Shadow of the Unicorn Novella (c) 1985 Micro-Gen Limited
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       Shadow of the Unicorn
   By Dale and Shelley McLoughlin

 In this book I have put the things,
That man and beast would most demand,
  To keep them from the prying eye,
And wrest them from the grasping hand.
But in this book there lies a trap... 


CHAPTER ONE 

Athron took the rusty old spade in his hand and began the arduous task he had 
set himself for that day. It was hard work and he could not truthfully say that 
he enjoyed it, but it had to be done. When finished he knew that he would feel 
the warm glow of self satisfaction that accompanies any job well done, but for 
now he would have to put his mind into the effort and forget any thoughts of 
what he might have been doing otherwise. It was not to be a large hole anyway. 

The spade moved swiftly in his powerful hands, biting great chunks from the soft 
earth and piling the soil neatly at his side. Before long he had reached the 
harder clay below and his pace began to slow a little. He mopped the sweat from 
his brow and decided to rest. 

"If I were a troll," he thought, "I could have this done in half the time! But 
then the sun would have turned me to stone long since!" He laughed and sat down 
to take a sip from his water jar. There were no trolls in real life, but it was 
an amusing thought. 

As he sat resting, with his face turned away from the hot sun, he saw something 
glinting in the earth beneath his feet. He would not have thought much of it but 
the sun was bright and the glinting looked to him like a precious stone buried 
amidst the mud and dirt. With his bare fingers he scraped away the brown loam 
which all but covered the strange object. 

To Athron's disappointment it was not a precious stone, but something larger, 
like a box or a casket. He lifted it from the ground and brushed the moist dirt 
from its top. It was not large, perhaps the size of his two hands cupped 
together, but heavy for such smallness. On one side there was a locked fastening 
with a tiny key hole that was all but blocked with dirt. 

The young farmer examined his find carefully. The top and bottom were the same, 
made of leather perhaps and decorated with signs and writing that he could not 
understand, even though he could read the common tongue well enough. He could 
not unfasten the lock but the two halves parted just enough to see a little of 
what was inside. 

It was not a box, it was a book. 

Athron finished his digging well before sunset and returned home with the book 
tucked inside his tunic. His pretty wife greeted him at the farmhouse door and 
he went inside for his well earned supper. 

The young farmer was a tall, muscular man with a dark skin and fair, sun 
bleached hair. Innosar, his wife, was shorter and lighter in complexion and her 
normally slim figure was rounded by the child that she bore within. Both of them 
had lived all their lives in this southern part of Oronfal. Athron was the 
youngest in a long descent of farmers, and Innosar the daughter of a cattle 
merchant. 

"Look what I found," Athron said excitedly as he sat at the kitchen table. He 
placed the book beside his plate and poked at it with his knife. 

"It looks like a diary," his wife replied, "who's is it?" 

"Mine now, if no one else will claim it," he said, "but what shall I do with 
it?" 

Innosar made no reply, but when her husband had finished eating he set about 
the lock with his knife, prising and prodding, but all to no avail. The book was 
firmly shut and resisted all attempts to gain entry. It was almost as if some 
magical force protected it since the binding was not strong enough on its own.
 
The next day Athron set off to market with a wagon load of potatoes, four young 
puppies and a strange book, all to sell for the right price. 

The small farm was situated near the smith town of Morath. This old settlement 
had stood for years on the flat plain south of the Redmier forest. It was walled 
like a fortress, though nobody really knew why, with a tower at each corner of 
its square perimeter. At the centre of the town stood the tall Morath Tower, 
which was always topped by the banner of Oronfal. The tattered old flag would 
flap wildly in the slightest breeze, much to the amusement of the local 
inhabitants.

The land close to the town was fertile and flat, ideal for the growing of crops 
and the raising of lesser animals, like cattle and sheep. A pleasant green 
landscape spread for miles around, broken only in autumn by the ripening crops, 
and sometimes in winter by a light snowfall. Every year brought a bounteous 
harvest of wheat, barley, corn and root crops and the Morath markets were always 
filled with the bustle of buying and selling.

Yet it was not for its market that Morath was famous throughout Oronfal. The 
town was named after the blacksmiths who plied their trade within its wall. They 
were the most skilled men in all the land, and farmers would travel from every 
corner of Oronfal for a Morath plough or scythe. Nowhere else could such fine 
blades be found, nor the men capable of producing them.

It was only a few miles from Athron's farm to Morath but the old oxen that 
pulled his cart travelled at their own leisurely pace and the journey took over 
two hours. When he finally arrived the market was busy already and Athron set up 
to sell his wares in a corner of the old trading square, beneath the Tower. 
Business was good and the potatoes were sold in no time at all, mostly by the 
sack load but sometimes in larger lots. Ml but one of the puppies was gone and 
the other was promised to an old friend in return for some seed in a week or 
two. 

only the old book had gathered no interest, although Athron was not really 
surprised. He had shown it to some of the passers by. Some were curious and 
others not. Some seemed scared of it, though Athron could think of no reason to 
be. Still, there was something about the book which made even him unsure. It 
seemed to burn a hole where it lay in his tunic, as if it did not wish to remain 
there. Yet Athron himself was almost overcome by curiosity, desperately wanting 
to know what was inside that old binding. 

At the end of the day he left his oxen tied to a watering trough and joined his 
friends for a jar of ale and an hour of gossip at 'The Market Inn'. When he 
arrived he found a seat with his old comrades who poured him a drink and bade 
him stay. At first they spoke of the weather, the market and business. Most of 
them were farmers, one was a smith and another a shop keeper, but all had known 
each other for many years and had shared in each others' lives.

At last Athron produced the book. He wondered what they would think of it. 
Perhaps one of them would know it, or of it. 

"I've no time for books," said one. 

"Does it have a story," said another.

They all showed little interest and Athron mentioned it no more, but all the 
while he was drinking and making merry with his friends he had just one thing on 
his mind. Only a Satyr sitting alone nearby seemed to prick up his ears with 
interest, but he said nothing to the men, and Athron was too polite to trouble 
one of the Amarin race with so trivial a matter.

Several days passed by without much ado. Athron went on with his work as usual 
and life seemed much the same as before. The book had lost some of its hold over 
him and he was not so troubled by it as he had been at first.

Then one evening he returned home at the end of a long day to find Innosar 
waiting for him, almost dancing with excitement. 

"A Satyr, a Satyr," she said, almost unable to speak, "he came here. He wanted 
you!" Athron could not believe his ears. He knew none of the Amarin and he had 
seen only a few. They seldom troubled themselves with the lives of men; they had 
no reason to. And Athron was not concerned with the Amarin either.

"And what did he want, this Satyr?" he asked, not really knowing whether to 
believe his wife. 

"He brought you this." 

The woman held out something small between her finger and thumb. Athron could 
not see what it was until she dropped it into the palm of his outstretched hand. 
It was a key, a small silver key that shone in the setting sunlight and seemed 
to dazzle with what little luminance there was.

Then Athron remembered the 'The Market Inn', and the Satyr who had sat nearby, 
and the book. Yes the book. It had a small keyhole set into the leather 
fastening at its side. A keyhole just right for a small silver key.

Athron rushed to the chest where the book now sat, still a little dirty, but 
just as mysterious as when he had dug it from the ground only a few days before. 
The key fitted its tiny lock but would not turn. Again and again the young man 
twisted the small sliver of bright metal. He turned it this way and that, 
sometimes using all his Strength, but it would not release the lock.
 
At last, in frustration, Athron threw the book on the floor, cursing and 
swearing in his temper.

The old tome landed at Innosar's feet. For a moment she looked down at it in 
silence. Then she stooped to pick it up. In her innocence she tried to 
accomplish what strength and force had failed to achieve.
 
The silver key turned quietly between the young girl's fingers and the book fell 
Open at its first page. Then Athron saw what his wife had done and he snatched 
the prize from her hands, knocking her backwards with the force of his swift 
movement.

Innosar lay on the floor and looked up at her husband. He seemed to have 
changed. Something seemed to take hold of him and lead him away from the path of 
goodness that he had followed for all his life, taking him instead into a world 
of evil that had never been known before in this world. 

Athron hesitated for a moment and then began to read. 

At first the words were foreign and he could not understand them, but as he 
stared at the old paper, the writing seemed to reform itself into the familiar 
patterns that he knew. As if by magic he saw himself within those pages, and the 
world that he knew. He saw that life could never be the same again, neither for 
him nor for any other mortal being on his small planet. He understood more than 
any man had ever understood before, and he knew more than he could ever have 
dreamed possible.

But what he read was not good, and as he read it his world began to change 
around him. Suddenly, where there had been happiness there was now suffering, 
and where there had been kindness there was hate. For in reading those pages 
Athron released all that was evil upon his world. Hatred, Greed, Jealousy, Pride 
and Anger were set loose to roam free, and the once idyllic land was turned 
against its inhabitants. Man was turned against man, and all the beasts and 
races of the world were set in conflict with each other.

And when he finished reading, the words of the book slowly dissolved away, 
leaving only the empty pages from which they had come. Yet one word was left 
behind and Athron read this aloud, "Hope" it said, and that was all that 
remained in a sea of emptiness. 


CHAPTER TWO 

The Royal Palace of King Theltiem stood just a few miles from the river Milfair. 
To the south west lay the bridge that joined the island of Oslar to the eastern 
bank of that great waterway. The palace itself, called Oronoman by its people, 
was a grand and elaborate building built of great white stones which had been 
hauled across the river from the Storm Land to the west. That had been an 
astounding feat of strength and courage, but had taken place many hundreds of 
years in the past and was now little more than a legend. Only the building 
itself remained as testimony to those who had laboured in its construction.
 
Oronoman was the royal seat of the rulers of the land of Oronfal. Theltiem could 
trace his line back through the ages, even to the time before his palace had 
been built. In those far gone days mankind had been in his infancy and the other 
mortal races had ruled the world with a greater potency than now. They were 
still respected of course, but it was said that their time was gone, that they 
no longer held the awe of men and could demand no more respect than a man of 
equal standing.

But even King Theltiem was not so young now. Though his name meant Brave Heart, 
his people now called him Emasar, or White Hair. It was not said discourteously, 
but used as an endearment since he was loved and respected by his people and 
under his rule they had all prospered and been happy. He had lived in this world 
for over three score years, and ruled the kingdom for most of those. He was 
known for his fair speech and good humour, but in recent years age and ill 
health had taken their toll and left his body withered and bent.

His only child, a son and heir, was Mithulin, Treasure Seeker. He was a tall, 
strong lad of around twenty years, who was also liked by the people and 
respected for his views, despite his age. He had inherited much of his father's 
character and would often sit at the King's right and counsel him when required. 
Sometimes he would even offer advice without being called upon.

Theltiem thought that it was good to give Mithulin kingly duties before his 
time. Yet he did not overburden him with them. Instead he took careful measure 
of all his son's duties and tried to guide him through a happy youth towards a 
fruitful life.

One day Theltiem was at his court, giving judgement on a case of dispute, and 
Mithulin sat by his side.

The King spoke authoritatively but not harshly. "Then Fillen, you say that the 
fence is upon your land."

"It is, Your Majesty. The land is mine and was my father's before me." 
"And can you prove it to be so?" Mithulin enquired.

"I can," came the reply and the farmer began to produce a paper from his jacket; 
a small deed tied with a ribbon and sealed with red wax. But he had no 
opportunity to read it to the court.

Suddenly a great booming sound was heard outside the palace, like a roll of 
thunder that can find no place to rest, but louder and mightier than any that 
had been heard before. Its noise was deafening even to those inside the throne 
room of Oronoman. It made the stone of the palace shake and the bells in the 
tower ring from its vibration. 

And when the sound was gone there came a blinding flash of light. It hurt the 
eyes of those who were working in the fields and made the white stone of the 
palace glare like a thousand torches lit suddenly on the darkest night.

But when the light was gone there came the darkness and the wind. It blew trees 
from their roots and people from the ground and in the darkness you could see 
nothing beyond your own hand. The air was heavy with a stench like rotting flesh 
which made the people retch and vomit.

Then suddenly, as it had come, the horror vanished and everything appeared 
peaceful as before. But life could never be the same again for any man present, 
for King and Heir, for farmer or servant, because the powers of evil had been 
set loose upon the world and had taken hold, however slightly, in every mind 
that lived and breathed. It was the beginning of a new age.

At the edge of the Deep Pool the old washer woman sat pounding her clothes 
against a smooth rock and singing as if no care could ever wrinkle her brow. Her 
song was one of simplicity and innocence; she had been taught it as a child, and 
had since sung it to her own children and now to her grandchildren. 

Awaiting by the water's edge, I saw a maiden sitting there. And as she washed
the clothes she had, Gentleman came passing by. 'Good day' he said, and sat him
down. Beside the girl who smiled at him. And as she rinsed the clothes she had,
He looked at her, so young and slim.
 
The music rang out sweet and clear, but the song was not finished that day.
 
Suddenly a great ball of fire appeared in the sky, travelling at an enormous 
speed and unlike anything the old woman had seen in all her many years. It flew 
like the swiftest bird, yet higher than any beast could hope to reach. It went 
like a shooting star, with a tail reaching out far behind, but it was bigger 
than any comet yet seen from this land.

Then it ceased its movement across the sky, turning downwards now to head 
straight towards the ground. It looked to the old woman as if she would perish 
as the ball came closer, but instead it went towards the pool and plunged at 
full pelt into the cold water.

A great torrent rose from the surface as the meteor went down and the rain that 
fell from it was hot. It blistered the woman's skin and made her cry out from 
the pain. Fortunately it did not last long and was followed only by a yellow 
mist that stank venomously and hung in the air for hours afterwards.

The old woman did not wait to see what might happen now, and she fled home 
screaming. But her life was changed, and so was that of her children, and of her 
grandchildren.

In the Palace of Glass, Holdin Belanshar, Captain of the guard, reviewed his men 
as they paraded in the setting sunlight. This was part of the army of Falforn, 
the Storm Land, though it was a small force and had fought no battles and won no 
wars. It was an army in name only and performed just the ceremonial duties of 
the Queen, since there were no disputes with neighbouring kingdoms or uprisings 
of the populace to control.

Even so, they were a proud band, and skilled in the arts of war, though there 
had never been a need to employ those skills.

They paraded to show their prowess at drilling, to display their shining weapons 
and polished gear. They marched up and down, wheeling this way and that, halting 
and saluting as they went. Holdin was pleased with them all, and proud, and 
happy.

Then, as they stood silhouetted against the reddening sky, something entered 
each of their hearts. They all felt a yearning that they had never felt before, 
and a desire came over them which each had perhaps stifled for a lifetime, not 
wanting to admit its existence. Or perhaps they had just been unaware of its 
true meaning. Suddenly their minds changed and a force of evil took control of 
them. Each soldier produced his sword with only one word upon his mind.

"Kill!" they all shouted, almost in unison. 

Their swords worked with swift and deadly accuracy and when the bloody massacre 
was over only one stood alive, bewildered and regretful.

Holdin Belanshar stepped over the bodies of his troops and fled from the Palace, 
afraid for his life and not understanding what had happened to him and his 
comrades. 


CHAPTER THREE 

The Dwarf Hall of Rimersel, or Lofty Dome, had stood at the southern boundary of 
the Storm Land for over a thousand years. It was a great lofty building topped 
with a giant dome, from which it received its name. It was said that the dwarves 
had built it in mockery of the domed heavens, and as a way of strengthening 
their alliance with the rock of the land. It also showed a defiance of the other 
races which had arrived at the same time as the dwarves but had since been more 
prosperous. They had been endowed with powerful minds and more intricate skills 
of craft than the dwarves and had quickly come to dominate the land on both 
sides of the river.

To the south the tall mountain range of Orosema spread for miles, its snow 
capped peaks ending only at its western edge in the impenetrable desert of Kora, 
and to the east at the River Milfair. Dwarf legend told of how the first of 
their race had come from below those very mounts and had spread northwards 
across the plains and hills, eventually crossing the river itself to settle in 
all parts of the land. That had been many thousands of years ago and they had 
since retreated towards the place of their making. Most dwarves were now to be 
found living close to Rimersel.

Yet still the mountains were impassable to any living being, either dwarf or 
man. The peaks reached for miles into the sky and though the lands about were 
hot and dry the tops of the mountains were always snow covered and cold.
 
The dwarves did not care much for their human neighbours, who tended to live 
further to the north. Still, they were friendly enough, trading when necessary 
but otherwise keeping themselves to themselves. It was a way of life which 
suited this sometimes secretive race and though they would treat a human visitor 
with kindness, any dwarf would try his best to hasten a man's departure.

Men generally considered the dwarves to be rather simple folk, though this was 
not really true, being based more on a lack of understanding for their way of 
life than actual knowledge. The dwarves were stout hearted, trustworthy and 
strong, and the length of their memories was matched only by the length of their 
beards. However, it paid to remain on good terms since an angry dwarf would be 
foe indeed, and despite their lowly stature each could inflict a blow worthy of 
two or three men.

Sharmek Helm Head was leader of the dwarves living in the domed palace of 
Rirnersel. It was he who decided their policy and politics. He controlled their 
production and consumption, and he was commander-in-chief of their own army. 
The army had been only recently formed, since it was decided that the increasing 
numbers of men and other creatures living in Falforn might pose a threat to the 
continued existence of the dwarves at Rimersel. Whether this was true could not 
be confirmed, but there had been rumours of dwarves being persecuted at the 
court of Queen Rolquin. It was a risk that Sharmek had decided could not be 
taken and so a strong army was recruited and armed, just in case.
 
The formation of the army, and the general unrest among the dwarves, was an 
indication of how life had changed in recent times. Their society had become 
corrupt. Dwarves were caught stealing and vandalising, something which would not 
have been dreamed of in the past. The punishments had been strict too and 
resulted in dwarf killing dwarf for the first time in all their history. But the 
times were changing at an alarming rate and the tide of progress seemed to have 
turned back to give way to a ruthless, violent age.

Yet this had not been a gradual process. To an outsider it would have seemed 
obvious that dramatic changes had taken place almost overnight, but to the 
dwarves themselves there were no detectable differences in their lives.

It was early one morning when Sharmek sat with his captains. They met every 
morning to discuss the coming day and plan their manoeuvres.

He was a rough and crude dwarf, even when compared to his companions. Yet he had 
become even harder since the day Athron had released chaos upon the world. His 
temper was now quicker than ever and no-one dared to countermand his order or 
question his decision.

"It is some time since we had word from Oslar," Sharmek began, his gruff voice 
echoing around the council chamber of Rimersel.

"It is," replied Kirkmere, picking the remains of his breakfast from his beard. 
"I have a fear that the news will not be good when it does come. There are more 
rumours about. I have heard this very morning that the men of Oronfal have taken 
Ilis Clair for their own and threaten to carry her to Hail-an-Hes. And the 
Amarin have taken arms and are moving west from Harvena."

Some of the others nodded in agreement and a discontented mumbling circulated 
around the oval table, ending only when Sharmek rose to his feet and hammered 
against the wooden board.

"Then we must act," Sharmek said, even more sternly. "We cannot afford to waste 
time. The army of Queen Rolquin can move faster than us and it would be folly to 
ignore these rumours. No doubt she will take heed of them and act to protect her 
interests. In that case we must send an army north, to show our strength and 
resolve. And to teach the men a lesson they will not forget."

"But what if the rumours are not true?" Kirkmere asked. 

"Then we are a dwarf band on a journey to see Ilis Clair, to seek her judgement 
and ask for her blessing in the future."

Sharmek looked around him with a malicious glint in his eye. None of the 
captains spoke again and with that they all departed to muster their divisions 
and to prepare for the march ahead.

To the dwarves of Sharmek's army the news came as a relief. Many of them had 
been spoiling for a fight since their first day at arms and only now did it 
appear that there might be some action. Just a few were a little apprehensive, 
but it was not within a dwarf's character to show any fear or trepidation. It 
was a foot soldiers lot to die for his comrades and his leaders, if need be, and 
none of the Rimersel folk would dare to break the oath of allegiance which each 
had sworn:

"For glory, for good, for dwarf folk, for life, In battle, in service, to give 
and to die." 

It took very little time for the army to prepare. Every soldier had kept his 
weapons polished and sharp. And like the rock from which he had come, a dwarf 
could live on little food and water.

Nearly ten thousand set forth from Rimersel that day. There were so many that it 
was an hour between the first and last to depart. They all travelled on foot, 
not at speed but resolutely setting one pace after the next, never seeming to 
tire and never slowing. They carried all the weapons of war that could be 
mustered. Some brought only the scythes that they used in the fields, though 
that was weapon enough in such strong hands, whilst others carried great two 
handed battle axes forged by the most skilled smiths in all the world.

The dwarves were more skilled than the men of Morath when it came to working 
with metal and stone. But, unlike the Oronfal men, they chose not to exploit 
their talents for gain. Instead they treated their smithing like an art form, 
taking great pride in the strength and quality of their products. It was the 
nearest that the dwarves could come to expressing any emotion in their 
creativity.

Some of the soldiers wore crude armour made from sheets of tin shaped roughly 
around their bodies. Others had vests of chain-mail, heavy and cumbersome but 
undoubtedly effective in combat. As these dwarves walked their garb clanked and 
creaked, sounding like a multitude of rusty gates left swinging in the wind.

At the head of the column strode Sharmek, with Kirkmere, Askorn, Ilvar and other 
captains at his side. They would lead their followers northwards across 
Islanvir, the Green Glenn, past Mount Telquin and on to Tar Gelfay and the 
bridge to Oslar. There they would do whatever was necessary to safeguard the 
interests of dwarfdom and protect Ilis Clair from the ravages of men.
 
Not one among them doubted that there was a battle to be fought. It was 
something for which they had all been preparing in the past weeks and not to do 
so would have brought great disappointment. An army is for fighting, they 
thought, and Sharmek would not be leading them on this great journey if not to 
join in war.

Their minds had been changed so much of late that they often turned to thoughts 
of war when once they would have planned the sowing of crops or the mining of 
ore. And now they were actually setting off to take part in what would have been 
unthinkable such a short time ago.

The first day of marching passed with little incident. They strode onwards, 
rarely stopping for rest or drink. When they did halt finally for the night the 
sun was already well set. They made camp under the clear starry sky and lit 
great bonfires of brush wood and sang songs of killing and victory.
 
The early battle songs of the dwarves were crude and unmelodic. Theirs was not a 
musical race, but they would sing in their deep, gruff voices when the mood took 
them. What their chorus lacked in tune was more than equalled in volume. The ten 
thousand voices rang out for most of the night, though not always in unison, and 
they had no desire for sleep. At times they would practice their battle skills, 
cutting and thrusting into the air. Sometimes friends would make mock battle 
against each other and not a little blood was spilled in that manner during 
those hours of darkness.

When morning came bright and clear the dwarf horde set forth once more on their 
quest. They were an awesome sight; twenty thousand heavy boots raising the dust 
as they trod the north road towards the island of Oslar.

By noon of that second day they reached the village of Olindel. This was a small 
place inhabited mostly by men who had been friendly with the dwarves of 
Rimersel. They sold some of the ore and precious stones that the dwarves mined 
from the mountains and gave in return cloth, skins and food from various parts 
of the land.

The army that arrived that day was like nothing any man had seen before. They 
were all tired and hungry and descended upon the village like a plague. Dwarves 
seemed to come from every direction. The men of Olindel thought that it was an 
invasion force come to steal and destroy. Some of them ran this way and that, 
shouting warnings to their neighbours, whilst others hid in fear from the 
gathering crowd of strangers.

Sharmek had not intended to cause such alarm, but he chuckled a little to 
himself when he saw the effect that his troops had on the humans. So he called 
the elders of the village to meet him and he reckoned to have a little sport at 
their expense.

The people were led by a man called Ismark who was old and grey, but wise and 
stern. He greeted Sharmek and his followers as best he could, though he clearly 
doubted the good intentions of such a large band of travellers.

"Well Ismark," Sharmek began, "do you have food enough for my faithful friends?" 
He laughed in a cruel way that made the old man shudder.

"Dwarf Lord, you know that we could never feed such large numbers. And if we 
were able, it would only be on fair payment."

Ismark tried to show a little defiance, though he knew that he was powerless 
against such a force.

"Well is this payment enough," bellowed Sharmek, taking his axe in both hands 
and throwing it blade first into the ground at Ismark's feet. "I have had wind 
of the deeds of men hereabouts and I will not stand for insolence from one such 
as you. Be gone, and take your folk with you."

Sharmek flung his arms about him and Ismark took flight as best he could on his 
ageing legs. But the dwarf army seemed to take their leader's actions as some 
kind of signal and a kind of madness began to take hold of them.

Many of the dwarf soldiers took up their weapons and ran through the village, 
shouting and screaming at the tops of their voices. They herded the humans, men, 
women and children, out of their homes where most had been hiding in fright. 
Others kindled torches and began to set light to everything that would burn.

Some of the braver of the men took up spades and sticks and began to beat at the 
dwarves as they passed. One or two had swords or axes of their own and they 
wounded a handful of the attackers. But such actions only inflamed the violent 
passions of their assailants and the orgy of terror grew worse.

The dwarves began to make use of their weapons against their human captives. 
They ran through the groups of people hacking at them with their axes, wielding 
them round and round above their heads and chopping anything that came within 
reach. The red blood of men and boys ran along the dusty road and the washing 
holes were filled with the blood of their women folk.

Only a handful survived the terrible carnage and when the killing was done the 
dwarves piled the mutilated corpses into a huge mound and set them aflame. The 
Stinking bonfire burned for a day and a night and was a beacon of death seen 
throughout the south of Falforn.

As the fire burned the madness that had overtaken the dwarf army seemed to 
subside a little and some of them began to realise what they had done. Never 
before had such an atrocity been committed here and the blood of it would stain 
the land for many years to come.

Sharmek himself could not understand what had happened, or why, but he did not 
betray his true feelings to anyone. He had to remain the hard commander at any 
cost, so he carefully hid what little emotion was left within his shining 
armour. 


CHAPTER FOUR 

The kingdom of Falforn was divided from neighbouring Oronfal by the great River 
Milfair, named after the large white birds that swam gracefully along its 
length. The river was a fast flowing waterway which had carried many a man and 
beast away to the south with its raging current. In its centre lay the long, 
narrow island of Oslar, home of Ilis Clair and looked on by many as the seat of 
all wisdom in the land.

Legend told of how Ilis Clair had been set upon the land before time itself 
began, and of how she had formed the mountains and the river, the forests and 
the glens. She had peopled the land too. She brought forth the dwarf folk first, 
making them from the rock of the mounts of Orosema, and then the Amarin, the 
Sandinid, the Topil, and finally Men. She had been helped by others though, the 
Zim Farinid, who had worked with their magic to mould the minds of the lesser 
beings and teach them how to live in the new world.

At the very north of the land the great forest of Gor Tarangarl spread from west 
to east as far as anyone had travelled. It was a dense, inhospitable woodland 
which seemed to change from day to day. No-one dared to venture far into those 
treacherous, tree covered slopes and valleys. Tales had been told of men and 
Amarin lost for days among the pines and elms, not knowing that the forest's 
edge was just a few miles away. Only the Sandinid could be found wandering 
freely in Clor Tarangarl, but they were the Green Men of the woods and were 
afraid of nothing that grew from the ground.

Near the western edge of Falforn stood the great mountain range of the Brondith, 
or West Rocks. This group of peaks was smaller than Oresema to the south, but 
none the less impressive. It lay along a line roughly north to south, almost 
cutting off the Temple of the Innocents and the town of Elm from the rest of 
Falforn. Only a narrow pass through the centre of the mounts gave access to 
those places, except for the long, arduous routes to the north and south.

At the southern tip of the Brondith stood the old ruins of Glowist. This had 
once been a magnificent castle; the pride of all the Storm Land, standing as it 
did at the centre of that kingdom, majestic and strong. But two centuries ago 
the ground had shaken with a mighty earthquake and reduced every dwelling in the 
area to rubble, including Glowist.

To replace that royal mansion the people built Noman Sith, the Glass Palace. 
That was further south, among the foothills of Golan; away, it was hoped, from 
the ravages of the trembling land.

To the north of the West Rocks, and only fifteen miles south of the Great Forest 
of the North stood the tall Sky Rock, Cliardith. This steep sided tor had long 
teased the men who tried to climb it. For most of its history it remained
unconquered, but eventually a road was cut into its side, winding round and
around the craggy rock, rising ever upwards to finally reach its high summit.
 
Then they built a great fortress on the flat top. They called it Clarooth, Tower 
of the Sky, and from there the king of the day could survey much of his country 
and rule his people from high above.

The tower itself was tall, almost the height of a hundred men. It was stepped as 
it rose, each of the three terraces being narrower than the one before, although 
the citadel flared outwards slightly below each one. There were few windows in 
the thick stone walls, and these were only narrow slits. The wind at that height 
was strong and biting and sometimes the tower would be enshrouded by the lowest 
of the clouds. In truth it was a cold and forbidding place and only tradition 
stopped it from being abandoned as uninhabitable.

It was at Clarooth that Queen Rolquin held her flamboyant court. She was the 
reigning monarch of the line of Fornkayd, the Storm Kings, who had ruled Falforn 
since the first man had stepped from the word of Ilis Clair. In fact Rolquin 
claimed to be a direct descendent from that first human and a family tree had 
been drawn up tracing the line of kings and queens for ten thousand years into 
the past. Whether it was a true pattern none could say, but there was no doubt 
that Rolquin was the latest in a long line of royal descent.

The Queen herself was a powerful woman, quite able to command the men who 
assisted her in her sovereignty. She was in her fortieth year and had never 
taken a husband, though she had borne a daughter ten years ago to a father 
unknown to her people. Her looks were stunning and she did not show her age, 
looking always like a young girl with long flowing hair, a fair skin and a glint 
of mischief in her eye.

She was a clever woman who could not be tricked or fooled. She knew all that 
happened in her land and used her powers to the full. She would delegate little 
and often ignore the advice of her elders and advisers. She was a fair ruler, 
quick to reward but unforgiving if crossed. Her people liked her well enough and 
she took a keen interest in the ways of ordinary folk.

Sometimes Rolquin would dress in the clothes of a servant and walk among the 
commoners as they worked and played. She liked to hear the gossip first hand and 
see the effects of her administration on the people around her. She would listen 
to the stories they told, and watch the way they went about their work. She 
believed that it made her a better monarch to keep in touch like this, rather 
than set herself apart and never meet the commoners.

