Day Six Parts 1 - 9

Day Six
Creed stood at the table and with his finger traced the path they had taken on his map. He was still missing nearly a thousand horsemen who had supposedly taken the shortcut shown by the Warlords crows.
A sneer curled his lips as he glanced outside; the sun had yet to rise and they were still immobile, frozen to the rooftops until daylight touched them. They had proved to be useless and ineffective on the previous day; he was not including them in his new plans for the coming day.
Heavy footsteps from overhead warned him that Benar was awake and would join him shortly expecting a cohesive plan of action for the day.
The simple townspeople were subdued; they had never attempted any defensive moves and he doubted that they would cause any difficulties for the token force of men he planned to leave behind.
He had drawn his plans up throughout the night; small groups of men were easier to keep track of and could cover more ground. He was going to send them out in ever expanding concentric circles; this meant they would cover far more ground than previously believed possible.
Riders would be fluid, with no permanent bases; visiting each small group and carrying news of what was found and where. Every fifteen miles he would set up small camps, each with half a dozen men and signalling mirrors.
It would take time but he knew his way of charting the surrounding areas would work; when large areas inhabited by people were found he would despatch larger forces of men with instructions for non-violent occupation.
With no further slayings there would be no further attacks by the undead to wreak havoc on his men; the slavemasters would find they were to become the overworked part of his army. Good profits would then be had by all when they returned home to Qol.
Benar stomped down the stairs and growled a surly greeting; Creed cast a look at him to gauge the Sergeant’s current mood. There was no sign of a hangover so he had not drunk himself into oblivion as most of the men camped outside had.
“Tea in the kettle Sarn’t,” Snaith spoke from his perch at the side of the hearth,
“Tea you say?” Benar looked surprised but poured a cup, drinking the hot black liquid gratefully.
“Gentleman, we have been going around this campaign all wrong,” Creed spoke firmly and the two soldiers raised their heads listening intently.
“What I am about to say would, if we were at home, cost me my job and possibly my life. My family would be shamed, driven from our home and forced to live as beggars. Anyone who followed me would get the same treatment.”
“We are a warlike nation and as such are unused to NOT being met by swords and arrows. We arrive on a strange world and instead of stepping back and saying whoa what the hell has happened here? What did we do? We followed the original plan devised against the Warlords enemies,” he paused and held his cup for a refill.
“Bungled and botched from the beginning; General Bruce never even considered a different plan...He was so far in the Warlords pockets... I wonder...” He paused gathering his thoughts, not explaining what exactly he was wondering, before continuing,
“The Warlord is just one man; a very powerful man yes, but here, on this world well... He is alone. None of his family came along as we weren’t supposed to be away above a month.”
“We don’t have to blindly follow his every single order any longer...We allowed this to happen by letting his family get too strong and powerful.”
“I say it is up to us to get ourselves out of this mess now. Bugger the Warlord and his plans; let us find a way for all of us to go home, if he wants to join us then ...We can always cross that bridge when we come to it.”
Creed knew that if Azhmel had heard this conversation he would consider them treasonous and hoped his trust in his soldiers would not be misplaced.
“Orders General?” Benar felt a surge of hope, he had been the one who had charged in on the back of his horse; following the warlike ways; he had struck the first blow which in turn had caused the havoc of the previous evening.
The pain gnawing through his gut at being separated from his family was still there but at least now he felt proper hope that he would return to them soon.
Indicating for them to join him, Creed pointed to his map; Snaith and Benar listened intently as he pointed out where he was despatching men and the various sizes of the groups.
“No-one is to kill any of the natives unless I order it. Make it a general order, anyone who disobeys will be hung as warning not to disobey, and if that isn’t enough...Kill them, a few decapitations will get the message into even the most stubborn.”
“I want the natives rounded up and given to the slavemasters. Once they have finished with the processing, I will come and interrogate them; I am convinced that someone will either know of a way, or a person who knows of a method of returning us to our homes and families.”
“Finally...These are of the utmost importance. Knock it into everyone’s thick heads; if by any chance he managed to get out of the caves, and I believe he has as he is as slippery as a sack of snakes, Geron is wanted for questioning by me, and he is not to be harmed but captured alive. I want to know how he got here and what he is doing. Also the man Orlan is wanted...Post standard notices, you never know we may get lucky and one of the natives slip up and tell us where he is hiding. Put a reward on the notices and we will wait and see what happens.”
Straightening his back Creed held his hand out for first Benar to shake, then Snaith. Both men were nodding approval; nothing fussy was outlined so there was less chance of something going wrong.
He passed both men long written lists on which he had detailed where every man was to go; he had worked through the night determined that the debacle of the past few days be erased and to prove to all his men that he was in complete control.
Yellen pulled a disgusted face as once more he was given the job of disposing of the dead. This time he was taking no chances and any bodies with heads attached were summarily decapitated before being removed on the back of an empty wagon.
Benar despatched the first group of riders; Snaith gripped his hand and joked that he would soon find the way home while Benar could sit and rest like the old man he was.
As there was but three weeks difference in their ages, Benar responded with a vulgar response before slapping the horse on its rump and standing aside to watch as his friend departed.
Casting a swift look around he made sure the preparations were well under way before going back to report to Creed. The General was seated at his table reading one of the books found in the large library chamber.
A bitter taste of disappointment had been upon him when Benar had reported the loss of the Mage student; he was determined not to allow it to slow him down and had decided to read as many as possible before he too departed the town.
“Have you found anything interesting in those books sir?” He juggled with two hot and heavy plates as he entered and managed to place both safely on the table.
Benar was hungry and had called at one of the food wagons on his way back to the tavern. Creed smelled the air in appreciation and picked one of the plates up to hungrily devour the eggs and bacon it contained.
Casually, while wiping his mouth, he picked the large book up which Benar had found on the floor the previous evening. Entitled Legends of the Fey he had at first thought it would be of no use to him in his research and had originally laid it to one side.
“This book Benar...Tell me again about the room where our Mage student disappeared from,” he flicked the pages as he spoke and waited until Benar explained the scene in detail.
“The funniest thing was the water in the bowl, it was still moving but I don’t understand how sir,” the Sergeant shook his head, unhappily aware that the General had disbelieved him when he had surged through the tavern later that night.
“I have found something here...I believe I am man enough to offer you an apology Sergeant.” He stared steadily into Benar’s eyes as he spoke; uncomfortable by the look, Benar stood and moved the kettle onto the smouldering embers,
“No need for that; if someone had come and told me that self same story I would not have believed them either.” His voice was gruff and covered the embarrassment he felt.
“Thank you Sergeant, I’m not sure that I would be as magnanimous. However, we must move on and like I said this book offers a solution to our missing Mage.”
Benar brewed some strong tea directly in the kettle and after pouring two steaming cups came and stood behind Creed’s right shoulder. He scanned the page rapidly and then read it again, slower, his mouth moving as he read the instructions given.
“So, our student is not as ignorant of strong magicks as we thought,” the General sipped his tea after making his casual observation.
“He was a novice sir; I would stake my life on it. I would say that it is this world which has altered his abilities; we were pulled here by a powerful force far greater than Mage Gwinn had ever come across before. Could not this force make the lad’s magick stronger somehow?”
“Very good Sergeant...I will have to study this book at length, there may be some information in here to help us...Better add books to the list of things the men have to look for, specifically this one. It may be that they will look for other copies of it as we have taken possession of this one”
“Yessir...What is it called sir?” Benar waited as Creed flicked through the pages,
“Its title is Legend of ...”

“... The Fey...”
Jonah was seated in the centre of the room to ensure everyone could hear as he recited what he had read in the large dusty book,
Lyria silently moved back into Geron’s arms; she had been dealing with the crying babies and had reluctantly handed them back to their parents so she could listen to Jonah’s story.
Above the chamber outside the silent watcher in the tree realised that he could hear the voices from below and listened intently to what was being said.
“Many thousands of years ago there were great beings, magickal, creatures that lived together peacefully on a beautiful world which lived on a ribbon of energy which floated through the heavens.”
The silence in the cave was absolute as each person allowed Jonah’s words to form a picture in their minds.
“One day there began a great upheaval on this world; fire rain fell from the heavens; the Thunder Mountains erupted, shooting hot ash into the air while burning liquid poured from their centres engulfing all the land.”
“The fire rain struck repeatedly over many days and nights; the heat was so intense it caused trees which had lived for hundreds of years to burst into flame, dry grasses ignited and it seemed as if the very dirt under their feet would burn.”
“These beings were nearly destroyed by the time the fire rain stopped. Their world was devastated, nothing would ever again grow through the layer of ash which covered the land; no sun would break through the thick black dust clouds to warm them; slowly they came to realise that, unless they worked together, combining of all their mighty powers, they would cease to exist.”
“Signals were sent by any and every means necessary; it took scant days to get representatives from the eight races of beings who ruled these lands, and then a meeting took place, the greatest meeting ever known.”
“They found a small island just off the mainland; undamaged by the fire rain it still had a few patches of green uncovered by the ash. There was room for the water dwellers to stay close to shore.”
Jonah paused and sipped from a cup of cold water brought by the children; everyone had felt the heat from his words and needed to moisten their parched throats. He eased his robes underneath him to keep the chill from the ground away.
“Magick exuded from every creature there; the air literally buzzed and crackled with the unbridled power threatening to erupt from them. They debated quietly at first, then, later argued heatedly as many of their numbers disputed the decisions made.”
“Finally all disagreements were settled; from each race eight of the finest and strongest had been chosen; these eight beings were then given every piece of magick from every brother, sister, mother and father. Their entire race was stripped of all of their powers and the magick was forced into them.”
“Imagine then the scene; all of the eight great races were represented; Dragons, Unicorns, Centaurs, Pegasos, Minotaur, Gryphon, Mermaids and Angelicus; they stood in a huge circle, each filled to the brim with all the magick there had ever been.”
“The air surrounding them was alive; linking their minds they reached out into the galaxy and discovered the cause of the fire rain. A far away sun had died and slowly the world which spun around it had grown cold until it too had died. Then, it had shattered into a billion pieces which hurtled through time and space making the fire rain.”
“They also found the ribbon of energy that held their world in place was tattered and torn and unless it was repaired the whole universe would be lost. This picture pierced their hearts, wounding them deeply; they would have to work quickly to prevent such a disaster from happening.”
“Every being reached out with their minds and grasped a piece of the torn ribbon; carefully twisting and folding it upon itself before binding it to form a large circle. As they thought their task was completed they began to relax their hold, thinking that they had succeeded in repairing the tear they were suddenly assaulted by the wrath of a single grief maddened giant Dhrake.”
“The Dhrake lived isolated from the others; they did not like to mix with the other races and unfortunately when the call went inviting everyone to what was called the Great Convocation, they were forgotten.”
“He was the only survivor from a thunder mountain which had risen and destroyed their nesting areas containing all the unfledged children and their proud parents. Upon returning from a hunting trip to try and find food, all he found were the bodies of everyone he had ever known. If they had been told of this meeting at least some could have survived.”
“With the first angry shriek from the Dhrake they became distracted; their magick began to fail; the circle buckled in the centre, electrical sparks showered throughout the air as it nearly folded the wrong way and touched the other side. If it had touched then everything and everyone would have been lost forever.”
“As they fought to hold the ribbon in place they discovered something strange; along its length a series of vortices had formed, these connected to what they believed were new worlds. However, to their dismay they realised the unstable ribbon could not stay where it was; the added strain from the passages had once more made it dangerous and at risk of tearing again.”
“The largest female dragon there had an idea, and, quickly ordered all of the others to support her mind; she held the ribbon lightly and gently blew upon it, causing it to undulate and ripple softly in space; slowly at first then ever faster until it gained a stable orbit. Its shape changed and was no longer circular but flowed in an elongated figure eight.”
“Hardly daring to breathe they all allowed their magic to subside before tiredly turned to face the irate figure of Gul, the Dhrake who had attacked them. He had swiftly been captured and was held tightly to prevent any further attacks on them.”
“The leader had tried to explain that only magickal creatures had been invited to try to help and he had turned to glare at her a strange maddened gleam in his eyes.”
“Humming softly he had reached out with his mind; the Minotaur and Centaur holding him had dropped to the ground, their minds destroyed by his powerful thoughts. Gul swore to destroy them all as they had left his family and friends to be destroyed; he then astounded them by snatching up the smallest of the dragons and flying through the nearest vortice.”
“His magick was not true empathic magick such as theirs; dark and smoky, it left a sour metallic taste on their tongues. They tried to follow him but found that the passageway had been too newly formed and frail; it collapsed in upon itself nearly tearing the ribbon again.”
“Distraught by what had happened, the beings had then decided that Gul would have to be exiled permanently; they cast many spells on the other vortices’ which would prevent the Dhrake from entering in the future; they set psychic triggers to sense and destroy him if he tried to pass through.”
“For the next day they were forced to rest under the ash filled sky of their world; choking and gasping for air, they finally decided the strange paths had become strong enough to allow them safe passage.”
“Only the ones possessed with the magickal gifts were allowed to test the fragile roads; without their gifts they doubted they would be able to escape any harmful effects. They grew desperate to investigate all of the worlds on the other side to see if any would allow them to relocate their people there permanently.”
“The first world they explored was unable to sustain life, the air there was poisonous; the temperature too hot for any living being to survive; their first tentative breaths scorched their sensitive lungs. Barely alive they fell back into the passageway and returned to their world, bodies blistered and burnt, awful for their loved ones to see.”
“They rested for a day and then, because their people were dying, entered the next vortice and to their delight found a beautiful, blue verdant world where many could live happily.”
“Travelling back and forth through the vortice; they made hundreds of journeys whilst carrying as many of their people as they possibly could. Eventually the island was emptied; they then carried the mer people from the disgusting slushy oceans, hurrying to get them into the clean seas on the other side; they still hoped to save others before they finally had to abandon their world to its dust laden death.”
“There would never be a way of saving everyone; their powers were becoming depleted due to exhaustion and a decision was made that one last journey would be made and then they could rest.”
“On returning to the new world they were horrified to find their people were changing; as they had given up their magick willingly they were forced to give up their magickal shapes and within hours had turned into their alternate shapes, beings which became the early men and women.”
“These men and women lost the memories of what they had been and began to worship the others as gods. This was repugnant to them; a decision was made once more; leaving their families behind, the blessed ones who still contained magick moved away, high in the mountains, hoping that one day they would be able to reverse the situation.”
“The eight mer people who kept their magick were forced to leave the shores and live segregated in the heart of the deep oceans; sailors soon began to speak of the strange sirens who called to them and they became known as a curse to be avoided at all costs.
“For hundreds of years the others stayed up the mountain; occasionally coming down from their haven to check out the people below, hoping to find magick returning to them. The people continued to believe the Gods had visited them once again.”
“Eventually the decision was made to leave their people alone for good; a vortice was opened and they sadly departed leaving strange myths and legends behind them.”
“The first new world they came to had no sentient beings living upon it; they looked around and decided it was not the world for them but, they each took markers from their blood and planted them in the native life forms hoping that when they returned in a few hundred years they would find creatures like themselves living there.”
“For a thousand years they roamed the stars living as nomads; never staying in one place for long as they yearned to find others like themselves who they could pass their gifts onto.”
“One day they arrived on a world which was different to any they had found before; this world held them in thrall as they could feel magick coming like waves through the ground and bathing over them.”
“They had laughed and played, convinced that they would find beings like themselves once more. They had searched for a full day but found nothing to show where the magick came from. That night they had been surprised when instead of one moon rising to shine on them, there were two.”
“Disappointed at their failure to find others like themselves they decided to stay longer, the magick which came from the earth was more elemental than they were used to and they were keen to explore it. They wandered around looking for signs of life and eventually found a group of small monkey-like creatures. They took these animals and once again spread their blood amongst them, this time instead of leaving they stayed, watching and waiting for a sign that they had been successful.”
“These creatures became very tame and lived happily with the magickal beings; gradually they realised that the monkeys had evolved, unfortunately once more they had turned into taller beings, men and women as seen on countless other worlds.”
“Bitter disappointment filled them, and once more they prepared to leave, hoping that the creatures would continue to grow and change and learn the magick of this world. They spoke freely among the changed ones, telling them of their plans; they were surprised one day when they turned to them asking, “Why?” One simple word which, when uttered had led to an intense relationship lasting five hundred years.”
“The magickal beings had learnt much of this world; they had discovered that it had a living heart with a mind of its own; anything which died was revived within a day by the heart, but, the revived came back as vile abominations; Undead monsters which sought to feed from the living while trying to replace that which was lost. Only by taking the heads of the Undead could they be killed; because of this the people were taught that every person who died must be burnt, this would then release the magick back into the air and the essence of that person could then travel through the vortices’ and join with them.”
“These beings taught the simple people everything they knew until finally they felt confident of leaving them behind whilst they resumed their journey.”
“Before they left they held a great ceremony in the place where they passed their knowledge onto these people. Then they had sealed the chamber with a great cover stone. The stone when correctly placed would open a portal to the vortices and from there they would hear any call made to them. Magickal spells were laboriously written; these would show the people how to find hidden places which would lead them to their benefactors, the Old Ones.”

“And so the Old Ones as they had become known; departed the world they had named Galiana; resuming their search for others of their kind, leaving behind them a new and exciting world which held great promise for the future.”
******
Creed slapped the book together and looked at Benar who had listened intently to every word; never once interrupting as the General read the Legend aloud. They exchanged a long unspeaking glance; was Qol one of the worlds seeded by the Old Ones?
******
Kensis waited to see if there was any more to be learnt from the food creatures inside the cave. He knew that the Warlord was waiting for his summons that he had found food; the extra information would explain away things that had been puzzling him. He hoped Azhmel would be well pleased and allow him to feed on one of the creatures below.
He knew by the scent that this was what the Warlord had been searching for all along and hoped he would be rewarded as promised. He turned his head in the direction he knew the Warlord to be and sent out a long mental summons,
“Master, I have found what you seek, come quickly. Master, I have found what you seek, come quickly. Master, I have found what you seek, come quickly.”

Colonel Klimm stood with Sergeant Rinne; both men had been closely watching the wagoneer as he treated the injured men laid on the ground before them. Grinding his teeth angrily, Klimm turned away and stalked to examine the thing which had caused all the injuries.
Klimm appeared to be fully recovered from the knife attack of the previous day; the Sergeant had watched as his driver had placed a bandage over the wound, to many of the soldiers there, it would have been considered a flesh wound and they would have continued their journey ignoring the pain.
The Colonel had declared it to be a grievous injury and, unless he rested and got a full night’s sleep and plenty of food and drink he would be unable to continue and would therefore have had to split the main body of men; sending most to continue the occupation while he would remain behind with a select group of his cronies and recuperate.
Rinne didn’t know what the man had planned and would have happily left him behind but, the last words Creed had spoken were for him to try and keep the Colonel out of trouble until he could rejoin them.
Sergeants didn’t have the authority to interfere with Colonels orders, and he had tried to voice his objections; the General had rested a friendly hand on his shoulder and told him to do what he could before leaping on the back of his horse and galloping away.
Lurid stories had followed Klimm around for a few years; General Bruce had interceded and ordered Klimm to control himself for this last time; Creed was to allow the Colonel to make amends as it was to be Klimm’s final campaign before leaving active service and becoming Kommandant over all of the Warlords military training camps.
Rinne couldn’t understand why the man was to receive such a promotion but the Warlord himself had offered him the position so no-one dared to interfere with his decision.
A chill went through the Sergeant as they studied the now headless body of the native female who had been killed the day before. How she had appeared to come back to life he didn’t know but, he planned to find out.
She had silently entered the camp in the early hours of the morning; her stealth was such that four guards had died from her inflicting savage bites on their throats, they had been dead before they hit the floor. Another eight had suffered less damaging bites and now lay alternately sweating then freezing which they believed to be a sign of infection.
It was pure luck that enabled one of the men to swing his sword, cleaving her head from her body; she was covered with numerous stab marks where the rest of his men had tried to defend themselves.
“Sergeant Rinne,” Klimm spoke softly and turned breathing alcoholic fumes directly into the Sergeants face,
“Yessir..?” Rinne forced his legs to stay where they were, refusing to back away from the senior officer; the grim expression on his face mirroring that of the Colonel but, for a different reason.
“Bring me her children; they are fastened on the back of my wagon. I want to talk to them,” he had a sing-song voice which was eerily chilling most of the time due to the lack of emotion he felt towards any other being; turning away to look over the nearby fields he missed the flash of disgust in the Sergeants eyes.
Rinne was used to working under General Creed, both men believed in the honour of working as a highly trained men in the Warlords army and would never have done anything to besmirch their positions; neither would have never fraternised with a slave; the thought of using any child as Klimm would was totally abhorrent to them.
Rounding the wagon he found both blonde haired children, bound hand and foot with a grubby cloth in their mouths; he lifted them down carefully then with his sharp knife slit the ropes tied around their skinny ankles and wrists; before cutting away their gags.
Neither child reacted and he realised they were in deep shock; their father, grandmother and uncle were dead and burned in their former home; their mother had been taken to become Klimm’s latest conquest, instead of quietly submitting she had stabbed him and fled, only to be caught by a hound and savaged till she died.
Rinne had looked around the small cottage where they had found the first signs of life, and he had appreciated the simple life the family led there; these children had been shielded from any form of violence, there was every reason for their shock.
Grimacing in distaste he noticed both had wet themselves; their clothes were dripping wet and the heavy scent of ammonia wafted from them. There would be no clothing on the wagons to fit them but he took the time to search for a blanket which he tore in two and, after stripping away the soiled garments, wrapped around them.
He noticed bruises on their arms and across their buttocks where something had struck them and knew that Klimm carried a small whip which would inflict bruises like these.
He had to hold them by their arms and help them to walk down to where the Colonel stood; their legs had been bound for so long he knew they would be numb.
Klimm turned as they drew near and focused on the small girl; she looked to be the oldest of the children as her brother was barely older than a toddler.
“You girl...What’s your name?” Klimm had softened his voice hoping that it would encourage the girl to speak. She gazed at him blankly; her large blue eyes glazed with shock.
When she failed to answer, Klimm looked at the boy who appeared more alert and hunkered down before speaking to him,
“Hello my laddie and what is your name then?” He smiled at the boy and licked his lips as he studied him; there was something in his tone which made Rinne cringe inside and he looked stoically straight in front as Klimm reached out a soft hand and stroked it under the child’s chin.
A pair of blue-grey eyes watched him for a second, the child sniffed and whispered huskily,
“Biron...” He lifted his hand and scrubbed at his nose, leaving a silvery trail across his knuckles.
“Biron eh...Well Biron you look to be a big strong boy,” Klimm reached out again and stroked the bare arm in front of him and offered a sly smile to the youngster,
“Tell me Biron how old are you?” Rinne was holding himself rigid; he didn’t like the tone of the Colonel’s voice and was afraid it was leading to a situation he couldn’t possibly allow.
“I’m a big boy now...I had a birfday last week an’ I was four,” the little boy sniffed again and gave a tentative smile to the man kneeling in front of him.
“Four were you; my word I bet you had a party and cakes,” Klimm spoke absently looking at the girl hoping she had relaxed and would speak.
“What’s a party?” The blonde head tilted on one side as the boy studied the strange dark man carefully.
Ignoring the boy’s question Klimm turned his eyes onto the girl again and queried of her brother,
“Is this your big sister then Biron? I bet she isn’t much older than you?” The boy blinked at the change of direction the questions had gone to but answered trustingly,
“Katta is eight. That makes her twice as old as me.” He beamed with pride at his mathematic prowess and the crouching man smiled at him again,
“Right now Biron I need you to help me, do you think you could help me?” At the small boys nod, Klimm stood upright and moved to one side,
“I want you and your sister to tell me how this could happen?” Before Rinne could stop him, the Colonel had pulled both children forwards and thrust their bodies towards the headless body of their mother.
Both children began to scream then, terrified high pitched cries which hurt the ears and tugged at the hearts of most of the men there.
“Zomb...Zomb...Zomb..!” The girl backed away and fell in a heap near to Rinnes’ feet; she scrambled on her knees behind the soldier pressing her trembling body tightly to the back of his legs.
Biron launched himself towards her and they both wailed loudly, huge fat tears dropping from their chins soaking into the blankets wrapped around them.
“Bloody hell Rinne, shut them up will you.” Klimm moved away from the screaming children; his whip casually tapping on the side of his leg.
Rinne looked at the receding back and wanted to curse but was mindful of the children. His sister had three youngsters and he could usually keep them amused for a while,
“Come on here kids, let’s be having you up here then and away from this mess,” he scooped one in each arm and moved back to the wagon hoping that Klimm would give him a few minutes to question the terrified pair.
Calling to the wagoneer he managed to get them both a noggin of bread from the stores and lavishly spread honey on it hoping that the food help take away their tears.
“Right you two come on, get your laughing tackle around this then,” he joked to them and they stared at the bread he was offering.
Neither moved so he held the bread to their mouths and brushed it across their lips hoping to encourage them to eat. Biron nibbled the edge first before reaching out and taking the sticky treat in his hand. His sister still sat, wracked by great tremors and eyes staring and afraid,
“Come on lassie, there’s nothing to fear now,” he stroked her hair, surprised by how soft and silky it felt. On Qol the women and children all had thick coarse unattractive hair which was why most shaved it off.
“She was Zomb...” He barely heard the whisper and had to stoop to catch her words,
“Zomb..? What does that mean? Can you tell me?” he managed to make room on the back of the wagon and sat in between them; his large body offering a measure of reassurance to the frightened children.
“Don’t you know what Zomb is?” She fastened her eyes on his face and he shook his head,
“Zomb are the Undead...They were like us but if they are not given the sacred burning the dead return as Zomb.” The solemn expression on her face told Rinne she believed every word she said.
“When we die we have to be burnt at dusk on the same day or we would come back to life and try to kill everything and everyone near us. It is said that the magick of our world will not allow death and that is why they return”
“Your mother managed to kill four men and injure another...” He broke off as both children squealed again, clutching his arms in terror,
“What on earth..? She can’t come back again, if you don’t stop that noise the Colonel will come back and he won’t be as patient,”
“No...No...You don’t understand...If your men were bitten they are infected and will be even more dangerous. You have to kill them; you have to kill them now!” She grabbed Rinne’s arm shaking it fiercely trying to make him understand.
“Did she bite them? Please, did she bite them..?” She broke down in tears and Rinne felt a quiver of alarm run through him. Her mother had caused four men to die, they needed burning and if the eight injured were infected...He jumped from the wagon and forced the children to accept the bread before racing back down to Colonel Klimm.
“Colonel, sir...We need to hurry.” He briefly explained what she had told him and was gratified that Klimm didn’t doubt her word; the Colonel had been thinking hard whilst alone and had come to a similar conclusion himself.
The news that eight of his men had the same infection made him slightly sceptical but he agreed to look at their condition with Rinne; they could be bound and subdued while they waited to see whether the girl was lying.
Hurrying back to where the injured were laid Rinne pondered Klimm’s scepticism, why would the girl lie? She didn’t know them and from what Rinne had seen looked to be incapable of making up such a story.
A disturbance from ahead caused Rinne to draw his sword and he called to the men they were passing to arm themselves and follow him quickly. Klimm fell back and allowed Rinne to take the lead, a fact missed by no-one there.
General Creed would never have allowed a subordinate to take the lead; yet another notch marked against Klimm in Rinne’s opinion. He rounded the wagon and swiftly took in the scene.
Seven men were still down, unconscious and sweating profusely; the eighth man had risen and apparently come upon the wagoneer as he was treating one of the others.
Rinne could see blood welling from a bite on the side of the wagoneers neck; the injured driver had backed to the side of his wagon and was feeling around trying to find a weapon to stave off another attack.
The soldier who had attacked him was just standing there, watching him, head slightly tilted as he tasted the blood on his lips; his nostrils were quivering and he leant at an angle ready to move.
Rinne moved forward stealthily and was about to get a clean blow in but, Klimm called out, alerting the soldier to their presence. Spinning on its heel it scented Rinne first, as the person closest to it he was its next target.
Hunger, Rinne was immediately struck by the expression on the soldiers face; his eyes had rolled back until only the whites were showing; it moved on its primal instincts alone. The need to feed was coursing through its body and a low predatory growl burst from its throat.
Backing away carefully the Sergeant manoeuvred the creature into the open then, with one blow felled it, taking its head cleanly from its shoulders.
He shouted to the men with him not to get any blood on themselves as it carried a contagion before swiftly ordered them to despatch the seven men who had not yet arisen.
The wagoneer came and stood at his side, relieved that the soldier had been caught and dealt with quickly. It didn’t occur to him that he too was infected until he turned to thank Rinne and was surprised by a sword dealing a clean death to him.
“Well done Sergeant,” Klimm drawled and turned on his heel leaving them to organise the clean up without his assistance. Rinne’s eyes went flat and hard as he watched him sauntering away; he knew that if the Colonel had decided to have problems with him he would have to watch his back in the future.
The funeral pyre for fourteen people was massive, belching huge clouds of black smoke into the air attracting the soldiers’ attention as they rode past; after one glance they averted their eyes fearful, some made old fashioned signs to avert evil from them.
The main thought flowing through all their mind’s was that none of the dead would meet them in Chak’ir’ee and they all feared this fate above all else.
Rinne had managed to move the children from Klimm’s wagon; he had secreted them onto the wagon formerly used by the Mage students; the driver had looked after the students well before their traitorous desertion; the Sergeant hoped he was going to look after the children equally well.
He had mounted his horse and galloped down the trail checking that nothing was left behind; Colonel Klimm was riding a great brute of a horse, an ungelded stallion, it snapped at everyone who entered within its range.
He whipped it fiercely, drawing blood from its hind quarters until the horse dropped its head, acknowledging his mastery; as he shook his whip to clean the drops of blood his eyes had caught sight of a blonde head and he made a note of where Rinne had hidden them.
A strange look came into his eyes with the realisation that the Sergeant had been deliberately left behind by Creed, to spy on him and report everything he was doing.
Gnawing on the bloody whip handle his mind began to work on a solution to getting rid of the Sergeant, in a way which would bring no suspicion upon his own head.
Klimm had marked a line on his map, diverting his section of the army cross- country towards the town of Birrh in the straightest line he could follow. He was no longer going to waste time and energy investigating smaller inhabited areas any longer.
Cutting the heart out of a creature usually killed it and he intended to destroy these people in the only way he knew how; he cast a backward glance at the erect figure of Sergeant Rinne, and if some of his soldiers fell by the way then so be it.

