Thomas - who was equally dishevelled - sat beside his sister, nervously holding the filigree case. Maybe it would spark into life once more telling him things that he didn’t want to hear. He had absolutely no idea what to do with it since it had wound down, but he didn’t feel like winding it up again, so instead he just sat there fiddling with it.

Hillary leant heavily on his staff and peered down at Scarlet. He felt confused and rejected by her sudden flight into the wilderness. The wilderness of Faerie of all places! Why would she have felt safer there than with him?

But she’d said something that had pushed itself to the forefront of his thoughts; the possibility that his arch enemies had somehow found a way through to Faerie didn’t bear thinking about. It was something that he found increasingly difficult to believe in.

‘The Fiery Brand, here?’ he said. ‘Practically impossible. We came through the last portal. There aren’t anymore.’

Wendle padded over and nudged his nose between Scarlet’s knees and rested his head there. She patted him absently then turned her head and eyed Hillary suspiciously.

‘How can you be so sure?’ she said. ‘Is that the same portal that you came though - when you were here before?’

For a moment Hillary was lost for words. So this is what it was all about. If only he’d been honest with everyone from the start.

‘It seems I can’t keep anything from you, can I?’ He looked at her, but her expression remained steely and piercing. ‘Yes, Scarlet.’ he said. ‘If you really must know, I have been here before.’

Scarlet felt a smirk creep across her face.

‘But I do have my reasons for remaining silent though,’ he added. ‘The last time I was here, things happened. Things that I was ashamed of. Things that I felt uncomfortable with.’

She hadn’t expected him to come clean quite to easily and her expression relented. If she was honest, she felt more than a little disappointed. Now she just felt guilty for prying, and guilty for wanting to know.

‘I’m sorry -’

But her thoughts about Hillary quickly evaporated, as something caught her eye and she stared past him into the forest.

‘He’s here!’ she said, pointing with a trembling finger. ‘He’s followed us!’

The horned man shambled towards them. The sight of him sent a shiver down Scarlet’s spine.

Raedwald and Sigbert dismounted and drew their swords, taking up defensive positions. The horned man stood in the middle of the path in silence. Deer antlers sprouted from his head – long and curved and sharp, and he was clothed in the most extraordinary garb; vines twined around his arms and legs, and his face was obscured partly by a crown of leaves. He was a most impressive spectacle.

‘Who is it?’ said Hillary. ‘Who’s followed us?’

Tobias looked on. The man seemed to be curiously familiar, although he couldn’t say why. And then a twinge of recognition sparked in his mind and he remembered the carvings of the green man in Ketton church. His appearance looked oddly similar, and he felt around in his pocket.

The dictaphone was still there, but where was the camera? It occurred to him that he’d still not managed to capture any creature of worth on film or tape except, maybe, for the mournful call of the cockatrice.

‘The horned man! He’s come for us!’ warned Scarlet, nervously.

‘How do you know?’ said Hillary.

‘The last time I saw him was in the forest when we first encountered the wolves that time, but I didn’t tell anyone…’

‘Why not, for heaven’s sake?’

‘Because… I thought I’d dreamt it.’ she hissed.

‘What?’ said Hillary incredulously. ‘You thought it was a dream?’

‘Yes.’

Hillary turned to grab his staff. ‘People, especially you, should not take this place for granted! You are in the land of the Fey. Not a comfortable little village called Blakeby! Remember that!’

A wolf appeared from the trees but this time, even though it was massive, it didn’t seem threatening. The horned man gestured to his right and a rustle in the undergrowth revealed another wolf – smaller this time, but no less impressive. As she looked to Hillary, another wolf betrayed its position nearby, followed by another and another.

‘Dire Wolves.’ said Sigbert.

‘And outnumbered.’ added Raedwald, visibly counting the numbers hiding in the trees.

Tobias groaned. ‘For god’s sake, not again…’

Wendle’s fur was on end, and he somehow looked bigger, more threatening than before, almost as if the last confrontation with the wolves had strengthened him somehow. Scarlet reached over and flung her arms around him. She didn’t want to see him attacked again, and she clung on as if her life depended on it.

‘Who are you?’ Raedwald called to the horned man. He rapped his sword against his shield a few times and stood his ground. ‘Approach no further if you value your life.’