The Queen was dressed in this way when the news from Noman Sith arrived.
 
For several days there had been rumours circulating through the palace, though 
no news had reached the Queen's ears from official sources. They had started at 
the same time as a great wind had come upon them. That gale had raged for days, 
beating against the stone walls of Clarooth. No-one had dared to set foot 
outside because of its force and the biting cold that it brought.

When the wind had died down a little, messengers began to arrive. They brought 
news from many parts of Falforn, as was Rolquin's command. Much of it was 
mundane and uninteresting, but there had been some unusual sightings and 
happenings.

From Holath came news of a strange shooting star that had come with the setting 
Sun. At Ormead there had been a sickness that was claiming the lives of the 
Topil there. But it was the messenger from Noman Sith, the Glass Palace, who 
brought the worst tidings.

At first it started as a rumour. The women in the market hall were talking in 
low whispers Rolquin could barely hear what they were saying as they huddled 
together in small groups, jostling and pushing to hear the news.

"All dead they said," she heard one trader saying, "over a hundred, killed with 
battle axes."

"lt was the dwarves," said another, "a great army of them."

Rolquin could not understand what they were talking about. There was no dwarf 
army. They were a peaceable race. There had never been any trouble from the 
south of Storm Land. Who was it that could be dead?

She waited a little longer to see if there was any more information to be 
gleaned from the folk in the market, but in the general hubbub she could make 
out little. The people were becoming excited and the strange stories would soon 
become exaggerated out of all recognition.

The Queen made her way up through the Tower of the Sky as quickly as she could. 
The royal residence was at the very pinnacle of Clarooth and it was quite a 
climb. Stairway after stairway had to be ascended and each one seemed longer and 
steeper as she hurried to reach her throne room.

When at last she came to the state room, she paused at the door just long enough 
to don a long fur robe to cover her plain clothes. Then she entered the chamber 
and strode magnificently up the purple carpeted stairs to her seat of office.

A messenger awaited her.

"Well, what is the news?" she said, trying to hide her panting breath and 
arranging her long hair as she spoke.

"Your Majesty. I bring you tidings from Noman Sith," the courier began, removing 
his hat and bowing low before his Queen. 'I have been sent by the Marshal of the 
Glass Palace. Three days ago the royal guard were parading at the setting sun 
when a great madness overtook them. There was a mighty battle and everyone was 
slain, save the captain of the guard whose body has not been found. The scene 
was terrible to behold and the Marshal fears that evil work is afoot."

"The army was all slain you say?" Rolquin sat back in amazed shock. She could 
hardly believe what the man was saying; it all seemed too impossible to have 
really happened. After a few moments of silence she began to question the man. 
"Then who did the slaying? Was it the dwarves of Rimersel?"

"No your majesty, it was not the dwarves. There was no enemy in the battle; that 
is what the. Marshal cannot understand. The guard seem to have killed each 
other, though why we cannot say. No-one saw what actually happened, but there 
was no sign of another soul. There were none but human corpses, though they were 
hard to recognise, and all of them were from the guard themselves. There were no 
footprints of intruders nor clues of any kind. It was a foul deed and a great 
puzzle to us all."

"And what does the Marshal counsel?"

"He asks that an army be sent to Noman Sith to protect the palace from whatever 
evil has been set upon it. There are only a few soldiers left there, and no 
captain to command them."

"Very well," Queen Rolquin replied, "return then with this message. Say that I 
will send as many men as my guard can spare, and with all haste. He knows that 
my army is small and I can relinquish only a little of it. Reinforcements will 
follow as soon as can be."

With that the messenger bowed low again and departed from the throne room. 
Within a few minutes he was on horseback, speeding along the road to Noman Sith 
bearing the words of his Queen to his immediate master.

Queen Rolquin sat back in her golden chair and thought for a few minutes.

The state room was an enormous chamber at the very top of the Tower of the Sky. 
Its high ceiling was decorated with a superb frieze depicting the conquering of 
Cliardith and the building of the Tower itself. But the picture's bright 
colouring was almost lost in the dim lamp-light of the windowless room. Around 
the edges of the chamber tall columns supported the ceiling. These, together 
with the high walls, were also decorated, but this time with more abstract 
forms; geometric shapes, stylised animals and the like. The floor was bare stone 
except for a long strip of purple carpet laid from the main doorway to the 
throne itself, which was at the top of a short, wide flight of steps. At the 
door stood two guards dressed in shining armour and carrying long pikes. Apart 
from these two men Rolquin was alone, an almost insignificant figure in the 
grand throne room.

Suddenly the Queen clapped her hands. "Call for my council," she shouted, and at
once one of the guards left the room to do as she commanded. Within a few
minutes several men and women entered the throne room, each bowing low as they
came before the Queen. When all had assembled Rolquin motioned for them to sit.

Among those present were the Lord Chamberlain, Ilsarind, and Lairmath, captain 
of the Clarooth army.

"My loyal servants" Rolquin began, "I have grave news for you from Noman Sith, 
though I think you may have heard rumour already." Then she explained all that 
she had been told of the happenings at the Glass Palace, and of her reaction so 
far.

"I am sending one thousand of my men to Noman Sith. They are to leave 
immediately with you, Lairmath, at their head. Ilsarind, I expect you to provide 
me with an army ten thousand strong. They must be armed, provisioned and ready 
for me to lead them south within a week. The remainder of my regular army will 
stay here to guard this Tower. There are dark deeds afoot and we cannot afford 
to tarry in our response."

With that she signalled for them all to leave and go about the work that she 
directed. Lairmath went straight to his quarters where he donned his full 
uniform. He was a striking figure in his gold braided army tunic, taller than 
any other man in all of Clarooth and strong in mind and body. He was an ideal 
leader of men. They all looked up to him, both because of his height and because 
of the esteem in which they held him. He was popular throughout the ranks and 
his command would be followed to the letter since every man knew that it would 
have been made only after careful thought and judgement.

From his rooms the captain went to the barracks of the army. This large group of 
chambers was at the very base of the mighty Tower and took some time to reach. 
The men of Lairmath's army were stationed around the entrance way to Clarooth. 
The Tower had only one door to the outside world, a great wooden portal which 
had not been closed for many years, a fact which even now was preying on 
Lairmath's mind.

Just inside the entrance way was an enormous covered courtyard and around this 
Were the rooms that comprised the army barracks, armoury and stables. The 
soldiers of Clarooth were great horsemen and it was on this fact that their 
future might now depend. It seemed that great haste was called for and Lairmath 
intended to make the best use he could of their riding abilities.

When at last he reached the giant hallway of the palace he began to issue orders 
Some men were detailed immediately to repair the hinges of the mighty doors the 
had rotted and rusted through the years of disuse. He commanded that others 
should set off through the whole of the Tower and find whatever they thought 
could be used as weapons. The smiths should stop all other work, he said, save 
for the shoeing horses, and concentrate on the production of swords and spears.
 
He detailed his officers to muster a thousand men, over half the army, and had 
them ready to ride in one hour.

Then he left the courtyard again and set off for the upper levels once more. F 
wanted to say good-bye to his wife and there was very little time left in which 
to do this.

When the army of Queen Rolquin set off from Clarooth they were a magnificent 
sight. One thousand men of the finest cavalry ever seen in all Falforn rode 
quick out of the enormous gateway and down the winding road that encircled 
Cliardil They went at full gallop with banners unfurled and flapping in the 
wind. Their tunic were of the brightest red and gold and their badges shone as 
the sunlight glinted fro their upheld spears.

They rode on and on along the dusty road, gradually pulling further and further 
from sight.

At the head of the army rode Lairmath, his white stallion carrying him with ease 
as they sped across the foothills that surrounded the West Rocks. His long brow 
hair flowed out behind him and his halberd pointed upwards towards the sky.

Before too long though their pace slowed and they reduced to a trot, but still 
the travelled another five miles with every passing hour. The horses' pounding 
hooves stirred the dust as they went and behind the column of beasts and riders 
a great cloud rose into the air, which only dispersed an hour after they had 
passed.

By the end of that day they had passed the Temple of the Innocents, but they did 
not stop to pay their respects. Instead they camped for the night five miles to 
its south. It was a cold night since they had come without tents or shelters. 
They had nee for speed and were weighed down already with weapons and food 
enough for their journey to Noman Sith. The men endured it well though and at 
day break, after meagre breakfast, they set off once more.

On that day they passed by Elm. They filled their water bottles at its fountain 
an the townsfolk gave them whatever food they could spare. When they moved off 
again the people cheered and chanted.

"Long live the Queen," they called, and "Victory to the Army of the Storm Land.' 
But no-one knew what victory that might be, or even who they would be fighting 
if there was any fight to be had.

That night they all camped in the shadow of Amarnil. The old pyramid towered 
above the soldiers and their mounts, staring down at them as if it did not care 
about the way life had changed in its land.

No-one knew who had built Amarnil. It had stood since before men's history had 
begun, and even the dwarves had no recollection of a time when the edifice had 
no existed. It was a huge stone structure with no entrance and no windows. There 
were many stories about it but the truth could never be discovered. Some said 
that it was.'

the burial mound of the first dwarf lord, others that it was a machine that 
counted the years as they passed by. When at last time ran out the great 
building would collapse and bring down all the land with it. Another theory was 
that it contained the brother of Ilis Clair who had been entombed to contain the 
evil with which he had threatened the world in a far gone age.

Whatever the truth, it did not change the fact that it was a magnificent 
structure and a marvel of the ancient engineering that had produced it. Many an 
architect or builder still envied its fine lines and neatness of construction. 
The joints between the massive stones were all but invisible to the naked eye 
and its three edges were straight beyond compare. Only the wind and rain had 
eroded the hard rock and spoiled the meticulous design, yet it was still the 
greatest monument known to man.

That night was a little warmer than the one before. The great pyramid offered 
some shelter from the wind and the southern lands were always more temperate. 

At dawn Lairmath and his men rode off again for the last day of their journey to 
Noman Sith. 


CHAPTER FIVE 

Noman Sith, the Palace of Glass, was an oddity among the great buildings in this 
land. It was the newest of the royal palaces, both of Falforn and Oronfal, being 
just over a century old. It had been constructed in a variety of styles, taking 
a little from each of the previous mansions, and combining them all with the 
fashion of the time.

Its main theme was the glass and iron work that comprised the central hall. This 
was a wonder of its time. The smiths who wrought the metal had learned a lot 
from the dwarf craftsmen who, unusually, had given their knowledge freely. The 
men manufactured huge girders and columns, and built a latticework of iron 
between which they hung magnificent plates of glass, the finest that had ever 
been seen. But all this had been at great human cost. Many men had died in its 
making and the king of the time decreed that no other building should be erected 
in this style again.

The central hall of the palace was flanked on each side by tall towers of stone 
while its own arched roof reached a hundred feet into the air. Sometimes when a 
strong wind blew, huge sheets of glass crash down to the ground and the holes 
they left were almost impossible to repair. It took great skill to walk across 
the narrow roof beams to reach the gaping breaches, and then they could only be 
patched with animal skin or canvas. No glass could be brought to such a height 
now.

At the front of the palace a large paved terrace spread outwards. Its large 
hexagonal slabs were white for the most part, except in one area where they were 
newly stained brown by the blood of a terrible massacre.

It was here that Lairmath and his troops halted as the sun began to set at the 
end of their third day from Clarooth. As the great orange ball sank behind Noman 
Sith it shone through the glass of the palace, casting a huge geometric shadow 
across the courtyard, and scattering a myriad of rainbows on the flat stones.

When he saw them approach, Lord Frathel, Marshal of the Palace, came to greet 
the army.

"Hail Lairmath," he said as the captain dismounted, "your journey was swift." 
"As the Queen commanded, my Lord," Lairmath replied. "We have been on the road 
for three days and halted only for darkness. Do you have lodging for my men, and 
stabling for the horses?"

"Aye, though simple it is for we had no time to prepare for so mighty an army. 
Some of your men may use the old barracks, we have little need for them now. The 
rest must billet in the great hall. For you, Captain, there are quarters in the 
south tower. Your horses must sleep under the stars, though that should not 
worry them overmuch."

With that Lairmath ordered all his men to dismount and see to their steeds. Only 
then could they rest themselves and feed upon whatever fare could be mustered. 
Sentries were posted and scouts were sent to spy out the land all around, though 
they could hope to find little before the sun set fully. Lairmath thought that 
Holdin Belanshar might still be close by, or that his body might be found.

When all was seen to, Lairmath himself retired for the night. He slept well in 
the feather bed that the Marshal provided and his room in the palace was warm 
and pleasant. He had suppered to his fill and drank a glass of wine, or two, and 
fell into a deep sleep as soon as he lay his head on the soft pillow.

He was awoken with a start. It was still dark and a guardsman stood over him 
with a dimly burning lantern. It took Lairmath a while to recover his senses, 
but when he did he sat up and spoke to the man. 

"What is it? Is there trouble afoot?" 

"There is a messenger, Captain," the soldier whispered in reply. "A man has come 
from Olindel bearing news of terrible deeds in that town. We thought that you 
should be awakened to hear his tale at first hand." 

Lairmath arose immediately, quickly dressed and followed the man to the 
Marshal's chambers.

They found Erathel sitting with another man who was dishevelled and raggedly 
dressed. He had an open wound on his arm and was clearly distressed and shocked. 
And yet he had come nearly a hundred miles across the open plain without food or 
fresh water, drinking only from the rain puddles and animals' watering holes.
 
"This is Narlen of Olindel," began the Marshal. "He has come with a terrible 
tale. I think you should hear this Captain." Then he turned to the frightened 
man and spoke in a kind, soft voice, 'Now tell Lairmath what you have told me."

"Very well," Narlen began, his voice quavering with fear and horror as he 
remembered the terrible events. "It was yesterday, no the day before, that we 
were working in the smithy at Olindel; my father, brother and I. My brother was 
shoeing a horse, and 1 beating a scythe blade from a hot ingot. lt was around 
noon and we were about to stop to take lunch when there was a commotion outside. 

"The village square was filled with people; not just men, but dwarves too. We 
all thought it very odd that there should be so many of the dwarf folk there. 
But soon we noticed that they were not craftsmen or traders, but soldiers. It 
was a huge dwarf army that had marched into town. They were all shouting, and 
pushing the men and women between them, laughing and teasing the people with 
their rough hands and cruel voices.

"My brother is... I mean was," he swallowed quickly and then continued. "My 
eldest brother was a quick tempered man and he set about a dwarf with his 
shoeing iron. At first the soldier ignored him, but suddenly he took out his axe 
and struck my brother with it. He took the blow full on his shoulder, and the 
dwarf's blade was sharp. My brother died in an instant and when my father rushed 
to help, he too was slain without a thought.

"Before long the dwarves were running amok throughout the village. They herded 
the men and women and then slaughtered them where they stood. It was an awful 
thing; I have never seen anything like it in my life, and wish to see no such 
deeds again. They killed even the children and the babies."

Then Narlen fell silent, hanging his head and sobbing loudly.

"And how did you come to escape?" Lairmath asked. 

"I don't know, my lord. I jumped upon the horse, and rode off. The dwarves could 
not catch me, though some of them tried hard enough. One threw his axe and it 
caught me on this arm." He held up his left arm. The wound on it was long but 
not deep and the bleeding had stopped.

"I rode and rode," he continued, "galloping all the way without stopping. We 
must have gone for miles, until the animal could go no further. When I looked 
back I could see Olindel in flames and the dwarf army moving off once more along 
the I road to Oslar."

"To Oslar!" Lairmath stood up, hardly believing his ears. 'The dwarves intend to 
take Oslar and Ills Clair for themselves. I should have guessed that it was 
something of that sort. The dwarf folk have long since wished for power beyond 
their means, and they intend to get it with the aid of Ilis Clair. We must stop 
them before they destroy all that is good in this land. I'll wager that it was 
the dwarves who had a hand in the evil doings at this very palace."

Erethal spoke more quietly. "Calm yourself, Lairmath. You may be right, but we 
must not be hasty in our judgement. I would counsel that we wait for more word 
before we begin a war which we might never have the power to win."

"No," Lairmath spoke loudly, ignoring the words of his superior. "We must go at 
once and head off this column of death. To wait would be folly, and might bring 
our downfall more finally than a swift response in force."

He turned to Narlen, "How many dwarves were in this army?"

"I could not say," came the reply. "There were more dwarves there than I have 
ever seen men. There must have been a thousand at least."

Next morning a rider departed for Clarooth carrying a message for Queen Rolquin. 
It was written by Lairmath and carried his seal of office. It read thus:

"Your Royal Highness, I am in receipt of grave news from Olindel. A dreadful 
massacre has taken place there, perpetrated by a dwarf army from Rimersel. The 
dwarves are marching on Oslar and it is my belief that they intend to take Ilis 
Clair and use her against the human race. It is my intention to take eight 
hundred men and intercept them before they reach their goal. I would humbly 
suggest that you lead your army south east to meet us at the bridge across the 
Milfair. I remain your faithful servant, Lairmath, Captain of the Guard."

Erathel did not give his sanction to the Captain's decision, but neither did he 
try to stop him. It was not the Marshal's place to comment upon military matters 
and he considered that it would have been foolish to quarrel further with the 
Queen's own Captain.

Lairmath hoped to meet the dwarves before they reached the river. If they 
managed to cross onto Oslar, his small band of cavalry would be powerless to 
stop them. if they destroyed the bridge across the river he would be unable to 
reach them, and if they spared it they might be able to hold off any attack with 
ease. His only hope was in the speed of his riders, and he would press them to 
the limits of their endurance to succeed in his plan.

So eight hundred riders took flight from the Glass Palace. They took with them 
nothing but their weapons and they galloped with all their might to reach Oslar 
before the dwarf horde.

Lairmath led his men once more, but this time with a greater passion burning in 
his breast. He had vowed to himself that he would avenge the people of Olindel. 
He would make the dwarf army suffer in the same way as those poor folk had done. 
The earth creatures should be taught a lesson, he thought, and it was his task 
to see it done.

They journeyed along the eastern road, mostly going through the flat plain 
between Noman Sith and the River, a total of a hundred miles as a bird might 
fly, and longer by the road. But they could manage that distance in less than 
two days, perhaps even a day and a night if the sky was clear and the moons were 
full.

"If the dwarves left Olindel two days ago they might be at Oslar by now," 
thought Lairmath. "But they will be marching, and slowly at that. I think it 
will be a close race."

Sharmek Helm Head marched doggedly onwards, leading his troops along the north 
road, continually placing one heavy boot in front of the other, even though his 
legs seemed to have lost most of their strength. It had been a hard journey and 
his army was tired and restless. Since the incident at Olindel they had all been 
quieter, perhaps a little afraid of what they had done. Sharmek had feigned 
anger with his troops, but inwardly he was pleased with their performance. It 
proved to him, and to all those here, that the dwarf army was a powerful 
fighting force. And it was one which even men could not beat, for all their 
learning and wisdom.

They had come many miles since then and now their goal was almost in sight. They 
were level with the forest of Tar Gelfay, and the bridge to Oslar was just a 
dozen miles away. Its proximity tempted Sharmek and his captains, but they could 
push their soldiers no further without some rest. So they stopped at the eaves 
of the forest and rested a while.

They had not been still for long when they heard the blowing of a trumpet in the 
distance. They did not know what it was, and none among them could guess, but 
suddenly a great band of riders appeared over the horizon. It was an army of 
men. 

Sharmek sprang to his feet. He called out, "Dwarves, arm yourselves. The enemy 
are upon us." 

At once every dwarf fighter took up his axe, or whatever weapon he had brought. 
Most of Sharmek's army formed themselves into a great semi-circle in front of 
the forest's edge. Others retreated beneath the trees, to act as a rear guard. A 
few more advanced towards the human riders, swinging their axes and shouting for 
the blood of men.

Half of Lairmath's men charged towards the dwarf enclave, their spears pointing 
forwards for attack. The others rode left and right, trying to trap the 
advancing dwarves in the jaws of their movement.

When the first of the foes engaged they inflicted heavy casualties upon each 
other. The dwarves suffered bitterly from the fast moving, horse borne attack. 
The men, and especially their horses, were killed by the dozen as the dwarves 
stood their ground and repelled the charge. Few of the advancing dwarves made 
any mark though. They were quickly out-manoeuvred by the skilled horsemen who 
weaved between them, turning this way and that and inflicting terrible injuries 
with their long spears.

Soon both sides fell back to count the cost; the dwarves to within the woodland 
and the men north, across the two roads that met nearby.

When the retreat was complete and all was quiet, Sharmek went forward again With 
a small number of his guard, to count the dead and assess their situation. He 
Was surprised that such a small number of men had inflicted such casualties on 
his troops, but he had not reckoned on the ability of the cavalry. They could 
out-perform a dwarf in all respects, except for steadfastness and physical 
strength. Yet these virtues were of little help if the enemy could outrun you in 
both the attack and retreat. Sharmek wandered among the corpses that lay on the 
muddy, hoof trodden ground.

He looked mostly at the dwarf folk who lay there. Some he recognised as loyal 
subject' some as friends, but all as members of his own race. He felt sad that 
life had come to this and that the old ways had been forgotten so easily. Then 
he turned his attention to the men, feeling for a moment just a little pity even 
for them.

Then he noticed the badges that they wore. These were not men from Oronfal an 
this was not the army of Theltiem. These were men from his own land. They cam 
from the north, from the army of Queen Rolquin. He realised at once his mistake 
He had led his dwarves north to fight a foe from another land. Despite the fact 
that they disliked all men, it had not been his intention to begin a war with 
the human of Falforn. Whatever he might think of them, they would have to remain 
his allies in the foreseeable future. The men far outnumbered the dwarves and to 
battle again' them would be extremely foolish. He realised that the fighting 
would have to stop if there was ever to be peace again with dwarves taking their 
rightful place in the world.

Sharmek immediately sent forth an emissary to Lairmath's army. He knew that he 
would have to beg forgiveness from the Queen and he would lose her honour i 
doing so, but these were dark times and even Sharmek would have to suffer for 
the sake of his people.

So a lone dwarf, carrying a red banner, stepped gingerly forward, repeating in 
hi mind the message from his lord to the leader of the men.

"Sharmek Helm Head sends this message to you, my Lord," the dwarf said halting 
when the horsemen pushed him through their camp to Lairmath. "He asks that you 
show him mercy and forgiveness for the error of his ways. He says that his 
quarrel is not with the people of Clarooth, nor any in Storm Land. He bids that 
you meet him to discuss ways in which we may further our mutual interests. If 
you will come then I shall take your reply."

Lairmath thought for a long time without speaking. At last he said, "Very well 
take this reply to your master. I will come to meet him where the two roads join 
He may bring a dozen of his soldiers, and I will do the same. But be warned, m; 
army will be poised, and if I do not return within the hour, or send word, they 
will destroy all that remains of dwarfdom in this world."

With that the dwarf messenger was sent on his way and the captain of men 
prepare' to meet his enemy.

At the fork in the road Lairmath and Sharmek sat on the grassy ground to discus 
their alliance. Around them twenty four soldiers eyed each other with suspicion 
an' watched for trickery and deceit.

Sharmek spoke mostly and Lairmath replied to him only when he thought it 
necessary The dwarf leader told of how the men from Oronfal had taken control of 
Osla and were using Ilis Clair against them all. It was this power that had 
tricked the dwarves into killing the people at Olindel, and had forced these two 
allies into fighting against their will. He said that they should join together 
to combat the true evil force in the world; the men of Oronoman and the Amarin 
that aided them in their deeds.

Eventually, after giving it much thought, Lairmath consented to the dwarf's 
plans. 

He knew that in reality he could not hope to defeat such a massive number of 
fully armed dwarves. He decided to comply with Sharmek's wishes, at least for 
the moment, because there seemed no other choice open to him. To begin fighting 
again would be sheer folly, and they could not retreat without losing any 
respect, or fear, that the dwarf army might have for them. His only hope was 
that Rolquin might arrive with her ten thousand men and, if Sharmek was lying, 
they might be able to overthrow him then.

In any case, if what Sharmek said was true and the men from the east had 
conquered Oslar, then they would have to act to rescue Ilis Clair, for the good 
of all the peoples of Falforn.

And so the two armies reformed their ranks and began the last part of their 
journeys together. Lairmath and Sharmek went at the head of the line and their 
respective troops followed behind, a division of men followed by a similar 
number of dwarves, With the bulk of that army behind them. At the rear came the 
wounded of both sides. Those who could walk did so, and the rest were carried on 
the backs of horses or makeshift litters. The dead were buried within the bounds 
of Tar Gelfay, in two mass graves One for men, the other for dwarves.

But they were not a happy army now. Each side resented the decision of their 
leader and the dwarves and men looked on each other with disdain. Every one of 
them had 1~5t a friend or relation in the fighting, and they blamed each other 
for their losses. But they marched on since they knew it was all that could be 
done.

Before too long they came to the River Milfair, where the road crossed it by an 
old stone bridge.

The Milfair was a magnificent sight. Many of those present had never seen it 
before and they gazed in wonder at the rushing water as it sped past on its 
southward journey The river was nearly half a mile wide here and almost as deep, 
so it was said, and the current was so fast that no man could swim from one 
shore to the other. Only the bridges could be used to cross the mighty waterway, 
and there were only three of those, two from each bank to Oslar and one much 
further north, near Holath.

Slowly the military procession crossed the long, narrow bridge. They could go 
only six abreast and it seemed to take an age before all the men, dwarves and 
horses wen safely on the island.

But the sight that met their eyes was nothing like they had expected. There was' 
no army from the east, no battle to be fought and no sign of evil work. Only 
Ilic Clair stood, as she always did, a fine sight outlined against the darkening 
sky. The Silver Singer. The Statue of the Unicorn. 


CHAPTER SIX 

Holdin Belanshar had left the Glass Palace far behind by the time he regained 
his senses. He had wandered aimlessly among the hills of Golan for many hours, 
not understanding his own thoughts and completely blind to all else around him. 
All the while he wrestled with his consciousness and for a long time he seemed 
to have no control over his mind, or his body. But every so often he would have 
a short respite, in which he momentarily saw himself as a small figure in a 
huge, empty landscape, before being overwhelmed again by the strange force.

Then, as quickly as it had come, the evil was gone and his mind relaxed in a 
sudden ecstasy of relief. 

At first he could not believe what had befallen his men just a short time 
before, but he knew that he had seen it with his own eyes, and that the truth of 
the matter was more horrible than any nightmare. And now they were all dead, or 
so he presumed, and he was the only survivor. He wondered how it could be that 
he was still living. What force had saved him from the terrible madness that had 
overtaken the sane thoughts of so many men? He felt guilty for being the only 
refugee, and he was afraid for what might happen to him in the future. Perhaps 
the awful insanity would return and reap its revenge on him.

Eventually, in the dead of night, he stopped his wandering and sat down on a 
grass topped hill and wept. The tears ran down his face as if they would never 
stop and he remembered his friends and comrades who were now gone. He mourned 
for them all, and his life seemed empty and hollow without them.

But after a while he could cry no more and his mind began to turn to more 
logical thoughts. He tried to think clearly, to void his mind of the emotions 
that had almost consumed him, and to find a solution to his problems.

He could not go back to Noman Sith, that was certain. He felt that he would be 
blamed for what had happened. In fact he could not be certain that it was not 
truly his fault. It seemed too much of a coincidence that he was the only 
survivor. And because he was the only man left living, the others, his 
superiors, were bound to attach Some sort of blame to him. He was the commanding 
officer and should have been able to control his men, though he did not know 
how.

He did not really know what had happened, or why, and until that time he would 
never feel completely free. There was something in his mind which troubled him 
greatly, like the shadow of a stranger who cannot himself be seen. He had to 
find the truth of the matter and release himself from this mental bond.

As he sat in the cold night he decided that the first thing he needed was some 
shelter. If he could keep himself warm and find just a little food he might 
survive for longer and have time to think what to do. He could not remain here 
on these exposed hills for long.

When morning came he set off in a north easterly direction towards the southern 
end of the Brondith. He thought that he would go to the old ruins of Glowist. 
There Would be shelter there and he might find animals and edible vegetation 
too. He carried his sword and a knife, a flint to make fire, and a full water 
bottle. These would see him through for a short while at least.

It took him two days to reach the lower parts of the Brondith where the ruins 
stood He became lost on more than one occasion, only being able to use the sun 
for navigation and it did not shine for long each day. There were black clouds 
gathering and there threatened a storm, but it held off while he was travelling, 
something for which I was most grateful.

Holdin was a short, stocky man of great strength, both physical and mental. 
While in the Palace of Glass he would exercise to keep his muscles firm and 
powerful, an he would hold long philosophical discussions with his close friends 
and companion He and the Marshal of the Palace would play games that taxed their 
minds and each would try to outwit the other in methods of strategy and tactics. 

Belanshar was unusual among the captains of the army; he had risen through the 
ranks to reach this position, whereas most seemed to gain such honour by 
inheritance or luck. This man had worked hard though, starting as a foot soldier 
and treading the beat of a palace guard for many years before eventually being 
promoted to lieutenant From then on life had been a little easier and when his 
predecessor died Holdin had been the Army Council's unanimous choice for the 
post.

It was the Army Council that decided on the overall day to day running of the 
army of Falforn. Only they stood between Holdin and his peers and the Queen 
herself Yet the Council had no say in the strategy of the army and the three 
captains of the Storm Land were in command. Only Rolquin could interfere in such 
matters, which she often did.

When at last Holdin came to the ruins of Glowist the dark clouds had parted an 
allowed the sun to break through with fleeting beams of brilliant light. It 
shone brightly against the peak of Molaktar, the southern most point of the 
Brondith, and the the covered mount seemed to glow with a spring green of new 
growth.

The ruin itself was much as it had remained for the last two hundred years. For 
the most part it was just a huge pile of rubble. Great square stones that had 
once formed the most regal castle in all Falforn were now piled here and there 
in tall, shapely mounds. What had once been shining towers of marble were now 
heaps of crumbling rock that glinted in the sunlight like a million shards of 
broken glass.

Yet the destruction had not been absolute. Here and there amongst the broke 
fragments a shelter could be found. Perhaps a room not totally crushed by the 
force of the earthquake, or a recess created as the stonework fell in upon 
itself.