The silence in the cavern after Jonah finished speaking lasted for a few minutes while everyone tried to process his words. Most of the people seated there did not understand the implications of the story; all looked towards Orlan or Terrill to explain what it meant.
Orlan had his eyes closed and tears seeped from under the papery thin lids; it had been many years since he had read the book and at the time he had not understood its true meaning.
Discounting the story it told as a fiction he had allowed his studies to lead him down a different path; now he could only pray that his paths were going to converge and allow him to save his people.
“Azhmel is a Dhrake then?” Geron spoke aloud and Terrill pursed his lips before answering,
“He has transformed into a Dhrake yes. Our mother once warned us to beware of fire-drakes; she was descended from the original dragon kidnapped all those years ago.”
“I don’t understand everything yet; there is a book written by our parents, it is in my pack. There is a story in there which explains how our mother ended up on Qol...Qol, a new name and a new spelling of Gul.”
“Azhmel’s’ ancestor must have found a way to hide what he was, Mage Gwinn knew and I also believe General Bruce and perhaps a few others on his close staff knew.”
“On Qol there are other family members living in the depths of the royal palace; no-one sees them through the daylight hours. I have often wondered...”
“We cannot dwell on this yet. Orlan has a plan and we must stick to it; we have an advantage we didn’t know about.” He looked around and noticed a few blank expressions,
“We already have a portal to a vortice – I know exactly where I left it and it should not be too difficult to retrieve it at the proper time.”
“Of course...We have the coverstone!” Thadd and Rikh spoke at once, both exchanging a triumphant grin.
While they were speaking Lyria had been watching the girl Klee; she and her father Beal were an unknown element and the fey woman wanted to know why the Orb of the Old Ones had selected her to be one of the eight.
Pressing Geron lightly on the shoulder, she asked him to stay and listen to the others, if there was anything she needed to know he could tell her later.
Lyta had gravitated into the inner chamber and was staring at the large dragons etched onto the wall; she still had her doubts that Terrill was telling her the truth and planned to talk with both he and Darell soon.
Klee looked up at Lyria and smiled showing tiny white teeth like pearls; her father had never spoke with the fey before and hastened to stand and placing both hands in Lyria’s waiting for her blessing.
Raising them to her lips she brushed a kiss over both before sitting down and placing an arm around Klee.
“I need to ask you both some questions, do you mind?” She saw the swift exchange of glances and knew they were trying to hide something,
“I know you are both frightened, I too have great fear; we are living in troubling times and we must do everything we can to help our people. Can you tell me what it is you are trying to hide?”
Beal looked at the bright coppery hair of his daughter; her face was chalk white with fear and a smattering of golden freckles across her nose stood out in stark relief; then he looked at the dark glossy head beside her, the serene face which studied them both and the wisdom which seemed to ooze from every pore.
He realised there would be no need to hide his daughters secret any longer, if they had come forward years ago Orlan would probably have brought Lyria to them anyway and she could have eased their fears.
“Klee, daughter, show Lyria what she needs to know,” his voice was encouraging and stifling a sob the girl turned away from the rest of the cavern and pulled her dress up revealing layer upon layer of fragile iridescent green scales which were visible from her knees moving up her body.
Reaching out a tentative finger Lyria barely touched the girls’ leg,
“Does it hurt Klee?” Her first thought was that the child must have been in pain and she could have helped her.
“No, not pain as such, it tingles at times but it isn’t too bad.” Lyria stood and rested a hand on the girls shoulder,
“How long have you had this?” She was concerned that Beal had kept it to himself and wondered why.
“Since I reached fourteen and became a woman, just over a year ago,” Klee was relaxing now and Lyria was carefully trying to examine the rest of the skin,
“Why did you not send for me? Orlan has been to Gryph many times and I would have come...” Beal stretched his hand out and clasped Klee’s hand,
“You could not have stopped it, so I saw no point in wasting your time, and...” he paused and looked at the floor for a moment before continuing,
“If others had found out about this they could have treated Klee differently, you know how some people react when someone is different, they would have feared her, shunned her; I could not allow that to happen.”
“I think you are being harsh Beal, no-one would be so cruel...”
“They were cruel with my Mina, her mother. She had the same thing happen and did not dare to leave our home for years in case she was seen ...” his voice broke and the sheen of tears crossed his eyes.
“Oh Beal...I am so sorry. What happened to Mina? Where is she now?”
“Lyria...My Mina...She started like this at the same age. I married her three years later and she wept when she realised that I still loved her in spite of this.”
“We had to move away from our village, she could not bear the gossiping and pointing fingers; I built us a cottage beside the river. For three years we lived there happily, and then Mina found out she was with child and our lives were complete.”
“Once the baby was born Mina suddenly grew worse, the scales spread like wildfire and within six weeks she had been forced to leave our beautiful cottage and was living in the water all the time.”
“My Mina had transformed into one of the people Jonah spoke of, she became a mermaid.”

Azhmel awoke slowly, savouring the heat from the sand trapped beneath his massive body. The sun had not risen yet the world was coming to life around him.
Gulls screamed overhead, diving and skimming into the fish rich waters before surfacing with an early breakfast held tightly in their sharp beaks; some explored the rocks and shallows scavenging for small soft shelled crabs which were prime food and easily found.
A persistent buzz came from hundreds of flies gathered around his greywings; attracted by the large patches of dried blood on the tattered clothing remnants covering them; flies crawling over any exposed skin they could find, leaving their eggs behind. The sands shifted and a large black scorpion wriggled to the surface, searching for small lizards, spiders or even rodents before the burning heat of the day would make it hide once more.
As he moved his head he could still see the pale lights sparkling under the water, rising up from his flagship to dissipate when they reached the surface; he must send his greywings to retrieve his precious cargo before he could leave here.
Stretching languorously he rolled his head on his long neck, easing away the slight aches which had appeared overnight; his frantic escape from the water and fight with the strange creatures nearly forgotten.
He slitted his eyes and sent out a psychic call to his greywings, most were here with him but he still felt some who were struggling to reach him; collapsed on the ground due to their weakness caused by hunger they were crawling inch by inch to reach him.
Disregarding those closest to him, he focused on the insistent call from Kensis which finally registered on his mind,
“Master, I have found what you seek, come quickly. Master, I have found what you seek, come quickly. Master, I have found what you seek, come quickly. Master, I have found what you seek, come quickly. Master, I have found what you seek, come quickly. Master, I have found what you seek, come quickly. Master, I have found what you seek, come quickly.”
The images and the words which Kensis sent burned in his mind; he felt a quiver of anticipation low in his belly; he could not leave yet though. He needed more than ever to retrieve that which was his from his flagship.
Fully alert now he sat up and took a deep breath of the salty, oxygen rich air; the sun rose and covered the ground with a soft golden glow; today was the day he had been patiently waiting for, today he would take what he needed and then he would breed.
Along the beach all his greywings felt the mental summons and quickly moved to stand in before him. Some were still very weak, if they did not receive sustenance soon they would die; Azhmel looked at them and knew he could now afford to feed them once more, before he joined Kensis.
With a razor sharp scimitar shaped claw he delicately peeled back one of the large scales covering his wrist and nicked the large throbbing vein which was exposed.
As the rich blood came to the surface the greywings stirred as the delicious scent teased their nostrils; better than the food prey they hunted, one drop of the Warlord’s blood should sustain them for two days before hunger would strike them once more.
Azhmel stood for two hours feeding them; as each fed he gave them his instructions. Once they had recovered, hundreds of them dived into the water swimming blindly to the ship, trying to follow the route he left in their minds. Not all were strong swimmers and the weakest floundered up to the surface and struggled ashore to flop gasping onto the beach.
The lights did not attack the greywings as they had attacked Azhmel; they stung if they stayed too long in their vicinity but for the most part were ignored.
Partially collapsed the burnt cabins hindered their progress with the need to breathe forcing each of them to surface and, take a moments respite before resuming their labours.
Azhmel left them there knowing that they would find his precious cargo or perish trying. He took off with five thousand of his greywing filling the air behind him, their wings fanned out trapping the tiniest of currents enabling them to soar with the least effort conserving their strength for the battles ahead.
******
In the cavern none were paying attention as the sun rose and spread its rays over the inner surfaces for the first time in a thousand years. Slowly the fingers of the sun walked across the dusty floor until they found the back of Farl’s wagon and finally reached the cave where Corvus had stayed frozen away from its life giving energy.
Corvus blinked once; his sharp eyes imprinted the image of the cave in his mind and sent the picture up to the thousand listless crows circling over Gryph.
Revitalised the birds startled the soldiers and natives alike with their feral screams as they turned to search for their leader. Their first need was food, a day had passed and hunger filled each of them; they attacked anything that moved below trying to fill the insatiable pangs in their gut.
Small birds were mobbed and bloody feathers drifted down onto the ground; hapless rabbits and hares were plucked from their play under trees by vicious grasping talons.
In Gryph a small native boy had been given the task of taking fresh clean water to every working soldier. He toiled to pull the heavy buckets from the well and hooked them onto the yoke which went across his shoulders. Clutching dippers in each hand he struggled to his feet and walked over to where Yellen was waiting for him.
The overseer was seated on the top rung of a fence watching as the boy struggled with the heavy buckets, unconcerned by the drawn, tearstained face; all he wanted was to keep his herd fit and well, that way they would make the most profit at the next auctions.
A dark cloud crossed the sun and Yellen raised his hand to his brow as he turned his head to look, hoping it was not signalling a rainstorm. His blood turned to ice as he saw the thick host of birds’ arrowing down towards their unsuspecting victim.
“Get out of the way boy, run!” He found his feet on the ground and he was running towards the child, shouting aloud, attracting the attention of every man there.
Looking up the boy saw the giant form of Yellen racing across the ground towards him; he couldn’t distinguish the words coming from his mouth; fear closed in over his head and he found himself ducking down, cowering away from the overseer.
His last minute movement meant the first of the birds overshot him and missed striking the back of his head with their sharp beaks; he cried out in terror then as he realised the danger was from the birds and not from the man.
Yellen had pulled his sword out and was waving it through the thick swarm of birds, knocking them out of the way with one arm while he tried to protect his eyes with the other.
He saw the boy crouch and the birds miss him, then nothing as a dark cloak completely covered him. Thrusting his hands through the viciously pecking beaks he felt the rough material of the boy’s shirt and gripped it tightly in his hands trying to pick the boy up.
The heavy buckets and yoke came with him and he was forced to lower his sword arm and lift it away from the child, a sharp beak gouged across his cheek peeling a thin strip of skin away from the bone. He cursed under his breath and once more tried to lift the child, two small arms latched around his neck and he closed his hand over the back of the fragile skull before running towards the nearest building.
Other voices sounded behind him, the sound of feet pounding across the dry compacted ground; clashes of swords hitting the heavy feathered bodies thudded behind him then, he was safely indoors, hands grasping and pulling him to safety before the door was slammed shut and a heavy bar dropped in place.
Repeated sharp knocks sounded on the wood and he realised it was the beaks of the frenzied birds as they strived to reach them.
“Are you all right Yellen?” He recognised Benar’s voice and looked around surprised to find the tavern filled with soldiers and frightened natives.
Yellen was loosening his grip on the boy and could hear snuffling and knew the child still lived; blood coated his arm and he didn’t know whether it was his or the child’s.
The rough hands of a soldier reached out and twisted his head and he felt a cloth pressed onto the tear in his cheek as a chair was pushed behind him and strong hands forced him to sit down.
“Are you injured boy?” The small figure which was still in his arms nodded once and he looked down at the exposed head and grimaced at the gouges made by the sharp beaks.
Creed stood by the window, watching as the birds disappeared as swiftly as they had arrived; he felt his gorge rise as he noticed bloodied bodies of men who had not managed to reach safety.
Turning he looked at the organised confusion reigning in the room; his attention fell onto his slavemaster and the small boy he held tightly in his arms. A native female tried to take the child and he snarled at her angrily.
Something about this world was affecting his men and he was not entirely sure it was a good thing; Yellen would never have run to save a child before they arrived here.
“What’s that you are doing woman?” Snarling suspiciously Yellen looked at a green mess slathered over a piece of clean cloth,
“Sir it is yarrow and feverfew. Believe me it will stop the bleeding and prevent infection if we hurry,” she stretched out a gentle hand and managed to lift the boy away from the overseer and sit him on the edge of the table.
Lifting the boys chin she smiled gently into the tear filled eyes, refusing to let her shock show at the wounds the birds had caused; he was lucky to have kept his eyes, a great gouge tore across his brow line causing blood to run down his face.
His legs and arms were covered with bites and torn skin and the woman carefully washed then smoothed the tender skin back into place and covered him with soft white cloths.
When she had finished he was placed on a mattress tucked in the alcove off the side of the hearth and given a drink of watered down ale before being left to sleep.
Yellen felt the woman move the dressing from his face and watched as unbidden she bathed where the birds had caught him. He gasped once as the water stung his arm and she paused and offered an apologetic smile, holding her breath in case he would offer her violence.
Nodding at her to continue he held his breath when she pressed some of her green goo onto his arm; the instant relief he felt, allowed him to relax his strained muscles and he sighed softly.
A tankard was pushed into his hand and he drained it, the alcohol burnt as it went down his throat but the heat in his belly made him feel better and he smiled his thanks at her.
Opening the door a crack, Benar ventured to peer up and see if the birds were hiding overhead. After his quick look he beckoned to the other soldiers and they ventured outdoors to see if anything could be done for the injured outside.
A sickened expression was on his face when he returned and he reported his findings to the General,
“Three dead sir, and four who have some very bad wounds; I wouldn’t like to bet on their recovery. I will detail some men to burial duty...” He stopped speaking when the woman who had been tending the injured dropped her bowl on the hard floor shattering it, spilling hot water over everywhere.
“Have you not learned anything yet sir?” She moved and touched Benar’s arm,
“You cannot bury any on our world or they will return as Zomb.” In her anxiety she was shaking his arm and he moved and put a calming hand on hers,
“Explain yourself?” Creed was watching her carefully,
“You fought last night with our Undead, if you had buried them they would have still come back. If you bury those outside they too will return as Zomb,” tears were flowing then and she trembled in fear as she spoke to both men.
“So what normally happens when someone dies then?” Benar had to ask the question and was horrified when she answered,
“We have the blessed burnings where our essence is released to seek out the Old Ones...”
“Burnt...I thought the book was exaggerating!” Benar shuddered and prayed that whatever else happened he didn’t die on this world.
“No sir, this is the truth. If you will allow, I will arrange the ceremony for later today; it must be done by dusk at the latest,” she paused and waited until Creed grimly gave his permission.
“I really hope your plan works General or I will be a basket case!”
Benar moved away, ensuring the next group of soldiers were still getting ready to leave on time; none of them wanted to hang around in case the crows returned en masse.
Yellen looked over at the sleeping child and felt a strange pain squeeze his heart; it had been many years since he felt compassion for another person. He had listened to both Creed and Benar talking and knew that this world was affecting all of them; whether or not it was a good thing...He pursed his lips and resolutely pushed the thought away.
The sun was high in the sky as the soldiers once more galloped out prepared to follow Creeds’ plan to the letter; they were all unhappy over the situation in Gryph and needed to escape the inaction.
******
Orlan was unwilling to wait any longer the sense of urgency he felt was growing faster and he was desperate to cast the spell. He knew Terrill held other vital information, but hoped it would not affect what was to happen next.
The spell had to be cast with eight priests to support each of the eight Chosen; he had brought his colleagues from Gryph to help with this but the fortuitous arrival of Terrill and his students had given him another idea.
He moved around them asking them each if they would join him in the inner chamber; Thadd, Rikh, Jonah, Matha, Terrill, one by one each joined him and agreed to help.
He looked at Denon but the youth was still grey- faced and asleep and he could not possibly cope with the strain of performing magick. As he contemplated the other remaining people he heard Terrill instruct his students to breathe deeply; to clear their minds of any troubled thoughts and to clear their lungs, preparing them for the trials yet to come.
Still needing two others he looked at Banya, the youth was laughing at something said by Lyta; his strange eyes glinted eerily as the sunlight hit them.
Beckoning the youth he waited until he was stood in front of him and asked,
“Are you ready to help your people once more Banya?” His voice held a tone which Banya did not recognise but the youth without hesitation moved and held his hand out to the old priest,
“Whatever is asked of me I will give freely...For my world, my family and for my friends.” Orlan bowed in acceptance and held his arm wide, directing him to take his place in the chamber.
He was torn between asking the boy Darell and Mikel; both were unknown entities, Darell had aged the last time he exposed himself to magick – would that happen again? Would it affect the power of the spell?
Mikel, Lyria’s younger brother, why had he never heard of him before? Where had he been? Why had Lyria never mentioned him? He was torn and his face showed the struggle he was fighting.
Nera had been nursing her son and watching Orlan from the corner of her eye; throughout the night Lyria had communicated everything which had happened silently to both Mikel and herself; she knew of Orlan’s indecision and biting her lip forced her voice to work.
“Mikel is ready for you Orlan,” he looked at her in surprise then glanced over her shoulder and gaped at Mikel who stood wearing a robe of darkest purple, covered with thousands of tiny stars all shining brightly; his face serene as he waited for his invitation.
Recognising a true fey master priest, Orlan once more was filled with the conviction that the fates were conspiring to help them in every way possible; he had always believed that everything happened for a reason, and now fate had given him everything he needed to make this work.
Taking his place in the inner chamber Mikel’s appearance caused everyone to fall silent; after today things would never be the same again.
Orlan swept into the chamber and fussed with the placement of the men inside until he was absolutely satisfied that they were in the perfect spot.
Taking his own place he crashed the metal end of his staff on the floor three times, calling out in a voice which resonated powerfully throughout both caverns,
“Cormamin lindua ele lle...Amin/Lye naa lle nai... Amin khiluva lle a' gurtha ar'thar...”
The old words and phrases sank into the walls and flowed over the Orb which began to glow faintly deep in its heart.
Outside Nera held both her children tightly and softly translated the words for everyone to hear,
“Our hearts sing to see thee. We are yours to command. We will follow you to death and beyond.”

Lyria moved forward and she too was wearing robes of dark purple, hers were adorned with hundreds of tiny suns which appeared to move of their own accord. Her hair was piled high onto her head; revealing the delicate curve of her neck and the elegant pointed tips of her ears.

Moving to her side Geron wished he had been given a chance to bathe and freshen up, it was over two days since he had changed his clothes and washed and he could smell himself in the close confines of the cave.

Orlan looked at them and beckoned them inside, Lyria to stand in front of the Dragon and Geron the Centaur, behind Geron stood Terrill who rested a brief hand on the taller mans shoulder; Orlan trusted no-one but himself to stand behind Lyria, he was not prepared to risk her life in the hands of strangers or untried youths.

Harry and Anjii took a moment to hold Hoppy tight, kissing him on his head before passing his hand for Lyta to hold tightly. They took their places in the chamber, Anjii in front of the Unicorn with Matha behind; Harry in front of the Gryphon with Rikh as his support.

Varon and Klee felt the insistent mental call coming from the Orb and after kissing her father; she trustingly placed her hand in the enormous palm of the man to whom she had somehow been paired.

Thadd stood in front of the Minotaur and smiled at the tall man; the trainee had grown in stature and confidence over the past few days; Varon briefly clasped his hand before taking his place in front of him.
Klee moved in front of Mikel and was awed when the fey priest marked her forehead with a symbol of blessing, before allowing herself to be stationed in front of the mermaid.
Halle and Finn took their places last, Jonah standing for Halle who faced the Pegasos and Finn smiled in relief at his nephew, Banya before taking his place in front of the Angel.
Orlan banged his staff once more; a softly glowing crystal quartz wall appeared and filled the opening from everyone else crowding to watch.
Lyta and Darell ran forward and touched the glowing wall; both their hands fluttered delicately over the surface trying to find a way in. Hoppy began to cry, a thin frightened wail which caught at the heart of everyone there.
Akhri was the one who made his way forwards to lift the boy and hold him in gentle hands; he reminded the man of a boy they had failed to protect from evil less than a week earlier. He whispered in the boys ears that come what may he would stay with him for as long as he needed him.
Drenched blue eyes looked at him and Hoppy placed a grimy hand on the side of Akhri’s face,
“Duh ya promise me? My da says if ya makes a promise then ya has to keep it forever,” his solemn face tugged at Akhri’s heartstrings and he bent over the fair head,
“I dun promise you boy that I ain’t neber gonna leave ya. I’se gonna get on your mammy and daddy’s nerves and under dere feet but I ain’t neber gonna leave ya, no siree, neber,” a single tear rolled down his face and Hoppy wiped it away before tucking his head under the other mans chin and snuggling close, both were going to wait together.
Abandoning their efforts to break through the crystal Lyta and Darell joined Nera; she made them both sit near her and gave each a baby to hold,
“Stay here with me, they will be alright, you will see,” she mouthed the words over their heads while exchanging glances with the disgruntled priests who had struggled to walk through miles of underground passageways only to be discarded at the end.
They had not considered that, by forcing them to accompany him, Orlan had saved their lives; all of them with their rank and status should have been waiting at the gates of Gryph with Obadiah to greet the savage invaders.
Farl looked around at the frightened group and decided to do what he did the best; moving to the wagon he began to investigate the food supplies he had left. A deep caw caught his attention and he turned his head to see the beak of Corvus snap shut less than a whisker away from his eye.
Swearing angrily he grabbed a discarded blanket and threw it over the cage; the intense blackness it caused froze the bird once more as if it was night time.
Outside the flock of crows which had been drawing near to the cavern suddenly lost their instructions and resumed their circling under the hot afternoon sun.
Inside the chamber the only illumination came from the crystal wall initially, and then as they patiently waited, the Orb drew strength from the people gathered therein and a steady golden glow emerged.
“Lle desiel..?” Orlan spoke and they all recognised the query,
“Are you ready?”
He did not wait for an answer, whether they were ready or not time was ebbing away from them and if he did not proceed now then all would be lost. He could feel the presence of something evil coming towards them and he needed to hurry, his very bones were speaking to him, hurry Orlan, hurry, hurry!

