Chronicles of the Magi - Book 2 - The Kingdom of Dreams

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The Chronicles of the Magi Book 2: THE KINGDOM OF DREAMS By Dave Morris Copyright 1997 by Dave Morris. ISBN 978-1-906402-08-2 First published in the UK in 1997 by Hodder Children’s Books. This digital edition published in 2009 by Magnum Opus Press. The right of Dave Morris to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. Cover by Jon Hodgson http://www.magnumopuspress.com [email protected] 1

To Tim

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THE MAGI Now as at all times I can see in the mind’s eye, In their stiff, painted clothes, the pale unsatisfied ones Appear and disappear in the blue depth of the sky With all their ancient faces like rain-beaten stones, And all their helms of silver hovering side by side, And all their eyes still fixed, hoping to find once more, Being by Calvary’s turbulence unsatisfied, The uncontrollable mystery on the bestial floor.

William Butler Yeats

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THE STORY SO FAR While travelling through the ice-locked country of Krarth in the land of Legend, Altor, a young warriormonk, countered a mortally wounded stranger who entrusted him with jewelled pommel-stone of the Sword of Life. Thisthe magical weapon is said to be only thing that can overcome the Five Magi – ancient wizards who, banished from the earth, have transformed themselves into baleful comets in the night sky. But the pommel stone was soon lost and – along with Caelestis, a cleverin knave – Altor found himself obliged to participate a deadly contest to regain it. The pair succeeded, but in doing so earned themselves the undying emnity of an Oriental warlock known as Icon the Ungodly. Their next step is to find the hilt of the Sword of Life. But now the Five Magi themselves are aware of theirinquest, and will use all it. of Altor their otherworldly power an effort to prevent and Caelestis will find that many terrible dangers lie in wait for them.... 4

Chapter 1

THE KNIGHT’S QUEST ‘

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can’t believe what I’m hearing! What in heaven’s name were you thinking of?’ ‘Keep your voice down,’ said Altor with a frown. ‘He’ll hear you.’ both turned to look at the knight whoHe sat in They the corner of the inn beside the old empty hearth. bent over his bowl of soup, pretending not to notice the argument. Caelestis leaned closer. ‘I only stepped outside for a few moments,’ he said peevishly, ‘and I come back to find you’ve sworn us to some absurd quest. Have you forgotten that you’re a monk, not a knight of the Tamorian court?’ Altor ignored his friend’s show of irritation. ‘As you very well know,’ he said, ‘I belong to a warrior order 5

and we must take the same vows of chivalry that bind any knight. The old gentleman has a weighty problem – ’ ‘Indeed, but why should it be up to us to solve it for him?’ ‘Because he did not ask for our aid. He is too proud, being a true knight, and so the only honourable thing to do was to offer to help.’ Caelestis gave him a wide-eyed look. ‘You call that chivalry? Helping people because they don’t ask for help? I think you are confusing honour with simplemindedness, Altor!’ At first Caelestis had tried to whisper, but as he got more excited his voice rose until the old knight could not ignore it. Clearing his throat, he beckoned them to his table. Altor bowed respectfully and sat down opposite him. Caelestis slid reluctantly onto the far end of the bench. The knight reached for the poker and with palsied hands stirred the cold embers in the grate. Under a crust of ash, the last glimmer of the previous evening’s fire showed as cracks of orange light. The knight huddled over the fire and looked back over his shoulder at Caelestis. ‘I know what you’re thinking. I’m a poor feeble old man right enough. But once I was young and healthy 6

like you. Though old and broken now, I was a straight sapling in my youth. My waist was then as slender as my wheezing chest is now, and my chest then as broad as the paunch I presently wear. Age, that implacable foe, has not been kind to Varadax, knight of Lushon.’ ‘Wise words,’ responded Caelestis without much interest. ‘And here is a lesson for us all: be courteous to the elderly, for one day we too shall be old. Still – ’ ‘Still,’ said Sir Varadax with sudden vehemence, ‘here I must sit to the end of my days, huddled by the hearth, and I curse the infirmities of old age because they prevent me from taking vengeance on my foe. And when I gulp the last of this world’s air, the thought that shall rankle my heart and burn in the ashes of my brain is that the Lady in Grey has not been punished for her unholy crimes!’ Altor joined in. ‘Sir Varadax has already told me how this Lady in Grey brought about the death of his brother. She is a witch, Caelestis.’ ‘A witch?’ cried Sir Varadax, flinging up his hands. ‘She is a demon in mortal guise! No earthly woman could be so lovely and yet nurture such evil in her breast. Nor was my brother her only victim – not by any means. She has caused the death of many blameless men across the years.’ ‘It seems a trifle harsh to condemn the woman without hearing her own version of events,’ Caelestis 7

ventured. Altor shook his head doggedly. ‘I spoke to the innkeeper. He confirmed Sir Varadax’s story. The Lady in Grey is well known in this region for her depravity and diabolic magic. Unfortunately, here in Krarth the authorities regard such behaviour as normal.’ Varadax nodded. ‘As long as she restricts her victims to peasants, wanderers and foreigners like myself and my brother, she is free to do as she likes. It makes me seethe to think of the injustices she has perpetrated, all of them unpunished!’ Caelestis could see the way things are going and he did not like it. ‘The only advice we can give you, sir knight, is this old adage: the best revenge is to live well. Now, my friend and I should be moving on...’ Even as he spoke, Caelestis knew it was too late. The flame of adventure was in Altor’s eyes. ‘Our duty is clear,’ said the young warrior-monk. ‘This demon woman will account for her misdeeds, and she will do so before the sun sets on another day. So I swear by almighty God and all His troops of angels!’ ‘Well spoken, young sir,’ said the knight, overjoyed. Caelestis just groaned.

Hoarfrost shimmered in the pre-dawn light. Cobwebs of silvery lace covered the hedgerows. They passed a 8

group of peasants beginning their hard day’s toil in the fields. Sir Varadax sat astride his horse, an aged but still powerful beast with a fierce glint in its eye. Caelestis and Altor, having left Kalugen’s Keep a few weeks before with barely twenty silver florins between them, were on foot. Good cheer had made Sir Varadax sprightly. He wore his armour sturdily despite his frail frame and for the last few miles, as casually as if he were riding to a fair rather than a deadly battle, he had been regaling them with stories of his youth. Impatience finally got the better of Caelestis. ‘We have a quest of our own, Sir Varadax. Did my friend tell you? We are gathering the scattered parts of a magic sword which – ’ ‘Indeed, indeed,’ said Varadax, surveying the landscape loftily. ‘A worthy project, lad. No doubt the hardships you endure along the way will build strength of character...’ Caelestis fell behind the horse, pulling Altor back by the arm. In an undertone he said: ‘We agree to help the old buzzard and now he treats us like his squires. Also, notice that he didn’t offer to help us in our quest. Frankly, I think his concept of chivalry is a bit one-sided.’ Altor could not help smiling. ‘He’s waited years for 9

this moment, Caelestis, so forgive him for his singlemindedness, can’t you? And as for our own quest, remember that virtue is its own reward.’ ‘I suspect you were taught logic by a halfwit,’ said Caelestis grumpily. ‘Virtue will not provide me with new boots when these wear out, nor will it guide us to the next part of the Sword of Life.’ ‘For that we don’t need virtue,’ said Altor in a tone which his friend found infuriating. ‘We have faith.’ Sir Varadax had drawn up his horse. It snorted steam into the grey morning air. They caught up with him and saw, on the crest of the next hill, a tower whose walls were choked with ivy. It looked like a knot of shadow in the twilight. ‘The abode of the Lady in Grey,’ said Varadax. ‘Now the grim task is upon us, my young friends. May the soul of my brother witness our deed this day, and may the mother of God grant that our courage is strong.’ ‘Amen to that,’ said Altor grimly. He loosened his sword in its scabbard so that he could draw it instantly when needed. They approached the tower in silence. Dusty skulls lay either side of the open portcullis. Varadax dismounted and tethered his steed to a rusted iron ring set in the tower wall. All three looked at each other. By tacit agreement, Altor advanced first into the gateway. The other two 10

followed cautiously, treading with great stealth up a flight of stairs that wound up into the cold heart of the tower. At the top they entered a low chamber. It was still filled with gloom, dark and chill as an ocean bed, for the sun had not yet risen to shine through the narrow windows. As their eyes became accustomed to the dim light they suddenly realized there was a tall woman standing at the end of the room. She seemed to appear all in a rush, as though the shadows had clotted together in human shape. Her hair was a blaze of icy whiteness and her skin, even though she had the features of a young woman, looked grey and lifeless in the gloom. She turned her gaze on them – a thrilling stare. The same look that a hawk gives its prey. ‘Dread damsel,’ said Varadax, speaking loudly to hide the nervousness in his voice, ‘monster without heart, we’ve come to cleanse the world of you.’ Her smile guttered like a candle flame, a brief gleam swiftly replaced by a dark-lipped scowl. ‘Bold words, but I see only a decrepit old man and two milky striplings. If you see me shake, it’s not from fear.’ There was a steely sigh. Altor had drawn his sword. In the half-light it shone like an icicle in the sun. ‘Madam,’ said Caelestis, ‘this old gentleman has made some serious allegations against you and 11

neither he nor my friend are in much of a mood to listen to veiled threats. But what can be gained by brute violence or tainting the air with sorcery? Surely it would be more sensible if we were all to sit down and discuss this...’ The Lady in Grey made a sound. It was a little like a laugh – but only a little. ‘You’ve a tongue worth pickling, boy. I’ll be sure to find a jar worthy of such contents.’ Sir Varadax took a stride forward, his own sword in his hand. He had been the first to sense the sudden change in the sorceress’s tone that warned of impending action. Even so, he was not quick enough. The Lady spoke a word that twisted the shadows around her. Varadax gave a sharp cry of pain and was flung back as though a mule had kicked him in the chest. He landed heavily on the flagstones beside the other two. There he lay a moment, then slowly got to his feet. The Lady in Grey seemed mildly surprised. ‘I call that spell my “Unseen Lance”. It is rare for a foe to rise after being struck down by it.’ Varadax shook his head groggily. ‘I’m driven by thirty years of hatred, witch. All your spells couldn’t keep me from my vengeance now.’ Altor stepped forward beside him, followed a second later by Caelestis who, at last, reluctantly drew his 12

own sword. ‘Lady,’ said Altor, ‘although a novice I am empowered to hear your confession. I advise you to make your peace with God now, for we have all three sworn an oath to send you this day back to your infernal master in Hell.’ ‘Actually,’ said Caelestis, ‘I didn’t make the oath myself, but I am forced to agree with the general sentiment.’ The Lady tossed her head disdainfully. ‘A monk, a knave and an old man – you think I count you more than spittle in the dust? I have other spells and other servitors, and more than enough ways to – ’ The first pink rays of the sun washed the room. As the light touched her, the Lady in Grey fell silent. She stood rigid as though turned to stone. ‘She is frozen by the daybreak!’ cried Varadax triumphantly. ‘We must seize our chance and slay her now.’ He leaped forward, sword upraised, but he was mistaken in thinking the Lady powerless. Her luminous eyes flashed, cold white pebbles in the red glow of dawn. Varadax felt the floor shift beneath his feet and, staring down in horror, saw tendrils reaching up out of the flagstones. They whipped around his legs, encircled his chest and neck, pulled tight around his wrists. In seconds he was caught fast in the grip of 13

granite-hard coils. ‘I’m trapped!’ he gasped as the tendrils tightened on his throat. Altor had also launched himself across the room. Caelestis shouted a warning. Altor glanced down to see more tendrils oozing out of the floor by his feet. He hacked them away before they could harden. ‘She can still cast her spells!’ said Caelestis. Altor saw it was true. Although she was held motionless by the sun’s rays, the Lady’s eyes still roved around the chamber. The touch of her gaze was palpable – the creep of spiders’ legs across bare skin. Her voice whispered at the back of their minds. It was a horrible sensation, like hearing a quiet voice speak from under the bed when you think you lie alone in your room. ‘Did you think I would be so easy to overcome?’ the voice said. ‘Depart my tower at once and I shall permit you to live. Refuse, and all the forces of the netherworld will be unleashed against you.’ Caelestis was prepared to talk it over. ‘All three of us?’ he asked aloud. ‘No – you striplings only.’ The silent voice hissed inside their skulls. ‘Varadax has vexed me once too often. Now he’ll abide here among the remains of my earlier victims.’ Altor lifted his sword and began to advance towards her. ‘Out of the question.’ 14

Her eyes flashed with anger. ‘So be it.’ The growing daylight had illuminated two armoured figures standing against the rear wall. Now, galvanized to sudden life, they hefted their spears and moved forwards with clanking footsteps across the room. Altor saw he could not reach the Lady in Grey before the armoured figures intercepted him. They strode closer. Something about the scrutiny of those dark visors chilled Altor’s blood. Then he realized – the ponderous movements, the doomful aura, the hollow death-knell clang that rang out with each step.... It was not living men he faced, but ghosts encased in ancient armour! He fell back in a defensive stance and was relieved when Caelestis appeared at his side. The nearest suit of armour drove its spear towards Altor’s throat. Caelestis started to say something, but his words were drowned out by the clash of metal on metal as Altor parried with his silver sword. Sparks leapt, blazing stars in the soft dawn light. Outside, incongruously, birds had begun singing. In the tower room, the only sounds were the clank and grind of metal and the young adventurers’ desperate intakes of breath. Caelestis jumped to avoid a low thrust, then ducked as his adversary swung the spear butt around towards his head. Agile as he was, he could not avoid these 15

attacks forever. Altor with his sturdy magic sword at least had the choice of parrying the spear strikes, but he wasn’t tireless either. Slowly they were forced back towards the wall. Once they were trapped there with no room to manoeuvre, it would all be over. ‘Can’t you exorcize these things? Get rid of the ghosts inside somehow?’ panted Caelestis, barely weaving aside in time to avoid a slicing attack that would have laid open his guts. ‘I never got as far as the exorcism lessons, I’m afraid.’ ‘Some monk you’ll make, then,’ snorted Caelestis. He stopped retreating; the parapet of the window was against his back. Altor drove the point of his sword against his opponent’s blank metal face. The metal tore open with a tortured screech, leaving an open gash into the hollow interior of the suit, but to no avail. The armoured figure drew back its spear, then thrust with supernatural strength directly towards Altor’s heart.

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Chapter 2

IN DREAMS

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ff-balance after his lunge at the armour’s visor, Altor saw no chance to avoid the lethal spear-tip. But just an instant before it struck he was shoved to one side. The spear passed between him Caelestis. as itsand blade snappedSparks againstand thechips wall. of masonry flew Caelestis somersaulted over his friend and was on his feet instantly. Altor rolled over in time to see the armoured suit turn, stabbing down at him with the butt of the spear. He slashed his sword across and was gratified to see the wooden haft of the spear shatter in The his foe’s suit hands. of armour reeled with the momentum of its attack, teetering above him, and for a moment Altor thought it was going to fall and squash him, but 17

by some miracle it stayed upright. The other began to lumber around, lowering its own spear to skewer him where he lay. Altor scrambled to his feet. ‘If you’ve got a plan in mind,’ he said, ‘now’s the time for it.’ Caelestis shook his head. ‘I can’t think of anything clever. Still, what the hell...’ He shrugged and threw his sword at the Lady in Grey’s head. Her eyes, following the arc of Caelestis’s sword as it hurtled across the room, shone with cold hatred. Magical energy pulsed, leaving an acrid taste in the air, and the sword rebounded from an invisible shield. Rapid clanking footsteps came towards Caelestis. He turned to see the second suit of armour advancing on him, spear levelled to impale him. Unarmed as he now was, he could not parry – and it was too late to dodge. ‘Oh well,’ he said. ‘It was worth a try.’ But his gamble had not been in vain. While using her magic to deflect the thrown sword, the Lady in Grey had forgotten about Sir Varadax. Without her concentration to maintain them, the stone tendrils holding him fast went slack. Varadax didn’t waste time wondering about this turn of events. His sword lashed out towards the Lady’s neck. She had no opportunity to summon up another magical shield. The old knight’s stroke cleaved her head from her shoulders. Still wearing the same 18

evil scowl, it fell with a crunch to the flagstones. At the same instant there was a soft howl as something escaped from inside the suits of armour. They swayed and slumped forward like broken puppets. Altor reached out tentatively and prodded the nearest one. It rocked back on its heels and crashed lifeless to the floor. ‘Just in the nick of time,’ said Caelestis, delicately pushing aside the spear that the other suit of armour had been about to drive between his ribs. ‘We’re lucky it worked at all,’ said Altor. ‘Was that the best you could come up with, Caelestis? Throwing your sword at her? Couldn’t you have called the Faltyn or something?’ ‘Sure,’ said Caelestis, glancing at the magic ring he wore. ‘And I’d have still been bargaining with it when they were hanging our bodies out for the crows. Stop complaining – we’re alive, aren’t we?’ Varadax stepped free of the tendrils which were now shrivelling back into the floor. The Lady in Grey’s head lay at his feet. Her eyes were still open, but the light had faded from them. Now they just looked like old pebbles. And it was grey dust, not blood, that seeped from her severed veins. Caelestis and Altor looked in mingled disgust and horror at the spreading pool of dust, but Varadax mustered a smile. 19

‘Now my brother’s soul can rest in peace,’ he said. Striding contemptuously through the grey dust, he went to the back of the room to where an ivory plaque bore a faded coat-of-arms. ‘Your own crest, Sir Varadax?’ said Altor. ‘My brother’s, in fact, as he was the elder. Mine now, of course.’ Varadax reached out and touched the plaque wistfully – only to jump back in surprise as it gave a click. With a heavy grating sound, a section of the floor tilted down to reveal a narrow stairway. All three stared in silence. ‘I think we just ought to leave now,’ said Caelestis after a few seconds, although he didn’t expect the others to take any notice. ‘A secret door...’ said Altor. ‘What other dark mysteries has the witch got hidden away?’ Varadax stood gazing open-mouthed into the stairwell. They noticed he was trembling in the grip of overwhelming emotion. ‘Can it be? After all these years...’ He started down the stairs. Altor and Caelestis glanced at each other and then reluctantly followed. They went down and down until they realized they were somewhere beneath the tower’s foundations. Bare rock sweated dankness into the musty air. The stairs were cramped into such a small space that Altor’s broad shoulders almost became wedged tight at 20

one point. Caelestis waited a few seconds while his friend twisted to and fro uncomfortably, then gave him a shove with the heel of his boot. ‘Ow!’ ‘Sorry. But it did the job.’ The stairs had ended. They were almost in darkness. Then a gleam of light spurted from a passage ahead. Varadax stood haloed by a lamp he’d found. Altor and Caelestis hurried to catch up. The elderly knight was standing in front of a narrow oak doorway. The handle was a ring of black iron. Varadax kept starting to reach for it, then nervously pulling his hand away. ‘What is it?’ asked Altor gently. ‘What’s in there?’ ‘And can it just stay there, whatever it is?’ chipped in Caelestis. Although normally as curious as a starved cat, he found the eerie atmosphere of the place was getting to him. Varadax drew breath in a deep sob, like a man about to plunge into freezing water, and turned the handle. The door swung inwards with a groan of rusted hinges. Reverently they stepped into the chamber beyond. There was a sense of portent in the air that silenced even Caelestis’s garrulous tongue. Varadax raised the lamp, and it is light they saw an open stone casket and, in it, a figure who lay as pale as an effigy of wax. 21

‘It’s her – !’ gasped Caelestis, the words catching in his throat. ‘The Lady in Grey!’ Varadax shook his head. ‘No,’ he said in a melancholy voice. ‘It is the form she stole. This was my brother’s bride, Seresha, who on her wedding night these many years past was struck down by the witch’s curse.’ He knelt beside the casket. Altor crossed himself and muttered a quick prayer, then threw a disapproving glance at his friend. Caelestis, who had been scanning the chamber for any loose gold fittings that the Lady in Grey might have left lying about, coughed and tried to look suitably sympathetic. ‘A sad tale,’ he said. ‘But after all it was a very long time ago.’ Despite the stern discipline learned in a lifetime of warfare, Varadax wept uncontrollably. Altor put a hand on his shoulder. ‘At least her body is unblemished by decay,’ he said. ‘We can lay her in the ground as pure as she was on that long-ago night.’ ‘Yii!’ Caelestis said suddenly and jumped back several feet. Altor glared at him, but Caelestis was pointing at the body. ‘Her lips moved!’ he insisted. Varadax rose at once and leaned across the casket, pressing his ear to the maiden’s white breast. ‘I hear 22

the flutter of a heartbeat!’ He turned to them, his old face twisted into a pathetic grin of joy. ‘Help me to raise her up.’ Altor put an arm behind Seresha’s shoulders and lifted her to a sitting position. A long dreadful moment passed in which they all feared they had been mistaken, and that it really was a lifeless corpse that they were handling. But then she took a swooning breath and a little colour came into the pallid cheeks. The eyes fluttered open – the beat of tiny birds’ wings – to reveal eyes so blue that they looked like amethysts. She raised her head to look at them. Soft blond hair fell to frame the same face that on the Lady in Grey had looked frightening, but which Seresha’s innocence transformed into beauty. She looked from Altor to Caelestis without recognition, but when her gaze fell on Varadax she stared in amazement. ‘Surely...’ she began, then faltered. She could not believe her eyes. ‘Yes, yes,’ sobbed Varadax through happy tears. ‘It is I, Varadax.’ She reached up to touch his old lined face. ‘I dreamt you came to waken me. You and two others, who each bore half of a broken blade. But Varadax – what’s happened? You look so old.’ ‘It’s been thirty years,’ he said. ‘I returned from my 23

travels only recently only to discover the evil acts the witch had perpetrated. I should never have gone away. I blame myself for all that’s happened to you.’ She shook her head gently. ‘No, it is not your fault. And, Varadax...’ She hesitated. ‘What of my husband?’ ‘Dead.’ The look in her eyes showed she had expected it. ‘Poor Jodax. But I am forgetting your friends...’ Altor and Caelestis both bowed – one with respectful formality, the other as flamboyantly as ever. ‘My lady, we are merely glad to have been able to serve you,’ said Caelestis grandly. ‘Risk means nothing to us. Reward is a thing we spurn. Righteousness is our only watchword.’ ‘You’ve changed your tune,’ said Altor out of the corner of his mouth. Ignoring him, Caelestis stepped forward and offered Seresha his hand to help her out of the casket. She looked from his face to Altor’s and smiled. ‘In my dream you were different. Not so young – not so carefree. Evil stars were set against you in your quest.’ Caelestis shrugged this off, but Altor took it more seriously. ‘There is often truth in dreams,’ he said. ‘The more so in Seresha’s case,’ put in Varadax, ‘since she was once a seeress of Wyrd.’ 24

It meant nothing to Caelestis and Altor. Seeing their puzzled looks, Seresha said: ‘May we go up into the daylight? Then I’ll explain what I can.’ A few minutes later they were standing on the grassy slope below the tower. Though it was a winter’s morning, the cold was nothing compared to the icy interior of the tower and the pale sun gave a little cheer. Varadax gave Seresha his cloak and, seeing her shiver still, put his arm around her shoulders. She smiled at him. To Altor and Caelestis she said: ‘I was born in the Kingdom of Wyrd, an island far to the north. The island is ruled by the Warlock King...’ ‘I’ve heard of him,’ said Altor, frowning. ‘I thought he was a myth made up to frighten children.’ ‘He’s real, and it is not only the children of Wyrd who fear him. He has the power to enter dreams and he sends terrible nightmares to those who oppose his rule. Sometimes people don’t wake up.’ She could not help looking back at the tower where she had lain so long. ‘Did he send the Lady in Grey to punish you?’ asked Altor. ‘I don’t know. The Warlock King isn’t supposed to have any power outside his own realm – that’s why I fled here across the sea, to put myself beyond his reach. The Lady in Grey might have been his agent. 25

Or not. We’ll never know now.’ Caelestis tugged at his chin thoughtfully. ‘Lady, Sir Varadax said you were a seeress. Does that mean your dreams might have some hidden significance?’ Seresha smiled. ‘That is something you will have to tell me. If a broken sword means anything – Ah, I see it does. Well, in my dream the two of you were bound for Wyrd.’ Caelestis mouth drooped. ‘For Wyrd? North, you say? In the dead of winter? A dismal prospect indeed. You couldn’t have been mistaken, I suppose?’ Altor laughed and clapped his friend on the back. ‘You’re always one for checking a horse’s teeth, Caelestis! Can’t you see that this clue is a gift from heaven? We need to find the next part of the Sword of Life. >From the Lady Seresha’s dream it seems we’ll find it in Wyrd.’ ‘Be careful, then,’ said Seresha. ‘Once you enter the Kingdom of Wyrd you’ll come under the Warlock King’s power. If he notices you’ve come, he’ll kill you in your dreams.’