The captain strode wearily across the undulating plain towards the ruins. He was 
tired and hungry. He had not slept since the day of the massacre, and food had 
bee scarce on his wanderings. Once he caught a rabbit and roasted it on a spit. 
Another time he found a soylok bush loaded with fruit. He had picked the red 
berries as though they were the last food in the land, and when he had eaten his 
fill he brought wit] him as many as he could carry. But a man cannot live on 
sour fruit alone and hi stomach ached from a surfeit of them.

Finally he came close to the old castle. In an instant something knocked him 
bodily to the ground. It was as if a great weight had come hurtling towards him 
and pushed' him backwards onto the hard earth. Yet he had seen nothing, and 
there had bee no sound.

And worse was to come. He found that he could no longer stand up at all. The 
invisible weight seemed to have landed full on top of him and he could not push 
it aside, though he tried with all his might. it was impossible to even lift an 
arm or a leg under the force, and the immense pressure seemed to push him into 
the firm ground where he lay.

eThen there came the voice. It was a hideous, ugly voice that hissed out its 
words

eand seemed to spit into his ear, like someone whispering into a dream.

"Who are you?", it said. "What brings you to the ruins of the Old House?" d 
Holdin could not answer though. There was barely enough air in his lungs to 
breathe; he could spare none for talking.

The voice repeated its questions, and then the heavy pressure eased a little and 
the man was able to rasp out a reply.

"I am Holdin Belanshar, I mean no harm, 1 did not knowingly commit the crimes of 
which you accuse me. I am an innocent man."

He almost pleaded with the unseen adversary, and though it charged him with 
nothing, the guilt that welled within his own mind made him say things that he 
did not mean to.

"Then why do you come here?" continued the voice.

"I seek only shelter from the elements. I mean no harm to you, or any living 
soul. I wish to find help for myself, and my people. There are questions to be 
answered, and I cannot find a way to do so. I need time to think and be alone."
 
Suddenly the mysterious weight was gone and Holdin found that he was able to 
stand again. He breathed a deep sigh of relief, then filled his lungs again to 
counter the effects of the crushing they had received. Then he realised that he 
was alone and he began to wonder what had happened, and who the invisible 
creature might have been.

He was about to set off towards the ruins once more when a man appeared over a 
gentle ridge in his path. He recognised the figure at once, not because he knew 
him but because he had heard of his kind and knew of them well. This was not a 
man at all that walked slowly towards him, it was one of the higher mortals, the 
Zim Farinid. Holdin could tell by the way he walked, the slow stooping gait, and 
by his clothes, and the staff that he carried.

The old man wore a grey robe that came almost to the ground, and a tall hat that 
covered most of his head and face. His long wooden staff was old and gnarled; it 
looked as if he had used it to walk for a thousand years, and always along the 
most dangerous paths. His face, though old and lined, was kind and welcoming. 
Holdin had never met one of these old wizards, but he had heard many tales about 
them. He knew how they had helped Ilis Clair to shape the land, and to teach the 
men and other creatures how to live in it. They had saved the world from the 
creeping Plague and even now watched over all things to see that no evil could 
overwhelm the peaceful life that they all enjoyed. They were a kind and 
benevolent race who Would harm no-one and brought only good to all they met. 

"Good morning to you, sir," the soldier called out, almost amazed to see him 
there.

"Good morning you call it," the old man replied grumpily, "I would call it no 
more good than a cold wind on a summer's day. What brings you here to trouble 
me? Cannot the men of this world leave me in peace? Have I not done enough to 
help your lot that I must be bothered at all times, whether I wish to assist or 
not?"

Holdin was a little taken aback by the mighty one's attitude. He had expected 
soft talking and swift aid, but it seemed that he was wrong, and that all the 
old stories he knew had confused the real nature of this powerful race.

"Forgive me, sir," he said, hanging his head. "I meant no harm to you, and I did 
not wish to bother you with my problems. I did not seek you out, but came here 
by accident. If you will let me on my way then I will go and leave you to 
yourself." He turned as if to go, but the old man called after him. 

"Holdin," he said, "do not trouble yourself with my ramblings. I see that you 
are in need of rest and shelter. Come with me and I will help you as best I can. 
I'll warrant that a good meal would not go amiss.

With that he turned and beckoned that Holdin should follow.

They walked solemnly over the low hills to the old stone ruins. Holdin followed 
a few paces behind, perhaps a little afraid to come level with the old man. He
was held somewhat in awe of him and he dared not risk his disfavour. He seemed
to have a mood about him that would not suffer the discourtesies of a man. 

Holdin also found that although his companion seemed to walk with an agonisingly 
slow pace it was very hard to keep up with him, even though his own legs were 
stepping out as quickly as they could and taking strides that any soldier would 
be proud of. There was clearly truth in the stories of the Zim Farinid's magical 
powers.

When at last they halted, Holdin found himself deep within the ruins of the old 
palace. The wizard had set up a den beneath a huge slab of ancient stone that 
was supported at each end by the remains of giant pillars. Underneath this 
strange roof was a chair, a table and an old chest.

The chair and table were ordinary enough, but the large box looked mysterious 
and out of place. It was made of the most beautifully carved wood that Holdin 
had ever seen. On its lid was a picture of Ilis Clair herself, but not in the 
pose that the Statue now took. Instead she was running, like a horse in a 
gallop, her white mane streaming behind her head and her silver tail swishing 
from side to side. He could almost picture her moving in this way, not a Statue 
at all, but a living unicorn running wild and free across the great plains of 
Falforn.

"Well Holdin, sit yourself down and rest." The old man pointed to the chair, and 
then sat down himself on another seat that the army captain had not noticed 
before.

"In a while I shall prepare some food, but might I suggest first that you wash 
and tidy yourself. Those stains upon your tunic look to me like the blood of 
men. I will not trouble you at the moment as to why they are there, though I 
would like to know sooner rather than later, but it would be better if they were 
changed before we partake of a meal." 
For the first time in days Holdin looked down at himself. He had not realised 
until now what a mess his clothes were in. The blood of his men had indeed spilt 
upon his battle dress and his hands and face were dirty with the days of 
travelling.

"Thank you sir, I will wash myself gladly, but I have no other garments to 
wear."

"Then trouble yourself no more," said the old man, "I will find you something." 
He went over to his trunk and began to rummage around inside. Then he produced a 
grey cloak similar to his own, but looking perhaps a little newer. "Here, take 
this," he said gruffly, "and will you stop calling me 'sir'. I am known to men 
as Avarath the Health Giver, and I will thank you to use that name from now on." 

Then Holdin washed in a bowl of warm water on the table, though where that had 
come from he could not guess, and he took off his bloodstained army tunic and 
put on the cloak that Avarath gave him. It was warm and comfortable. 

They dined on a meal of roast beef, hot potatoes and a variety of green 
vegetables, but again Holdin could not see how they came to be there. The old 
man certainly did not cook them and although he did not simply produce them from 
thin air, it seemed that he did employ his magical powers in some way to obtain 
the food. 

There was much about Avarath that Holdin did not understand. He seemed to be a 
person of many opposing moods, but always wining to help. But for all his 
misgivings he could see that the old one would be a powerful friend, or a 
terrible foe.

Once Holdin had satisfied his immediate hunger, Avarath began to question him 
about his purpose and his reasons for being so far from his home. He seemed to 
know that something was amiss, although that must have been fairly obvious from 
Holdin's state when he first arrived. But it was more than that. Avarath had a 
sense for the truth and he wanted to hear the captain's story in full.

"It was two days ago, or was it three?" Holdin began. He didn't know where to 
begin, or what to say. "I am a Captain of the army of Falforn, at least I was. 
Now my army is gone and I am a fugitive from my own masters. 

"We were parading at the setting sun, as we do every day, and all was well. The 
sun shone across the plain, the men were in fine form and drilled well. I was 
proud and happy, for them and for myself. We were a true and loyal band and I 
could not have wished for a finer body of men to be under my command. 

"When the parade was nearly over we stood on the square at Noman Sith and I was 
about to make my address when something happened. I cannot say what it was, or 
why it should have been. I can only describe the way that I felt and how it 
affected me and the others. 

"At that instant in time I seemed to feel all the bad emotions of mankind 
swelling inside my head, as if to make it burst. They came from all about, from 
within me, and from without. They echoed around inside my skull until I could 
almost bear it no longer. Time seemed to stand still for that instant, as if a 
year had passed by in the blinking of an eye. I remembered my mother as she 
died, and felt the sorrow of that day. I saw my brother kill a sparrow in the 
garden where we grew, and I flushed with the anger that had enraged me as a 
child. I felt the frustration of a baby who cries but is never heard. And I felt 
the wanting of a material wealth that could never be mine.

"All those things took hold of my mind for such a short time, but they have left 
me scarred for the rest of my life. I shall never forget that moment and the 
visions that went before my eyes. 

"And then came the truly evil thoughts. These were worse than any that had come 
before. There was a lust for killing and a hatred for all living things. Every 
man in the land was chasing me, calling for my blood, and my only chance of 
escape was to kill them all first and run for my life. Then there was anger that 
they should be doing this, that they had chosen me to be the vent for their own 
stifled emotions.

"That is when the killing began." 

Holdin stopped speaking, he could go on no more. 

When Avarath saw what distress the recollections were causing the man he raised 
his hand and placed it upon the soldiers forehead.

"Be gone," was all he said, but Holdin could feel the power that was Avarath 
flowing along the outstretched arm and into his soul. It bathed him in a warm 
glow and seemed to lift a weight from his shoulders as it went. As the strange
force flowed downwards through his body he could feel every muscle relax like
it had never done before. It made his skin tingle and his heart beat slowly in
a gentle, hypnotic rhythm. But before the power of that magic reached the
extremities of his limbs he was asleep; in a deep, dreamless sleep of healing
and rejuvenation. 

Holdin did not awake until the next morning. When he did finally stir into life 
he felt better than he had for a long time. His mind was easier now and the 
horror of past events seemed to have dimmed a little, like a childhood dream 
that is all but forgotten. He was still in the ruined castle though, and Avarath 
was at his side.

"Ah, you have decided to arise today after all," the old man mocked. "I though 
that you were going to sleep the full day and night. This will not do if you are 
to assist me in my work."

Belanshar rubbed the sleep from his eyes and thought for a moment about what 
Avarath had said. He did not recall offering his help to the old man, though he 
would give it if asked. He thought rather that he had come here to find help of 
his own, though not necessarily from one of the Zim Farinid.

"Er, I don't understand, Avarath," he said at last, "of what aid can I be to 
you."

"Well 1 have yet to decide that," said the old man patronisingly, "but do not 
get ideas above your station. Whatever tasks you undertake will be menial 
compared with my own. But no doubt you will have your part to play in the scheme 
of things."

This did not help Holdin, who still had no idea of what was afoot. 
Eventually, seeing the look of puzzlement on the captain's face, Avarath began 
to explain his part of the story.

"You have guessed already that I am one of the so-called 'Higher Mortals'," he 
said. "A silly name I must confess, since we are neither high, nor mortal, but 
it will do for the moment.

"Well, I must tell you now that there are evil things abroad in the land. 
Something which we all hoped would never be, has at last happened; though what 
that is I'm not quite sure. There have been strange rumours of trouble 
throughout Falforn and Oronfal, and yours is just one more tale to add to the 
many I have heard already. I too have detected an evil presence in the land, 
though I cannot say what form it takes. There is an evil age ahead of us all and 
no creature is safe from it. Not even me!" He laughed in a low chuckle, and then 
his face became straight and stern again.

"If this force has reached as far as Noman Sith then it is worse than I feared. 
I had set myself here to shelter from the ways of men for a time. I thought I 
might not be found, since I have need of quiet to gather my thoughts and plan my 
moves. Unfortunately it appears that I was wrong. Hence we must move on, and go 
with all haste for time is not our ally. If we are quick then we may make our 
mark before it is too late."

The way Avarath spoke filled Holdin with fear and dread once more. He did not 
understand all of what the old man said, but what he did understand sounded bad. 
If anything were to upset the peaceful manner in which all the races of the land 
had lived, then these would be dark times indeed. Until now those races had been 
finely balanced, depending on each other for their living. But if something were 
to tip that equilibrium one way or another then no-one could foretell the 
consequences.

And so the two companions set out almost at once, at first with Avarath leading, 
as he had done before, and Holdin trailing behind. They went northwards, towards 
the gap between the West Rocks and away from the comparative security of 
Glowist.

When they had been going for an hour Holdin called out, 'Avarath, will you not 
slow your pace a little so that I may walk beside you?" 

The old man replied, "Oh, very well, but you will have to do better than this if 
we are to reach Ormead in time." 


CHAPTER SEVEN 

When Avarath and Holdin were a little way from Olowist, the old wizard turned 
back and raised his staff high into the air.

"Vayn lief math erat in folar," he chanted, loud and clear so that the words 
echoed from the nearby mountain side. Then he turned to his companion. "Our 
hiding place will be safe from all but the most persistent of inquisitors," he 
said.

Then they moved off again. 

Their journey to the Temple of the Innocents would take them almost due north 
for fifty miles before they could then turn west through the gap between the 
West Rocks at Elin-Mer. It would not be an easy route though. Avarath thought 
they should conceal themselves, though Holdin could see no real reason for it. 
So they kept close to the mountains all the way, hiding behind the foothills and 
craggy slopes as they went. It made the going slower but the old man seemed to 
think it worthwhile. He was afraid of something, but Holdin could not guess 
what, and the Healer would not say. 

By the end of the first day they were past Molaktar and into the lower, rocky 
region that cut off that mount from the rest of the Brondith. These lesser 
peaks, some of them no bigger than a large boulder, stretched for fifteen miles 
before the mountains themselves took over once more, They went on for another 
thirty miles, breaking again at the pass to Elm.

They made their first night's camp here, between two outcrops that satisfied 
Avarath's need for concealment. When they had eaten supper, which was again 
provided by some unknown means, they settled down to sleep. Within minutes the 
old man was snoring loudly but Holdin lay awake for hours, restless and cold.

He fancied that in the night he heard strange noises. There were animals abroad 
that he had never heard before. Strange hootings that came from no bird that he 
knew, and a low murmuring that was not the wind. The noises frightened him, 
together with the thoughts that ran through his head. He considered what Avarath 
had said; the evil forces that were let loose upon the land and what they might 
be trying to do against them.

Eventually his tiredness overcame the activity of his mind and he slept a while 
before dawn came, bright and early.

That day they travelled another twenty miles or so and by the time they stopped 
again, the pass through the mountain range was almost within reach.

This time their bivouac was more exposed than before. Again Holdin thought he 
heard strange sounds as he tried to rest in the pitch blackness of night. 
Sometimes they were louder, and once or twice he could hear a rustling noise as 
if some creature had come close to them as they lay on the cold ground.

In the morning there were fresh footprints in the soil nearby, but they were not 
from a man, nor a satyr or dwarf. They were small, no bigger than a child's, but 
looking like the toes in it were webbed, like a water bird's, and clawed too. 
But it had not been a bird, of that Holdin was sure. 

When he showed the unusual impressions to Avarath the old man only said, "It is 
as I feared, they are about once more," and then he fell silent and would not 
speak for a long time. 

Yet after that morning Avarath seemed more cautious than ever. He was always 
looking about him as they walked, especially behind, and he would start at the 
slightest sound, or the sight of a merest movement in the rocky landscape. Once 
a bird flew up and he raised his staff in alarm, but he quickly saw that it was 
harmless and calmed his nervous brow.

Later that day they entered the pass of Elin-Mer. It was a green, flat valley 
that cut a swathe between the tall peaks of the Brondith. It was about five 
miles wide and twenty long, a beautiful vale of grass and heather that beckoned 
for them to enter and cross from one part of the land to another. It was a 
sunny, inviting place and it made their hearts lift to enter it after travelling 
for so long in the dark shadows of the mountain range.

Within the confines of the valley there was little shelter though, and the two 
travellers had no choice but to walk in the open, exposed to whatever might be 
against them. The only alternative would have been to climb into the mountain 
slopes and skirt around them for the duration, but even Avarath considered that 
an undesirable hardship when they could make good time across the flat 
grassland. 

They had been going that way for several hours when they saw a great deal of 
movement ahead, both in the valley and on the mountain slopes which met it. From 
where they stood it looked like an infestation of ants scurrying down the steep 
banks and spilling into the hollow of the vale, almost filling it from one side 
to the other with a black sea of apparently random movement. By their thousand 
they came, from north and south, and they moved swiftly and noisily. But insects 
they certainly were not, unless they were monsters that had grown to half the 
size of a man. These were warm blooded creatures, and they did not look at all 
friendly. 

Holdin cried out when he saw them, "By the Statue, Avarath, what is that in our 
path?" 

"They are the Nalesh, and we must try to escape them," cried the old man as he 
hastened forward. "They will overrun us if we are not swift in our actions. Take 
care to follow me and do nothing unless I bid it. Do not raise your sword to 
them for the smell of even their own blood will set them into a frenzy, and we 
will not keep our lives if that should happen."

With that he thrust his wooden staff high into the air, pushing it forward as if 
it lead the way, and moving faster than Holdin had ever seen before. The captain 
had to run to keep pace with his fellow and together they swept forwards towards 
the Nalesh horde.

"This is madness," thought Belanshar as the two foes sped towards each other 
with increasing speed.

Within a minute they met at the valley's centre. The vile little creatures 
surrounded the two travellers and hissed and spat at them with breath that stank 
of rotting flesh, showing their red stained teeth and tongues, and their sickly, 
gurgling throats. 

These awful beings were, as Holdin had guessed, about half his size in general, 
though as they became angry some would inflate their chests to become twice 
their normal size. They were ugly and obscene, but each was different in some 
way from the next. Some had large gaping mouths, bulbous eyes and teeth like 
razors. 

Others were one eyed with featureless faces that gazed up in blank stares. Most 
had spindly limbs and dark, leathery skin. Some were armed with swords and short 
spears, but all looked fearsome and wild. Many were dressed in ragged clothes 
taken from men or dwarves and these were blood stained and tattered. Holdin 
shivered with the thought of what these terrible animals might have done to 
obtain such apparel.

The noise they made was deafening and crude. Some of the sounds of their 
language were familiar to Holdin; he realised now that he had heard it during 
the past nights and that these creatures must have been following them for some 
time. It was frightening to think of what could have happened in those dark 
hours as they rested, unaware of the danger that awaited them such a short 
distance away.

As the dark ranks of terror closed around Avarath and Holdin, the old man held 
his staff still higher and rushed forward with even greater speed than before, 
if that were possible. But as he did, the crowd of the Nalesh parted in his path 
and they seemed to calm a little as he passed between them. The evil creatures 
were scared to come within reach of Avarath, and his power kept them at bay as 
he and the army captain sped through.

At last they came free of the pressing horde, but still Avarath kept going as 
fast as he could. The Nalesh did not follow, but he wanted to reach safety 
before the power of his spell was broken and the sprigganlike multitude were 
released to continue their pursuit.

Finally, when the Nalesh were far from view, Avarath halted and allowed Holdin 
to rest for a while. The old man seemed to be hardly troubled by his high speed 
retreat, but his human companion was nearly exhausted by the ordeal, despite his 
strength and vigour.

When the captain eventually regained his breath he said to Avarath, "What were 
those creatures? I have never seen the like before, and never wish to again. 

"I am afraid that we have not seen the last of the Nalesh,"

the old man replied, "but I think we have escaped them for the moment." He 
stopped for a while as if thinking and then he continued. "They have not been 
abroad for many a year. I hoped that we had seen the last of that kind in this 
land, but I was wrong again. 

"They are creatures of evil that once roamed the world before the coming of man 
and the taming of the elements. It is thousands of years since we banished them 
to the Other World and it was said then that they would never return to Falforn 
or Oronfal. It seems that our powers were not enough to contain them for all 
time, and they have come to reap revenge upon the usurpers who have since ruled 
their old home.

"It seems the evil is getting worse by the moment. I suspected as much when you 
saw those prints in the mud this morning, and I have heard them speaking in the 
night."

"Then you knew before this?" Holdin asked, although he knew what the answer 
would be.

"Oh, yes, young man," said Avarath sadly, "I have feared their arrival since 
before you came to me. It is but another episode in the story of evil that is 
unfolding even as we speak. Come, we must not tarry here. There are many miles 
to travel and the Nalesh may find us again if we are not careful. I have fooled 
them once; it may not be so easy next time."

They journeyed on as best they could, well into the night even, and they stopped 
only when they reached the end of Elin-Mer. They hid in the valley's northern 
slopes for the remainder of the dark hours, but neither slept, and in the 
morning they set off north again.

"Should we not visit Elm itself?" Holdin enquired when they turned away from the 
town. 

"I think not," Avarath replied sternly, "we have troubles enough without 
visiting that place today. If the Nalesh have been there already the people will 
have problems too great for us to assist. If not, I have no desire to lead them 
there. If we are lucky we may not be followed at all, but I think that the 
Nalesh may be after us even now and we must reach Ormead without delay."

So on they went for the fourth day since they left Glowist. 

This was the final leg of their journey and they strode onwards with great speed 
once again. Holdin had learned to keep up a little better with the speedy 
ambling of his leader, and they reached the Temple before supper on that day.

The Temple of the Innocents, Ormead, was an ancient place. It had been a seat of 
great learning since the beginning of time, connected as it was with the Zim 
Farinid, though none of the Higher Mortals dwelt there now. Yet this had once 
been their home, according to the old stories that mothers now passed on to 
their children. This building was the first structure that they had put upon the 
land, even before the mountains had cooled and the river had begun to flow. It 
was from here that they had planned the Ways and laws of the creatures that Ilis 
Clair brought forth, and it was from here that they had ruled in those first 
disorganised years of creation.

How much of this was true, Holdin could not say, and Avarath was unwilling to 
make any comment on the legends of old.

"It is not my place to confirm or deny," he had said when pressed, "so mind your 
words so that you do not blaspheme against the creators of your land." 

But there had been a glint of mischief in his eye and Holdin did not know 
whether to take his meaning in earnest.

The Temple itself looked very old, like the great pyramid at Amarnil, and 
perhaps in a similar style. Its lines were straight and geometric and there was 
little detail on its flat, well built surfaces. It was built to resemble a 
perfect cube, but one top corner of that massive square was damaged, like a die 
that has been chipped against a hard stone floor. Some said the wound had been 
caused by one of the many storms that tormented this land, but it had been that 
way since man was first born and no-one knew the truth.

Still, Ormead was a magnificent testimony to an age long gone, but not 
forgotten. The people that lived there now came from all parts of the land and 
represented all the races that could be found in both the kingdoms. Amarin, 
Dwarves, Men, Sandinid and Topil all lived in harmony here. They were the 
teachers and the learned ones who came to Ormead to study, and to show others 
the wisdom of their thinking. It was a place of tranquillity and peace, 
friendship and understanding.

It was here that Avarath hoped to enlist some help in his quest.

The great wizard and his friend approached Ormead from the south west. It was a 
splendid sight, a great right-angled megalith against the evening sky.

But when they came close enough to see any detail upon the scene Avarath turned 
to Holdin with a heavy heart.

"I fear that we are too late," he said with a look of pain and disappointment. 
"There is something amiss at the Temple."

"But all looks well to me," his companion replied.

"Does it? Then look again man. Do you see any sign of movement around the Temple 
square? Is there smoke rising from the fires to cook their evening meal? Are the 
animals grazing in their pens?" The old man pointed towards the great building 
that stood ahead of them, casting a long, almost rectangular shadow as the sun 
set at its side. "No, there are none of those things. Quickly, we must see what 
is about."

Avarath ran towards the enormous doorway of the old hall. Holdin lagged some way 
behind because the old man went with such swiftness that he could no longer stay 
with him. It was the first time that he had seen him really run and he reached a 
speed that the best human sprinter would envy. Even so, he did not move like any 
other man but seemed to glide along, as if he was floating just a little above 
the ground. Holdin wondered whether this was in fact what the wizard was doing, 
but he could see nothing of his legs because of the old cloak that reached down 
so low. 

When they entered the Temple all was quiet. Nothing stirred and there was no 
sound. Holdin's own footsteps echoed around the old stone rooms as they went 
from one to another searching for any sign of life. In one place they found some 
blood on the floor, not a large amount, but enough to show that there had been a 
fight. Avarath said that it was the blood of a Satyr, though to Holdin it looked 
much the same as any warm blooded animal's; red and thick, as if it was that 
substance alone which gave life to all things. In other places they found 
furniture scattered and broken. In the kitchens a huge barrel of apples had been 
split open and the soft fruit spilled across the floor.

"The Nalesh eat no fruit," said Avarath. And when they found a dead goat, with 
its throat ripped open and its body half devoured, he said, "This is more their 
style."

Then seeing the desolation in Avarath's face, Holdin turned to him and said, "I 
am sorry, my friend, for all the wrong that has been done. What is it you 
suggest we do now?" 

Avarath looked up. His face seemed older and more withered now. 

"I don't know," came the sorrowful reply, "I just don't know." 


CHAPTER EIGHT 

It did not take long for news of the invasion of Oslar to reach King Theltiem 
and his court. Since the terrible day a week or so before, when the palace had 
shaken and the sky darkened, they had all been prepared for some evil deed.

The army of men and dwarves took them all by surprise though. Theltiem had 
always considered Falforn to be his ally, and Queen Rolquin his friend, and he 
did not expect them to begin an era of war and wanton destruction without great 
provocation. And, as far as he knew, there had been none. That they should take 
Oslar to be their own, and hold Ilis Clair as if she was some worthless piece of 
stone, was unforgivable. The King was determined that they should not be allowed 
to continue with their evil plans. 

He was afraid that they might not stop at the river either. His own home was 
less than twenty miles from the bridge across the Milfair and if the western 
horde should decide to march upon that too, then he would be utterly 
defenceless.

So Theltiem mobilised his people, and set his son Mithulin at the head of his 
new army. Every man who lived near Oronoman was armed with whatever weapons 
could be found, though there were precious few of them. A few swords and spears 
lay unused in the Royal Palace and these were issued within hours of the first 
aggression. But their best defence lay in the bows that some men used for 
hunting. Those that could, quickly made more. And arrows too, by the thousand.

Men who had never taken arms before were swiftly trained. Most took up their new 
bows with pride, and quickly learned to use them with great skill. There were a 
few who preferred the idea of close combat, and they chose swords and daggers as 
their chief weapons. 

While the people of Oronoman prepared for war, messengers were sent to all parts 
of the Royal Land to enlist help. They went on swift horses and carried letters 
of appeal, signed by Theltiem and sealed with the royal warrant.

One rode east to Harvena. His aim was to enlist aid from the Amarin who dwelt 
there, but his would be a long, arduous journey and the King could expect no 
reply for many days. There was no road that the rider could take, and the Castle 
of Joy was surrounded by tall mountains that could be passed at just one point, 
near the very eastern edge of the land. In any case they could not count on 
receiving military aid from such a peaceloving race. 

Another envoy was sent south-east, to Morath and Fathrain. The smiths of Morath 
were instructed to cease all their other work and make only armaments of all 
kinds. If necessary they should melt down the ploughs of their neighbours to 
fashion swords and daggers, battle-axes and arrow heads, for the war that was to 
come. 

A third emissary went north, towards Hail-an-Hes to seek out the assistance of 
the people there. His road would take him through the forest of Brantiem, or 
Dark Heart, and he was instructed to enquire of the Sandinid and bring back news 
of their loyalties in the matter. 

Every region was asked to send all the menfolk they could spare, and any women 
who were willing to fight for their King and country. These were dark tirnes and 
Theltiem Emasar hoped to raise an army twenty thousand strong to rid Oslar of 
the insurgence from the west, and to protect his own land from any threat that 
might come from that direction.

When the messengers had left there was little else that could be done, except 
practice their fighting skills and wait. Mithulin set his men as a guard around
the Palace, though they could hope to do nothing but delay any force of attack.
There were less than three hundred armed men in all, more than half archers,
and few of those were properly trained. No-one in all the land had any
experience of real warfare.
 
The old King seemed to withdraw from his people after the attack on Oslar. He 
would shut himself away for long periods and see virtually no-one, except his 
only son. It was as if he blamed himself for the happenings of the last days, 
though he would not admit openly to such thoughts. This had been a trying time 
for them all, and none more so than Theltiem. 

One evening Mithulin came to his father's bed chamber and spoke with him.
 
"My Lord," he began, showing the respect which he still felt for his ageing 
parent, "the guard is set and the Palace is as secure as we can hope for, but I 
fear for your safety. Would it not be wise for you to travel east to Harvena, I 
am sure the Amarin would give you protection, whether they fight at our side or 
not?" 

"No," replied the old man quickly and sternly, "I will not desert my people at 
this time of crisis. My place is here, with them. It is the King's duty to lead 
his people, whatever the hardships that may lie ahead. I will not shy from such 
responsibility, and it is foolish for you to demand anything else." 

"Then father, I would counsel that we send a mission to Oslar. What news we have 
thus far is only rumour and hearsay. We should confront Rolquin and demand that 
her forces withdraw from the island at once. That would demonstrate that we have 
not ignored their trespass and are willing to fight them if need be." 

"And with what would we fight them, Mithulin?" came the reply. "Your hotchpotch 
army would last no more than a moment against a thousand cavalry spears and five 
thousand battle axes. No, we must wait until we are ready, and then we shall 
strike, at the very heart of Rolquin and her evil ways." 

As he spoke the Queen's name his face became pale and his lips trembled as if he 
might cry.

The he said quietly, "Now, be gone my son, for I have need of meditation and 
sleep." With that Mithulin bowed low and left his father's presence, but his 
heart was heavy and troubled. He had never known his father to speak and act so 
strangely in all his years. It was as if another man now wore the crown of 
Oronfal, he had changed so much. In the past Theltiem would have done all in his 
power to avoid a confrontation with a neighbour, not least with Rolquin who had 
been his friend since she took the Storm Land's throne. Yet now the old man was 
openly encouraging war between the two sides, and he would not listen to advice 
which might help to assuage the situation.

Mithulin himself was not one to follow the path of violence. In the past he had 
preferred to seek justice through reason and logic than resort to such barbaric 
means. But he was not a cold, unemotional man. Though he wanted to improve the 
lives of the ordinary people, he would not stand for disloyalty or dishonesty. 
He saw that his father was right. Rolquin had gone against the unwritten laws of 
the land. She had taken something that did not belong to her, and in so doing 
had cheated all the Other races and peoples.