They had rode for five hours without a break and Rinne was concerned for the horses; lathered with foam most were labouring to breathe under the scorching hot sun.
Klimm had beaten his horse until blood flecked the foam and the creature was starting to stagger as it tried to keep going, to prevent the man seated on its back from raising his whip once more.
The crows overhead had briefly come to life and mobbed the smaller birds unwise enough to stray in their paths; they dropped into open grassy areas and taken rabbits and hares to feed on.
The army had passed the bloody corpses of wild goats, and young lambs forcibly taken from their mothers by the vicious crowd; then they had turned to the east and swiftly flown away in the direction General Creed had taken.
Rinne had heaved a sigh of relief as they left, he replaced his long knife in the sheath and galloped back to where the children had hidden under the canvas waterproof cover of the wagon.
Klimm slowed his horse and watched the man, a dark sneer crossed his face; Rinne had not got the killer instincts the Colonel wanted in his men. He wanted them to be as cruel and uncaring as he himself was.
Creed was a weakling fool and he had planned on eliminating him during this campaign, this world had its own dangers and he could only hope the man would fall foul of them.
Calling for a break Klimm ordered that food be prepared for all. He was hungry and had, before the advent of the crows caught a brace of tender hares which he had passed to his driver.
The air was soon filled with the heady sweet smell of roasting meat up and down the column. Rinne had noticed the odd sideways looks from the Colonel and had an odd presentiment that something was in the air.
He tied his horse to the wagon and was rewarded by two small smiles from the children hiding there. The wagoneer passed him a plate with cold roasted meat left from the previous day and a noggin of bread and he looked at him in surprise,
“What’s this? You know better...” The driver came forward with a concerned frown on his face,
“I heard the Colonel talking with some of his men and he arranged for them to come and take the children while I was distracted with the cooking...I decided to cook later when we settle for the night...I gotta nephew about that age,” he moved away with a conspiratorial wink and as he passed the wagon reached out and ruffled Biron’s blond hair until it stuck out at all angles.
Rinne ate the meat but threw the bread away, his sharp brain worrying why the Colonel would want to upset the balance of things now. He thought the children would be safe until they reached the town of Birrh.
He moved to the wagon and looked at the innocent faces watching him; hope in their eyes that he would be able to save them. Reaching out he smoothed Biron’s hair flat, relishing the softness before stroking Katta’s away from her eyes and he knew what he would have to do.
Beckoning the wagoneer he stood pondering the decision he had just made, treason was enough to get a man hanged without a trial.
“Can you pack me some supplies, enough to last for a few days? Until I can take the children and rejoin the General.” His back was unguarded and it was only the faint widening of the drivers eyes which alerted him.
With his hand reaching for his sword he tried to turn but was felled by a crushing blow to the head and collapsed unconscious on the ground. On the wagon the children cried out but were silenced by large sweaty hands over their mouths and they were swiftly trussed and taken to the Colonel.
The wagoneer bent over Rinne and touched the pulse on his neck,
“Glass jaw lads, one punch and tha broke his neck. He’s dead the man is.” Straightening he kicked the unconscious man in the side and hoped that he wouldn’t groan or both of them would summarily be executed.
The two men who had crept up on him looked disappointed, their thick shaggy brows meeting over heavy set eyes as they frowned in disgust. Rinne had worked them hard and they had wanted more sport than this before killing him.
“Tell the Colonel I will have to put him in the cornfield and burn him...It wouldn’t do for him to sneak up on us as one of those...Undead bastards.” He shuddered theatrically; keeping his eyes averted from the still small figures slung over their shoulders.
Grunting in response they watched as the wagoneer hauled Rinne up over the back of his horse before leading him onto the field. He didn’t dare risk looking over his shoulder in case he alerted them and whistled between his teeth as if unconcerned.
Half way across the field he allowed the reins of the horse to drop and took out his blade, it was his second favourite as he had already sacrificed his first when he threw it at the Mage student, Matha.
He began to cut through the dry ripe stalks, clearing an area to set on fire, listening intently for any sign of life from the Sergeant.
“Come on Sarn’t, I know they didn’t hit you that hard, are you awake yet?” He muttered under his breath and was relieved to hear a barely whispered answer from Rinne,
“I have been awake for some time. Did you really have to kick me that hard?” The driver snorted as he carried on cutting the corn and laying it out to form a base for the pyre he was attempting to make.
“What are we gonna do Sarn’t? Klimm has those children now and I don’t think they will be safe for much longer.”
Anxiously casting a glance over the field he noticed that the men were being stirred to move, Klimm had what he had stopped for and was going to leave within minutes.
“When you drag me over to the fire I am going to try and crawl through the corn out of their line of sight. You will make the biggest fire you can, if it flares up so much the better as I should be able to make a clean getaway.”
“I want you to accidentally leave a horse if you can. When you are all gone I am going to try and circle around until it gets dark. Then I am going to come and hopefully rescue the children and we are going to join General Creed.”
“If you make it seem as if your horses are going lame you can then drop back to the end of the line; once everyone has passed you turn around and go as fast as you can back the way we came. Once I have the children I will rejoin you.”
The wagoneer looked at the pile of corn stalks he had cut and decided that if Klimm was watching he would think there were enough to burn one recalcitrant Sergeant.
Hauling the man from the back of the horse he casually dumped him just over the corn, missing the centre entirely and had to hide a grin at the anguished expression on Rinne’s face when the sharp stalks stabbed him through his clothes.
Dropping to one knee he pulled out his tinder box and held it close to the brittle stalks,
“You do realise if we fail he will gut us, and hang us out to dry...Would we come back then? We can’t fail Sarn’t, or both of us have had it and those two younglings.”
A spark caught and he bent low and gently blew on it as Rinne sinuously moved through the corn, trying to disturb it as little as possible. His heartbeat was pounding loudly in his ears; if anyone had been sneaking upon him he wouldn’t have been able to hear them through his own fear.
The driver made his way back to his wagon, loosely looping Rinne’s horses reins around the tailgate. Then he went to his horses and sadly tucked a tiny stone in a hoof on each horse.
He hoped the bulk of the army would have passed him soon before their hooves became too badly bruised. As the other mounted soldiers rode past him and queried the fire in the field he would look at them as he told them about the Sergeant.
Some grinned and passed coarse, crude remarks; he made a mental note of these for future reference; some were shocked and disturbed, they tried to whisper to him, to these he gave what he hoped was a silent warning.
The field burned fiercely now, the flames were fanned by the breeze which was beginning to blow quite fiercely. Checking the sky there were signs of a storm coming, the men cracked their whips over the heads of their horses eager to get far away.
Klimm dropped back on his horse and looked at the two bound and gagged children; their eyes were wary as they took in the flush of excitement across his cheeks and the continual way he kept moistening his lips as he studied them.
He took a calming breath and released it slowly; he needed to control himself until later, the men were less alert at night; if he allowed them a ration of rhum which he had surreptitiously taken from the ships stores then there would be less chance of them interfering with his plan.
Rinne managed to crawl away from them, watching from between the corn until the army was out of sight. He ran lightly searching for his horse, hoping that the wagoneer had managed to release it without anyone noticing.
Finally a soft whinny ahead caused him to slow down and hunch over until he could see where the horse was. Instead of his tired horse there was a fresh horse with a full waterskin attached to the saddle; searching through the packs he found some bread and cheese and hungrily devoured it, thinking of the meagre meal he had consumed earlier.
Now he was mounted he needed to ride cross country to try and get in front of Klimm if he hoped to save the children. The dark clouds in the sky threatened a storm and he hoped they would be pulling up and bivouacking soon.
Without his careful supervision the men wouldn’t know to check the lay of the land and watch for signs of flash floods affecting the area. If they camped in the wrong place, and it flooded; it could work in his favour; getting the children away through that sort of confusion should be easy.
Hunching over his horse he galloped away, his mind actively searching for solutions to the problems which he was facing; he was keeping his fingers crossed that the wagoneer had also fared as well, he would be relying heavily on him in the future.
***
The sun had disappeared and large fat spots of rain were falling soaking into the arid ground. Rinne was perched in a large oak tree watching as tents were pitched, nodding to himself as he noticed Klimm had ordered his placed in a flat gulley which looked to be perfect for a flash flood to flow through.
Campfires were lit and the smells of various foods cooking reached him and caused his stomach to rumble hungrily. He patted in his bags and found the last piece of bread and with a rueful sigh gnawed on the hardened crust.
He could see no signs of his friend Mellon, the wagoneer, and hoped he was safely where he wanted him to be. The two thugs who had struck him were visible outside Klimm’s tent and he watched as they lifted large stone jars and drank from them.
Rhum! Stolen from the ships; Creed would have a field day when he found out. Laughter flowed from the two and they moved to the tents near them and poured drinks from every person there.
The Sergeant rubbed his nose as he thought about the scene below; the normal soldiers would be less likely to intervene with the Colonel’s fun and games if he kept them plied with strong drink.
Jumping from the tree he began to creep forward, watching where he placed his feet; the cracking of broken twigs was the last thing he wanted.
The wind started to gust bringing in even more rain, faster and heavier, huge fat drops which were easily absorbed by dry surfaces; he was grateful for its cover, the sky was dark now, as if it was night and the men would stay in their tents rather than venture forth to get soaked.
Its cover was a two edged sword though and he hoped he would still make out his bearings; the last thing he needed was getting lost in the unfamiliar territory.
The Colonel’s two bully boys returned and, took up their positions outside Klimm’s tent; the rhum jars were gone so he assumed they were empty and had been discarded.
Another gust of wind brought in the torrential rain he had been dreading yet praying for and he scrambled forwards on his hands and knees until he was less than ten yards from the Colonel’s tent.
The two men reached and pulled the flap open and spoke to Klimm but Rinne couldn’t hear what they said as the howling wind tore the words from their mouths, muffling all other sounds.
He watched as they moved away and entered another tent further down the camp; for five minutes he waited as the rain got heavier soaking the dry ground thoroughly; then he moved closer until he could see through a small gap which was left where both sides of the tents front opening had not been tied tightly together.
Klimm was sprawled on the pallet which served as his bed, drinking something from his own metal tankard. If it was rhum, it was possible his reactions would be sluggish and slow; Rinne hoped to get the children and make their escape before he could call for help.
He was about to move and search the wagon stationed outside, when a small cry caught his attention and he realised to his dismay that both children were already in the Colonel’s tent.
Gritting his teeth the Sergeant watched Klimm stand, and with his back to the tents opening he refilled his tankard from a stone jar which had been placed on a small table.
The Colonel turned his head and spoke softly to another occupant of the tent, but Rinne could not hear what he said; moving slightly to the side he still could not make out anyone other than the children and hoped his luck had changed.
Klimm briefly moved out of the Sergeants range of vision before reappearing, now holding Biron by one of his thin arms; pulling the boy to the edge of the pallet and allowing the light of a torch stuck into the ground to show his tear streaked face to the watcher outside.
Biron managed to keep further tears at bay; he had cried with Katta throughout the nightmare journey on the wagon and now was numbed from some of the strong alcohol which Klimm had forced down their throats earlier.
Katta was sitting on the floor, her arms wrapped around her legs, head down on her knees, eyes closed seemingly asleep; Rinne could see the dirty stains where she had cried marking her cheeks and he wanted to rush in there and beat the Colonel to a pulp.
Waiting for the storm to increase seemed like madness but he was hoping for a flash flood to cover his tracks and hide their scent from the mastiffs which the slavemasters kept.
Keeping his knife in his hand he watched the skies light up with lightning flashes, heard the crash of thunder and the sound of terrified horses which were picketed, whinnying in fear and knew the time was upon him to make his escape.
Klimm had his head bent over the blonde curls of the small boy; his eyes were closed and under the Sergeants horrified gaze, smelt the fragile nape of his neck.
A deep throaty groan came from him and he raised his head to reveal eyes which had turned black as pitch with his front incisor teeth grown long, sharp, in preparation for sinking into the tender flesh exposed to him.
Cutting through the tent ties, and forcing his way through the opening, Rinne was sure he could see two beings fighting for control of the one body.
From the corner of his eye Klimm saw the flash of a knife and diverted Rinne’s blow by throwing a pillow from his bed; at the same time he called out for his guards.
When they didn’t answer, he threw Biron into the Sergeants path, eager to keep him away until extra help arrived; Rinne fell to one knee as he caught the child, off balance he waited as the Colonel pulled out his sword, convinced his rescue had failed.
Katta launched herself at the back of the Colonel and knocked him into the tent pole which supported the framework; his head cracked loudly on the wood and he collapsed on the floor unconscious.
Laughing with surprised relief, Rinne felt for a pulse in the Colonel’s throat, he still lived; the Sergeant drew his sword, contemplating what he would have to do, knowing that Klimm wouldn’t have hesitated to kill him where he stood.
“Rinne..!” Both children sobbed aloud and clutched at him; he patted their backs comfortingly and knew the decision had already been taken away; he could not commit cold-blooded murder in front of them, they had already seen too much killing.
Outside a loud crash of thunder finally succeeded in spooking the horses and they tore the picket ropes free and began to rampage over all the camp. Rinne had hoped to be able to tie the Colonel; or whatever he was up before leaving; too late now as men were already emerging from their tents and he knew they had to leave.
Scooping Biron into his left arm and bidding Katta to hold on tightly to his belt he quickly looked out of the open flap and made sure no-one was near to them.
Running lightly they had made it nearly to the trees when a loud angry roar from behind made the Sergeant cast an anxious look over his shoulder; he saw the two thugs who worked for Klimm already racing in his direction.
They must have already been outside and had spotted the escape; his horse was fastened tightly to the lower branches of the oak tree and instead of wasting time trying to untie the wet reins, he lopped the branch off with his sword.
Throwing Katta up first, he settled her brother in the middle and then threw his leg over the saddle, already encouraging the horse to go before he was seated.
Pelting rain hit his face, blinding him as he urged the horse away from the camp; something stung the back of his leg and he winced in pain but didn’t dare to stop to investigate.
He rode as fast as he dared, hoping that the direction he now followed was the one he had pointed out to the wagoneer; neither child had uttered a murmur since they had called his name in Klimms tent and he was desperately concerned for their sanity.
The rains were easing off and sporadic rumbles of thunder came from far behind them. A copse of trees ahead looked inviting and he thought they could hide there for a short time while he made sure both children were uninjured.
In the centre of the copse the leaves overlapped and a sheltered area appeared; gratefully pulling the horse up, he dismounted before firmly securing the reins.
“Biron, Katta, come on now let me look at you,” he kept his voice even and calm and lifted them both down. Once their feet touched the ground they threw their arms around his waist and began to weep in relief.
He sank down with them, pulling them into his gentle embrace, his own eyes stinging with the burn of unshed tears,
“It’s alright now, you are safe he cannot get you anymore,” he soothed as they sobbed and he was rewarded by their heads being raised and wet kisses being rained on his cheeks.
“We knew you would come for us,” Katta spoke first and he cupped the back of her head as he smiled,
“Did you now...And how would you have known that?”
“Mellon whispered to us that you lived.” She mentioned the wagoneer and Rinne nodded before looking around,
“He is a good man, and, I am hoping it won’t take us too long to catch up with him.” Standing up he moved back to his horse looking in the packs for his spare blankets, the children were shivering now as they still only had the torn parts he had covered them with earlier.
“Rinne...You are bleeding,” Katta cried out and he looked down at his leg and bit back a curse.
The stinging he felt was where the sharp pointed blade of a shuri was embedded in the back of his thigh. The five pointed star was usually the weapon used by the High Warlord’s elite guard and Rinne was astonished to find a member of the guard out here.
A sudden dread thought occurred to him, most shuri had their tips dipped in poison; he needed to hurry and get the children to Mellon and safety, if he had been poisoned then there would be no cure for him here on this world.
Gingerly pulling the shuri out, he wrapped it in the scrap of hessian his food had been wrapped in before tucking it safely into the bottom of his pack out of the way of small fingers, it was far too dangerous to leave anywhere else.
With a sudden gush, more blood soaked his leather trousers; gritting his teeth against the sharp pang, he pulled his belt from the waist and pulled it tight, hoping to stop the bleeding at the same time as curtailing the progress of the poison.
“Come on you two, let’s have you back up here, we have to hurry and find Mellon before the storm dies away and they try to search for us.” Once more he settled both children in front on him on the saddle and they rode off into the tail end of the dying storm.
Back in the camp Klimm had been sitting nursing a tankard of rhum; a huge bump and bruise showed on his forehead. The two men with him did not speak, unwilling to stir his anger once more.
“The shuri definitely hit him you say?” He looked over at the taller of the men and was rewarded with a nod,
“It did sir, and it was dipped in the woodruff which Mage Gwinn had prepared for us. Once that gets into his system, his blood won’t clot and he will leave a trail so thick the hounds will be able to track it even after this storm..,” he turned as he was speaking; a strange noise reaching his ears and moved to the open tent flap.
“Oh my God sir, come quickly now, it’s a flash flood,” he rushed to pull Klimm to safety as the water came surging down the gully, washing away the tent and all the belongings inside.
Thousands of gallons of water rushed through the camp demolishing tents, washing away horses and men within minutes. The top surface of the ground had been hard and compacted, but underneath the soil was saturated due to the heavy storms which prevailed in that area.
Rinne had spotted the signs of previous flooding and would have placed the camp on higher ground, Klimm although a Colonel was unused to seeing to his men and had just ordered the camp to be set up. His negligence caused thousands of his men and horses to be washed away.
Klimm fought to swim to higher ground, both his men knew they had to help him up or the wrath of the Warlord would fall heavily upon them. Finally they came across a tree which hung down and managed to push him to safety into the lower branches.
Behind them the camp had been obliterated, they could see no sign of any other men or their horses and knew that they were in deadly danger.
“Azhmel..!” Klimm stood on the lower branch and called out; even though he knew there was no chance of being heard,
“Azhmel, brother I need you.” He closed his eyes and concentrated then, trying to contact the Warlord by mind-talking; failing as he was too weak.
Unlike the Warlord he had not found any food to sustain his life force since they had arrived on this world and he felt himself beginning to fade away.
Tears were close to the surface as once again he realised he was letting the family down,
“You must leave me here and find food. You know what I need. Hurry,” his legs gave way and once more he sat on the branch, shivering with cold, and hunger.
His men had served him for years and knew what he needed; Azhmel himself had given his younger brother into their care and if anything were to happen to him...
Both men exchanged glances before jumping back into the water; male children under eight years old had so far been elusive but they were prepared to do all they could to find one.
***
Rinne saw the back of the wagon waiting for him and took a deep, relieved breath; the blood loss from the shuri had made him become progressively weaker as the day had drawn on.
Katta was now holding the reins in her small hands, he had told her exactly where to aim the horse, if he had passed out she was to leave him and go to Mellon, the wagon driver would take both of them to a place of safety.
Mellon heard the horse’s tack jingle, the creak of the leather saddle, and moved from where he had been sitting on the wagon’s tailgate to greet them.
“About time you got here, I was just startin’ to...Bloody hell..!” He broke off and dived forward to catch Rinne as he fainted and fell from the saddle to land heavily on the ground.
Looking up the Sergeant saw the frightened faces of the children wavering as if surrounded by a golden halo and then he allowed his eyes to drift shut, unable to keep them open any longer.
******
The large magickal figures embedded in the cavern walls began to glow as Orlan sonorously uttered the words to the spell, their eyes appeared to be alive and their solemn gazes settled on the eight supplicants who had fallen to their knees and were now bowed low onto the floor.
Tears forced through their tightly closed lids as Orlan called on the spirits of the Old Ones, the air pressure in the cavern mounted, hurting sensitive eardrums and causing moans of pain from everyone.
Squinting at Orlan, Geron noticed the priest had risen from the floor once more; his eyes had become the crimson holes which showed high magick was at work.
Forcing his head to the side he saw Lyria collapsed against the pressure as Orlan hovered over her, her face was drawn with pain but no fear was visible and he tried to listen once more to the ancient spell.
“Nae saian luume...Elen sila lumenn omentilmo...”
“It has been too long...The stars shall shine on the hour of our calling...” Lyria’s voice sounded in his mind and he knew she had somehow managed to join with him and translate the words for him.
Orlan called for the protection and strength of the beings who were watching over them; he pleaded for their wisdom and help in defeating the ancient enemy, he begged for a symbol, a sign that they were still watching over their children.
A noise began in the cave; whistling as if from a great wind surrounded them, their protectors and guides behind them suddenly began to chant, indistinct and murmuring, each was calling to the spirit of the one who they were seeking.
High upon the chamber wall, the eyes of the unicorn suddenly glowed bright cobalt blue; as Orlan pointed his staff towards Matha the colour transferred to him and he blinked once in surprise before smiling and kneeling down behind Anjii tore open her robe and touched the centre of her back with his naked hand.
As she screamed shrilly, Harry made to touch her but was prevented by Rikh who had been watching Orlan swing his staff. The Gryphons eyes had turned a rich bright emerald green and the colour transformed the young Mage students too.
He tore Harry’s shirt away and slapped his hand in the centre of his back causing him to writhe in pain and groan loudly. The mermaid on the wall was next; her eyes turned a rich celadon blue, and the fey priest who stood over her suddenly looked less alien and intimidating as his usual violet colour was replaced.
Klee arched her back and screamed when he gently placed his hand on the shimmering scales he had exposed; the mighty Minotaur’s eyes glowed golden as the brightest hottest sun and Thadd felt the power flowing into him, he reached and tore Varon’s shirt away and placed his hand in the centre of the smoothly muscled back exposed to him.
Hissing, Varon managed to bite back the exclamation which came to his lips; Pegasos appeared to turn his head and the eyes were orange; Jonah stretched his arm towards Halle and tore the back from her dress before placing his hand on her spine, she had tightened her body in expectation but nothing could prepare her for the intense pain which passed through her and she collapsed onto her arms with a shriek; alarmed Finn tried to move but found himself held in an tight grip from an invisible force. He expected the Angelicus to be glowing but the dragons eyes had begun to glow a strange blue green and he realised they were identical to Banya’s new eyes.
Orlan barely faltered as he pointed his staff to the youth, the Old Ones were altering the Choosing to their liking and he could not interfere. Banya tore his uncle’s best shirt down the middle and tenderly placed his hand in the centre of his back, the pain still caused Finn to thrash and moan softly.
Terrill stood patiently and watched as the Centaur came to life and focused jet black eyes upon him, his eyes accepted the change and he struggled to tear Geron’s leather waistcoat down before slapping his hand in the centre of his back.
The big man arched his back violently but refused to utter the scream which was in the back of his throat; finally the Angelicus eyes glowed pure silver and she looked down on Orlan, he dropped his staff as the colour flowed easily into his eyes. He reached out and tore Lyria’s delicate robe before slapping his hand firmly on her back, holding her body down as she writhed and cried out in pain.
Gasping against the pain Geron made to move to help Lyria but Orlan held his hand out and once more the magick flowed from his fingers holding the big man immobile.
“Entula tuulo' i'ba... Elea i'dolen...Pela en' bela templa... Vara tel' Seldarine”
Fragments of what he said registered with the eight who lay on the floor unaware of what was happening around them.
“Here are the resurrected...Reveal to them...Energy vortex...Grant them your protection.”


Holding his staff in the centre, Orlan spun it once, vertically and then released it where it hung for a moment on its own before rising into the air, rotating first vertically, then horizontally, discharging small flames from each end as it revolved.

Faster and faster it spun and in its centre it seemed to create a small star there; the flames grew larger and brighter, caressing everyone contained therein.
The protectors stood back, out of the way; watching as their charges once more collapsed on the floor as if a great weight had descended on their shoulders.
In the cave Nera felt something brush over her head and she reached up a hand; smiling she realised it was the mental caress from her husband as he touched her mind from inside the inner chamber, allowing her to watch the magickal scene unfolding there.
Stretching her hand out she touched both Lyta and Darell, allowing them to link and watch their loved ones. As the rest of the people in the cave fell silent they saw the same violet lights which had linked the three fey females the previous day.
This time when the lights grew, the tiny sleeping babies awoke and their small minds were tightly entwined within the magick. Nera fought hard to break the link, frightened for her children; it was too late, the final part of the spell had been invoked and they were trapped there until it was completed.
With the added strength of their fresh new minds added to the psychic link, the vision expanded; encompassing everyone in the underground cavern. Then another surge was felt when other fey hidden throughout Galiana reached out joining with Nera.
As more and more joined the link, the vision spread across the countryside until it reached the people sheltering in the tavern in Gryph; the fire in the great hearth flared up, transfixing everyone there revealing the hidden inner chamber to everyone.
Azhmel felt the magick as he flew towards the carefully hidden figure of Kensis who was still sending his mental call out to him.
“NO!” He called out in his mind as he felt the presence of his ancient enemies reaching towards him. Stretching his wings to their widest he frantically tried to reach the chamber before the ceremony was finished.
Orlan’s staff glowed incandescent in the chamber forcing the watchers to raise their arms and shield their new, sensitive eyes from the light. Then, bright bolts of fire shot out from the metal tipped end; briefly touching the exposed skin of the Chosen before moving on.
Geron could no longer hold the screams in and he cried out as loud as the others as the skin on his back burned. Then, the pain stopped, and they fell silent.
Orlan looked up in surprise as Banya opened his arms wide and threw his head back, mouth open as he sucked in a deep breath and drew the pain from them all.
Before he could speak the Angelicus on the cavern wall moved and drifted to the centre of the room where the Orb of the Old Ones glowed brightly. None could understand how this was happening and the tableau froze in place as the voice that came from her echoed around the room,
“We grant you this boon our children...We allow you to seek us...You must leave this place now and follow the paths we have laid down for you...You all have only one chance to reach us...If you fail in your attempts...You will die.”
Turning the Angelicus held her arms out and pointed to Klee and Varon,
“Your enemy draws near...I will do what I can...Your portal has already been activated. You have less than one day to reach it and enter...HURRY!”
Uttering the last word she closed her eyes and disappeared instantly, leaving an empty gap on the wall where she had been.
Azhmel had felt the weight of her presence and fell from the sky, tumbling over and over to lie collapsed and bleeding in the dust as she spoke.
When she disappeared the weight disappeared and he managed to push himself up, howling out his rage and frustration.
He was too late to prevent the passing of the power but by the God he would not be too late to stop the ones who sought to destroy him from leaving.
Trying to launch his body into the air he was struck by a strange lethargy, a blanket of magick felt as if it had fallen over him and he could barely move; once more he mentally called his greywings to him,
“Come to me my children, you must come to me. I need you.” His voice trailed away and he collapsed onto the ground once more.
Shuriken are throwing blades used in Japanese martial arts, typically known as Shuriken Jitsu.
Mellon gasped for a brief moment at the wound he found on the unconscious Sergeant’s leg; blood continued to pour from it even though it had happened some hours earlier according to the children.
He had roughly tied the belt tighter hoping to constrict the vessels and slow the leakage down but to no avail. If he didn’t do something soon Rinne would die through severe blood loss.
All wagoneers kept basic medicines and acted as rough and ready healers when needed and he sent Katta to fetch his box from under the seat. Biron had sat on the wet ground and pulled Rinne’s head into his lap, stroking the rain away from his grey cheeks.
“Don’t die Rinne, please don’t die,” the litany coming from the small child caught at Mellons’ heart and he vowed to do all he could to stop the bleeding and save his friends life.
“Here Mellon, is this the right box?” Katta slipped in the mud and the driver caught her before she fell, taking the heavy box from her hands,
“It is my little one, good girl,” he opened the lid and looked helplessly at the meagre supplies, unsure of what he needed.
“Have you something to stop the bleeding?” Katta bent her blonde head by his and rested a small hand on his shoulder,
“I have some flirtwort but I don’t think it will be enough...” Holding up a small packet he showed its contents to the girl.
“Feverfew...We call this feverfew,” She looked at him and slowly shook her head,
“On its own it isn’t enough; you need some wild yarrow, aloe or pepper,” tears filled her eyes and she looked around helplessly,
“It’s the wrong area for finding those, they don’t grow here...” Mellon startled her by jumping and rummaging in his food supplies,
“Peppers...I don’t know if this is what you mean but I carry some for spicing the food up,” he held a tiny stone jar up and prised the wax seal away before showing the small seeds inside to the girl,
“It doesn’t smell the same but you can try...It might help until we can find something else,” hope shone in her eyes and Mellon nodded, it was worth a try.
Crushing the tiny corms he mixed them with his flirtwort and sprinkled it over the wound then fastened a clean strip of cotton tightly over the wound. He inserted a small stick and fastened another layer of bandage and at Katta’s querying look he explained that he wanted her to twist the stick tightly, count to one hundred then release it.
“It’s what our healers call a tourniquet...They say that if you can stop blood flow it could form a clot. We need friend Rinne to form a clot or he will continue to bleed and that...” Mellon bit his lip, unwilling to say the words which would consign his friend to the ignominy of a burning on this world.
“We must hurry, if we can reach this town of...” He pulled a map from inside his jerkin,
“Birrh... Yes, if we can get here before Klimm and the others then we can get help for the Sergeant and your people could make a stand and...” He stopped speaking at the expression on Katta’s face,
“Make a stand... dear Mellon we don’t fight or make stands, it is not our way.”
“Well Rinne isn’t going to make it back to General Creed so what do you suggest girlie,” the wagoneer was beginning to wish he had kept his head down and ignored what had happened and for a brief moment wondered if he could sneak back to the camp as if nothing had happened.
A groan from the unconscious man brought his attention back and he remembered he was supposed to have burnt his remains; if Klimm ever saw the driver again it would probably entail his being skinned alive!
“Merhlees,” Biron spoke the one word and looked up, his face was still pale and drawn but the alcohol Klimm had given him was wearing off.
“Who is Merhlees?” Mellon was struggling to lift Rinne onto the back of the wagon as they spoke and Katta bent to help holding the injured leg still.
“Biron is still a child and believes in the magick of Merhlees; she is supposedly an outcast healer who speaks with the animals and lives in the mountains. The stories say she...”
She paused, waiting while Mellon struggled to get Rinne comfortably ensconced on the back of the wagon. Biron scrambled up to sit there with him and then Katta was lifted to tend to the injured leg.
The horse was tied to the tailgate and Mellon jumped up and turned reins in hands,
“Tell me where to go? We are in your hands...”
“Katta... Tell him to go to Merhlees,” Biron’s voice was insistent and the girl opened her hands as if weighing up the decision,
“That way,” pointing to a barely visible animal trail,
“If we go that way we can avoid HIM and make it to the mountains...There are plants which grow there which could help dear Rinne, and, if Merhlees really exists then we should also find her.”
She bent over the stick in Rinne’s dressing and twisted it tightly before counting under her breath; Biron met her gaze and smiled sweetly,
“She will be there; I know she will be there. Oma, grandmother, told me all about her and she will help us; I know she will help us.”
Mellon flicked his whip over the backs of his horses, clicking and encouraging them to go in the direction Katta had pointed out; he had heard of stories back home which had some basis in fact, and, at least going that way would keep them away from Klimm.
******
“Land ho Cap’n,” the barrelman in the crow’s nest called out loudly and when Krigo looked up pointed out to the west. Faintly on the breeze the sound of other calls wafted towards Krigo and he looked over to see the other captains moving to the prow of their vessels.
Shouting up to the wheelhouse, he pointed with his spyglass and felt the great ship begin to heel over and turn slowly in its first tacking move towards the new heading.
Lithe sailors scampered up into the rigging, dressing sails which billowed tautly out like fluffy white clouds as the wind filled them and they cut majestically through the cerulean blue sea.
Soon the entire fleet had all altered course and the creaking of tar coated cordage rubbing on wooden spars could be heard over the shanty which the mate had begun to sing and was soon taken up by the rest of the hands.
“Haul on the bowlin', the fore and main-top bowlin',”
“Haul on the bowlin', the bowlin, Haul.”

“Haul on the bowlin', the packet she's a rollin',”
“Haul on the bowlin', the bowlin, Haul.”

“Haul on the bowlin', the captain he's a growlin',”
“Haul on the bowlin', the bowlin, Haul.”

As the land came into closer view it was impossible to tell the true size of the island; a huge mountain rose from the centre and was topped with a strange looking cloud.
Hurriedly lowering the sails the fleet dropped their sea anchors and gradually all became still as the men looked out, wondering if there would be another native welcoming committee.
Krigo called to Cern and the mate soon had the smaller boats lowered once more into the water and the men prepared to disembark, without any weapons other than the knives at their waists .
Some grumbled at the Captains edict but, all obeyed him as they trusted his judgement; he had always looked out for them in the past and since arriving on this world they needed his help and guidance more than they had ever done before.
The white sands were pristine, no signs of ever having been walked on by another human; small scouting parties were sent to search for fresh water and food and within twenty minutes a cry had sounded which led Krigo through a small grove of palm trees to an idyllic fresh water waterfall.
Great trees with huge coconuts hanging from them grew side by side with plantains, and pineapple bushes which drooped with the heavy fruits.
Excited yipping came from many of the men and they ran and dived into the cool clear water, splashing excitedly as they relished bathing in clean fresh water.
Krigo grinned as he felt relief as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders and he went back to the beach to watch and wait as the other ships were ferrying captains and crews onto the shore.
Galley chiefs from every ship loaded their small boats with every food they could find and with large barrels of rhum made their way to shore to cook a feast for the thousands of sailors there.
Fishing lines were strung and those who wanted to test the sport, waded into the fish rich waters; mackerel, grouper, mullet and mahi- mahi were caught and threaded onto cane poles hung over deep fire pits.
Looking around Krigo suddenly felt a cold shudder go through him; the scene was almost identical to the scene on the beach less than a week ago when they had first arrived on this world.
“Alright Cap’n?” the query came from his mate and he turned around and held in a surprised laugh. Stark naked but for a skirt made from the leaves stripped from the plantains he had harvested, Cern was as drunk as any other man there.
“I am fine Cern, and you?” He politely voiced the question and the mate gave a cheeky grin at him,
“Loaded to the gunwales Cap’n; just like yer said. I thought I had better give our men the right impression,” with an over- exaggerated wink, the mate turned to take his burden to the ships cooks, the leaves flapping and giving every man a view of his naked buttocks.
“I see our friend took his own advice,” Captain Lantz and Captain Orff were walking barefooted through the warm sand and had seen the back of the mate, both looked to be in good spirits and Krigo laughed as he shook their hands.
“He has always worked hard at whatever task I have given him,” all three men roared with laughter and made their way back to the waterfall where most of the men were gathered.
For the next couple of hours every man there ate and drank all that he wanted; Krigo had twice rescued his mate from the pool underneath the waterfall where he had almost drowned and now could hear him snoring happily under the trees where he had been forced to lie down.
“This is the life lads, I could live here forever,” Krigo spoke first and the men nearest to him fell silent as they contemplated his words,
“I made you lads a promise and I will stick to that promise, anyone who wants to go home will be taken there somehow. I believe that the Mage is our best chance of that. Once we find him then those who want to go stay with him and those who want to stay can either return here with me or go and find somewhere just as nice on the mainland.”
“You say that now, but what ‘appens when the blurry Warlord orders us ter go with ‘im and tekk ‘is army back?” A small bandy legged man chimed up and made his voice heard to everyone there.
“Like I said, those men who want to stay can stay. I refuse to let the Warlord order us around any longer. He isn’t interested in us, his navy; the only people who ever get any attention from him are his soldiers.”
Krigo now had everyone’s undivided attention as he spoke, voices agreeing with him were on one side and dissenters were heard on the other. Arguments and scuffles broke out and slowly the camp became divided. More than half of the men wanted to remain; they had no families and a sybaritic lifestyle appealed to them.
Finally a man called Prijj stood in front of him; a big mulish man he was bosun on Krigo’s new ship and had secretly always wanted to move up the ranks and become a captain in one swift move.
“So yer say that I can have yer ship ter go back home with and yer won’t be stopping me from tekkin’ it from yer then?” His arms were crossed and he frowned down at the captains lolling in the sand.
He had resented Krigo taking the ship when Bajj had died but had prepared to bide his time and wait before taking any hasty action.
Krigo pushed himself to his feet and offered his hand in friendship,
“It is a deal, I am prepared to let you have the ship...” before he could finish there was a flash of silver and Prijj buried his knife up to the hilt in Krigo’s belly.
Cries came from the men assembled; the men allied with Prijj all pulled their knives ready to fight, the move had obviously been discussed and planned earlier.
Lantz and Orff fell to their knees and lifted their stricken friend up; blood poured from the deep wound and he looked at them in some surprise.
“Hold!” A chiming voice sounded from all around them, startling them; suddenly every person there found they were unable to move, frozen in place, preventing any further violence.
To their amazement the air thickened and a group of beings materialised before their eyes. All had silvery-white hair which hung past their shoulders, all with pale grey bands tied across their eyes.
At first glance it was impossible to tell if they were male or female, the longer they stood there the easier it became; the way their robes hung; made from a shimmery, rich red fabric which clung to delicate breasts and soft, supple arms.
The tallest of them moved forwards, her shape surrounded with a golden glow; she stooped over Krigo and placed both hands on the knife; those closest to her saw the glow come from her and envelop the blade before she removed it.
When she straightened there was no sign of a wound on the stricken captain. If not for blood which coated his body and his trousers all would have thought it to be a dream.
“There will be no violence on this island, we cannot allow it,” she moved back and stood in front of her people then and smiled gently upon the gathered sailors.
An imperceptible movement of her hand released the men from the invisible grip upon their limbs and they staggered towards her before regaining control of their muscles.
“Who are you..? Where did you come from..?” Lantz spoke as he helped Krigo to his feet, supporting him against the wave of dizziness which swept over him; although he no longer had a wound he had still lost a considerable amount of blood.
“We are the Guardians of the Mysteries. We have been here for a thousand years. We spend our days in prayer, searching for that which was hidden.”
The cryptic words meant nothing to the men there and they looked to their captains for help. Before they could speak the woman who had helped Krigo looked into the face of Prijj and spoke again,
“You cannot hide the violence you feel from us; we see into your soul and the blackness it contains. You must give up these feelings for they will lead to your undoing.”
Stretching out her delicate hand, she touched Prijj in the centre of his forehead and sadly shook her head,
“Your thoughts are clear to us...You could never hide them...We see inside and know your deepest secrets.”
“You know absolutely nuthin’ at all about me...Nuthin’...Why you even have your eyes covered...” He pulled at the fabric tied around her face and fell back gasping in horror.
Her reddened lids were tightly stitched together with thick black thread; the ugliness of the sight caused even their hardened stomachs to heave.
“My God who did this to you?” Krigo moved forward fighting off the helping hands and moved to his rescuer; wanting to help her if at all possible.
“You appear to care for us...How odd...Why would you do this?” Turning her head she appeared to see Krigo as he stood in front of her,
“I would tend for anyone in your situation,” he spoke softly and reaching out gently touched the stitches before him,
“Why...Who did this to you?” He had never seen anything like it and every sense was revolted by the defacement.
“It is done so that we look with our other senses rather than with our eyes. We see further this way.” Her hand touched his cheek and she spoke again,
“You have not always cared for other people friend Krigo; we see all that came before here and, what could be in your future. You have come to a crossroads in your life. What you decide to do from herein is the most important decision to you and the people with you. Do not make any hasty choices that you will regret in future.”
Moving back to her people she held her arms up and seconds later they disappeared from view, invisible to them once more.
“Wait...Please ...Don’t go...How can I find you again..? What do I call you?” Krigo called out; his only answer was soft tinkling laughter which came from all around, whispering through the branches on the trees.
The silence that came was only broken by the sweet chirping of the birds in the trees, and the soft sound coming from the waterfall as it constantly refilled the pool below.
Prijj began to move backwards, away from the danger he felt was still there; despite what the female guardian had said he still despised Krigo and would have killed him at a moment’s notice.
“Not so fast there,” a hand wrapped itself around the nape of his neck and Krigo’s mate Cern spoke quietly in his ear.
“Leave him be Cern; he can have the ship now. I will join either Lantz or Orff while we search for the way to get these men back to their homes.”
“You’re never still gonna help him after what he tried to do?” Orff looked at him, his scarred face showing a grimace of surprise.
“It isn’t just him though is it? There are all these other men who want to return home and I gave them my word...” Krigo gestured to the other soldiers who had previously aligned themselves with the other sailor.
“Once they are all gone home then I will return here, to this island. There is a certain lady I need to communicate with here...”
They all looked around and were startled to note that the beautiful waterfall and trees had all disappeared; a dry barren patch of sand was all that was visible to them.
Whether they wanted to leave or not, the choice had been taken from them, without fresh drinking water they would not be able to stay on the island.
All the men began to move back to the main beach, collecting what they had brought with them on the instructions of their captains. Paradise was to be left as pristine as they had found it.
Once more the arguments began, now even fewer men wanted to return home, the only ones who still insisted were married men or, men like Prijj, unhappy dissatisfied men who wanted to return and show off their new status and fortunes to people who had denigrated them in the past.
“Alright that’s enough.” Krigo was tired of the arguments and wanted to get under way before the evening tide was lost.
“If we are all agreed, those of you who still want to leave will all go on the same ships. That way when we do find the Mage and the Warlord we will not have to break our crews up again.”
The small boats ferried belongings from one ship to another until only eighteen vessels were filled with Prijj and his ilk. The rest of the fleet no longer swore any allegiance to the Warlord and stripped the flags holding his symbols from their sails.
“Are we ready then?” Lantz spoke to the men on deck with him. Orff had willingly given his ship to those of his crew who wanted to leave; it hadn’t taken long for his belongings to be transferred and he grinned happily at his companions.
“For the first time I am actually looking forward to getting rid of that lot and then finding some place to settle down,” he nodded his head at the ships which were grouped together at the front of the fleet and everyone murmured their agreement.
To their astonishment instead of resuming the course in the direction the Warlord had followed, half of them promptly turned around and appeared to be going back to where they had set off from.
“Why are they doing that I wonder?” Lantz moved forward and rested his elbow on the side gunwale, balancing his spyglass as he studied the activity on the former lead ship.
“I don’t know and I don’t particularly care but, as long as that arrogant little bastard has gone then we can probably accomplish what we want to do easier and in half the time,” Orff said the words they all felt, and a round of laughter erupted from all who stood near him.
Krigo laughed with the others but soon felt the need to retreat to his quarters and rest. Half an hour later Lantz noticed he was missing and after checking that the ships course was set, went to check on his friend.
Sweat was pouring from the man on his bunk and he tossed and turned restlessly; exclaiming in alarm Lantz fetched water and a soft cloth and washed his face and chest down.
Disturbed by the heat he could feel coming from his friend he spoke softly to him; trying to settle him into a natural sleep.
“Come on old chap, we still need you. You can’t escape this world by dying on me as I won’t allow it.” He wrung the cloth out again and placed it on Krigo’s forehead wondering if there was anything else he could do to help him.
A strong smell of cinnamon spice wafted to him and he turned around and his jaw dropped as the woman from the island stood behind him holding a strangely shaped cup between both her hands.
“We did not save his life for him to die on this vessel. He is important to us. Allow us to give him this and he will quickly recover,” her voice chimed again and Lantz found he had backed away from the bunk to allow her access.
“How did you get here?” Lantz looked at her warily and she shook her head,
“We will always be near you from now on friend Lantz. You only have to call our name and we will appear,” putting the cup down she began to fade from his sight,
“Wait...Please...What is your name..?” Lantz called softly and for a moment her face glowed brightly,
“We are called Zhan,” then she was gone, the echo of her voice lingering for a short time before leaving only the cinnamon scent behind her as proof that she had been there.
On checking Krigo, Lantz found his temperature had dropped dramatically and he was sleeping peacefully. Pulling a blanket up over his friend he wondered what the woman had meant back on the island, Guardians of the Mysteries; he had a feeling that they would be finding that out and more besides, before their journey ended.
******
“Kensis...Please...Help me.., you have to bring it to me...I am dying...” Azhmel sent the call out to his first, his head spun dizzily. If he had not fed his greywings he would have made it before...He could not recall what had happened but the lethargy spreading through him was beginning to overwhelm his senses and his head fell to rest in the dusty earth once more.
Overhead storm clouds were racing in from the west; something was calling to the Warlord but he was too weak to understand what it was,
“Kensis...Please...Help me...” The call sounded loudly in the greywings ears and he leapt from his hiding place in the chestnut tree; the urgent call in his mind overriding his innate caution and he swooped through the huge rent in the earth below starting the people gathered there.
Akhri had been holding Hoppy and both were watching silently as the scene from the inner chamber faded slowly away. He hastily pushed the child away and reached for his sword to protect the people seated there.
The tall creature landed lightly and bared its sharp pointed teeth at them as it looked closely around the cavern; Lyta and Darell scrambled to their feet standing in front of Nera and the babies.
Their eyes were glazed from the strain of the mental contact with the other fey; disorientated and frightened both screamed shrilly for their loved ones to help.
Their screams reached Orlan and the others in the chamber; staggering forward he managed to touch his staff to the crystal which had shielded them during the ceremony causing it to disappear.
The eight chosen were still collapsed on the floor but not suffering as much as the old priest had expected; whatever Banya had done had alleviated their pain and for that he was grateful.
Nera was trying to break the link gently from her childrens’ fragile minds; they could feel her fear and were unwilling to release their hold on her.
“Mikel...Help us...” She sent the mental call to her husband who was sitting with his back to the wall; his eyes unfocused as he struggled to regain control of his senses.
Another anguished scream from the chamber beyond caused Terrill and his students to try and discover what the problem was; all were dreadfully weak and nauseous due to the unusual magick they had been exposed to.
“Mother...Please...We need your help!” Lyta’s high pitched voice finally reached both Lyria and Geron; at the same time Varon managed to crawl to his knees and see the creature stood with its back to them.
“Great Goddess what on earth is it?” His muttered query reached everyone and the frightened screams from outside finally registered with everyone in the inner chamber.
Akhri stood with his sword drawn trying to face the creature down; Farl held his sharpest cooking knife and Beal had armed himself with a thick branch he had pulled from the fire.
Kensis closed his eyes and drew deep breaths in through his nostrils finally scenting what the master wanted closely; swiftly reaching out he knocked the smaller female child out of the way and grasped the boy who stood in front of him. The scent wasn’t quite right and he looked beyond and saw the two tiny figures held in the womans arms.
The expression on his face chilled everyone who saw it and he carelessly held the youth in one hand as he surged forwards and reached for the smallest child there.
“NO!” Akhri roared and thrust with his sword hoping to stab the creature through the side; its scales were tough and deflected the blade and left no injury behind.
Farl jumped up and slashed at the creatures exposed throat with his sharp cooking knife and managed to draw a fine line of blood before the creature knocked him away.
The burning branch held by Beal struck the creature in its face and Kensis finally turned from his task; unwilling to relinquish the prey meal in his hand, he reached out and picked the girl child up and threw it towards the man with the burning branch.
Lyta barely managed to fend the burning branch from her face before she collided with Beal and they hit the floor bruising arms and legs. Kensis moved before they had landed and triumphantly gripped the arm of what he sought, the baby boy who was to be Azhmel’s saviour.
Before anyone else could move the Warlord’s first tried to leap into the air, holding Darell in one hand and the now squalling baby in the other; his foot was suddenly held tightly; looking down he saw the pain filled face of Denon who had awoke to terrified screaming around him.
Mikel finally managed to force his way past the others as he felt the mental cries of his son; he reached out his hands and attempted to take his son back from the creature with fey magick but, found he had used too much in holding Orlan’s spell and was almost totally depleted; without rest or help he could not hope to hold the creature in place.
A small hand crept in his and he looked at the glowing eyes of his niece, from his other side he felt the touch of Darell’s mind, for someone his age he had a wealth of untapped power.
Kensis felt the magick crawling over his skin and before Mikel could solidify his contact turned, spraying venom from the sacs hidden behind his fangs onto everyone close by him.
The fine spray hit Denon and he pulled his hands back releasing the creature’s leg; his skin immediately blistered and burnt on his hands and face and caused him to cry out in pain.
Lyta had her head turned away and the spray hit the back of her head singeing her hair; she lifted her hands and frantically patted the strands, transferring the stinging liquid and burning her tender flesh.
Mikel felt the spray hit his cheek and eyes, he fell to the floor, pulling Darell with him before clawing at his face trying to gouge away the agony; then Kensis was gone and the cavern was filled with the smell of burned flesh and hair, but most of all the stench of despair.
Lyrics from: The Music of the Waters, by Laura Smith