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Chapter 3

THE METEOR ‘

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et’s face facts,’ said Caelestis. ‘We’re lost.’ It had been quite a few hours since he and Altor had said goodbye to Seresha and Varadax, with the assurance that they could not fail to find theirBut waythey to the in aMisdren village before nightfall. had inn taken wrong turn on the forest road and found themselves on a twisting path that grew steadily narrower and at last petered out altogether. By the time they had realized their mistake and started back towards the crossroads, darkness had begun closing in behind the branches overhead. To feathery make matters snow now fall – huge flakes worse, that danced in thebegan air. Atobiting cold descended with it from the evening sky. Caelestis pulled his cloak around him and cursed through 27

gritted teeth. ‘You should’ve spent your money on sensible travelling clothes instead of courtly finery,’ said Altor unsympathetically. ‘Bad enough that I have to risk my life on some foolish adventure,’ complained Caelestis. ‘Do you also expect me to go about looking like a peasant on his way to a cattle market?’ A dim sickly light seeped down between the trees. Altor pointed to the green disk swiftly rising over the treetops. ‘See, the comet that the Krarthians call Green Flame. It’s one of the Five.’ ‘I know. It was me that told you about them, remember? It’s a planet of ill omen, Altor – the more so for us, since the Five are our foes.’ ‘Men make their own luck. In this case, Green Flame may ironically give us aid. Now then...’ he turned, getting his bearings, ‘it always rises in the north-west, so the path ought to be somewhere over this way.’ Altor strode on with cheerful vigour, oblivious of the glare that Caelestis directed at his back. Still more infuriatingly, it was only a few moments before Altor called out in triumph. ‘And here it is! Come on, Caelestis. Only an hour or so to go and we’ll be warming ourselves with hot broth at the tavern fireside.’ They threaded their way through the darkened 28

woods. The snow soon stopped falling but the temperature continued to drop. The air became crisp as a light frost formed on the bark of the trees. They could see nothing but the thin snow-dusted ribbon of the path just ahead. Everything else was lost in the gloom. Through the overhanging branches they caught glimpses of the green comet sailing like an emerald through the star-filled night sky. An hour’s slog through frost-brittle ferns brought them to a clearing that they had not passed before. Neither had spoken in all this time. Caelestis stopped and blew out his breath in a long indignant puff. ‘You know the story of Pandora?’ he said. ‘How she let all the ills in the world out of a jar?’ Altor nodded warily, because he knew Caelestis was only setting him up for some elaborate reprimand. ‘After all the ills had flown, there was one thing left and it was Hope,’ went on Caelestis. ‘Now, the question that I find myself asking is: was this a good thing? One point of view is that Hope makes the world’s ills tolerable. I reject this thesis. My own experience has been – ’ and here he rounded on his friend angrily ‘ – that a false hope makes a miserable situation ten times worse!’ ‘We must have found the wrong path,’ said Altor. ‘The only thing now is to build a campfire and wait till dawn.’ 29

His calmly efficient tone that only annoyed Caelestis all the more. ‘If, if mind you, we had not dillydallied around with Sir Varadax and the admittedly charming Seresha then we would have passed through the woods before sunset and reached Misdren hours ago.’ ‘The old gentlemen wanted to tell us about the exploits of his youth,’ Altor said adamantly. ‘It would’ve been rude to leave sooner. In any case, you were so attentive to the lady Seresha that I began to think I was going to have to physically prise you away from her side.’ ‘Pah! I was merely rubbing the circulation back into her delicate hands after that long sleep.’ ‘Not just her hands, I think, Caelestis,’ chided Altor. Caelestis rolled up his eyes. Then he caught sight of something. Pointing up into the night sky, he grabbed Altor’s arm. ‘Look!’ A flare of light stood out from the Green Flame for an instant, like a cinder breaking off a burning log. They both stood squinting into the darkness. Caelestis put up one hand to cover the Green Flame itself, and could now make out a speck of light falling earthwards. At first no bigger than a firefly, it grew rapidly in size and brightness. A high-pitched whistling was audible in the still night air. 30

‘I have a bad feeling about this,’ said Caelestis. Altor drew him back silently into the undergrowth at the edge of the clearing. The green flare swept low, skimming the treetops. Branches broke into splinters. The flare hit the centre of the clearing and exploded in a jet of emerald sparks. Caelestis poked at his ears. The high-pitched whistling had stopped, but now he could hear an ominous hissing. Steam rose from the place where the flare had struck. Altor pointed to a large black stone lying in the centre of the crater. ‘It looks a bit like an egg!’ he whispered. ‘I do wish you hadn’t said that...’ There was a deep cracking sound. Darkness spread suddenly from the meteorite, filling the crater like a black pool. The stark light of the Green Flame shone down over the pine trees. The surface of the shadowy pool pulsed and swirled. Then a hunched figure rose slowly as though forming out of the earth. With a dry crackling of its joints it shrugged off the dank soil and straightened up. Black robes hung around a body that was like the skeleton of an alien being. It stood poised in the middle of the clearing, glowing green eyes slowly scanning the surrounding foliage. Caelestis could not help shrinking back as he 31

felt its gaze sweep over their hiding-place. A frozen twig snapped under his heel. The creature swung to face them, instantly alert. It raised two hands of fleshless bone and, uttering a long screech of triumph, came charging across the hard ground straight towards them. Altor jumped up. His sword swept around in a glittering arc. As it struck the creature there was a pulse of dazzling green light. Both Altor and Caelestis shielded their eyes. When they looked up, the creature had vanished. ‘Perhaps it wasn’t real,’ said Altor. ‘An illusion of some kind.’ But Caelestis pointed to the footprints in the snow. ‘It was there all right – whatever it was. I guess we’re just lucky you’ve got a magic sword.’ ‘Hmm. The sword doesn’t usually have such a spectacular effect.’ Altor looked at the crater, which was still belching steam up into the icy air. ‘I don’t think we ought to camp here after all.’ Caelestis was not about to disagree with that. They hurried away from the clearing. Frosty pine needles crunched underfoot. The cold orb of the Green Flame glared down through the black forest canopy like an eye gazing from the centre of a spider’s web. After a time, feeling they had put a safe distance between themselves and the spot where the meteor 32

fell to earth, they stopped. Nothing stirred in the green-limned darkness. The forest was shrouded in snow and dead silence. Altor gathered some twigs and tried to get a fire going, but the wood was damp with snowflakes and refused to light. Caelestis huddled down beside the trunk of an ancient pine, gazing disconsolately into the darkness. Altor tore up thick clumps of ferns and brought them over. ‘Cover yourself with these. They’ll help keep you warm.’ Caelestis continued to stare off between the trees. ‘Get soil and sap all over my clothes?’ he grumbled. ‘I’d sooner freeze to death.’ Altor shrugged. ‘Suit yourself.’ He sat down and draped the ferns across him like a blanket. Time passed. Altor suddenly found himself awake, fully alert. It was still dark. Green Flame, now close to setting, cast a ghastly light through the woods that made the branches look like gnarled fingers. Beside Altor, Caelestis was curled up fast asleep with his head pillowed on the roots of the tree. Altor rose and looked around to see what had roused him. Suddenly something burst from the undergrowth. Altor reached for his sword, and smiled when he saw it was just a rabbit. It sat on the snow in front of him for a split-second, a little knot of quivering tension, 33

then bounded off between the trees. Altor went over to where it had appeared. He peered into the deep gloom, but could not see anything that might have scared the rabbit. ‘Probably an owl...’ he said to himself. He walked back to the tree. Caelestis yawned, stretched and turned over in his sleep. Altor grinned, a little shamefaced that his friend was able to sleep soundly while his keen warrior instincts had woken him merely because of one frightened rabbit. There was a cold tingle down his spine. Altor spun around and found himself staring into a face of alien white bone with eyes like disks of jade. He jumped back and felt its clawed fingers rake the air just next to his cheek. He half-stumbled over Caelestis, who woke with a curse and sat up angrily. ‘What’s going – Great God in heaven!’ Caelestis jumped up, rebounded off the tree trunk, and reeled aside as the creature leaned towards him. Its hard fingers speared the bark of the tree, instantly spreading a patch of deathly white frost. ‘Don’t let it touch you!’ shouted Altor as he drew his sword. ‘No kidding,’ said Caelestis, snatching up a broken branch to parry the thing’s claws. Where it struck the branch, the wood became brittle and sheathed in ice. Altor gave a battle cry and lunged towards the 34

creature. It turned, skinless jaws gaping to spill loamy soil over the frosty ground. The wave of intense cold emanating from it made his skin tingle. The silver sword slid between its ribs, but this time it did not vanish. Instead the lambent eyes only glowed more fiercely. Altor swayed backwards to avoid the icy clutch of its claws, bringing his sword up and striking at its face. The sword bit a shallow groove across its brow, but that was all. ‘We’d better beat a retreat!’ said Altor. Caelestis was quick to agree. They turned and ran pell-mell into the forest with him leading the way. The net of branches enfolded them. They ran without looking back. Boots crunched on frosty grass, ragged gasps punctuated the silence. An owl with eyes like silver coins took flight from a nearby tree, beating noiselessly off into the darkness. The forest was hushed, serene. If not for the taste of adrenaline in their mouths they might have thought they were still asleep and dreaming. They stopped when they could run no further. Altor slumped breathless against a tree and stared back through the woods. The creature was nowhere in sight, but Altor wasn’t fooled. He could sense it, out there somewhere, stalking them through the night. Ahead lay a lake with a boat moored at its edge. Caelestis, leaning against a boulder, pointed it out to 35

his friend. Altor was dubious. ‘It seems too convenient. Green Flame is sometimes known as the gift star, but the gifts it brings are always unlucky.’ Caelestis’s cloak had been ripped to tatters by brambles as they ran, and his face was scratched where branches had whipped painfully across it, but for once he didn’t care. Sucking the cold night air into his lungs, he had neither complaints nor quips to make. He could think only of the creature striding after them, green eyes lighting the darkness, hands of bone outstretched to suck the warmth from their bodies. ‘We stay here, we’re dead,’ he decided. They climbed into the boat and pushed off from the shore. Altor took up the oars. Caelestis sat in the prow and looked back at the wall of tree trunks encircling the lake. At that moment the skeletal creature burst from the bushes. Caelestis tensed as he met its unhuman stare. It loped down to the edge of the lake and stopped. Caelestis relaxed and began to smile. ‘It seems our friend can’t swim...’ he said to Altor. But Caelestis’s grin soured when he saw the creature bend and thrust its hands down towards the water. Instantly a path of ice formed across the lake, angling towards the boat and completely encircling it. 36

Altor tugged at the oar and realized it was stuck fast in the ice. He turned to look back. The creature was advancing across the ice towards them. ‘How about the Faltyn?’ he suggested. Caelestis looked at his ring. Mistrusting the sorcerous creature it contained, he normally wore it with the stone facing inwards. Turning it around on his finger, he called to the Faltyn, coaxing it to appear with a mixture of promises and threats. It appeared, as ever, reluctantly – a wisp of a figure drifting like mist above the water of the lake. Its face was a mask of otherworldly tranquility, but when it spoke there was a tremble in that lilting voice: ‘Do not expect me to stand against the True Magi’s powers on your behalf, o mortal. In a twinkling I am gone again.’ It began to fade. Caelestis held up the ring. ‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘First tell me how we can escape from this creature.’ The Faltyn lingered, unable to resist the magic of the ring. ‘You cannot. It has been sent by the Green Flame and it draws its power constantly from the earth and stones of Krarth. It cannot be avoided, cannot be destroyed.’ ‘What do you mean, sent by Green Flame?’ demanded Altor. The Faltyn ignored him, staring transfixed at the 37

approaching creature until Caelestis waved the ring in front of its face and repeated the question. ‘You have angered the dead lords who dwell in the sky,’ said the Faltyn hastily. ‘The five comets that move above Krarth. Your quest is contrary to their interests, and therefore Green Flame has decided to dispose of you just as Blue Moon’s servants disposed of the harpist who srcinally had the pommel stone. If Green Flame fails, the others will take their turn. Now let me go. I can do nothing to help.’ Caelestis dismissed the Faltyn, which vanished as soon as he had spoken the words. The skeleton creature loomed over them, leering horribly. It seemed bigger now, filled with terrible power. The green radiance flowing from its body made a crackling sound as tiny ice crystals formed in the air. Without much hope, Altor swung his sword at the thing’s body. The coldness that instantly swept up along the blade almost made him drop it. This time it had no effect on the creature. Caelestis stepped forward. He was holding the other oar. He smashed it down – not at the creature itself, but at the ice on which it was standing. The creature looked at Caelestis, gave a soundless snarl and lashed out with its bony hand. Altor parried the blow. Caelestis struck again, heaving down with all his 38

weight. The ice cracked. The creature lashed out, this time knocking Altor’s sword out of his numbed fingers. It fell into the bottom of the boat and he scrabbled to retrieve it. Caelestis shoved the oar into the creature’s midriff. It shifted its weight, and in doing so placed one foot on the crack in the ice. The crack widened and water rushed up around the creature’s ankles, instantly beginning to freeze as it lapped against the creature’s exoskeleton. Caelestis smashed at the ice a final time and this time it shattered. With dreadful slowness the creature toppled, trapped on the ice like a statue on a pedestal. They watched without pity as it sank into the black water. For a moment the green eyes remained visible, baleful glimmering sparks, before vanishing into the murky depths. On the horizon, the comet called Green Flame flared briefly as it sank out of sight over the edge of the world.

39

Chapter 4

THE QUESTING BEAST

P

ort Quag, on the eastern coast of Krarth, was a bustling town that smelt of tar and fish and salt spray. Caelestis and Altor reached it at noon, having pressed on through Misdren village without stopping, and were so common weary thatroom no sooner they found a pallet in the of Thehad Sun in Winter inn than they were deep in slumber. When they woke it was evening and the tap room of the inn was filling up with revellers. Caelestis examined his tattered clothes sadly and then stumbled to the bar. Theyou’ve innkeeper fixed him with a suspicious scowl. ‘I hope got the money to pay for your lodging,’ he said. ‘This is a reputable inn, not a doss-house for beggars.’ 40

‘The blanket you gave me was full of fleas and the pallet is as hard as a grave stone,’ retorted Caelestis blearily. ‘No self-respecting beggar would choose to sleep in such conditions.’ Nonetheless he reached into his pouch and paid the innkeeper a couple of florins. The man’s scowl was unchanged. ‘If you’re expecting a meal you’d better find a few more coins to keep those company.’ Caelestis paid him two more florins. ‘My friend and I will have roast beef, steamed cabbage and turnip mash, with perhaps a few nutmeg cakes as dessert. See that the beef is not overdone. Also bring a flask of Asmulian red wine.’ The innkeeper somehow managed to look amused without losing the scowl. He pushed two wooden plates across the bar and nodded towards a trough of gruel beside the fire. ‘There is your supper. To wash it down we have Krarthian bitter ale or water. The water is free of charge, but I advise against drinking it.’ Caelestis raised a disdainful eyebrow. ‘Why?’ ‘Have you ever suffered from the Brown Flux?’ ‘No.’ ‘Best keep it that way.’ Caelestis went to wake Altor and the two sat beside the fire eating their gruel. ‘It’s bad, Caelestis,’ said Altor at last. ‘Bad? It’s revolting.’ 41

‘Not the gruel. I’m talking about that thing that attacked us in the forest.’ Caelestis groaned. ‘I’d hoped it was just a nightmare...’ ‘The Faltyn said that Green Flame sent it to hunt us down. You remember I told you about the harpist who gave me the pommel stone? The werewolves who killed him were under the influence of Blue Moon.’ Caelestis nodded. ‘The comets are supposed to be the spirits of the five greatest of the True Magi. Those are ‘The Five’ that the harpist mentioned.’ ‘So we must expect attacks from the others. What can you tell me about them?’ ‘Green Flame and Blue Moon you already know about. Also there is Red Death, which astrologers take as the symbol of wanton carnage and terror. White Light I believe represents secrecy and arcane knowledge. Lastly there’s Yellow Eye, which stands for fever and decay.’ ‘I see that Krarthian astrology has its morbid streak.’ Caelestis gave a bleak laugh. ‘No question of that. It’s a national characteristic in fact.’ While they were talking, a scar-faced sailor had rolled in off the street and greeted the landlord with a jovial curse. In short order he downed three glasses of the local firewater, a potent liquor brewed from sea42

weed. After this feat he inspected the room with large bloodshot eyes, his gaze soon coming to rest on the two friends. ‘Ah, the travellin’ sort, if I’m not mistaken,’ he barked. ‘Lookin’ fer a spot of work, are yer, lads?’ Altor saw that Caelestis was about to respond to this with some uncomplimentary remark. To prevent trouble, he quickly said: ‘It’s possible. We are trying to get to Wyrd.’ The sailor made a short mirthless sound. ‘There’s no chance of passage there ’til next spring. The whole coast around it will be solid pack ice this time o’ year. Course, you could go north and walk across, if yer care to.’ ‘Very droll,’ said Caelestis. ‘Now, why don’t you take your paunch and – ’ ‘You have a ship?’ said Altor hastily. ‘Where’s she bound, may I ask?’ The sailor glared at Caelestis but had not yet drunk enough to become aggressive. ‘North a ways, to Dourhaven. A bit nearer to Wyrd, for all the good that’ll be.’ Altor leaned towards Caelestis’s ear. ‘Don’t offend this fellow for goodness’ sake. We could get passage to Dourhaven and save ourselves the trek overland.’ ‘We’d be expected to work our passage! Do you think I intend to submit to the drudgery of a deck43

hand’s existence?’ ‘With barely more than a dozen florins left, I don’t think we’ve any choice.’ Altor beamed at the sailor. ‘We’re your men.’ The sailor laughed and drained a last glass. ‘Not mine. ’Tis Captain Lazarus I work for. So come along an’ see if yer faces fit.’ He reeled out of the door leaving Caelestis and Altor to snatch up their belongings and hurry along behind. They caught up to him at the end of the cobbled street where he was shoving his way through the seafront crowds. No-one seemed anxious to pick a fight with him when they turned and saw his tough scarred face. Altor put out his hand as they walked. ‘Brother Altor of Ellesland,’ he said. ‘My friend is Caelestis.’ The sailor looked at the proffered hand but did not shake it. ‘Grogram’s the name. My ship’s the Questing Beast.’ ‘Curious,’ said Caelestis. ‘I assumed it might be named the Drunken Sot.’ Grogram looked at him with hooded eyes. ‘You want your lip bust, do yer, lad?’ Caelestis returned a disdainful look. Before he could reply, Altor moved across so that he walked between them. ‘Which is your ship of these two fine vessels?’ he said to Grogram. 44