Theltiem did not have any particular desire to improve his peoples' life styles, 
but that was more through ignorance than design. He had not taken a great deal 
of interest in what went on around him, except within his own small court, and 
life had changed little for the ordinary man in his forty years of monarchy. 
Thus it was that there were still landlords and aristocrats who owned much of 
the wealth of Oronfal, while the majority possessed nothing and had to pay taxes 
from the little that they could earn.

But still the people were content. Because there had been such little change in 
the thousands of years past, no humble man could foresee any different way of 
life and each would take his lot as it came, be it good or bad. Nobody starved 
and every family had a roof over their heads.

Only the Amarin and Sandinid escaped the rule of the King to any degree, and no 
man dared to demand fealty from them. They set themselves apart, perhaps even 
above the human race. But they caused no trouble and all the races had been able 
to co-exist peacefully for many years.

But Mithulin could see a change coming in the future. When he was king, he 
vowed, he would see that all men gained from their own work and none had rights 
over another, unless the servant chose to serve in return for good pay and fair 
conditions. 

It was for those reasons that the heir to the throne disliked his task as leader 
of the army. But he would do his father's bidding and forget his own feelings 
for the good of the nation. It might be the only way they would survive.

Several days passed before the first of the new armies arrived at Oronoman. They 
came from the south, mostly men from Morath and Toranstar, with a band of female 
warriors from Tordil. They called themselves the Raydon, Sword Women, and there 
were over a hundred of them, some recruited from other villages as they 
travelled northwards to their King.

In all, over a thousand fighters arrived that day. They carried more than enough 
arms and were all fit and strong. With them came some of the metal workers from 
the Smith Town, and they set up forges in the palace grounds where they worked 
day and night to produce whatever weapons they could. They made fine long swords 
with blades that could cut through a tree trunk, and axes that would cleave a 
solid rock with one blow. 

With them came a man named Naylim. He was called a genius by his companions, and 
under his direction they built a terrible weapon of war the like of which had 
never been seen before. It was a great machine that could take a dozen men 
inside, with wheels beneath and armour all about that would stop the swiftest 
arrow or the heaviest axe blow. They called it 'The King's Engine' and painted 
it all black, with Theltiem 's heraldic arms on its side. It took a week to 
construct, but when done it looked the most fearsome sight imaginable, like a 
huge beetle that crawled slowly across the land on its destructive path.

Naylim also made a new kind of armour. It was light, yet strong and made of a 
new metal that glistened like diamond. But every plate of it took a whole day to 
fashion, and time was too precious to waste on such innovations.

Every day of that week more troops arrived from all corners of the Kingdom. A 
thousand came from Hail-an-Hes; tall, strong men with long beards and quick 
tempers. They were disliked by many, but were better as allies than foes. 

From Fathraln and the southern-most villages came almost ten thousand in all. 
They were a badly equipped, motley bunch for the most part, who seemed to know 
nothing of war and fighting. But they had come as their King commanded. Some 
were almost boys, and others too old to fight. Still, they were high spirited 
and willing, though tired from the journey that had brought them such a long 
way. 

Near the end of the week a solitary Sandinid came to Oronoman seeking audience 
with the King. He had walked from Brantiem, the Forest of Dark Hearts, and came 
to give advice to Theltiem, if he would listen.

This strange race of Green Men had always been something of a mystery to the 
human inhabitants of the land. They had existed since before the first man, but 
had changed little in all that time. They were seldom seen about the land, and 
would socialise with men even less. They were tall and lean, and their pale 
greenish skin gave them a ghostly look that would send a shiver along the spine 
of the bravest man. They spoke little, and when they did the words would come in 
a slow, deliberate manner, as if the language of men was not their true tongue. 

All the Sandinid lived in the forests of the land, and most within the confines 
of Brantiem. They seemed to have an affinity with all plant life and there was 
an 014 saying among farmers; 'Where the Green Man walks, the harvest will be 
good." But virtually the only place nowadays that the Sandinid would be seen 
walking was towards the dead forest, where Promath the Death Keeper would await 
their dying breath. 

When eventually the forest dweller came before King Emasar he bowed his head in 
greeting. Mithulin was attending to his duties at the army's head and the old 
King sat alone in his throne room. 

"I trust that you have come in response to my message," said the King. Even 
though he was ruler of all Oronfal, he still held a great respect for the 
Sandinid and they were just as mysterious to him as to the next man. "It is a 
foul deed that has taken Ilis Clair from our reach and has turned the races of 
the land against one another." He hoped to further his cause by reminding the 
Green Man of the true purpose of the battle that was to come. 

"It is so. And yet it is not," said the Sandinid enigmatically. His voice was 
quiet and the old King could barely hear him. "I bring you greetings from 
Brantiem. My name is Vilyan and I have come to offer the advice of my people to 
you, Theltiem. You may not heed our warnings, but not to do so would be folly 
indeed, and might spell the end of all mankind in this land." 

Theltiem was taken aback by such words. His attitude towards the visitor began 
to change. The King had set himself apart for too long now and would take little 
notice of any advisors, especially one who came from another race and had no 
knowledge of the politics of men. 

Vilyan went on. "Your reasoning is wrong, Your Majesty. Ilis Clair is not taken 
from us, not by any of this land. The men from Falforn mean no harm; they have 
been misled by the same evil forces that have deceived you into following this 
warlike path. It is not your fellow men who are the enemy, nor the dwarves of 
Rimersel. There is some other evil afoot and you must join forces with all your 
neighbours to combat that influence." 

Almost inexplicably, Theltiem rose to his feet, his face red with rage and his 
fists clenched as if to fight. 

"I will not listen to this foolhardy talk," he shouted, so loudly that two 
guards rushed into the room to see if all was well. "I know who the enemies of 
this country are, and not you, nor any of your kind, have the right to come to 
my palace and say what I must and must not do. I am King, and you will do as I 
command."

"But we will not fight for you in this madness," said the Sandinid, still quiet 
and unflustered by the human's outburst. 'We shall not fight for any side in 
such a war. If that is your will, then so be it. But do not expect help from the 
Sandinid, for we shall not give it." 

With that the Green Man turned as if to go, presenting his back to the already 
enraged King. 

"Hold that creature," Theltiem called to the soldiers that stood by the open 
doorway. "He is a spy for our enemies and will betray us and our cause. Take him 
away and lock him in a cell from where he cannot escape to report to his 
masters." 

So the guards took hold of the forest man and dragged him away. As they went the 
King called after them. 

"And give orders that the others of his kind are to be detained as well." 

When at last Mithulin's army set out from Oronoman it comprised fifteen thousand 
soldiers all told. Every one was human; no Sandinid joined the ranks and the 
Amarin of Harvena had not even sent word of their allegiance. The young heir 
lead the great column from the Royal Palace. At his side was his long standing 
friend Amortin. These two had grown up together, fought each other as children, 
and confided in each other as youths. Now they were off to war as companions at 
arms.

The leaders were followed closely by the 'King's Engine'. Naylim's magnificent 
machine was pushed from beneath and behind, and pulled with ropes from the 
front. It caused murmurs of wonder, and some of doubt, from many of the soldiers 
who had not seen the monster until now. 

After that came the bulk of the army, with the warrior women of the Raydon at 
its rear. Theltiem remained at the palace. He did not even emerge to wish them 
well as his people went to fight, for him and for what he saw as being good and 
right. Mithulin was disappointed at the apparent lack of blessing from the King. 
It was surprising after the words that he had spoken just a few days before in 
his bed chamber. But the young heir tried to understand how his father might 
feel. With his only child sent off to war, perhaps never to return, the old man 
was bound to feel tremendous guilt and sorrow at the parting. It may be wisest 
to conceal such feelings from the people. 

There was such an air of excitement that no-one else seemed to notice the King's 
absence. The soldiers marched proudly from the Palace courtyard. The horses of 
their leaders danced forward, holding their heads to the sky and whinnying with 
delight. It was strange that even the dumb animals could detect the thrill of 
their departure. 

Crowds of women, children and old folk lined the road leading from Oronoman. 
They cheered and shouted words of encouragement to the passing army. The young 
ones played games of violence and death, and no-one checked their enthusiasm. It 
seemed that all of mankind was there, and everyone was filled with the 
excitement and wonder of going to war. Not a single person considered the horror 
of what was about to happen. 

They journeyed slowly and it took a day and a half to reach the bridge from 
Oronfal to Oslar. But they were a happy legion and they believed that their 
cause was just. Not one of them doubted that victory would come swiftly and 
easily to their side.

They arrived as the sun was at its noon high and the shimmering water of the 
river flowed from north to south as far as the eye could see. The bridge across 
the Milfair was long and mightily built, and the army of Falforn defended it 
heavily. 

In the time since the first invasion of Oslar, the men and dwarves from the west 
were reinforced by Queen Rolquin's army from Clarooth. She had come with ten 
thousand men and had sped across the great plains of the Storm Land to meet her 
regular army on Oslar. There they had set up strong defences and prepared to 
repel any counter attack from the east.

Sharmek and Lairmath now took their orders from the Queen herself, which was 
probably just as well. The dwarf and man did not get on together, and if they 
had been left alone for any length of time their two armies would probably have 
begun fighting amongst themselves again. But both the dwarves and men looked to 
Rolquin with some respect, and perhaps a little fear.

So the people from the west began to turn Oslar into a fortress island. They dug 
trenches across Ilis Clair's green fields and they brought all the terrible 
tools of war that they could find. The dwarves set traps with a new powder that 
would explode when compressed. They filled buckets with the odious mixture and 
set them into the ground so that a passing horse or cart would set off its 
destructive power. But a light man could pass unscathed because his weight was 
not enough to crush the tiny crystals. 

Thus it was that the armies of east and west found themselves facing each other 
across the wide river, with only a bridge between them.

The battle began almost immediately. 

The bridge itself was guarded mostly by dwarves. They had at first tried to 
destroy the old stone viaduct with their exploding powder, but it had been built 
too strongly and their powder became damp so close to the river. Instead they 
blocked the roadway as best they could with rocks and other debris, and then set 
themselves in row after row of living barricades against intruders. They stood 
like that now, their axes ready and shields raised as the fighting commenced.

Behind the dwarf ranks were the cavalry, poised on their chargers, ready to run 
amok with any enemy that attempted to pass the bridge. Then behind them, on 
Oslar itself, were the foot soldiers. They carried weapons of all sorts. Short 
and long swords, daggers and axes, spears and pikes. Many had farm scythes or 
labourers' picks, but all were sharpened to perfection, and deadly.

Rolquin kept to the rear of the lines to maintain overall command, sending 
messengers to her officers when she wished to intervene in the proceedings. At 
the Queen's command, Sharmek and Lairmath went forward together to oversee the 
general running of the battle.

Mithulin sent his archers ahead at the onset of battle. They let loose salvo 
after salvo of metal tipped arrows which fell by the thousand upon the Storm 
Land army. They came from the sky like a deadly rain and took a terrible toll of 
the dwarves that stood on the bridge. Their bodies fell this way and that, some 
into the river where they quickly disappeared downstream, and others adding to 
the piled obstacles on the road. But they were helpless to retaliate and could 
only stand their ground. Even their shields were useless as defence and the 
speeding darts went through all but the thickest armour. 

Next Mithulin sent forward the 'King's Engine'. It seemed to move at a snail's 
pace towards the army that waited on the bridge. Some of them began to run 
forward to meet it, but were quickly mown down by another hail of arrows. When 
the fighting machine at last reached the bridge, Theltiem's army followed behind 
it and they pushed onwards towards the short, bearded creatures that defended it 
so doggedly. 

But the engine itself was next to useless in a fight. The men beneath its shell 
found that they could do little against their foe. They could hardly see what 
was happening outside and they could not reach to inflict more than the 
slightest wound from within its protective armour. In any case they could not 
carry it past the obstructions that blocked the road. Finally they came across 
one of the dwarves' traps. A huge explosion rocked the bridge with an 
ear-splitting boom. The great black beast seemed unmoved by the force of the 
blast, but every man beneath its frame was instantly killed.

When Lairmath saw the terrible carnage that was taking place on the bridge, he 
turned to Sharmek. He was forced to shout above the noise of battle. 

"This is madness, Sharmek. You must bring your dwarves back from the bridge. If 
you will clear the way, my cavalry can go forward and rout the attack."

But Sharmek ignored the advice and pretended that he did not hear. His fighters 
stayed steadfast in their positions and would not allow Lairmath's riders 
through their lines. Only when more than half were dead or wounded did the dwarf 
ranks part enough to allow the horsemen forward. But by then it was, perhaps, 
too late.

The cavalry of Lairmath also found that the defences on the bridge were their 
undoing. When they tried to come forward to the aid of their compatriots, their 
mounts became trapped between the heaps of rock and stone, and the piles of 
corpses that grew with every minute. Eventually the horsemen were forced to 
leave their steeds behind and take to their legs like the rest of the foot 
soldiers. Many of the horses were slain too as they wandered unwittingly into 
the paths of arrows and misjudged sword blows. A few even fell foul of the traps 
of their own side.

The fighting raged for an hour on the bridge. Swords and axes clashed over and 
over again. The clanking and ringing of metal against metal was eclipsed only by 
the sound of shouts and screams as men, women and dwarves fought and died for 
control of the narrow strip of road across the Milfair. 

The Raydon fought as bravely as any of the men, if not more so. They hacked 
their way through the enemy as quickly as their swords would swing from side to 
side. But many of them fell too, as the battle took its toll of both sides. The 
blood ran across the cobbled road and into the river, making it flow red for 
miles to the south and staining its muddy banks all the way.

Gradually though, the force from the east pushed across to Oslar and by late 
afternoon they had cleared the bridge of every living dwarf and Clarooth man. 
When this was done the fighting subsided for a while and both sides took stock 
of their losses. 

Mithulin had lost a thousand men in that first encounter, but the Storm Land had 
lost two thousand dwarves and nearly that many men in trying to keep the bridge. 
They had found that the bridge itself had been their worst enemy and their style 
of fighting had not succeeded in such an enclosed area. Rolquin and her captains 
could only hope that the second phase of the battle would go more their way. 

And so the fighting began again, perhaps even more intensely than before. Now 
the east army could smell victory close by, but those from the west knew that 
they must keep whatever they still held, or the battle would be lost.

Mithulin and his captains decided to try to push the invaders back across the 
next bridge, away from Oslar and into their own land. They hoped to use the 
advantage of the bridge again, once they had cleared the island of the enemy. 
But that would be the most difficult part.

The young man found that commanding the army in action was not an easy task. Too 
often he would send orders to his officers only to see the messenger killed as 
he sped away. Sometimes the men at his side, that he had trained and lived with 
for the past weeks, were slaughtered in the fight. He had to defend himself with 
his own Sword whilst trying to oversee the battle's grander strategies.

Mithulin survived the battle more by luck than judgement, and he owed his life 
on more than one occasion to the quick reactions of another. At one point, as 
they began to push inland, a dwarf knocked the sword from his hand. Theltiem's 
heir had found himself defenceless until Amortin threw a knife to him and 
Mithulin had used it against the foe, thrusting it hard into his chest until the 
dwarf struggled no more. 

Amortin was a true friend in this terrible hour of need. Not only did he save 
Mithulin's life, he also gave advice and helped in the running of the battle. He 
was a good soldier and his orders were always sound, but he also kept his 
spirits high and Mithulin leaned on him mentally throughout the fight.

This round was that of the foot-soldiers more than any other. The archers from 
Oronoman could do little to help their fellows because the armies were so 
closely set in combat now. Any casualties they inflicted might just as easily be 
from their own side. Instead the footmen made charge after charge. The remaining 
dwarves stood their ground, as they always did, and they inflicted heavy losses 
with their great axes. The dwarves would swing them 'round and round above their 
heads, at the height of most mens' necks, and many a human head tumbled to the 
ground with such a blow. 

Some of the westerners hid in their trenches. From these they could suddenly 
appear to make swift and unexpected attacks. Some of Mithulin's army believed 
that these men were the ghosts of the dead, rising from the ground to take 
vengeance against the enemy. A great fear came upon them for a while, until it 
was realised that these men could be slain just like any others.

The cavalry of Falforn attempted to regroup, but many of their horses and men 
were already dead and they could do little but harass the invading horde. Soon 
the battle had spread over almost all of Oslar. Small skirmishes were taking 
place everywhere, but the main conflict was all but over.

Rolquin saw that her army was close to decimation and ordered that they withdraw 
across the west river and fall back into the Storm Land itself. She was not 
foolish and saw that Theltiem's army would not cease until they had reclaimed 
all of Oslar. With her cavalry almost gone and the steadfast dwarves also 
suffering tremendous losses, she decided to withdraw while she had any army left
to command. 

And so the Falforn invasion retreated at last. When the order went out, they 
made their way as best they could to the west bridge and then crossed into their 
home land and safety. Mithulin's men still fought them as they went, but they 
did not enter Rolquin's country to continue the war. It was enough for them that 
they had taken Oslar and regained Ilis Clair for themselves.

When all was done a great cheer rang out from the Oronfal troops. But three 
thousand of them were dead, and a thousand more wounded. In all ten thousand 
people died that day for one small strip of land. And for Ilis Clair. 

And what of Ilis Clair herself? 

She stood as she always did, but silent and cold as the battle raged. If she had 
not been made of stone she would have cried that day; long, sorrowful tears for 
the way that Hate, Greed, Jealousy, Pride and Anger had overwhelmed all life in 
her world. 

When the battle was over, the men of Oronfal set about burying the dead of both 
sides. Night was beginning to fall as they threw the bodies into the deepest of 
the old trenches. But when darkness came there was a terrible noise, like 
children crying and animals screeching. Suddenly thousands of ugly little 
creatures appeared as if from nowhere. They swarmed all over the island, and 
when the men cut them down with their swords and axes, they seemed not to care. 
It was as if they were in a frenzied trance and they could not be swayed from 
their purpose.

The vile animals carried away the bodies of the dead. Some they even devoured 
where they lay on the blood spattered ground. It was all the men could do t6 
defend the wounded that were still bleeding from their injuries. But within a 
few minutes the creatures were gone, and so were the corpses of men and dwarves 
that had been so numerous just moments before. 

It was a foul end to an evil day. 


CHAPTER NINE 

Avarath and Holdin stayed at Ormead for only a few minutes. Avarath did not wish 
to tarry in case they met the same fate as stay either, but more because the old 
temple seemed an eerie and fearful place. They had found no sign of life at all, 
and very little indication of what might have happened there. 

"What do you think has befallen the inhabitants of this place?" asked Holdin as 
they wandered through the many rooms of the great building. "Have they all 
become victims of the Nalesh?"

"I hope not," replied the old man, but his voice revealed what little chance 
there really was. "Perhaps some of them will have escaped, either to Elm or 
Clarooth. If not, then this is a dwelt the most learned minds in all the land. 
If they are gone then there is very little hope for our future." 

"Then it seems that hope is all we have left." 

"Yes, you are right, Belanshar. Perhaps in more ways than you realise."

So the two travellers set off again. They went north once more, this time to the 
Tower of the Sky, the seat of Queen Rolquin. Avarath reckoned that the time had 
come to enlist help of a more practical kind. So far they had achieved nothing 
and only succeeded in wasting precious time. He hoped now that they might find 
some of his own friends, and seek aid for the Queen. he guessed that she would 
be willing to assist in defending her own kingdom from these evil powers, though 
what could be done directly against them was difficult to determin.
 
It seemed to Holdin that the old Zim Farinid had a plan of sorts, but he could 
not guess what it might be. Every so often Avarath would talk about some kind of 
secret document, and what he called the 'Assembly of the Three', but who or what 
they were he would not say. It was all very puzzling for the Captain. 

But there was something worse happening as far as Holdin was concerned. 
Sometimes he would find that his mind began to wander. It might occur once or 
twice each day, but he would realise that he could no longer concentrate on what 
he was saying, or thinking, and strange thoughts would come unbidden into his 
mind. lt reminded him of that evening outside Noman Sith when he had lost his 
mind completely for a time, and it made him extremely worried and more than a 
little scared. He did not mention it to Avarath for a long time, but eventually 
he had to say something. 

"Avarath," he said as they strode purposefully northward, "there is something I 
must tell you." 

"And what might that be, young man." The old wizard had a way of speaking that 
often made Holdin think Avarath already knew whatever he was about to tell him.

"Something troubles my mind," replied the soldier. He spoke slowly because he 
could not find the words to express his feelings. "Sometimes I feel as though my 
mind is wandering, in the same way as it did that day at Noman Sith. It worries 
me for what I might do if the power should overwhelm me again, and I am 
defenceless against it. I have tried to fight it, and though I think I might 
have succeeded this far, I cannot hope to beat it forever."

Avarath thought for a moment, then he said, "I have felt it too, though it has 
affected my mind in different ways. We must watch each other, lest the magic 
that protects us should fail and allow us to fall under the evil spell that has 
taken so much good from this world." 

"But what magic is it that protects us?" asked Holdin, puzzled by the 
matter-of-fact way in which the old man spoke about such things. 

"Why, my magic, of course," boomed the wizard, raising his voice and seeming to 
grow in stature with it. "Do you doubt the powers of the Zim Farinid, for if you 
do I shall show you our capabilities. Look, there!" 

He pointed at a small bush which grew at the roadside. Suddenly its green leaves 
burst into flames. Sparks and burning embers flew in all directions and Holdin 
could feel the heat of the fire from where he stood. Then the flames quickly 
died, but the bush had not been consumed at all and it remained as green and 
fresh as before.

"Is that proof enough?" said the old man, now a little more calmed. 

"Yes..., yes, I think it is," stammered the shocked Belanshar. 

Avarath and Holdin travelled around the northern edge of the Brondith and 
reached Cliardith within two days of leaving the old Temple. At journey's end 
they wearily climbed the spiralling road that lead to the Tower of the Sky, and 
they were not challenged until they reached the great wooden doors that were now 
firmly shut. 

Outside were some guards and they called out when they saw the two travellers 
approach. 

"Who are you? What do you want?" 

Avarath replied first. "We are pilgrims who come in search of aid. We seek 
audience with Queen Rolquin in a matter of great urgency. Will you take us in 
and send word to her that Avarath and a companion are waiting at her command?"

"No. Be off with you," the soldiers shouted. "In any case, Her Majesty is not 
here. Go away." 

"Then we will see her Chamberlain," said the wizard as they drew closer to the 
guards. There were six of them and they seemed none too friendly and certainly 
unwilling to help. 

"And 1 am Holdin Belanshar, Captain of the guard at Noman Sith," the old man's 
friend added, "and I order you to let us pass." 

With those words the guards looked at each other with darting eyes. Suddenly 
they took the two strangers in tight grips. One of them said, "Then enter you 
shall, but not by your order, Captain. I think that Lisarind will be only too 
pleased to see you again." 

A whispered password had the Tower gate opened from within, and the soldiers 
dragged Avarath and Holdin inside. The old man made no attempt to escape, but 
Holdin struggled all the while, until eventually they were thrown into a cell 
off the main courtyard. 

They took the Captain's sword and knife, but let Avarath keep his old wooden 
staff. The guards did not seem to recognise the Zim Farinid, or realise the 
importance of that token of power. They obviously thought that he needed it only 
to lean on as he walked. How wrong they were.
 
"That was not the welcome I envisaged," remarked Avarath as the door was slammed 
shut and locked behind them.

"But we should have guessed," said the captain. "They must hold me responsible 
for what happened at Noman Sith. It is just as I feared. Even if it is not at 
the Queen's own bidding, then the men here will still blame me. We should never 
have come, or you should have come alone."

"Do not speak like that," said the old man, trying to disguise the fact that he 
tended to agree with what Holdin said.

The cell was dark and damp. Only a dim shaft of light entered from a high, 
barred window that cut a way through the thick stone walls. There was straw and 
dirt on the floor. It had once been a stable, but the horses were gone and 
Clarooth now had more need for gaols than horse boxes. 

When their eyes became accustomed to the dim light they realised that they were 
not alone in this dark prison. Huddled in one corner was a girl. She was pretty 
and young, not yet twenty Holdin guessed, and her clothes were ragged and torn. 
It appeared that the guards had not treated her with any respect and she sat on 
the filthy floor crying floods of tears that seemed like they would never stop.
 
Holdin went to her and tried to soothe her as best he could. At first she pulled 
away, but he spoke kindly and gently. After a while she lifted her head from her 
hands momentarily, so that her face was visible. Holdin saw that she was 
beautiful indeed. Her eyes were round and dark, and her black hair flowed long 
and straight across her slender shoulders. 

"My name is Holdin," he said quietly, "do not be afraid. My friend and I mean 
you no harm. We too are prisoners, like you." 

She stopped weeping a little and looked up, first to Holdin and then Avarath. 
When she saw the old man she seemed to wince, as if he reminded her of some 
painful experience, and he looked down on her but made no expression. 

"What is your name?" Holdin asked. 

"Fethrol," she replied, still sobbing but a little calmer now. 

"And why are you here?" the old man interjected with a tone that did not sound 
too sympathetic.

Fethrol turned to him and said, "I stole from the market, and they threw me 
here. I have been in this room for days now, with little food and no visitors. 
Only the guards have come here..." She broke off and began to cry again, leaning 
this time on Holdin's shoulder and hiding her face from view. 

When she stopped again the Captain gave her a drink from his water bottle and 
the maiden seemed to cheer a little and spoke to them some more. 

"It was after the Queen went away, and I was in the market with no money and 
nothing to trade. I took an apple from the stall of a friend, or one who I 
thought was a friend, but as I walked away a soldier came and arrested me. I was 
brought here and have remained since then, forgotten and unwanted; except by the 
men of the new army." She stopped again and then added pleadingly, "Please help 
me, for I cannot stand it any more." 

"We will do what we can," said Holdin. 

Eventually, after what seemed like years instead of hours, some men came and 
took Avarath and Holdin from their prison. They marched up and up, through the 
many levels of the tall Tower. They went higher and higher until at last they 
came to the very topmost storey of Clarooth, where the Royal chambers were 
situated.

In the state room they found Ilsarind, sitting, incredibly, on Rolquin's throne 
as if he were king. The soldiers forced their captives to bow low and then moved 
them forward to the base of the stairs that led to the royal seat. 

The Chamberlain of Falforn eyed Avarath with interest, he clearly suspected that 
there was more to him than met the eye, but he spoke first to Holdin. 

"Well Belanshar, what brings you back to Clarooth?" His voice was commanding, 
quite unlike the toadying servant the Captain had known before. "I thought that 
you would have gone long since, perhaps east to the land of your masters." 

Holdin did not understand. It sounded as if Ilsarind was accusing him of some 
kind of treason. Why did he mention the 'east' in such a malevolent way? He 
decided to say nothing for the moment. It seemed that he might incriminate 
himself if he was not careful with his replies. 

"Well, answer my question. Have your lessons in evil left you dumb as well as 
stupid." Holdin could barely contain himself at that. His face reddened with 
anger, and had it not been for the guards that stood beside him with their 
swords poised, he would have leaped at the Chamberlain and blackened both his 
eyes. 

Instead Avarath spoke, trying to defuse the situation.

"Where is Queen Rolquin?" He asked, simply and quietly. He did not like the way 
in which Ilsarind seemed to have taken control of Clarooth. In the Queen's 
absence he had changed beyond recognition. He now wore the fur cloak of a 
monarch and sat where no commoner should dare. The guards offered him undue 
fealty and he was issuing commands which were outside his jurisdiction.
 
"Of what concern is that to you, old man." Ilsarind turned his attention to the 
wizard, which had been the desired effect, and Holdin was able to calm himself a 
little.

"You obviously do not know who I am," said the old man. His voice began to rise, 
as it had the day before when Holdin himself had upset his friend. It seemed 
that this Zim Farinid disliked those who had no knowledge of, or faith in, his 
powers. 

"I am Avarath, the Healer, and none shall detain me, or my assistants without my 
consent, not least a usurper to this throne!" With that he raised his staff high 
into the air, as if to strike a blow at Ilsarind.

The soldiers reacted at once. One unsheathed his sword and thrust it towards 
Avarath. But the old man was too swift for even the best of attacks, and his 
staff sent the weapon spinning across the stone floor. Another quick blow sent 
the guard backwards, clutching his aching stomach while his comrades hesitated 
for a moment, stunned by the actions of One who appeared so old and frail. 

Then a blinding light flashed high above them, near the magnificent ceiling of 
the throne room. For the first time in hundreds of years a beacon as bright as 
the sun shone into the chamber, illuminating the fantastic paintings that 
decorated its walls and roof with a glare that they had never seen before. 

Only Avarath was not affected by the brilliant glow and he took Holdin by the 
hand, leading him quickly from the throne room and out into the twisting 
passages and hallways of Clarooth. 

"Follow me," said the old man, and off they went with Holdin bringing the rear, 
not for the first time since the two had met.

They went with great speed through the maze of corridors and stairways that led 
downwards within the giant castle. Holdin had visited this place many times 
before, but he would have become hopelessly lost had it not been for Avarath 
leading the way. It seemed that the old man knew these ways better than the 
Captain knew his own chambers at Noman Sith. 

They turned this way and that, running along dim corridors and through strange 
chambers. Sometimes, when they saw gatherings of people or soldiers ahead, 
Avarath would dart off to one side and take a lesser passage that still took 
them in the desired direction. Some of these were unlit, but the wizard conjured 
an eerie glow from his staff and they saw well enough to pass without mishap. 

It seemed to take an age, but at last they came to the lowest level of the 
Tower, near the cell in which they had been imprisoned.

"Wait," called Holdin, out of breath. "Wait, old man, we must release Fethrol 
from that awful place. And I would like to have my sword again if we can find 
it." 

"Very well," said Avarath, "but we must be quick. And I will thank you not to 
call me 'old man'!" 

They had come from the top of the palace with such speed that word of their 
escape had not yet reached the army's courtyard. So it was almost with6ut 
challenge that they made their way to the guard room that adjoined the prison 
cells. 

The guards there recognised the prisoners, though at first they were a little 
puzzled at why Avarath and Holdin should be roaming free. But the soldiers 
quickly realised what had happened and set about the escapers.

Avarath tried to keep the assailants at bay. At once his staff turned into a 
flaming torch and he swung it all around so that the men could not reach him 
with their weapons. 