Creed groped for a chair as the magickal vision faded from the vast hearth, allowing the flames to return to their usual size. He looked first into the stupefied faces of Benar then his slavemaster, Yellen.
Turning his head slightly, he then noticed the natives who still knelt on the floor; heads held high, they clasped each other’s hands with happy tearful smiles on all their faces.
“Can anybody here tell me what we have just seen?” Creed could barely speak as he tried to fix the unusual images in his mind.
“Orlan has done it; just as he said he would; summoned the Old Ones to protect us.”
A kneeling man spoke, the same one Benar had threatened in the great convocate chamber; the one who had been cruelly tortured to tell all he knew.
Lifting his eyes he looked directly into Benar’s face as he continued,
“The Old Ones have heard our call for help...We are the children of their blood...We gave them hope when they needed it...Your Warlord would do well to heed this warning.”
“That is all we have ever wanted since we arrived here,” Creed’s mind was awhirl with the implications of the native’s words,
“Your actions have proved your words to be a lie.” The native man stood and after tilting his head to one side contemplating the soldiers continued,
“We greeted you with peace and hospitality but were murdered, slaughtered in our thousands without a single word of protest being spoken...Why..? Why would you do this?”
The soldiers shuffled their feet, uncomfortable with the guilt his words invoked; the happy scene on the beach when they had first arrived had soon dissolved into a massacre of epic proportions, no-one there had attempted to intervene and stop the slaughter.
General Bruce had gloated on the ignorance of these people; The Warlord had smiled sardonically when he had outlined his plan of swift domination, agreeing with every word spoken.
Creed had tried to be a lone voice of reason but, had been ordered to shut up or relinquish his command; he then suffered the ignominy of being despatched away from the bulk of the men, to follow a route the furthest away from all signs of habitation; with only Colonel Klimm as his senior aide.
Bruce knew that both men despised each other, had that been the plan all along? Send Creed into the unknown land then allow Klimm to depose him, take over and cut a swath through the countryside destroying everything before him.
If General Bruce had not been killed early on with the rest of his allies, would the situation unfolding here still be the same?
Benar looked down at his feet; he alone was responsible for what had happened here in the town of Gryph. He had slaughtered the people waiting peacefully to greet them, and the blame should be laid squarely with him,
“I wanted to go home to my family so badly that I believed you had brought us here; I believed you were responsible for everything which had happened to us. For that I...” The sergeant’s throat closed and he couldn’t continue. Creed stood and rested his hand on the other mans shoulder,
“We made a mistake. We are trained soldiers; from the moment we join the army we are taught to obey orders. Our Warlord ordered this so we complied...”
“I will apologise for all of us then sir. The orders were bad orders; we should have questioned them before blindly obeying.” Benar interrupted the general, straightening his spine and staring him directly in his face.
“For the rest of my life I have to live with what I did here, the great shame which I now feel.”
He took a deep breath as he spoke, the realisation that the crimes he had committed here were as bad as the ones committed against his family by Justice Boman some twenty years earlier, had made him feel sick.
“I have a wife and family who I love and miss and want to see again; with every fibre of my being, I want to see them again...Yet...I could never explain my behaviour here to them...They would look at me as if I was a...A monster... They would be right.”
The Sergeant tore the metal wristbands away which denoted his rank; he weighed them in one hand for a second before throwing them into the flickering fire.
“This was my final campaign for the Warlord; I wanted to go home covered in glory and with a war chest full to overflowing with enough gold to keep my family and myself happy for the rest of my life...” he laughed grimly at that,
“There is no glory to be found here General...No glory at all...I doubt there is any gold either...I have seen no signs anywhere, even in their most holy of places.”
He moved away and stood near the fire watching the sleeping child who reminded him of the son he had left behind. Thinking of the hero worship usually visible in his eyes; if Holt was here, now, today, there would be no signs of that anymore.
General Creed rested his hands on the table and lifted his voice for every person to hear; his words mainly meant to reassure the troubled Sergeant,
“We had already begun this day differently Benar...We threw the Warlords instructions out and were going to do things our way. Not quite a military coup d’état but...We are getting there.”
“I cannot...I will not, in good conscience allow the situation here to continue any longer; I tell you now that I am no longer working for the Warlord but for us...All of us.” He waved his arms including the natives as well as his men in the gesture,
“I believe that this world...This living world has looked deep into our hearts and found those of us who were...Unhappy shall we say, with the way things were going before we came here; now it is giving us the opportunity to put these things right.”
“I want you to continue to work with me Benar...The men know and trust you...We will continue what we began but, with one added difference...No more slaves or brandings...We ask these people to work with us...Perhaps in time their Old Ones will help us too.”
He looked over at Yellen as he spoke; the slavemaster had more reason than most for wanting the old military ways to remain, he was already wealthier than any of the other men with the batch of slaves he had already marked and shackled.
“Agreed...I willingly release all these people...I cannot do anything about the brands...” A deep shuddering sigh went through him and he too reached for his wristlets and threw them in the fire.
“If we are still going to try and get home then shall we start by asking these good people for their help?”
Pushing himself to his feet he moved to the child, who had been sleeping at the side of the fireplace and was now watching him with solemn eyes,
“I don’t know what it is about this world sir, but...Since we arrived I have felt...Different...Let’s put this different part of me to work eh?”
Creed stretched his hand to clasp the slavemasters and was surprised and pleased when the male native reached and covered both hands with his own,
“We will be happy to help our new friends...All we can hope is that the rest of your people listen to their hearts and decide to help us.” He moved to Benar and placed a gentle hand in the centre of his back,
“Come friend Benar...Add your wisdom to the council spoken here and let us try and solve all our problems.”
“It seems to me that we need to be joining up with those folks we saw in the vision...If we knew exactly where they were then we could go and help them,” the Sergeant spoke and Creed nodded,
“Did you notice..? He was still there...Geron; with some of the young Mage students...They must have found a way out of the underground passageways...”
“No sir, they were still there but...There was a...A hole in the roof which wasn’t there before. If we can find this hole then...We find them!”
Benar spoke excitedly, his eyes gleaming as once more he found a purpose to keep him going.
Pulling his map to the centre of the table Creed encouraged the men and women there to tell him about other paths, roads even rivers and streams in the area; the more information he had the better he could make his plans.
Benar listened intently to the plans then, quietly slipped away to find horsemen who would follow them; he knew some of the men would be unwilling to forego their share of the profits from the sale of slaves, these men would also never consider working against the Warlord.
Casting a wary look overhead he examined the sky for signs of the crow army, heaving a sigh of relief that they had disappeared and he hoped they were not going to return in the near future.
Their renewed feeding frenzy meant that Corvus still lived; he didn’t know whether to be grateful for that fact or not. With a wry smile on his face at the thoughts which were flowing through his head he hunted around the town for the remaining bands of soldiers.
Very few men remained behind now; the attack of the crows had encouraged most of them to ride out without waiting for any last minute instructions from the General.
Within a few minutes Benar returned to the tavern mounted upon his horse; eight men also accompanied him. All had grim faces; no longer were insignia visible on their arms or clothes.
These hand selected men were the ones Benar would have staked his life upon; they had trained with him and fought beside him on every campaign. Rough and ready they were uninterested in rising through the ranks; all were fiercely loyal to the Sergeant though and he had been relieved to find them hanging around the temporary stables.
Creed hastened from the tavern and mounted his horse; the former slavemaster would be left to tend the welfare of the people until he returned. Apparently Creed had also given him other last minute instructions; leaning from his horse to shake his hand he repeated the guidance he had offered,
“Remember to watch for smoke...If all goes well we will leave it lit for as long as possible. If you don’t see any then you must get these people as far away from here as you possibly can.”
“I am sure someone will know of a hiding place until...Well until their Old Ones return. I cannot tell you anymore...You will know what to do.”
Straightening he looked around and watched Benar settle the native man on the skirt of his saddle; it could prove useful to have someone on hand who knew the lay of the land.
Raising his riding crop he flicked the hindquarters of his horse and the powerful beast surged forwards, its lengthy stride eating the distance up from the tavern to where they hoped the cavern was open to the sky.
******
“I have it Lord...I am coming...I have it Lord...I am coming...” Kensis had the crying baby between his hands; holding him awkwardly in front of his body, as his powerful wings ate the distance up between the Warlord and the cavern.
Just twenty minutes later he could see the supine figure lying in the patchy, scrubby grass; landing on his feet, lightly in front of the Warlord, he crept forward with his offering held stiffly out; by now the child had lapsed into a sleep, only the occasional sob coming from him.
“Lord...I have it...” Kensis sent the thought out before bending low over Azhmel; holding the infant directly under his nostrils. For a long time there was no movement from the Warlord but Kensis could hear his slow sluggish heartbeat, and knew he still lived.
The Warlord had deliberately slowed his system down; the weakness he was feeling was due to the depletion of his energy reserves with extra feeding of his greywings.
The scent of the child tickled the inside of his nostrils before settling on the back of his tongue; he drew another deeper breath in and savoured the headiness of the rare delicacy placed in front of him.
He slitted his eyes open and gazed at the treasure Kensis had brought him; humming lightly he stretched out a forelimb and casually caressed Kensis, stroking him like a much loved pet.
“You have done well Kensis...I am pleased with your gift...Come to me little one...Let me look upon the face of the one who had eluded me for over a hundred years...Let me look upon this ..,” he opened his golden eyes and glared down at the baby as he took him from Kensis,
“See Kensis, they are no longer born as their true selves, they come into this world as weak mewling children; how they ever defeated our ancestor I will never know but now...No more will they defeat a true Dhrake...This creature will allow us to go wherever we wish throughout the universe.”
The greywing stood disinterestedly listening to Azhmel’s ramblings; as long as he could feed he was not interested in hearing the ancestral history of the Warlord.
He looked away hoping Azhmel would hurry and take what he wanted; the other prey was still hidden in the cavern and he wanted to return and feed. In the distance he noticed a cloud of dust which appeared to be coming towards them.
His interest caught, he leant forwards peering into the late afternoon sunshine, slitting his eyes as he tried to distinguish what was moving towards them.
Horses! Where there were horses there were riders and these riders would be men, food prey!
The thought came to him and he grinned baring his sharp fangs; food prey would stand no chance against his speed and strength. There was nowhere here for them to hide; he would pick them off one by one.
“Lord, I see riders and horses...” He sent the thought to the Warlord and was rewarded by Azhmel finding a surge on energy and pushing himself up and looking around,
“Food Kensis...We will feed on those and this...” He shook the baby violently causing it to cry loudly, its piteous wail reaching out to the soldiers frantically galloping towards them.
“...This creature can be taken back and used to finish the plan formed by our beloved Gul!”
The Warlord roared loudly, his voice echoing across the land; spitting flames into the dried grasses which surrounded them; causing small brush fires to frighten the horses which were nearly upon them.
Azhmel didn’t know what he was anticipating; the last person he expected to see racing towards him with his sword at the ready was his military second- in- command, General Creed.
He briefly thought of ordering him to stop, he could impose his will upon all of the men there; then he thought of the cruel hunger felt by both Kensis and himself; he also remembered that Creed had argued against the campaign continuing here on this world.
Creed was a spineless fool...The man had no vision and Azhmel had no further need for him; the time of Gul was once again upon them and he would not fail.
“You must stop them from reaching our treasure Kensis; get them for me, get them so that we may leave here and finally complete Gul’s work.”
Azhmel carefully tucked the screaming baby under a forelimb; he was not going to lose this prize, it was too important. He sat back and studied the riders coming towards them and quickly ordered Kensis to eliminate them.
The greywing leapt up and with two beats of his powerful wings was gone from sight; the riders had slowed their horses when they saw him, trying to work out which method of attack would defeat the strange creature.
Creed had ordered them to spread out, a tactic they usually employed with lethal effect. A scream from behind alerted them and they swung their horses around to see an empty saddle at the rear, its rider neatly plucked away by an invisible enemy who could silently drop down and pick them off.
“Close ranks...See if that deters it,” Benar called out and the men moved in closer, holding their heavy swords above their heads, hoping the sharp blades would deter further attacks and save them.
Overhead Kensis held the body of the prey he had snatched up; with one quick twist of his strong hands its neck was broken; he grimaced at the waste of precious food but knew there was enough to satisfy the Lord and himself if he hurried.
He drifted lower and watched the riders for a few seconds then, carefully aimed and threw the body of their dead colleague like a stone in their midst.
Three were unhorsed as the body first hit one rider, before bouncing onto the ground and rolling underneath its hooves; startling the other mounts, two horses reared and their riders lost their grip falling onto the horses racing beside them and in turn causing them to shy away, breaking up their tight formation.
They could see the large red-gold creature rearing up on the ground before them; Creed had felt a chill as he recognised it from the description in the book; this was a Dhrake, he couldn’t understand how it had arrived here, but, he knew that they were all in the gravest of danger unless it was destroyed.
The crying of the baby had stopped and all feared that they were too late to save it. A strangled scream from the side meant another man had become a victim to the lethal airborne attack.
This time Kensis didn’t hesitate but dropped the body directly in front of the remaining five galloping horses; the riders managed to stay seated but scattered haphazardly causing Kensis to miss his next target.
Benar was somehow still seated with the native man clinging desperately to his waist; he slowed enough to allow the man to jump clear; his task now was to save the child then find the opening to the caves where the others sheltered.
Creed lifted his reins and tightly gripped them in his teeth; in one hand he held his sword and in the other his smaller knife. He was praying that when the creature came near to him he would find a sensitive spot and incapacitate it.
Azhmel had been mind linked throughout the battle; guiding Kensis in his various attacks he had until now been distracted; from the corner of his eye he saw the lone native circling behind him; noting he carried no weapons he continued to ignore him.
He still retained the strength to kill a feeble human and this one had a scent he did not recognise; when the man drew nearer he would feed on him and then he would find out more about this world.
Snatching another soldier from his horse, Kensis threw him towards the waiting Warlord. When his Lord had fed then Kensis would be allowed to pick over the remains.
Azhmel used no finesse with his food this time; his sharp claws tore through the flesh and he quickly found the iron rich liver, spleen and kidneys and wolfed them down. Remembering the Undead Col being, he studied the corpse briefly before tearing the head from its shoulders and discarding both pieces.
Kensis could smell the blood from the corpse and knew the Warlord had taken what he needed from the first prey; if he could reach the discarded pieces he could find what he needed to survive.
The men who were unhorsed had clustered together; crouching low they continued to run towards their enemy. Anger filled them; they had thought they were the best soldiers in the Warlords army and the creature was making them look like untrained raw recruits.
The native crept ever nearer to the Warlord, he noticed with dismay the child was still firmly held captive; its silence was absolute now and he feared that the rough treatment by the large creature had been too much for it.
Taking advantage of the Warlords distraction with its food, he stretched out his hand reaching for the blanket holding the infant. Azhmel could smell him as he neared and waited silently.
Holding his breath the native managed to get a firm grasp on the blanket before Azhmel swung his mighty head around and spat a huge mouthful of flames at him.
With barely a scream the man was incinerated on the spot, mercifully dying instantly. Creed and Benar exchanged despairing glances; the flying creature had been picking off the men one by one, until only they remained on their horses.
Both had struck out again and again with their swords and knives; they had bounced from his seemingly impenetrable scales leaving him uninjured and whole. The bitter taste of defeat was in their mouths; their deaths here would be unremarked on, no-one would know how hard they had fought the creature before their demise.
Azhmel had moved away from the burning remains; once more had his flash of temper had prevented him from learning more about this world. Kensis had steered another soldier towards him and he was now delicately feasting on his remains; his strength was completely restored and he sent the order to Kensis, it was time for him to feed.
The greywing rejoiced; it had been too long and he was becoming slow and clumsy with his renewed hunger pangs biting at him. He dropped from the air and landed near the Warlord and lifted the first discarded head. The piece he wanted had been exposed to the air and had become dry, stringy, and unappetising.
Disappointed with the bitter taste it left in his mouth he leapt up and, with one stroke of his powerful wings, landed lightly in front of Creed’s horse, causing it to whinny shrilly as it reared in fright, unseating him.
The General had been studying the creature, had swapped his knife into the hand he normally used for his sword; as he fell he managed to keep hold of his weapons; when the creature bent over him he sank his knife up to the hilt in its exposed eye socket.
The scream that came from the greywing echoed throughout the hills; Azhmel watched in horror as his first stumbled backwards, its hands clawing at its face trying to dislodge the knife embedded there.
Panting hard, Creed scrambled backwards switching his sword over, before managing to get to his feet; Benar was trying to catch his horse and the General was bent low, swaying from side to side, hoping to get another chance at finishing the creature off.
Azhmel roared again and again, the pain he felt from the psychic link was indescribable; never had he experienced anything like it. Still clutching the blanket wrapped bundle he advanced on his injured first trying to break the mind link.
Kensis felt his presence and looked up at him, his one good eye burning red with pain and frustration.
“Lord, help me,” he fell to his knees and waited for Azhmel to take the pain away. The Warlord could not kill him, their mind link was still too strong and he feared he would injure himself.
Plucking the knife out was his only option; without another thought he reached down and hooked a talon underneath the guard, pulling it free. The pain felt by Kensis exploded in his skull and he fell back, howling in agony.
Behind them Benar had finally managed to catch the horses which were running free and the six remaining men were waiting for General Creed’s instructions,
“Quickly while they are distracted, I will go for the child, you keep at them, if you manage to get in close use your knives and go for the eyes; they seem to be the only vulnerable part on them.”
Azhmel knew he had to leave before disaster overtook him once more; the pain was lessening and he could not risk losing all for the sake of his first. With a regretful glance he leapt into the air holding his blanket wrapped bundle even tighter, he would return to the beach where his greywings continued their search of the shipwreck, he could supervise them and guard his prize at the same time.
“Damnit all...I don’t believe it...” Benar cursed under his breath as the great creature leapt away just as he had raised his sword. He turned his attention back to the smaller being then; surrounded by Creed and his men it had finally ceased screaming and was keenly watching them from a single bright eye. The bloody socket where the other had been torn out continued to pump blood down its face and drip into the earth below.
The Sergeant rode up behind it, studying the remnants of clothing which hung from it, an icy chill shivered down his spine as he watched it and he felt bile on his tongue as he spoke to the General.
“I don’t know how sir but this...This creature is wearing the uniform of a sergeant in the Warlords army.” He lined his horse up beside Creed and pointed to the ragged leather trousers which only reached to his knees and the sleeveless jerkin which hung from its broad shoulders.
Creed paused and looked at Benar in horror; was this something else the strange world would do to the rest of them?
“You there...Who are you..? Better yet, what are you..?” He moved in front of the creature and waved his sword in front of its face to attract its attention.
“I am the first, the first of my lords grey army.” Kensis hissed the words through his pain,
“When he is ready he will return and take you and make you as one of us.”
“Make me? How will he make me one of you?” Creed and his men were now circling the creature, keeping it off balance, making sure they were out of the reach of his long arms.
“He gave us his blood, and then we became his special army. We are the ones he will keep, not you and your weak minions.” A look of pride crossed his face and the men facing him muttered angrily amongst themselves until Creed snapped his fingers and they ceased to speak, waiting for his next move,
“Who made you? Who are you? Where is your Lord..? If you are so certain of him then you can tell us...” He fell silent when the creature straightened and stood even taller than ever, before proudly speaking,
“I was the one known as Kensis and my Lord has just left us,”
“Who..? Who is your Lord..?” Creed felt a sickening presentiment as the creature turned and smiled exposing his fangs,
“My Lord Azhmel...The great and powerful High Warlord of course...” He raised his arm and pointed to the distant creature,
“He leaves us now but when he returns you should beware as he will bring the entire wrath of his race upon your heads for what you have done here.”
The General felt the blood leave his face, his heart faltered for an instant before he looked back at the creature,
“How can you know what he will do?” He needed to understand what was happening and if this creature was the only source of information he had to wring it from it before they finally worked out how to destroy it.
“How..? You ask me how..? I am his first, he speaks with me as he speaks with no other and he sends a message for you General Creed.” The men looked perturbed then and he grinned evilly once more,
“Traitors appear to abound on this world. You can be sure that he will find a special way to kill you, the Mage known as Terrill and the worst traitor of all, his champion, Geron.”