The horned man stopped to consider the words.

‘Alas,’ he shrugged and continued walking towards them, ‘I value it not one jot….’

Raedwald looked back towards Hillary and prodded his helmet with a finger of his gauntleted hand. ‘You’ve found a right one here.’ he said. ‘Mad in the head.’

Even so, Hillary was intrigued and waved Raedwald back, allowing the horned man to continue towards them.

‘And this is the man who forgot me?’ said the horned man.

‘Who are you?’ asked Hillary.

The horned man seemed to be taken aback at the question.

‘Who am I?’ he replied. ‘Have you forgotten? Has it been that long?’

The stranger’s voice was familiar, but Hillary realised that putting a face to the voice was going to prove rather more difficult, and it annoyed him immensely.

‘I, on the other hand, knew who you were the moment you set foot in the forest of Tannith.’

Hillary frowned. Clearly something wasn’t right here.

‘I’m sorry, do you know me?’

The horned man stopped, and reaching up with both hands, gently removed the stag-horned helmet that he wore.

‘You could say that,’ he said.

Sunlight caught the man’s face and he smiled. ‘You are Hillary. Hillary Bellock from Blakeby in the Vale of Bracken, watcher of the Fire Drake of Bracken Wood, keeper of the sacred barrow and one of the last true alchemists still alive.’

Hillary looked nonplussed.

‘How could you possibly know that?’

‘Have you forgotten what happened all those centuries ago near the Wyrmgate?’

Hillary finally realised who it was who stood before him, and he dropped to his knees. ‘Fox Tufford?’ The name tumbled out of his mouth in a mumble almost. ‘But that’s impossible. It can’t be…’

‘Oh I can assure you it is.’ said Fox. ‘For years it was as if I had been in a dream that I couldn’t wake from. But it’s all coming back to me now. The fog that blinded me for so long is finally lifting.’

Fox scraped his long hair back, and Hillary knew that he was, indeed, who he claimed to be. He looked a little older maybe, but nowhere near as aged as Hillary. But then again, he had spent the last six hundred years in Faerie – a place where time did strange things to people.

‘Why did you leave me?’

Hillary was lost for a reply.

‘But I saw you die…’ he said, eventually. ‘I saw it with my own eyes. You died. I killed you. Do you have any idea of the guilt that I felt knowing that?’

The horned man lifted up his gown and vestment and Hillary noticed the angry scar that marked his lower torso – the mark of the injury that he, himself had inflicted. It was something that he thought he would never see again.

‘I very nearly did die.’ said Fox. ‘Didn’t you know it was me? When I jumped up didn’t you sense it? The witch was playing us against each other and we both lost. You see, I died on that day, but not in the sense that you think.’

‘But I saw you fall into the sea!’ protested Hillary.

‘Yes, yes, yes! But that wasn’t the end. Having survived everything; the witch, the sword, the fall and the sea, I dragged myself to the safety of the caves below Talistay. The witch’s magic was strong, and I stayed in the form of a wolf for years. Eventually, after years of hiding I settled in the forest of Weir, near Aldspell. A blacksmith who lived there would leave scraps of food for me every now and again. After many years, the spell’s magic started to wear off and one day I awoke in the forest as a man. I learned to hate the wolves at first, and I started hunting them. Offering my services to anyone who would pay me.’

‘You became a hunter of wolves?’ said Hillary. He pointed to the entourage of wolves behind him. ‘So what are you doing with those then?’

‘My feelings changed with the passage of time. The blacksmith was more than just a man you see.’ Fox laughed briefly as he realised the ridiculousness of the words he’d just uttered. ‘I know how strange that sounds to you, but that is what he claimed, and I had no reason to disbelieve him, for there are many things in this world that defy normal understanding. His name may have been forgotten, but he claimed to have lived by himself in his smithy in the woods where he’d been since the dawning of the world. To people who chanced upon him, he would bestow gifts upon the worthy.’

‘Gifts? What sort of gifts?’

‘I must admit, he did have a sense for the ironic, for he bestowed on me the gift of mastery over animals. Wolves in particular.’

Hillary raised an eyebrow. ‘I see.’