Apparently Grogram was not interested in pursuing his quarrel with Caelestis. He pointed to a large whaling ship tethered to the quay and led the way swaggering up the gangplank. Altor fell back and grabbed Caelestis’s arm. ‘Why are you trying to antagonize him?’ he hissed. ‘He’s not the captain,’ grumbled Caelestis, ‘he’s just a sozzled sea-salt. I can’t abide an underling with airs above his station.’ They stepped up onto a deck stained with the blubber of slaughtered whales. The smell was of grease and rancid bilgewater. The captain, whose face seemed almost to have been crushed at some point so that it had the appearance of a bruised melon, exchanged a few words with Grogram and then walked over. He had a limping gait and used a stick carved from narwhal ivory. The crew looked on darkly. Altor threw them a broad smile that had no effect. Caelestis just stood glowering. The captain surveyed the two with eyes that burned with an strange inner fire. ‘Ah yes. You’ll be ready for a spot of whaling, I shouldn’t doubt.’ ‘Almost correct,’ said Caelestis, ‘except that my friend is opposed to the senseless slaughter of animals on religious grounds and I prefer not to get myself drenched in gore. Therefore if you have openings for 45

executive officers or something of the sort – ’ The captain roared with laughter. ‘Ho, you’re a flaunty fellow!’ he said. ‘You’ll amuse the men with such choice witticisms.’ His crew did not look amused. On the contrary, they remained ominously silent like wolves behind their pack leader. ‘We’re prepared to work in the rigging, if you’ll let us learn the ropes,’ said Altor. ‘We only need passage as far as Dourhaven.’ ‘As you like it. I’m Captain Lazarus. You’ve met my first mate, Mister Grogram. So, come along below decks and I’ll sign you lads up.’ He pointed aft to his cabin and they followed him. As they passed the hold, Lazarus paused and gestured with obvious satisfaction. ‘Down there is where we store the flesh and bones after boiling up the fat and salting what’s edible.’ ‘We’ve eaten, thanks,’ said Caelestis dryly. ‘Hope you like whale meat,’ said Lazarus chuckling. ‘There’s not much else but that and ship’s biscuit aboard.’ He led them down to a cramped cabin that smelled of stale pipe smoke. There he opened a vast leatherbound ledger. Sharpening a quill, he dipped it in the inkwell on his desk and offered it to Altor. Altor took the quill and wrote his signature in the 46

ledger. Caelestis, by force of habit, signed on under a false name. Lazarus blew on the page to dry the ink. ‘Educated men, I see. Few of those dogs working topside can write their names.’ He gave a wheeze of laughter. ‘It’s that and little else that keeps ‘em from signing away their souls!’ Caelestis looked around the cabin. ‘The accommodation seems... cosy, shall we say. Are the other cabins like this?’ Lazarus flung his head back. ‘Hah! You should have been a professional jester, my lad!’ Caelestis frowned. Altor said under his breath: ‘I suspect our own quarters will be even more basic.’ ‘Grogram will provide you with hammocks and find you a space below decks,’ said Lazarus. ‘Now I have a few things to attend to up on deck. We’ll be casting off in one hour, so see you’ve got yourselves stowed before then.’ As they were going out he called after them: ‘Oh, lad. Not you, monk, your dandified friend...’ He glanced at the signatures in the ledger. ‘Skrymir, is it? Why don’t you drop by my cabin for supper later on? I’d like to hear some more of your jokes.’ They went up on deck to find Grogram ready with mops and a pail of water. ‘The deck could do with a scrub,’ he growled. 47

Caelestis nodded. ‘I thought the very same thing when we came aboard. Still, the odd patch of grime and dried blood just adds to the general air of quaintness, doesn’t it?’ He turned away to talk to Altor. Grogram put a meaty hand on Caelestis’s shoulder, swivelled him round, and thrust the pail into his hands. Dirty water sloshed over Caelestis’s boots, much to his annoyance. ‘Be careful, you oaf! These boots cost me twentyfive florins.’ Grogram leaned over to give the boots a good look, putting his face so close to Caelestis’s that the hard stubble on his chin scratched against the youth’s cheek. ‘It’s you who should be careful. They look like dead men’s boots to me.’ Grogram looked straight into Caelestis’s eyes. The seaweed liquor was strong on his breath. For an instant his expression was nothing but pure, naked malice. Then he smiled, displaying his rotted teeth. ‘See you get it done before we sail.’ With that he walked off, leaving Caelestis fuming. ‘I shall have words about that fellow when I dine with Captain Lazarus tonight.’ Sighing, Altor put their travelling-packs out of sight under a hatch cover and took one of the mops. ‘I’m not sure it was wise to accept Lazarus’s invita48

tion,’ he said as he started swabbing the deck. ‘He seems a sinister fellow to me, what with all his talk of slaughter and doomed souls.’ Caelestis dabbed a couple of times at a spot of grime and then paused to lean on his mop gazing out to sea. He seemed hardly to have heard his friend’s warning. ‘Ah, the seafaring life, Altor! What could be more enticing? Smell that salty tang! The breeze on your face, the cry of the gulls, the clean splash of sunlight on grey swell... When I was a child I often thought I might become a sailor.’ ‘Except that your career as a pickpocket and general scoundrel got in the way,’ muttered Altor. ‘Hmm?’ ‘Nothing. Move your feet, will you? Your twentyfive florin soles are planted right on a patch of whale grease.’

Caelestis found supper disappointing. Lazarus seemed not to be a man who cared for the finer things in life, so they had dined on steamed fish without herbs or other garnish. This was followed by a burned bread pudding that Caelestis left untouched. Now the cabin boy was clearing away the plates and Caelestis was still waiting for his single glass of wine to be refilled. Not that he thought it a wine worth 49

quaffing, but at least it helped to make Lazarus’s conversation seem less tiresome. The captain had only one abiding interest, and that was the hunting and killing of whales. Over the course of the meal he had explained every gruesome detail of the profession with such gleeful fervour that Caelestis had begun to wonder if he was sane. Reaching over to his desk, Lazarus picked up a chart and unfurled it in the dim candlelight. Caelestis gave it a cursory glance and then turned his attention to the cheese board. Lazarus was tracing his finger along an arc drawn on the chart. ‘Here he lies in the depths of the Mistral Sea,’ he muttered, ‘battening on whales and dreaming of the end of time. This line shows where – you see that, lad? That’s the track of Yellow Eye when it sweeps through the sky. Heh, this old chart cost me a pretty sum, I can tell you...’ Caelestis had been about to take a mouthful of cheese when he noticed a weevil snuggled inside the cracker on which he’d spread it. He put the cracker down hastily. ‘I’m sure it did,’ he said, stifling a yawn. ‘Ah, now is that a bottle of brandy you have propping up those books, Captain?’ ‘Books?’ Lazarus lurched around, reeled out of his chair and zigzagged towards his bunk, snatching up one of the books on his way. 50

He fell back in a sprawl on his bunk and held up the book. How has he managed to get drunk on just one glass of wine? wondered Caelestis thirstily. ‘You’ve a keen eye, lad. This is the book, the very book – the one that told me where to find him.’ He fixed Caelestis with an intense stare that seemed to pass right through him and the cabin wall to survey the heaving grey waves of the boundless ocean beyond. There was a long period of silence. Lazarus’s eyelids drooped. Possibly he was drifting off to sleep. Caelestis noticed an untouched pickle on the captain’s plate and reached for it with his fork... ‘Aha!’ Caelestis looked up startled to see Lazarus sitting bolt upright on his bunk. Stamped on his face was the afterimage of a grin. ‘Dead below the path of Yellow Eye, I say! What do you think of that, lad?’ ‘Astrology is not my strong point,’ said Caelestis. ‘Nor mine. But whaling is, and do you know what whaling is?’ Caelestis shook his head. ‘It’s not a thing I ever stopped to think about.’ ‘Whaling is playing poker with Death. It’s staring the Reaper right in the face and laughing, because live or die he’ll only have you when he’s prepared to call your hand. The whaler goes right to the brink of the unknown, time after time, because it’s only when you 51

see that vast devil square ahead of your harpoon that you know you’re at the gateway to the next world and the thrill of life becomes a thing you can taste in your mouth along with brine and bile and fear!’ Caelestis nodded slowly. There was no doubt in his mind now that Lazarus was a lunatic. He eased himself out of his chair, deciding that a sudden rush for the door might provoke a dangerous reaction. ‘Yes, a very excellent point. Food for thought, certainly. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Captain...’ ‘Don’t go rushing off, lad. Come and look here at this book. You’ll see what I’m talking about.’ Lazarus let out a drunken belch. A few seconds later an overpowering blast of brandy fumes almost knocked Caelestis off his feet. Caelestis edged nearer to the door. ‘It’s, er, getting a bit late. I have to rise early or no doubt the odious Mister Grogram will give me hell for it.’ ‘Grogram? He wouldn’t understand! None of ‘em... all ignorant fools, the detritus of a dozen scummy ports. But they’ll go to hunt that old sea-worm whether they know it or not, and when we bring his carcass onto our deck every man Jack of them will thank me for leading ‘em to glory. Glory and gold too, aye, for we’ll all be rich when we’ve done this deed!’ Caelestis had his hand on the door-latch, but curiosity held him back. Sea-worm? That didn’t sound 52

right. Nautical slang for a whale? Doubtful. Caelestis knew very little about whales, but he did not believe them to be especially worm-like in appearance. Despite himself, he had to know. A moment later he was to wish he’d never asked. ‘What exactly are we hunting, Captain? A particularly large whale, is it?’ ‘Haven’t you heard anything I said?’ growled Lazarus. ‘It’s no mere whale I’m after, but Jormungand the World Serpent – the great snake that encircles the earth!’

53

Chapter 5

THE WORLD SERPENT

C

aelestis returned to his berth on the lower decks in a glum mood. Not only had he discovered the ship to be commanded by a dan-

gerous buthehewas now had indigestion the bargain.madman, All in all, beginning to wishinto he had stayed a street-thief and never allowed himself to get mixed up with Altor and his quest for the Sword of Life. Altor was still awake. He looked across from his hammock as Caelestis wearily undressed by the light of Caelestis a single taper. ‘Well?’ tugged off his boots, examined them despondently, and stowed them neatly beside his travelling-pack. ‘Well what?’ 54

‘How was your meal?’ ‘Both worse and better than I expected. The quality of the food was harrowingly poor, but there was much less of it than there might have been – which, it being bad, was good.’ ‘It’s too late at night to get my head around that,’ said Altor after a moment’s thought. ‘Tell me in the morning.’ ‘If there is a morning,’ said Caelestis. ‘Or rather, if we live to see it.’ ‘You’re exaggerating again. I’m sure the food wasn’t so bad that it’ll kill you. Incidentally, there’s a slop bucket aft if you feel the need to throw up. Don’t use the freshwater bucket or Grogram and the others might become aggrieved.’ ‘Hah, you’re in a cheerful mood,’ said Caelestis bitterly. ‘The World Serpent will find you’re a sweet mouthful to chew on.’ ‘Don’t even speak of such things at sea!’ Altor said in only half-feigned alarm. ‘You could bring bad luck on the vessel.’ ‘The vessel already has more than its share of bad luck – to whit, a first mate who is an uncouth ginsozzled sadist and a captain who is dangerously unhinged. If you can see any way for things to get worse then by all means let me in on it.’ ‘Stow that chatter!’ snarled a gruff voice from across 55

the way. ‘Some of us want to sleep!’ Altor dropped his voice. ‘So you weren’t too impressed by Captain Lazarus.’ Caelestis extinguished the taper and swung up into his hammock. ‘Oh, I was impressed all right. He showed an impressive ability to get drunk on one small glass of liquor, though that wasn’t the best of it. What really impressed me was his project to get us all killed by going after the World Serpent.’ There was an instant while this sank in. Suddenly Altor sat bolt upright in shock – only to overbalance, spin around in his hammock, and fall with a thump to the deck. ‘Be quiet, I said!’ hissed the sailor who had spoken before. ‘Are you all right?’ enquired Caelestis. ‘Fine...’ Altor felt around in the darkness for the taper. He got it lit and stood up beside Caelestis’s hammock. ‘What’s this business about the World Serpent?’ ‘Only what I said. Lazarus plans to hunt it down, entice it to the surface and kill it.’ ‘Kill it? What with?’ Caelestis made an impatient hissing noise between his teeth. ‘Why ask me? It isn’t my plan. Presumably Lazarus, being as crazy as a loon, hasn’t thought to worry about that yet.’ 56

‘This isn’t good, Caelestis.’ ‘Believe me, I couldn’t agree more.’ ‘Do the crew know?’ ‘Apparently Lazarus thinks they wouldn’t understand. The worrying thing is that he thought I would.’ ‘Sailors are a superstitious lot. If they find out there’ll be a mutiny...’ Altor frowned and looked around. Snores came from a dozen sleeping forms, slung in their hammocks like fat larvae. Across the way, the sailor whom they’d woken up seemed to be fast asleep again. ‘We’d better keep it to ourselves, then,’ whispered Caelestis. ‘But never mind about the crew. What happens if we really do run across the World Serpent?’ ‘What we really have to worry about is the effect this’ll have if it gets out. Surely there isn’t any chance of Lazarus actually finding the World Serpent.’ Altor frowned thoughtfully. ‘Is there?’

The sun rose pallid and watery in a cold white haze. By that time Altor and Caelestis had already been up for over an hour plaiting rope for the harpoon spears. Caelestis sat huddled miserably inside his scuffed and grubby cloak, teeth chattering. Altor worked as ever with brimming good health. 57

Lazarus emerged from his cabin. Spying Caelestis, he cast a broad grin across the deck and swept off to find Grogram. Caelestis scowled down at his hands where the coarse rope had scratched them raw. ‘The madman!’ he said bitterly. ‘He’s hell-bent on the most irresponsible scheme since ships first put to sea without oars, and all he can do is gad about with a halfwitted smile on his face.’ Altor shrugged. Looking up at the fluttering sails, he said, ‘The wind’s freshening. We might be in for a storm.’ ‘Trim that canvas, you lubbers!’ Lazarus suddenly bellowed at the top of his lungs. ‘Mister Grogram, get ‘em moving or we’ll be looking at the sea from four fathoms down!’ ‘I think you’re right,’ remarked Caelestis to Altor. ‘At any rate, the captain seems agitated.’ Grogram came stamping across the deck. ‘You look a likely lad,’ he said to Caelestis. ‘Get aloft an’ trim the main topsail.’ Caelestis looked at the sails, which were now straining against a strong wind. The ship surged through high grey waves, casting foam high around her bows. ‘Why not ask the captain to do it?’ he retorted. ‘He’s the one with a reckless disregard for life and limb. For myself, I prefer to remain where I am.’ 58

Grogram went to cuff him. Caelestis ducked, sprang back and reached for the knife in his boot. Altor stood between them. ‘Mister Grogram, neither Caelestis nor I have any experience in the rigging, as you know. Wouldn’t it be better to get someone else?’ Grogram rubbed his unshaven jaw, the stubble making a sound like sandpaper. ‘Domar! Bildad!’ he roared at two sailors nearby. ‘Get up in that rigging sharpish ’fore I put nine stripes each across yer worthless hides!’ The two men dutifully clambered up to trim the sail. Grogram continued to glower at Caelestis and Altor. Then the gleam of a thought appeared in his dull bloodshot eyes. ‘What’s that talk o’ recklessness?’ he growled. ‘Our captain, you say?’ ‘He didn’t mean anything by it,’ said Altor hastily. ‘That’s right,’ said Caelestis. ‘Why, Lazarus dines on boiled fish with neither salt nor seasoning. How could such a man be deemed reckless?’ Grogram’s small eyes narrowed until they almost disappeared in the huge purple-veined folds of his cheeks. ‘You pokin’ fun at me, lad? ‘Cause if you are – ’ He stopped because Caelestis, instead of coming out with a haughty riposte as he normally would, had fallen silent. He was looking quite sorry for himself 59

and his face was grey. In fact it had gone beyond grey. It was almost green. Grogram started to laugh. ‘I can see you haven’t got yer sea legs yet,’ he crowed. ‘What about a spot o’ breakfast to settle yer stomach? A rasher o’ greasy bacon and a spoonful of scrambled eggs...?’ Caelestis clapped a hand to his mouth, scuttled across the swaying deck and leaned over the rail. It was just in time. With woe-begone detachment he watched his meal of the night before gush down into the heaving sea. Grogram strode off laughing. Altor came over and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘Feeling better?’ Caelestis sighed and wiped his mouth with his lace handkerchief. Rather than put the soiled handkerchief back in his pocket, he held it out between finger and thumb and dropped it into the sea. ‘If I died right now I would feel better. Believe me, if the World Serpent rose up and swallowed me at this instant it would be a blessing.’ Altor frowned and crossed himself. ‘I told you it’s not wise to say such things.’ ‘Why? I thought you didn’t believe in it.’ ‘I didn’t say that. Best not to tempt fate, all the same.’ ‘What’s tempting fate?’ said a squeaky voice over60

head. They both looked up to see the cabin boy, Kenoi, hanging like a monkey from the rigging. ‘Nothing,’ said Altor. ‘Be off about your chores,’ said Caelestis. ‘You’ve been sick,’ said Kenoi, in the same sort of tone he might have used if accusing Caelestis of cowardice. ‘Yes. Now push off or I’ll throw you overboard.’ ‘Yeah? You couldn’t catch me, you lubber.’ Kenoi thumbed his nose. Before Caelestis could grab him, he swung up out of reach. They watched him rise nimbly through the rigging until he was just a speck against the grey sky. ‘You do have a knack of antagonizing people, Caelestis,’ said Altor. ‘Aha! Not feeling too well I see!’ Lazarus came swaggering over and clapped Caelestis on the back. Weakened as he was by nausea, Caelestis had to hold onto the rail to keep his legs from buckling under him. ‘A bit queasy,’ he admitted. ‘You’ll soon get used to it. Why, I was forever chucking my guts up when I came aboard my first ship. Couldn’t keep a solid morsel down for weeks. Then we hit a storm, and after it had cleared up I was fine.’ ‘I’ll look forward to that storm, then,’ said Caelestis with heavy irony. 61

‘You’ll not have long to wait, I think.’ Lazarus beckoned his pilot over. ‘Bildad, can you sight our way?’ The portly sailor gazed up at the sky, now slate grey, and shook his head. ‘Not through those storm clouds, Captain. I could not catch the beady gaze of old Yellow Eye himself.’ Lazarus waved him away. Putting his arm around Caelestis’s shoulders, he drew him to one side and spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. ‘It’s apt that Bildad should speak of Yellow Eye, for in truth we’re not far off the path it takes through the sky each night. You know what that means, Caelestis. Soon the World Serpent will show his head. Then a dozen harpoons and a dozen times a dozen will strike him.’ Lazarus flung his arms up and smacked his fist into his palm to emphasize the point. ‘And then he will be dead and we will be accounted such heroes that the streets of Port Quag will be paved with gold for us!’ Caelestis mustered a queasy smile and nodded. Lazarus, grinning broadly, had his attention caught by a sailor across the deck and wandered off. The pilot, Bildad, had been loitering nearby. As the cabin boy climbed down from the rigging the two exchanged a few words and Bildad looked across to where Caelestis and Altor stood. He shook his head, started to walk away, then looked again. There was a long pause as he seemed to mull something over. 62

Reaching a decision, he turned and strode up to the rail. ‘You are quite friendly with the captain,’ he began. ‘He is friendly with me,’ said Caelestis, ‘which is not necessarily the same thing.’ Bildad tried a change of tack. ‘What was it you were talking about? The weather, perhaps? No, no, hardly that. It’s a good strong wind, but no cause for real alarm now the sails are trimmed.’ ‘My opinion exactly. Now, excuse me...’ Bildad caught Caelestis’s sleeve. ‘Surely it must have been quite a momentous matter for the captain to take you into his confidence but not to share it with his own loyal crew?’ ‘You must take that up with him.’ ‘But I’m taking it up with you.’ Caelestis noticed that some of the other sailors, noticing this conversation, had come over. The cabin boy said something to one of them and the man scowled darkly. The word ‘serpent’ circulated in a awed undertone. Altor decided to step in. ‘What’s the matter with everyone?’ he announced in a firm voice. ‘Are we going to let a stiff wind get us spooked?’ But Bildad refused to be distracted. ‘They were talking about the World Serpent,’ he said accusingly. Caelestis tugged his sleeve out of the man’s grip. ‘I 63

will just say this much, and then the matter is closed: the captain asked me what I thought of renaming the vessel the World Serpent. I said that the Questing Beast had a more pleasing ring to it. That is all.’ By now a dozen weather-beaten faces were staring at him. None of them looked remotely convinced by Caelestis’s story. At that moment Lazarus, who was up on the poop deck, happened to notice the gathering of men below. He descended to the quarterdeck and came bustling over. ‘What’s going on here?’ he demanded. ‘Get back to your stations, the lot of you.’ Bildad could not help cringing at the stern tone of command, but with weight of numbers on his side he refused to be cowed. ‘Kenoi says it ain’t whales we’re hunting on this trip...’ ‘What would Kenoi know? But hang it, men, it’s high time you all were told the glad news. It’s Jormungand the World Serpent I’m aiming to catch. What do you make of that, eh?’ There was stunned silence at this confirmation of the rumour. Then Bildad raised his voice, saying, ‘Then it’s true! Grab him, lads!’ Lazarus was astonished to be seized abruptly by two burly harpooners. ‘This is mutiny!’ he cried. ‘Unhand your captain, you bilge rats! Mister Grogram!’ Bildad cast a glance along the deck to the 64

companionway, where another sailor stood beside a bolted hatch. The man gave him a thumbs up. ‘Grogram’s stowed safely below decks for the time being,’ said Bildad. ‘There’s no need for him to get mixed up in this.’ Blustering wildly, Lazarus was by now so furious that he could hardly speak a coherent sentence. The sailors were in no mood to listen to his protests in any case. ‘He’s madder than a fiend from the Pit,’ said Bildad. ‘Stuff him in the jolly boat and we’ll get shot of him.’ ‘It’s for the best,’ said Caelestis to Altor as they watched the harpooners thrust Lazarus into the ship’s small rowboat. ‘What if his insane scheme had succeeded? It would have been the doom of us all.’ ‘Wait a bit!’ cried Bildad, who had taken charge. ‘You two can go for good measure, since you were doubtless privy to the cap’n’s plans.’ ‘Nonsense!’ snorted Altor. ‘We wanted nothing to do with it.’ Bildad gave a signal and the sailors spread out to surround them. ‘We’ll have to go quietly,’ muttered Caelestis. Altor put his hand on his sword-hilt, but he could see it was useless to protest. Bildad and the others were set against them. There were too many to fight. Caelestis and Altor were taken to join Lazarus in the 65

jolly boat, which was swiftly lowered into the water. Bildad and the others leered down from the rail. ‘Begone, you lubbers, and take the madman with you.’ Altor reached for the oars. Caelestis laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘Wait. Can you hear something...?’ They looked around. The metallic grey expanse of the ocean had fallen flat as a mirror, but now it began to seethe and boil. From far below came a deep resonance, building like the muffled beat of an enormous heart... A huge slab of flesh broke the surface, slamming into the Questing Beast. The ship lurched, sending the crew flying across the deck. A snake-like coil rose up, slithering out of the depths until it towered over the mainmast in a colossal arch that blotted out the sky. Beneath them in the water they saw an eye – a dark limpid orb bigger than a boat. It blinked once, and then the whole monstrous bulk of the World Serpent’s head rose into view. Its mouth gaped, spewing out a torrent of foul water. Amongst the fangs were lodged the bodies of dead whales – morsels of chewed blubber caught unnoticed in a maw larger than a citadel keep. With a roar like the hurricane at the dawn of time, Jormungand the World Serpent breathed the air of the surface world once more. 66