Klimm hunched over his knees shivering uncontrollably; he had no tinder box but, that would not have helped as everywhere was still saturated from the storm.
Occasional cracking branches startled him and he would lift his head peering through the gloom hoping it was his two personal guards, Tito and Flugh returning.
They seemed to have been gone for hours but he knew that was wrong as the sun was once more starting to reappear through the dark thunderhead clouds which had passed overhead.
Azhmel had insisted he bring these men with him when they had met in secret for the last time before the campaign had begun. Palace intrigues had caused his father to deceive the people; hiding his younger children away until the dissenters could be eliminated.
The only member of the royal family that any were aware of was the High Warlord, he had been carefully guarded since his birth and when his father had announced he was stepping down shocked ripples had gone throughout the kingdom.
Klimm had reached his tenth birthday before he found out he had a brother who was five years and two younger sisters, aged five and three. To this day he had never met his sisters as they were continually sequestered away on a remote island and were allowed no visitors.
Azhmel had been brought by his father to meet Klimm who lived with Kommandant Kulwyn of the military training facility.
When Kulwyn sent for Klimm he had been training in the yard with a small wooden sword, stabbing it into the straw mannequin over and over again. The trainee soldiers had once again been cruelly teasing him, and he was taking out his frustrations on the straw stuffed doll.
The call came for him to attend the Kommandant, and, unthinking, he had rushed headlong in, sweaty and dirty, his face tear stained, falling over his sword to land in a heap near the feet of the impeccably groomed boy who was stood there, laughing at him.
Flushed and shamed he had leapt up prepared to do battle with the intruder when a heavy hand had fallen on his shoulder; he looked up at the tallest man he had ever seen.
Almost seven and a half feet tall, with a muscular frame to match; Zhmel was the High Warlord at the time. Klimm knew who he was instantly; he had peeked through the upstairs windows watching him arrive on any number of occasions before.
At dinner one night when he was four or five, he had asked Kulwyn if he would be allowed to meet Zhmel in the future; the Kommandant had given him a peculiar look, pursing his lips for a long time before answering cryptically that in the fullness of time the young were usually called to their nests for one last visit.
Zhmel held his shoulder that day, trapping his gaze with coal black eyes, tightly squeezing the small bones under his strong hand until Klimm had cried out. The boy stood watching had laughed at him once more, preparing to pour his scorn on the youngster.
“Ha...You bore the pain of that well boy, many a grown man would have cried out too... Azhmel come here boy.”
Zhmel reached a hand to his elder son, looking at the open door and nodding to the Kommandant; Kulwyn had immediately closed it, dropping the thick wooden bar on the inside to prevent unwanted visitors.
“Azhmel...Here boy...Meet your younger brother, Klimm,” Zhmel had folded his arms then, propping a buttock on the huge wooden desk which Kulwyn generally worked at, watching both boys as his words registered with them.
“He’s not my brother...I don’t have a brother...How can he be my brother when you are not my father... Kulwyn is my father, aren’t you?”
Klimm could hear the words coming from his mouth, getting louder and more frantic. If the High Warlord was his father, why did he live here and not with them at the royal palace?
Azhmel had straightened and held his arms down by his side; fists clenched tightly, a sneer crossing his face,
“How can that...That scruffy looking creature be MY brother father..? You are joking I hope..?”
Kulwyn was seated behind his desk, fingers steepled, watching both boys intently; Klimm had claimed Kulwyn as a parent before and the Kommandant thought he had nipped that idea in the bud.
If they had looked into the mirror they would have seen identical expressions of rage on both their faces; Azhmel moved away to the windowsill, first adjusting the blind so the sun didn’t blind him before turning and imitating the pose of his father; leaning back, crossing his arms before looking down his nose in contempt at the younger boy.
“He must be a bastard then father; he looks nothing like you so I must assume he takes after his whore of a mother...”
Klimm had launched his small body at the other boy; he had still gripped his wooden sword; managing to gets a single satisfying jab in to his adversary’s ribs, before Azhmel had gripped his arm and twisted it back with impossible strength snapping the bone like a twig.
Pushing the pain deep inside him, Klimm had gulped hard as he had seen the at the blackness which swirled inside his brother’s eyes, a blackness which threatened to consume him; he could feel his own body responding to the barely contained violence; a feral snarl erupting from his throat and then, they were torn apart; Kulwyn vaulted over his desk, knocking his neatly piled papers on to the floor, both had snarled angrily at the man standing between them.
“He is definitely a drakken cub, Sire...Look at his eyes...” Kulwyn had struggled to hold the wriggling boy; Klimm, in his struggle to get at his tormentor, had kicked the tall cheval glass mirror over; both he and Azhmel had looked into its depths and froze at the images they saw reflected there.
Zhmel held on to his eldest son, his arm clamped across his chest, pinning Azhmel to his side; the High Warlord’s sunken eyes were totally black, gleaming in the soft light filtering through the shaded windows.
He had sired two worthy sons, the Great Plan would come to fruition soon, he was certain of it. Another visit to Gwinn would be necessary soon, very soon.
Azhmel and Klimm had the same swirling black orbs; they had not known at that time how much this indicated their hidden heritage; exchanging puzzled glances they could feel the surge of power ebbing away and they watched until their eyes resumed their usual dark brown shade.
“How can this boy be..? Father..?” Azhmel had looked up at the Warlord; a thousand questions hovering on the tip of his tongue; he looked down at the arm holding him still and the Warlord released him, as Kulwyn released Klimm.
“We are not as other people my sons; my strong right arm, Kulwyn here, has known this for many years. When you, Klimm, my second son was born, he agreed your life was too important to risk, so at my request he took you into his care.”
“Where is my mother..?” Klimm had wondered about this for many years. Kulwyn was not married and did not take bed companions, so where had he come from.
Zhmel looked down at him; a strange smile crossed his face,
“Your mother still lives...She is safe with your sisters. That is all you both need to know for now.” His words were another blow to both boys and they could only wonder why he was telling them this now.
“Kulwyn will continue to keep you safe until the time is right. Do not tell anyone of our conversation here today. I will come back and see you again. You must work and train hard; I need both of you to do this for me.”
He had nodded at Kulwyn then and the Kommandant had unbarred the door, shepherding them into the black, covered carriage which waited them.
Before he returned to his office he stopped and asked for the healer to come and tend the boys broken arm; a childish accident on the stairs was what he told the healer.
The man had followed him back to his office; Klimm was holding his injured arm and had moved over to the window watching his family leave.
While the healer tended the boy, he had picked his papers and pens up from the floor where they had landed after his rapid leap over his desk. Telling him to keep the splints on his arm for six weeks, the healer had gathered his trappings hurriedly and left the office.
Kulwyn had rung the small bell after his departure, ordering hot tea and food for both of them, waiting until the young trainee had slipped the tray on his desk and left, before speaking to the troubled child.
“Come Klimm eat and we will talk,” the Kommandant had made him sit and drink hot tea sweetened with honey, a rare treat for the boy. Then he had served him thick slices of rare roast beef, which he cut into small pieces, mindful of the boy’s injury. The blood from the very rare beef had oozed over the plate and the boy had felt an unusual ache deep in his stomach.
Never before had he eaten anything like it, as he chewed the meat, a feeling had come over him and he had closed his eyes to savour the taste, groaning his enjoyment when he finally swallowed.
Kulwyn had laughed at him then, calling him a proper drakken cub. He had wanted to question him further but, after a look at his clock Klimm had roughly despatched him to his bed.
For the next two months he had waited for the Kommandant to tell him more about who and what he was; every time he broached the subject Kulwyn had urged him to learn patience, he would soon know everything.
The healer had checked his arm every week; after three weeks the bone was fully healed and the man was surprised, he knew children healed quicker than adults but he had never seen a child mend a bone so fast.
Kulwyn had listened as the man had talked excitedly about Klimm’s healing abilities. He had wanted to do further tests on the boy, it could have been his chance to discover a miracle cure for any number of illnesses.
Refusing to allow him to do the tests, Kulwyn had hastily written a note to the Warlord, telling him of the incident and that he had contacted the hospital for a replacement; would he like the healer sending to him or should he deal with the man in person?
Klimm had sulked when the Kommandant had told him the healer would be leaving; he had liked the extra attention the healer had given him and didn’t want to give his only friend up.
Disgruntled Klimm had gone onto the practise yard to train with the latest batch of trainees; new soldiers normally stayed for six weeks then, after their assessment were despatched to other, larger training camps which were scattered around the countryside.
There had been a new trainee starts on that day; the Kommandant’s decision to dismiss the healer had angered Klimm; his refusal to discuss the decision and change his mind had caused the boy to storm off angrily. The recruits were used to his moods and could usually defuse him easily with a kind word or a taffy chew; Klimm had a sweet tooth which Kulwyn did not pander too.
He could remember going onto the practice yard with his wooden sword; repeatedly jabbing at the stuffed mannequin before spinning on his heel and knocking the head from its shoulders.
Turning around he had seen the new trainee laughing at him...He couldn’t remember his name, had he ever known it? It had been unimportant at the time.
The youth had stood there with his shiny, newly forged and sharpened sword, laughing at him; something in Klimm had snapped.
He could remember the Kommandant covering him up with a large woollen blanket; he had carried him away before locking him in an upstairs attic room where no-one else ever came.
Two days later the door had been unbarred and his father had stood there with a proud smile on his face; Klimm had stayed on the floor, wrapped in the blanket pretending to be asleep when the door opened.
“I know you are awake boy, get up and come with me...” Zhmel had not waited for signs that Klimm was going to obey him before turning and silently descending the stairs until he reached the landing where the Kommandant awaited.
“He is back as he should be...I will take him out tonight and return him in the morning. Get rid of anyone who knew he was here, staff, trainees, and begin anew tomorrow. Can you do that?” He looked over at Kulwyn who nodded; it was going to be tricky but he knew many people who owed him favours...
The boy had hastily used the chamber pot before looking around; there was no water for him to drink or wash with so he left the room to slowly descend the stairs.
When he came out into the dim light, he caught sight of his arms and legs; they were covered in dried blood as were his clothes, he knew he wasn’t injured but couldn’t remember where the blood had come from.
Once he had joined Zhmel they had silently gone down the rest of the stairs; only stopping once when Klimm had caught sight of himself in a large mirror hung on the wall.
He stood there; looking at his face and, for a brief instant had seen something else lurking there, the strange creature which seemed to be hiding within him.
His throat was dried up and he nervously licked his lips, the metallic coppery taste of blood filling his mouth once more and a flash of memory came to him.
‘The laughing soldier was on the floor, blood pouring from a gaping wound in his neck...’
Zhmel had returned and deliberately stood in front of the mirror blocking the image, making Klimm lose his train of thought; blinking owlishly he struggled to understand what his father was saying.
“Come boy, we do not have much time; we must leave before night falls.”
He had gripped Klimm by the upper arm then hurried him, out and into the carriage, calling to the coachman to whip the horses up.
The boy sat quietly in the bouncing carriage, stretching his arm out to hold the strap tightly so he wouldn’t land on the floor. Zhmel had crossed his arms and stretched out a long, leather clad leg, resting it on the bench beside the boy, wedging him into place.
He watched Klimm all the time from under hooded brows, never speaking or looking away. Klimm was still lost, trying to remember what had happened; he kept getting the same flash of the bloody soldier, and then there was nothing.
The carriage banked sharply to the right and Klimm banged his elbow on the tiny window embrasure; the noise of gravel under the wheels disappeared and he realised they were now travelling over soft grass.
A few minutes later he heard the coachman calling to the horses and was aware of them slowing, they had arrived. Zhmel kept his leg on the bench for a few seconds then as the door was opened from the outside he nudged the toe of his boot under the boy’s leg, encouraging him to leave first.
The coachman had placed a step for them and Klimm quickly jumped down, his interest piqued at last. Without a word Zhmel strode off causing him to run to keep up.
The sun was just disappearing over the far edge of the horizon; he heard something flutter overhead and saw the shadowy outline of a large white owl, searching for his first meal of the night.
They were in a large open field, with what appeared to be a large stable block as their destination. Klimm stumbled through the open doorway, his breath catching in his throat; the door was slammed shut behind him and barred from the outside.
He blinked at the lights inside; there must have been a hundred various candles and torches lodged in sconces or the necks of empty wine bottles. Thick fluffy moths swooped around the exposed flames, barely escaping singing their fragile wings. The air had a strange musky, animal scent yet there were no signs of animals inside.
Zhmel was in the centre of the room stretching his arms, first over his head and then out to the side. He twisted his neck, cracking the bones in it before turning to look at Klimm.
“Come boy, let me look at you. Stand here under the light so I can check you out.”
As he spoke he stripped away his black leather waistcoat and white cotton shirt, leaving his heavily muscled chest and flat belly exposed for Klimm to see.
The boy had gasped when he saw all the silvery signs of old healed wounds covering every inch of exposed skin.
“What...What happened to you father..?”
He could barely speak through the dryness of his throat; Kulwyn had given him no food or water for the two days he was fastened in the attic.
“I was too slow boy, but I made up for it when I grew up and achieved my full potential.”
As he finished speaking a great change came over his face and head; it shimmered and transformed into that of a huge beast he had only ever seen in nightmares; covered in jet black scales which gleamed like highly polished black diamonds, its teeth grew longer, the incisors into needle sharp fangs which could pierce either the thickest of hides or the tenderest of skin.
Klimm had screamed, fallen backwards and pissed his pants whilst trying to escape the beast; he could clearly remember that, and the creature had laughed and lowered its head, snuffling unbelievably around his head and neck.
“Don’t eat me father, please don’t eat me,” he had screamed hysterically, falling onto his side and pulling his knees up under his chin.
The beast had laughed softly, its hot sulphurous breath blowing in his face,
“I could not eat you; you who are my son, flesh of my flesh, and hope for the future...”
Another voice spoke then, younger; he thought it was the one called Azhmel, his brother, and looked up as a figure moved towards Zhmel,
“Why do you need him father..? I am your first-born son; you told me I am the future..? I need to understand...”
Azhmel had stood proudly under the lights; his head was transformed into a red-gold replica of his father; his fists were clenched again as he challenged the authority exuding from Zhmel.
Klimm ceased crying and rolled onto his knees, watching his father and brother as they went through the age old battle of the old and the new, each trying to gain the upper hand.
The High Warlord had growled angrily at his elder sons challenge to his authority, lashing out with his arm, knocking him across the floor.
The boy had jumped to his feet, circling his father, crouching low before diving underneath his outstretched arms to land a heavy punch in his ribs and quickly roll out of the way.
Klimm scrambled up and pressed his back to the wall watching as they fought for over an hour; Azhmel repeatedly punching the High Warlord on the same spot before retreating.
The Warlord allowed this to happen for some time, then when the boy mis-stepped he reached out grabbing him by the arm and lifted him over his head before throwing him into the wall.
With a muffled groan Azhmel had indicated his submission and the High Warlord raised his arms over his head and gave a breath curdling howl before spitting gouts of flame into the air.
He looked once at Klimm who had been frozen in place at the side of the room; a thin stream of smoke dribbled down from his nostrils; he was not even breathing heavily the boy realised.
Walking over to Azhmel he had knelt, then gently lifted his son, cradling him over his knee; a groan had sounded and Zhmel had laughed again and lifted his wrist to his son’s mouth.
“Feed my son, take my strength into you for you deserve it and will be a worthy successor when the time is right.”
Klimm had watched as Azhmel had sank his incisors into the beast and had drunk of his blood, gulping loudly as he greedily took the thick, viscous, rich fluid into his body. The enticing scent had drawn Klimm across the room and he had stood patiently waiting for them to notice him.
Azhmel opened his eyes, watching him whilst he continued sucking on his father’s wrist, the yearning to taste evident on the younger boy’s face; after one last mouthful he had lifted his head and held his hand out, beckoning him forwards.
“Come little brother; feed...You are come from our father’s loins, I will no longer dispute it.”
“You will need to know the rules, and you need to know that if you put a single foot wrong from this day onwards I will personally gut you and take your liver for myself.”
“Now you have made your first kill and have tasted human blood you need to know more, much more.”
Klimm had paused when he heard those words; ‘killed his first human’..? He was about to query it when Zhmel made to move his arm away; swift as a snake the boy had struck, sinking his teeth into his wrist, tearing the flesh as his small incisor teeth had not altered enough for the clean punctures caused by his brother.
As he caught the first heady spurt of blood at the back of his throat he half closed his eyes in ecstasy, although he was but a child his body hardened and as he frantically fed he felt a sudden release, his body splintering into a myriad pieces, causing him to shudder uncontrollably.
Zhmel grabbed his head and pulled him away, lifting his arm to his mouth where, with one swift lick of his tongue he sealed the tear with his own saliva.
***
He came back to the moment with a start, the memory of his first true meal at the forefront of his mind; his gut burned now with intense hunger and it was all he could do to stay quietly seated instead of howling out his frustration.
From above him Tito called out softly, he was returning; he answered him relieved at last that one of his men was returning to him. When the burly man slid down the embankment towards him he could tell he was empty handed and his hunger nearly unmanned him.
“What of Flugh?” He could barely force the words out of his clenched teeth. Tito shrugged, they had decided to separate because of the floodwater and he had not seen him for hours.
“I must feed soon or...” he couldn’t finish the sentence as pain radiated through his body, causing it to jerk spasmodically. Tito bent over him, rubbing his arm, then his back,
“Could you not take more from me?” His face was drawn with concern; he had worked for Klimm for many years and had, on occasion allowed him to take his blood.
“It wouldn’t be enough for me now...I have already used both you and Flugh to often since that silly bitch stabbed me...” He began to cough and Tito stood up, looking around, anxious to find shelter and make a fire.
He scrambled up the bank again and found a small flat piece of ground underneath the overhang from the mountain at the back of them. Scrabbling around he managed to gather a handful of dry leaves and small twigs, enough to get a small fire going.
Scooping the soft earth away with his hands he made a deep hollow in the ground; patting the ground to firm it he arranged small rocks and stones around the outside edge then dropped his leaves in; carefully shielded his tinder box repeatedly struck it until a tiny spark caught and held. Gingerly he placed the smallest of twigs on the top, barely breathing on the flame until that too was slowly burning.
Gradually he added the rest of his dried fuel to the fire and once he was assured it wouldn’t die away, arranged some of the other branches on the outside edge, hoping they would dry out soon so he could use them to keep the fire going.
When he went back for Klimm he was dismayed to find him curled up, eyes closed tightly, intermittently shivering. He called his name but received no response.
He managed to get him over his shoulder, and then fought his way back, slipping and sliding in the thick mud left behind from the storm. Pausing to get his breath, he placed his hand on Klimm’s forehead and was alarmed at how cold he was.
Back under the overhang his fire still burnt but it wouldn’t last long without dry fuel; he had to leave Klimm alone once more but at least here, he was dry and under shelter, however poor it may be.
Climbing higher he kept giving a sharp whistle, a signal which Flugh would recognise and respond to. His keen eyes searched for hidden cracks and crevices which would hold dry branches, twigs or moss.
Looking up into the trees he grinned as he saw nests, they would be easier to dismantle and dry out and if he was lucky there would be an egg or two for him.
It didn’t take him long to reach the first nest, there were no eggs which was disappointing as he was extremely hungry. He tossed it down and watched as it landed near his sword which he had taken off to enable him to climb easily.
The second nest was tucked on the junction of a thin, spindly branch; he took longer than he wanted retrieving it but he didn’t want to end up splatted on the floor next to his sword, that wouldn’t help anyone.
Three eggs were there, whole and apparently undamaged by the storm; he cast a wary look around; not eager for mummy or daddy bird to come and peck his eyes out whilst he struggled to climb back down the tree.
The twigs from the nest had sharp pointed edges which continuously jabbed his bare chest; he kept it tucked inside his leather jerkin hoping to keep the eggs intact until he rejoined Klimm.
Sighing with relief, he slithered down the bark, wincing as he left more of his skin behind, landing heavily and twisting his ankle. He cursed under his breath at the twinge of pain; it took him a few minutes to pick all the bits of twig up, balancing the full nest on top he made his way back to Klimm, whistling as he went.
The colonel hadn’t moved from where he had placed him; his skin was as ice and he had a hideous grey cast to his skin. Tito used the broken nest and built the fire up before turning to see if he could get Klimm more comfortable.
He was rubbing his leg to try and warm it when he heard the sound of rocks falling behind him; he whistled softly, twice, but received no answer. Lowering Klimm’s leg he suddenly felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle; they were being watched.
Whistling again, this time with more urgency, he dropped his hand to the hilt of his sword and gripped it tightly, spinning on his heel into the open. There was no-one visible but he knew he was being watched and he carefully scanned the area from left to right, then back again.
A twig snapped and he quivered waiting, eyes skittering nervously as he swung his sword from side to side; the bushes below shook and dripped fat rain drops onto the ground as a man pushed his way through.
“Finally... Where have you been..?” Flugh was laden with packs and bags; he grunted something which Tito took to mean he wanted help.
He held his hand out and Flugh dropped a heavy bag into it then jiggled the rest of the packs until he could move again.
“I have hunted high and low and cannot find any signs of our men, or the blurry horses. God knows where they have all gone; I can’t believe they would all do a runner like that treacherous bastard Rinne. Don’t lose that bag it’s important...”
He threw the last in as Tito prepared to drop it as he reached to help him; the bag suddenly moved and Tito exchanged a relieved smile with his friend,
“You found one for him then..?”
Tito didn’t particularly like or dislike Klimm; the Warlord had made him an offer he couldn’t refuse; keep Klimm safe and alive and he would be given the greatest reward ever, immortality.
Flugh had been given the same option and while they were stranded here on this world they had agreed they would do everything necessary to keep Klimm alive; once they returned to Qol and had received their reward they had made their own plans and Klimm was not included in them.
Opening the sack Tito felt his throat close briefly, the child inside couldn’t be two years old with glossy black hair. As it felt his gaze it struggled to move and he saw that its ears were pointed at the tip, he looked closer and noticed Flugh had tied a grubby piece of cloth around its mouth, muffling any cries it was making.
“Where did you find this Flugh?”
The other man looked at him blankly for a moment before offering a strange smile which showed dirty yellowed and broken teeth. His partner was a sociopath totally immoral; nothing ever disgusted him, no task was ever passed over, he was the perfect person to work for Klimm.
“There was a small hut up the mountain a ways, it looked like his family had sheltered there when the flood hit. He was all alone; crying fit to burst when I found him. I stuffed him in that sack and salvaged what I could of their stuff then came back here...How is he..?”
Tito looked at Flugh and realised he was asking about Klimm, not the child in the sack,
“Not good, not good at all...I volunteered again and he refused said it wouldn’t help.” Flugh drew level with him and nodded,
“I offered yesterday and he said the same to me then. Come on, we had better hurry back. His dinner awaits,” he chuckled as he walked and Tito, after one last look in the back, resolutely fastened the opening, ignoring the pleading looks offered to him.
The fire was crackling merrily when they reached the camp; Tito immediately moved to check on Klimm and was unsure whether to be relieved or not, when he found he still lived. He had half expected him to have died while they were away; it would have solved a lot of their problems he realised.
Flugh wanted Klimm to know who was looking after him; although he had been partnered with Tito for many years; they would not consider themselves to be friends.
Snapping his fingers at Tito he waited till he passed him the pack then dropped to his knee beside Klimm,
“Here ya are sir; I’ve got a real treat here for you, a nice little boy, just what you ordered,” his voice was in the sing- song tone he usually used to address Klimm, almost as if he too was talking to a child.
Tito looked through the other things Flugh had brought, resolutely keeping his back turned on the scene behind him. He heard a noise from Klimm, a groan; he remembered when the Colonel had fed from his wrist, how he had achieved almost a sexual gratification from the experience.
Grimacing in distaste he knew he would have to move away from here; he had never seen Klimm feed properly and decided he was a coward enough, not wanting to see what he would do to the child.
“I am going to see if I can find any of the men. We need horses and food, preferably before dark,” he kept his voice gruff and even as he risked looking over at his partner.
“Don’t stay away too long, I’m sure there was something else down there, in the trees. I felt eyes watching me for ages but couldn’t find anything, no spoor, nothing.”
Tito drew his sword at Flugh’s words, the unease he had felt earlier trickling down his spine again. As he moved away he could here Flugh crooning something in the Colonel’s ear; his words were indistinct, muffled yet they appeared to invoke a reaction and he could hear Klimm coughing weakly.
A scream from the child made him pause for a second then; he closed his ears to the sounds behind him; rushing faster and faster down the sparse trail until he skidded in the mud, landing on his side knocking the air from his lungs.
His face was wet with tears which he didn’t know he had shed; his shoulders shook and as he made his mind up to go back, stopping the Colonel, the faint scream he had heard ceased, he was too late.
“Hey kids, are you certain this is the right way to fing this Merhlees person..?” Mellon shouted over his shoulder as he threaded the wagon through an impossibly narrow trail running through the tall trees surrounding them.
“Uh huh, yessir, this is the way Oma said.” Biron piped up from his seat in the back of the wagon. He scrambled on his hands and knees across the floor of the bouncing wagon and knelt behind Mellon, wrapping his skinny arms around the wagoneer’s neck.
“Oma used to say that Merhlees was a’hidin’ in the mountains from the bad peoples who made her the...the...um...outcast. Yep, the peoples in the village were a’frightened of Merhlees cos she wuz diff’rent to them.”
“She wuz a’borned with strange golden eyes and hair the likes of which they had never seen before. Oma said that by the time Merhlees was a young woman nobody would ‘a talk to her cos they were skeered of her.”
“It seems to me that Oma said quite a lot to you young un,” Mellon muttered and was rewarded with a light hearted giggle in his ear and a hug from the lad.
Katta unwrapped the stick and bandage from Rinne’s leg and peered underneath the bloody cloth. Biting her lip she once again tightened the stick and began to count to a hundred.
Mellon heard her soft voice and knew his friend would not last much longer while he was still bleeding. They had been travelling for a number of hours and up till now there had been no sign of life anywhere.
He had spotted the trail earlier and was unsure whether it was made by animals or humans but, a trail is a trail, so they followed it. They had entered a thick forested area and already the silence was making him jumpy.
“Well go on with that tale then lad,” he encouraged Biron to keep talking hoping he would glean something of interest from the stories told to them by their grandmother. In Mellon’s experience most folk tales started with something factual.
“Oma said that by the time Merhlees reached her womanhood...Do you know what she meant by that Mellon? I don’t know...I asked Oma and she said my da would tell me when I got older but...”
Biron’s lip quivered and Mellon reached up and patted the hands which had a stranglehold on his neck,
“Don’t you fret none little un, I bet your friend Rinne knows exactly what Oma meant and, as soon as he wakes up you can ask him,” the driver snorted to himself then as he imagined his friends reaction to the question.
“Will he wake up soon Mellon?” Biron looked over his shoulder and watched Katta tighten her stick again. He had offered to help but after getting stuck counting his thirties, she had impatiently taken the stick from him and carried on.
“After we find your Merhlees I’m sure he will wake up soon, just think positive little un and he will be alright.” Mellon surreptitiously crossed his fingers as he spoke and made a wish that he was not telling a lie to the child; Rinne had no colour at all now and he feared he would be dead soon without help.
Risking another look over his shoulder Mellon revised his opinion of Rinne’s survival to zero, he did not think anything would save him now; he had lost far too much blood.
“C’mon little un, finish telling me this story,” he encouraged Biron again and the boy wrinkled his nose as he tried to remember the story.
“Well Merhlees reached that age and the girls in her village used to have a special celebration so she went and knocked on eve’yone’s door and asked em to come. Both she and her mammy baked and baked making good things to eat fer eve’yone and her mammy made her a pretty frock so she would look real nice.”
A bird shot across the trail, startling the horses causing Mellon hurriedly tighten his grip on the reins; he looked around wondering why the bird was spooked and for a moment thought he glimpsed a pair of eyes peeping through the leaves of a bush as they passed by.
Swivelling his head he stared hard but as there was no further signs dismissed it as his overactive imagination. He tapped Biron’s hand and the boy grinned and continued his story,
“They were ready in plenty of time that day. The tables’ dun’ groaned with the good food they made. Merhlees had made some garlands with the flowers and had them in her hair. Her mammy dun’ tol’ her that she be the most bootiful girl in the village and Merhlees b’lieved her.”
“They waited and they waited fer the people to come and nobody dun’ come. Merhlees was so upset she went outside a’ knocking on all their doors calling em names and a’ cursing em.”
“Anyway they wouldn’ answer the door, they ignored that poor child, and she went home to her mammy and dun’ cried hersel’ to sleep,”
Mellon hid a grin as he recognised Biron repeating the words from his beloved Oma; he looked around again and noticed Katta was half falling to sleep as she tried to hold on to the stick.
They needed shelter fast, a strange mist was creeping across the floor of the forest and as he looked up he was surprised to see that night was upon them. He had not realised how fast the time had flown by; his next priority was to look for somewhere they could rest. He admitted defeat to himself, he could not save Rinne.
“Oma says Merhlees mammy went into the garden that night and dun cotch hersel’ some of her chickens. She dun chop of their heads and made a...a...a...erm....a...a...Sacrifice!” He shouted the last word as he remembered it startling both Mellon and Katta who both looked at Rinne before shushing him.
He lowered his voice and continued, his face solemn as he recounted the gruesome story with relish,
“Merhlees mammy went round all those houses over the next week and she looked around and found nail clippin’s and hair cuttin’s and she took them back and she mixed em into that there chicken blood.”
“All the time her mammy was doing this that poor child wandered around outside in the forest, talking to the animals who had b’come her onliest friends. “
“And then, when her mammy had finished making her bloody sacrifice potion, she dun went around every house that dun hurt that poor child and she poured the chicken blood on the steps and she cursed everyone that had spoilt her special woman day.”
He fell silent then, despite himself Mellon was intrigued to hear the rest of Oma’s tale and he nudged him with his chin,
“So what happened after that?” Katta snorted behind him and he remembered she was convinced her Oma had made the story up. Biron grinned and lowered his voice conspiratorially,
“Mammy made a mistake with her blood sacrifice. She dun’ spilt some on her step while Merhlees was out in the forest. It got real late and that poor child, why she was frit to come home, so she dun’ make hersel’ a small nest under a bush and she crawled under there until the next day.”
“When the sun came up she woke and noticed there were a lot of small critters running around near her feet, rabbits were with foxes, badgers were with squirrels and they all looked after her while she walked home.”
“Well that poor child walked through the village that day and there weren’t anybody out. No baker, no dairyman, nobody, uh huh. She got home and she dun shout for her mammy but there was no answer.”
“Up those apple and pears she went a’ lookin’ for her mammy, and when she got to the bedroom her mammy was there in the bed and she was as stiff as a post cos she was DEAD.”
“Merhlees dun scream and scream and no-one came to help her so she went a’runnin’ to the next house and knockee on the door and nobody answer so she went in and they were all in bed and they were dead too.”
“She be screamin’ and screamin’ and she ran to ev’ry house and they were all stone dead, even the poor little childer and the babbies.”
“She goes back home and she falls on her knees in front of her mammy’s bed and she dun cry and pray, pray and cry all the time wonderin’ what she should do.”
“Come night time that poor child had already had a holy re-le-vation, she knew she couldn’t leave all the dead people just layin’ there like that so she made herself a great big bonfire and went around burnin’ all the houses with those dead people in.”
Then she went and sat in the fields and watched as ev’eythin’ she had ever knowed burnt away.”
Biron fell silent then and Mellon knew he was thinking of the loss of his family; the wagoneer did not know how to console the children, he was at a loss to find the correct words so could only stretch his large hand up and stroke the small boys face.
Such a small gesture yet Biron responded by nuzzling at the hand, comforted by the brief contact. Katta was heard chanting her numbers once again; her voice hoarse with weariness and Mellon knew that they should travel no longer that night.
He looked around carefully, noting they had gradually been going uphill; behind them the floor was covered by tendrils of creeping mist, to his dismay he saw that the path ahead appeared to be blocked by a thicker patch of fog; he needed to get them under cover before the path was completely hidden.
The horses had nearly come to a standstill by the time he found a small gap in the trees which had just enough room for them to make a camp. He dug through the stores until he found the canvas tent which was usually secured only against the worst rain or freezing snows.
Cursing under his breath he managed to use the lower branches of the trees and the canvas to form a temporary shelter against the cold damp mist. Biron unasked had scuttled around finding small broken branches, enough to build a fire.
As the wood caught it hissed and crackled, spitting ash and flames into the cold night air. Rigging a tripod over the fire Mellon hurriedly threw a handful of oats in his smallest kettle, with the addition of dried fruit and nuts, and sweetened with honey it would be a quick hot comforting meal for the children.
He was stirring the kettle when a sharp scream came from Katta, dropping the spoon he rushed over to her, expecting to find Rinne had died. Instead she was stood holding a branch threateningly while Biron cowered in the wagon next to Rinne.
“What is it..? What did you see..?” He drew his sword and looked around twisting his head from side to side,
“Eyes...There were some strange eyes near the bush, the leaves trembled and something growled...” Her fright made her voice tremble and the hand which she used to point had a visible tremor.
Moving swiftly towards the place she indicated, he first thrust the sword into the heart of the bushes, thrashing it from side to side before stepping closer and looking.
“Whatever is was has gone now,” He called back to them; forcing his way through the dense foliage he examined the ground for signs of animal spoor.
“Nothing here, you are both quite safe...” He turned around and could see no sign of Katta on the wagon. Thinking they had hidden on the wagon, he softly called out,
“Children, it’s quite safe c’mon out now and have your supper,” he came to the tailgate at the back of the wagon and stared in amazement.
Rinne was gone, the only sign he had been there was a pile of bloody bandages; the branch Katta had been holding was on the bottom of the wagon and still no sign of the children.
He swallowed hard; gripping his sword tighter he moistened his lips before attempting to call them again. A strong floral odour drifted across his face and he inhaled deeply, his eyes fluttered briefly and he forced them open; he felt a whisper behind him and the scent grew stronger before it overpowered him.
His eyes rolled into the top of his head and his legs began to fold, before he lost total control of his senses he was vaguely aware of a gentle voice urging someone to hurry.
“If you had been more careful and not made a noise frightening the children then I would not have had to do that,” the gentle voice chided as they moved into the clearing.
A sleek, blue-black figure padded softly across the grass and sat beside the fallen man, nudging him with his long pointed nose before turning to the female who was walking towards him.
Wearing a strange cloak comprised of leaves and fur she seemed to glide as she walked, her golden eyes glowed brightly in the firelight and she sniffed and looked at the kettle hung over the fire.
The porridge had bubbled out and the acrid odour of burning oats caused her nose to wrinkle in distaste.
“I told you to be quiet, children of that age can hear ‘most anything,” she focused her gaze on the wolf which sat watching her as she rolled the man onto his back.
“Ha, if I had known you were going to go soft and ga-ga over them, losing your mind by coming down the mountain, I wouldn’t have told you they were here,” the wolf looked at her as it sent the thought, dropping his jaw as if laughing at her.
“Oh tish Cardinal, you know you couldn’t have kept them a secret from me for much longer, they were on the trail which would have brought them right up to our home...”
Grunting slightly the wolf lay on its paws and watched as she ran gentle hands over the man’s body checking him for injuries.
“This one looks to be in perfect health, the children are too. If we are to save the other man we must hurry, he has lost a grievous amount of blood.”
“I know that, what you think caught my attention in the first place? I was tempted to take him for myself but I knew you would complain if I came home smelling of a strange man.”
A wicked grin crossed the females face and she looked up her golden eyes gleaming with humour,
“A man..? Cardinal, I would only complain if you came home smelling of a woman, you know how jealous I get...”
The wolf stood and moved towards her, nipping playfully at her fingers and she ran her fingers through his thick pelt before gently rubbing his ears, a deep throaty growl came from him and his strange blue eyes grew languorous and heavy.
Before he could succumb to her pleasurable petting she surprised him by a playful whack on his hindquarters,
“Hah, you just can’t resist it can you, typical male. C’mon, we need to go now or the other like him will die,” jumping up she looked at the man on the floor for a few seconds, then snapped her fingers; his eyes opened and he jerkily stood up.
Moving to the front of the wagon she snapped her fingers again and he came to her and climbed into his seat. She took the kettle and placed it in the rear of the wagon before emptying one of the barrels of water over the fire totally extinguishing it.
Abandoning the canvas tent she climbed up onto the wagon and the wolf jumped up beside her. A ripple in the darkness and the sleeping figures of the children appeared snuggled next to the unconscious figure of Rinne.
She pulled a small pot from somewhere underneath her strange cloak and lifted the lid, the scent drifted towards Rinne and he took a deep breath; she smiled and closed the lid tightly.
Snapping her fingers again, the driver picked up the reins and shook them, stirring the tired horses to life, as they plodded along through the mist, the wolf cleared its throat,
“Merhlees, the doorway...You haven’t opened the door...” he whined anxiously and she laughed heartily at him before standing and pointing both arms in front of her, she closed both eyes for a moment then gave a loud yip.
A pinprick of golden light appeared in front of them, she tapped on Mellon’s shoulder, snapping her fingers, waiting until he aimed the horses towards it.
Flopping down on the wagon floor she lifted up her arm allowing Cardinal to snuggle underneath her cloak with her,
“Are you ready..?” She spoke in his ear and the fine hairs there quivered as her warm breath tickled him,
“Always...” he spoke the word and she snapped her fingers for the last time, Mellon’s eyes closed and he fell sideways on the seat; the wolf slumped down, his eyes as tightly closed as hers were; the horses eyes glazed as they stood motionless at the entrance to the rapidly spinning doorway.
Slowly the wagon moved forwards, caught by an unseen force which was pulling it through the golden glow, a crackle of static filled the air, startling the creatures of the forest and then there was silence.