‘But that wasn’t the end of our little story Hillary.’ Fox went on. ‘This wolf you see here…’ he said, running a hand over its thick fur, ‘…you’ve seen it before.’ He nodded to Raedwald and Sigbert. ‘Your mercenaries there killed it once, but I brought it back to life.’

Hillary took a step back. He sensed that perhaps events were taking a turn for the worse.

‘You probably know, but Cordelia is still alive also. She took the wyrdstone and with it raised an army of Thornfolk. But the power of the stone drove her insane and she assumed – wrongly – that her sisters were going to betray her, and so she had them all murdered. All, except one it seemed.’

The wolf smiled with a mouth full of sharpness and light.

‘This is Meriadny,’ said Fox.

‘Let me guess - one of Cordelia’s sisters?’

Wendle growled more fiercely than ever. But relented when Hillary patted him as if to calm him down. ‘There, there boy.’ he murmured. ‘No fear.’

‘Do not be alarmed.’ the wolf said, with a woman’s voice. ‘I wish you no harm. Once upon a time I would not have hesitated in ripping your throat out and eating your heart.’ She licked her lips. ‘But those times are long passed. There are things that are more important than that.’

Hillary nodded towards her warily, before Fox continued.

‘A dark aelf captain called Mirkatar and his two brothers Okkatar and Nurmurtar were enlisted to slay Cordelia’s sisters.’ revealed Fox. ‘But Meriadny escaped. Fearing for their life if they returned empty handed, the aelfs trapped the biggest wolf they could and slaughtered it, before traveling back to Tarasleiven with the wolf head as proof that they’d killed her.’

‘And there our story ends?’

‘Or begins. For it seems that Cordelia has been plotting her return to power for centuries Hillary. She has armies poised for war. Nowhere is safe anymore.’

‘I’m afraid we’re stuck between a rock and a hard place. We can’t return to Blakeby. At least not until we reunite the wyrdstone fragments. By doing that, we might have a chance to reverse the damage that has happened. Our only option is to carry on. We have a world to save.’

‘And you seriously think you have a chance of regaining them?’

‘That’s why we’re here.’

Fox nodded towards the plateau of Eltdown in the distance.

‘You’ll not get the High Aelfs to help you if that’s what you think.’ said Fox. ‘They have withdrawn from the prying eyes of man.’

‘If that is the case, then I hope to change their minds.’

‘Cordelia has grown terribly strong, Hillary. Maybe too strong for us. She has razed whole towns to the ground in the far north looking for the last piece. I must warn you that she probably knows most of what happens in these lands.’

‘That is why we must get help. If not, earth with be lost to the cold, forever.’

‘Why, what has happened there?’

‘Oh, that is a long story indeed…’

More »

‘Oh dear Fox.’ she said, shaking her head in mock sympathy. ‘Where is your friend and your talking gewgaw now, I wonder?’ She folded her arms.

Fox fought to choke back his tears. ‘I don’t need a sword to kill you, you murderous hag!’ he hissed. ‘I’ll kill you with my bare hands!’

‘Oh, you’ll have to be far more imaginative than that I’m afraid…’

She rolled her sleeves up and started to walk towards him. Gone was the feigned hobble and awkwardness of their last meeting. When she reached the nearside of the bridge, she stopped. Fox realised, too late, that the satchel lay on the drawbridge just out of reach over the threshold, and a panic washed over him. Without his sword or the bag he felt as good as dead.

‘Do you remember swearing the oath Fox?’ she asked, idly. ‘In the cottage?’ She raised an eyebrow and waited for his reply.

Fox shrugged. ‘I seem to recall something along those lines, yes, but I’d hardly call it swearing an oath…’

‘Oh you did Fox. That you did. You see, your desire to return home kept you on the straight path where others would have faltered, and when you finally found the stone, your purity of heart allowed you to take it. For the others, alas, did not have what you had. They tried to take the stone but, alas, died in the process.’

‘And what did you promise them in return, hmm? Your words as good as killed them, just as they very nearly killed me. And now I’m going to kill you.’

Bursting with anger, he started to run at her, but his face slammed into the dirt instead. He groaned in pain and tasted blood. He looked back at his feet - they remained rooted to the earth. No amount of effort could free them. He spat the bloody dust from his mouth, and frowned.