Chapter 6

DOURHAVEN

C

aelestis and Altor clutched the sides of the boat for dear life. There was nothing they could do. They were beyond even fear. The sight of the giant beast had left them stunned with awe. Lazarus crouched in the bows with a look on his face that moment was midway triumph of andsostark ror. The thatbetween he had dreamed longterwas upon him. Now that it had come, he was left petrified. The sheer size of the creature he’d hunted was beyond the grasp of his imagination. Each intake of the World Serpent’s breath howled across the waves, catching the sails of the helpless ship. Inexorably thehung Questing Beastagainst was sucked closer. for Scaly coils suspended the heavens an instant and then crashed down, breaking the ship apart. The jolly boat, caught by the World Serpent’s 67

wake, swirled helplessly and capsized. Those huge jaws snapped shut, trapping a dozen shrieking men that to the World Serpent were less than fleas. Among them, Bildad drew his last breath to scream, but had no time before the massive teeth ground him to a pulp. Then, as suddenly as it had surfaced, the World Serpent sank beneath the waves, leaving behind a few flailing bodies and splintered driftwood that once had been the proud whaling ship Questing Beast. Caelestis’s head bobbed up and he blinked the icy water out of his eyes. The jolly boat’s overturned hull was visible as a turtle-like hump swaying on the swell not far off. As he swam towards it the boat righted itself and a bedraggled figure climbed back aboard. Caelestis hauled himself over the side and came face to face with Captain Lazarus. Lazarus wore a look of halfwitted zeal. ‘I’m hereby taking command of this vessel, which I name the Dauntless,’ he said. ‘Shut up, you lunatic.’ Caelestis turned and scanned the sea. Nearby floated a body, face down. The water beside it was stained red. Caelestis jumped back in, swam across, and turned the figure over. It was Altor. A broken spar had gashed his head. Struggling to support his friend’s weight, Caelestis returned to the boat and managed with 68

Lazarus’s help to get him aboard. ‘Good thinking,’ said Lazarus. ‘We’ll need every man when the World Serpent resurfaces.’ This time Caelestis ignored him. Bending over the oars, he began to row. Behind him in the bows, Lazarus fell silent. The sun slid unseen across a sky filled with dark clouds. Caelestis had lost any sense of direction. There was no way of telling where the coast lay. He continued to work the oars even though he had no idea where he was going. Fatigue racked his arms and there was a blazing knot of pain between his shoulder blades but he kept going. His only thought was for his friend lying unconscious and bleeding in the bottom of the boat. After a time he remembered Lazarus. The madman had been quiet for hours. Caelestis turned to find the bows empty. Rather than accept the loss of his ship and his dream, Lazarus had chosen to slip without a word into the secretive depths of the sea.

Altor was floating. He opened his eyes. Eternal space stretched away from him in all directions. There was no depth, no colour, no form in the void. There was no sound. 69

How long had he been here? Time meant nothing. Memories roared and swirled away in the recesses of his mind like the surge of a distant sea. He remembered the serpent. As he thought of it, an image of scale-armoured coils flared briefly against the nothingness only to break apart and fade. Taunting laughter echoed all around, gradually filling the emptiness with a sense of time and staggering immensity. A mighty sword now took substance – a giant blade spanning the cosmos, starbursts crackling along its edge, worlds dying in the dark jewel at its hilt. Five faces next appeared: majestic lords, huge and mighty, their presence overwhelming his senses. Light radiated from them. Each shone with a single colour – indeed, with so agonizing an absolute of that colour that Altor’s vision stung and swam. But he could not look away. On one side he beheld a lord in scarlet, on another a lord in cerulean blue. A third was clad in emerald, another in gold. And the last of the dread company was wrapped in scintillant white. The red figure spoke first. ‘In the place where mortal voices, though those of strong lords, called the shapers of men’s fates, that place was called in the mortal tongue, Spyte.’ ‘The walls of Spyte towered high,’ continued the 70

blue lord, ‘for it was not yet at the time that feuds should crack the keystones, nor at that time had ravening flame tasted the ramparts.’ ‘This long endured,’ said the lord in green. ‘Those who could speak of the first days of the world revealed their lore to mortal ears. Mortal words, though those of lords most wise, were counted from shore to shore as inviolable commands.’ It was the turn of the golden lord: ‘The brutish thing that lives in the darkness of the belly then stirred, the cursed creature that drives oath-brother to war with oath-brother, that hellish hate that eats from within.’ ‘From three score who once ruled, now only five await the day that is to come,’ pronounced the white lord. The images began to grow dim, the voices receded. ‘From this pernicious place we shall go, escaping the foul fastness of the void, and return into the living land. And no thing that dwells on earth shall oppose us.’ Altor was aware of an oppressive weight pressing down on him. As the five lords faded, he struggled to move his torpid limbs. His arm, heavy as lead, rose and reached for the blazing Sword of Life... ‘You want to get that blanket off or he’ll suffocate.’ Altor sat bolt upright. He was in bed. A maid with apple-red cheeks was rearranging the blankets around him. Realizing he was naked, Altor seized the sheets 71

and held them around him as if his life depended on it. Seeing him awake, the maid stepped back in surprise. Then her face broke into a grin and she looked down at him with hands on hips. ‘Your friend’s woken up,’ she said with amusement – ’and all ready to protect his modesty as if it were such a precious treasure!’ There was someone standing behind her, outlined against the sunlight streaming through the dusty window panes. As he stepped forward Altor gave a whoop of delight and leapt out of bed. ‘Caelestis!’ Caelestis fended off the big youth’s embrace with a smile. ‘Please! I am not in the habit of accepting hugs from naked men. Or any men if it comes to that. Also, you are in danger of losing your... er, kilt.’ Blushing, Altor clasped the sheet around his waist. ‘I thought the True Magi had got you.’ ‘The Magi? It was the World Serpent that nearly finished us off.’ The maid tittered as she primped up the pillows. ‘The Magi, the World Serpent...’ she said over her shoulder as she went out. ‘What dizzy-headed girls you must think us in Dourhaven, to be taken in by such talk.’ They waited until she had closed the door behind her. ‘Now, what’s this about the Magi?’ demanded 72

Caelestis. Altor smoothed back his hair, wincing as he touched the bandage on his cut forehead. ‘It was just a dream. I think. How did we get here?’ Suddenly he stared around in panic. ‘Cael – the pommel stone!’ Caelestis nodded towards the table in the bay window. The stone lay on the dark waxed wood, its facets transforming the sunbeams into a fractured rainbow. ‘Relax, it was still in your pocket when I fished you out.’ Altor was doubly relieved to notice his sword propped against the side of the bed. ‘And Lazarus?’ ‘He decided to go down with his ship.’ A serious look clouded Caelestis’s face, but then he gave a shrug. ‘Let’s face it, he wasn’t a reasonable man. Anyway, we drifted in the jolly boat for a few hours and just as the sun was setting a merchant ship appeared on the horizon. A long overdue stroke of good luck, I call it. The captain took us aboard and was kind enough to bring us here to Dourhaven.’ Looking around for something to put on, Altor saw that new clothes had been laid out beside the bed: boots of blue leather with large silver buckles, grey leggings, and a suede jerkin quilted for extra warmth. They were rather finer than anything he would have chosen for himself, and the amethyst-studded crucifix that lay beside them was ostentatious to the point of 73

bad taste. He glanced back at Caelestis and for the first time took note of the lavish costume that had replaced his old travel worn clothes. Caelestis vainly brushed a speck of dust from the rich black velvet of his new coat. There was a long period of silence while Altor stared at his friend and Caelestis pretended not to notice. ‘Where did the money come from for all this?’ said Altor at last. ‘Ah.’ Caelestis puffed out his cheeks, glanced out of the window, dabbed at an imaginary mark on the window. ‘Um... Well there’s a lot to tell you, in all honesty – ’ ‘’In all honesty.’’ Altor gave a short laugh. ‘There’s a phrase that doesn’t sit well on your lips. Have you been up to your old tricks, Caelestis?’ ‘Thievery, you mean?’ Caelestis took two steps back in a theatrical display of outrage. ‘Do you suppose I’d go out slitting purses while you lay ill in your bed? Not a bit of it. I’ve been here by your side night and day for all this last week. When would I get the chance for thievery?’ Altor nodded, stung to shame by his friend’s devotion. ‘Of course. Sorry.’ He could hardly ask now where Caelestis had got the money for the clothes. Perhaps a loan from the merchant captain who’d rescued them? Well, it could 74

wait until later. He got dressed. Altor’s legs felt quite weak, as Caelestis must have seen by the way he propped himself against the table while buttoning his jerkin. ‘Are you sure you should be getting up?’ ‘Exercise is the best thing for a speedy recovery.’ Altor strapped on his sword. ‘A walk along the seafront will do me the power of good.’ They went downstairs. Here a few sailors sat with lunchtime drinks beside a crackling fire. Sunbeams reached like melting icicles from the tiny window panes. A gross tabby cat lay stretched at the bottom of the stairs and showed no intention of moving. Stepping over it, Caelestis tried to guide Altor swiftly to the door, but the landlord of the inn spotted them from behind his serving hatch. ‘Sir Caelestis!’ he cried, rubbing his hands on his apron as he came around from the back. ‘Griselda told me the glad news. So the duke is feeling better?’ ‘The duke?’ said Altor. ‘What duke?’ The three looked at each other. ‘A memory lapse,’ Caelestis blurted out. ‘Because of the blow to the head.’ ‘What are you blathering about, Caelestis?’ demanded Altor. The landlord’s smile was fading fast. ‘But he remembers your name...’ 75

‘Indeed, that is precisely why the case is so puzzling. We are going to the doctor now. Do not fret, he will soon be cured.’ Before the landlord could say any more, Caelestis had bustled Altor outside into the street. The cobblestones were dusted with snow and a raw wind blew down from the north. After the near-stifling heat of the inn, Altor felt numbed. Bewildered, he allowed Caelestis to lead him through the busy streets. Something didn’t seem quite right – but maybe that was just the after-effects of his fever. He stopped and looked back down the street. The landlord stood now outside the inn, staring after them with a worried look. Caelestis took him by the arm and pulled him down a narrow side street. ‘This is a short cut to the harbour.’ ‘Why are we going there? I’d sooner have a stroll up the coast a way.’ ‘We need to book passage to Port Lukvess,’ said Caelestis, still tugging his friend along by the sleeve. ‘Port Lukvess? But we’re going to Wyrd across the pack ice.’ ‘Ah, precisely!’ said Caelestis in a familiar tone which Altor recognized as meaning he had just that moment thought of it. ‘And the route from Lukvess is far more convenient.’ 76

They emerged from the alley onto another bustling street. Altor planted his feet firmly, jerking Caelestis to a halt. ‘You may think my brain is still addled from fever, Caelestis, but this fresh air has cleaned away the cobwebs. I can see very well that you’re up to no good.’ ‘As God is my witness I swear I have committed no act of theft while we’ve been in Dourhaven.’ Caelestis looked him squarely in the eye, the very picture of honesty. ‘Now, can we please get to the harbour?’ ‘In a bit.’ Nearby, nestling under the eaves of a warehouse, was a puppet booth. Attracted by the little cardboard figures and high fluting voices in which the puppets seemed to speak, Altor strolled over. ‘What is the play?’ he asked one of the audience cheerfully. The man turned and scrutinized him. ‘I see from your accent that you are a foreigner – or an ‘infidel fiend’ as we call them in Dourhaven. No offence.’ ‘None taken.’ Altor folded his arms, taking no notice of Caelestis’s obvious agitation. A puppet clothed in tattered strips of paper emerged onto the tiny stage. ‘This is one of the distinctive kokrexi, or ‘Paper World’ displays, of eastern Krarth,’ explained the man. ‘See how the little figures are so skilfully made to seem like great wizards and noble knights from myth. Delightful!’ 77

Caelestis cast a quick glance at the booth. ‘It puts me in mind of the sort of thing a mildly imaginative child might devise given very limited resources.’ The man frowned sidelong at him. ‘The essence of the kokrexi is the distillation of traditional themes using formalized characters and situations. Such is the basis of all great art.’ ‘If I understood what you just said I’d happily comment,’ said Caelestis. ‘Now, Altor, shouldn’t we be going?’ Altor stubbornly continued to watch the puppet show. ‘What’s the story behind this particular performance?’ ‘Actually, I don’t know. It might be pure whimsy,’ said the man with a shake of his head. ‘A pity. If you saw one of the commonly approved plays you couldn’t fail to appreciate its subtle qualities.’ The play had begun by depicting a flooded world, an effect which the puppeteer accomplished by letting out streamers of blue and green silk to dance in the breeze in front of the booth. The people moved to and fro under the water like fish. Next the Saviour descended from heaven on a flying cross and caused the waters to recede. The streamers were slowly pulled back into the interior of the booth in a way that really did evoke the draining of a flood. It was simple but very effective, and the onlookers applauded politely. 78

Caelestis paced up and down impatiently. ‘Can we go now?’ Altor had started watching the puppet show just to teach Caelestis a lesson, but now he was getting genuinely interested. ‘This play features the Saviour of the True Faith,’ he said. ‘Don’t you think that’s a remarkable thing in a heathen land like Krarth? It is surely a sign.’ Caelestis flung up his hands. ‘A sign? It is a sideshow for children!’ He was about to say more, but the crowd of people watching the play turned and glared at him. On the tiny stage, the world was no longer submerged but there was still water falling from the sky in torrents. When the Saviour saw this state of affairs he flew up and placed a bung in the clouds to keep the world from flooding again. Thin silk ribbons hung behind the stage, showing that barely a trickle now escaped into the world – seasonal showers that the Saviour in his wisdom had allowed for. After the Saviour had returned to heaven, five noblemen appeared in the void above the sky. Each puppet was cut from different coloured card to show the noblemen’s bright cloaks. Altor furrowed his brow. It seemed to remind him of something. A dream. But, like many dreams, the details were vague. 79

The five coloured puppets stooped over the bung. Apparently they intended to drown the world once more, but for all their efforts they could not move it. They attached a cord to the bung and lowered it. Next they called with whistling cries to earthly agents who appeared at the bottom of the stage and began to tug at the cord. The crowd gave gasps of horror as the bung began to move. At this point a lacquered mannikin representing the folk hero of the play made his entrance, putting the agents to flight. He was a wandering minstrel who, according to the words the puppeteer put into his mouth, was seeking a fabled sword with which he could put paid to the five evil noblemen. The minstrel swept back and forth across the stage, but each time he was on the point of finding the sword, the audience warned him with loud cries that the agents were about to pull out the bung. Invariably he rushed back to the cord in time to prevent this, but while he did so an agent would hide the sword again. Eventually one of the noblemen in the sky, the blue-cloaked one, sent two men garbed like wolves down to the world. They fell upon the minstrel and killed him while he slept. Altor and Caelestis were both rooted to the spot with keen interest by now, but though they waited there was no more. The crowd began to disperse, 80

some dropping coins into a tray in front of the booth. Seemingly the show was over. Altor turned to Caelestis. ‘It’s the story of the harpist. The one who gave me the pommel stone. It must be.’ Caelestis cast a quick nervous glance over his shoulder. ‘We’d better talk to the puppeteer. But hurry...’ The puppeteer had now emerged from the booth. She was an old woman who greeted them with a slightly bemused smile. Altor hesitated, uncertain what to say. ‘Er... that puppet show. It was very interesting.’ Caelestis stepped in impatiently. ‘We were reminded of a legend we once heard.’ The old woman nodded as she laid the tiny mannikins carefully in their box. ‘It’s a story I picked up somewhere in my travels about Krarth.’ ‘And is that all?’ said Altor. ‘Or is there more?’ ‘Maybe there’ll be more to it. Come and see the next show at dusk.’ She folded the booth into a haversack almost as big as she was. Altor helped her get it onto her back and watched her hobble away down the street. ‘A curious old lady...’ he remarked thoughtfully. Caelestis was more interested in a commotion from the other end of the street. Four heavily-armed militia men were approaching with determined strides, 81

led by the landlord of the inn. Caelestis tugged at his friend’s sleeve. ‘It really is time we were going.’ He took a step towards the other end of the street, but two other militia men happened at that moment to turn the corner. Altor looked from one group to the other, then glared at Caelestis. ‘What is this?’ The militia men quickened their pace. The crowd parted in alarm as they drew their swords. ‘Stop right there!’ bellowed the sergeant in charge. ‘You’re under arrest.’

82

Chapter 7

AUGUSTUS OF VANTERY

A

ltor glared furiously at his friend. ‘You said you’d done no thieving!’ ‘Not while in Dourhaven, I said. Regret-

tably the captain of the vessel pickedoff us him.’ up must have noticed the money I, um,that borrowed There was a militia patrol on either side of them. Six swords bristled in the icy air. ‘You going to come quietly?’ said the sergeant, as if he hoped they wouldn’t. ‘Sir Caelestis and the Duke of Cornumbria, indeed!’ scoffed the landlord. ‘I suspect you are no more than two common Caelestis caught wastrels.’ Altor’s eye and shrugged. ‘A little white lie, that’s all, just to make sure we got the best possible service.’ 83

‘Save your excuses till later. If there is a later.’ Caelestis nodded. He pretended to adjust his cloakclasp while his eyes darted around in search of an escape route. Nearby was the mouth of a narrow alley which might or might not lead to the seafront. ‘Now,’ he said. Altor’s sword leapt from its scabbard with a meanacing razor-edged chime. He stuck his head forward and gave a deep growl. The first reaction of the militia men was to take a step backwards. ‘Hey!’ cried the sergeant nervously. Caelestis moved close to the landlord, caught the back of his belt in a twisting grip, and sent him spinning off-balance towards the nearest militia man. The two collided and went sprawling. The other men fell into fighting stance. Ignoring them, Caelestis and Altor dived off down the alley. The sergeant stared in confusion for a second, then lunged in pursuit with a cry of ‘Get them!’ All six militia men stepped forward at once, only to trip over one another in the entrance to the alleyway. Caelestis looked back with a grin as he ran. ‘They’ll never catch us now,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid they will,’ said Altor. Across a heap of refuse just in front of them rose a sheer wall without doors or windows. It was a dead end. 84

They turned. The militia men had picked themselves up and were charging along the alley towards them. Caelestis gave a grim sigh and drew his sword. ‘At least this is a good place to make a stand. It’s too narrow for them all to come at us at once.’ Altor shook his head. ‘We can’t draw swords against the militia. They’re just doing their job.’ ‘All very well for you to say! Do you know what they do to thieves in Dourhaven?’ ‘No.’ ‘Neither do I, and I’d rather not find out.’ ‘Fortunately you won’t have to, my friends,’ announced a tall man in violet ermine-trimmed robes who stepped out of the shadows close by. Caelestis was so startled that he almost ran the man through with his sword as he turned. ‘Greetings. I am Augustus, a wizard of Vantery.’ The stranger put up one hand and gently moved Caelestis’s sword-tip away from his face. The first militia man came rushing up. Altor slammed his left fist into the man’s stomach and followed that up with a solid right hook. The man sank to the ground without a fuss. ‘I’m afraid we don’t have much time to chat right now,’ said Caelestis, turning in time to put his sword against the militia sergeant’s throat. The sergeant skidded to a halt, panting, and glowered at him. 85

The man Altor had felled gave a groan and started to grope his way to the wall. ‘Please go away,’ Altor said politely. ‘We really don’t want to have to hurt you.’ ‘My friend’s just speaking for himself,’ said Caelestis, putting a quite convincing tone of relish into his voice as he stared back at the sergeant along the length of the sword. ‘Myself, I don’t care who I hurt.’ ‘You haven’t got a chance!’ sneered the sergeant. ‘Half the guards in Dourhaven will be here in a couple of minutes. The two of you’ll be strung up on the harbour wall for the crabs to feed on.’ ‘Well,’ said Altor, ‘you wanted to know what they do with thieves. And there’s your answer.’ Caelestis nodded queasily. He had enjoyed several crab suppers over the last few days and didn’t like to think what those crabs might have fed on. Behind them, Augustus gave a discreet cough. Caelestis glanced over his shoulder to see that he had unrolled a carpet beside the heap of rubbish at the end of the alley. ‘What are you selling?’ said Caelestis. ‘Because whatever it is, we don’t have time to buy it.’ ‘Selling?’ Augustus winced. ‘My dear young sir, I am no tradesman. Did I not mention that I am a wizard of some accomplishment? Still, there will be time for full introductions later. Please step onto the rug.’ 86