Holdin's trusty sword stood in one corner of the bare room. He grabbed it with a 
rapid movement that surprised even him, took the blade from its scabbard and 
quickly joined the fight. One of the guards singled him out and they fenced for 
a few moments, the bright edges of their weapons clashing in deafening blows 
that echoed around the stone walls. 

Then Belanshar knocked the sword from his opponent's hand and inflicted a deep 
cut in his arm. 

The other man could fight no more, but Holdin was caught up in the excitement of 
the fray. His mind was lost to the same thoughts that had overcome him at Noman 
Sith and he longed for the taste of another man's death at his own hands. Re 
held his sword aloft to deal the final blow. 

Avarath saw the way in which Holdin could no longer control himself and, whilst 
still keeping the others at bay, he pushed the Captain's victim to one side with 
his foot. The sword blade fell with such force that it chipped the stone floor, 
but it did not reach its target. As the sound of the blow echoed around the 
room, Holdin regained his senses and turned to thank his friend. But he saw that 
Avarath was busy with his magic, and winning the fight without the need to harm 
his opponents. 

The wizard motioned towards the open door and Roldin dodged through it. He 
realised now that Avarath was the more powerful warrior and he trusted the 
wizard to keep the gaolers at bay. 

Between them they pushed the door of the guard room closed and then Avarath cast 
a spell of some kind. He muttered strange words under his breath and the door 
was sealed. 

"They will not escape from there today," he said quickly, and then turned his 
attention to the door of the nearby cell. 

With a flash like lightning that came from the Zim Farinid's staff, the door 
lock melted into a pool of hot metal and the door swung open as a breeze might 
blow a garden gate. 

Fethrol looked up in a gaze of amazement and surprise, her mouth wide open 
showing her white teeth in the dim light of the cell. Immediately Holdin took 
her hand and the three of them fled across the courtyard towards the main door 
of the Tower. By this time other soldiers were in pursuit, and more waited by 
the firmly shut gates. Their situation looked hopeless and Holdin thought that 
their fate was sealed. There could be no escape.

Then Avarath called out the words, "We shall pass!" as if it was a command to 
all the soldiers that stood between them and freedom. But none of the guards 
took any notice and they produced their swords in quick succession. 

Holdin could not understand what happened then. He could feel Fethrol's hand in 
his as he almost dragged her along behind, and he saw Avarath going at full 
speed ahead of them. But the men that stood in their way did not move apart, and 
the thick wooden gates did not open. Instead the three fugitives passed through 
them all, as if the solid flesh, bones, wood and metal that barred their exit 
had become just air, or something even less substantial. There was no sensation 
and no sound, only the strange views of darkness and light as they passed from 
one side to the other. 

And then they were out, running at full pelt down the winding road that lead 
from Clarooth to the plains of the Storm Land. They did not stop, or even slow 
their pace, but kept going for an hour, and none of them grew tired with the 
exertion.

When they did stop at last, they all sat and drank from Holdin's water bottle 
and he finally sheathed his sword. They had not been pursued and it seemed that 
they were safe, at least for the moment. 

But neither the Captain nor the wizard were prepared for what happened next. 
Fethrol stood up and looked down at the two men sitting on the grassy roadside. 
As she did, her features began to change. Her long straight hair started to 
wither and fade to a dull grey. Her pretty face wrinkled and aged before their 
eyes, and her body became twisted and old. Even her tattered clothes were 
transformed and she now wore a long cloak, not dissimilar to Avarath's.

"So, I fooled even you, Avarath," she said. Her voice rang out in a high pitched 
cackle that sent a shiver along Holdin's spine and even made the old man visibly 
recoil.

But they had no time to reply. Before he could do anything to stop her, the old 
hag took Avarath's staff from his hand and, calling out some vile words in a 
long forgott~~ tongue, she struck the old wizard with his own powerful magic.

As the blow fell with its full force upon Avarath's head, Holdin also lost 
consciousness and the two men fell backwards to the ground. But the old woman 
walked slowly away, still clutching the staff and laughing to herself as she 
went. 


CHAPTER TEN

After the great battle for Oslar, Mithulin sent word to his father, the King. A 
messenger rode swiftly to Oronoman to tell Theltiem that victory was theirs, 
though the cost had been high. Nearly three thousand men had died in the fight, 
and a thousand more were wounded. But Ills Clair was free once more, and the 
island a dominion of Oronfal.

Mithulin's next task was to set up defences, in case Rolquin sent another attack 
to retake the disputed land. The young heir did not wish to make the same 
mistakes as his foe, so he made sure that the bridge to the west bank of the 
Milfair was strongly defended. The bowmen of his army had wreaked the worst 
blows upon the enemy, and Mithulin put them on both the bridge itself, and on 
the island, guarding the way from the river crossing. After a while, the remains 
of the 'King's Engine' were brought forward and placed in a prominent position, 
more as a visual deterrent than a practical weapon. It did look fearsome, even 
though it had proved worthless in the actual battle and was now only an empty, 
blasted shell.

By morning, the Storm Land army could be seen close to the forest of Tar Gelfay. 
They had encamped a mile or two from the river, and looked set to stay for some 
time. Fires burned, lifting long plumes of black smoke high into the air, and a 
few tents reflected the rising sun on their flapping white canvas. It was too 
far to see any great detail, but their very presence posed a threat to the 
comparative peace that lay on Oslar for the moment.

In the first light Mirhulin's men were also able to see the bodies of the 
strange creatures that had visited them early in the night. They were vile 
things, like mockeries of human children. Their skin was dark, and they had 
hideously formed faces, long spindly limbs and they wore tattered rags for 
clothing. 

The men carried the awful corpses to the water's edge and threw them into the 
raging river, so that they were quickly carried away. Then everyone who had 
touched the sickly flesh washed himself thoroughly to banish the evil smell that 
was left behind.

When all this was done, Mithulin went alone to see his' Clair. He hoped that she 
would speak to him, though he felt ashamed for what had happened on her land, 
and within her own sight. He knew that she would be deeply shocked by the 
carnage that had taken place here, though he suspected that the old Unicorn 
would have greater knowledge of the affairs that had led to this than any 
mortal.

He rode the few miles from his own camp to where the great statue stood. When he 
arrived, he found her unchanged and unmoved.

The King's son slowly dismounted and walked over to touch the ancient white 
stone. lt was cold and hard. It made him shudder a little to think that the old 
statue had been set on the land so many years ago, by an unknown god, yet he was 
able to touch her with his own hand.
 
There were no other men nearby, and Mithulin spoke to the idol. 

"The son of King Theltiem brings you greetings, Ilis Clair." 

He spoke loud and clear, like one might speak to a child, or to an adult who 
cannot hear as well as most. 

The statue turned her head to look down at the man who touched her base. She was 
tall and beautiful, carved in the most exquisite way and full of magic. She held 
such power that not even a king could imagine; she had created all their land, 
and every living thing had sprung from her own mind. 

"Mithulin, you have come to see me at last, I have been expecting you." Her 
voice rang out, sweet and soothing, like a mother to all the world. "Tell me 
what ails the creatures of this world, that they should commit such crimes 
against themselves? Is it that they tire of their lives? They give them up too 
willingly for such a small prize as myself."

"I am sorry, Ilis Clair, but to all of us you are not a small prize. We have 
come to protect you from any who would do you harm. We know your true worth, and 
none shall take you from us." 

"But you do not know what you are doing," her voice was more sorrowful now. "Men 
must not fight men, nor dwarves, nor any of the creatures that once lived in 
harmony. There are new enemies that you must conquer. The Nalesh are one of 
those. You must rid the world of those evil beings." 

"Nalesh, what are these things that you speak of?" Mithulin was puzzled. 

"You have seen them once, my child, and others have met their deaths at the 
hands of those vile creatures. They were banished once, and we must do the same 
again. But it will not be so easy the second time. There are other evil powers 
that have brought them forth, along with many more demons that will bring equal 
terror. We must all join forces to combat them, not squabble amongst ourselves 
over petty disputes that threaten our whole existence.

"Go now, and stop the fighting between your races, before it is too late." As 
she spoke, the Unicorn seemed to radiate an aura of calm and peace which entered 
Mirhulin and drove the evil forces from his mind. For a short time he was able 
to see the error of his ways, and of everyone in the land, and perhaps a little 
of the right way ahead.

"Very well, I will see what can be done," Mithulin replied. The words of Ilis 
Clair seemed so true to him now. He could see the mistakes that he had made, 
that his father had made too. They had no quarrel with the men and dwarves of 
Falforn. There was some other force at work, and they were all its unwitting 
slaves. It was that evil which should be fought, and quickly too.

Mithulin was about to leave Llis Clair when she spoke again. 

"Young man," she said. 

"Yes, Ilis Clair, I am listening." 

"Your father needs your aid. The Nalesh are attacking his palace and all is 
nearly lost." Mithulin wasted no time. He quickly mounted his horse and rode 
back to his waiting camp. The previous words that Ilis Clair had spoken were now 
forgotten. They had seemed so good, and so right while he was in her presence, 
but the evil forces that roamed freely through all men's hearts broke into 
Mithulin's mind and twisted even the Unicorn's words. He forgot that his war was 
truly against those dark powers, all he could remember was the battle, the 
fighting and his father, the King.

When he reached his own army he took only a small band of men who could travel 
at speed on horseback. They did not have many swift mounts and it seemed that 
haste was called for. So he left orders that others should follow on foot, and 
set one of his captains in charge, a man named Selondath. Then Mithulin, and the 
four dozen that accompanied him, sped back towards Oronoman.

Amortin was among those that rode off and Mithulin explained what had happened 
as they went.

"his Clair has given me warning that there are evil deeds afoot. Those creatures 
that we saw last night have travelled east to Oronfal and are attacking our home 
even now. We must go with all haste and defend the King and our families. Nalesh 
they are called and we must destroy them all."

They went with all the speed they could, riding on and on north-eastwards, 
ignoring the road that took a longer, winding route to the royal palace. At one 
point they came upon a small band of the Nalesh, but there were no men with 
them. A few sword strokes quickly dispatched these few and then the men quickly 
moved on.

It seemed that the Nalesh were not skilled in fighting, they were stupid little 
creatures and their weapons were crude and blunt. But their advantage was in 
numbers, and the way in which they seemed to care nothing for themselves. It was 
their teeth that had to be avoided at all costs, for a handful of their stinking 
mouths could devour a living man in a few moments.

Mithulin and his companions came to Oronoman before night fall that same day. 
They rode straight into the palace and immediately saw the killing and 
destruction that had taken place. It was unlike anything they had ever seen, and 
quite different from the Nalesh attack that they themselves had witnessed the 
night before. Mutilated bodies lay everywhere, but not everyone was dead. Women 
lay crying, their husbands butchered before their eyes, and the remaining army 
had been decimated. Those that escaped with their lives wandered aimlessly in a 
state of shock. 

Mithulin and Amortin hurried to Theltiem's own chambers. Here the scene was much 
the same. The rooms were wrecked beyond recognition. There was blood on the 
floor and signs of a terrible struggle for life between men and Nalesh.

But there was no King, nor any sign of what might have befallen him. 

There was little that such a small number could do to help the wounded or 
distressed. Mithulin and his friend stood amidst the turmoil and they both wept, 
the tears running down their faces unhidden in the agony of their sorrow. 

Then somebody came forward who recognised Mithulin. It was a woman, one of the 
King's servants. She was almost hysterical and the young heir had to slap her 
face to bring her to her senses. 

She suddenly calmed from the unexpected blow, and then she said, "It was your 
father that they came for, my Lord. They knew that he was here, and they wanted 
him alone. They spared his life and carried him away. Southwards they went, 
across the plain, but not before they did this." She indicated the scene of 
terror that was before them and then she ran off, screaming and crying once 
again.

"What devilry is this," said Amortin, "that they should single out your father 
from all these men and carry him off. I'll wager that this is not all the work 
of those simple creatures. There is another mind behind all this, and it is he 
that we must find and destroy." 

But Mithulin could not really listen to his friend's words. He was overcome with 
grief and hatred. He beckoned that Amortin should follow and then he rushed into 
the courtyard where the others waited. They wasted no time. Half of the riders 
were detailed to stay at the palace. Their task was to organise the remaining 
folk, and to help the wounded. The rest remounted their steeds and although the 
sun was beginning to set, they rode off again. Mithulin vowed that he would 
catch the Nalesh that had taken his father, and he would not rest until they 
were all dead. But he would need help to fulfil that vow. 

And so they headed back to Oslar to meet the foot soldiers that should have been 
on their way to Oronoman by now, and to enlist more aid if need be.

But it soon became too dark to travel and they had to stop for the night. 
In the morning they rode on, but they never met any troops heading towards them. 
Mithulin did not worry overmuch about it since it would be easy for them to miss 
each other in the open countryside. If the others had taken the road they would 
be far to the north anyway, if not they might still pass unseen to the north or 
south. In any case, if the foot soldiers reached Oronoman soon, they might be 
able to help the people who remained there after the holocaust had struck. 

When they did reach the Milfair though, there was an unexpected reception 
awaiting them. Armed soldiers stood at the entrance to the east bridge, as 
Mithulin expected, but when he approached them, they would not let him pass. 

"Do you not know who this is at my side?" said Amortin commandingly. 

"We do, my Lord, but we will not let you, or your friends onto this island 
again, nor will we take our orders from him. Now be off, before we drive you 
away."

Mithulin was stunned. What could he possibly have done to alter his men's view 
of him so? He had tried to be a fair leader, and though the battle had been 
tough and had taken its toll of them all, the army had seemed in good spirits 
when he left. He was puzzled and angry, but there was nothing that could be 
done. Archers trained their bows on him from afar and the soldiers on the bridge 
unsheathed their swords menacingly.

"Why are you doing this to me?" he asked, his voice quavering with the 
realisation that his own army had turned against him. "Do you not know that your 
own homes may have been attacked by the Nalesh hordes."

"We will no longer listen to your false testimonies," came the harsh reply. 
"Now, be gone!" 

Mithulin called out in desperation, "Where is Selondath? Bring him to me."

But the men laughed in reply. "Here he is," they shouted, pointing to the river 
bank below them.

Theltiem's son followed their gazes. At the top of a blood stained spike was a 
man 5 head. He recognised the face of Selondath, racked with the expression of 
an agonising death. 

Suddenly a single arrow whistled over their heads and embedded itself in the 
ground just behind them. 

They had no choice but to turn away and ride off; just Mithulin and the few 
companions that remained faithful to him. 

When he asked them what had happened to their fellows, they could not answer 
with any more truth than the young leader could guess himself, and he had no 
idea at all. 

So off they rode again, southwards along the road towards Marith, but not really 
knowing where they might find Theltiem, or the Nalesh horde that had kidnapped 
him. They had been shunned by their own people and they all felt miserable and 
dejected.

Mithulin and his aides had been going for two days, and covered fifty miles or 
so, when they came across a lone man walking in their direction towards Marith. 
They were all suspicious at first, not least Amortin, who said that the man 
looked like a spy if ever he saw one. They had seen no-one on the road since 
they left the bridge to Oslar and this man seemed very out of place so far from 
any town or village. 

He was a tall, young looking man with muscular arms under which he clutched an 
untidy bundle, and he strode purposefully along the rough road. He wore a long, 
blue cloak and a hood which almost covered his face. 

"Hail, traveller," called Mithulin when they came level with him. "Where are you 
going?" 

The man seemed to jump with surprise, as if he had not seen or heard the riders 
approach. Then he said, "I am going south, away from the death and destruction 
that seems to haunt this land." 

"And what have you seen of such things?" asked Mithulin.

"I have seen enough. Just last night there was a group of ugly creatures that 
passed me in the darkness. They did not see me, but 1 saw them well enough. 
There was a single man with them, and they dragged him along with ropes tied to 
his hands and neck. I have no wish to follow such a path, so I am heading away 
from Oronfal. You will not find me tarrying in a land so full of evil ways." 

The man's attitude was strange. He spoke as though he was above the other men of 
this land, as if he did not deserve to suffer the injustices that were presently 
sweeping through it like a broom clearing the autumn leaves. But he did not look 
significantly different, he wore no crown and carried no staff. 

"And where did these creatures go?" asked Mithulln, eager for news. "Which 
direction did they take?" 

Clearly this young man had seen the Nalesh band that had taken Theltiem. It made 
the King's son shudder to think of his father being treated so harshly, and he 
wished to pursue them with all haste.

"They went south-east, towards the Mure." The stranger spoke as if he did not 
care, and he did not ask of Mithulin, or his interest in those creatures. 

"We thank you, sir," called out Amortin as Mithulin turned to ride off without 
speaking any more. But as he did, the other man called out after them. 

"I could help you, if you wish." 

Mithulin stopped in his tracks and wheeled around. He was angry that anyone 
should delay them, even if he had given them invaluable information. 

"How could you help us. We go to fight the Nalesh, and rescue the King of this 
land. I should guess that you are just a farmer's son and know nothing of 
politics and warfare." 

"Then you are wrong, Mithulin." The lone traveller stood taller in his old 
boots. He seemed to grow in height as he spoke. 'I am one of the Zim Farinid, 
and my powers are stronger than any man's. I am more powerful than Ilis Clair 
herself, and I will prove it, if you wish."

He waved his hands above him, and with a few mumbled words there came a terrible 
trembling in the ground below their feet. The horses shied and threw some of 
their riders, including Mithulin, and they landed with a thud upon the vibrating 
earth. 

Then a great opening appeared before them and from it rose a tall creature, like 
a man, but awful to see. It had only one arm, and its skin was transparent, so 
that they could see the blood coursing through its veins and arteries. Even its 
muscles were visible, flexing in the enormous arm and powerful legs as it 
stretched like a man awoken from a long sleep.

Then the creature turned towards them and they saw that it held an axe in its 
hand, which it swung around its head. The mighty blade made a hideous ringing 
sound as the air parted for it, and the creature opened its mouth in a blood 
curdling scream. 

Some of the soldiers produced their swords, but it did not turn to fight them. 
Instead it loped off at a good speed, eastwards across the plain until 
eventually it disappeared from view over the horizon. 

Mithulin picked himself up from the ground. 

"I do not doubt your powers, wizard," he said, still a little stunned by the 
terrible monster that had come and gone so quickly. "But why did you bring such 
a thing into the world?" 

"Do not trouble yourself," replied the wizard, "it is harmless really, just a 
vision that I conjured for your entertainment." 

"Then that is not an entertainment I would seek again," said Amortin. Mithulin 
asked the Zim Farinid to join them on their quest, saying, "Who do you serve, 
great mage, for we would like to have your aid in our cause?" 

"I serve the true ruler of this land," came the guarded reply, "and I will join 
you on your journey." 

So they all mounted their horses again and rode on. The young man, whose name 
was Lifandin, rode behind one of the soldiers, and together they made their way 
towards the sand dunes of the southern-most part of Oronfal. They turned away 
from the Marith road and went across Elif-Gard instead. 

The Warm Plain was flat and dry. Little could grow there because there was no 
water. Only strange, bulbous plants came from the sandy soil. These were covered 
in sharp spikes that could pierce a man's skin, and they grew to enormous sizes. 
But if one was cut open it was filled with moist, green tissue and a good drink 
could be had from this uninviting vegetation. 

It took two more days of swift going before they reached the first of the sandy 
hills of the Mure. Mithulin had thought that they might meet the Nalesh on the 
way, but he underestimated the speed with which those creatures could travel. 
They did not stop at night, nor seem to tire or thirst. If hunger overtook them 
they would begin to eat each other, but their numbers would never diminish. They 
seemed to appear from nowhere and sometimes their numbers would swell, and other 
times they would dwindle a little, but never by any great degree, 

After another day of constant searching, Mithulin and his men found the Nalesh 
warren. They saw them from a distance at first and managed to remain hidden, 
spying out the land and making a plan of attack. 

It seemed that the spriggans actually lived underneath the sand. Mithulin often 
saw them dig into the ground and disappear below. Then some of the vile 
creatures would appear as if by magic, but they had only come from holes that 
had already been dug in the sandy hills.

They also saw Theltiem. The Nalesh were keeping him above ground, and although 
the spies could see no detail, he seemed to be alive. But he was treated 
brutally, and Mithulin decided that he should be freed at once. 

So the twenty five men, and one wizard, set to work against the thousands of 
gaolers that held the King. 

It was Lifandin who did the most work. Reset a spell against the Nalesh, and 
while the human soldiers had to fight their way through the evil horde, the 
young magic maker turned them against each other. In the heat of the fight, as 
the men's swords cut this way and that, the Nalesh began to ignore the true foe 
and instead went on a frenzy of killing among themselves. 

The battle raged on for a long time, but at least Mithulin was able to reach his 
father and cut the bonds that held him still. But the dreadful journey, and the 
torturings of his captors had proved too much for the old Emasar. Re could not 
stand, though Mithulin tried to help him to his feet, and he could barely speak 
to his son.

As he held his father's head in his arms, Mithulin heard the King's last words. 
"It is a terrible wrong that we have done," the old man whispered as the killing 
went on around them. "There is but one hope though. You must go to Ilis Clair, 
and ask her for The Key. She will know what I speak of, and she will help you. 
But you must hurry, young Mithulin, before it is too late." 

And then Theltiem died in the arms of his son, and King Mithulin began his reign 
over Oronfal. 

The two kinsmen stayed together like that for some minutes until eventually 
Amortin saw what had happened and came to them. 

"Your Majesty, we must go from here. We cannot rely on Lifandin's magic for too 
long." 

So the King's men carried his father's body through the turmoil that surrounded 
them, until eventually they came to a safe place, away from the Nalesh who 
continued their bloody orgy. 

Then they buried the old man beneath the sand, with as much dignity as they 
could in such an inhospitable scene. 

When all was done a shout went up. 

"Rail King Mithulin," they all called, and he saluted them in reply. Only 
Lifandin was silent. 


CHAPTER ELEVEN 

With Theltiem dead, there was no longer any reason for Mithulin and his 
followers to remain at the Mure. So they quickly rode off to a safe distance, 
away from the Nalesh who continued their self destructive riot, even though 
Lifandin's spell was beginning to wane. 

They went north for ten miles until they came out of the sandy hills and back 
onto the flat plain of Elif-Gard. Here they rested for a while and discussed 
their next move.

Mithulin recounted his father's last words. Ris face was haggard and he looked 
suddenly older. 

"Re told me to go back to Ilis Clair, to ask her for 'The Key', whatever that 
might be. Re also said that she would help us in our fight, but I do not think 
he meant against Falforn. I believe it is our struggle with the Nalesh that most 
troubled him, and the powers that control them. The war with the west is our own 
affair, and I deem that Ilis Clair will not help us in that action. But any aid 
that we can get against those awful creatures will be of countless worth.' 

"But how can we reach Ilis Clair again?" asked Amortin. Ris mind was a little 
more practical than his friend's, and he remembered only too well the reception 
they had received at Oslar. "If your own army is against us now, what hope do we 
have of ever speaking to the Statue?" 

"There is no hope," said Lifandin mockingly. "Rope is the one thing upon which 
you cannot rely.' 

Mithulin snapped back at him. "I thought that you were offering aid to our 
cause. If this is your attitude then I can see no reason for you to remain with 
us.'

"I will give you aid enough," said the wizard, "but you will only succeed 
through military might, and powerful actions. If you rely on a mere word then we 
are all doomed to failure. I will help you indeed, but with my magic and my own 
mind.' 

"I am sorry, Lifandin. I do appreciate the work that you have done for us, but 
our position is hopeless." Mithulin realised that the stranger was right. Fate 
had not been kind to them, and they would have to bring about their own 
salvation through hard work and clever thinking. There was no use in waiting for 
easy opportunities or good luck. If there was no hope of success then they would 
have to continue without it.
 
Amortin turned his attention to the young wizard. "Then what would you counsel?" 

"This is my plan," said Lifandin quietly, "and you would do well to follow it. 
"We must go to Rarvena and seek help from the Amarin. It is clear to me that we 
cannot turn to your fellow men in this matter. They offer no fealty to their new 
King, but the Satyrs will give whatever assistance you ask. They are a kindly 
race and would do anything to help Ilis Clair. They may not fight against the 
men of Falforn, but the Nalesh and such other devils are their enemies too, and 
it would be in their interests to help us against those foul beings.

"If we are clever, we may even be able to use the Amarin against the Storm Land 
without their knowledge. But watch them at all times. They are a devious race 
and we cannot trust them fully. Be on your guard. 

"I also have another plan that will deal with Falforn for good, but now is not 
the time to discuss that. Come, we must begin our journey at once.' 

With that the young man stood up and mounted one of the horses. The others 
quickly turned to their King, as if waiting for his approval to follow. Mithulin 
nodded in agreement and soon they were on their way again. 

It seemed as if they were doomed to wander through the land, always seeking 
assistance from unwilling hands. Mithulin was a King who had no subjects, and 
even the land itself seemed to have turned against him in his battle against 
evil. The Amarin were almost his last hope, and even that was a very slim one. 
But he would not give up. Providing he was still alive to fight the cause, he 
would continue. Only when victory was theirs, or the fight was truly lost, would 
he finally rest. 

S****SSS**

The journey to Rarvena was long and difficult. The riders made their way north 
first, to join the Dry Road that went west to Fathrain. They followed this for 
twenty miles, but before they reached the Golden Rall they turned north again, 
away from it. 

Lifandin advised Mithulin to avoid the places where they might come into contact 
with more men. Re thought word may have spread from Oslar and that the young 
King might not be welcome at any town or fortress in Oronfal. It seemed wise to 
follow such advice, so they skirted northwards in a great semi-circle that took 
them across the Morath road and rejoined the way to Fathan some ten miles to the 
north east. 

One of the soldiers was sent to the Rail itself. Re was instructed to purchase a 
horse for Lifandin to ride, and provisions for them all. The King carried a few 
gold coins and he gave the man one to buy all that he could carry. But Mithulin 
also gave the man the authority to use whatever peaceful means were necessary to 
get what they needed, and to protect himself. 

When the soldier returned he had brought enough food to last them a week or so, 
but no extra horse. 

"There is no steed to be bought or stolen in the whole place," he reported. "In 
fact, most of the menfolk have gone away. Many of them joined the army that we 
took to Oslar, and some more have gone since, to The Statue knows where. Those 
that remain seem friendly enough, but they were wary of me, and I thought it 
wise not to tarry."

"You have done well," said Mithulin. "I shall see you rewarded when all this is 
over." Then he turned to all the men that gathered round about. 

"You are all my faithful servants," he called out loudly, "1 will set you in the 
highest esteem when we return to our old lives. May The Statue see that we do 
so." 

And his men replied in unison, "By The Statue", and saluted their King with 
upheld arms. 

Then they rode off again on their way to the Castle of Joy. 

From where they had stopped briefly they went to Fathan, the Gold Rill. This was 
a magnificent monument set atop the tallest hill for many miles. It was said 
that once, long ago, the old megalith had been made of solid gold, and was set 
upon the land as a temptation to the races that lived nearby. But the temptation 
had not been resisted and over the years the precious metal had been chipped 
away by pilgrims who came to wonder at the incredible sight. 

So, in an effort to restore the obelisk to its previous dignity, its keepers 
built a new one from the golden coloured rock that could be found in the 
mountains of Monar. They took the old gold block away, and replaced it with the 
slab of worthless stone that remained to this day. But even that had been 
hundreds of years ago and the new stone was now cracked and weather beaten. What 
had become of the old one, no-one knew. No doubt the keepers of the hill had 
become rich with the proceeds of their restoration.

With the gold gone, of course, the hill lost its attraction to the men and other 
races of the land. So they quickly forsook it, and eventually even the keepers 
left it as a bare and ancient reminder of past days. 

Mithulin and his men rode on past the hill, almost oblivious to the history that 
passed so close to them. 

Here the old road ended too, and they were forced to continue without its 
guidance, or the ease of a prepared surface under hoof. But they still went with 
some speed, north-east towards the mountainous circle of Rostar. 

This enormous ring of tall peaks almost completely cut Rarvena from the rest of 
Oronfal. Only at its very eastern edge could entry be gained to the place of the 
Amarin; where the narrow pass of Maylodd weaved between the mountains. There was 
no other way, unless one was prepared for an almost endless climb into the cold, 
dizzy heights of the Mountain Ring.

In all it took nearly six whole days for King Mithulin and his faithful band to 
reach Rarvena. When they did arrive, they were all tired beyond belief. They had 
travelled practically without rest for all that time, only stopping when the 
need was very great. Sometimes they would be almost asleep on their mounts, and 
sometimes it would be so dark that they could not see the ground before them. 
More than once they became lost on the way, and only in the morning would they 
find that they had travelled miles in the wrong direction. It seemed foolish to 
do so, but in the dead of night Mithulin felt compelled to continue and his men 
were only too eager to follow him, wherever he led. 

Rarvena was a strange place, built amid the hilly landscape within the 
boundaries of the encircling mountains. In fact the Satyrs that lived there 
seemed an odd race to the men who occupied the lands outside their small 
enclave. 

It was called the Castle of Joy because they would welcome anyone who came in 
need. They were a peace loving race and this was reflected in the land where 
they lived. Although the great building of their home was called a Castle, it 
was not the kind of fortress that a man would recognise. There were no 
battlements, nor fortificafions of any kind. But there were tall towers with red 
tiled roofs and strange shaped domes that glinted in the sunlight. It was a 
bright and happy place and there seemed to be a warm glow of contentment upon 
the countryside thereabouts.

When the twenty six travellers saw that place, their hearts were uplifted and 
they forgot the hardship that had brought them there. It was as if a healing 
force radiated from the Castle itself, bathing them all in its rejuvenating 
power. 

Only Lifandin looked a little uneasy as they rode nearer to the white plastered 
towers, but none of the others appeared to notice his concern. 

Here life seemed to continue unaffected by the ravages that had caused so much 
suffering to men, dwarves and the other races of the land. The Amarin continued 
with their daily lives much the same as they had since they came into the world. 
They were farmers and shepherds mostly. They ate no meat and fed themselves from 
the harvest of the land, which was always good in these fertile valleys. 

The Satyrs were also strange in appearance, being the most beast like of all the 
races. Their thin legs were hairy and ended in small hooves, like a goat's. They 
each had a short, stumpy tail and from their hirsute heads two small horns 
protruded. These grew with age; youths started with only tiny stumps in their 
scalps, but the elders of their kind possessed bony spikes the length of a man's 
finger. It was these horns that the Amarin could use as weapons, if the need 
ever arose.