‘I think not.’ she snorted. ‘You may not know it, but the oath prevents you from running away or harming me. And, although I didn’t expect to find you here with a friend who the oath does not apply to, it matters little.’ She looked around at the buildings. ‘Because he’s as dead as this place now, too.’

Fox looked forlornly at the mass of fallen rubble beside him.

‘And what are you going to do with me?’ he asked, wiping the blood from his mouth.

But the words didn’t come out.

Instead, in their place came a pathetic whimpering sound. He tried to talk again, but it was just the same; nothing escaped his mouth but a sad moan. Instantly, he felt the bile rise within him, fearful as to what it meant.

‘Don’t worry Fox,’ she murmured, ‘I’m not going to kill you.’

She rooted around in the satchel and pulled out the stone, still partly wrapped in Fox’s torn shirt. She made a show of being careful so as not to touch it with her bare skin.

‘At least not just yet anyway.’ she added.

She held the stone up to the light, marvelling at it with an expression of wonder and joy. It was a rather plain-looking thing, with white veins of quartz running through it that occasionally twinkled when it caught the light.

‘Do you know what power this stone has?’ She placed the stone back in the satchel and threw it over her shoulder. ‘No? Well I’ll tell you. This stone has the power to split worlds, Fox. And half of it is mine… Even half of it is more than enough power to rule.’

She patted the stone. ‘I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I seem to recall that I promised that I would send you home, did I not?’

She looked at him with a patronising smile.

‘Well, I lied. I have no desire to visit your world any more than your desire to stay in mine.’

Inside, Fox was drowning in despair. He wanted more than anything to be anywhere but here, but his feet were firmly rooted to the spot.

‘Do you remember my sisters?’ she asked, gesturing to the wolves. They looked impatient and hungry. ‘My sisters would like to meet you Fox.’ she said. ‘Or eat you. I’m not certain which it was…’

Fox whimpered.

She started to cackle with laughter.

He looked with growing fear at the eight large wolves that had massed on the far side of the drawbridge. He was having trouble seeing though, his vision had become rather monochromatic, but he couldn’t say for certain why. Even now, he couldn’t actually remember what colours looked like.

And then he looked down at his paws, and his heart began to beat faster and faster…

* * * * *

Hillary had managed to keep the staff’s circle of protection alive just long enough to figure out his next step. It had done its job admirably - taking the brunt of the weight of the stone above it - but now he could feel the spell start to work lose and waiver; feel it start to collapse back in on itself.

Frustratingly, he had no idea if he’d managed to push Fox out of the way either. For all he knew his friend was entombed under the stone with him, except without the protection of a spell. As he looked down, Kaliburn lay there in the dust, and with his free hand he reached down and grabbed it.

He had little time to spare, so he started to call up the spell. Judging by the tinkle of debris and the ominous grinding sound above him, one attempt was all he was going to get, so he needed to work quickly.

When he finished mouthing the ancient words, he gritted his teeth and screwed his eyes up and waited.

And then it happened; the rubble that had buried him scattered outwards like an explosion, showering debris all around once more. In a moment he was free, and could feel the sun and the wind once more.

He stayed crouched for a moment though, holding his staff upright as the last vestiges of magic drained from it, forking into the sky like lightning. For a second the envelope of the spell of protection was visible as a silvery translucent bubble before it collapsed into the staff once more.

He opened his eyes and stood up. The witch was still there. She looked surprised. Good. As soon as Kaliburn saw her, the sword started to hum with bright anger once more, eager to finish the business with the witch that had been started a thousand years before.

But there was no sign of his friend.

‘Fox!’ bellowed Hillary, suddenly very concerned. ‘Fox!’

But there was no reply, and when he couldn’t find him, his gaze fell on the witch.

‘Where is Fox?’ he demanded. ‘What have you done with him?’

‘I’m surprised you managed to escape.’ she shouted. ‘At last, someone who knows the ancient arts.’

‘Where is he?’ he asked, ignoring her.

‘Oh I wouldn’t worry about him.’ she replied, making a sign in front of herself with her fingers. ‘I release him from his obligation.’