Lyria swayed as she forced her legs to hold her upright; she was still in the inner chamber where Orlan had abandoned her after he had performed the hardest magickal spell she had ever heard of.
Vaguely aware of a commotion in the outer cave she looked over at Geron who, though pale appeared to have more control over his body than she did. His mouth was moving and she frowned as she realised she couldn’t hear anything; she shook her head, bemused, still dazed from whatever had happened.
Geron finally managed to reach her, his handsome face was paler than normal and he walked stiffly and slowly as if in pain; Banya had taken some of their pain away but not all.
He put his arm around her, briefly catching her exposed back; she fell into him gripping the remains of his leather waistcoat, hissing slightly at the renewed burning sensations she felt.
“Mother...Please help us!” Lyta’s high pitched voice broke through the awful deafness and Lyria was suddenly overwhelmed with the sounds coming from the caverns.
“What the hell..?” Geron muttered as the screaming and cries registered with him and he drew his sword ready for battle.
“Great Goddess what on earth is it?” Varon spoke and Geron was filled with a sense of dread as he made it into the outer chamber with Lyria hot on his heels.
They saw a huge grey creature fly out of the opening and heard pitiful crying coming from every direction. Lyria looked for her daughter first and was horrified to see her hair pouring with smoke, as if on fire.
“Geron...Hurry fetch a blanket,” she shook his supporting arm off, running across the cavern; Darell had already tried to help Lyta but as her hair was not in flames he didn’t know how else to help her.
“What happened?” Her voice was terse with self recrimination, she should have made sure the chamber was impregnable before allowing Orlan to proceed, her negligence had caused this.
“A strange creature came and grabbed one of the babies. We tried to stop it, slow it down and it spat some sort of venom onto Lyta’s head. Denon and Mikel also got some of the venom on...” Darell turned to look at the Mage student and caught his breath at the sight of the huge suppurating sores on his face and hands.
“Oh Great Goddess...” Lyria knew that she needed to find something to neutralise the venom before she could treat the injuries it had caused.
Geron had brought a blanket but knew from the expression on her face that it wouldn’t help Lyta, smoke still came from her hair and she trembled violently against the pain in her burnt hands where she had touched the venom.
“I need to examine this...This creature before I can help them...” The anguish in her voice was evident for all to hear.
“We need to reach this creature quickly Lyria; he has our son,” Mikel shook her arm trying to get her attention; she turned to him crying out at the ruined face before her.
The venom had destroyed his eyes just as the black gnats had ruined Banya’s; Lyria had managed to save the younger mans looks, the venom had eaten the skin and flesh on her brother’s face down to the bone in places.
He was no longer recognisable as the handsome strong fey priest from a few short hours earlier,
“You must help me to track him; I feel him so he still lives; you are his only hope Lyria,” his sightless eyes filled with unshed tears and Lyria returned the tight grip on his hand.
“We must form a link...Quickly before he goes too far...Nera we need you... Terrill can you and Darell..?” She organised them in a circle and closed her eyes trying to link with the tiny mind of her nephew.
“Terrill, we will need the power of your orb...Please,”
She begged him and without hesitation he held it towards her. Their hands touched the force of her feelings made the glow coming from it painfully bright to their eyes; Lyria forced herself to look into the centre of the stone searching for her nephew.
It would have been easier had he been named in the fey ceremony of birth; the orb would have been able to find his essence instantly; now they wasted precious minutes while it searched for a sign of his life.
Banya moved to Geron’s side and he too stared into the glow,
“Can you see what is happening?” Everyone not linked with Lyria turned at Geron’s question and the youth nodded.
“Yes I can see into the orb. I can see things better than I ever could before. Terrill did explain it to me.”
Finn moved closer and spoke to his nephew; he had to raise his arm to shield his face from the glow,
“What did he tell you Ban?” He had tried to get the youth to tell him earlier but there had not been enough time,
“These stones were linked to the being that wore them. After wearing them every day for over a thousand years they absorbed some of her magick and became powerful. I can see things clearer, and I will eventually be able to do things I never dreamt of before...”
Disbelief was on Finn’s face and he shook his head interrupting the youth,
“Nothing can live for a thousand years...”
Smiling serenely Banya focused his strange eyes on his uncle,
“Terrill took these stones from the earrings worn by his mother. They had been passed down to her over many generations. Her ancestor, the original owner was the dragon stolen by the Dhrake Gul.”
Geron felt his jaw drop open in surprise; he had not anticipated that part of Banya’s tale. Before they could discuss it further the youth leaned forward staring harder into the orb, murmuring that they had found the creature.
Banya focused at the heart of the orb; describing what he could see for the other anxious watchers,
“Oh thank the Goddess...He still has the baby and is with the large creature Terrill called a fire drake; there are men on horses riding towards him. I think they are going to attack them!”
The excited youth continued to describe every detail of the scene unfolding before him; as everyone was concentrating on him they were unaware of Orlan still working in the inner chamber.
The old priest was thinking of the words the Angelicus had spoken, the portal had been opened and the time to pass through was limited. He had gone through her actions and words in his mind and was totally convinced she meant for Varon and Klee to use the portal.
Beal had run into the chamber when his attempts to stop the creature had failed. Klee was still on the floor and he had lifted her into his arms and moved her out of the way. Helping her replace her torn clothes, he had fetched water to bathe her and generally tried to make her safe.
The girl was resting now, her head on his chest and her eyes were closed. Beal was stroking the soft coppery red hair telling her how much he loved her and that, Goddess willing they would meet again soon.
When Orlan tapped her on her shoulder she stood up, kissing his cheek before moving away with him. Varon looked at him curiously when he beckoned him to follow them both back into the inner chamber.
Thadd noticed his former convocate guard disappearing; he too made his way into the chamber. Orlan frowned when his young student followed but didn’t rebuff him or send him away.
“You all heard the Angelicus say your portal would be closing soon..? I don’t understand yet how it can have been activated but I accept her words.”
“You must to be ready to go at any moment; have your things gathered and with you at all times.
He moved Varon slightly, tearing away the tattered remains of his shirt, trying to decipher the rapidly fading marks which showed on his broad back.
“These maps will soon only be visible to yourselves, Klee will see yours, you will see hers, you must memorise what they are telling you for if something should happen to either of you...I do not know how you would continue.”
“Thadd come and see if you can tell me where the portal is on Varon’s back,” he didn’t fully understand the magick and wanted to give his chosen as much information as he possibly could before they had to leave.
The younger trainee moved forward and studied the map but was unable to see any other signs; he told Orlan this and noticed he was nodding as if he expected that answer.
“Klee my dear would you come and look,” he urged her to join them and all three of them studied the exposed flesh, there was still no sign of the portal and a sense of desperation was gripping them.
“It has to be there somewhere,” Thadd muttered and as he turned to speak to Orlan, bumping into Klee who put both hands on the bare skin to stop falling over.
Immediately a small red patch began to glow on Varon’s back, and he wriggled with discomfort for a second before speaking,
“Alright you can stop with the torture now Orlan, I already went through enough today...” He faltered when he looked over his shoulder and saw Orlan stood with his arms folded, nowhere near him.
When Klee took her hand away the red glow began to fade and his pain quickly disappeared. Orlan tiredly smiled, at last there seemed to be progress,
“Well, well, well...I think we know how to activate them, they are maps and although they only show a small area now, they will change the further you travel.”
Orlan happily rubbed his hands together, to check his theory he asked Klee to lower the back of her dress and allow Varon to touch her. The giant stroked his finger across the line of scales he could see,
“Does this hurt you?”
She smiled over her shoulder at him, watching as he slowly pulled his hand away careful not to catch his nail on the scales,
“If you mean your finger, then no...If you mean when the new scales come then sometimes there is an itching but it isn’t too bad.” She didn’t tell him of the hours her father spent rubbing soothing cold creams into her burning skin while she sobbed into her pillow. He would find that out soon enough for himself.
Her back had glowed slightly then faded and Orlan was puzzled but knew there was no more he could do at this time to help them.
He was murmured this softly to his Thadd, knowing that the time was upon them for the first of the chosen to leave. The Angelicus had said she would help if she could so there was a possibility of an intervention there but he was unsure what she could do.
In the other chamber the voices had fallen silent and the old priest knew he needed to talk to the rest of the chosen before he could continue with Varon and Klee.
He moved to the opening and saw the haggard faces of the men and the tear stained faces of the women and thought that the youngest member of their group had been lost to them.
He felt a pain constrict his heart and anxiously rubbed his chest and left arm, aware that his time was shorter than most of the others knew. Lyria had tended him for two painful attacks and she had warned him at the time that he must take things easy in future.
Coughing slightly he moved forwards and put his hand on the shoulder of one of the other women there, Halle. She turned and looked at him through her tears, then roughly scrubbed her face dry with her hands,
“Orlan you are ill?” She was the healer who Lyria had instructed and knew all the signs of a failing heart, his blue tinged lips and nose alarmed her greatly and she hurriedly supported the old priest.
“I will be alright child, we must hurry though; I need to get everyone on their way...” He coughed again, harsh and hacking attracting the attention of Finn who hurriedly came to his side.
Orlan turned to speak once more but a pain sharper than any before gripped him and his eyes closed, blackness engulfing him. His last thought was that he had failed and all would be lost.
Concerned cries came from the healers and Varon hurried to gently lift the old man; he was the only person there with the strength to lift him without causing further pain.
Halle indicated that he place him close to the fire, away from Lyria; she did not want the fey to be disturbed whilst trying to track the baby. Thadd hurried forwards with a folded blanket to use as a pillow.
His face was grave for if anything happened to Orlan then he would become the head of their order and there was still so much he did not know.
Lyria could hear them but was still in the link and was unable to go and help her old friend. She brought her attention back to the link, noting that the creature was injured, she had to communicate with the soldiers, she needed them to keep him prisoner until she could get there.
“Terrill...Do you know the names of any of the men there..? Would they respond to me if I spoke to them..?” She sent the mental question to the Mage and he studied the scene carefully before answering,
“General Creed is there, he has always seemed to be a most reasonable man and I have often wondered why he served the Warlord.” Lyria absorbed his words before concentrating on the figure Terrill indicated; she reached out with her mind first and tried to link with him but he did not feel her mental nudge.
She then sent out a command to the others; hold the orb in place whilst she tried something even more daring. Rubbing her hands together until the palms grew warm, she blew in the centre for a few seconds, and then she continued to softly rub for a moment before opening her hands to reveal a perfectly formed ball of violet coloured flames.
She spoke the name of the General and the flame shot up and out of the hole at an impossible speed to materialise mere minutes later in front of the men who were still circling the creature.
As it reached its destination, the ones in the link were surprised to hear the creature’s words as it addressed the soldiers,
“Traitors appear to abound on this world. You can be sure that he will find a special way to kill you, the Mage known as Terrill and the worst traitor of all, his champion, Geron.”
Creed was about to respond to the creatures veiled threats when a strange ball of violet flame dropped out of the sky and hovered for a few seconds in front of him before an exotically accented female voice spoke to him,
“I have been told General Creed that you are an honourable man and that you may be amenable to helping my people...You seem to have been trying to rescue my nephew...Can I trust you..?”
The General and his men looked around to make sure no trick was being played on them before he answered, there was no-where for anyone to hide as the land was flat and open with very few trees where they were,
“I believe that I am an honourable man, although, since coming to this world I have made enough tragic mistakes to doubt myself. I trust that I am now getting back on track though...May I ask who has been speaking to you of me?”
Lyria was listening intently to him, now she was in contact she could read his hidden thoughts and feelings; she found something tucked away in a dark corner and smiled before continuing,
“You have come to an important crossroads with your life Iattu, what you do from today will influence you for the rest of your life.”
“How did you know..? I have told no-one of that name in years,” the General was stunned when she called him the childhood name his mother had always used,
“Iattu, I know many things. Your mother used to talk to you about the various crossroads in your life; left or right; fight or cede. This could be the biggest crossroad you have ever faced...Tell me Iattu...I need to know ...Can trust you not to harm anymore of my people?”
Lyria could feel her link wavering, Mikel was ill, becoming feverish, his strength failing; Nera was spent, grieving, she believed her son was lost forever, Lyta was in great pain, only her love and faith in Lyria keeping her on her feet,
“I swear on my mother’s grave that you can trust me...Does that help you lady..?” Creed was intrigued by the mysterious disembodied voice and wanted the conversation to continue,
“Thank you Iattu, wait there please,” she knew her next action would infuriate everyone in the cave, particularly Geron who had not left her side since they arrived in the caverns.
Terrill suddenly guessed what she was going to do and opened his eyes to protest a second too late; grasping the orb in both hands she vanished instantly from the cave.
“Lyria no..!” Terrills voice was the first to be heard then Geron was there roughly holding his arm,
“What happened..? Where did she go..?” He turned to look at the others and bit back a distressed exclamation as Mikel suddenly collapsed into Darell and Nera’s arms a second before Lyta swayed towards him.
He scooped her up and was alarmed at the heat coming from her small frame, he was about to call for the healers when he saw they had their hands full with Orlan who was now laid on the floor, his face a shade of grey that he had only ever seen on a corpse before.
Motioning to Akhri to bring him some water he tried to get her to drink something through her dry cracked lips,
“Where has she gone Terrill..? We need her here,” he looked at the Mage and Terrill shrugged,
“I had not realised how far her powers went. She remembered the translocation spell I used to get us here...She has gone to Creed; as they are not too far away it was only a small hop...They believe they have the creature contained, she wants some venom, she had to go there if you think about it logically.”
Lyta moaned softly, attracting their attention; Geron once more tried to trickle some of the cool water down her throat, she coughed and choked but managed to keep it down. Encouraged by his success he dipped a clean scrap of blanket in the water and wiped her hot hands and face, careful not to touch where the reddened, blistered skin was.
Further in the caves Thadd was shouting at the two distraught healers, they knew Lyria had other methods and medicines but didn’t know what they were, and were afraid to tamper with things they knew nothing about.
“He cannot die ..! We still need him... Finn, Halle you must do everything you possibly can to keep Orlan alive until Lyria returns. If he dies then all we have been through is for nothing.”
Terrill‘s attention was caught and excusing himself moved forward; he reached Banya and after listening to the argument for a while, nudged the youth on his arm,
“If you believe you have the strength you can save him...You have the gifts I gave you.”
The youth was puzzled, he would have given his life to help any of them if someone asked him, but he did not know how to help Orlan and he said so.
Terrill gripped his hands warming them in his own, before motioning to the gravely ill priest,
“You must be in physical contact with him, you have to touch him, hold him...You will feel his spirit trying to leave...You cannot allow that or he will die...Once you are in contact with him, your spirits will, for a short time be combined; you must force him to return to us for if he surrenders to the summons of death while you are with him, he will take you with him.”
He talked to the youth who knelt on the floor by Orlan’s head; his first tentative move was to stroke the long white strands of hair away from his face. As he ran his hands over his temples and down to his neck, Banya felt a small tickle start at the base of his spine.
Placing his hands over Orlan’s, he lifted them and crossed them over his chest; then once again massaged the old priest’s neck and temples. He could clearly see what Terrill was describing; soft, golden yellow tendrils escaping from the old priest twisting towards the sky.
Finn drew Halle towards him, making room for the youth to work; he was filled with a sudden surge of pride, this made the third time that his nephew had given a portion of himself for all their sakes.
Every time Banya saw a piece detach and try to leave, he gently grasped it, stroking it, before he could turn it back upon itself to be re-absorbed into the old man’s body.
Slowly he managed to stop each broken piece from leaving; he continued to massage and was soon rewarded as they rejoined, sinking back into the still body laid beneath his hands; a flush of colour returned to the priest’s face and his chest was seen to move jerkily as he took first one deep breath, then scant seconds later another, and another.
“I like you too Banya but, is there a reason for you to be rubbing the skin off my face and neck?” When Orlan spoke he startled every person there and they all laughed nervously.
Banya smiled serenely and gave one last rub on the old man’s chest before helping him to sit up slightly, pushing a pillow underneath his head,
“It seemed like a good idea at the time sir,” he held Orlan’s hands and allowed his thumbs to brush the pulse points in both wrists before ceasing his ministrations.
“I don’t know what has happened but I believe I may be indebted to you young man...Again...I will not forget how you have served us today.”
Banya gently pressed the back of his hand in acknowledgement before standing and stretching his cramped muscles.
Geron was struck with the idea he may be able to help Lyta and called the youth over to him; the tiny girl was worse and he was deathly concerned for her.
His eyes kept flicking to the open hole where fading daylight still came into the cavern; he wanted to leave and search for Lyria, she should be here tending to her child and not...
The anxiety of not knowing where Lyria was burnt deep inside his brain; she was the reason he had abandoned everything he had ever worked for and if something were to happen to her he didn’t know how he would cope.
“Friend Geron, how may I help you?” Banya was still slightly frightened of the man seated in front of him; he forced his knees to lock and hold himself erect refusing to allow the man who when standing, dwarfed him, see his fear.
“It is Lyta, I believe she is gravely ill...The venom...Can you help her?”
Geron found he had become tongue-tied around the youth; the eyes given him by Terrill were most unnerving as they showed no emotion; his added guilt over his lack of action when they had first arrived was another major factor with his inability to string together a cohesive sentence.
Banya dropped to his knees beside them and risked touching her, exclaiming at the heat of her head and hands; he held his hand over her forehead then stroked it over her hot cheeks before resting it above her heart for many beats; he pulled his hand back and looked down into his palm before lifting his head and speaking directly to Geron,
“My Lord ...She will not die...That is not what is happening to her...I see her...She is transforming into another creature such as the one that caused all of this...”
Although his eyes showed no emotion, the horror in his voice was evident to everyone; Matha raised his head from tending to Denon; Nera took an involuntary step away from Mikel, both injured men were in a worse condition than Lyta as they had absorbed more of the venom into their systems.
***
Lyria appeared at Creed’s side in a flash of bright light, startling both the soldiers and their horses with her sudden arrival. The creature, Kensis could clearly see her with his remaining eye, it inhaled deeply trying to identify her; her scent triggered something left in the recesses of its mind by the Warlord and it felt a sudden sense of fear.
The orb was now cupped between her small hands and she allowed its light to dim, letting the men see her. A smile crossed across her delicate features and Creed found himself bowing low from his saddle.
“Iattu..?” Lyria spoke his name as a query and he nodded as he spoke,
“I was once known by that childhood name yes; until today I have not heard it spoken for many years. And you are..?” He pointedly asked the question; she looked at him before dipping her head,
“I am Lyria...You do not need to know more at this time...I wish to thank you for trying to save my nephew...I...We...We saw how hard you fought and the sacrifices your men made,” her voice choked with unshed tears and she offered them all a sorrowed smile.
“Mistress Lyria, my men and I only wish we had done more...We have made some bad choices since we arrived and can only hope that our new ways will be more fruitful.”
Lyria moved past him until she stood just a few feet away from the creature; Benar reached his hand to her, he grasped her elbow, wanting to pull her to safety; she touched his arm briefly, acknowledging his concern, before turning back and speaking to the creature,
“I know you...You were once known as the man Kensis..? Yes..?”
She watched as it moved its head, turning until it could focus its good eye on her; hiding the revulsion she felt as the sickly, metallic odour of fresh blood reached her,
“This body was once known by that name,” as he spoke blood still oozed from his damaged eye socket, trickling down his face to drip on the ground before him.
A wave of pity filled Lyria as she looked into his mind and saw who he had once been, a kind fair man, who would never have dreamt of committing the atrocities encouraged by Azhmel since he had transformed him.
“If you allow me I can stop this bleeding and remove your pain..?”
She made him the offer and he snarled angrily at her, baring his fangs, which glistened wetly under the dying rays of the sun,
“Come closer to me and I will kill you...My Lord told me of your kind...You are one of the ‘Unworthy’...You left his ancestor, the great God Gul to die...”
Lyria shook her head sadly; she remembered Azhmel’s reaction when he had first seen her in her small cottage back in Durrh. He had instinctively recognised some small part of her as one of the ancient enemies; now she could sense that the Warlord had planted this information in the creature’s mind,
“I did no such thing, Kensis, how could I...That was thousands of years ago..? Azhmel is mistaken.”
Kensis growled at the confusion her words brought to him; she carefully watched as once again he threatened her by showing his fangs, venom openly dripped from them, running down his chest.
An idea came to her and she suddenly raised the orb, releasing her controls and allowed it flash into his remaining eye, blinding him; he fell back disoriented, unaware of her taking a sharp blade from the pocket of her robe, and scraping it down his chest, getting her precious venom samples.
Creed was puzzled and watched her carefully as she offered him the handle of the knife to hold for her; she had not threatened him in any way so he was going to allow her leeway until she could explain what she was doing.
Once the sample was held safely in the General’s hand Lyria turned back to Kensis,
“I cannot leave you here like this; you are too dangerous to the people of my world...All the people, mine and your own...While you continue to serve the Warlord in this way you would take many lives, destroying everything which is kind and pure; in all good conscience I will not, I cannot allow that to happen.”
He shook his head at her words, a strange expression crossing his face,
“It does not matter what happens to me. There are many others to take my place...They already come towards us...My Lord did not abandon me...”
Lifting his arm he pointed with one sharp bloodstained talon; to their horror in the far distance they saw a large grey patch filling the horizon, with flying creatures such as him.
He was now confident that his rescuers would arrive before the Unworthy woman could take any other action; he grinned at the people stood watching him; the equivalent of a smile, he would make sure he fed on them first.
Lyria knew she would have to work quickly; before Kensis could react she had reached out with the orb and touched him firmly in the centre of his torso calling aloud,
“Vara tel’ Seldarine...Neuma en’ templa...Yalla ona...Entulla tuulo’i’ba...”
She swiftly stepped away from him and motioned the soldiers to stand behind her; the creature tried to move but found his arms were too heavy, his vocal chords were paralysed, slowly the vision faded from his single remaining eye and he ceased to live.
Creed held his breath for long minutes, the blade in his hand steady as he watched what the small woman had done to the large creature.
“My God woman, what did you say..?” Benar looked at her warily as he spoke,
“Protect us your children from this Ancient evil...Contain it in a trap of magick...Paralyse for all eternity...Until the day of the resurrection and he can be reborn.”
She softly gave them the translation of her words, hoping that she would be able to return in the future and watch the final part of her prayer happen.
“This creature was no longer a man; once Azhmel changed him he lost everything he had ever been... I encouraged his body to return to the basic elements we are all made of.”
Stepping forward she rested her hand on the arm of the stone statue which once was Kensis,
“He will stand here as a memory to the men who sacrificed their lives here. I can only hope that we will find the strength to defeat Azhmel before he destroys this world...”
With a last look at the figure she resolutely turned her back on it; the cloud he had pointed out was drawing nearer and she wanted them to be as far away as possible before they arrived.
“Gentlemen...Will you place your trust in me..? The venom on this knife is crucial to helping those of my people who were injured by him...I must take it to them...Would you accompany me?”
They looked around and shrugged; better to go with her than face an army of creatures like Kensis, one by one nodded their agreement; she carefully arranged them in a semi-circle around her,
“Can you control your beasts..? If they run amok then things could get very bad. Iattu...Whatever happens you must not get any of THAT on you and you must keep hold of the knife it is very important.”
Another hasty glance over her shoulder at the approaching cloud and she softly chanted the translocation spell she had learnt from Terrill. A surge of power flowed through the orb; a dull thud and a flash of light and they staggered as they rematerialised in the small grove of trees above the opening to the cavern.
Humming happily to herself Lyria briskly picked her way to the edge of the opening and looked down, trying to view the ones she knew were inside. Behind her she heard the men fastening their horses to low branches.
“Hello down there in the cave,” she called out and was rewarded by people rushing to look up at her; Geron moved into sight and she noticed the angry expression on his face, one she had not seen aimed at her before.
“Can you clear the centre for me to come down?” Creed and Benar had joined her and were looking at the drop; they had ropes tied on their saddles but were unsure they would be long enough to lower her down. Lyria reached and took her knife from Creed, smiling her thanks.
Cupping his hands around his mouth Varon called loudly up to her that all was safe then he moved back, holding Geron out of the way. Lyria didn’t hesitate and stepped straight off the edge.
“NO!” The soldiers surged forwards trying to catch or stop her but it was too late. To their amazement instead of dropping like a stone she slowly floated in a large circle; they were uncertain as to whether it was a trick of the faint light; she appeared to be covered by two large feathered wings which were a delicate silvery white.
Landing lightly on her feet, she tilted her head back and called up to them that they were to stay there; she would try and arrange another way down for them very soon.
Turning around she found her face buried in Geron’s abdomen as he had stepped near to her; she took a sudden step back and found him looming over her, his face set in rigid lines,
“Don’t you ever, EVER do anything like that again...Wherever you go I go...Is that clear..?” She began to laugh but found herself nervously swallowing at his unchanging expression,
“Geron I was perfectly safe...” He grabbed her shoulders and shook her once,
“Is it clear Lyria..?” He scowled at her and she nodded briefly, much as Lyta would have done when she misbehaved.
Reaching out he lifted her chin and stared into her eyes trying to let her know without words, how helpless he had felt; he stroked his thumb along her delicate jawbone and with a sudden flash of insight Lyria realised that she had met someone who would defend her forever without asking for anything in return.
A lesser man than Geron would not have risked everything he had worked for; strived for, without some form of assurance from her. All he wanted was to keep her safe, and now he was bonded to her in a way neither of them understood.
He felt helpless in a way he had never known before and it was unnerving him; without her at his side he would become nothing, less than nothing and he was frightened.
Reaching both hands up she rested them on his chest, allowing herself to feel the steady beat of his heart,
“I promise I will never leave you like this again. Forgive me, I did not mean to cause you worry.” He lowered his head and brushed a soft kiss across her forehead,
“I don’t know how I would manage without you, I have never felt like this before and I...” he was relieved when she covered his mouth with her small hand, stopping the words he was still unsure of voicing.
“I know Geron, I do know. We will talk and then...For now will you just be there for me? I need this from you...You have become my strong right arm and without you then I too have fears...”
Her voice trailed away and he found himself nodding once more in agreement; he kissed the palm of her hand and folded her fingers into his,
“We need more time; there isn’t enough time...Even now there isn’t...” his mouth tightened; he blurted more bad news to her,
“Lyta is desperately ill...As are Mikel and Denon...It is the venom...They are changing, becoming like the creature that sprayed...”Before he could finish she pushed him away and sped to where her daughter lay.
Banya knelt on one side of her, his face desperately weary, old beyond his years he was fighting to keep tears at bay; Darell was cross legged at the other side of her, his fingers rested on his knees and his eyes were closed as if meditating; he was mind linked with the girl, trying to ease her fears.
Lyria hesitated before lifting the matted hair away from the injured area on her daughters head; biting her lips she saw the thick grey scales had started forming there; looking at the tiny hands which lay on top of the blankets she saw the same smaller scales running across her knuckles and down her fingers.
Backing away in distress, she raised a hand to her cheek; she turned to look where her brother lay, Nera held her daughter tightly to her with one hand whilst holding Mikel with the other.
Her eyes were closed like Darell and Lyria knew that she too mind linked with him in the same manner the youth was with her daughter.
Moving closer she could see most of Mikel’s face was covered with even larger, thicker scales than those on Lyta; moaning softly she turned again, this time to face the young Mage who she had operated on and every vestige of colour leeched from her face.
Denon had received most of the venom and already he looked like Kensis; his head and face were totally covered with scales. Terrill sat by him holding the strange medallion he had given the youth only a few days earlier; he was the only person who could talk with his student like this.
Absently she noticed a blanket had been torn into strips and the youth was firmly tied to prevent him from rising,
“Who ordered that?” Her voice was flat, outraged as she pointed to the ties and Terrill opened his eyes, relieved she had returned.
“I did. He was becoming violent and we could not risk more injuries.” She had to accept his explanation even though she didn’t like the bonds.
“I have the venom here...Quickly Halle, Finn...We must find a way to reverse this...this abomination.” She called everyone to her and looked around for Orlan.
His seat was empty; she froze for a moment then looked over to the fire and saw where her old friend had been taken,
“Orlan...Oh no, not you too,” the despair in her voice reached him and he opened his eyes and grinned impishly at her,
“You cannot get rid of me that easily...I am still with you thanks to young Banya. If you have some of your other medicine then I shall be as right as rain momentarily.”
He made as if to sit up but Finn reached over and pressed him back down, tsking as he noticed the renewed flash of high colour flare on the old man’s cheekbones.
Lyria rushed over to him, pausing for a second to pass her knife to Thadd and warning him to be careful; before falling to her knees, her eyes shimmering with the sheen of unshed tears,
“Dear one, I have neglected you...I am sorry...You have done far too much...I should not have expected you to do so much.” She picked his hand up and rubbed it against her cheek.
Looking around she saw her basket ready for her and nodded silent thanks to her friends for being do thoughtful. Rifling through the packets she put mixed pinches of pungent herbs in a small cup then plucked a strange shaped phial out of the air and held it up to the light examining the contents.
While she worked Geron went with Varon to examine the opening to the caverns; instead of bringing even more people down they were anxious to be outside, prepared to leave on their journeys with only a moment’s notice.
Finn and Halle crowded close to Lyria, both eager to learn more of her craft; as neither of them could use magick they had to rely on traditional remedies of herbs and spices.