When the Satyrs saw Mithulin and his men they ran to meet them. These creatures 
always reminded the young King of human children. They were nearer that size and 
they always seemed to have immature personalities, whatever their own age. In 
fact an Amarin could outlive even the oldest man, but they never lost the boyish 
way with which they treated life. 

Mithulin addressed the crowd sternly as they gathered around him. 

"I have grave news for you all, but you must first take me to your elders. I 
have much to discuss with them." 

So the soldiers all dismounted and Mithulin, Amortin and Lifandin were all led 
deep into the Castle. 

"You must wait here," said one of the Satyrs, in his high, squeaky voice. 

The three men sat on the small wicker chairs that were dotted about the chamber. 

The ceilings in the Castle were low, because that was the Amarin's style, but 
inside the building was exquisitely decorated. Tapestries were hung from the 
walls, brightly coloured and depicting scenes from all around Oronfal. The 
floors were carpeted in a similar way, and the furniture was all made from 
growing things; wood and finely woven basketry for the most part. The walls and 
ceilings were in soothing greens and blues, and the whole place had a mysterious 
atmosphere.

Mithulin had never been to Rarvena before, but he now regretted that fact. It 
was a place of beauty and calm and he immediately fell in love with it, and with 
the people that lived there. They were charming and kind, but perhaps with a 
hint of mischief in their eyes that made them interesting to watch and be with. 
Re could see now why it was called the Castle of Joy. 

The visitors sat in silence, looking about them, but they did not have to wait 
for long. Within a few minutes an older Satyr, with longer horns than most, came 
through a door and spoke to them. 

"You may come with me. The Elders are waiting for you." Then he saw the swords 
hanging at the two men's sides. "But first, I must ask you to leave your weapons 
in this room. We will not touch them, and you may collect them when you leave." 

"Very well," said Mithulin, undoing his sword belt and indicating that Amortin 
should do the same. 
Mithulin's friend lay his sword and dagger on a chair at his side, then he and 
his King stepped forward to follow the Amarin guide. Lifandin carried no sword, 
but the Satyr was suspicious of the odd package that he carried. 

"what is that?" said the horned creature, grasping the untidy bundle that the 
young wizard always carried in the crook of his arm. 

Lifandin quickly tried to pull it back, saying in his most commanding voice, "It 
is nothing that will concern you." 

But it was too late. In the struggle over the small parcel, its wrappings 
loosened and something dropped onto the floor. It was a small book which fell 
open at some blank pages. 

Mithulin bent forward and handed it back to Lifandin. 

"I do not think you need trouble yourself with my colleague," said the King 
quietly, "he carries no weapon. I will vouch for him." 

The Satyr replied sharply, "But I have only your word on that. I do not even 
know who you are." 

"Then I will tell you that I am your King," said Mithulin with as much 
conviction as he could muster, though he doubted that the Satyr would believe 
him. "King Theltiem Emasar is dead, and I am his son, Mithulin."

The Amarin stopped suddenly in his tracks, almost stunned by the words. Then he 
bowed low and said in his squeaky voice, "Your Majesty, I welcome you to 
Rarvena. I apologise for my harsh words and the insult that I have done you and 
your friends. If there is any way in which I can repay my insolence, you have 
only to say and I will do whatever I can. It brings me such joy to meet you like 
this, though the meeting is far from expected. I am so sorry to hear that your 
father is no longer with us. May I repeat, how sorry I am for doubting your word 
and.
 
Mithulin was forced to interrupt the grovelling speech that looked set to 
continue for some time. "You may repay me by taking us to your Elders, with 
haste." And he clapped his hands as if to urge the Amarin forward. They quickly 
moved on again. The Council of Elders sat in a half circle around a similarly
shaped table. All the Amarin here had fully grown horns, and they looked at the
three travellers with wise eyes that were a little out of place in their still
youthful faces. 

One of them spoke before Mithulin, or the Satyr that had brought him here, had a 
chance to say anything. 

"You are not the first emissary to come from the King. I will give you the same 
answer that we gave your forerunner."

Mithuiki interrupted quickly, before the Elders went too far with their mistaken 
belief. "I am not a messenger from the King," he said. "Theltiem is dead. Re was 
killed by a horde of evil creatures that are overrunning our lands. I am his 
son. I am King Mithulin and I come to seek your aid for myself."
 
A murmur of voices ran around the gathering until the first speaker stood, 
raising his hands to silence them. Then he spoke to the King, but this time with 
a little more reverence. 

"If that is so," he said, with an element of doubt showing in his voice, "then I 
bid you welcome, Your Majesty. But I must still give that same answer. The 
Amarin people will not help you in your wars against the other good races of 
this land. We have seen the folly of men too often to take any part in them now. 
Though you believe that you are right, your foe will also say the same, and we 
cannot fight for one against the other. 

"We are a peaceful nation, and we will not have that peace disturbed by the 
likes of you. King you may be, but our allegiance is to our own race first and 
foremost, and then to Ilis Clair, and the goodness that she brings us all. You 
must remember that, and act accordingly."

The words that the Satyr spoke came as no surprise to Mithulin, or his friends. 
Re had long suspected that the Amarin cared little for the monarchy of men, and 
he could not blame them for such feelings. Re wondered how the humans of Oronfal 
would take to a ruler who was not of their own flesh and blood. Re had decided 
long before this that under his reign the Amarin would be able to decide their 
own destiny, without interference from outside.

But that was not the issue now. Re needed help, and badly. It would fare him 
well to make friends with these people rather than enflame old passions and 
rekindle forgotten arguments.

"I do not come now to seek your aid in such matters," he said. "What has 
happened on Oslar is between us men, and we do not expect your race to help us 
solve the problems that our own foolishness has created. But I must warn you 
that those battles are like small skirmishes when compared to the real war that 
is about to unfold before us all. 

"I have told you already that my father was killed by vile creatures that were 
unknown to me until a few days ago. The Nalesh they are called, and there are 
others like them that wait to take all our lives if the opportunity should 
present itself. Even the Amarin are not immune to the ravages of such beasts, 
and the powers that drive them on. 

"There is great evil afoot throughout the land, and you would be foolish to 
ignore it. You must help me rid the land of these things so that you may 
continue your peaceful existence. If you do not, then even I may not remain your 
King for long. There would be a new era of anarchy and destruction and I cannot 
say who would end as the victor. Certainly not the men of this world, and 
probably none of the old races that came here with us."

The Amarin Elders turned to look at each other, their glances going from face to 
face as if they spoke without uttering audible words. 

"Then what would you have us do, King Mithulin?" asked their spokesperson. "I 
would ask for two things from you. First, you must form an army amongst 
yourselves. This would be for your own protection, not to fight at my command. 
You will need it before long, I think. The Nalesh hordes are everywhere and it 
will not be long before they come this far east. When they do arrive here, you 
must be prepared for them. 

"Secondly, I have great need to visit Ilis Clair and seek her guidance. There is 
a human army of occupation on Oslar and they will not give me their allegiance. 
I know that you all have powers beyond the imagination of men. If you will use 
those powers to help me, then I will be forever grateful. Remember that 1 am 
King of all Oronfal, and whatever you may wish for, it is within my power to 
provide." 

The Amarin looked about them again, but for a longer time than before. 
Eventually the same one spoke in reply to Mithulin's plea.

"Do not trouble yourself with our safety. We have the power to protect ourselves 
as need be. But your journey to Oslar is a problem for us. I have already said 
that we cannot assist you in your war against Falforn, and to journey there with 
an Amarin army would only provoke more killing. If you and your men will rest 
here for a day and a night, then we will consider the matter further, and give 
you our reply on the morrow. 

"Now go, and cleanse yourselves, and take food and rest." 

Mithulin thanked the Elders for their consideration of his request. Then he and 
his followers were taken to chambers where they washed, ate a hearty meal, and 
slept for almost a whole day. 


CHAPTER TWELVE 

After their encounter with Fethrol, Avarath and Roldin lay unconscious for a 
long time. They were two sleeping figures at the side of the road, but no-one 
saw them there. Nobody passed by in all those hours and they remained unseen and 
uncared for. 

Eventually it was Belanshar who awoke first. Re rubbed his eyes in disbelief, 
until at last he remembered what had happened. Ris head ached as if a hammer 
pounded in rhythm with his heart beat, but there were no bruises or cuts to show 
where the blow had fallen. Yet his brain throbbed in agony and he could hardly 
think or see through the veil of pain.

Re looked over to where Avarath lay on the cold ground. The old wizard may have 
been dead for all that Roldin could tell. Re did not move, nor did he seem to 
breathe. Sudden panic gripped the man, but he was powerless to give any help 
until his own pain subsided and he could clear his mind. 

Re drank a little from the water bottle at his side. Its contents tasted awful, 
stagnant and old, but at least it wet his parched throat. When he closed his 
eyes the world seemed to spin around him, so he quickly opened them again. 
After a few minutes of sitting still, the pain gradually began to diminish and 
Roldin was able to stand. Ris muscles ached and his legs wobbled, but they bore 
him well enough for a short while and he walked over to where Avarath had 
fallen. Re was some distance away, even though they had been sitting together 
before Fethrol dealt her shattering blow. 

The old man's face was deathly white, and his eyes were wide open. Roldin 
quickly reached within the wizard's cloak, searching for a heartbeat, or any 
sign of life. There didn't seem to be one. Ris skin was cold and his chest was 
still. No air flowed into his lungs and the heart that should have been pumping 
his life blood, like any other creature's, had ceased its work.

For a long time Roldin Belanshar stood over his old friend. Re thought of all 
the miles that they had walked together, of the adventures that had befallen 
them. And of the quest that they pursued. It was their aim to rid the world of 
the evil spirits that haunted it, but now that goal seemed impossible to reach. 
With Avarath dead there was nothing that a mere man could do to further that 
cause. 

With a heavy heart, and a head that still throbbed, Roldin turned away from his 
old companion. Re did not know what to do now. Ris own people had imprisoned 
him, he had no friends left living, and his land was overrun with malevolent 
forces that he was powerless to resist. Re looked around him for some large 
stones with which to cover the old man's body.

Re had gone about twenty paces when a familiar, gruff voice called out behind 
him. "Where are you going, young man? Will you leave your friend in his greatest 
hour of need, or do you plan to bury me alive?"

Roldin turned back. The sight that met his eyes brought such joy that he could 
hardly contain himself. Re ran to where the old man sat on the short grass. 
"Avarath," he cried, embracing the Zim Farinid with his strong arms. "I took you 
for dead. I didn't know what to do when I saw you there. How are you? How do you 
feel?"

The old man looked up with tired eyes. Re still looked pale and drawn, and his 
voice was quiet.

"I am well enough, considering the circumstances. It was a cruel blow that she 
struck against us both. If it had touched you first, then you would not have 
lived to tell the tale. As for me..." he thought for a moment. "Well, I think 
that even I was lucky to escape."

"But who was she?" asked Roldin, still not really believing what had happened. 
The young maiden had changed before his own eyes, and he could not understand 
who, or what, she might be. Re also found it hard to believe that his friend had 
seemed so dead, but was now alive and well.

"Give me time to rest," said the old man, his voice quavering as if he too was 
experiencing great pain. "I will tell you what I know, or have guessed, when we 
are both feeling a little better. Give me your water bottle, my mouth is as dry 
as the Kora." 

Avarath drank long and deep from the old skin vessel. When he had had enough he 
handed it back to the soldier. Roldin also drank some more. Miraculously the 
water was no longer stale tasting. It was fresh and sweet, and every drop of it 
seemed to soothe the pain and awaken the sleeping corners of his mind.

Roldin thought to himself, "Then Avarath has not lost his magical powers." And 
he drank some more of the refreshing liquid. 

The two men sat in silence until, after what seemed like an age, Avarath began 
to speak. Re went slowly at first, but quickly gained in confidence. After a few 
sentences the old man seemed like he had always been; brusque and sarcastic. But 
that was only his manner of speaking, and Roldin knew that it hid the true 
character of the wizard. 

"I think the woman that called herself Fethrol was one of my own kind," he 
began. "If she is the one that I believe, then you would call her Kielmath. But 
I cannot understand what has happened to her. She has always been good and 
kindly, as would befit one of the Zim Farinid. But something has changed her 
beyond recognition. Rer looks have altered too. She was not an old hag before, 
but beautiful in her own way. Still, 1 did recognise her, despite the wrinkles 
and lines. Yes, it was Kielmath that we met.

"Since she stole my staff, I can only assume that she has lost her own, but I 
cannot say how, or why. It would take one of great power to wrest it from her. 
You saw how she took mine." Re chuckled a little. "A mortal like yourself would 
never be able to carry such an instrument, let alone use it for its true 
purpose."

Roldin interrupted with a question. "Then the staff is the root of your power?"

"It is not!", Avarath replied indignantly. "It is difficult for me to explain to 
someone as simple as you, Belanshar. Imagine yourself holding a pen. The pen 
does not help you to create the words that come from your own mind, it simply 
enables you to transcribe them into a form that can be understood by others. My 
staff is much like that, but infinitely more powerful. But that is by the by. It 
is gone now, and there is little that can be done to get it back. At least for 
the moment. 

"As I was saying, before you interrupted me young man, Kielmath is, or was, my 
friend. She is one of the Assembly of the Three and she is a powerful figure in 
this land. If her mind has been warped by the same dark forces that we strive to 
destroy, then our task will be all the more difficult. And we have only just 
begun.

"We have not even scratched the skin of this evil menace. Every move we have 
made thus far has been to no avail. We are approaching our last chance, and if 
we should fail in that then we may have failed altogether. Come, we must begin, 
there is no more time to be lost." 

Once more the old man began to walk, almost leaving his companion behind. Re 
went due south, away from the North Road that carried on east to Rolath and the 
River Milfair. 

"Where are we going?" Roldin called out as they went. 

"To Glowist, we must return to where we started. If any have survived from 
Ormead they would have journeyed there to meet me. From there we can co-ordinate 
our efforts and plan the next phase of our attack." 

"Very well," said Roldin dismally. They had gone full circle about the Storm 
Land and accomplished nothing. Re was beginning to doubt that they would ever 
make their mark against the Nalesh and whatever evil force drove them on. But he 
was wrong. Their time was about to begin. 

The two travellers walked southwards for many days. The going was fairly easy 
and they came across no living things that would harm them. To the west they 
could see the peaks of the Brondith reaching high into the sky, but their 
journey was over the reasonably flat ground that lay in the centre most region 
of Falforn. The FornGard, or Storm Plain, this area was called. It was from the 
violent weather of this place that the whole kingdom had received its name.

At first the weather was kind to them, but food was more difficult to come by 
than previously. Avarath seemed unable to provide all that they needed. Roldin 
was forced to hunt for rabbits, as he had on his own in the wild, and Avarath 
seemed to know instinctively where they would find edible roots or berries. Ris 
magic helped a little, but there were no ready cooked meals or filling snacks to 
be had. 

When they had been going for nearly two days, great black clouds began to gather 
above them. A strong wind blew in from the north and it became colder with every 
passing hour. 

And then the rain began. It was only a light drizzle at first, but soon it 
became a torrent that fell from the sky like a waterfall. And it looked set to 
continue for days. Great rolls of thunder bellowed across the plain, and echoed 
from the mountains in a chorus of booming voices, but it was the lightning that 
made the travellers cower. It came down from high above in long blue streaks 
that seemed to tear the sky open in great rifts. The brilliant flashes 
illuminated the land for the briefest of moments, more brightly than the 
sunniest day, and made the nearby mountains appear to glow with an electric 
luminance. 

Sometimes the lightning would strike the ground close by. Each time it sent a 
great shock wave through the earth and they could almost feel the tension in the 
atmosphere. But they escaped unharmed, though they saw many burnt areas where 
the unimaginable energy had run to ground.

Avarath and Roldin were soaked through to the skin by the downpour, but they had 
to continue. There was no shelter and even the wizard could not change the 
weather. So on they marched for another day and a night. There was no point in 
stopping to sleep. They could never get comfortable on the wet ground and they 
were forever cold and miserable. During the day it hardly became light, and at 
night the pitch blackness was broken only by the flashes from the lightning 
bolts. 

In the end, when they could endure it no longer, Avarath turned to Roldin, and 
shouting above the sound of the thunder, said, "We must shelter ourselves from 
this storm. We cannot go on like this or we will drown like rats in a barrel of 
wine." 

So they turned east from their course, towards Ransan, the home of the Topil. It 
did not take long before they found the first of that race. Night was beginning 
to fall, and the skilled Topil hunters and huntresses were already abroad, 
despite the inclement weather.

The Topil were human-like in overall appearance, but pale skinned and pink eyed. 
They awoke mostly at night, being wary of the sunlight and a little afraid of 
the other sentient creatures that ruled the day-time lands. They were timid and 
shy, but clever and skilled in the ways that were of benefit to their kind. They 
lived underground for the most part, building great burrows beneath the soil 
which were linked by intricate tunnels. They would dig to great depths, even 
exceeding the reach of the dwarves' mines many miles to the south. But unlike 
the dwarves, they did not dig for mineral wealth, only to build safe homes away 
from prying eyes. 

The men of Falforn knew little about the Topil, but Avarath had often walked 
among them and they knew and trusted him. 

The first Topil huntress to find the two bedraggled travellers knew Avarath well 
and recognised him at once. But she was wary of Roldin, and watched his every 
move carefully. 

The female Topil called out in her high voice, "Rail, Esilith. What brings you 
to Ransan on this awful night?" 

Avarath answered haltingly, straining his eyes to see who it was in the dim 
light. "We are so pleased to see you, Guinol. We have come a long way and are in 
need of shelter from the rain. Perhaps you could give us a warm bed and some 
food." 

But Roldin turned to him with a puzzled expression and said, 'Why does she call 
you Esilith?" 

The old man whispered in reply. "I have told you that Avarath is what men call 
me, but not all the races of the land use that name." 

So Guinol led them back to the green hill that formed the entrance to her home. 
At first she would not take Roldin. Only when Avarath assured her that the man 
was harmless, and a true friend, did she relent. As they went she spoke to them, 
though they sometimes found it hard to hear her quiet voice above the loud 
cracks of thunder that still roared overhead. 

"I think that we might be more glad to see you, Esilith, than you are to find 
us. Terrible things have been happening to our people of late." Rer voice 
saddened suddenly and Roldin could sense the emotion that welled within her. 

She seemed kind and gentle, despite the long spear that she carried, but her 
appearance was repulsive to the human. She looked too ghostly for his liking. 
Rer white skin and large, staring eyes were similar to the pictures that his 
mother had conjured when she threatened him with midnight visits by haunting 
demons. Re realised now that these ideas were probably fuelled by the Topil 
themselves, a race seldom seen by men, and probably feared because of their 
aloofness. Since they preferred the dark of night, brief glimpses of these 
creatures might have given rise to tales of ghosts and ghouls in the distant 
past. 

But Holdin knew that the Topil existed, though he had never seen one before this 
night, nor had he really wished to. But they seemed harmless, though his fears 
remained just a little in his mind.

Guinol went on. "Something has come into our lives that may see the end of all 
the Topil in this land. A terrible plague is sweeping through the burrows here, 
and elsewhere as far as we can gather. It has spread like ripples in a pool, and 
it leaves only death wherever it goes. Everyone that it touches has no hope for 
the future. Even if it does not strike immediately, it will wait only a short 
while before taking the life of its victim." 

She stopped, then turned thoughtfully to Avarath. "Perhaps you should come no 
further. If this disease can take the lives of my kind so quickly, then even the 
Zim Farinid may suffer from its awful effects." 

"Do not fear for us," said Avarath. "We will come to no harm. Take me to those 
who suffer now from this plague, and I will see what I can do." 

But Roldin thought to himself, "What if she is right. Avarath may be spared from 
this, but I am a normal man." 

Re decided to say nothing. Re trusted his leader too well to worry overmuch 
about such things. Besides, he was intrigued by the Topil, despite his initial 
misgivings, and he wanted to learn more about them, and to see their strange 
dwellings. 

So Guinol took Avarath and Holdin down into the burrow that formed her home. Its 
entrance was cut into the side of the hill, but cleverly concealed so that no 
passing stranger would find it. The passages that wound steeply downwards from 
that door were narrow and dark. 

"Where is the light that you carry in your staff?" asked the guide.

"I wish that I could answer your question," he replied wistfully. "It is gone to 
The Statue knows where, so I will have to rely on your guidance in the dark."

Where the passageway went down through the soil, it was supported all around by 
wooden beams and planks. But quickly they came into the bedrock of the land, and 
here the floor, walls and ceiling were smooth and well cut. They needed no 
further support, such was the skill of their makers. It was a miracle of 
engineering that any human builder would have envied, but few men's eyes had 
ever been inside those underground ways. 

They went on for several minutes through the twisting corridors, sometimes 
turning away from the main path, and sometimes taking long, winding stairs that 
carried them still further into the depths of the earth. In these rocky parts it 
was not totally dark, and the two travellers could see a little in the dim glow 
that filled the caves with an eerie bluish light. 

Seeing the look of wonder on his companion's face, Avarath turned to Roldin and 
said, "The light comes from the rock itself, there is no magic to it. There is a 
strange mineral in these stones that glows with this dim illumination. It does 
not seem bright to us, but for the Topil it is like daylight. Their eyes are far 
better than yours, or mine for that matter, but sensitive to the light. That is 
why you will not see one above ground when the sun is up, unless he wears a 
thick veil across his face. Their day is the reverse of ours and it suits them 
well."

"I see," was all that Roldin could answer. Re was too awe stricken with 
everything that he had seen to make any more of a conversation. 

In some places the glowing rock was delicately inlaid into the dark stone of the 
burrow walls. The blue filigree was formed into weird, ghoulish pictures, and 
strange writing which Roldin could not read. But it was beautiful to see. 

Every so often they passed an open doorway that lead from the passage where they 
walked. Roldin would see tantalising glimpses of large chambers, dimly lit by 
the same glow. Sometimes a smokeless fire also burned, adding flickering red 
shadows against the smooth, blue tinted walls. 

In these larger rooms, whole Topil families gathered for their first meal of the 
night, the equivalent of a human breakfast. Fathers, mothers and children of 
this nocturnal race would sit on the mat covered floors, eating the dried meats 
and vegetables that they had stored from previous forays into the outside world. 
Yet that world was now high above them. It seemed incredible to Roldin when he 
thought of the storm that raged so far away, while they were here, dry and warm 
below the ground.

As they went further down, they passed different kinds of chambers. In one place 
there seemed to be a school. There were no children there, nor books or pens, 
but Roldin could tell that it was a place of learning.

In another part there were store rooms. Each section of the great warehouse was 
filled to overflowing with different supplies. There was food in plenty, and 
clothing of all sorts. Then weapons, and hunting traps, great jars of water and 
wine. It was a hoard the like of which the soldier had never seen in all his 
years. It made him wonder how many of the Topil there were living in this place 
to warrant such vast quantities of all these things. 

At last they came to what seemed to be a hospital. It was a large chamber that 
stretched almost as far as the eye could see in the dim light. Its ceiling was 
high and domed and Holdin guessed that its top was at least ten times his own 
height. But the floor was covered with Topil. Each one was wrapped in a thick, 
colourful blanket, and all looked miserable and sick. They lay in long rows of 
suffering, their faces swollen with the illness. Some had great sores on their 
hands and feet and they all looked skeletal through the inability to eat. 

When Avarath saw them he quickly went from one to the other, examining each one 
closely to see what was wrong. Re offered words of kindness to some, whilst he 
lay his hands upon others and their tortured faces wore expressions of relief 
for a brief moment.

After a while he came back to where Guinol and Roldin stood. Re hung his head in 
sorrow and spoke in a whisper. 

"I cannot say what ails them, and I am powerless to help. All I can do is ease 
the suffering for a while, but I have no cure." Then he added, as if speaking to 
himself, "If only I had my staff." 

"Is there nothing you can do?" asked Guinol. A tear came to her eye and she was 
almost pleading with the old man. 

"Yes, there is something. You must bring me these herbs, and I will make a 
potion." Then he gave the Topil huntress a long list of herbs and roots, most of 
which Roldin had never heard of. Re wanted huge quantities, but they seemed to 
present no problem to her and she quickly went off to find them, calling other 
Topil as she went. Then Avarath asked for the largest cooking pot that could be 
found, and that it should be filled with water and brought to the boil. 

Roldin guessed that all the ingredients Avarath sought were already in store not 
far away. Guinol returned quite soon with great armfuls of strange leaves and 
small jars of many coloured powders. Three others of her race brought a huge 
black cauldron and placed it in the passageway just outside the infirmary. They 
built a fire beneath it which they lit with strange glowing sticks. The flames 
burned without smoke and quickly heated the cold fluid inside the pot.

"Good, good," said the Zim Farinid as he set to work. Re then spent an age 
cutting leaves and mixing the herbs to exact proportions. Sometimes he crushed 
the ingredients with his hands, whilst others needed to be ground to a fine dust 
with a pestle. 

When the dry mixing was done he poured the whole concoction into the huge jar of 
boiling water, then stirred it round and round with a huge wooden spoon until he 
seemed to be satisfied. Only then did he taste a little himself before 
administering the hot medicine to his patients. A strong aroma filled the air of 
the chamber and they could smell the almost intoxicating goodness of the potion. 
It was sweet and earthy, a little like the smell of new mown grass. 

Roldin marvelled at the care which Avarath showed for the sick Topil. Re stopped 
at the side of each one and gave a cupful of the strange liquid, not moving on 
until the whole measure was taken. It seemed to take an age before they visited 
all of those who lay in that great chamber, but Roldin and Guinol did not 
complain. They knew that it was Avarath who did the hardest work and they were 
in awe of the way in which he carried out his arduous task. 

Only when that job was all done did Roldin and his friend get to eat and sleep. 
As the two companions lay in a blue lit chamber, Avarath turned to Roldin and 
said in a tired voice, 'They will not die so quickly now, I have seen to that, 
but I cannot cure what ails them without my staff. We must find it, and soon. 
Only then can we get the Scroll of Healing. That will be their only chance."

Then he seemed to sleep, but Belanshar noticed that the old man did not close 
his eyes even then. They were always open, aware of their surroundings and alert 
to all that went on around, even when their master had closed his mind to all 
waking thought. 

So Roldin fell asleep as well, though his mind was spinning with unanswered 
questions. Re did not wake until the next morning. 


CHAPTER THIRTEEN 

When Mithulin and his followers awoke the next morning at Rarvena, they all felt 
rested and refreshed. They ate a large breakfast of hot oats mixed with milk, 
and then the King went to the Amarin Elders once more.

The dozen or so elder Satyrs sat around their table as if they had not moved all 
night. When Mithulin entered they greeted him with reverence and their spokesman 
began almost at once. 

"We have given much thought to your request, Your Majesty, and are all agreed 
that we must help in your journey to Oslar. To this end, we will send one of our 
own kind to travel with you. Re will go as our representative, and you may 
travel with our blessing." 

Mithulin was almost speechless. What help was just one Amarin against the hordes 
of evil creatures that lay in wait outside the Mountain Ring? 

"This is absurd," he replied, not hiding his anger at their decision. "I will 
thank you not to mock my intentions. If that is all the assistance you can 
offer, then I will be on my way, without your blessing." 

"Wait, Your Majesty, I have not yet finished." The speaker held up his hands, as 
if to appease the King. "You should know that the powers of the Amarin race are 
far reaching. Though just one of us will travel with you in body, the spirits of 
us all will go with you. We can offer more aid from Rarvena than as an army 
travelling at your side."

Mithulin felt a little ashamed for his outburst. Re said diplomatically, "Then I 
am sorry for my hasty judgement. I will gladly take a new companion to Oslar, 
and we will all travel with lighter hearts with the thought of your magic 
following us.

Inwardly he doubted that the Amarin could offer any real assistance with their 
powers, whatever they might be. It seemed inconceivable to him that any good 
could be done by these creatures when they would remain so far from his 
destination. But he would have to trust in their faith. There was clearly 
nothing else that could be done. 

When the King and his companions set off from Rarvena, an extra rider travelled 
with them. Re was named Ulin-Gail and he went as representative from the people 
of the Castle of Joy. Re was a middle aged Satyr, not young enough to be 
considered a youth, but not yet of the age to become an elder. But it was 
difficult to tell his age from either appearance or personality. Only his horns 
revealed that he was in his middle years, probably about fifty or so.

There was an extra horse too, for Lifandin, though that, and the one that Ulin 
Gail rode, were more like farmers' work horses. They were not like the others' 
sleek, swift animals, but it was still better than walking. The Amarin found it 
a little awkward at first, since his kind were not used to riding on the backs 
of other beasts. His tail got in the way and the horse would not respond to the 
commands of his small hooves. But he soon found his feet and kept up with the 
rest well enough. 

They rode east for the first day, away from Rarvena and towards the pass at 
Maylodd. The going was quite difficult and they went slowly. Lifandin and 
Ulin-Gail tended to lag behind, and the others had to travel at less of a pace 
than they otherwise might have. By nightfall they had only just passed through 
the Ring of Mountains, a mere thirty miles or so from their point of departure. 

They camped for the night and rested in the entrance to the green valley, where 
the land of the Amarin ended and that of men began. 

The next day they turned north. It was decided that they would fare better by 
taking the northern route around Rostar. In doing so they would generally avoid 
the habitation of men and might pass mostly unseen and unmolested. Mithulin 
guessed that the Nalesh were largely to be found in the south of the country. 
With luck the vile creatures might not have ventured so far to the north-east 
and their journey might be safe from that terror at least.

After another day and a half of travelling they came to the Derris. This narrow 
stream was fresh and new so close to the mountains. Its origin was only a few 
miles away, high in the peaks of the Rostar. All the men eagerly filled their 
water bottles with the rich, cool liquid that flowed quickly past them. It was 
here, so legend said, that the Spirit of Water had made her home, in the days 
when Ilis Clair was still young. 

Then the riders forded the stream, allowing their horses to drink as they went, 
before trotting on westwards towards Oronoman and Oslar. 

It was well over a hundred miles from the Derris to their destination, and 
Mithulin and his friends reckoned to take three days to travel that distance. 
They did not push ahead with great speed, but plodded steadily onwards, leaving 
five miles or so behind them with every passing hour. Some of the urgency had 
gone from the King's mind now that they were actually travelling in the 
direction he wished to take. Re did not say anything to the others, but he let 
them go more at their own pace instead of willing them forwards with all haste, 
as he had done previously.