He looked. Wolves were everywhere. Mostly though they were still at the landward side of the drawbridge.

All except one it seemed.

‘Watch out for wolves though Hillary.’ she warned. ‘I hear they’re quite fierce around here.’

The lone wolf made a sad whining sound, and then bared its teeth as if it was trying to say something. For a second it didn’t look threatening at all, but Hillary didn’t want to take a chance.

And then it ran towards him. Its eyes were wide open as its great tongue lolled about.

Hillary grunted and swung Kaliburn around in an effort to defend himself. But as it jumped up it managed to impale itself on the sword, and with a terrible howl it collapsed to the ground in agony.

‘Kill it.’ urged Kaliburn. ‘Finish the beast off.’

As Hillary raised the sword to deliver the death blow, the wolf scrambled and staggered around in its own blood for a moment before it slipped over the precipice with a sad yelp, and tumbled into the churning waves below.

Hillary turned his attention back to the witch.

‘Is the best you can do?’ he said. ‘Send any more wolves at me, and they’ll meet the same fate,’ he warned.

Inside, something didn’t feel right though. That was too easy, he thought.

Cordelia stood there and applauded him with a slow clap.

‘My, how it gets better.’ she said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Your friend.’

‘What about him?’

‘You just killed him.’

Horrified, Hillary peered over the abyss into the angry sea.

‘How clever of you.’ she beamed.

‘B-but I didn’t know…’ he muttered, looking at his hands. ‘Oh sweet gods no.’

The bloodied sword slipped from his grasp onto the cobbles and instantly he knew that the old woman spoke the truth.

‘I’ll leave you to wallow in your guilt.’ she said with a wave of her hand.

The witch turned her back on him and wandered off. Her wolf sisters followed, and in a blink of the eye they had disappeared without a trace into the wood.

After a while, he picked the sword up and weighed it in his bloodied hands.

‘Kill the witch you fool!’ said the sword angrily. ‘Kill her now before she escapes!’

Hillary wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and looked out across the sea of storms to the lighthouse of Ulfric in the distance.

‘I’m sorry Fox.’ he sobbed. ‘I really am…’

Drowning in regret, he took a deep breath and hurled the sword with all his might out across the abyss. For a second it flew gracefully like a bird towards the setting sun, before gravity took it and sent it down and down, faster and faster, glinting all the way as it fell, until it eventually disappeared below the waves.

More »

Fox left the warmth of the afternoon sun and made his way past the plain-looking doorway.

Cautious and quiet at first - especially after what he’d witnessed in the sky earlier - he descended into the bowels of the rock that bore the weight of the rambling towers above, and found himself in a place where the cold and dark were one, and convoluted passageways conspired against him at each turn.

The deep moans created by the constant buffeting of the sea below boomed and ebbed before fading to nothing in the depths. For one brief moment, he thought he could hear the call of seagulls, but shook his head and put it to the back of his mind. What confused him more were the strange sounds that came and went - like creaking footsteps on a wooden floor. They echoed down the stone hall, sometimes in front, and sometimes - more disturbingly - from behind.

He’d passed through the ruins of the great kitchen with its expansive areas and its nooks and vast fireplaces. Pots and pans lay scattered amongst the mess of the cutlery-strewn floors - it was the same everywhere they looked; almost as if there had been a great struggle, or the people who had lived there had left in a hurry. He’d managed to fashion a torch out of old rags and oil, which he put to good use, not least to assuage any doubts he still harboured that the place might still be inhabited.

The further he descended, the hotter it became, until eventually - after many twists and turns - he emerged into a large circular room, in the middle of which was something that resembled a well. It was made of bricks, but gave off a red glow that was visible between the mortar.

‘I remember this place,’ mumbled the sword, pensively. ‘This was the last place I was actually me.’

Fox made his way over to the well and peered down into it - staring down through the haze of steam into the incandescent crimson glow below, but the heat was almost too much to bear, and he turned his head away.

‘Be careful,’ warned the sword. ‘There are things here that no man should know, much less touch…’

Fox choked and wafted away some smoke. ‘There’s an awful lot of heat coming from this.’ He coughed and squinted down into the well again. ‘Good grief, there’s lava down there! I wonder what it’s used for?’