“What is in the phial?” Finn breathed the question softly, not wanting to startle her as she carefully measured her ingredients.
“Ground leaves from the Witches Thimble plant,” Lyria ignored their concerned gasps before she continued,
“I used an exact amount and the medicine can only be administered thrice before it becomes dangerous to my patient. This will be Orlan’s third treatment, after today he cannot have any more or it will do him more harm than good.”
Pouring hot water over the remaining ingredients she swirled the cup round until everything was thoroughly mixed. Motioning to Finn she allowed him to lift Orlan up while she held it to his mouth and forced him to drink every drop.
Shuddering and grimacing at the bitter taste the old priest pulled awful faces as he lay down again,
“I thought you were going to sweeten it this time. I have never tasted anything so disgusting,” he raised the sleeve of his robe and scrubbed it over his tongue to emphasize how he felt.
“Don’t be such a baby, it was not that bad,” Lyria laughed as she turned away and hung her kettle over the flames,
“No you would say that...I bet you never tasted it.” The old man grumbled good-naturedly as he watched her preparations.
“Why would I want to taste your medicine Orlan..? I’m not ill...”
Lyria laughed as she arranged a row of tiny jars in front of her, before turning to Thadd and taking the knife from him. He took a deep breath as he relinquished it, relieved to get it away from him.
“What are you about now?” Orlan had not seen the devastating aftermath of Kensis’ attack which had laid three of their company low.
“I need to make a cure for the others, Lyta, Mikel and Denon. This is some of the venom from the creature. If I do not then...then...” She looked across the cave unable to form any more words.
Orlan stretched out his hand and patted her shoulder,
“I have seen you do the impossible before dear girl. If anyone can save them then it is you.” His confidence in her was complete and unwavering; she looked at him and nodded once, in agreement.
“We must believe that Orlan, to doubt myself now is the worst thing I could possibly do. So...Where to begin eh..?”
Instructing Halle and Finn to follow her instructions to the letter she gave them both a two small cups and a tiny sharp knife, holding hers she made her way to Denon the worst of the three. Finn moved to Mikel whilst Halle knelt by Lyta’s side.
“I need you to scrape some of the scales into the cup as well as scrapings of their undamaged skin. Make sure you cleanse your blade after doing one scraping; I do not want to contaminate the other samples.”
Back at the fire she carefully mixed minute amounts of the venom in various cups with all her different powders, chanting healing spells, added a small amount of the skin scrapings and waited.
Within minutes she was pulling a disappointed face as the potions failed to reverse the transformations. Burning the first attempts, she carefully washed her cups out and they began again.
Terrill had watched her working for a while then beckoned to Matha; the student could sit with his friend, Denon had ceased to respond to his mental queries and he needed to be useful.
He moved to help Geron begin to empty the caverns; his orb was once more in his hands and he quickly translocated the wagon and horses outside of the cave with the wagoneer Farl happily accompanying him.
Both horses had whinnied excitedly at the scent of fresh air and the sight of lush green grass; Creed and his men had half drawn their swords in amazement when the wagon materialised before them.
Farl had jumped down and his simple relief at being outdoors again had helped to break the ice amongst them.
“Blurry hell lads, what a relief to be out here; if I ever have to go into another dark room it will be too blurry soon. I never thought I would miss the open air so much,” he took a deep breath and grinned,
“By God and no stink of ‘orse shit in the air either. I wuz beginnin’ to think that’s all we wuz ever gonna smell again.”
The soldiers were happy to see he still had some of his food supplies and willingly began foraging for dried branches to make him a cooking fire.
The next trip saw Terrill bring Anjii, Harry, Hoppy and Akhri with the priests who had lapsed into shocked silence in the cave. When they saw the group of soldiers, they had cried out in fear, clutching each other as they awaited a killing blow from their swords.
Benar showed his new, softer side to them; helping them to sit on fallen logs arranged for their comfort near the fire. Farl chatted happily and made strong tea for them all while he prepared a batch of mealie bread from the large sack of ground maize he unearthed from the back of his wagon.
He cast a quick look into their grey, tired, frightened faces then dropped a large sack of potatoes in front of them and they were soon peeling them to add into a thick, warming stew.
Farl understood the importance of keeping busy, it kept fear at bay and these poor old sods needed the distraction more than any of the others.
Most of the native people were by now on the surface, Terrill knew it was time to bring the rest of his students and Geron up; they needed to speak with Creed; from what Lyria had said and done, he was confident the man could be trusted and once more there were plans to be made.
Inside the cavern he heard disappointed groans from the healers as once again Lyria’s experiments failed to find a cure; he was tempted to stay and observe but knew it was just his cowardice rising to the surface.
Creed had not recognised him as the Mage; once he took the rest of the others up he would have to reveal who he was. Terrill feared that they were likely to believe that his magickal skills would prove he could have taken them home straight away.
He still did not know how to get them home but doubted they would believe him. Looking around he saw Beal, Klee and Varon were ready to leave, their meagre belongings held tightly; Matha had already refused to leave Denon and was seated holding a damp cloth to his friends head.
Jonah stood with Rikh, both had wanted to remain but Terrill thought they would be better out of the way; he had heard how Lyria had dealt with the creature which attacked them and he feared that this would be the only way to deal with Denon.
Geron moved to his side and rested his hand on his shoulder, the warmth coming from him an unexpected comfort.
“We cannot hide down here any longer. Creed needs to know we are here. Lyria needs space to work; I do not believe things here are going to improve. We had better prepare for all eventualities.”
Terrill stood for a moment longer, feeling the growing unease in Geron; if Lyria could not heal these people then how would she cope with the loss of her only child?
The orb flashed once more and the last group to leave the cavern stood there. Creed had been closely watching as they slowly drifted around the camp, looking for a place to rest their aching bodies; he spied the tall champion almost immediately.
With Benar by his side he made his way to stand in front of the Warlord’s former servant and waited. Geron had always been the Warlord’s man; was he here, now to help these people or, was it a ruse perpetrated by Azhmel?
Geron didn’t wait for them to speak but extended both his open hands to show he was not hiding a weapon.
“Welcome General, Sergeant...I thank you for helping Lyria,” his words were stilted but the honest meaning came through and Creed relaxed slightly,
“Thank you Geron...The Lady Lyria is, I think, very special. We were happy to offer her any assistance we could.”
Creed was burning with hundreds of questions; the main one, why was Geron here, hovered on his lips. As he opened his mouth to ask the odd looking, small man in the pure white robes, holding the glowing orb, came and stood with them.
“General, it is good to see you again sir,” Terrill decided to speak first and test Creed’s reactions,
“I do believe you have me at a disadvantage. I have never met you before,” the General frowned and stooped slightly to study the man in front of him.
“I beg to differ sit, you spoke with me on a number of occasions; you know me as Mage Terrill.” As he finished Terrill once more cloaked himself in the spell he had used for many years, growing taller, his skin darkened and his eyes returned to the jet black orbs which had discomfited most men.
“My God...You...You..!” Benar was the first to try speaking; his voice caught in his throat for a second before his arm shot out and grabbed the Mage by his throat,
“Have you lied to us for a week..? Could you have taken us home..? By God Mage you had better start explaining yourself and rapidly,” his breath was coming in short gasps as he fought to control his temper.
Geron placed a strong hand on his and peeled his fingers away,
“Relax Benar...Release him...Terrill could not take us home, he is our friend and we need him more now than ever before. Have you seen what our dear lord and master, the high and mighty High Warlord, Azhmel has turned into? My God, all these years and we served an inhuman monster.”
“Come and sit, we have much to discuss. I hope once you hear everything that happened you will agree to join with us. We need good men like you on our side.”
He turned his back deliberately and led Terrill away; as they walked the Mage allowed the spell to bleed from him. Benar stood watching them; he chewed on a ragged thumb nail hiding his discussion with the General.
“Well sir..? Do we trust them or do we jump on our horses and take our chances with the Warlord? If we take the Mage with us it would go a long way to covering our backs with any indiscretions we made.”
Catching him by the shoulder and pulling him forward Creed gave a snort,
“No Benar, that option does not exist for us any longer...Listen, we did the right thing today and I really think we are better off throwing our lot in with these people, they apparently have the good will of their Old Ones and they are the only way we get to go home.”
“I agree with you sir, but I thought I should ask, just in case y’know.” He grinned at the General, before continuing
“We have never trusted anyone before so it’s a new thing for both of us. Allow me to just keep a watchful eye on the Mage...He...He is really making my skin crawl at the present...I have never trusted had a reason to trust any Mage before so...”
Creed nipped his top lip between his teeth then slowly agreed,
“Be careful Benar, I don’t want to frighten him so he would refuse to help us...If things are as they seem then we will all need to stand side by side to get through this.”
Everyone was seated around the fire now and Terrill was frowning as he listened to the soldiers describing the cloud of grey creatures which Kensis had thought were coming to his rescue.
The company was exposed now they were out in the open; he did not like it and was wondering how to protect them all when Harry came up to him. They had not talked to each other directly and both were slightly wary of the other, nevertheless Harry would have laid his life down for Terrill in an instant.
Terrill was fey and as far as Harry was concerned that was enough for his total devotion; he had rescued Lyria, and worked tirelessly to help everyone since he joined them.
“Master Terrill, I don’t wish to step beyond what is right but might I ask if you will be placing the tine`chor around us for the night? My son is here and with all the trouble earlier...”
Terrill translated the word in his mind, a shield; he knew of a fire shield but did not believe this was what Harry was referring to.
“I fear I will lose your respect if I confess I do not know what sort of shield you want Harry; my magick and that of Orlan and Lyria are not quite the same you know,” he kept his voice low, apologising to the man,
“No problem there Master, young Thadd knows how to perform it. Seems to me it’s about time that boy did something to earn his keep.”
His soft burr was heard by all and laughter followed his small joke, Thadd was another who had worked tirelessly to see to everyone’s needs since they had taken up refuge in the caverns.
“I will return and speak with him then, thank you Harry.” Terrill made to bring his orb up but Harry placed a hand on his arm, holding him in place for a moment; lowering his voice he continued,
“Perhaps you ought to take this General down and let him have a look at our Generals. We may be a bit battered and worn but there is still some fight in us and I think he needs to be made aware of it.”
The Mage looked at him and pondered his words, Creed valued signs of strength and the people below were showing no signs of strength at present. Harry could see the doubt in his face and urged him to consider the suggestion; Terrill argued again,
“Lyria doesn’t need the distraction at this moment...Look at the difficulties she is facing with her cure,” he was shaking his head to refuse when Harry sighed,
“Master Terrill, I know you think you are helping us by keeping him away from the others but he needs to know how hard we will fight for our people.”
“They are trained soldiers and believe we will run and hide before any further battles take place, leaving them to do our fighting for us. I have been listening to his men for the past hour and they consider us as next to useless.”
Sighing his defeat Terrill knew Harry was in the right; these invaders respected strength above all else and the people in the cavern had more strength than he had ever seen before.
“General Creed...” He called out and attracted his attention,
“Would you care to accompany me into the cavern below so that I mat check on Lyria’s progress with devising her cure?”
He was surprised when not only the General hastened towards him but his Sergeant Benar and Geron; all three men had grimly determined expressions which precluded his arguing with them.
Casting a doleful look at Harry he began his chant and moments later they were in the cavern. No-one came to meet them and looking around he saw they were all, except for the three patients, clustered around Lyria.
“You are certain that this is the only way?” They heard a man’s voice ask the question and then Lyria appeared moving towards them,
“You all saw the results; three times I did the experiment...Yes...This is the only way to cure them fully.”
She stopped in the centre of the cave when she saw the visitors and raised a querying brow. Geron moved past them and clasped her hand causing Creed and Benar to exchange confused looks; the Warlords champion was renowned for his celibate lifestyle, for Lyria to get his attention, she must be a particularly special woman.
“You found a cure for the venom?” Geron queried softly and she shrugged sadly,
“Yes...It is not as I wanted but it is the only way they will live.” Her voice broke on the last word and she buried her face in Geron’s chest silently sobbing,
“What is it..? Why is she so upset..?” Terrill came forward then and looked at Matha who had moved out to meet him.
“They have to drink her noxious potion to kill the venom inside them but...To kill the outside venom which is doing the most damage they have to go through her fire.”
“I don’t understand any of this,” Benar complained to Creed,
“How can they go through a fire, unless they mean like the fire walkers we saw...”
He broke off speaking when a very old man moved forwards, supported on either side by two men, one of which had the strangest eyes he had ever seen before.
“Lyria has worked so hard to find this cure...It will save them all but, both Denon and Lyta may never be able to go near a fire or a naked flame again after they have taken the cure.”
The old man’s explanation meant nothing to them and he sighed wearily,
“You will see what I mean shortly. We have to move quickly before it is too late for young Denon,” he gestured with his arm and they all saw his face and shoulders were totally transformed and his resemblance to Kensis was uncanny.
“Terrill will you return to the surface, taking us with you..? I am afraid my strength is not quite sufficient yet.”
“Of course Orlan, I am most happy to help,” Terrill spoke the old priests name and Benar hissed under his breath, causing everyone to look at him in concern.
“Sorry but we spent a considerable amount of time searching for you, it was a shock to hear your name.” He held his hands up placating and took a step behind Creed, trying to hide from the embarrassment he felt.
A moment later he surged forwards and gripped Jonah by the arms, laughing to see him in the cave,
“Boy I thought the Undead had got you! I am glad you survived that hellhole; you must tell me how you escaped through a locked and barred door?” He was talking excitedly, more pleased than he expected by the sight of the young man who he had grown much attached to.
Geron helped to carry Denon over to the bed formerly occupied by Orlan, then he carried Mikel and propped him near to the wall, finally he scooped Lyta up and carried her in one arm across to the fire where Lyria stood.
She had stopped crying but the profound sadness in her face tore at his heart and after carefully placing the child on the floor he went to her and drew her into his arms.
“Tell me what will happen..?” He needed to understand why Lyria was so distressed with her cure,
“Oh Geron, you have not been here long enough to understand our ways but, you remember the fire ceremony at the beach, and the fire we had when Mikel and Nera arrived..?”
At his nod she moved to the fire which burnt in the cave now,
“Different fires are used for different things. I was able to protect Darell and revive him in that fire as it was to deliver the dead...Darell was kept close to death by whatever means...I don’t know...Anyway my fire cleansed him of the poison and he recovered.”
“This fire will do the virtually the same thing; Mikel should be fine as he is an adult fey; Lyta though...She is a feyhrine, a child...She has not yet reached puberty and the flames will attack her mind, burning it in ways you cannot possibly imagine.”
“The same may happen to Denon...He has some magick in him which could help but if he does not realise what is happening then the fire will destroy him. He would never be able to go near a fire again for the rest of his life.”
“Can I help..?” He wanted to remove the forlorn expression from her face, take away the worry, anything to bring back her happiness.
“No...But...Thank you for being here, I...Geron, I don’t know what I will do if something goes wrong with...” her voice broke and she fell silent before adding with some determination,
“I have never lost a patient and I do not plan to start now. I need a moment with Terrill then we will begin.”
Geron watched as she moved away; then looked around for Creed who had ventured to go to the opening of the inner chamber.
“You can go inside sir,” he moved forward and encouraged the General to enter, behind them Benar hesitated, he didn’t know whether to follow or stay and the decision was taken from him when Jonah came and stood at his side.
“These are good people Sergeant, you are allowed to drop your guard and trust someone once in a while you know.”
Benar dropped his gaze to the floor then looked around the chamber before finishing on the youth,
“I find it hard to trust anyone or anything I don’t understand and I certainly don’t understand these people. I thought I knew who I was and what I was doing and since I came here everything is so confusing...”
He sighed deeply and Jonah leaned towards him holding his arm, speaking softly,
“We all feel that way Sergeant...Our worlds have been turned inside out too you know...”
“Mage Gwinn is the one who should be blamed for all our misfortunes. After him then, the High Warlord... If Azhmel had not been so fast with his knife things might be different now.”
“Tell me something Jonah, can he...Terrill...Can he get us home?” The longing on the sergeant’s face touched the younger man; he remembered that Benar had mentioned he had a small son and wondered if he would feel the same if he was in Benar’s shoes.
“Today, now? No he can’t. I believe him implicitly when he says that, but, next week or next month may be different. We are just scratching the surface here you know.”
He looked over at Lyria, who was gesticulating to Orlan and Terrill,
“If you feel the need to watch someone then she is the one to watch Benar. I have never, ever met anyone like her. Everyone here would die for her in an instant. If she tells you to jump you don’t wait and ask how high, you just jump as you know she will catch you.”
Benar raised his eyebrows at the utter conviction coming from Jonah; he was already half frightened of the small woman as he had watched her efficiency in dealing with Azhmel’s creature.
“So be it then Lyria,” Orlan spoke attracting their attention, whatever had been decided they would soon find out.
In the inner chamber Creed had looked at the large creatures etched into the wall; he came to the one of the Dhrake and stood underneath closely studying it.
“Damn it is true, all of it...I couldn’t bring myself to believe what that book said but, after seeing this picture and the battle we had...Who would have believed Azhmel could be one of these...”
He looked over his shoulder at Geron as he spoke; he wanted to hear the rest of the story of how both he and Terrill came to be here with these people. Before he could ask him, a young native male entered the cave and made his way to join them.
“Hello General, I am Thadd...If you find you need anything, I will be happy to oblige you...Can you both come now? Lyria is almost ready and we need you to go back up top.”
Terrill had everyone except Lyria, Banya and Nera with him; deep frowns were on both his face and Orlan’s and Geron knew they were unhappy with whatever Lyria had decided to do.
“You will do as I ask?” She spoke softly and Orlan after one last lingering look at the three injured people sighed heavily before giving his agreement.
Creed and Geron joined Terrill and moments later were once more on the surface with the others. Thadd quickly fetched Harry and Varon and they marked out where a new fire was to be laid.
As they worked Geron made a point of going around their camp, ensuring the safety of everyone there. He had soon fallen into a routine of speaking with every person every day, from the highest to the smallest and Hoppy was anxiously waiting for him.
Akhri was sitting with his small friend on his knee and gave Geron a warning look as he drew near,
“Hello little man, and how are you tonight?” Geron reached out and ruffled the blonde curls, remembering another small boy who had broke through his armour such a short time ago.
Hoppy reached his arms up; Geron lifted him and was surprised when the youngster wrapped his arms around his neck before bursting into tears,
“Is Lyta gonna die..? I don’t want her to die...I love her, please don’ let her die...” The words were barely audible and Geron had to strain to decipher them through the noisy sobs,
“Why Hoppy lad, you know Lyria won’t let anything happen to Lyta...” He wasn’t sure how he could reassure the boy, Akhri had obviously spent some time with him and if his words had not done the trick, nothing would.
“Yebbut Miz Lyria is gonna be doin’ summat right dang’rous an’ if she don’ do is jus’ right then she could die too...I heard pappy Orlan tell Ter about it and I don’ want either of them to die,” he began sobbing hysterically again and Geron gripped him tightly, dropping soft kisses on the flushed cheek.
Anjii materialised and he could see she had been crying; prising Hoppy’s arms from his neck he made his way back to the where the old priest was seated. He dropped to one knee in front of him and Orlan sucked his top lip in before speaking,
“I’m sorry lad; she wouldn’t allow me to tell you how dangerous this will be for her. I tried to talk her out of it; if we lose her then I believe everything we did here today was for nothing...”
“What is she going to do..?” Geron forced the question through stiff lips, wanting to know but terrified of the answer.
“For Mikel things should be easy, Nera can come through the fire with him. He is an adult...Lyta is different... Lyria will enter the flames with her...Then she is going to try to awaken the beast which Terrill says is the other half of Lyta’s soul. She is going to awaken the dragon!”
In the cavern Lyria had finished her preparations, she looked at Banya and once again told him he did not have to go through the flames with Denon and he smiled and looked at her,
“I have to; you know there is only me to do it. Darell is not old enough and Terrill may be needed at the other side. I have these special gifts which Terrill says will save me, we have to trust that he knows what he is talking about.”
Wrapping her arms around him she hugged him tightly for one last time, then reached her hand to Nera and dropped a kiss on the pale cheek.
“You will go through with Mikel first Nera, Rikh and Matha have the baby and are waiting for you; I’ve no doubt by now they are very anxious for you to retrieve your little bundle of joy...” She grimaced as the tactlessness of her words came to her, there should have been two children, not one.
Nera seemed not to have noticed Lyria’s words, she was frightened, tired and in shock, and if this cure did not work she would lose her husband as well as her son.
“We have decided on a name for her,” Nera had stayed mind linked with Mikel for hours since the attack.
“Leyna for our daughter and although he is gone I would have called my beautiful boy Tarion.”
Lyria smiled through unshed tears, Leyna had been the name of her mother,
“Oh Nera, they are beautiful names. Who is Tarion named after?”
“My father’s father, he disappeared after a climbing accident just before my father was born. It seems a fitting name to give my son who has disappeared.”
Lyria’s smile faded at the unspoken accusation she thought Nera was making against her. Before she could respond she felt Darell speak in her mind and closed her eyes to listen to him,
“Can you hear me Lyria? You have to come through now or there will be trouble. Geron found out what you are going to do, he has tried to force Ter to bring him back down and we had to get Varon to hold him, even he is struggling to control him!”
Biting her lip Lyria knew she should have made more time to speak to Geron, it was too late now there was nothing else she could do about it.
“Tell Orlan or Thadd to speak the blessing, we are ready here. Thank you Darell.” His voice faded and she opened her eyes and hurried to the three cups she had prepared, passing one to Nera and one to Banya.
“Quickly Nera make sure Mikel has drunk this before you go through, Banya you will have to get as much as you possibly can down Denon’s throat. Beware of their fangs, they have venom too.”
Overhead Orlan had indicated for Thadd to speak the blessing; it was imperative that the younger man know this one above all others as without it they could not call for fey help.
Terrill had warned his students that they needed to listen to the words and Creed on hearing this gave a sideways nod to Benar who had pulled his pad from his pocket and was frantically scribbling the words down.
“I speak to the Guardians of the Flames; I seek a boon and your protection for the person wishing to cross your barriers.” The young priest took the pouch of powder and carefully sprinkled it into the flames.
The watchers who were unused to seeing elemental magick backed away from the flames which roared twenty feet into the air then receded to become a heatless, transparent sheet which stretched wide across the empty ground.
Geron had ceased to struggle; it was too late to stop Lyria, all he could do was pray that she was as good as everyone believed her to be. Varon felt the fight disappear and relaxed his grip, squeezing the broad shoulder once before stepping back.
In the cavern Lyria had followed Thadd’s words and sprinkled her pouch of powder at the same time, the flame had scorched the ceiling and was shimmering slightly under the light of the torches which still burned on the walls.
“Are you ready Nera?” When the other woman nodded, both Lyria and Banya struggled to lift Mikel and draw him close to the flame. Pulling his arm over her shoulder Nera stepped forward, staggering under her husband’s weight.
As they entered the flames Mikel stirred, lifting his head and opening his mouth, whether it was to cry out or not neither Lyria nor Banya could hear as they were now alone with only the laboured breathing of Denon and Lyta to be heard.
“Are you ready Banya?” Lyria held his hand tightly, she was going to send him through next, and Terrill would be ready with the orb for when they came through.
She tugged at the tightly bound figure of Denon, helping Banya to carry him over to the flame, licking his lips nervously Banya gave her one last glance before resolutely stepping forwards.
As Denon reached the flames he too stirred, this time the unearthly howl he gave came clearly through to Lyria and she hugged herself, hoping that Terrill had managed to perform his part.
Without giving herself time to think she picked Lyta up and carried her to the flames, pausing for a moment to examine the beautiful face once more, she kissed her softly on the cheek, and then stepped forwards.
The flames recognised her and stayed cool for a moment; Lyta stirred in her arms and began to open her eyes,
“Lyta you must listen to me very carefully. You are in the sacred flame. You must repeat this spell, it is very important, Lyta, we have to wake your dragon...Lyta can you hear me..? LYTA..!”
“Yalla onna dragghen, Yalla onna dragghen, Yalla onna dragghen!”
Lyta could hear her mother’s voice speaking, the voice was echoing in her head; she wanted her to do something, something important.
Lyria held them firmly in the flames; they could be seen by the people on the other side and she knew they were calling out her name. Lyta’s head hung backwards, the rest of her body was limp and unresponsive.
The flames only gave her a few minutes then they would send their tendrils deep into the girl’s brain and begin their destruction. She had to hurry.
“Lyta, little one, please, listen to me listen to your mamanee. Yalla onna dragghen Lyta, summon your inner dragon, darling please; say the words.”
Lyria could feel the flames interest as they recognised the unshielded mind she had brought with her; she knew that if Lyta did not speak the words then she would stay in the flames and allow them to consume them both.
Lyta opened her eyes and looked at her mother’s drawn face; she could feel the scales falling away from her hands and her head; lifting her hand she placed it on Lyria’s cheek and felt the heat beginning to burn her.
“Yalla onna dragghen...Yalla onna dragghen...Yalla onna dragghen...” She called the final word and found her body gripped tightly by an unseen force and she was torn from Lyria’s arms.
The fey woman fell from the flames and was quickly snatched up by Geron and taken to where Halle and Anjii had collected buckets and barrels of clean, ice-cold water which they poured over every inch of her, trying to cool her body quickly, putting out the small flames which had begun to burn through her robes.
Beside them two of Terrill’s mage students, Rikh and Jonah worked tirelessly filling the barrels and buckets with water, adding their mage crystals which turned the liquid into icy slivers.
Coughing and retching against the continuous stream of water being poured over her head and flowing up her nose and down her throat, she was turned over by gentle hands and the buckets were once more emptied over her.
“Mikel..?” She forced the word out and Geron looked across the camp to where the fey man was being tended by Nera and Finn,
“He will be fine, your cure for him worked better than I thought it would,”
“And Denon..? He is not fey...Did his magick help..?” Lyria fell into a paroxysm of coughing as smoke continued to fill her lungs.
“Denon is...Well he will live...Not as we expected but...It is marvellous, a miracle...You need to see...Thank you...” Matha spoke from behind her and she closed her eyes briefly; relieved that they were healed.
“Lyta... How is she now..?” Gasping against a surge of heat, she forced the words out; her eyes closed and she missed the pained expression which crossed Geron’s face.
He looked back to the fire where Banya and Darell stood waiting for a sign their friend was going to emerge; feeling his eyes upon them they returned his gaze; he saw the silvery sheen of tears on the young fey youth’s cheeks.
Lyria’s eyes were still closed and he wondered how he could tell her Lyta was still trapped in the flames; if Lyria was like this after just a couple of minutes extra exposure, what would Lyta be like when and if she ever emerged?
As the fey woman continued struggling to breathe, she was aware of huge amounts of smoke, trying to force its way through her nostrils, her eyes were dried and sore; the inside of her mouth cracked. She tried to speak and only gouts of smoke from her overheated body came forth.
“How is she..?” Various voices called out and she realised they were talking about her; forcing her eyes open she looked into Geron’s face and reached her hand out to him, he looked down at her and gripped it tightly, before bringing it up to his lips,
“She is still too hot...More ice water,” he spoke to someone behind her and the next instant a bucket of icy cold water was poured over her hair and another scooped over the rest of her body.
She pushed her hands on the saturated ground trying to sit up and was helped to sit forwards before yet another bucket of water cascaded down her back.
Geron lifted her feet and dumped them in a bucket; beckoning to Rikh he waited impatiently as the Mage came forward and sprinkled his powder on the top.
Ice crystals formed all over the surface; Rikh sprinkled more and more until most of the water was thick and slushy. Backing away he watched as the heat from her body rapidly began to melt it.
“We need a large barrel to do this quickly Geron, at present as fast as we make the ice she is melting it. Her core must have overheated; I don’t know how to cool her any faster.”
Another voice came from behind her, one she recognised; she looked up to see her younger brother holding Finn’s arm painfully walking towards her; his face had a few lingering scales but he was almost as he had been before.
The one thing marring her joy at his recovery was the sight of his empty sockets which were a reminder his eyes were totally lost.
“She must go back down into the chamber and walk through the flames again; that will put out the fires inside her.” His voice was urgent and he stretched his hand which Geron gripped tightly.
The tall man looked at Mikel doubtfully; he couldn’t see how that would help Lyria but he was prepared to try anything as he could see she was dying in front of them.
He reached and touched her arm; catching his breath as the heat coming from her burnt the palm of his hand, he pulled away and was dismayed to see the top layer of her skin stick to his hand.
“Lyria, can you walk?” He called to her and she raised her head to stare blankly at him, he grabbed the bucket held by Anjii and poured it over her head soaking her through, gasping she blinked and looked at his mouth as he spoke again,
“Lyria you must stand up and come with me,” he looked to Terrill anxiously and the fey Mage swiftly came forwards; it was but a short hop to translocate her to the fire which still burnt in the chamber below.
“Hurry Lyria, go through now, we will be waiting for you on the other side.” He reached out and winced at the raging heat which hit him; he saw the flames mirrored behind her eyes.
Staggering forwards she fell into the waiting flames; Terrill waited a second and then whisked back to the others. They blinked at his quick reappearance then turned to watch for Lyria to emerge.
Lyria moved rapidly through the flames; the heat drained from her; she briefly paused to allow the flames to cleanse her skin then made to step through the other side when a soft voice caught her attention,
“Mother...” Turning she saw a huge pair of almond shaped eyes watching her,
“Lyta..? Why are you still here..? You must come with me now...” She held her hand out and was relieved when something grabbed hold. Seconds later she emerged in front of the others, smiling their relief.
Turning back to the flames she pulled on the hand which she still held tightly, “Lyta..? You can come out now...You will be safe...” She sent the thought and waited anxiously, if Lyta was still in the fire why had she not been destroyed?
Geron had run towards her, stretching his hand he touched her arm and was relieved to find she was once again cool to touch. Before he could speak the fire rippled and with a whoosh which knocked them both down, a huge lavender-blue dragon appeared and flew over all their heads, circling higher and higher until it disappeared from their sight.