Amortin suspected that his friend was a little afraid of what might happen when 
they reached Oslar. It was one thing for the King's heir to be refused entry by 
his own army, but for the King himself to be so humiliated was unthinkable. Yet 
that was what they were now risking. They were still only a small band of 
riders, although a Zim Farinid and a Satyr now swelled their ranks. Re could 
only assume that it was with these two that their hopes now lay. Re did not know 
much about the powers of either, so he trusted Mithulin as best he could. If the 
King was happy to follow their advice, then he would do likewise. 

Mithulin did not speak much while they journeyed, not to Amortin, nor to any of 
the others. However, Ulin-Gail more than made up for the lack of conversation 
from the King. Re was a chatter-box and, if allowed, would have gone on and on 
without halting even for breath. The men put up with his constant talking for 
the first day or so, but after that they became a little tired of it, and he 
could rarely find anyone to listen to his tales. Still, this hardly made any 
difference to him, and he would talk to the world in general if there was no 
particular audience at that moment in time.

Despite their misgivings though, Ulin-Gail was quite well liked by the men. He 
was cheerful and happy, and he would take to singing when his spoken words fell 
upon inattentive ears. His voice was high and sweet and it seemed to rouse them 
all from morbid thoughts and heavy hearts. One of his songs went thus;

"In days gone by, when life was new, A shepherd with his flock was out. 
And when the north wind hard did blow, he fought to keep them round about. 
With a hey-ho, round we go, Gathering the stock. With a hey-ha, tralala,
Shepherding his flock."

The verses were many, and the men did not know the words, but the chorus was 
easy and after a while they all sang it together. Even Mithulin joined the rough 
choir of voices and he felt a little happier for it. Only Lifandin did not take 
part, but no-one there expected a man so awesome in his power to enjoy such a 
frivolous activity.

When Ulin-Gail was not talking, or singing, he played his pipes. The men had 
never heard the like of the sweet music that the Amarin could conjure from his 
simple wooden instrument. Sometimes the melodies were almost hypnotic and would 
carry them onwards, letting them forget the soreness of the journey, and the 
rumblings of their stomachs. 

About half way between the Derris and the Milfair, they came to the northern tip 
of the mountains of Sanberian. These mounts were not as tall as the mightier 
ranges of the Rostar or Monar, and their slopes were covered in a green growth 
of forest and grassland, from which they received their name. The trees here 
kept their long, needle like leaves all through the year, so that even in the 
depths of winter the range stood out from the land like a green oasis in a cold 
desert. When 'the King and his men rode past, the trees were bright with new 
spring growth even though they went by the shadowed side of the mountains.

As they came level with the first of the gentle slopes, they saw something 
strange ahead. It looked like a town of sorts, but odd in construction and
sinister in appearance. 

Besides, there had never been any town or village in this part. It had sprung
up since Mithulin left Oronoman all those days ago, to take his army on its
crusade against Queen Rolquin. 

It was a low, village-like hamlet, with small huts dotted about here and there, 
and one slightly taller building in its centre. All around it was a fence, built 
high and strong, as if to keep out wild animals, or to keep something within its 
bounds. 

Amortin turned to his friend, the King. "What can that be? It looks like a 
fortress of some kind. I wonder whether its inhabitants are friendly, or if we 
should avoid them if we can."

"I don't like the look of it," replied Mithulin, straining his eyes into the 
distance to see if he could spy out any clue to its purpose. Re could see vague 
figures moving around within its bounds, but no more than that. "I think that we 
should stay here a while, and watch and wait. If we try to skirt around it, we 
may find ourselves in deeper trouble. Yet we cannot knock at their door. For all 
we know the Nalesh themselves might be hiding behind those walls." 

"Or perhaps it is to keep the Nalesh out," said Amortin. 

Lifandin then offered his opinion. "I would suggest that we ignore this thing. 
We do not know what it is, and nor do we care. We are wasting precious time. If 
it is full of evil creatures then we would be powerless against them. 1 think 
that we should press on with our original quest and not trouble ourselves with 
such minor concerns." 

"No," piped up Ulin-Gail, determined not to be quiet for too long." I would like 
to know what goes on inside that camp. I find it intriguing. If there are folk 
in there who need our aid, then we would be foolish to pass by. I think we 
should investigate." 

"Very well," said Mithulin, nodding his head in agreement, 'we will observe from 
here for a while, and then, if whoever lives there seems friendly, we shall go 
to them. For all we know, they may even help us." 

"I very much doubt it," said Lifandin with a disapproving tone. 

Even as he spoke they saw a band of figures appear from the north, heading 
straight for the encirclement of wood and wire that kept the strange village cut 
off from the outside world. 

Mithulin and his men hid themselves among a small clump of trees a mile or so 
from the new camp. The passing figures did not see them, and they watched from 
the safety of the wood until the dozen or so strangers passed through the fence 
by way of a gate.

"They were mostly men," said Ulin-Gail excitedly, "but there were some of the 
Sandinid with them too." His eyes were better than most of the men's and he had 
seen more detail than the others. Then he added, "The men seemed to lead the 
others as if they were prisoners." 

Lifandin interjected, his voice almost threatening. "We must go from here. They 
are clearly not friendly. If they have taken those kindly people as their 
prisoners, then we would surely follow suit. Come, we must be gone from here 
before we are found" 

Mithulin thought for a while, and then he said, "Very well, we will go from 
here, but I must know more of what goes on inside that place. Remember that l am 
King, and I will not tolerate any foul deed within my lands, whoever the 
perpetrator might be."

Then he began to explain a plan for their reconnaissance, but Ulin-Gail 
interrupted before he had said more than a few words. 

"I will go," said the Amarin. "You clumsy men would give yourselves away in a 
trice. If I go on foot they will not hear me coming and I could spy out that 
place without them knowing I was there." 

"It is too dangerous," replied Mithulin. "I cannot let you go alone." Then he 
thought for a moment to consider the possibilities. Finally he added, "Amortin 
will go with you, to see that you come to no harm." 

The King's friend nodded, to show his approval of the plan. 

Ulin-Gail was indignant. "But he will spoil everything. I can go with far 
greater stealth on my own." 

Mithulin insisted though. "That is my command. There will be no arguments." With 
that the soldiers and their leaders rode off to the south-west, taking two empty 
horses with them. Ulin-Gail and Amortin waited until the others were out of 
sight before they began their careful journey to the strange camp.

It took them only a few moments to reach the high encircling fence that 
surrounded the tiny group of huts. They went almost within touching distance of 
the barbed wire that reached up more than three times Amortin's height, and was 
topped with cruel looking spikes and blades.

As they went past they saw at last what was happening within the compound. There 
were large gatherings of the Sandinid, all standing grim and motionless. They 
looked ill-fed and badly treated, as if they had been herded together and kept 
here for a long time without food and attention. Ulin-Gail glimpsed some humans 
as he crept past. They were beating a few of the Sandinid and their captives 
were unable to prevent it.Their hands and feet were tied and they looked 
pathetic and helpless against the cruel hands of their gaolers.

But there was nothing that could be done to help. At the gates were more men. 
One of them caught sight of Amortin, who was not very skilled at keeping himself 
hidden. When they realised that they were no longer safe, the two spies ran off 
as quickly as they could. The men within the camp did not take up the chase, but 
they called out after them, shouting for them to stop, and swearing and cursing 
when they took no heed.

A mile or so further on the two parties met again and Ulin-Gail described to the 
others what he had seen. 

When Mithulin heard what was happening there, he spoke quietly. "It is an awful 
place," he said, with his head hung low in shame for the deeds that were done 
there. "When I have regained control of my army we will come here and free the 
Sandinid that are suffering at the hands of those men. 1 wish there was 
something that we could do now, but there are too many of them and we could not 
hope to win a battle against them. I fear that the Green Men would not be able 
to help themselves now, and we would have to fight alone." 

"There is one more thing that I noticed," said Amortin quietly as he remounted 
his steed. 

"Yes, what was it?" asked the King when his friend went silent. 

The young man hesitated before replying. "The men wore the badges of your own 
army, Mithulin. 1 think that your father may have caused that place to be 
built."

At first the King said nothing, then his face began to redden with rage. "My 
father. My father." He shouted at the top of his voice. "My father was a good 
man, and you should watch your tongue Amortin, or else you may lose it." Then he 
swung his fist against the young man's chin and knocked him bodily from his 
horse. 

Amortin landed with a crash on the hard ground, and he lay there for several 
minutes. The others sat upon the backs of their mounts and said nothing. Even 
Mithulin was silent until his friend stood at last, rubbing his head and wiping 
the streak of blood that oozed from his cut lip. 

"I am sorry, Your Majesty," Amortin said quickly, trying to hide the anger that 
was within him. 

But Mithulin had calmed by now, and he turned to his friend, offering his hand 
to help him up. "No, Amortin, it is I who should apologise. I was too swift to 
judge your words and I did not think before I dealt the punishment. If what you 
say is true, though I doubt that it can be, then I owe an apology to the 
Sandinid of far greater measure. Come, my friend, mount your horse and we will 
be away." 

Then he laughed. "You may have the opportunity to return the blow one day, if I 
deserve it." 

"I might do that," retorted Amortin, still tending his injured face, "I just 
might do that." 

Ulin-Gail thought to calm the situation by playing a little music. Re reached 
into his tunic to find his pipes, but they were not there. 

"My pipes," he cried out, "my pipes are gone. They must have fallen from my 
pocket when we fled from those men. We have to go back. We have to find them." 

Mithulin said to him, "We cannot go back. Now that those men have wind of us, we 
must get away from here as quickly as we can." Then he smiled to Ulin-Gail. 
"When all this is over I will give you golden pipes that will make even sweeter 
music." 

Ulin-Gail looked to the King with tearful eyes. "It is not for the music that I 
carry them," he replied, looking wistfully over his shoulder. 

But there was nothing that could be done, though Ulin-Gail was not as happy as 
he had been, and they all missed his tuneful playing. 

When they rode off again, Lifandin came alongside Mithulin and beckoned for him 
to pull away slightly, so that they might speak without being overheard. They 
turned to one side, away from the others, and the King signalled to Amortin that 
he would not be gone long.

When they were alone Lifandin looked about him suspiciously and then turned to 
Mithulin, speaking quietly in his most toadying voice. 

"Your Majesty, I have been giving great thought to how we might overthrow both 
the army that is now in occupation of Oslar, and that of Queen Rolquin, who 
still threatens that land, and this." 

"And how do you propose that we rid ourselves of those nuisances?" Mithulin 
asked sarcastically.

"You must not forget the powers of the Zim Farinid," 

Reminded the young wizard. "We can do mighty acts that your own mind could not 
even imagine. Indeed, I have one such deed in my own mind at the present time. 
We could use it to conquer both your foes in one action, to kill two men with 
one arrow, so to speak." 

Each time Lifandin stopped talking, Mithulin was forced to prompt him to say 
more. 

"And how might we, or you, do that?" 

"I have a spell," he said, even more quietly and slyly than before, "that would 
rock the very land itself. Such power has not been seen in this country since 
Ilis Clair formed the mountains many thousands of years ago. Not even the great 
earthquake that destroyed Glowist would rival the tremendous powers that I could 
unleash upon Falforn."

"And you could do this without harming either Oslar or Oronfal?" 

Lifandin almost whispered into the King's ear. "Not a blade of grass would shake 
on this side of the River. It would be like any other day in your land, my Lord, 
but in Falforn it would be the end of all things." 

Then he added in a hissing voice, "But there would, of course, be a price to be 
paid." 

"And what might that be?" asked Mithulin. 

"When the time is right," came the reply, "I will present my bill. But do not 
worry, Your Majesty, it will be a mere trifle compared to the wealth that you 
will gain on that day." 

So Mithulin reluctantly agreed to the wizard's proposal and they returned to the 
others. Lifandin smiled with a broad grin, like a child rewarded with a special 
treat. But the King looked a little dubious and wore no happy expression.

When they had gone a little way further, Lifandin called that they should look 
across to the tree covered mountain slope not far to their left. 

"King Mithulin," he shouted. "If you seek proof of my power, then look there." 
And he pointed at the peak not ten miles to their south. 

Suddenly a great cloud of dust and smoke rose from the green ridge. As the 
twenty six men and one Satyr watched in open mouthed amazement, the whole 
mountain side began to slide downwards at an alarming speed. Within a few 
moments the sound of the explosive force reached their ears in a deafening 
crescendo. They saw the tall, straight trees disappear by the thousand as the 
crumbling rock gave way beneath their roots. Boulders and debris flew in all 
directions and hundreds of birds, disturbed from their roosts in the leafy 
branches, began to wheel round and round in the darkening sky. 

Then the great landslide slowed and stopped and the dust began to settle under 
its own weight, though it had risen high into the air. On the mountain side an 
enormous rift had appeared that was to scar its fertile side for years to come, 
but otherwise the land was unchanged and the ground beneath the travellers feet 
was as steady as it had ever been. 

When at last all was still and the air was silent, Mithulin turned to Lifandin 
and said quietly, "I believe that you have the power to do as you say. But this 
is a weapon of ultimate destruction and it would be madness to use it against 
our fellow men, whatever their mistaken beliefs. We must use it to threaten them 
only, or else the guilt of our actions would hang forever around our necks." 

"That is true," agreed Lifandin, staring into the King's eyes. "Yet it would be 
all the worse if that power was used against your own land.' 

Then they rode on in silence. Even Ulin-Gail did not speak for a long time after 
that. 
The next day the riders came to Oronoman. They stopped here to survey the 
changes since they last visited that sorry place. They were relieved to find it 
a little better than they left it. The bodies that remained had been buried in a 
mass grave outside the palace grounds and a small stone had been set for each 
one, though none bore the names of those who lay there.

As the new King entered the Royal Palace he called the people that remained into 
the courtyard. When they had all gathered and were silent he spoke to them. 

"I come now as your King," he said, trying to hide the emotion that grew within 
him. This was his first visit to his home since Theltiem's death. "My father is 
dead. He met his fate at the hands of the same evil beings that brought such 
death and destruction to this place. Yet there are even more difficult times 
ahead of us all. We now have two, perhaps even three enemies against which we 
must fight with whatever means are left to us. Queen Rolquin, I imagine, still 
waits to retake Oslar if the opportunity should occur. Our own army has turned 
against us and will not offer fealty to the throne. And the Nalesh, those vile 
creations that came here that terrible day, are still at large throughout the 
land. 

"It is against those perils that we must now turn our attentions and see that we 
come to victory. I have with me friends that will help us in these tasks, and I 
ask that you treat them with the distinction that they deserve." 

Then he left his people and went inside. 

The palace itself had been repaired somewhat and Mithulin took up residence in 
what had been his father's chambers. His stomach trembled and tears welled in 
his eyes as he entered the bed chamber from where his father had been taken 
almost two weeks before. But he checked himself. These were his quarters now, 
and this was his home. There was a job to be done, and quickly too. 

So he sent a messenger to Oslar. The swiftest rider of his faithful men. He was 
to carry an open letter from the King of Oronfal, to his own men on Oslar, and 
to Queen Rolquin and her forces, which he presumed were still on the west bank 
of the Milfair. 

The letter read, "To all my subjects who no longer remain loyal, and to Queen 
Rolquin of the Storm Land and the peoples of her realm.

"It is with deep regret that I find myself facing such opposition, at the outset 
of my reign in the land of Oronfal. With my own forces I have no argument, and 
cannot understand why there is such misunderstanding between us. To Queen 
Rolquin, I say only this. Though you may believe that your cause is just and 
right, Oslar is not your land alone and can never be taken by one side, away 
from the other. I cannot allow your army to march unopposed into the home of 
Ilis Clair and I believe it to be my duty to protect Her from the ruthless 
attacks of such evil forces. 

"There shall be no more fighting between us, and to that end I give this 
ultimatum. Firstly, that all occupying forces must withdraw from Oslar and the 
lands immediately surrounding that island. Secondly, that all such armies should 
be disbanded within seven days from this date. Thirdly, that Ilis Clair should 
remain free of interference from any source, from all of the races of this land. 

"If you do not comply with these terms I will have no alternative but to employ 
a weapon more terrible than any yet seen in this land. I cannot divulge what 
form this will take, but be warned that I have allies with the power to destroy 
the whole of Falforn with one blow. It would be folly to ignore this warning if 
you value your lives and your country."

The letter was signed, "Mithulin, King of Oronfal," and its carrier went with 
all haste to the westward lands. 


CHAPTER FOURTEEN

After the battle on Oslar between the forces of Falforn and Oronfal, Queen 
Rolquin and her captains fell back to the west to consider their next move. The 
armies of men and dwarves pitched camp at the northern edge of the forest of Tar 
Gelfay and tended their wounded. The fight had not gone well for them and their 
ranks were reduced by half in the bloody exchanges.

When they had all rested a while, Rolquin called a meeting of her war council. 
Lairmath, Sharmek and Kirkmere came to her tent late in the evening and 
carefully went over their views of the battle. 

Lairmath began first. "My cavalry performed to the best of their ability," he 
said proudly. "If you seek the cause of our defeat, Your Majesty, then you need 
look no further than our short friend here." 

Sharmek almost exploded with anger. He jumped to his feet and looked as if he 
might strike Lairmath with his axe. 

"This man seeks to shift the blame from his own head,"

shouted the dwarf. "Had it not been for his interference, my army would be 
standing on that bridge even now." 

But Rolquin was displeased with both of them. 

"Your armies were a shambles," she began, looking at each grim face in turn. 
"You allowed the men of Oronfal to walk calmly onto Oslar, with barely a 
challenge from our side. Lairmath, I will not forget that you were the captain 
in charge of this campaign. If you think I am foolish enough to trust you in 
future, then you will have to change your thoughts. And you, Sharmek. Your 
dwarves are more like children. I have seen young babes braver than the 
so-called warriors that you have brought north." 

Sharmek stood as if to say something in reply, but thought better of it and 
quickly sat down again. 

Rolquin continued with no less anger in her voice.

"From this moment on I will take personal charge of all our strategies. Your 
mistakes have cost us dearly, and we cannot afford to suffer in this way again. 
We must continue our fight against Theltiem and his evil ways, but now we will 
have to be more cunning. This is not the time for military might; we must use 
our brains in our defence and plan every move with stealth and precision. 

"It is my intention to fight Theltiem from within his own ranks. If we can do 
that, then the war will be won for us, without Falforn losing another man." 

The Queen sat again, waiting for the reaction from her captains. Lairmath spoke 
first in response to her oration. His voice was low and sounded shameful. 

"Your Majesty, I agree that this day has not gone well for any of us, but how do 
you propose that we make our mark against Theltiem's army? If we do not have the 
Power to mount a counter attack, then what can we do?"

Rolquin replied in a sly, almost witch-like tone. "We will send spies and 
subversives to twist the minds of those who control the land that is rightfully 
mine. The common soldiers will turn against their leaders, and the captains of 
the army will be driven away. It is the powers of persuasion and deceit that 
will be our allies in the next battle." 

"What then of my dwarf folk?" asked Sharmek despondently. "I can see no part in 
this for them." 

"Their time will come again," said the Queen. "You must be patient until then." 
Then the four leaders made plans for the conquering of the Oronfal army. Though 
they were to make no use of sword or axe, they had weapons enough that could be 
used against the minds of their enemies. 

In the days that followed, many men were chosen and trained as agents whose sole 
task was to gain the confidence of the enemy and divert their purpose from its 
true path. The spies were chosen for the quickness of their minds, and the 
eloquence of their tongues. There were some under Rolquin's command who could 
use the power of their own minds to overcome others with weaker souls. These men 
were able to pass their secrets on to those who trained with them. 

And when the training was done they set forth slowly, in ones and twos, for the 
island that lay so tantalisingly close, yet so difficult to reach. More than 
half of those who tried perished in the attempt. Some were drowned when their 
tiny boats sank in the raging river. Others were caught by the occupying forces 
and tortured before being put to death by slow, agonising methods. But none of 
them revealed his secret mission, or the ways in which he had been taught. 

For the spies who did succeed in their clandestine journeys the task was easier 
than expected. They found that Mithulin had already left Oslar, and that the man 
he had left in charge was already dead. He had been killed by his own soldiers 
who were egged on by a stranger. Who that man was, nobody knew. He came and went 
in less than a day, but left death behind him, and a sense of rebellion in all 
of the men's hearts. 

Before very long the army on Oslar, which had once owed such allegiance to 
Mithulin and had fought so bravely against Queen Rolquin, was nothing but a
shadow of its former self. The men and women who had given so much to save Ilis
Clair from what they saw as evil, now forgot their gallant aims and slowly
began to drift away. They left in small groups to return to their homes. As far
as they were concerned the fight was over, they had done their duty and were
now free to resume their normal lives. None of them could tell that such
freedom was an illusion and that they were still being controlled, but by more
subtle means than the passions that had once raged within their own minds. 

The combination of Rolquin's subversion and the effects of the evil forces that 
still roamed unchecked was too much for any man to resist. Though the evil ways 
had at one moment revealed themselves as violence and anger, they temporarily 
gave way to the less obvious emotions of jealousy and fear. It was on such 
feelings that the spies of Falforn worked their trade, to bring the whole army 
to a slow and inevitable submission.

And so it was that on a dark, rain swept afternoon a messenger came to Rolquin. 
He was one of the spies who had done his job so well, and now he came to report 
that the mission was accomplished and that what remained of Mithulin's army was 
disheartened and disorganised. 

The man also carried a letter. It was tattered and dirty, but Rolquin could read 
it well enough. She studied it carefully for a few moments and then looked up at 
the messenger. 

"Where is the man who brought this note?" 

"He is dead, your Majesty." He spoke apologetically, but a grin appeared on his 
cruel face. "He met with an accident as he crossed the bridge from Oronfal." 

Roiquin began to laugh in a hissing cackle that reddened her face like a Soylok 
berry. Then she stopped suddenly and said in a serious voice, "Mithulin makes 
idle threats while his army is in ruins. But this is a very poor joke."

The messenger was silent for a moment, but then he said, 'With respect, your 
Majesty, I do not think that Mithulin jokes at all. Before he died, the bearer 
of that letter spoke to me. He said that one of the Zim Farinid has allied 
himself to that upstart king, and it is he who poses this threat to you and your 
land." 

"Indeed," remarked the Queen, speaking quietly to herself. 'This is an 
interesting turn of events." Then she turned to the messenger. "Be gone," she 
said loudly, "I have need of peace and quiet." 

It had been Queen Rolquin's intention to march on Oslar once more, as soon as 
she felt it was safe to do so. But the letter from King Mithulin had changed her 
plans. She thought that there was too much risk involved in such hasty action. 
If the threats that had been made were true then she would be very foolish 
indeed to take up arms again, even against what remained of the Oronfal army on 
the small island. 

The ultimatum gave seven days in which to decide a response. There seemed to be 
only two alternatives open to the Queen. She could either comply with the 
demands, disband her army and give up all hope of retaking Oslar and defeating 
Mithulin. Or she could ignore the threat and continue with her original plan, 
though the consequences of such action might be dire. 

For a long time Rolquin said nothing to her aides, but she remained quiet and 
thoughtful. It was a difficult choice for her to make. She had to decide whether 
it was all an elaborate bluff on her enemy's part, or whether it might be true. 
If it were all true then her position was hopeless and she would be forced to 
surrender to Mithulin. Yet if he lied, and she fell for his deception, then she 
would lose not only the war, but also the faith of her subjects. 

It seemed that whatever course she chose, there could be no sure victory for the 
west. For the moment the balance of power had been tipped in Mithulin's favour, 
but Rolquin hoped that it would not be so for long. 

Then suddenly there was a stroke of luck, if it truly was luck. 

Two days after the messenger had come with the letter from King Mithulin, an old 
woman was found wandering close to the camp. She had seemed confused at first 
and the dwarves who found her tried to send her away, but she would not go. In 
the end they threatened her with their axes. But she was no mortal woman. The 
staff that she carried brought with it great power and she used that magic 
against her antagonists. With bolts of lightning she burned two of the soldiers 
to cinders, and then demanded to be taken to Queen Rolquin.

The Queen was alone in her tent when the guards brought the old hag into her 
presence. "Who is this vile creature?" asked Rolquin as the old woman stepped 
before her. The soldiers did not answer. Instead the woman looked at their Queen 
with cold eyes and said, "My name is Kielmath, Keeper of the Book, and I have 
come to give assistance to your cause." 

Immediately Rolquin seemed to understand what was happening. She signalled for 
the soldiers to leave and then beckoned Kielmath to sit with her. 

The old woman's face was wrinkled and grey and she wore a long, dark cloak. The 
staff that she carried was old and heavy, as though it belonged to someone of 
greater stature, but she carried it easily enough and had used its hidden power 
with authority against the dwarves just minutes before. 

"Why have you come here, and now, when my need is so great?" asked the Queen. 
She knew who this old woman really was, and she was more than a little surprised 
to see her here, at just the time when she needed one of such mighty power to 
help in the war against the east. 

"The Zim Farinid see many things," the old woman replied. 'We see far and near, 
into the future and into the past. When we perceive that the balance of power is 
changing, we must act to set things right. I am on the side of good, and I can 
see that you are too. Together we may conquer all the evils of this world, and 
reap the benefits for ourselves, before the men have time to realise what is 
happening to them." She gave a knowing look to the Queen who sat beside her, and 
then Rolquin knew that her war was not yet lost.

The monarch took out Mithulin's letter and handed it to Kielmath. The old woman 
read it quickly and then looked across at the Queen.

"Do you wish to have the same powers at your disposal?" she asked. "If we could 
threaten Oronfal with the same destruction that they promise for us, then we 
might overthrow them for good. They would not dare to carry out such a threat if 
it surely meant the end of their own land too." 

"Would you give me that power?" asked Rolquin, her voice trembling with the 
excitement that grew within her. To command such might was beyond even this 
Queen's wildest dreams. It sent her blood racing to imagine the hold that she 
might have over her enemies, perhaps over all the people of the land. 

The wizard-woman replied with an air of authority. "Have I not said that I am of 
the Zim Farinid? I hold more power than you can imagine, and I will use that 
power if you wish it."

"Then I do wish it!" came the reply. "Together we can rule this whole world, and 
every creature in it would pay homage to us. What use is Ilis Clair when we can 
command such wonders ourselves." 

So Rolquin immediately sent a message to Mithulin, in reply to his earlier 
threats. In that letter she rejected fully his ultimatum and instead made her 
own counter-demands. These were that he should firstly relinquish all claim to 
Oslar, and secondly repay the wrongs that he had done to the Storm Land. She 
proposed that an area of his own land be annexed to Falforn as reparation for 
the death and injury caused by his illegal occupation of the island. 

To support her demands Rolquin gave the same warnings that Mithulin had given. 
She said that she also held the power to destroy all of Oronfal and that she 
would not hesitate to use it if the need arose, or if provoked. 

But there was a difference between the monarchs of the two countries, even 
though they were now locked in an unsteady equilibrium of impending total 
destruction. Mithulin had made his threats without the intention of ever using 
the awesome power that Lifandin had put at his disposal. But Roiquin, with her 
heart more twisted by the evil powers, had every intention of taking up 
Kielmath's offer, if the opportunity ever arose. 


CHAPTER FIFTEEN

After sleeping the night through, and a good deal into the morning, Avarath and 
Holdin awoke to find Guinol, the Topil huntress, standing beside where they lay. 
She had brought them food and drink, which they both gladly took, and then she 
spoke to them as they ate. 

"I think I know what truly brings you to these parts, Esilith. We too have heard 
tell of the battles and killing that rages amongst the men. It has been said 
that some madness grips the land, and all the creatures that live in it. Perhaps 
it is that evil which has taken so many of my kind too."

"That may be so," replied the old wizard, trying to sound cheerful between 
chewing mouthfuls of dry bread. "It is no common ailment that affects your 
fellows. It looks to me like a plague brought here by a stranger to the land. 
Has there been anyone else here of late, a man perhaps, or a creature that you 
have not seen before?"

Guinol thought for a moment, then she said slowly, "Yes, there was one. A young 
man. He came upon us by chance, or so he said, but he did not stay long. We did 
not bring him into the burrow, but we gave him a little food and set him on the 
right path."

"And what was his name, do you remember?" asked Avarath.

"If he had a name, I did not hear it," the young Topil replied, still searching 
the recesses of her mind for any clue that might help her guest. Then she added, 
"But he did say that he was a farmer from Morath, in Oronfal. I remember we were 
all puzzled as to why he should be so far from home." 

"Indeed," said Avarath, thinking deeply, "it is a mystery, and no mistake." 

Then Holdin asked the Topil a question. 
"You spoke of battles between men, Guinol. Do you know any more about that?" 

"Only a little," she replied. "We keep away from the workings of your race. They 
have done us no good in the past and I doubt that they will in the future." 

Holdin would have hung his head in shame for the ignorance of his people and the 
injustices that they had done, but he was anxious for news.

Guinol continued. "There was a great battle on Oslar, fought, it is said, for 
the ownership of Ilis Clair."

Avarath interrupted with a tone of anger in his voice. 

"No-one can own Ilis Clair," he said quickly, almost shouting. "She has her own 
masters and no mortal creature can hope to replace them." 

Both Holdin and Guinol looked at the Zim Farinid with puzzled expressions. This 
was the first time that anyone had mentioned Ilis Clair as being the tool of 
some other superior race. It seemed that Avarath had let slip a secret that he 
should have kept, even during these dark times. 

He pretended that he had said nothing, and motioned for Guinol to continue. She 
told them all that she knew of the war that had raged above them, but that was 
very little. 

"There is an alliance between the men and dwarves, and they have been fighting 
under the banner of Queen Rolquin against King Theltiem of Oronfal. There have 
been many skirmishes in the past weeks, and just a few days ago a great battle 
took place near Ilis Clair's own home. The island was taken by Theltiem's men 
and it is they who hold it even now, though to what purpose I cannot say. But we 
have heard only rumour, and what I tell you might not be the whole truth. That 
you will have to discover for yourselves."

Avarath was silent in thought for a while when Guinol stopped speaking. Holdin 
looked to his friend for guidance and waited for his command. 