‘Rug?’ said Altor, looking back to see if he could believe his ears. The militia man in front of him saw his chance. He dived forward and tackled Altor around the legs, toppling him back across the carpet. Altor lashed out with a hammering punch to the top of his assailant’s head, but the angle was awkward and he could not loosen the man’s grip. ‘Now then!’ cried Caelestis in alarm. ‘Stay back or I’ll run the sergeant through!’ The sergeant only gave a dour laugh. ‘This posturing popinjay’s all talk, lads. Get him!’ They came forward in a rush. Caelestis backed away hastily, sweeping his sword to and fro in an attempt to keep them at bay. He almost tripped over Altor, who was still wrestling with the militia man who had tackled him. Augustus smiled brightly. ‘All aboard, then? Surge et subvole, o stragulum!’ The edges of the carpet fluttered as if in a sudden breeze. A moment later it shot vertically up into the air. Caelestis, taken unawares, fell to his knees beside Altor and the militia man. Seeing an opening, he rammed the pommel of his sword against the man’s jaw. Dazed, the man let go of Altor and slid off the carpet. They watched him plunge to a soft if mucky 87

landing in the pile of refuse directly below. The sergeant and his men shrank away, quickly becoming tiny mannikins smaller than the puppets in the ‘Paper World’ show. Caelestis laughed as they shook their fists, their angry cries only half-heard snatches on the wind. As the carpet swept out over the harbour, Altor got uneasily to his feet. He was not fond of heights. After one quick glance at the small ships cutting white furrows across the grey expanse of the sea, he turned to Augustus. ‘It seems we must thank you.’ ‘Don’t be so grudging, Altor!’ cried Caelestis. He was in high spirits, thrilled by their narrow escape from the militia as well as the excitement of the flight. Augustus did not look round. He faced out to sea with one hand held in front of him in a dramatic wizardly gesture. The other hand gripped a white amulet at his throat as he spoke words of command to the carpet. They had risen to a thousand metres and the fishing boats surrounding the harbour were just tiny specks. The wind was bitingly cold, but Altor and Caelestis were too astonished by their sudden rescue to notice it. The only question was: who was Augustus, and why had he rescued them? ‘The journey to Wyrd would have taken days,’ he said. ‘Now you’ll reach your destination in a matter of 88

hours.’ ‘That’s all very well, and we’re grateful,’ said Altor. ‘But I think you still owe us an explanation.’ ‘Velocitas!’ shouted Augustus exultantly. The carpet picked up speed, the wind whipping his robes out behind him. Altor and Caelestis had to crouch down to keep from being swept off. A white blaze of light appeared along the horizon to the north – the reflection from the pack ice covering the Rymchaeld Sea. Looking back to the west, they could barely make out the thin grey line of the coast. Now they could see huge icebergs dotting the sea below. Altor opened his mouth to speak again, but Augustus shook his head. ‘Save your questions for later,’ he roared over the shriek of the wind. ‘Once we are at my sanctum I will explain everything.’ He touched the white amulet and said, ‘Domum versus!’ The carpet veered sharply to the east. Caelestis frowned. ‘I thought we were bound for Wyrd?’ He had to repeat the question before Augustus deigned to reply. ‘Please be quiet,’ he said sharply. ‘If you keep pestering me then I may lose control of the carpet!’ His angry response took them aback. Before he had been doing his best to be charming, but now a sav89

age smile played about his thin lips. Staring fervently into the distance, he said, ‘If you must know, there are some supplies that I need to collect from my sanctum. Then I will take you to Wyrd.’ Altor and Caelestis looked at each other and nodded, then edged along the carpet towards Augustus. Altor drew his sword. ‘We’d prefer if you stopped the carpet right now and discussed this,’ he said. Augustus whirled, eyes flashing. He raised his arms threateningly as they moved closer. ‘You would be foolish to oppose me, under the circumstances. Suppose I refuse to do as you say. Will you kill me? You would hang here under the roof of heaven until the cold turned you to blocks of ice!’ They hesitated. They knew he was right and, seeing this, Augustus laughed at them. The carpet lurched as if by his whim. Altor and Caelestis had to drop to their knees and grab hold to save themselves from falling off. Augustus turned his back on them disdainfully. Time passed and they watched the frozen seascape rush past far below. At last, hearing Augustus mutter something under his breath, they looked ahead to see a massive rime-encrusted pinnacle of rock which projected up from the fused blocks of pack ice. Atop the pinnacle, its white spires dazzling in the thin sunlight, stood a castle. 90

The carpet began to spiral down. As they got nearer, the brilliant reflection from the castle walls grew until it was almost blinding. ‘So, enough of this foolery,’ said Augustus. ‘The time has come for me to explain matters to you. I serve Magus Uru – ’ ‘Magus Uru?’ said Caelestis. ‘But he was killed weeks ago in Kalugen’s Keep. We saw him crushed by the frost giant, Skrymir.’ ‘Not that upstart! I mean the True Magus Uru, who has attained godhead as the comet White Light. That jewelled pommel stone you bear is rightfully his, and now you must give it to me. If you refuse...’ He glanced significantly over the side of the carpet. It was a long way down.

91

Chapter 8

ON THE ICE

F

‘

orget it,’ said Altor. Augustus smiled thinly. He let the hand he had extended to receive the pommel stone fall

back side. ‘Verybut well. I expected mighttobehis your answer, I’ll Frankly have it anyway. Nowthat we will land at my sanctum yonder, where my minions will perform interesting experiments upon you while I rejoice in my celestial lord’s acquisition of the pommel stone. Descende!’ The carpet descended gracefully through the icy air until it hovered beside the highest parapet of the white tower. Augustus clapped his hands. Four squat creatures with faces like toads tumbled hastily out onto the bat92

tlements and leaped across to the carpet. They carried long barbed prods of white metal which they held levelled at the two young heroes. ‘Your last chance,’ said Augustus. He was no longer smiling. ‘Hand over the pommel stone of your own free will or I shall command my minions to take it by force of arms.’ The creatures grinned widely – showing that they, unlike toads, had long sharp fangs. Altor took the stone from his pocket. The sunlight made it gleam with a thousand pinpricks of colour. Augustus watched it with a look of smouldering triumph. ‘I could toss it down,’ said Altor. ‘It would be lost forever in the snow.’ Augustus sneered. ‘I’d find it soon enough with my magic, I assure you. Come, why throw away your lives? Once I have the pommel stone you’ll be of no further interest. You’d be free to go.’ ‘Sure,’ said Altor. ‘Still, what choice have we got?’ He glanced back at Caelestis and winked. ‘No choice at all,’ said Augustus. He held out his hands greedily. Altor moved in a blur of sudden action. Stepping forward, he held out the stone towards Augustus, then tossed it back over his shoulder and snatched for the white amulet that hung at the wizard’s neck. The 93

thin chain snapped easily. ‘Stragulum,’ said Altor, ‘consurge ad astra!’ The carpet shot straight up. Altor and Caelestis both leaped for the parapet, Caelestis snatching the pommel stone out of mid air as he did. Caelestis landed, rolled, and came to his feet. Altor had misjudged the jump but managed to grab hold of the parapet. He dangled for a second. His fingers started to slip on the icy stone. With a burst of effort he heaved himself over onto the battlements and let out a gasp of relief. A cry of panic drew their attention upwards, where the carpet was rapidly dwindling into the sky. Augustus stared down imploringly, no longer the arrogant arch-wizard but now just a frightened man. ‘No! Call the carpet back. Please!’ Altor shook his head. ‘You admire White Light so much? Go and join him among the stars.’ One of the toad-like minions attempted a panicstricken jump for the battlements, missed, and fell to a grisly end on the hard rocks and ice. The others accompanied their master on his final flight into the limitless reaches of space. Altor and Caelestis watched until the carpet was a speck lost in the haze of blue infinity. ‘That was neatly done,’ said Caelestis. ‘Where did you learn to fly a carpet, may I ask?’ 94

Altor laughed out of sheer relief. ‘I’m glad I paid a bit of attention to my language lessons back at the monastery.’ He looked at the white amulet in his hand and was about to throw it over the parapet, but Caelestis stopped him. ‘No, let me have it.’ ‘I don’t think it’s worth anything without the carpet. Incidentally, Caelestis, I still have a bone to pick with you about that business in Dourhaven...’ ‘Oh, I didn’t steal much. It was more of a loan, actually. And the landlord gave us free board and lodging when I told him you were a duke.’ ‘That still wasn’t honest! Fraud is no better than thievery.’ Caelestis waved this objection aside. ‘Oh, he’ll make a tidy sum from all the customers who’ll flock to his inn after what happened today. Now, can I have that amulet?’ Altor sighed and tossed it at him. ‘Go on, then, if you can think of a use for it. I’ll have the pommel stone back, thank you.’ Caelestis winced as he handed it over. ‘You don’t think I’d ever sell that?’ ‘I wouldn’t put it past you.’ Altor shivered. ‘Let’s get inside before we freeze to death.’ Entering the tower, they reached a circular gallery overlooking a stairwell. A stairwell – but with no stairs 95

linking the floors. Looking down, they could see two more galleries and then the ground-floor hall. ‘Perhaps he used the carpet to move from floor to floor,’ said Altor. Caelestis scratched his head. ‘Not very convenient. And how would the toad-things get about? No, there must be another way...’ A short search of the gallery led to a chance discovery. There were two thin white crystal rods running up the entire inner wall of the tower from the hall to the topmost gallery. Caelestis tentatively touched one of these and vanished, only to appear on the next gallery down. ‘Teleportation!’ he called up. ‘Don’t you just hate these sorcerers?’ By experimenting they discovered that one rod conveyed them down, the other allowed them to ascend. Since there didn’t seem to be any gold fixtures around the tower, Caelestis was all for leaving as soon as possible. Altor was more practical. ‘We’ll need supplies and warmer clothes to survive out on the pack ice,’ he said. They found what they needed in Augustus’s private apartments. Along with fine fur cloaks and thick blankets there were cases packed with biscuits, wine and beef jerky. Altor made up haversacks for the journey while Caelestis rummaged inquisitively among 96

the wizard’s effects. ‘Here is a jar of blue salve,’ he said. ‘And a silver plate marked with a pentagram.’ ‘Better leave them,’ said Altor. ‘Who knows if they might be booby-trapped?’ Caelestis reluctantly tossed the plate back into the cupboard where he’d found it. Anything with a pentagram almost certainly could be trouble. At first he was going to do the same with the salve, but he reconsidered and slipped it into his pocket instead. ‘Are we ready?’ Altor finished fastening the straps to the bundles he’d made. ‘Yes. Take your pick from Augustus’s wardrobe and we’ll be on our way.’ Caelestis selected a long robe of silk-lined mink. Altor opted instead for a plain fur-lined coat with deep pockets, into one of which he put the pommel stone. They also took a pair of thick mittens each. That done, they descended to the ground floor and with great effort pulled open the massive iron doors. ‘Oh,’ said Caelestis. In front of the door stood a huge bronze-scaled demon with its back turned to them. Apparently it had been there a very long time because snow was piled up around its tail and legs. In front of it, however, the snow was melted down to the rock in a broad icy channel. 97

They soon saw why. Every time the demon breathed out, it gave vent to a jet of hot steam that melted the snow. ‘What are we going to do about this fellow?’ wondered Altor. The creature was all of three metres tall. Even armed with a magic sword, he doubted if he could put a dent in those hard metallic scales. ‘We’ll have to brazen it out, so to speak,’ said Caelestis. Nerving himself, he squeezed past the mound of snow around the demon’s rump and strode out in front of it. Altor readied his sword, aware that if the demon made a lunge for Caelestis he would have only split-seconds in which to act. But the demon continued to stare past Caelestis as if he didn’t exist. Caelestis struck a fighting posture, relaxed, pulled a face, experimented with various insults. Still the demon ignored him, its tiny deep-set eyes fixed on the middle distance. Altor came around to join his friend, studying the demon in awe. ‘You know what I think? Augustus told it to keep people out, but he never told it to keep them in.’ ‘Just as well, really.’ Caelestis looked down from the pinnacle where they stood. All directions were the same – a blazing white haze of snow-covered pack ice. ‘Which way now? Shall we spin a bottle? Toss a 98

coin?’ ‘We’ve got to get down onto the ice first. It looks like a perilous climb. Particularly wearing gloves.’ Caelestis removed his glove and held up one finger – the finger on which he wore the golden ring. ‘Ah, I’d already thought of that. Faltyn! Come forth to serve me!’ The Faltyn took shape in the icy air. ‘Lost on the frozen Mistral Sea...’ it mused. ‘A slow death seems certain, if not for my aid. Bearing in mind the gravity of your predicament, what gift will you offer for my services?’ ‘Oh for one of those magic lamps!’ sighed Caelestis. ‘Then I could have three wishes without having to pay a penny.’ Altor laughed in spite of himself. ‘It’s poetic justice. Your genie is as avaricious as its master.’ The Faltyn pretended to shiver, even though being ethereal it was no doubt immune to the cold. ‘Converse amongst yourselves if you wish,’ it said peevishly. ‘If you have no use for me, I will return to my own world...’ ‘Not so fast.’ Caelestis took out the white amulet Augustus had used to control the carpet. ‘Here is a magic stone. Transport us safely to the island of Wyrd.’ ‘You ask too much. I can take you to the base of this 99

pinnacle.’ ‘You offer too little.’ Caelestis held the amulet enticingly in front of the Faltyn’s nose. ‘Sniff the sorcery. Don’t you want this bauble? If not, just say the word and you can go back to the ring.’ ‘No,’ said the Faltyn, its fingers hovering over the amulet. ‘But I say again: to take you to Wyrd is too far for my power. Down to the base of the pinnacle, that’s all.’ ‘That, then – and you owe me a small service to be granted later?’ The Faltyn reluctantly agreed. As it took the amulet there was a shimmering and the whiff of unearthly perfume. They now stood at the bottom of the pinnacle. ‘Which way to Wyrd?’ asked Altor. The Faltyn ignored him. ‘Answer!’ commanded Caelestis. ‘Is this information to be the ‘small service’ you mentioned?’ ‘Merely to give us directions? Of course not. Though the ‘small service’ will be much more arduous if you refuse to help us now.’ The Faltyn considered this, then gestured vaguely. ‘That way lies Wyrd. As you walk, keep the north star just to the right of dead ahead. Each night when the comet called Red Death rises, you will be able to 100

check your bearings. It should appear in the east, just at the edge of your vision as you face Wyrd.’ Holding the white amulet to its lips, it smiled and shimmered back into the nothingness from which it had come. ‘That creature gives me the creeps,’ said Altor. ‘Me too, but this time I think we can trust it. In fact we’ll have to.’ They started out in the direction the Faltyn had said. A feverish grey-white light shone off the ice, dazzling them. Flurries of needle-fine snow came on the bitter gnawing wind that blew down from the Arctic. They folded up the collars of their cloaks and trudged in silence. They had expected the frozen surface of the sea to be flat and smooth, but soon learned otherwise. It was an undulating expanse of pitted ice as hard and grey as iron. A shroud of sparkling snow lay in patches over this petrified seascape and sometimes the ice jutted up in baroquely shaped tors and jagged bergs carved by the wind. The daylight leeched out of the sky at last. They found the best shelter they could in the lee of an ice crag. Here the snow had collected in a large mound which Altor scooped out to make an igloo while Caelestis hugged himself and stamped his feet to stave off the cold. 101

The igloo finished, they crawled inside. Caelestis pulled open his haversack and they both had a meagre supper of biscuit and leathery dried meat. Night had fallen by now and the interior of the igloo was pitch dark. The cold had become numbing. Wadding the blankets around them, they settled down to sleep. ‘Comfortable?’ said Caelestis in a sarcastic tone. ‘Quite snug, thank you,’ said Altor, knowing that he just wanted an excuse to grumble. ‘Next time you get a hankering to save the world, do me a favour. Leave me out of it.’ Altor did not reply. After a while, Caelestis gave a restful grunt and closed his eyes...

A millennial city stood in the midst of bleak tundra. Night enclosed it. Its walls began to shiver and crack as, in the clouds above it, phantom armies clashed in bloody conflict. The battle reached its height. Bolts of red fire spat down from the heavens to strike the city’s ramparts. The city shuddered and then burst apart like an over-burdened heart. Torrents of blood streamed across the land and poured into the sea, which became a boiling cauldron of scarlet. Hot blood coursed below the pack ice where two tiny figures lay in sleep. Cracks formed and red steam rose, melting the ice. 102

The red night was filled with eerie music from beyond the world. Five comets rose. Hissing blood washed over the two flailing figures and they sobbed with pain and terror as five blazing lords looked down from on high and laughed at their anguish...

‘By the Saviour’s holy toenails!’ Caelestis sat bolt upright, bathed in sweat. Beside him, Altor grunted drowsily. ‘No profanities, if you don’t mind.’ Caelestis fumbled for his haversack and extracted the bottle of wine. After a swig or two he felt a little better. ‘God, Altor, I just had the most hideous nightmare!’ Altor yawned. ‘Tell me about it in the morning – if you must.’ Caelestis was about to make an angry retort, but then he heard something. Cocking his ear, he listened until it came again. A strange sweet singing, like the music in his dream. ‘Altor,’ he said. ‘I’m asleep.’ ‘No, listen.’ He prodded Altor in the back. ‘Listen! There’s someone out on the ice – and they’re singing!’

103

Chapter 9

THE SHORES OF WYRD

T

hree figures the colour of ruby danced upon the snow. Altor pulled his head back inside the igloo, out of the biting cold. ‘Perhaps it’s a mirage,’ he said. ‘Can sing?’ Altormirages pondered this. ‘The best thing might be to ignore them.’ ‘Certainly, if only we could be sure that they would ignore us.’ Altor sighed, but Caelestis was obviously right. Pulling on his fur-lined coat, he wriggled out through the igloo’s narrow A moment Caelestis appeared beside entrance. him, a slender shadowlater against the dim red light gleaming off the ice. Far away, the three figures continued to flit across 104

the sparkling landscape. Altor and Caelestis set out towards them. As they trudged nearer, they saw that only two of the three were dancing: a girl and a youth. They wore no warm clothing or furs as they glided barefoot on the ice. ‘For a fact,’ whispered Caelestis, ‘I have never seen a more comely pair. They must be mirages.’ Altor’s attention was all on the third figure. He was less distinct, appearing to be a tall imperious man wrapped in a scarlet cloak. He returned Altor’s scrutiny with a baleful stare, eyes burning in a face of blood-coloured darkness. Altor’s sword made a sharp vibrato note as it left its scabbard. Seeing the clean silver light, the red lord scowled and he seemed to grow bigger, becoming first a glowing haze and then a void starred with fading embers. He faded against the night sky and was gone altogether. The other two still remained, singing wistfully as they danced close to Altor and Caelestis, reaching out towards them with entreating gestures. Supple red flesh gleamed in the icy air. Their eyes were blank with longing, their song wordless but somehow evocative of broken dreams and faded grandeur. Altor took a step forward, half-raising his sword, instinctively wary. But he could not bring himself to attack an unarmed foe – if, indeed, the red dancers 105

were his foes. The two danced away and receded across the snowdrifts. ‘Where are they going?’ said Caelestis breathlessly. Altor was struck dumb with wonder. He could only shake his head. Then he was off, chasing the flitting red figures, skidding hastily across humps of ice and snow in his urge not to lose sight of them. ‘Wait!’ shouted Caelestis, but Altor didn’t seem to hear him. He followed, having to quicken his pace until he was almost running. But, although the two beautiful dancers moved with unhurried grace, they stayed always tantalizingly just out of reach. At last they stopped, the dance slowing to a final languid pose in which they stood frozen like statues. The song ended. As the last notes died away there was only the forlorn sigh of the wind. Altor stumbled to a halt with Caelestis close behind him. The cold air felt raw in their throats. Warily they approached the now-motionless dancers. The two straightened and turned. They raised their crimson faces to display smiles of cruel pleasure. A blink, and they were gone. Altor and Caelestis stood alone in the middle of the windswept wilderness. The snow crystals skittered like dust over the hard ice, showing no sign of footprints. 106

‘Magical creatures... if they were real at all,’ said Caelestis. Now they had stopped running, the cold seemed to intensify. He had to grit his teeth to keep them from chattering. Altor shook his head as if waking up from a deep sleep. ‘Why did you chase them?’ Altor looked at him. ‘There was something in their song – ’ He broke off, scowled. ‘I don’t know.’ ‘I do. It was Red Death.’ Caelestis gazed up at the comet carving a crimson trail across the velvet sky. ‘Remember the puppet show – each of the Magi has his agent. First Blue Moon’s werewolves killed the harpist. Green Flame sent the skeleton in the meteor, then Yellow Eye awoke the World Serpent.’ ‘And Augustus told us he served White Light.’ ‘Yes, that was a more subtle approach, apparently coming to our rescue like that. Now it’s Red Death’s turn, and he’s lured us into the middle of nowhere with his... whatever they were. Mirages, snow vampires...’ ‘And we still have the Warlock King to worry about.’ Caelestis tugged his coat tighter. ‘The main thing we have to worry about is not freezing to death. Have you given any thought to how we’ll find our way back to the igloo now?’ 107

Altor raised the sword that was still gripped tightly in his hand. ‘Once before its magic produced light.’ He held the blade out. Slowly a silvery radiance grew inside the metal, casting a moonshine track across the terrain. The thin snow was like dust, but in places the crystals had frozen onto the pack ice. Here and there they could make out faint footprints – their own, not the phantom dancers’. With painstaking care they retraced their steps. The cold was so intense that it seemed to rise in throbbing waves from the frozen sea, through thick padded boot-leather that gave no more protection than threadbare cloth, up their limbs which now felt heavy and numb. Caelestis sighed and his breath made a soft crackling in the air as it froze. ‘It’s no use. We’ll never find it.’ Was it his imagination, or was there a dark mist closing overhead? He swayed, mortally weary. To lie down just for a minute would be blessed relief. He felt weighted down by his thick coat and started to shrug it off his shoulders. Altor caught the coat and pulled it back around him. ‘It’s there. Just a little way further.’ Ahead against the sprinkled stars was the hunched shadow of the ice crag where they’d made their igloo. They staggered towards it. 108

There was a peal of mocking laughter as sweet as the music of heaven. Twin flashes of ruby-red light shot past through the night. They struck the igloo and two pillars of crimson mist rose up. For an instant the image of the two dancers appeared again, shimmering in the darkness, and then the igloo erupted in a blast of red fire. Altor and Caelestis ducked as chunks of ice went hurtling in all directions. Spurts of fire fell hissing, drilling tiny pits in the pack ice. The laughter was sucked away into the distance and then was gone. They looked up. The igloo was broken open like a giant egg, their supplies and spare blankets inside now ablaze in a sputtering fire that splashed liquid shadows across the red-lit ice. There was nothing they could do but stumble over to the fire and warm themselves as best they could. If the blaze lasted till sunrise then they could hope to stay alive a little longer in the faint warmth of the day. There was no need for either of them to say it: they would have to reach Wyrd before night fell again, or they were surely doomed. In the western sky, Red Death dipped low, sent a brief thread of light along the ice, and was gone.