Azhmel sent a mental call for his closest greywing to come to aid Kensis; he still carried the boy child and could not risk losing him. Exulting as he gloated that he, not Zhmel, or Klimm, HE had finally found what Gul had searched for all those many years ago.
Looking into the minds of those on the beach, he saw that they had finally managed to retrieve his precious trunks and they were dragged well away from where the tide would come in.
Casting a final glance over his shoulder he saw the men circling his first; he vowed if they survived he would destroy not only them but their families on Qol.
Reminded of families he concentrated on Klimm and could feel the intense pain of his hunger, and fear; he had only brought his brother because Zhmel had ordered it.
He would now let him die here as he would no longer be able to influence Zhmel in the Royal Court. Once this final part was joined then nothing could stop Azhmel ever again.
Looking into the open blanket he was surprised to see the babies eyes were open and watching him with a surprising amount of intelligence for an infant of only a few days.
“So little one you do still live, good...I have a surprise for you...Yes I do...” he hummed softly to himself, pleased that Kensis had managed to do this one thing for him properly.
Thinking of Kensis he sent his thoughts back to his first, he was telling him of the help coming to him when he noticed an addition to the group, the female from the village.
“Do not trust her child, she is one of the Unworthy...She and the others like her left our beloved Gul and all our people to die at the time of the great cataclysm. She is sly and will try to deceive you by telling you lies about me.”
Azhmel continued to send these thoughts to Kensis as he flew towards the coastline where a few of his greywings remained guarding his cargo.
A large swarm surrounded him for a moment and he reaffirmed with them the need to rescue Kensis and destroy the creatures that were hidden in the underground chamber.
Before they had travelled much further he was aware of a peculiar dead feeling coming over him, and he hurriedly pulled his thoughts away from his first; he knew SHE had done something to his child; if he had remained in mental communication with him he could have perished too.
Howling angrily he looked down at the bundle he held and the solemn violet eyes were studying him again,
“You will regret this...I promise you...By the time I have finished with you and your people this world will be a ball of smouldering ash.” He spat a huge ball of flame as they flew over a small hilly glade and the trees slowly began to burn.
He could see the coastline coming closer under the setting sun and knew within minutes he would be at his destination. Intermittent sparkles of light still rose from the strange stone on his sunken flagship and he felt their tiny stings even through his thick scales.
He could see the two large travelling trunks surrounded by greywings some living and others obviously dead were sprawled across the golden sands. He lightly landed and touched the first of them with a tender claw; deep inside he felt sorrow for the loss of his children.
He scooped a hollow in the warm sand and placed the bundle with the baby inside; turning to the nearest greywing he ordered it to protect the infant at whatever the cost.
Moving to the trunks he noted the outsides were dry now, the hot sun had removed any moisture from the outside; rubbing his forelimbs over their surface he could feel the gritty residue of salt left behind from their brief sojourn under water.
A sense of euphoria swept over him and he began to giggle like a small child,
“I have them all now father, I can put Gul’s plan into place and finally we can move out of the shadows forever,” he called out loudly and his greywings turned and looked at him disinterestedly; once again most were needing to feed and hoped he could feed them.
The baby began to cry softly, attracting their attention and all realised he could be a rich source of food for one of them. A few of the hungriest stepped forward and Azhmel growled angrily at them, the thought wave which came from his mind driven like a knife deep into their brains.
Many crumpled to their knees, begging his forgiveness, they moaned piteously and Azhmel relented and pulled his mind back, relieving them of their dreadful pain.
Gripping the first of the sturdy padlocks he studied it and wondered where he had put the keys; then he remembered he no longer needed the key and with barely a thought he crushed the first one, snapping the securing pin away.
Within minutes he had the trunk open and an expression of delight crossed his face as he studied the contents. Seconds later he had snapped the other lock and carefully opened the two deep drawers.
Both trunks were designed to be identical, two deep drawers and each drawer was divided into four sections which were lined with the softest, downiest of fabrics in which nestled their fragile contents; eight female drakken embryos filled one trunk, he crooned softly over their perfect immobile bodies.
The second trunk contained seven infant males, studied each segment his lip pulled up in a sneer as he looked upon its contents, and the final empty space which waited to be filled. He moved to the baby and opened the blanket, his forelimbs clumsy and trembling as he stripped away its coverings to leave it naked in the cool night air.
He carefully lifted it and held it overhead calling out in his triumph,
“I have it..! Holy Father Gul...The final piece you have waited for... I bring you this...A male Angelicus!”
He moved to the trunk and placed the small body into the niche which could have been made especially for the child. His heart pounded as he prepared to complete Gul’s great plan; he held the future of a renewed Dhrake nation here, with the eight infants of each of the Unworthy who had cast them out, he Azhmel would in one move cause their downfall and the rebirth planned in a corrupted bargain made so long ago.
In his current form Azhmel could not return through any of the vortices; Gul had found that out the hard way. He carried all the genetic memories of Gul and as he sat in front of his trunks he closed his eyes and accessed them...
After kidnapping the young dragon female Gul had beaten her then tied her up, preventing any attempt at escape. She was too exhausted to try and use her magick; the travails of the previous day had been too much for her young body and mind and she had lapsed into a comatose state.
Gul tried to return and rescue more of his people at the time of the great cataclysm; he heard the warning left by the Unworthy as he opened the entrance he had, in his arrogance, laughed that they had believed they could stop his return.
The scorching heat and pressure inside the passageway had crushed his body, forcing him to crawl away with the bitter taste of defeat once more in his mouth.
Bleeding, bruised and heartsore he crawled to his captive young dragon and, had once again subjected her to a senseless, vicious beating before collapsing, exhausted, to the ground to sleep and heal his wounds.
Crazed with grief he tried over and over again to open a route to his home; each failure had dealt him the same crushing blow. His captive dragon had tried to use her magick to enable her own escape and nothing happened.
She was too young to know why her magick had failed, and held a belief that it was Gul’s presence which was restricting her power. So upon gaining her senses she watched him, observing his every movement.
She began to taunt him as he was equally powerless; he responded by beating her senseless. When the beatings became too much for her she had resorted to pleading for her life, before her final desperate offer.
Gul had fallen back on his haunches studying her; he could see no signs of treachery, her eyes although pained were clear; honesty and truth shone from her; he accepted and the bargain had been made.
He ceased to beat her, found her the special herb she told him of, Dang Gui; for the next year fed it to her every day with a diet rich in blackberries and saffron. His patience was great; he watched and waited until he saw the signs come upon her.
Her scales shone glossily under the light of the setting sun; rich violet, blue and lavender hues which hurt his eyes if he gazed on them too long. He stood over her where she lazed, blocking the last rays of light causing a large black shadow to cover her; huge almond shaped eyes had opened and she gazed up at him sadly, his own eyes were rimmed with crimson and tendrils of smoke drifted from the corners of his nose and mouth.
“It is time...” He spoke gruffly, eager to begin; her eyes widened slightly in alarm but, she had made the bargain and would not back down now. Tenderly stroking her belly, heavy now with eggs which he had encouraged with the rich diet, she lumbered to her feet,
“I made this bargain with you Gul...Do not worry for I will not back down now.”
Stretching out his forelimb he stroked her face, catching a small stray tear before continuing down and resting on her swollen stomach.
“Come Lenaya, I have prepared the caves...” He helped her climb up the edge of a small hill to a row of caves on the outskirts of the deep desert, which he had dug out himself; working ceaselessly every day from dawn until dusk he made a hatchery perfect for incubating a new clutch of Dhrake.
She was exhausted by just climbing that small distance; he looked down on her panting and parched body, as she lay there begging for water; his lip curled in a contemptuous sneer. A Dhrake female would not demean herself by taking water before breeding; they would have drunk their fill early that morning; then spent the rest of the day in preparation for the night to come.
She would have burnished her scales with specially selected oils, encouraging her own personal scent to break forth, the odours would then have wafted in the soft night air to tease at the noses of the impatiently waiting males who, in turn would have responded by opening their musk glands and then, then the ritual of the fire-dance would have taken place.
Gul had remembered the last fire-dance he had attended in perfect detail, the sun was setting and the females had all congregated in the centre of the desert where the hatching caves were to be found.
The older females no longer capable of egg bearing had tended the young females for many months before that night; their final task was to light the fires under the rocky trail which the males had to take to reach the open sandy canyon with the breeding grounds and hatchling caves at the end.
Most males were hostile by nature; now they were absolutely magnificent as they had spread their wings showing their multi coloured scales; they danced over the hot stones, arching their necks, gyrating, and twirling, and their feet dainty and elegant even as they sent out waves of musky scent to attract a mate.
Gul had mated many times in the past, never with the same female twice; now he had been attracted by a smaller one than normal, dark brown and bronze on her back and wings she stood up showing a pale underbelly of red and gold.
He was entranced as never before and had leapt high over the hot stones to posture in front of her, his arousal was obvious to her and she had looked at him once before looking away and pretending to notice the callow young male at his side.
He had laughed and gracefully moved towards her, stretching his neck sinuously, scent marking her with his own musky aroma; he had sensuously nuzzled first one, then the other side of her neck before nibbling across the side of her jaw, tasting her as he had never tasted anyone before.
Her eyes had opened wide in surprise; this was her first mating and she had not expected to gain the attention of their Lord. Her feet had begun to join with his and they danced over the burning rocks for hours, back to back then belly to belly, unaware of the others who took their mates and drifted away to the edge to watch the mating battle going on before them.
Finally she knew she must submit to him, her eyes had turned liquid, quiescent with desire and he had tilted back his head and given the satisfied roar everyone had been waiting for.
He wrapped his wings around her body and his forelimbs had caressed her belly over and over until she had cried out her pleasure before releasing her eggs in a wet gush before him.
Her eyes shone with something approximating love and pride, he did not know what she was trying to say, but he felt a matching surge deep inside him, and then her hands were on him and it was too late for thought; she had stroked and tugged at him, tenderly at first then encouraged by the fire in his eyes she had gained confidence with her strokes until finally he released his seed with an almighty roar which echoed loudly in the empty desert expanse.
They had gently gathered the eggs and placed them into the nearest cave, brushing aside the elders who came to help, wanting, needing to make their precious moments together last; they covered each egg with a shallow layer of sand and carefully layered them before a final layer of sand was applied.
Finally they had both united with their joint breaths to breathe hot flames onto the sand which covered their progeny; minutes later a thin crystalline material coated the entrance, keeping the eggs warm and safe from predators yet allowing him to see inside throughout the months of incubation.
“I don’t even know your name...” He spoke softly to her and she looked at him puzzled,
“Why would you want to know that my lord, after tonight we will never see each other again until...” She had gasped as his forelimb gripped hers tightly,
“I will see you again...You are different...I believe you to be ‘Mela en' coiamin’, the love of my life.”
Her golden eyes had stared into his for a long moment and he held his breath, afraid for the first time that she would reject him or, even worse laugh at him. If she did that he would have no choice but to kill her as the thought of any other male with her was making him feel ill.
“My Lord...I am honoured, I had not thought it to be possible on a first fire-dance to meet you and go through this...” He had felt his head lower, she was going to reject him he could feel it,
“Kelliniamh,” she breathed the word and he looked at her uncomprehending,
“My name is Kelliniamh Lord,” a smile of such sweetness crossed her face then and he had lifted her forelimbs to his mouth and brushed soft kisses across the claws.
Gul’s memories then came back to see Lenaya panting still and he had known that he could not achieve the same amount of pleasure with her. Holding back a sigh he flew off to return moments later with a gourd full of cool water; she gratefully accepted it, drinking long and deeply.
Gul once again closed his eyes concentrating on his lost love, he had called her Niamh, she was his radiance and brightness, and her name meant both of these things.
He could feel the same sexual urges she had caused him to feel and knew he needed to use them with the dragon. Pulling the startled female to her feet he had cocooned them with his powerful wings; his musky odour was overpowering in the enclosed space.
Lenaya had tried to voice a confused objection but a sharp slap from him had caused her to bite her tongue; blood oozed from her mouth to trickle down her face. He was rough as he stroked her belly and as she showed no signs of responding to his ministrations he cruelly pressed on her forcing the eggs to erupt from her body in a bloody pile.
A sharp scream tore from her mouth and her eyes flew open in pain, before she could speak he had thrown her away from him and was working on his own body, visualising Niamh at the fire-dance, her own seductive scent had driven him wild and as he imagined the rough touch of her forelimbs, he felt his body spasm, delivering his seed over the small clutch of eggs.
“What have you done..?” The female dragon was on her knees, holding her belly, screeching loudly enough to break through his reverie; bringing his gaze back to her face,
“I started a new race of Dhrake...Your bargain...You can leave now,” He was totally disinterested in her; he needed to tend the eggs before it was too late and they perished.
“But...We dragons don’t breed like that...The eggs needed to be fertilised when they were inside...” She fell silent at the expression of black rage upon his face,
“You lying little bitch...You tricked me...All this...You are just like the rest of your race...Unworthy of the gifts you were given...”He looked down at the glistening pile of eggs and she leapt into the air, away from him, able to fly now the heavy eggs had been removed from her belly; she beat her wings frantically to escape him.
Shocked he picked the first small egg up and held it to his chest; a sharp talon poked a tiny hole in the soft shell and as his thoughts whirled frantically, he massaged her blood and his seed into the tiny hole then placed the egg in the prepared cave.
For what seemed like hours he tended each precious egg until finally he could seal them away. As he breathed searing hot flames onto the sand he vowed he would catch the dragon again, if these eggs did not hatch then he would do what it took before he allowed her to go free...
Azhmel stood over the trunk and knew that Gul had managed to get some of the eggs to hatch. He had waited patiently until the first breeding season had come upon them and had taken his daughters and cruelly raped them first, in the way of the dragon before allowing his sons to spread their seed over the top.
This way there had been a hatching like none before, hundreds of thousands of fertile eggs had hatched and he had thought the new race of Dhrake was secure. Then a disease had spread through them and within months Gul was left with a scant hundred of his children.
He had tended them carefully despairing as their frail bodies had become ravaged; their scales had softened, wings had dropped off until all that was left was a naked sack of skin and bone.
Then they stopped dying and began to live but no longer could they be called Dhrake. Gul despised these hybrid children he had wrought and once more he began to search for the one called Lenaya.
What he had not known then was when she escaped him many years earlier she still had a single dragon egg left inside her. She had hidden in a deep forest and crawled into a shelter of thick trees before concentrating only on her magick and the egg.
Lenaya had not known how long she lay there but she eventually drifted off to sleep and without her consciousness holding her back, a fragment of the magick she had been given so long ago awoke, tenderly brushing against the fragile egg, breathing new life into it.
When she woke up Lenaya’s first thought was for the egg; she clutched at her taut flat belly and a cry escaped her, it was gone, she had lost it and would be alone forever more on this cursed world.
“Not alone...I am here with you,” the quiet voice had reached her and she turned startled and saw a small, strangely shaped being seated on a stone watching her.
“Who are you..? What are you..?” She jumped up as she spoke ready to fly away if the creature got too close to her.
“I am...I am whatever you want me to be...I think I came from you but...There were others there in the making of me and I am more of them than I am of you...Do you understand..?”
The being had moved towards her then and she was unafraid as it reached out and cupped her face in a small limb with five digits instead of three talons and claws.
“Do you understand what I am Lenaya..?” She had slowly nodded her bemused comprehension that this being would somehow be her mate even though it should have been her child; the magick freely given from the others had allowed her this in her exile.
She had searched for Gul once more; wanting to try the entrance for herself now she knew a small amount of her magick was with her; she had flown back to the deep desert where she heard him tending his latest hatchlings.
Carefully she had tried to explain about the magick and her new mate and Gul had listened with his head turned away, hiding the signs of madness which began to spurt from him.
Berserk with grief and rage he had flown towards her, flame pouring from his nose and mouth; how dared she come here gloating of a new mate, a new life when his children were dying?
If she had not waited in front of the bright afternoon sun he would have caught her, as it was only her quick movements had allowed the sun to strike his eyes blinding him long enough for her to vanish into the high nimbus cloud cover.
Gul never saw Lenaya again and his story had been passed from father to son for generations; dragons and the rest of the Unworthy were treacherous liars, not to be trusted; if any of his descendents were to come across them they were to take one small male child then annihilate the rest by whatever means necessary.
By accident while searching for a cure for his children, Gul had discovered how to suspend life, one drop of his saliva smeared across the nose and mouth of any creature and they would lose consciousness until awakened by a Dhrake tear; if he wanted to control a creature he would revive them with one drop of his blood.
An ancestor of Zhmel had found a small male Pegasos, and an infant boy who would become mer, a man of the sea and they had rested inside a sealed incubation chamber with a dhrake embryo beside them ready to proceed with Gul’s grand plan.
A young Mage called Gwinn had come to Zhmel in secret before their first mission, telling him that he had heard of a dragon hiding in the forests of Qol. Zhmel had despatched him with a hunter and had been disappointed when Gwinn had returned empty handed.
He was surprised that Gwinn had returned alone, the story of a sickness killing the hunter and a family in the forest had alarmed Azhmel’s father and he had ordered the forest to be razed to the ground by fire; it was the nature of all Dhrake to fear any contagion, Gul had also left that warning with his grand plan.
Zhmel himself had captured the male gryphon, Minotaur and dragon infants; Klimm had also proved useful when Mage Gwinn had announced he found a hidden herd of centaur. He had chased the mother for days until she fell before him.
With Gwinn at his side, Klimm had cut the unborn infant from its mother’s womb and placed it into its special niche. Azhmel had hunted a rogue group of unicorn; trapping the only pregnant female he had despatched her with a skill to rival that of his father; now he had the final piece, Angelicus, the rarest of all the Unworthy.
He had scented this one before and knew that once the other seven infants were revived it would take him less than an hour to complete his task. Each embryonic drakken were to have one drop of the life force of each of the Unworthy inserted directly into their veins; once that blood mingled with their own it would hide the Dhrake genes and allow the vortices to be opened.
This is where the master plan was to be changed; Azhmel planned that he would then take the pituitary nodule from each of the Unworthy and he would transform himself into the greatest Dhrake there ever was.
He had no intention of sending everyone back through the opening with Klimm guarding the cargo. He had known Klimm was communicating in secret with Gwinn before this campaign began. He had not known that Gwinn would take the chance of betraying both his father and himself but betrayal it had been.
When Gwinn had stood before him denying any knowledge of how they had ended on this world Azhmel had seen the lie in the Mage eyes, Gwinn had failed to hide his glee and that was why Azhmel had snapped and killed him.
He licked his lips at the thought of getting Klimm and their father together before he killed them and fed from them, taking their strength into his own body.
Then he would go to the island where their mother was and the other female Dhrake which Zhmel swore were there and he would mate and bring forth the new master and ruler of a changed Dhrake civilisation.
As he stood there gloating a strange presentiment suddenly came upon him. He lifted his great head and scented the air around him, a chill flowed over his scales and he cautiously began to turn in a large circle, examining the area closely for signs of any interlopers.
Pain! A searing, burning pain suddenly struck Azhmel deep inside his mind; he reeled disorientated for a moment trying to regain control over his body; another stronger pain engulfed him, forcing him to bend doubled over.
Gasping his shock he realised the mental blows were emanating from Klimm; he staggered away from the open drawers of the trunk, falling on the soft sand moaning softly,
“Why did you not tell me of this before Azhmel..?” Klimm’s sibilant voice sounded stronger in his mind than Azhmel had ever known before; he shook his head trying to clear it,
“Klimm..? What have you done? How are you..?” His mind was being buffeted by the strong waves coming from Klimm,
“I fed on something stronger even than fathers blood Azhmel; I feel energised, wonderful...This is why we came here...This explains Gwinn’s mistake...Only...It wasn’t a mistake Azhmel...He knew exactly what he was doing...He lied to you...To father...”
Klimm was laughing and Azhmel realised that all the years he had known him he had never heard his brother show any emotion,
“What did you do Klimm..? You must tell me...” He kept his voice even, soothing, hoping that Klimm would respond to his authority,
“Do..? I did what I was taught to do Azhmel... I fed...I bled...I fed and I Bled...Ha ha ha... And now I will survive....I fed and I bled...” His voice was ecstatic and dreamy and Azhmel knew he needed to know what Klimm had fed upon.
Before he could voice his question again Klimm spoke, his voice now brisk and concise, as if he had his own agenda to follow,
“I fed on such a pretty little boy Azhmel, he had huge violet eyes, and the soul of a dragon, Azhmel... He was a beautiful, powerful dragon...”
“No, Klimm...You weren’t supposed...” Azhmel began to castigate his brother and was disconcerted by a sly laugh,
“I was supposed to sit back and be a good little boy, don’t make any waves Klimm or cause any trouble Klimm. Leave it all to Azhmel, Klimm ... Azhmel is the golden boy, the first born, the one who will complete the great master plan conceived by Gul.”
“Well guess what Azhmel? I don’t care what you are doing... I can feel the blood of the dragon flowing through my veins now. Dragons! They are so much more than the Dhrake...Gul was insane...You know it, deep inside you know it yet you continued to follow this great master plan and...”
“I forgive you Azhmel...I forgive you for being the firstborn of father...You had no say in that...I forgive you for being a cruel brother...You knew no better...”
“You won’t lead the reborn Dhrake nation though...You have not got the power or inner strength and fortitude needed to do everything necessary...Basically you are a fool who has been led by the nose by our father for years and you are prepared like the good little obedient son you are, to return the power to him...”
“Me...I would keep the power for myself...I wouldn’t even give him another thought...I didn’t give him another thought all those years ago when I made my bargain with Gwinn...Yes...Yes...Yes...You didn’t know about that did you brother..?”
Azhmel could barely breathe as he listened to his brothers gleeful ranting; he needed to know more about the bargain made with the dead Mage.
“I feel you listening Azhmel...You changed didn’t you..? Became a full Dhrake and now you cannot go home..? Why do you want to go there when there are so many other worlds to explore? So many other secrets to find..?”
“Before I go home I will find out all these secrets for myself...Eternal life was promised to me too by Gwinn...I know he told you he could find it but you never knew him as I did...I still know him Azhmel...”
Lowering the mental voice Klimm continued at a whisper,
“You only killed the body...A shell...He moved on before death could engulf him completely...I hear him now...He is telling me all the secrets he has discovered...Soon...Soon he will know all and then he will rejoin me and I will give him my part of the bargain...”
Azhmel opened his eyes at the last word as he felt Klimm break the connection; the madness that had been held in check by their father all these years appeared to have broken through once Klimm had consumed the blood of the dragon.
His talons clenched uncontrollably as he studied the situation; he could not begin with Gul’s plan while Klimm was loose like this. He moved back to the trunks and looked at the infants inside; the Angelicus child was watching him with a strange expression in its eyes for a newborn infant.
He would have to put it into the same comatose state as the others then go and deal with his brother; if there was any chance Gwinn still lived Klimm could be even more dangerous than Azhmel had previously thought.
Zhmel should never have extracted his promise not to harm him, Azhmel had never disobeyed his father before but now, Klimm must die.
******
Orlan stood resting on his staff looking at the sleeping figure of Lyria cradled protectively in Geron’s arms. He had wanted her to accompany Terrill and himself when they took Varon and Klee to where the first portal was showing in the map on Varon’s back.
The glare and anger coming from the taller man made even Orlan hesitate before disturbing his oldest friend. She had collapsed moments after emerging from the fire a second time and after a hasty examination by Halle and Finn had been pronounced to be suffering from exhaustion.
Geron had promptly scooped her up and was now ensconced with her on the back of Farl’s wagon, away from the noise the rest of their company was making.
Thadd had finally raised the tine`chor , the night-time protective shield following another request from an anxious Harry and after borrowing the old priest’s staff; he had stumbled with some of his pronunciations but Orlan was pleased with his progress and knew that his student had finally begun to realise his full potential.
He could feel the frantic itching at the back of his neck again which usually occurred when time was short; the Angelicus in the cave had warned that a portal was open and he knew that it was the one Varon and Klee must venture through.
Terrill felt Orlan’s gaze upon him and nodded, he would take them to where he had left the coverstone then bring Orlan back. Making his mind up Orlan pointed to Varon with his staff and the giant had looked at him and knew the time to depart was upon them.
He had hastily washed and changed into his only clean jerkin when they had emerged from the underground chamber; Beal had noticed his preparations and asked Anjii to help Klee get her things ready.
Anjii was used to travelling around the countryside and always carried a small pack of essentials which she took with her everywhere; a change of clothes, comb, tinder box, bag of oats, waterskin and a small heatproof cooking pot.
Nothing luxurious but she knew that many food items grew freely and were easily harvested for an evening meal. Harry had always been able to provide either a small rabbit or a fowl, even fish on occasions so they had eaten simply but well.
Varon was a capable hunter and Anjii knew he would look after Klee really well. Beal had passed her a small sealed pot of an ointment he had brought with him and she had looked at him in askance?
“My Mina used it when she first started with the scales, it helped her and Klee has been using it too. Luckily for us Halle found this in Lyria’s basket,” he smiled sadly and Anjii had clasped his hands briefly, she could not comfort him as his only daughter was about to leave and he didn’t know whether he would ever see her again.
Bringing the pack to Klee, Anjii had tapped the young girl on her shoulder and indicated the smaller group waiting for her. Klee had been watching Hoppy playing a game with Akhri and Darell and for a moment wanted to plead for five more minutes.
The importance of what was to happen came upon her and she slowly stood and looked around the campsite; the other priests were either seated on logs or curled up on the floor dozing.
Farl was happily stirring a huge cooking pot filled with some form of stew; the delicious odour had been filling the night air making her stomach growl hungrily.
The mage students were all either seated or standing with Banya and Thadd, discussing things which were only of interest to young men, she had pouted at first, indignant at being ignored by them; Harry had taken pity on her and while Anjii was busy had responded to her girlish flirting.
The newest members of the group, the soldiers were listening as the students were taking it in turn to explain what had happened to them. Jonah was centre stage now and she could hear him describing hoe Orlan had drawn him through the centre of the scrying bowl.
She was missing Lyta, she was near her age and they could have talked about Darell and Banya as they had before the choosing ceremony. Klee knew that once she left here things would never be the same again.
“Come daughter, they are waiting for you.” Beal joined Anjii and drew Klee to where Orlan, Terrill, Varon and Thadd stood. Thadd had an angry grown on his face and was stood with his arms folded, disgust in every movement.
“Is there a problem here?” Anjii spoke and Orlan shook his head firmly,
“No problem at all, my child; Thadd will remain here and care for the rest of you until Terrill and I return.”
Anjii took a deep breath before speaking, her words carrying across the camp to her husband,
“You realise that if you go Orlan both Harry and I will have to accompany you as we are still your guards and are pledge bound to you first before the quest?”
The old priest grimaced and raised his head to protest before he saw the implacable expression upon her face; he would have to do something about the pledge before Harry and Anjii could leave on their own journey.
“Very well Anjii, I see the truth in your words... Thadd will take my place and I will remain here with you...For now...”
Stepping back from them Orlan nodded to Terrill, the time had come for the group to separate and he felt a profound sense of sorrow. He had known Varon since he was a small boy and he somehow knew that he would never see him again; whether this was because of his own failing health or not, he could not tell.
“Go quickly and safely, may the Goddess watch over you and bring you safely home.” Orlan reached into the pocket of his robe and passed Varon his flask of Kvass with a sly grin and a tap to the side of his nose with his forefinger,
“Between you and me my boy, between you and me.” He chuckled softly as Varon craned his neck to see if Lyria was awake,
“Hurry Terrill, the Angelicus said the portal had been activated...I still do not understand how that has happened but I feel there is not much time,” once again Orlan urged the fey Mage to translocate to the coverstone.
Terrill held the orb high in the air and its light flared and attracted the others attention; he walked around his companions and chanted softly under his breath. Its light flickered briefly; he thought the orb was trying to say something to him, so he paused in his recitation.
“Is something wrong..?” Orlan noticed the strained expression on his face,
“No...Yes...I don’t know...The coverstone is not where I left it...I...Its underwater!”
He was looking into the heart of the stone and could see that the ships had left the scene and the silvery violet motes of light were coming from beneath the sea.
“I am a good swimmer and I believe Klee is the best of all of us..?” Varon spoke loud enough for everyone to hear and they began to rise and join them, wondering if they could help.
“I will have to take us further up the coastline, to where we met and fought with the Col creature; I hope he is no longer there as we do not have time for a battle tonight.”
Terrill voiced his concerns and immediately General Creed volunteered to accompany him with his men, Orlan was undecided as to the best course of action; he needed the two chosen to leave safely but also did not wish to lose either Terrill or Thadd as they were essential to his plans.
Rikh was studying the fire as he listened to the others speaking when a dry piece of wood popped loudly making him jump.
“That’s it..!” He cried out excitedly and jumped to his feet running over the damp grass to talk to Terrill.
“Master Terrill, I have an idea sir...It may help us in future and...I think it will help you now!” His words fell over one another in his excitement and his face shone under the firelight.
“Mage powder sir...If we make some of the magick powder we can pack it into small containers and put in long fuses. Light them here and they should be ready to use by the time you reach the beach. If you throw them at any attackers then surely they will cause the diversion you need?”
A long pause followed his words then Terrill smiled broadly and a whoop of excitement came from the other mage students,
“You will need volunteers to keep them lit and I offer my services sir,” the deep voice of Denon came to them and Terrill looked at his student and managed to hide the discomfiture he felt when seeing the youth.
He had no fey blood and so the fire could not reverse the damage caused by Kensis venom; the orb in Terrills hand had, as the youth had emerged from the depths of the flames transformed him into an old-fashioned chimera.
As he stood he moved close to the flames; his body rippled briefly and became like the figure of a guardian gargoyle which could be found adorning the ancient derelict buildings on Qol.
When Denon moved away from the flames and the heat of the fire no longer touched his body, he reverted back to the quiet simple student he had always known.
Neither Terrill nor Orlan could say if this condition was permanent, or if his body would remain in a state of constant flux every time he neared a heat source. Denon had wanted to thank them both for saving his life; he did not care what he looked like as long as he lived.
Upon his hearing that Lyria had now saved his life twice he had instantly vowed that he would help her in whatever manner he could; his prompt offer to help was proof of his sincerity.
Orlan was interested to hear of the mage powder and when Terrill had reeled off a list of things needed to manufacture it had thought hard for a while, absently twirling the stray whiskers of his long beard.
Terrill managed to produce a small amount of the white saltpetre powder from inside his pack and Orlan nodded; silently he beckoned to Farl and the small wagoneer, his face sharp with interest bustled forwards, eager once more to be of use.
He returned a few minutes later with some empty barrels and placed them in a row in front of the old mage, before disappearing once more to delve through the goods still stacked on the back of the wagon.
Geron gripped his hand once and nodded at the deeply sleeping Lyria and Farl had winked as he silently continued his search. He was not going to wake the lady by being too loud.
When he returned he was surprised that two of the barrels were already overflowing, one held a yellow powder which reeked of rotting eggs; the other contained all the burnt branches which had not turned to ash from their continuous fires.
Orlan was speaking his spell for the white powder and holding his staff over the third barrel, as he spoke the end of the staff rippled and powder began to flow first as a trickle then a deluge until the barrel was overflowing.
“I have these y’ere gourds sir...I brung ‘em frum ‘ome but we never use them fer food cos none of the men will eat ‘em.” He grinned as he pronounced the last and passed one of the gourds to Orlan for his examination.
The priest shrugged as he looked at them and waited until Terrill came forward and picked one up, turning it over and over again in his hands.
“This would suffice, my students can pack the powder in here but they would need to put something to act as a fuse inside, something which will burn but not too fast...I don’t know..?”
“A wick for a candle perhaps..?” Once again Rikh offered a solution and Terrill placed a gentle hand on his shoulder,
“Very good my boy, very good. I am so proud of you; you are becoming a fine mage.” The youth bobbed his head in embarrassment, unused to being at the forefront of everyone’s attention.
It did not take them long to carefully prepare their new weapons; once again Terrill stood with Varon, Thadd and Klee. This time he also had Benar and two other soldiers holding lit candles in one hand and a gourd in the other.
Firmly fixing their destination in his mind the Mage circled the larger group and chanted softly under his breath, three times he went and on the third perambulation the orb flashed brightly then they were gone.
Barely holding their breath everyone focused on the place Terrill had left; no-one dared to move and stand there in case Terrill materialised on top of them.
The minutes seemed to crawl by, Orlan had chewed the skin from his knuckle until it bled when suddenly the air thickened, a sound like the rumble of thunder presaged a flash of light then Terrill stood there with Benar and his men, and a pair of leather sea trunks. There was no sign of Varon, Klee or Thadd.
“Where is he..? Where is Thadd..?” Orlan could barely speak and he felt the pain begin again in his chest as he thought he had lost the young man who had been a thorn in his side for the past year.
Benar came and stood at his side, an expression of wonderment on his face and wrapped his arm across the old priests shoulder,
“Do not worry about your young apprentice sir, he will be here soon I should imagine. He is coming on a different mode of transport.” He laughed as he spoke and reached out shaking the hand of General Creed who was waiting patiently for his report.
Before they could speak there was a distraught scream from Nera and she fell to her knees at the side of the trunk and reached her hand out to touch the baby which had just been revealed to her.
Silence fell over the group and they huddled close to her, offering their silent support; she had already heard of how silent he had been when Azhmel had taken him from Kensis, now she received another blow as she saw his still body.
Reaching out a trembling hand she cupped his delicate skull in her hand and gasped,
“He is warm, he breathes still...Tarion lives...Quickly Mikel our son lives,” her tears fell faster as she watched Banya guide her husband across the ground,
“He needs Lyria’s skill rather than mine, she is the healer in the family,” Mikel spoke softly and stretched his hand out stroking his son’s hand, his mind linked easily with that of his wife and he found he could see everything that she could see.
Nera stood to ask Geron to wake Lyria but paused as she heard a strange noise, a flapping sound came from overhead and they all quickly looked upwards, fearing an attack by the strange winged creatures they had seen earlier.
A strangled scream came to them and they vaguely recognised the voice; another flapping noise and they ducked as the purple dragon swooped over the camp her grip on Thadd failed and she hastily moved to the ground before she dropped him.
His arms and legs were wrapped tightly around her and he moaned as he felt the dragon drop with a stomach churning swiftness. A scream broke through his clenched teeth and he landed on the ground suddenly rolling for a while before colliding with the wheels at the rear of the wagon.
With a stifled screech the dragon came down to earth, bouncing as she too hit the ground faster and harder than intended; her chin hit the floor and with an audible snap her jaws crunched together.
Moaning softly with her eyes closed for a moment the young dragon lay on the floor before falling silent. Banya and Darell sprinted across the ground anxious to greet Lyta.
Her eyes stayed shut and there was no sign of life, Darell barely touched her before backing away, huge tears in his eyes as he looked around the camp. Banya fell to his knees before her and gently stroked her head and across her jaw line before lowering his head to kiss her on the forehead.
“About time one of you decided to kiss the damsel in distress!” She opened one eye and looked at him as she uttered the words softly.

Copyright Protected May 2008