket.
The flames flared up as she grabbed her belly and moaned in pain, her husband looked over his shoulder and his face was drawn and anxious as he finished speaking.
“Please is there someone there we need help?” He called out anxiously, it had been many years since they had walked the fires and he was unsure he had remembered the words.
A pleasant female voice answered him as his wife moaned again in pain and leant heavily against his side.
“Please ...Oh Goddess please help us... We desperately need you...” Before he could finish the sentence he heard a scraping on the door and without waiting for confirmation the fire was safe he jumped into the flames pulling his wife behind him.
Azhmel thrust his huge head through the doorway, splintering the wood in his haste.
He took another deep breath and the smell was so close he could almost taste it. A fire had flared in the grate as he knocked the door in but the room was empty. He narrowed his eyes and looked around carefully for any hiding places.
Roaring out his frustration he reached out and tossed the large rustic furniture about, he ripped floorboards up and knocked walls down whilst searching for his prey.
A patch of fluid on the floor caught his attention and he lowered his head and tasted it, oh yes... this was the source of the scent.
The hut was deserted and the smell fading, he couldn’t understand how his prey had eluded him but he knew he would track it down and then he would feed as he had never fed before.
Leaving the hut burning hotly behind him he resumed his hunt, the gnawing hunger pangs causing his body to shake uncontrollably.
Finally in a small tree shrouded glade he found his next meal. A small boy had arisen with the dawn and had his fishing pole over his shoulder with a small pack of food and water to keep him going.
He had kissed his mother and baby sister goodbye and happily raced off to the fast flowing fresh water stream. The salmon were coming home to spawn and a large fish would feed them until his father returned from a trading trip to Gryph.
He was returning home now and instead of one large fish he had managed to catch half a dozen which he had carefully strung for carrying home. His mother knew of ways to pickle and salt them so they would feed them for many weeks to come.
Pleasantly tired and looking forward to his breakfast he was skipping as he returned home. A shadow crossed over the sun as his bare feet skimmed the damp grass; hoping it was not a rain cloud he looked up; his breath caught in his throat as he looked into the face of hell.
It was later that day and he still had not returned home. His mother thought he was sulking because he had failed to catch their supper. Picking the baby up, she wandered across the meadow searching for him.
His broken rod and broken string of fish was all she could find; she searched for hours but still neither heard nor saw any signs of him. Sobbing and distraught she made her way home and hugged her baby tightly to her breast as she waited futilely for her husband who had died at the end of Sergeant Benar’s sword, to return.
Azhmel had consumed his meal slowly, languorously; he wasn’t forced to hide in his cabin or a dark corner anymore and he relished the extra freedom. He lay down on the side of the mountain overlooking Durrh village.
His keen eyes could see soldiers deserting, running like rats fleeing from a sinking ship. He wasn’t going to stop them. His new army would seek them, hunt them down and feed just as soon as they had finished their transformation.
With that final happy thought he closed his eyes to rest, he had a busy day planned for the morrow, traitors to find and destroy and the new strange disappearing source of food. He hummed softly to himself and drifted into a deep sleep.

Lyria awoke suddenly and jumped to her feet, something had touched her mind as she slept and it was now calling out loudly to her. Everything looked normal in the cavern.
People were sleeping in quiet places; Terrill and Orlan were still quietly conversing. The other men who came with Geron were still with Varon but they too had finally dozed off where they were.
Anjii was watching Lyta and Hoppy run around the cavern as they chased a dried gourd which they took turns to kick.
Geron watched Lyria tilt her head to the side as if listening and he began to fear their hiding place had been discovered. When she moved away he stood and followed her. She didn’t go towards the opening but deeper towards the fire.
She stood and closed her eyes listening again and then to his surprise and shock the flames suddenly roared high and skimmed the ceiling.
She took something from her pocket and sprinkled it in the fire and the heat seemed to die away. She was murmuring something but he could not distinguish what.
“Please is there someone there we need help?” Geron looked around for the source of the voice and was astonished when Lyria spoke, before she had said anything more than yes the strange voice sounded again.
“Please ...Oh Goddess please help us... We desperately need you...”
Lyria began to call out but had to step out of the way quickly when a small fey male emerged through the fire pulling an even smaller female by the hand.
Geron drew his sword instinctively in shock at their unusual entrance.
“Please can you help my wife…She has gone into labour and we had to escape our home…We were attacked…We were attacked…” His voice trailed off as Lyria rushed forwards to hold the woman up,
“Great Goddess…Lyria..!” The astonishment in his voice made everyone look at him,
“Great Goddess indeed little brother,” she pulled a face at him as she slipped her arm around the woman who was even smaller than herself.
“Why have you brought her here now…You know how dangerous the fire can be to a pregnant woman?” Lyria grumbled as she tried to help the woman and Geron moved forward brushing her to one side scooping her up as if carrying a child.
“We had to get out, escape…there was…there was a…a…a…there was a…drakken…a dragon!”
Lyria smiled and shook her head,
“I think you must have been drinking too much kvass Mikel, there are no such things as dragons.”
She was passing Terrill as she said that and he looked up and interjected,
“You are wrong there Lyria there are dragons but I doubt that he saw one outside.” He smiled kindly at Mikel as he spoke but the small fey was unprepared to back down.
“I’m not blurry stupid, if I said it was a dragon then it was a blurry dragon. Eighteen feet tall at least and its hide was hotter than hell melting the snow…” before he finished his sentence Terrill interrupted him again,
“Well there you are then; dragons do not grow that large. Eight or ten feet at the most and they tend to be cool on the outside not hot.”
“And what makes you such an expert on blurry dragons then?” Mikel was feeling quite cross at the strange talking fey who was making him look like an idiot so he planted his hands on his hips and glared at him.
“I wouldn’t say I was an expert as such but…Well, our mother was a dragon, as is your niece Lyta.”
The silence that greeted his statement was so absolute that for a moment he thought he had gone deaf. He looked around and caught varying degrees of shock and surprise on everyone’s faces.
Before anything could be said challenging his statement the woman in Geron’s arms cried out in pain.
“Nera, forgive me…Please Lyria, help her…We…We are having twins.”
“Twins..!” Lyria exclaimed,
“I…Oh well done Mikel,” she hugged him briefly then turned back to Nera.
“Go away now…Geron get him a drink and some food… I will call you when I need you.”
As Geron steered the man past Terrill again he paused,
“So if you say it wasn’t a dragon which chased us from our mountain what the blurry hell was it then?” His tone was belligerent; he still believed the other man was mistaken and wanted an apology in front of the people who were listening.
“If you saw that creature,” Terrill went on to describe it perfectly and the fey found his mouth falling open as he nodded in agreement.
“That my dear fellow is not a dragon but a fire-drake, the very opposite of a dragon. If there is a fire-drake it means that Azhmel’s beast has taken him over and we are all in the gravest danger.”
Copyright Protected April 2008