Dawn revealed a limpid green-blue sky like a dome of 109

ancient copper. The north star hung low on the horizon, a glistening bauble obscured by haze. Caelestis peered into the broken shell of the igloo. The fire had died down so that now only a few feeble flames licked around the remains of their belongings. There were deep holes filled with water where the heat had melted a metre or more into the pack ice. ‘No sign of the money pouch,’ he said glumly. ‘I think we’re doomed never to keep anything but the clothes on our backs until we finish this damned quest.’ ‘I’d rather have salvaged one scrap of food than all the coins from here to Tamor,’ said Altor. ‘That would be worth more than gold to us right now.’ The sun rose, throwing up a sheet of dazzling light from the ice. There was no sense of warmth, but the malignant cold of the night-time withdrew a little like a spider into its web. ‘We might as well get going,’ said Caelestis. ‘We’ve a long walk ahead.’ All through the day they trudged north. The feeling was soon drained from their legs by the cold, so that they could only stagger along like stiff wooden puppets. Above whirled the sun, cheerless and icily luminous amid a welter of cloud. Its watery beams, reflected from the ice, drowned out the contours of the landscape so that it became a featureless pulsing 110

glare. Exhausted, half-blind, weak with hunger, Altor and Caelestis began to feel like motes of dust drifting in an immense white void. The sun reached its zenith and began the inexorable descent into the west. The savage cold crouched there waiting to pounce with the darkness. Altor’s lips were blistered, his jaw numb. He dropped back to where his friend was struggling across a deep trench in the ice and offered him his hand. With an effort, Caelestis clambered up out of the trench. ‘T-tell me you’ve s-sighted dry land,’ he said. Altor shook his head. ‘We ought to call the Faltyn.’ ‘It wouldn’t do any good. Even if it could help us, we’ve nothing to pay it with.’ ‘There’s my magic sword...’ Caelestis shook his head. ‘No.’ Surprising himself, he mustered a smile even though it hurt his lips. ‘I wouldn’t want to give that wretched creature the satisfaction.’ They turned again to the north. Grim resignation had lent them a last reserve of strength and they set out together. Live or die, at least they would never give up while they still had a breath in their lungs. Low in the sky now, the sun grew swollen and red. Its beams now fainter, the dazzling ice-haze gave way 111

to long pools of violet shadow. Caelestis and Altor saw it together. They clasped each other’s shoulders and pointed excitedly into the gathering dusk. Dull amber sunbeams caught the outline of cliffs – cliffs lined with the silhouettes of tall pine trees. It was the coast of Wyrd. They quickened their pace, almost breaking into a run. It was impossible to tell how far away the coast was, but if they could just reach solid ground before nightfall then there was a chance of building a fire – even finding something to eat. The cliffs loomed. They could not be far off now. Pine trees sprinkled with snow made a feathery outline against the twilit sky. Then, as the last of the daylight shrank away, Caelestis spotted something out of the corner of his eye. It was a fur-clad figure lying prone on the ice. Caelestis looked up from the figure. Altor was still trudging towards the shoreline. Caelestis was about to call out but hesitated. Surely the stranger must be dead, and to tarry out on the ice with night coming on was foolhardy. He took a few steps away from the stricken figure, then stopped. ‘Altor!’ he yelled. ‘There’s someone over here!’ By the time Altor reached the scene, Caelestis had 112

rolled the stranger over. It was a young girl with ravenblack hair. Under her thick woollen cloak she wore a peasant’s simple homespun. She was agonizingly thin and her skin was blue with cold. ‘She’s alive – just,’ said Caelestis. He started to try and lift the girl. Altor picked her up and put her over his shoulder before setting out again towards the coast. They reached Wyrd just as the stars came out. The northern lights were a lacy curtain of spangles against the black backdrop of night. Altor laid the girl down and set about gathering firewood. Caelestis looked back across the ice. The five orbs of the True Magi had yet to rise, but he shook his fist at them all the same. ‘We beat you again, you hear?’ he cried. Then, realizing the ordeal had left him feverish and close to hysteria, he slumped to the ground with a sob of relief. Altor had lost his flint and tinder in the explosion at the igloo, but he knew how to survive in the wild. With two stones he made sparks, and soon the branches he’d gathered were blazing nicely. Caelestis crept over and, shivering, warmed himself beside the fire. After the ravenous cold of the day it felt painful, but deliciously so. Altor lifted the girl and moved her nearer. Hotspots 113

of colour appeared on her cheeks, but her body remained limp and cold. She gave a soft moan and her eyelids fluttered open. ‘She’s barely more than a child,’ said Caelestis in surprise now that he had a clear look at her in the firelight. ‘Can you hear me?’ said Altor. The girl’s lips moved. She was barely strong enough to speak, and they had to bend close to catch her words. ‘I’m Enais,’ she said. ‘I tried to escape from him. My brothers too, but they...’ Her voice began to trail off. ‘She’s going into shock,’ said Altor. Caelestis looked around in agitation. ‘Bring her nearer the fire, then. Quickly!’ ‘It’s no use. She’d lost too much body-heat before we found her.’ ‘We’ve got to do something!’ Bunching his hands into fists in his anguish, Caelestis suddenly remembered his heavy gold ring. Swivelling it around so that the dark gem faced outwards, he called to the Faltyn. The fire briefly flared lavender and the Faltyn stepped from the flames. It bent to look at the girl the way a scholar might pause in his walk to study a dying insect. ‘This mortal is not long for the world,’ it mur114

mured. Fluttering its fingers to cover a yawn, it went on: ‘Well then, you have made it as far as Wyrd. I must admit your fortitude quite surprises me.’ Caelestis gritted his teeth. ‘Save this girl’s life,’ he said. The Faltyn’s mouth formed an O. ‘Her life! This is what you mean by ‘a small service’?’ Altor felt Enais’s pulse. ‘I think she’s gone...’ Caelestis realized he still had the jar of salve he’d found in Augustus’s laboratory. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled it out, thrusting it towards the Faltyn. ‘Take this, whatever it is! Just save her.’ The Faltyn peered at the jar and licked its lips. Altor, kneeling beside Enais, happened to look up. He saw the jar and his eyes narrowed. Just as the Faltyn was reaching to take the jar, he snatched it out of Caelestis’s hands. Unscrewing the lid, he sniffed the contents. ‘By the Saviour’s merciful grace!’ he cried. ‘This is jeshroot ointment – worth more than its weight in diamonds, Caelestis. Its healing properties are second only to God’s own!’ He smeared a little ointment on his finger and dabbed it on the girl’s lips, her throat, her eyelids. They waited. She gave a small groan and her eyes flickered open. The Faltyn leaned closer and made a grab for the 115

jar of salve. When Altor snatched it away, the Faltyn pretended it had just been idly reaching for sparks blown from the fire. ‘I am gratified to see the little soul is alive,’ it said. ‘Now, if you’ll hand me the ointment I was promised I’ll be going...’ Caelestis angrily dismissed it by closing his hand on the ring. Enais looked up at them in the firelight and smiled. ‘I saw you both approaching a huge Palace...’ she said. Her face clouded and she added: ‘He was there. It must have been a dream...’ ‘Who?’ said Altor, laying his hand on her brow. ‘Who was there?’ ‘The Warlock King... He gave me a message. He said that he is waiting for you.’

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Chapter 10

THE SEER

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own in the valley, darkly outlined by the moonlight, were a few buildings built of stout pine logs. A plume of hearth-smoke rose in the still night air. There was no-one in sight. Enais, in Altor’s arms asshe hesaid. carried her, craned herresting neck. ‘This is my village,’ Passing between the black boles of a few scattered trees, they descended to the village. The moon had risen, making the world seem to glow. The only sound in the stillness was the crisp tread of boots through deep-piled snow. Overlooking a frozen with pondaand stream, the village consisted of a longhouse massive thatched roof, surrounded by a few isolated cottages and some small stone huts used for storage. 117

The smoke came from a vent in the roof of the longhouse. They headed towards it, shivering as they emerged from the shelter of the slope into a sudden blast of wind. Inside the longhouse, a dog began to bark. ‘Hello!’ called Caelestis, knocking on the door. It opened at once and a lantern was thrust out. They could not see the man holding it because of the glare in their faces. Aromas wafted warmly out from the smoky interior of the house – of parsnip stew, baked bread and potato-spirit. Also the sweaty stench of men and animals. ‘What do you want?’ demanded the face behind the lantern. Caelestis shielded his eyes. ‘Shelter, for one thing.’ As their vision became accustomed to the light, they could make out the details of the man’s face. He was balding and squint-eyed, scrawny as a sick rooster. He looked old. In Wyrd, where life was harder than perhaps anywhere else in the world, that meant that he might be nearly thirty. ‘Who are you?’ he said suspiciously. ‘You’re not from hereabouts, I can see that.’ ‘We’re travellers,’ said Altor. ‘We’ve brought back this girl, Enais.’ ‘Enais?’ The man raised the lantern and nodded as he saw the girl’s face. ‘We thought she was dead.’ 118

‘She would have frozen out on the pack ice,’ said Caelestis, annoyed at being kept out in the cold. ‘We saved her life.’ The man returned Caelestis’s haughty glare with a sullen scowl. ‘Don’t expect thanks for that. Death is escape of a kind.’ Caelestis snorted in derision. ‘In that case you’ve only to lower your neck to the ground and with my sword I can hastily arrange your own ‘escape’. No? I thought not. In that case, spare us your melodramatic drivel and let us in!’ ‘The girl needs food and warmth,’ said Altor quietly. ‘And we could do with the same ourselves.’ The man hesitated, then made up his mind. Grumbling, he opened the door wide. ‘Come in, come in.’ ‘And be quick about it!’ snapped a toothless old woman sitting by the fire. ‘Once the cold gets in, it’ll only go out again with the spring.’ Cackling at this adage, she turned back to stare at the burning peat in the hearth. Chickens ran between their feet, clucking and pecking at the cracks in the floorboards. Miserably underfed pigs snuffled and grunted in the straw beside the walls. Altor and Caelestis realized that the whole village and all of their livestock must cram into this one building for the winter. No-one spoke a word. The man with the lantern 119

led them through the silently staring throng. In a pot over the fire a thin broth was simmering. Seeing Caelestis look at it hungrily, a woman stepped forward and clanged the lid shut. Caelestis glared back at her. ‘We’ve not eaten since yesterday evening,’ said Altor, laying Enais down on a blanket by the hearth. ‘Bread,’ said the man to a small boy who had followed them from the door. The boy bounded off to a curtained-off area at the back of the longhouse and came back with a wooden trencher containing slices of crumbly bread soaked in thin gravy. ‘Thank you,’ said Altor. ‘Words fail me,’ said Caelestis. He would have liked to leave the bread untouched to show his disdain, but hunger got the better of him. Stuffing it into his mouth, he reached for a wineskin hanging by the hearth. The man took the wineskin, poured a little into a cup, and handed it to Caelestis. With another cupful he moistened Enais’s lips. ‘What about Duros and Glesh?’ said another man, breaking the general silence of the other villagers. Altor guessed he meant Enais’s brothers. ‘I believe they didn’t make it.’ Noticing the reaction of man who had invited them in, he added, ‘You’re the father?’ 120

The man kept his eyes on Enais, who was now sleeping, but he nodded. ‘My name is Shanans. I’m the headman of this village. Last week my wife died on the same day the steward came to demand the season’s taxes. There was a quarrel and the steward was killed. My sons fled, taking Enais with them.’ ‘Leaving you to take the blame?’ said Caelestis. Shanans shook his head. ‘No, our overlord would know who the culprits were. He could chase them in their dreams, even kill them as they slept. That’s why Glesh and Duros had to get away – once you leave Wyrd you’ve safe from his power...’ He hung his head and wept silently. ‘But of course, no-one ever leaves Wyrd.’ Altor put a hand on his shoulder. ‘There is always hope.’ ‘Not while he rules this land,’ said a woman cradling an infant in her arms. ‘The Warlock King? We have come to make a reckoning with him,’ said Caelestis. ‘Just tell us where we’ll find his Palace.’ The villagers had begun to relax a little, but now they fell silent again and stared in shock at the two young heroes. Shanans tucked the blanket around his daughter, ignoring Caelestis’s question. A baby started to cry softly. One of the villagers – a tall, lank-limbed girl wearing a hooded jerkin – got 121

up and went over to the cot. Several women were sitting there, faces drawn with worry. They looked up and shook their heads. The tall girl came over and dropped to sit cross-legged beside Shanans. ‘The child’s no better, I’m afraid,’ she said quietly. ‘An accident this morning,’ Shanans explained to Altor and Caelestis. He spoke wearily, drained of emotion by his many cares. ‘Boiling water was spilled over the baby – ’ ‘Death will be a mercy,’ said the lanky girl. Caelestis jumped to his feet. ‘’Escape’? ‘Mercy’? What is it with you people? Death is death! You have to rail against it and go down fighting!’ The villagers only shook their heads sorrowfully at his outburst. ‘Now you’ve come to Wyrd you’ll soon learn differently,’ said a man. ‘Oh yes? Perhaps it’s you who ought to learn.’ Caelestis strode over to the cot, moving the anxious women aside so as to get a look at the baby. It was a shocking sight. His skin was terribly scalded, so raw and red that he could not stand to have blankets on him. He was too weak to do more than make faint mewling noises. Caelestis felt his normal cynicism desert him. He gave a gasp of horror. Altor came up beside him. In his hand he had the jar of jeshroot ointment. ‘Brother Emeritus, the healer 122

at my monastery, had a small sample of this,’ he said. ‘He kept it on a pinhead.’ Caelestis looked at the jar. ‘We have a whole thimbleful. It’s worth as much as diamond dust, you said?’ Altor nodded. ‘But what is a life worth?’ ‘Much more than that,’ said Caelestis. He dipped his finger into the jar and quickly, before he even had a chance to change his mind, spread it on the baby’s scalded flesh. The blisters disappeared and the inflamed skin became pink and healthy. The old women beside the cot drew back in awe. The baby himself just stared up at Caelestis for a moment, then began to gurgle happily. One of the women gave a shout of pure joy and snatched the baby in her arms. Tears streamed down her face. ‘I take it that’s the mother,’ said Altor to Caelestis. He broke into a broad smile. ‘A miracle!’ cried one of the other women. ‘Are you from the home of the gods?’ Caelestis chuckled. ‘Hardly. It’s just ointment from a wizard’s laboratory. Have you never seen magic before? Aren’t there any wizards in Wyrd?’ ‘Only the Warlock King,’ said someone. After a moment of silence everyone began to gather around the baby, chattering merrily in an effort to 123

dispel the sombre thoughts stirred up by the mention of their monarch. Altor and Caelestis went back to the fireside. The woman who was stirring the broth poured some of it into a mug and handed it to Caelestis with a smile. ‘They say that virtue is its own reward,’ he said to Altor, ‘but a little food and drink doesn’t go amiss either.’ Shanans beckoned them over. ‘I forgot to introduce you. This is Oraba.’ They looked at the lanky girl sitting cross-legged by the hearth. She had pulled back the hood of her jerkin. Seeing their expressions, Shanans laughed. ‘Not what you expected?’ They had thought at first Oraba was an ordinary teenage girl; now they saw she was anything but that. Her head was shaved completely except for a long ponytail of yellow hair. A band of white paint ran across her eyes, and in the middle of her forehead there was a tattoo in the shape of an open circle. Strangest of all was the look in her eyes. She had a tranquility and self-assurance far beyond her years. Caelestis was so disconcerted at her appearance that he forgot his usual gallantry. ‘Who – ?’ ‘Oraba is a seer,’ explained Shanans. ‘A seer? But... who would think?’ Caelestis stood open-mouthed. 124

Altor stepped in. ‘What my friend’s saying... That is, Lady Oraba, you’re very young. We thought that seers would be older...’ He fell silent too, aware that he was just making himself look foolish. Oraba laughed. ‘I’m no great lady,’ she said. ‘I was born in a hut pretty much like this one, actually. No need for grand titles. Just call me Oraba.’ Shanans fetched goblets of mulled wine and the four of them found a quiet corner where they could talk. Oraba listened with interest as they explained the quest for the Sword of Life. After they’d finished, she nodded and said, ‘Destiny has led you by the right path. The Warlock King has something of yours – part of the broken sword. I sense it. But I think destiny had a double purpose in bringing you here.’ ‘Speak on,’ said Caelestis expansively, reaching for the wineskin. ‘Time to sleep now,’ said Oraba. ‘We’ll talk again in the morning.’ She got up in one lithe motion and walked off to her pallet beyond the hides at the end of the hall. Caelestis nodded slowly and set down his goblet. He hadn’t realized until now how tired he was. He yawned and stretched like a cat. ‘I think Oraba’s right,’ said Altor. ‘we could certainly do with a good night’s rest.’ 125

A woman came over who might have been Shanans’s sister. She put blankets into their arms and showed them a place beside the fire. ‘Sleep here,’ she said. ‘Since a seer is with us, tonight there will be no bad dreams.’

They rose after daybreak and breakfasted on salted porridge and sweet buns. Shanans gave them a haversack containing provisions for the journey. ‘I feel guilty taking anything,’ said Altor, shaking hands. ‘You have so little.’ ‘We can spare it,’ said Shanans. ‘And in any case, the gift you gave us was far greater.’ It was time to be on their way. Oraba was not about. After bidding the villagers farewell, Altor and Caelestis stepped out into the cold morning air and slowly trudged through the snow away from the longhouse. ‘Don’t be in such a hurry.’ They turned at the sound of this clear young voice. Oraba was sitting perched on a snow-sprinkled woodpile. She wore only her thin hooded jerkin, seeming not to feel the cold. They smiled and walked over. ‘I thought you’d forgotten to say goodbye,’ joked Altor. ‘No,’ said Oraba, ‘but we have some things to talk about that the others might not understand. Here, a 126

parting gift.’ She held out a small sack. After a moment of surprise, Caelestis took it and looked inside. He pulled out an iron bell. ‘Oh, just what I always wanted.’ Oraba laughed. ‘It’s for ringing out the old and ringing in the new!’ ‘That’s exactly the sort of thing I’d expect a seer to say,’ grumbled Caelestis. ‘Whatever a seer is.’ ‘Glimpses of the future can’t easily be put into words,’ said Oraba with a shrug. ‘Sometimes I think I just tell people what they already know. You already knew your destiny was to assemble the pieces of the Sword of Life, didn’t you?’ ‘I don’t know if I’d use the word ‘destiny’,’ said Caelestis. ‘It makes it sound like we can’t think of anything we’d rather do.’ ‘And after the Sword of Life is whole?’ pressed Altor. ‘What then, exactly?’ ‘You’re asking a seer to be exact? I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound all cryptic and ever-so-wise, but the future is never exact. Your destiny is to stop the five last True Magi from returning to the world – Red Death, Blue Moon and those others. To do this you need the Sword of Life. The Warlock King has the hilt, and that’s why you’ve come to Wyrd.’ ‘Originally, yes,’ said Altor. ‘But seeing the hardship here, the way these people are suffering – that’s as 127

good a reason to rid them of his evil.’ ‘Good and evil are like the counters in a game of chequers,’ said Oraba. ‘Long ago a man, a visionary, used the power of imagination to transform Wyrd into a land of ease and pleasure. The people in those days didn’t toil their way through short and miserable lives. All took their fill from the cornucopia. Time wore on without season or death. The land was changeless – a paradise indeed, but paradise is an inhuman place. Man cannot endure heaven any more than he can endure hell.’ ‘So what happened?’ asked Caelestis. ‘This.’ Oraba waved her hand, taking in everything around them. ‘Our land and our dreams have become sour, dull, grey. The Warlock King has closed himself off from the fount of existence. His heart is hard. He holds Wyrd in a withered grip, like a dead flower pressed in a book.’ ‘And yet you say he’s not evil?’ She sighed and gazed north. ‘Forget good and evil. Just destroy him if you can.’ She sighed and turned back to them. ‘I’m a seer. That means I can look into the future for you – just one quick peek.’ ‘In that case, perhaps you’d better tell us where we’ll find the Warlock King,’ said Caelestis. ‘His Palace of Dusk, according to some, lies at the northernmost tip of Wyrd. Others say it exists only 128

in dreams.’ ‘We’re going to have to know which is true.’ Oraba laughed. ‘Both!’ She closed her eyes, and it was eerie to think she might be looking into their future. ‘You must pass through a bramble wood to get there. The elves will try to stop you. Challenge them to a game of chequers, but be warned that they can cast illusions on the pieces that will confuse whoever tries to play them. In the woods I see frost hounds – the Warlock King’s first defences, the first elements of his dreamworld that will become aware of you. There are too many to fight. Trust alone will save you.’ ‘And what will we find within the Palace of Dusk?’ asked Altor. She opened her eyes. ‘That is something even I cannot say. What lies at the heart of the dreamworld is something you must discover for yourselves.’