‘It’s called Althanor’s furnace.’

‘Who?‘ said Fox, wiping his stinging eyes.

‘Not who - what. It’s the name for an alchemical furnace. It was used for a lot of magical work down here - which I found out to my cost. Not least on this sword.’

Fox was half-listening. He didn’t know much about alchemy, but he nodded nonetheless.

‘How long did you say this place has been abandoned again?’ he said.

The sword thought for a moment.

‘It must be over a thousand years.’ it replied.

Fox peeped over the bricks again and looked down.

‘And this furnace has kept going?’

The sword tugged at Fox’s hand, urging him back.

‘Nevermind that for now.’ it said.

‘Why?’

‘Because,‘ said the sword, ‘what you’re looking for is over there by the table.’

Fox glanced over to the table by the furnace. Something glinted at him in the dark and he squinted and looked again. Sure enough, there it was again - a tiny flash of light, like a reflection on a shiny surface. His heart missed a beat.

‘The stone!’ cried Fox. ‘Could it be?’

His heart leapt for joy and he lurched forward towards the table with his hands out. He could hardly contain his excitement as he clambered over centuries-old rubble and debris. After all the time spent searching, his quest was nearing an end. All he could do was think about home once more.

And then he noticed the body by the table.

Or at least it looked like a body - all curled up on the floor almost out of sight. Fox slowed to a halt and then edged around the table to get a better look. With horror he realised that the body was not alone, and that nearby was another, and another. Their faces were contorted in the most gruesome manner as if each one had suffered some terrible fate.

‘Dear god.’ he managed, weakly.

He tried to turn one of the bodies over with his foot. It moved easily, but at the same time felt stiff like some dried-out husk. Hollow eye sockets stared vacantly at the wyrdstone, which sat innocently on the tabletop waiting for him to pick it up.

Who were these people, and how did they come to be here in the first place? Especially down here, in the dark warmth of the alchemist’s forge. Was it significant that they lied so close to the stone? Were the two connected in some way? There was no way of knowing, and yet, he had an inkling in his mind as he cast his mind back to the old witch and her talk of the ‘others’ that had emerged in her basement just like him.

‘So this is what happened to them.’ he muttered. ‘These people were searching for the stone. The same one that I was searching for.’

‘So it would seem,’ sighed the sword.

Fox reached out with his hand towards the wyrdstone and then stopped.

‘You don’t think - ‘

‘What?’

‘You don’t think that it’s a trick do you? I mean, there could be a snare or trap somewhere.’

‘Unlikely.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘It doesn’t need to be booby-trapped.’

‘But it’s only a stone.’

‘Nonsense! Just look what it did to me.’

‘You touched it. But it didn’t kill you did it?’

‘No, and I don’t know why. But it very nearly did though. An urge came over me and I couldn’t help myself. I found myself reaching for it and then it happened - I was trapped in the sword. Whatever you do don’t touch it. Wrap it in a rag or something first.’

Fox took the sleeve of his shirt and tore a long strip off, and began to carefully wrap the wyrdstone in it, taking the greatest care not to touch it. When he’d finished - with trembling hands - he took the wyrdstone and placed it reverently into his bag before fastening it tightly.

‘Right, let’s get out of here…’ he said, slinging the bag over his shoulder and turning back to the entrance.

‘You read my mind.’ said the sword with relief.

They both left the room, and the crimson glow from the furnace gradually dimmed until there was nothing left but the dark and the cold once more.

* * * *

On the way back to the surface they become lost several times, taking the wrong directions down tunnels that looked familiar and yet weren’t, or fumbling around blindly in the dark as their torch spluttered and died finally. They retraced their steps many times, but each time couldn’t quite remember the way back entirely.

After an hour or so, the sword wriggled suddenly in Fox’s hand and he looked down to feel it lurch in his grip.

‘What?’ said Fox through gritted teeth. ‘I’m getting impatient now. You’re meant to know your way around here aren’t you?’

‘Shut up.’ hissed the sword. ‘I can hear footsteps behind us!’

Fox promptly collapsed into the dark recess of an alcove and sat tight with his back to the wall, feeling himself flush hot and cold with sweat and anticipation. He waited there for what seemed an eternity, although in reality it couldn’t have been no more than thirty seconds.