At last the old man came to his decision. "Holdin, you and I must go at once to 
Glowist. I have urgent business that can be best conducted from that place. 
There we will be safe and comfortable, at least for a time, and we may begin our 
true fight against the evil forces that are loose in this world." 

Then he gathered his cloak about him and prepared to leave, but Gulnol took his 
arm. "Wait," she said, "you cannot go yet. The rains have not stopped, and the 
Hunters will want to see you before you go." 

"Then you must apologise to them for me. I have need of great haste, and to 
tarry here would be foolish. As for the rain. Well, I was wet before, so it will 
not hurt me now. I cannot take heed of my own comforts when the future of all 
this land may be at stake." 

"Then may I come with you, then?" Topil woman pleaded. She seemed to have an 
urge to help Avarath with his tasks. A feeling of adventure and excitement 
overwhelmed her and she felt the desire to do something constructive, to help 
her own people and the other races of her land.

"No," replied Avarath forcefully, "you must stay here and help to guard your own 
home. Beware of any stranger, and protect yourselves against the evil creatures 
that will come here by both day and night. There will be no rest for you and 
your kind until this foul time is over. You must spread the word among your own 
people, that is the task I set you." 

With that he sped away, upwards through the tunnels and caves of the Topil 
burrow. Holdin followed as quickly as he could, but Guinol was left behind, 
disappointed at the small part she was left to play in the overall scheme of 
things. But she did not realise that she too had an important role in the fight 
against evil, though it had not yet begun. 

Avarath and Holdin Belanshar quickly walked the dozen or so miles to Glowist. 
The rain eased a little and eventually stopped, but the sky was still filled 
with black clouds which looked down at them ominously. However, they soon came 
to the foothills that surrounded the mountain of Molaktar and before nightfall 
they reached the ruins of the old house.

They passed through the unseen defences that the wizard had left in his stead. 
Any other man would have been repelled by the invisible barrier, but Holdin went 
through without a thought for the spell that his companion had cast behind him 
as they left for Ormead many days before. 

The sun had just set to the left of the mountain peak when they entered the den 
that Avarath had made for himself amongst the ruins and rubble. It looked 
unchanged in all the time that they had gone. The old chest still stood in its 
corner, and the table and two chairs were exactly as they had left them. 

They rested for a short time and Avarath produced some food which they eagerly 
ate together. Holdin hoped to sleep for a while, but his expectations were 
broken by what the wizard had to say to him. 

"I must leave you for a while now," said the old man, "but in mind only. My body 
will remain here while I am gone. I may seem as if dead to you, as I did on the 
road from Clarooth, but I will not be so. My mind will be far away, with Ilis 
Clair on her island in the river, but I cannot take these flesh and bones with 
me." He looked down at himself and shrugged his arms with a show of 
disappointment.

"So you must guard them, with your life if necessary. If anything should happen 
while I am gone, then perhaps it would be the end for us all. And with my staff 
gone, I cannot protect either of us with magic. We must both trust to your sword 
alone, and luck, if we may have any." 

Holdin was a little dumbfounded by his master's words, but he promised to do his 
best. 

"I will guard you as well as I can. You will be safe as long as I live." 

Then the soldier unsheathed his sword to prove his loyalty. Avarath lay down on 
the floor and seemed to fall into a deep sleep. But he said nothing, and made no 
sound. His eyes did not close and his breathing stopped. 

Holdin waited for a moment, looking all around him for anything that might be 
unusual or amiss. Then he looked closely at Avarath. For a moment a panic of 
terror gripped him. He wanted to run, to get away from the strange happenings 
and the magic, and the evil. But the feeling soon passed and he settled with his 
back to his friend, but constantly turning his head this way and that to survey 
what he could see of the surrounding area. They were quite well enclosed within 
the ruins, but he could see for some distance through the gaps in the piled 
rubble that formed walls around them.

He lit a small fire and it burned with a crackling flame and a billowing column 
of smoke that climbed high into the darkening sky above him. Then he thought of 
the attraction that this would be to passing strangers, whether friend or foe. 
So he quickly extinguished it and sat instead in the pitch darkness of the open 
night. 

All appeared peaceful and calm at first, and Holdin had great difficulty in 
keeping awake. He tried singing to himself, but his voice was croaky and he 
could not remember enough words to keep his own interest. Then he spoke aloud
for a while. There was a poem that came into his mind, though he could not say
why, so he recited it to the quiet emptiness that surrounded him.

"South of Rostar, North of Monar, Deep and hollow, hot and dry. 

Lies the power of the morning,

And the fire of the night.

"Close to Fathan, near Harvena,

In the eastern lands of old,

Stands an icon of past ages

In the moonlight, dark and cold."

For some reason the two simple verses stuck in his mind for all the hours of the 
night. The words rang round and round inside his head, confusing him with their 
unknown meaning. He did not know where he had heard them before, nor why they 
should come to him now, but they helped to keep him awake through the darkest 
part of the night. 

Just before dawn, when his strength was at its lowest ebb, and his mind was 
befuddled with tiredness, he thought that he heard strange noises. But he could 
not be sure. It sounded a little like animals moving around close by, but he 
could see nothing in the pitch blackness that surrounded him. But it reminded 
him of his first encounter with the Nalesh and he was afraid of what might be 
stirring in the dark, where he could not see.

He could not even see his own hands in front of him, or the sword that he 
gripped with dread and fear. He suddenly became more alert, straining his eyes 
and listening carefully. It became quiet again. He reached behind to reassure 
himself of Avarath's safety. The old man was cold to the touch. Holdin pulled 
the grey cloak closer about his prostrate body, so that it should keep him a 
little warmer.

Belanshar thought that the night would never end. He began to ache with 
stiffness, and his eye lids were so heavy that he could barely keep them apart. 
He had not expected Avarath to be gone for so long, and he did not know what was 
happening to the old man. For all he knew the wizard could be dead already, and 
he might be guarding his body for no reason. He began to wonder how long he 
should wait before leaving the old man.

But Avarath had said he might appear to be dead. There was no use in doubting 
his words. Roldin would simply have to trust him, and do the work that he was 
bade, whatever price there might be to pay.

When the sun began to rise that morning it brought an awful sight to Holdin's 
eyes. Just a short distance away a horde of Nalesh had gathered in the darkness. 
They sat unmoving in the dim half-light, staring with wild eyes across the short 
divide between them and the man that guarded his companion so closely. They 
looked hideous in the grey dimness, and their short figures cast long shadows 
across the old stones of the ancient building. 

Holdin froze with horror. He thought of those vile creatures sitting in that 
place all through the night, and a cold shiver ran along the length of his 
spine. 

But he did not have long to consider his situation. As the sun slowly rose, 
increasing its illumination of the scene with every passing moment, the band of 
evil beings began to move closer. They came slowly at first, creeping forward on 
hands and feet. It seemed that they did not realise Holdin could actually see 
them. Perhaps they had been waiting for first light to make their attack, and 
they did not know that a man's eyes were as good as their own. But if that was 
the case, how could they have come so quietly in the blackness of night?

Immediately Holdin stood up, raising his sword in anger towards them. The 
tiredness that he had felt only moments before was gone now. His blood raced 
through his body, and every sense was suddenly alert to the impending attack. 

Then the Nalesh rushed towards him. They had to pick their way between the piled 
boulders and rubble that surrounded Avarath's small den, and they reached Holdin 
almost singly. At first his task seemed comparatively easy. He was able to cut 
them down with his sword as quickly as they reached him. Their vile bodies fell 
this way and that and their stinking blood flowed down the crumbling paths that 
lay beneath their feet. 

Holdin quickly became tired though, and the Nalesh did not ease their attack for 
a long time. Their small swords and knives darted this way and that as Holdin 
fought bravely to beat them back, but he gave no thought for his own safety. All 
the while the protection of Avarath was his only concern and he used his sword, 
hands and feet to beat the overrunning hordes away. His sharp blade made quick 
work of their soft flesh, and he pushed the dead and dying to one side as still 
more came for him from all directions.

Eventually the attack slowed and stopped. Either there were no Nalesh left, 
which Holdin doubted, or they considered themselves beaten for the time being. 

The respite gave Holdin time to rest and drink a little from his water bottle. 
Then he cleared the spriggans' bodies from around Avarath and looked about him 
to see the lie of the land. From the top of a broken column he could see for 
some distance around their camp. There was no sign of any more of the Nalesh and 
all was quiet as far as he could tell. 

Avarath lay in his trance for several more hours after that. Holdin stayed at 
his side for all this time, never easing his vigil and constantly on the 
look-out for more attacks. But there were none, and the morning passed 
peacefully. 

At around noon, Avarath suddenly sat up, rubbed his eyes a little and then spoke 
to Holdin as though he had never left his side. 

"I see that you have done a good job in my absence," he said, looking at the 
Nalesh bodies nearby. 

Belanshar jumped with fright on hearing the familiar, gruff voice behind him. 
When his heart stopped pounding he said, "Yes, they came during the night, but I 
managed to keep them at bay for a while. Still, they might be back at any time." 

"No, they will not come back here," the wizard shook his head. "I have seen to 
it that our camp is safe again. But you have done well. I shall reward you now 
by telling you a story."

"A story sounds like small reward for such a task," replied the soldier, though 
he said it with a smile. 

The old wizard said cunningly, "But this is no ordinary story, for you will be 
the only man in all this land to know the Truth." 

So the Zim Farinid began his tale and Holdin Belanshar listened intently without 
a word of 'interruption. 

"Long, long ago," the old man began, as if it was a story for children, "there 
was a race with a far greater power and intellect than any of us could imagine. 
They surpassed even the Zim Farinid in their wisdom and skill. You would call 
them gods, but they did not see themselves in that way. Instead, they called 
themselves inventors and experimenters. Together they worked to produce what we 
would consider to be miracles. Their powers knew no bounds and they were 
constantly searching for the truths that were hidden in their own world, as we 
are searching now to save ourselves from evil.

"They were a kindly race, and good for the most part, but the more that they 
developed their own magical skills, the further they seemed to wander from the 
path of nature and truth. With every step they found themselves deeper into such 
mysteries that they could not fathom, and every answer would bring a thousand 
new questions to torment their minds. 

"So they tried to break away from their past history, to create a new world, 
peopled with new races that would grow and develop into a paradise of salvation 
for themselves. They found a place for these new creations and they sent an 
emissary from their world into it. She was fashioned in their own likeness, and 
took a name from their language. I cannot pronounce that word in a form that you 
would understand, but you know her by the name that men gave her. Ills Clair she 
is called now, and she was the first seed of the new world that grew around her. 

"Soon after Ills Clair came to your world, the Zim Farinid followed. We were 
formed in the image of the races that were yet to come, and our task was to 
prepare the land to receive the children of Ills Clair. We were given many tools 
and weapons with which to work, but the magical powers that the great ones 
bestowed upon us were the most useful.

"Between us all we refashioned the land to a form that would be hospitable to 
the delicate creatures that followed. We made the mountains and the river, 
planted the forests and the grasses and provided food enough for all the animals 
that were yet to come. But there were already many different kinds of creatures 
living in the land. These were vile, uncouth forms that had wandered wild and 
aimless for uncountable years. These we banished to another place; our orders 
were that no creature should die in the creation of the new world. And so we 
brought peace and order to a place that had been untamed since the beginning of 
time. 

"When all that was done, his Clair brought forth the Men, Dwarves, Amarin and 
the rest of the thinking beasts. Some of those races have perished since. They 
were unsuitable for the lives that had been set for them, and they passed away 
naturally, as the great ones had intended all things should be. Others of the 
races thrived and multiplied, the men being the most successful. They formed 
themselves into alliances, and their societies developed into the advanced 
civilisations that we know today.

"I have already mentioned Kielmath. Indeed, you have seen her once, though not 
as I remember her. She was one of the leading Zim Farinid. It was her task to 
collate all the details of how each task was done, to record the magic and the 
forces that had been used in the creation of the land and its people. So she 
locked herself away in her home beneath Artoros and wrote a book. Then she 
sealed it away in a place where no mortal could reach, and there it has lain 
ever since. 

"Within Kielmath's book lie all the secrets of this land, and if it were ever 
taken into the wrong hands then we would all be doomed. If someone of great 
wisdom and evil intent should read those pages, then all the good works could be 
undone in a single day. Once the spell is made, then it can be unmade in the 
same way. That would be a dark day indeed for us all, and I am none too sure 
that it has not already passed."

Then Avarath fell silent, leaving Holdin stunned and enthralled, shocked and 
awestricken, all at the same time. He felt honoured that the wizard should 
confide such secrets in him, yet he did not fully understand his reasons for 
doing so. But the truth was astounding and from that day he could never be the 
same again. For him to be the only man to know such things would change his life 
forever, and he realised that he had an important part to play in the conquest 
of the evil that was now rife in the land of Avarath's tale. 

Eventually Holdin asked a question. "Then what is our part in all this?" 

"Well Holdin," Avarath said, "we have a difficult, perhaps impossible task ahead 
of us. To complete it we will have to recruit aid from others throughout the 
land. The kings and captains of every nation must come to our assistance, or 
else they, and us, will perish in the catastrophe that may follow. We must 
enlist the help of the Four Elements. We must find three of them, and then take 
them to the fourth. There I can enter the other world and call the evil to me.
 
"In the distant past, before the coming of men, the Zim Farinid banished all the 
wild things that were in this land, as I have already said. Gum-Math was the 
third member of the Assembly of Three. It was he who went into the other world 
to call the evil ones to him. But for him it was the ultimate sacrifice. From 
that moment on he was doomed to an eternity of captivity. There could be no 
escape for Gummath without releasing all the forces that he had striven to 
contain for these thousands of years. Yet this might be what has happened. His 
mind may have been twisted by the unimaginable torture of that imprisonment, 
perhaps until he could bear it no more. I think he is releasing the evil 
gradually into our world in an effort to free himself from that awful place.
 
"But it was not just the creatures that we banished. With them we also sent the 
evil forces and emotions that would have plagued us all throughout the years 
that followed. Anger, Greed, Hatred, Jealousy and Pride were all removed from 
this world and taken to another place from which we thought they could not 
escape. Of course, a little of each evil was left behind. A man cannot function 
if he does not know the meaning of both good and evil. But the tiny forces that 
were left were nothing compared to the vast powers that we captured. 

"Well now they have been released from that place and we are suffering the 
consequences. I must go to that half world, to take Gum-Math's place, and call 
the evil to me from within its bounds. We must find the entrance to that hell 
and I shall enter it, and finish the job that was started so long ago. But first 
we must find my staff and rescue Kielmath from the terrible power that has 
overwhelmed her great mind." 


CHAPTER SIXTEEN 

After Roiquin sent her letter of challenge to Mithulin, she told her followers 
of her plans. She guessed that the King of Oronfal would not dare to use the 
powers that he had obtained through his Zim Farinid friend, whoever it might be. 
She knew Mithulin, though not as well as his father, and she suspected that his 
mild nature would prevent him from using further force. So she decided to wait a 
short time, to allow her message to reach its destination, and then she would 
act.

In the meantime she told Lairmath and Sharmek to prepare their armies to move.

"We shall march unopposed to Oslar," she said to her captains, "but we will not 
stop there this time. We will go on eastward, to Oronoman itself, to the very 
home of Mithulin and his line. There will be no resistance to us, and I deem 
that his threats are just the empty rantings of one who is doomed to failure. 

"Tomorrow we will set forth for Oslar, and the glory of victory will be ours 
once more. But this time it will be the final victory. There will be no enemy 
when we have finished our next battle." 

So Lairmath and Sharmek departed to prepare for the march, and any battle that 
they might join along the way. They had not forgotten their old differences, but 
now they were working together in the knowledge that there would be no more 
defeat for either of their races. Dwarves and Men would rule the world together 
from now on. This was to be their finest hour.

When night came, great black clouds rolled in from the west, and the sky grew 
darker and darker. By midnight the whole air was filled with a darkness that 
seemed to hide everything. Not even the camp fires that burned brightly could 
penetrate into the black mist that enveloped the two armies. lt was icy cold, 
and quiet. Not even the slightest breeze blew and all sound was muffled by the 
damp, heavy air. 

When dawn finally came, late and dim, Lairmath, Sharmek and Rolquin left their 
tents to prepare for the days events. But each was greeted by a sight that 
defied belief. 

The three leaders stood together by the forest at the river's edge. But their 
armies were gone. Not a single soldier, man or dwarf, was left where once there 
had been thousands. Their tents remained, and some of their weapons. The camp 
fires still smoked where they had been left to burn out, and the cavalry horses 
were tied in their quarters, abandoned by their riders in the night. Yet not a 
soul stood where there should have been a great mass of fighting warriors.

Kielmath had gone too. She was not in her tent and there was no sign of her. 
Everyone had vanished without trace.

The Queen and her captains looked about them in disbelief and dismay. Then they 
looked into each others eyes and they realised that they had been wrong. They 
knew that Ilis Clair had taken the armies from them and that every move they had 
made until now was as a result of the evil influences that had taken control of 
them. 

Lairmath hung his head in shame at the thought of the destruction and the 
killing that had been committed in the name of right and good. 

Sharmek remembered what his dwarves had done. They had massacred innocent people 
and started a war that had killed many more. 

Re turned to Rolquin and said in a quiet, unsure voice, "I do not understand. 
What has brought us all to this? Why have we strayed so far from the teachings 
of Ills Clair and the peace that there was in this land?"

But the Queen had no answers for him. A tear rolled slowly down her face, and 
all that she could say was, "We must repay our people for the wrongs that we 
have done. We must repay them." 


CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 

Mithulin was sat upon his throne in Oronoman, with Amortin and Lifandin to his 
left and right, when two messengers came. One was from the King's own army, but 
the other was one of Rolquin's men. He had been brought under guard with a 
sealed letter from his Queen which, he said, could only be opened by Mithulin's 
hands.

The young King took the paper and broke the red wax seal that held it closed. He 
read the words slowly and carefully, but his face did not betray any feelings as 
he did so. Then he handed the letter to Lifandin. 

"This does not surprise me," he said in a low whisper. Then he turned to the man 
from Falforn and said loudly, "You may go now. Tell your Queen that I have 
received her message and she shall have my reply 'ere long." 

With that the soldier from the west turned away and left the room. 

The man from Mithulin's own army remained, however, and he waited until the 
other was gone before speaking to his ruler. 

"Sire, there is more news. The army that was yours, that we left on Oslar, is 
all but gone now. Since the battle they have slowly withdrawn. They have mostly 
gone back to their homes, deserting their posts when there were no true leaders 
left to command them. The way would be clear for you to go to Ilis Clair, if you 
so desire. Rolquin's army is still in her land, but it may not remain there for 
long. I would advise you make all haste if you wish to speak with the Statue 
again."

The King smiled at the news, though he realised that it was not all good. He 
motioned for the soldier to take his leave, and then he turned to Amortin. There 
was a sense of impatience in his voice and his friend knew what to expect. 

"We must leave at once. Find Ulin-Gail and tell him to meet us at the stables, I 
want to get to Ilis Clair before Rolquin realises there is no more resistance to 
her."

Lifandin looked up from the letter that he had been studying for some time. He 
turned to Mithulin and, with a menacing tone in his voice, said, "Do you want me 
to destroy her army before she has the chance to act." 

"No," snapped the King in quick reply. "There has been enough killing for now. 
If we can reach Ilis Clair without incident then we may see an end to this 
foolish war without the need for more bloodshed." 

"Very well," was all that Lifandin replied, though he spoke with a disappointed 
tone. Then he walked slowly from the room, like a child who has been chastised 
for what he believes to be no good reason.

Amortin turned to his friend and whispered, "I feel there is something evil 
about Lifandin. I have not fully trusted him from the start and he does not
seem like a true Zim Farinid. He is too war-like, and he seems to delight in
the suffering of others. I thought the old wizards were men of peace, or so
they were in the old stories."

"Yes, I agree," said Mithulin, "but he has served me well for all that, and I 
owe him a debt for his aid." 

The two men spoke no more about their misgivings. Amortin went to find Ulin Gail 
and Mithulin set off for the stables.

By the time all four travellers met again, their horses were saddled and ready, 
and they immediately set off on the road to Oslar. They carried with them a 
small tent and supplies enough for several days in the field. 

Mithulin hoped to spy out the lie of the land when they reached their goal, and 
even perhaps to parley with the enemy if the opportunity arose. It seemed that 
there was no hope left in military power, and careful negotiation might be the 
only escape from the deadlock in which both sides now found themselves. But he 
took no army with him, partly because there was none left to speak of, and 
partly because he wished to go quietly and without any show of force. 

So they rode quickly westwards towards the great river. They had not gone far 
when dusk began to fall and huge, dark clouds appeared from the west. The sky 
became as black as pitch and a heavy mist rolled in. Soon they could see very 
little ahead of them.

Mithulin decided that they should stop and make camp for the night, though he 
had intended to continue riding for as long as they could. They erected the tent 
and Mithulin, Amortin and Ulin-Gail took turns at keeping watch during the 
night. 

At first all was quiet and Mithulin took the first turn as watch-man. Soon after 
midnight Amortin took his place, and when he had been sitting awake by the 
glowing camp fire for an hour or so, an eerie cry rang out across the plain. lt 
sounded like a great bird calling for its mate, or perhaps the hunting cry of a 
wild dog. 

Mithulin, Ulin Gail, and Lifandin all awoke with a start as the strange noise 
repeated over and over again in the blackness of the night. 

"What demon was it that made that sound," whispered Mithulin to Amortin as he 
emerged from the thin canvas. 

"I do not know," replied his friend, gripping the hilt of his sword, ready to 
unsheath it at a moments notice. "I could see nothing in the darkness, but there 
is some beast out there, and not far away either."

The call came again a few more times, and then went silent. The four companions 
breathed a short sigh of relief. For some reason they felt that the danger had 
receded, but they were very wrong. 

Suddenly, from the blackness that surrounded them, a creature came running. It 
was dark and hairy, like a great bear, but with shining white fangs and long, 
razorlike claws. It did not seem intent on attacking them. It acted as if it was 
scared for its own life, perhaps fleeing from something even more awful that 
pursued it across the flat land. 

The monster paid no heed to the men that stood in its way. With a great hand the 
size of a man's chest, it pushed Mithulin from its path as if he were a toy. 
Then it leapt over the camp fire that burned with small, dim flames, and fell 
with a crash on top of Amortin. The creature went quickly past Ulin-Gail and 
Lifandin and then disappeared into the dark night as quickly as it had come.

When the others had recovered from the surprise and gathered their wits about 
them, they turned quickly to where Amortin lay on the cold ground. The young man 
did not move and there was blood flowing from his head and his body. His limbs 
were twisted and broken and he seemed more dead than alive. 

"Quickly," said Ulin-Gail with an uncharacteristic tone of authority, "carry him 
into the tent where I can see his wounds more clearly." 

So Mithulin and Lifandin picked up their companion and took him into the dimly 
lit tent. They lay him on a mat and the Satyr began to attend to him. Mithulin 
crouched beside them with tears welling in his eyes. 

"He must not die. He must not die," he kept repeating. Even when his father had 
died he had not felt the pain that he felt now within his heart. In those few 
moments he remembered all the time he had spent with his friend. The games they 
played when they were children, the arguments they had had as young men, and 
even the time just a few days before when Mithulin had struck Amortin for no 
good reason. His mind became clouded with fear and anguish and he could hardly 
see or hear what was going on around him. 

Ulin-Gail began whispering quietly. "If only I had my pipes. If only I had my 
pipes," he repeated over and over again. 

Lifandin stood above them and said, "If you do not want him to die then let me 
tend him. I can use my magic to save his life, Mithulin, but first there is a 
bargain that we must strike." 

Then the young wizard stepped outside and the King followed him. 

Mithulin spoke with a wavering voice, "You must do whatever you can, Lifandin." 

"Very well," came the unfeeling reply, "but now is the time for you to repay 
that debt you owe me. Then we shall all be even." 

"I will give you anything," said the king, trying to hurry him on. 

Lifandin produced a small document from his pocket. "Then sign this paper," he 
said, "and I will save your friend."

Mithulin took the parchment from the other man's hand and read it quickly. When 
he had finished he said, "But this is madness, Lifandin. I cannot promise 
Harvena to you. That land belongs to the Amarin and it is not mine to give. This 
is blackmail." 

"Then your friend will die." 

Lifandin fixed his stare on the King and some of his magical power was radiated 
against the young man. 

Mithulin signed the paper and put his seal at its base. Then he sat upon the 
ground and hung his head in shame for what he had done. 

Lifandin went into the tent and ordered Ulin-Gail outside. The Amarin joined the 
other man by the camp fire, saying "I could have helped Amortin. My pipes have 
powers of healing, I could have helped him."

But Mithulin's reply puzzled the Satyr. 

"Forgive me," was all that the King said. Tears rolled down his face in anguish 
for his friend and the wrong that he had done to all of them. 

They waited in silence for a long time as the night grew even darker and time 
wore slowly on. When at last the first light of dawn began to glow on the 
horizon, Mithulin turned to his companion with a look of anger.

"What is keeping Lifandin so long," he said bitterly. 

Then he stood up and went into the tent to see what was happening. 

Amortin's body lay on the ground, cold and grey as if he had been dead for some 
hours. In his chest there lay a long, silver knife which had pierced his heart 
and taken the last drops of life-blood from his ruined body. 

Mithulin said nothing, but he fell at his friend's side crying and shouting 
curses after Lifandin, who was nowhere to be seen. 

"You will pay for this," he called. "You will pay with your life, Lifandin, 
whether you be a Zim Farinid or not." 

Then Ulin-Gail said quietly, "There is a note here, addressed to you Mithulin." 

"Read it," snapped the King.

"Very well." He took up the paper and read it aloud, slowly. "To the foolish 
King of Oronfal. Do not follow me. To do so would bring you a fate equal to that 
of your simple friend. 1 have taken your seal, so remember that while I have it, 
I also have a power over you, Mithulin. You will never be able to harm me for I 
am Lifandin, the new King over all the land." 

But Mithulin did not seem to listen, for he grieved over his comrade and he did 
not move or speak for a long time. 

When at last Mithulin regained his senses, he and Ulin-Gail covered Amortin's 
body with stones. It was a simple grave at the roadside. The Satyr sang a song 
of mourning for the brave soldier, and then the two companions set off once 
again for their destination. 

They had to walk since the horses had gone in the night. Whether Lifandin had 
taken them, or the beast had frightened them away, they did not know. It made 
the going slower, but Mithulin was determined to go on, and Ulin-Gail followed 
him wherever he led. 

Mithulin had expected there to be at least a little resistance to them when they 
reached Oslar, but the whole place was deserted. Only Ilis Clair stood at the 
island's centre, but there was not another living soul. There were plenty of 
signs of life. Half eaten food littered the ground, and some fires still glowed, 
but no people met the King as he walked onto the land amidst the fast flowing 
river. 

To the west they could still see the camp of Rolquin's army. It had changed very 
little since Mithulin left all those days ago. Perhaps it had grown slightly, 
but it had not moved and there seemed to be no movement within it either. 

They were both very puzzled, but the King did not concern himself too much with 
such minor points. Instead he went straight to the great Statue and greeted her 
as he had done before, except that now he was King of Oronfal. 

"Ilis Clair, it is I, Mithulin, son of Theltiem. I have come to seek more 
knowledge and to find answers to questions that have been set before me since we 
last spoke."

The Statue looked down on him and said in her soft voice, "I am sorry about your 
father." 

Mithulin thought for a moment about all the deaths there had been of late. That 
of his father seemed insignificant compared to the others he had caused through 
his own stupidity or ignorance. 

He continued to speak. "I must thank you Ilis Clair, for the news that brought 
me to my father's side before he died. But as he passed away, he told me to come 
back to you, and to ask you about The Key. He said that it was of great 
importance, and would help us in our fight against evil." 

"Yes," replied Ilis Clair, "I have been waiting for you to come. Listen, and r 
will tell you of your part in these things. 

"Long ago there was a book, written to hold all the secrets of this land, and 
the spells that were used in its creation. The book was made by the Zim Farinid 
and locked with a key so that the knowledge that remained within it would be 
safe for all time. Then the book was hidden in the pyramid of Amarnil, and the 
key was set into my own base. Look there now and you will find it."

Mithulin looked at the white stone of Ilis Clair's plinth. As he watched, a 
secret door opened and revealed a small compartment which had stayed hidden from 
sight for thousands of years. The King looked inside. It seemed empty. He put 
his hand into it and felt all around the cold stone with his fingers. 

Then he looked up at the Statue with dismay and said, "It is empty, Ilis Clair. 
There is nothing there, not a key, nor even a speck of dust" 

Ilis Clair was silent for a moment, then she said, "Are you sure, Mithulin?" 

He looked again, even more carefully than before. 

"I am sure," he said. 

Again the Statue was quiet for a moment, then she said, "In that case, Mithulin, 
I set you this task. You must find the one who has that key and bring it back 
safely to me. You must not rest until your quest is completed, for if it is not 
done then the consequences will be dire for all the races in this land."

Mithulin thought for a moment and then said, "And what if the same person who 
has the key also has the book of which you spoke."

As Ilis Clair considered this point the ground almost shook beneath her. Even 
she dreaded to hear such news. 

"Then you will need all the help you can find," she said, 'including that of the 
Zim Farinid." 

"Then that will be my task," said Mithulin. Then he turned to Ulin-Gail and 
said, "Will you come with me?" 

"Yes, I will come," replied the Satyr, and they began to walk away, though 
neither knew how they would complete their quest, or where they should even 
begin. But at least it was a start in the right direction, and they felt happier 
to be working for good at last, instead of evil. 

When they had gone a few paces Ilis Clair called after them. 

"You must go to Glowist," she said, "you will find friends there." 

Mithulin looked at Ulin-Gail. 

"Do you know the way?" he asked. 

"I do," came the reply. Then Ulin-Gail began to sing, and they both stepped 
forward with lighter hearts than either had had for many a day. The quest had 
begun.

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SHADOW OF THE UNICORN 
Written by Dale and Shelley McLoughlin 
Published in Great Britain 1985
(c) Mikrogen, Unit 15, Western Centre, Bracknell, Berkshire. 0xxx 4xxxxx 
Reproduced and printed by Lucas Graphics Ltd. 14 Easthampstead Road, Bracknell,
Berkshire. 

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or 
otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the 
publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in 
which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition 
being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

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Novella was supplied by Eddie Duffy & Converted by Paul Thompson, March 2003