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Chapter 11

THE FOREST OF THORNS

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hey headed north under a sky laden with snow. Wherever possible they kept to the shelter of pine trees, out of the arctic wind that whistled around them and stung their skin. Each breath froze into crystals of ice, a fine white flurry of snow-dust on the breeze. By mid-afternoon the snow was falling thickly. Ahead stretched a forest of tangled black thorns. A path of sorts lay through the briars, but as they trudged towards it a group of tall figures dressed in green and grey came out of the forest. They carried longbows and slim silver swords, and their eyes were like emeralds. Altor and Caelestis stopped when they were a halfdozen paces from the group. The leader came forward, 130

meeting their defiant stare with his cold green gaze. Then he spoke: ‘Now wild weather of the world awakes throughout this land. Clouds cast keenly their cold upon the earth, with great gusts from the north to shiver the flesh. The blizzard bears down on all living things. The whistling wind whips up from the fells, filling every dale full of deep drifts.’ ‘It’s winter all right,’ said Altor. The elf held them in the scrutiny of his pale eyes. ‘The way ahead is ours, and the toll we exact is mortal blood. We shall deny you these woods. Avaunt! Follow your own tracks back through the snow. You shall not pass.’ Caelestis turned to Altor. ‘Typical elf – says everything three times over.’ The elf ’s smile at this was bleak and soulless. ‘A word can many times be spoken. Life once lost is not repeated.’ ‘Death?’ Altor shook his head. ‘We don’t care for fighting. Clashing swords speak loudly, but saying nothing worth hearing. What would be a better way to settle things, Caelestis?’ ‘Why not a game of chequers?’ The elf pondered this. Like all creatures of his race, he clearly found it hard to resist a challenge. At last he came to a decision. Still with his eyes fixed on Altor and Caelestis, he called to his warriors: ‘Bring a 131

board! Fetch playing-pieces! Mortal shall with faerie duel for the right to use this path.’ One of the elves loped off into the thorn forest, returning a few minutes later with a chequers set, which he placed on a tree-stump. The other elves lowered their bows and peered in fascination as Caelestis set out the pieces. The leader of the elves sat down in the snow, his fur robes spread around him. ‘Who will play?’ Caelestis pulled off his gloves and crouched down opposite him. Blowing into his hands to warm them, he said. ‘Let’s begin.’ The elf turned the board. ‘Yours shall be the black pieces. I take the white.’ ‘Whatever.’ The elf reached out, touched a piece, considered it. He changed his mind and moved another piece. Caelestis called out to move to Altor, who was crouching some distance away with his back to them. He had dug up a number of pebbles which he set out in rows in the snow. As Caelestis announced the elf ’s move, Altor moved one of his pebbles. The elf frowned. ‘What’s this?’ Caelestis smiled genially. ‘My friend is the one playing you. Please be quiet while he decides his move.’ ‘Nonsense!’ said the elf. ‘If he is my opponent, he must sit at the board, not play with pebbles.’ 132

Altor called out his opening move. Caelestis pushed forward one of the black pieces. ‘My friend is worried he might find that too distracting,’ he said. ‘He prefers to concentrate on the game without any... outside influences, shall we say.’ ‘You mean to suggest that I would use trickery?’ hissed the elf. ‘Deception? Illusion?’ ‘I said nothing of the kind,’ replied Caelestis affably. ‘Your move.’ The elf shoved one of his pieces forward with ill grace, making a noise like an angry swan as he did so. Altor swiftly replied with a counter-move. The game progressed. Occasionally Caelestis found that a move Altor called out to him seemed as if it would place one piece on top of another, or make use of a piece that had already been lost. But when he went to make the move it always worked – the pieces returned to their old positions, mysteriously leaping back into what had seemed to be blank spaces, while phantom white pieces proved not to be there after all. Caelestis rubbed his eyes. The illusions made him feel dizzy, but he was enjoying the look of consternation on the elf ’s face. At last the elf was forced to concede defeat. With a petulant gesture he swept the pieces back into their box and affected a look of boredom at the game’s out133

come. ‘You lose.’ Caelestis was unable to resist gloating. The elf lord lowered his proud gaze. ‘You set the test, this game, and I am overthrown. No grudge shall prevent me from fulfilling my promise. If the outcome had been otherwise, however, and I had been the one to win – would you then have kept our bargain and turned back? I doubt it.’ ‘That’s a bit uncalled-for,’ said Caelestis sharply. ‘You lost fair and square. It shows poor grace to accuse us of falseness.’ ‘My words were spoken in ill-considered haste,’ admitted the elf reluctantly, ‘and now I must make reparations. I shall give you a gift as recompense for the slight my tongue offered you.’ He pronounced a few syllables in his own language and the chequers pieces sparkled with grey-green light. ‘These playing pieces now have my rune upon them,’ said the elf. ‘When you contend against the final foe, this sorcery of mine shall aid you. At that time, the harm you were dealt by my unkind words shall be undone.’ Caelestis shrugged and put the pieces in his coat pocket. He had no idea what magic had been cast on them, but at least he could use them as bargaining chips when dealing with the Faltyn. The elf got to his feet and brushed away the snow. 134

He thrust the chequers board towards one of his warriors. ‘Burn this,’ he said. Turning half-back towards Altor and Caelestis, he went on, ‘Ahead lies the Forest of Thorns. The agreement will be honoured. We shall not oppose you if that is where you wish to go, though foul and fierce are the dangers that you’ll find. Wild things wander in the briars, and bugbears with hungry breath will follow your trail by night. It would be tedious to tell you one-tenth of the further threats that abound within the thickets, so no mention need be made of the phantoms and wyrms and frost hounds, too, that may seek you out.’ ‘Thanks for the pep talk,’ said Caelestis. ‘But we’ve got to be going now...’ ‘The staunchest mortal would suffer no dishonour if his heart quailed at this point,’ insisted the elf. ‘No honest man would chastise a fellow who turned back from this fell forest.’ Caelestis looked at Altor. ‘What do you reckon?’ ‘Sounds fun. Let’s get in there.’ ‘Right. Thanks for the game.’ With a cheery wave to the elfin warriors, he passed by them and entered the Forest of Thorns. Altor caught up a few seconds later. ‘I thought I’d better check. They’re not following.’ Caelestis looked along the path ahead. It was already shrouded in gloom although the hour was 135

barely past midday. ‘Maybe they know something we don’t,’ he said. The day went swiftly within the spiny thickets. Night came all in a bound, staining the visible patches of sky like ink spilling across a page. But the snow kept a faint luminescence of its own. The tangled thorn bushes stretching above their heads formed a web of blackness in which the faint white gleam seemed trapped like vapour. Their boots crunched on the powdery snow. By now the wind had dropped, making the awesome cold slightly easier to bear, but their breath still rose in clouds against the night sky. ‘Do you think this stuff would burn?’ said Caelestis, holding aside a branch of black brambles. Altor shrugged. ‘Somehow I doubt it, but I guess it’s time we made camp for the night anyway. Will bread and cold soup do you for supper?’ ‘Yum, it sounds as tasty as.... Wait.’ Caelestis fell silent, cocking his ear. Half a minute passed while they both stood tensed. A noise nearby made them whirl, but it was only an overladen branch tipping its burden of snow to the ground. Altor laughed and tossed down his travelling-gear. ‘Your imagination’s getting the better of you – and it wouldn’t be for the first time! Let’s get some grub.’ ‘Ssh...’ warned Caelestis. 136

He pointed in the direction of a soft sound that came drifting through the bushes – the crisp pad pad pad of stealthy footfalls in the snow. Through an eddy of flakes swirling gently to the ground stared a pair of icy eyes. Something moved off to one side. Altor spun in time to see a dark shape lope between the briars. He took Caelestis by the arm and led him slowly backwards. ‘There’s more than one,’ he said. Caelestis nodded. They turned and began walking briskly away from the spot, abandoning the haversack that Shanans had given them. A moment later there was a muffled growling somewhere behind them as the creatures fell on the haversack and ripped it apart. ‘Maybe they’ll be content with the provisions,’ said Caelestis. He looked back but could see only darkness and dancing snowflakes. Altor set his jaw grimly. ‘I doubt it. In fact, here they come.’ Dark shapes stalked them through the thorny thickets. They had a glimpse of naked blue flanks, eyes like hoarfrost, fangs that were jagged black icicles. Rasping breath came closer – the eager panting of a pack of hunting dogs. Altor and Caelestis quickened their pace. So did 137

the frost hounds. Throwing caution aside, they broke into a run. The frost hounds stayed hard on their heels. They could hear the relentless crunch of their racing paws in the snow, feel the freezing breath on the back of their necks. Sixth sense warned Caelestis and he looked back over his shoulder to see an ice-rimmed maw flying towards him. He lashed out, ramming his fist against the snapping teeth. Sharp icy points bit through the thick leather of his glove and Caelestis felt a numbing stab of pain. The hound dropped to a crouch, growling, and Caelestis kicked at it. It turned and sloped off into the bushes. There, waiting in the darkness, dozens of eyes glared like ominous stars. Realizing Caelestis had fallen behind, Altor stopped. His breath puffed up, briefly luminous in the dim light emanating from the snow. ‘We’re not quitting, are we?’ he panted. Keeping his gaze fixed on the watching eyes, Caelestis put his hands on his knees and drew a long breath. His arm was throbbing where the frost hound had bitten him. ‘I’m bone weary, Altor. If we’ve got to make a stand, here’s as good a place as any.’ Altor did not reply. He took a step closer, glancing to one side of the track. Caelestis saw and nodded. 138

Altor bared his sword. Caelestis dropped to the ground just as a hound broke cover and launched itself with a snarl at his throat. The sword carved a blazing silver arc. The snarl was cut off. With a thud, the hound’s head landed in the snow. Blood like murky ice water sluiced from the severed veins, freezing into a web of frost as it congealed. Caelestis got shakily to his feet. His whole arm felt stiff and drained of warmth. ‘Actually, do you think you could handle them by yourself?’ he said. ‘Only I think I’m going to pass out...’ Altor supported him with his left arm while keeping the sword levelled at the watching hounds. The pack had fallen into a baleful silence, but he could hear some of them moving through the thickets to either side. ‘If we get surrounded we’re done for,’ he muttered. Half-carrying Caelestis, he retreated until the path divided in two. One branch stretched off between the thorns and was swallowed by darkness. The other wound up a slope and ended in front of a cave. ‘Which way?’ said Altor. ‘We might shelter in the cave – or it might be a dead end.’ Caelestis lifted his head. Despite the cold, there were feverish beads of sweat pouring down his face. ‘Cave...’ he gasped. ‘Trust, that’s what Oraba said...’ Altor started up the slope. He felt as if he was in 139

a dream, his legs so heavy that he seemed to be wading through treacle. Caelestis was barely conscious. His feet dragged, scuffing feebly at the snow as they climbed towards the cave. Two hounds broke from the pack and came pounding in full chase. Altor reached back without turning, slashing wildly with his sword. Icy fangs snapped shut on empty air and the hounds slunk back, but they did not retreat. In front of the cave mouth now, Altor saw that it was choked with briars. He gave a groan and lowered Caelestis to a sitting position. Given a few minutes they could have hacked through the briars and perhaps gained safety from the frost hounds. But they didn’t have a few minutes. The pack was already upon them. Seeing that their prey was cornered, the rest of the hounds had bounded up the slope. Altor turned to confront a dozen foes with eyes of burning cold, jaws gaping, lean muscles coiled to spring. He raised his sword as the pack closed in.

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Chapter 12

THE PALACE OF THE DUSK ‘

T

his won’t do! Shoo! Go on now, be off with you!’ At the sound of the voice, the frost hounds drew back like scolded children, turning and slipping away the hill. Altor watched go. withEerily silent,down they went like shadows on the them snow and in seconds they had been entirely swallowed by the night. Altor lowered his sword and turned round in amazement. Standing in the cave mouth was an old woman. She held up a lantern and gave him a welcoming smile.about that. They get a bit boisterous ‘I’m sorry sometimes.’ ‘Boisterous?’ Caelestis looked up, eyes half closed. 141

‘One of them nearly had my arm off...’ ‘Oh dear. Well, we’d better see to that right away.’ Turning to Altor, she said, ‘Bring your friend inside.’ She went back inside the cave. Altor didn’t bother wondering what had happened to all the briars. He helped Caelestis to his feet and they followed the old woman. At the end of a narrow tunnel hung a fur rug. Pushing it aside, Altor gasped to see a huge hearth where a pot of stew bubbled enticingly over a crackling log fire. Caelestis’s nose twitched. ‘Is that roast pork?’ he murmured. ‘Mulled wine, too? Must be dreaming...’ Altor lay him gently on a cot covered with thick blankets. Caelestis smiled as his head sunk into the pillow. A moment later he was sound asleep. The old woman came over and rolled up Caelestis’s sleeve. Three or four fangs were lodged in his flesh. Using tweezers she pulled them out, put lotion on the cuts, and wound a bandage over them. Caelestis’s only reaction to this had been to wince slightly as the fangs were drawn out. Now he sighed in his sleep and turned over, snuggling contentedly into the blankets. Altor watched all this from beside the fire. His skin, pinched numb by the cold outside, was tingling as the warmth came back. The old lady looked up beaming and the firelight 142

made her eyes twinkle. ‘A nice pot of tea would go down a treat, I expect,’ she said. Altor nodded. As she busied herself with making the tea, he looked around the room. ‘You don’t get many caves like this.’ ‘You do around these parts,’ she said. Altor took the tea. It had a pleasant aroma of ginger root and rose petals. The thought briefly crossed his mind that it might be drugged. He was instantly ashamed of himself. He looked up blushing, even though the woman could hardly have known what he was thinking. ‘I expect you’re a bit wary after all your trouble with the Magi and what-have-you,’ she said. Altor realized at once that his suspicions were foolish. A warrior had to trust his instincts, and deep down his instincts told him the woman meant them no harm. Trust, Oraba had said. He sipped the tea. It tasted delicious. The old woman nodded to a big armchair by the fire. Altor sat and yawned while she prepared a supper tray. When she brought it to him, he managed to eat about half and then the day’s long journey began to take its toll. He yawned again, stretching in the warmth. He was aware of the woman tucking a blanket around him. He opened his eyes. Kind eyes looked 143

down at his and for an instant Altor felt a twinge of sadness. He had been reminded of the mother whom he never knew. ‘Who are you?’ he said. The woman smiled and looked at the crackling fire. Altor followed her gaze. How often he had stared as a child into the heart of the abbey fire and conjured up images of far-off places in his mind’s eye. Now, gazing at the leaping flames, it was as if he were a child again. Pictures seemed to form: a strange city with crumbling walls, five meteors fleeing from the ruins to hide among the stars. The meteors became grim lordly faces. Then he saw a sword with a glittering jewel on its pommel, from which the five lords turned away scowling. Lastly there was a withered man with a brittle stare, who clutched to his chest the hilt of a broken sword. Altor reached out sleepily. The images vanished, leaving only flames. ‘Yes,’ murmured the woman soothingly. ‘Some see their dreams in fire. Others, sad to say, in ice...’ As Altor drifted off, he imagined the woman younger, her face radiant and full of dignity and wisdom, her gown of white samite glowing in the amber firelight. He realized he had a hundred questions he had to ask her, but by that time he was already asleep.

144

*** Altor woke with a start. The woman was gone. The fire had died down to a heap of glimmering coals. The dull red light was faint, but bright enough for Altor to see at a glance that the room had changed. The cooking pots and kettle no longer hung above the fire, which in fact no longer occupied a brick-lined hearth but only a stone hollow at the back of the cave. Altor rose and saw that instead of the soft armchair he remembered he had been sleeping on a shelf of rock. The cushions were pine needles wadded with spider-silk, the blanket just strips of bark. Nearby, Caelestis lay on a bed of moss. Altor nudged him awake. Caelestis stretched extravagantly. ‘Top of the morning, Altor!’ He sat up, rubbed his eyes and looked around. ‘Er, it is morning, isn’t it?’ Altor went to the mouth of the cave. It was still covered by a hide that hung from a lintel of rock. For an instant he imagined the frost hounds waiting in a silent band outside. Making sure his sword was to hand, he flipped back the hide and put his head out. Slowly drifting snowflakes fell, draping the thorn forest in a fathomless hush. The scene was suffused in a grey gloom that could have been dawn or dusk or any time between. 145

Caelestis leaned out beside him and took a gulp of crisp cold air. ‘I have had a most invigorating sleep!’ he declared. ‘And the strangest dream. Do you know, Altor, I think I must have been a little bit delirious from the hound’s bite when you brought me here last night – ’ He paused, frowned, and looked back into the cave. ‘She was here. I’m sure I didn’t dream it.’ ‘If you did, we both had the same dream. And look, your arm is bandaged.’ Caelestis walked back across the cave flexing his fingers. ‘It’s a little stiff, but there doesn’t seem to be any infection. Hello, what are these?’ He picked up a handful of sharp curved icicles that had not melted even though they lay right beside the fire. ‘The frost hound’s teeth,’ said Altor. ‘Throw them away, Caelestis – they’re ungodly things.’ Caelestis chuckled. ‘They’re my only souvenir of a stroll in the forest of thorns! Anyway, I can probably get some service from the Faltyn in exchange for them.’ He slipped them into his coat pocket along with the chequers pieces and the jar of jeshroot ointment. They set out again to the north. Around them the thorns looked ragged and evil in the twilight, but the sleep in the cave had put them in good spirits. Caelestis even tried whistling, but the snow muffled 146

the notes and made the tune sound melancholy, so he soon gave up. They trudged on in silence. Bristling briars hung on either side of a path that laced its way through the wood. The thorns at times were poisoned black knives, at others fingers that pointed the way. The snow had a stark grin, the wind danced but carried a sting. The cold got under their furs and showed itself to have an urgent caress. The sky was an enormous shutter of lead. ‘How long have we been walking?’ said Caelestis after a time. Altor frowned, puzzled. ‘I can’t tell. Hours?’ He hesitated. Was it hours since they left the cave, or days? ‘We’re out of the woods,’ said Caelestis. They were on a barren moor sprinkled with thin swathes of snow, walking in the direction of a lake ringed by strange hunched crags. The water glistened in the dreary twilight. Looking back they could just make out the edge of the thorn forest. Their journey through it seemed unreal, like a dream recalled on waking – or the waking world as glimpsed in dreams. Their gaze dropped to the snow behind them. It was unblemished, showing no sign of tracks leading from the forest’s edge. ‘We don’t leave any footprints!’ said Caelestis. 147

‘Then this,’ said Altor, ‘is the dreamworld.’ They looked all around. For a dreamworld, the landscape was featureless and drab. What Oraba had told them was true. The Warlock King had stifled men’s dreams. ‘The question is, where is the Palace of Dusk?’ wondered Altor. ‘That’s easy,’ said Caelestis, smiling at the simplicity of the idea that had just come to him. ‘We’re at the heart of the dreamworld. All we have to do now is wake up.’ He reached out and pinched Altor on the back of the hand, then did the same to himself. ‘Ouch,’ Altor protested. ‘There’s your Palace of Dusk,’ said Caelestis triumphantly. And now it stood directly ahead of them, a brooding grey edifice of heavy arches and squat stone towers, built on an island in the middle of the lake. Three massive covered bridges, each doubtless honeycombed with corridors and chambers, stretched from the shore to the central keep. For each bridge there was a gate. With difficulty Altor read the ancient inscriptions above them: ‘Confusion, Dismay and Death...’ ‘Cheery sentiments,’ said Caelestis with contempt. ‘If I should ever become a mad warlock I hope I’ll 148

have a more imaginative line in door-plates.’ Altor was too preoccupied with the three gates to notice Caelestis’s mordant humour. ‘We have to make a choice,’ he said. ‘Death?’ ‘Why not? Fortune favours the bold, after all. After you.’ Altor drew his sword and stepped through the gate. Instantly it fell with a clang, sealing him inside. Caelestis peered in through the bars but he could see nothing but indelible darkness. ‘Altor!’ he shouted. He was answered by silence. Stepping back, Caelestis rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. There was no way through the Gate of Death. ‘Still, they all lead to the same place,’ he said aloud, finding some comfort in the sound of his voice. ‘We’ll no doubt meet up somewhere in the Palace.’ There were too gates left to choose from. To take Dismay was surely tempting fate, but Caelestis liked the sound of Confusion even less. His choice made, he strode onto the bridge and the portcullis snapped shut behind him like a trap. Caelestis found himself walking along a gallery that stretched as far as he could see. To his right ran a line of bronze-framed mirrors in which he saw himself reflected, and also the reflections of bizarre and frightening portraits that seemed to hang on the left-hand wall. When he looked to the left, however, he found 149

mirrors hanging there which seemed to reflect a row of portraits along the right-hand wall. ‘I think I’m more confused than dismayed,’ said Caelestis, wondering if the Warlock King could hear him. ‘Perhaps the inscriptions had got mixed up.’ The gallery was thickly carpeted, swathed in silence. Caelestis, who normally liked a place where he could move stealthily, found himself becoming uneasy. As he progressed the faces of the portraits become more alarming, their stares seeming to follow him along the gallery. He was relieved to emerge at last onto steps that led down to an open courtyard. A bitterly chill wind had whipped up, making the bare trees sway against a star-dusted sky. Across the courtyard, a faint glimmer of lamplight escaped from narrow mullioned windows. Caelestis started down the steps and then froze and pressed himself flat against the wall. Someone was coming. Bolts grated back, a door opened on the other side of the courtyard and an eerie procession emerged. Seven pallbearers in cowls like witches’ hats carried a shrouded body on a bier. Caelestis stared down in horror but the seven took no notice of him. They slowly bore the bier to the centre of the courtyard and there set it carefully on the flagstones. Then each took a tall black candle and lit it and these they placed around the body on the bier. 150

That done, they filed back the way they had come and the door boomed shut behind them. Caelestis waited with a thief ’s patience until he was sure they had gone before descending the steps. The wind was fierce by now and had a stormy scent. It howled through the turrets of the Palace, it whipped at his clothes and tugged the sheet on the bier. But the black candles burned steadily. ‘More confusion?’ said Caelestis under his breath. He didn’t like to speak aloud now. For some reason he was sure the Warlock King was listening. After a leery glance at the shrouded body he had intended to pass by. After three steps, though, curiosity got the better of him. Returning to the side of the bier, he gingerly reached out and took hold of the hem of the shroud. For an instant he hesitated with tongue between his teeth. What horrific sight might confront him if he pulled back the sheet? But if the Warlock King really was watching him, this was something he was meant to see. And how bad could a corpse be that was freshly prepared for burial? He whipped away the shroud. At the same instant a spear of lightning flashed across the sky, turning the shadow-draped courtyard ablaze with light. Caelestis gave a gasp and dropped to his knees beside the bier. 151

The figure lying there was Altor. And he was dead.