And then something shuffled past in the dark, and he flinched uncontrollably.

He cursed himself for almost letting loose a shriek. What the hell could be down here with him, he thought - the undead? The thought was almost too much to bear. He raised his sword, and crept after the shadow as quietly as he could, ready to cut it down where it stood.

But something didn’t ring quite true - whatever it was in front of him wasn’t some mindless shambling creature. If it turned out to be a shade, though, he was damn well going to make sure of it first.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ whispered the sword, under protest. ‘Kill it! Kill it now before it kills us!’

‘Who are you?’ declared Fox, in his most authoritarian voice, directing the words to the dark figure in front of him.

He was still not totally sure what his eyes were trying to tell him, but he wasn’t totally prepared to surrender to his intuition just yet. He felt out of his depths in the dark and just wished that the torch was still working.

He brought the sword around defensively in an arc before him in case the thing decided to attack him.

He watched the shape stop walking, and turn slowly to face him.

‘Watch where you’re swinging that thing.’ it said rather testily.

The voice was not what he was expecting. It was familiar. In fact it was rather too familiar.

‘Hillary?‘

There was a crackling sound and something flared as bright as daylight. After a few moments of what seemed to be light of the most intense kind, Fox managed to regain his vision and was more surprised than ever. A youthful-looking Hillary smiled back at him.

‘As a matter of fact, I heard you miles away.’ said Hillary.

Fox let the sword slip from his grip. As it clattered to the cobbled floor, it grunted in complaint.

Ignoring the sword’s whingeing, they grabbed each other by the shoulders and gave each other a welcome shake. In between bouts of blubbing, Fox’s spirit turned from hopelessness and despondency to relief and then laughter. It was as if he’d finally realised that everything would be alright after awakening from a nightmare.

‘Is it really you?’ asked Fox, smiling like a madman, the joy evident in his face. ‘You don’t know how good it is to see you! I thought I’d be here forever!’

‘Who the hell is this person?’ asked Kaliburn, clearly baffled at their familiarity.

‘Please forgive me.’ said Fox, picking Kaliburn up from the floor. ‘This is an old friend.’ Fox clasped a hand over Hillary’s shoulder and looked at him. ‘A friend who hopefully will be taking me back home where I belong.’

‘Oh, you can be sure of that my friend.’ said Hillary, pointing upwards. ‘You won’t believe what I came on.’

‘How far away is home Hillary? You don’t know how much I’ve missed it.’

‘Oh, it’s over the hills and far away my friend,’ said Hillary, slapping Fox on the back. ‘But don’t worry yourself about how far away it is - things are not measured by mere distance here.’

Fox didn’t understand what Hillary meant, but smiled and nodded his head nonetheless.

‘All you need to concern yourself with is the knowledge that Mary and the children are waiting for you back home.’

‘Is she alright?’ asked Fox, his eyes brightening at the mention of her name.

‘She’s fine, but you’re disappearance shook her to the very core. I reassured her as best I could. I told her that I would do my best to find you and bring you back.’

‘I knew you would and I can’t thank you enough.’ sniffed Fox. ‘Being here has affected me in ways I hadn’t even considered. I’ve overcome so much Hillary - things that no man would believe - or bear.’ He looked up with tears welling in his eyes. ‘Right now, I just want to go home.’ he said. As he blinked tears ran down his cheeks.

Hillary shook his head. ‘Come now. All that concerns us now is getting you back home.’

‘Yes, let’s get out of this godforsaken place.’ agreed Fox. And then something occured to him and he paused. ‘But first, tell me, how did you know where to find me?’

‘Ah, that - my friend - is down to this little item.’

Hillary reached into his pocket and produced something resembling a gold pocket watch. Fox frowned as he took it from him and examined it delicately.

‘What is it?’ he said.

‘An enchanted compass. It contains a lock of your hair, now magically bound to it, given to me by your good wife. Of course it didn’t have to be hair. If I wished it could have been anything that belonged to you, although hair by its very nature would have produced the strongest attraction. And so, once I was here in Faerie, I just followed its directions until I bumped into you, so to speak.’