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Chapter 13

THE KING OF WYRD

H

is thoughts in turmoil, Caelestis fumbled for a pulse. Finding none, he leaned across the body and listened for any faint beating of

theNot heart, breathspark no matter how shallow. Aghast, theany slightest of life remained. Caelestis drew back and shook his head in shock. Rather than giving in to grief, he forced himself to consider the facts logically. There was no mark on the body, but Altor’s skin was drained of colour. What could have slain him, so swiftly that there wasn’t even anWith expression surprise onCaelestis his face? turned the ring grim of deliberation on his finger. Lightning flashed again, and the Faltyn stepped out of the darkness that flooded after it. 153

‘Here’s a sorry sight,’ said the Faltyn without sympathy. ‘A hero lacking life. Still, it is the earnest wish of all heroes to fall in the right cause. We should feel happy on his behalf – especially since he, bereft of being, has no longer happiness to spare.’ Caelestis had no spirit left to chide the Faltyn. ‘How did he die?’ he said bleakly. ‘Is the Warlock King so powerful?’ ‘Not while you possess the pommel stone. It means he can only kill you through his servants.’ Caelestis groaned. ‘We were fools to come here, Altor! What are we? Two wanderers – barely more than boys! We were no match for the Warlock King.’ The Faltyn smiled. ‘It was your friend’s own choice. He willingly entered by the gate of Death.’ Caelestis whirled, suddenly savage as a desperate idea leapt into his brain. ‘Use your magic! Restore him to life! See these magic trinkets – ?’ He pulled the chequers pieces and frost hound’s teeth from his pocket. ‘All yours if you resurrect my friend.’ The Faltyn shook its head. ‘That’s far beyond my means. In all Creation, only One can conquer Death. His power is the brightest of flames, mine the merest spark. Pagan creature that I am, I may not even speak His name.’ Caelestis sagged, his last hope dashed. Supporting himself on the bier he looked sadly down at Altor, 154

who seemed so peaceful that he might almost have been asleep. ‘Sleep and Death, in legend, are brothers. I only hope you knew, Altor, that I had come to regard you – ’ He broke off as his hands, thrust disconsolately in his pockets, encountered the smooth ceramic jar that held the last of the jeshroot salve. He slowly took it out and looked up at the Faltyn, open-mouthed as if hardly daring to voice the idea that had come to him. ‘You look like a fish,’ remarked the Faltyn. Caelestis cleared his throat. ‘This ointment... it can heal anyone, even if they’re at the point of death?’ ‘The jeshroot sprouts once in a hundred years, and is magical only then if collected when certain stars are in the sky. It has miraculous properties, therefore. But it cannot restore the dead to life.’ Caelestis wagged his finger impatiently. ‘You said.... You said your power was a spark. If God is a flame, you are a spark. Is that right?’ ‘True, I employed such a metaphor for rhetorical effect.’ The Faltyn frowned. ‘I fail to see what you’re driving at.’ ‘You owe me a small service,’ said Caelestis. ‘I’ll have it now, then. Put the ‘merest spark’ of life back in Altor’s body.’ 155

The Faltyn cocked one eyebrow. ‘It would only be for an infinitesimal time. He would not even draw breath before the spark faded again. Why trouble his soul on its journey to the next life for so little purpose?’ Caelestis seized Altor’s lifeless arm and felt for the vein in his wrist. ‘He’s not even cold yet. Do it!’ The Faltyn shrugged and drifted around to the head of the bier. Leaning over the body, it placed its blue lips on Altor’s. Caelestis saw a spark, just as faint as an ember in a bed of cinders. The Faltyn lifted its head with a smile. ‘There. It’s done.’ Altor’s eyelids fluttered. The vein throbbed once under Caelestis’s fingers. Instantly he reached out with his other hand and poured the last of the salve into Altor’s mouth. ‘Yieeee!’ Altor instantly gave a terrified shout and sat up. After a second he stopped screaming, blinked in puzzlement and looked at Caelestis. ‘Why are you sitting there on the ground?’ ‘I had a bit of a shock.’ Caelestis got to his feet, still trembling. Altor swung his legs off the bier. ‘What happened? I went through the gate.... Someone else was there! Caelestis, it was the goddess Hela! You remember when we were in the Battlepits, and she came to 156

claim Imragarn’s soul? She looked like a monster, but I said that in myth she has two faces? It’s true, at the moment she touched me I thought she was beautiful.’ Altor looked down at his hands. ‘Shouldn’t I be dead?’ Caelestis held up the empty jar. ‘Luckily I still had an ace up my sleeve. Or in my pocket, rather.’ ‘You used the last of the ointment? But it was worth a king’s ransom!’ ‘Don’t be stupid,’ said Caelestis, tossing away the jar. ‘I think I got a bargain.’ The Faltyn whistled in boredom. ‘I will return to the ring, if you are quite done with me. Note that I have now performed the ‘small service’ that was still owed.’ Caelestis nodded, and it disappeared in a swirl of lambent blue vapour. Altor had risen from the bier and, flexing his muscles, swung his sword a couple of times in the air to limber up. ‘I’m lucky you got to me before it was too late,’ he said. Caelestis briefly considered telling his friend the full story – that he hadn’t been in time, that Hela had claimed her victim, and Altor’s vital spark had been restored by the Faltyn’s magic. But the Faltyn was a pagan creature, as it had itself said, and Altor was a monk-in-training. Caelestis doubted if he would be 157

comfortable knowing that even the tiniest part of his life-essence had come from a transfusion out of the Faltyn’s veins. ‘Yes, you were lucky,’ was all he said. A passage led off the far side of the courtyard. The pair advanced along it, Altor leading the way. His sword glimmered with soft grey light that penetrated only a few steps ahead into the gloom. Cracked flagstones tilted underfoot, sending the grubs and insects that sheltered there scurrying. Their tiny legs made scritching sounds on the stone and their wings whirred in the air, eerily magnified by the closeness of the passage walls. The passage ended in a flight of steps, smoothworn and carpeted with moss. Dead ivy formed a rope around the balustrade. As they were about to go up, Caelestis heard a sound that made his hair stand on end. A loose flagstone just behind him had given out an ominous clunk. He froze, then whirled and stabbed with his sword. ‘What was that?’ said Altor, looking back. Caelestis stood dumbfounded. His sword had met only empty air. There was no-one behind him after all. ‘Greetings,’ said a voice on the stairs. They looked round, startled. Standing on the 158

bottom step was a figure wrapped entirely in black, even across his face. Both were sure he had not been there a moment earlier. ‘If you will come with me,’ said the man in black, ‘His Majesty is ready to see you now.’

They followed the man up the steps and between two soaring columns into a chamber whose ceiling sparkled with glints of mosaic high above their heads. Faces of cold chiselled marble gazed disdainfully from the walls. The floor was thick with grey dust, a dry pool that swirled away in thick ripples as they crossed the room to reveal polished black flagstones that had perhaps been covered up for centuries. At the edge of vision, figures seemed to dance to the steps of a slow pavane. But they were no more than grey flitting forms, not real enough to show when looked on squarely. Whenever Altor and Caelestis turned to look, wherever they had thought to see a dancer there was just a long draping of cobweb silk undulating weightlessly in the air. The dust rose, darkening what little light there was. The man who led the way became just a shadow against the haze. ‘Where are we going?’ said Caelestis. They waited a long time for him to answer, and his 159

reply when it came seemed to issue from so far away that they could barely hear it: ‘To a place that shines nowhere but in the dark, and where the day is invisible and dim.’ The outlines of the vast chamber faded, blurred by the fog of dust. The man in black was swallowed entirely in the haze. For a time they walked in nothingness, an indistinct infinity. Sounds came out of the mist – the distant clash of swords, wooden shields bitten by sharp steel, the groans of dying men. Gradually these sounds faded, replaced by a steady incessant thudding that was like the pulse of a gigantic heart. Relentless and rhythmic, it grew closer – louder – until they were almost deafened. A scene began to form, quite suddenly as if it were a theatre being assembled by magical stagehands. Altor and Caelestis stood dazzled in a blaze of light. An arena now rose on all sides, and the noise they had imagined to be a huge heartbeat revealed itself to be the cacophanous chanting of a crowd. Except that there was no crowd. The terraces were empty. They were alone in the arena. No, not quite alone. At the far end, above the tiers of seats, was a royal dais where a gleam of light outlined an old man standing there, a person of sneering lip and baleful eye. 160

The old man raised his glowing staff and the chant lulled to a sinister murmuring. Now he was lit in stark relief and Altor and Caelestis found their eyes drawn to him. Despite the distance they could see every fold of his robe, every deep wrinkle in his sallow face. The rest of the scene became cloudy and dim. Blazing on his brow was a crown of crystal or of ice, and around his neck hung the hilt of a broken sword. ‘The Warlock King...’ said Altor. The Warlock King nodded once. Then he spoke, and his creaking voice silenced the last hushed murmurs of the invisible crowd: ‘This is the realm of Wyrd, where I have for centuries ruled. You have presumed to invade the boundaries of my sovereign land. Into my Palace of Dusk Unending have you entered, perhaps with murderous intent...’ Caelestis opened his mouth to reply, but the Warlock King’s stare silenced him as he went on: ‘Such foolishness! Think you that others have not dreamt of my death? A rightful ruler is never without foes. And where are those hopeful assassins now, those wouldbe murderers who hoped to bury their blades in my royal heart? This is the answer: from their disloyal dreams they never woke. Their eyes stayed shut and their bodies slid easily out of sleep and into death. And their souls? Those I’ve kept mewed here with 161

me. They come now to teach you the lesson they have learned...’ The Warlock King frowned and spread his hands. There were sounds again, but this time not the roars and shouts of unseen spectators. This was a forlorn whispering like wind in a graveyard. And it did not come from the terraces. It came from under the ground. Out of the grey sand of the arena floor poked something hard and ivory-white. A hand. It twitched, finding purchase for its grip, and the sand shifted as a skeletal figure heaved into view. Altor and Caelestis drew back, but there were others all around. Mounds appeared in the sand and broke apart, uncovering things long buried under the arena floor – bony limbs that twitched and came to life. Skeletons in rusty armour clawed their way up to the light, more and more of them spilling out into the open until a numberless throng stood on the grey sand. Caelestis and Altor slowly looked around. In all directions they met the gaze of hollow eyes. The Warlock King stretched out his arm, thumb pointed downwards. ‘My decree,’ he said, ‘is that you die.’

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Chapter 14

THE AWAKENING

T

he skeletal army began to shuffle forwards, swords glinting under a coating of rust like dried blood. There were hundreds of them –

far to fight. nervously adjusted his griptoo onmany his own swordCaelestis and glanced across at Altor. He had been about to say farewell, but stopped in surprise when he saw Altor staring at him open-mouthed. ‘What is it?’ Altor pointed at Caelestis’s coat. ‘Your pockets – they’re glowing!’ Caelestis looked waspulled true. He his hand deep into onedown. pocketItand out shoved the chequers pieces he had taken from the elves. They sat in his palm, pulsing with bright green light. 163

‘What was it the elf lord said? ‘When you contend against the final foe, this sorcery of mine shall aid you.’ Did he mean now?’ Altor parried the attack of the first of the skeleton warriors. ‘I don’t think there’ll be a better time!’ he yelled. Caelestis caught the scent of pine and woodland blossom. On impulse he scattered the pieces and jumped back as they hit the ground and erupted in bursts of blinding light. The light formed solid shapes. Horses snorted, stamping the dust. There was the jangle of spurs and metal harnesses. A warrior’s horn blew a stirring call to arms. The playing pieces had been transformed into elven knights astride sleek white steeds. Horses and riders alike were caparisoned in vivid green, and their weapons and the fittings of their harness were not of iron but sparkling silver. The Warlock King snorted at this sorcery. ‘Fay fighters!’ he laughed coldly. ‘My troops have no fear of elfin blades...’ But they saw that despite his words his brow was now furrowed in consternation. Perhaps he was not sure his power was great enough to deal with the elf lord’s knights. ‘Your other pocket too!’ urged Altor. 164

Caelestis hurled down the frost hound’s teeth as well. As they touched the sand of the arena there was a hissing sound. Caelestis and Altor took a step back. The teeth exuded an icy blue halo that swiftly formed into a host of man-like shapes. As the glow faded, they discovered that a hundred wiry creatures now stood between them and the oncoming skeletons. The creatures had blue-white skin and, although their bodies were the bodies of men, it was hounds’ heads that sat upon their shoulders. The dog-men growled at the band of skeletons confronting them. The captain of the elven knights lowered his horn and said, ‘These men of bone have no place in the world! Dead they are, and in their graves should lie. We’ll straight way send them there, and teach dead men to die.’ He looked to Caelestis. ‘Apparently they think you’re their leader,’ said Altor wryly. ‘I don’t know anything about tactics! You give the order.’ Altor called to their forces to close ranks and advance. ‘Deploy in a wedge,’ he commanded. ‘Cut us a path to the Warlock King’s throne!’ Together the elves and dog-men outnumbered the Warlock King’s army, but the skeletons had advantages of their own. They had no fear of death, felt no fatigue and were immune to pain. Nonetheless, as the 165

two armies clashed Altor and Caelestis were confident of winning the day. Their army stormed forward towards the skeletons. The first wave of the charge broke the undead ranks, and in moments old bones were trampled underfoot in the press of the melee. A skull, severed at the neck by the mighty stroke of an elf knight’s sword, came flying through the air and landed at Altor’s feet. He kicked it aside and strode towards the far end of the arena where the Warlock King stood on his dais. A band of skeletons managed to fight free of the battle and scurried to intercept the two heroes. Altor had no time to waste on them. He gave a great roar and his sword flashed like a scythe of flame. Ancient rib-cages burst, bones and rusty armour fell clattering to the dust. Caelestis caught up in time to skewer a skeleton that was about to leap on Altor’s back. Twisting his sword, he snapped its spine. It fell twitching feebly in the dust. Altor reached the steps and with measured tread ascended to the royal dais. He stood face to face with their foe. There was a long silence and then Altor pointed with his sword at the hilt around the Warlock King’s neck. ‘This has been entrusted to us, this fragment of the Sword of Life,’ he said, ‘and now we have come to claim it.’ 166

The Warlock King fixed Altor with a bitter glare but did not seem perturbed. ‘These games have gone on long enough,’ he shrieked. ‘Now, behold the power of the King of Wyrd!’ He brought his thin old hands together and a thunderous crack split the air. Like a breaking mirror, the scene around them shivered and then exploded into a million fragments. Everything had changed in an instant. Altor and Caelestis found themselves dangling from a rod of cold metal in a place where the wind whistled harsh and hard. They took in their surroundings with mounting awe. The rod they clung to was part of a network of metal rails, like a giant web of steel. There was nothing else. Around them, they could see only a limitless blue haze that extended in all directions. Altor looked down in spite of himself. In the far distance he made out white wisps against the blue and realized they were clouds. In the heart of the metal web sat the Warlock King. His huge crystal throne gleamed against the sky. The crystal crown on his ancient brow turned the pale daylight into icy shards. He touched the sword-hilt that hung around his neck on a silver cord, his face twisting into a sour smile. ‘You came to take this talisman, but it’s too pre167

cious to let go. Even one piece of the Sword of Life is enough to guarantee my sovereignty from the Five. With the pommel stone too it might prove even more powerful...’ Altor shook his head. Holding onto the rod with one hand, he sheathed his sword. Then he reached into his pocket and brought out the pommel stone. In the bleak light it made sparks of rich dark colour. ‘I’ll give you the same answer I gave White Light’s minion: I’d sooner throw the stone away than give it to you.’ The Warlock King gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Do so if you wish. We are in the Dream of Wyrd, where I hold absolute sway. Since I can shape this world to my whim, the stone would only fall into my hands.’ Altor thought for a moment. The Warlock King might be bluffing. ‘Any ideas?’ he called to Caelestis. ‘Not a one, I’m afraid.’ Altor let go of the pommel stone. It fell a few metres, then the air twisted inside out. The stone winked out of sight and reappeared on the steps of the Warlock King’s throne. As the Warlock King reached for it, Altor swung on the rod, let go and fell to catch hold of another. He tried not to think of the impossible distance he would fall if he lost his grip. Moving swiftly hand over hand, he reached the foot of the throne. The Warlock King 168

paused in the act of fixing the pommel stone to the hilt and gave Altor a look of indignant rage. Altor drew his sword. He took one step up towards his foe before his legs went numb. He looked down and saw with horror that they had turned to polished white marble. ‘You understand nothing,’ said the Warlock King. ‘Here in the Dream, I am a god.’ Caelestis was watching all this from the rod where he was dangling. He couldn’t think of anything that would work against the Warlock King, but he did not intend simply to hang there waiting for the end. Pulling himself up, he climbed onto the rod and balanced there a few seconds, then with his arms stretched out on either side he began to edge along it. As he reached a junction of two rods and transferred his weight, his foot slipped. He fell with a cry and caught hold of the rod. The Warlock King looked up and sneered. ‘You’re no more threat than a monkey, stripling. Come here to my throne. I’ll turn you to stone alongside your friend.’ There was a dull thud as something in Caelestis pocket clanked against the rod. He suddenly smiled, remembering, and took it out. It was the iron bell Oraba had given him. The look on the Warlock King’s face changed from contempt to fear. 169

Caelestis rang the bell. As each knell resounded, deep cracks appeared across the crystal throne. The Warlock King pressed his hands to his ears. ‘Stop that!’ he screamed. ‘I command you to stop!’ Countless images flitted out of the breaking throne and whirled through the sky around Caelestis. There were faces – laughing, sad, fearful, wary. Scenes of sunlight and snow, green fields and golden deserts and seascapes drained of colour. Sounds and scents. He ignored them all and continued to shake the bell with all his strength. Suddenly the Warlock King’s arms dropped to his sides. ‘It’s over,’ he said. And with that, the crystal crown he wore burst into a thousand shards.

Caelestis was lying on the ground beside a lake. There were a few patches of melting snow but in most places sprouted fresh green grass, like the very last day of winter. Or the first day of spring. He sat up and looked around. The lake looked familiar – very like the one where the Palace of Dusk had stood. But instead of the proud citadel they had entered, there was only a broken and weathered ruin overgrown with a profusion of ivy. And, whereas the lake before had seemed stagnant and foul, now it was 170

clear, fresh, sparkling in the sunlight. Caelestis shook his head. He felt as if he’d just woken up from a long dream. If that was the same lake, then behind him should be the Forest of Thorns. He turned his head, but the soaring pine trees along the horizon bore no resemblance to the evil briars he remembered. Altor was lying nearby. ‘Before I sit up I want to ask you something,’ he said. ‘Do my legs look like stone to you?’ ‘No,’ said Caelestis. ‘They’re flesh and blood all right.’ Altor sighed. ‘Then it must have been a dream.’ A shadow fell across them in the warming sun. A woman with a gentle smile and wise eyes stood there, leading a dazed old man by the hand. Altor and Caelestis got to their feet. ‘Don’t I know you?’ said Altor. ‘We’ve met in your memory,’ said the old woman. ‘That’s all that matters.’ She took something from around the old man’s neck and handed it to Altor. The old man looked befuddled at first, but then he broke into a delighted smile. Altor took the object and stared at it. It was the jewelled hilt of the Sword of Life, now with the pommel stone set atop it. He looked up to thank her, but 171

she and the old man were already walking away across the lush grass. ‘I don’t get it,’ he said. ‘Did we kill the Warlock King or not?’ ‘Better than that, I think,’ said Caelestis as he watched the woman lead the old man away. ‘We set him free.’ They returned southwards and everywhere it was the same story. The country of Wyrd seemed to have awakened at last from out of a nightmare. People no longer dreamed of a dark figure who ruled over them without joy. Their nights now were untroubled by cares, and sleep was no longer a thing to be feared. ‘Last night we laid down our heads in a world of poverty and pain,’ said Shanans, greeting them when they got back to his village. ‘Now we have awakened into a verdant and bountiful land. The Warlock King’s officials have cast their armour and judicial maces into the ditches to rust. Tonight there will be laughter and song such as there has not been in Wyrd for twenty lifetimes!’ Later, as they sat outside beside a roaring fire and roasted chestnuts in the dusk, Caelestis and Altor saw Oraba strolling through the pine trees by the village. Excusing themselves from the party, they dodged between the happy dancing villages and climbed the hill to where she stood. 172

‘It’s a dance to appease the spirits of winter,’ said Oraba, looking down to the fire. ‘In past years, when the winter was bleak and cold, the festival was a grim one.’ Caelestis looked around. The smell of pine smoke wafted on the evening air. ‘Now it’s rather a pleasant night,’ he said. Oraba nodded. ‘Night and winter no longer seem terrible. You have been the saviours of our land.’ Altor fingered the hilt that now hung around his neck. ‘We are glad to have helped your people,’ he said, ‘but our own quest is far from over. The Sword of Life is not complete. We still need to find the blade.’ ‘I cannot look into the future,’ said Oraba. ‘Those powers are gone now. When the Warlock King’s tyranny ended, so did my own magic and those of all the other seers.’ ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Caelestis. She laughed. ‘Don’t be. I don’t need to see the future; I’m content with the present. But on that day you set out from here, I had a last dream of things yet to be...’ They waited. At last the suspense grew to much for Altor to bear. ‘Did you dream of the blade?’ he asked. ‘I saw it in the far south – a city of spires and domes beside an azure bay. But...’ ‘But what?’ 173

‘The blade is there, but it’s not there that you’ll find it. In my dreams I saw you both lost in the land of the dead.’

TO BE CONTINUED

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The world of Altor and Caelestis is the world of Legend, a fantastic medieval land filled with adventure, peril, mythic heroes and their implacable enemies. From Wyrd in the frozen north to the baked lands of Khitai, it’s a place of endless challenge, danger and excitement. The Dragon Warriors role-playing game lets you explore Legend as one of its heroes—a chivalrous knight, a rugged barbarian, a master of sorcery, a mystic trained to fight with mind and body, and many others. The rulebook contains everything you need to play except a set of dice and a group of players, a bestiary details the foul and monstrous inhabitants of the world, sourcebooks describe Legend and its cultures in depth, and adventure-books give your group the blueprint for their own epic stories. Will you accept the challenge of Dragon Warriors?

Dragon Warriors is available from all good games shops, direct from Mongoose Publishing Ltd, or downloadable in digital form from www.drivethrurpg.com 175