Fox nodded, and handed it back to Hillary.

‘Clever thing, magic.’ he said.

‘Without question.’ said Hillary, and glanced at the sword in Fox’s hand. ‘And talking of magic - what in heaven’s name do we have here?’

Fox politely handed the sword to Hillary.

‘This is Kaliburn - a talking sword.’

‘That much is evident.’

‘I found him in a tree.’

‘Did you indeed?’

‘As a matter of fact, I was once the property of the king of Talistay.’ said the sword, haughtily. ‘And whose city you have now deigned to enter.’

‘I see.’ said Hillary. ‘How very interesting. Well, you’d better take it back. I have little need of bladed weapons.’ He carefully handed the sword back to Fox. ‘Incidentally though, there is just one question…’

‘Oh? What’s that?’

‘What in Jupiter’s name are you doing in this maze of twisty passages?’

‘Oh,’ smiled Fox, ‘now that is a long story…’

* * * *

Some time later, to Hillary’s disappointment, they were still having difficulty trying to recall the route back. Still, they decided to carry on nonetheless, and as they turned a corner, they found themselves in a draughty room, somewhat bigger than anything they’d been in before - even the kitchens.

‘I think we’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere…’ said Fox, irritably. ‘I honestly can’t remember coming this way at all. What the hell are these?’

Languishing in the mighty hall, steeped in darkness, were row upon row of towering statues, all taller than any man. Except that when he looked again, they weren’t statues at all, rather hulking giants fashioned from iron.

‘I agree…’ he muttered, craning his head upwards.

The light of Hillary’s staff formed a bright circle of light that cast long flickering shadows.

Fox reacted quickly, reaching for his sword.

‘They’re moving!’ he screamed suddenly.

Hillary spun round, muttering a word too fast to be recognised and his staff flared brighter and brighter until it flooded the whole of the hall with artificial light.

‘Calm down!’ cried Hillary and held his arm up to wave away any doubt. ‘It’s nothing - just shadows from the staff.’

He raised the staff to get a better look at the strange hulking giants. Each iron monstrosity stood at least three times the height of a man, and each was an exact duplicate of the one preceding it. He imagined that at any moment one of them would pivot a tiny head to stare down directly at him and he shivered from the thought of it.

‘Just like the guardian at the gate…’ he muttered to himself. ‘I don’t like it here.’ He spun around. ‘What exactly are we doing here anyway?’ he shouted to Fox.

Fox heaved a sigh and put his sword away. ‘I’ll tell you if we ever get out of here.’ he said. He pointed to one end of the cavern. ‘Look, that passageway there branches off into two. Which one shall we take?’

‘Do you know where we’re going?’ asked Hillary.

‘Not entirely.’ answered Fox with a trace of uncertainty.

Hillary shrugged.

‘Then it doesn’t matter then, does it?’ he smiled, and headed for the nearest passageway as quick as he could.

Fox followed him, but was at a loss as to know what to say.

He conceded that Hillary did, indeed, have a point though.

* * * *

After what seemed an eternity in the dark, they eventually emerged into blinding sunlight.

Fox grumbled. ‘About time too.’ he said, brushing the spiders and cobwebs off himself. ‘Any longer in there and I would have probably been driven mad.’

He slumped down through exhaustion on the floor by Hillary’s feet. They couldn’t have been more than two hundred yards from the western gate of the city. He pulled the seeing stone from his pocket and stared at it. The smooth pebble rested there in the palm of his hand. Eventually he held it up to his mouth.

‘Are you there old woman?’ he said.

He waited for a reply, but it didn’t come. Strange, he thought - she’d always seemed to answer before, no matter where he was.

Hillary frowned. ‘Who are you talking to?’ he asked.

‘Just an old woman who I promised something to.’

He rubbed the stone and held it to his mouth once more.

‘Old woman - can you hear me?’

‘Yes, dear, I can hear you loud and clear…’

Fox jumped; the words were not entirely unexpected, but the direction they came from was. He looked at the stone and frowned; the words didn’t come from there, but from somewhere else. He turned his attention to the western gate again and staggered to his feet.

‘Oh my god.’ he said, scrabbling around for his bag and sword.

Cordelia waited at the edge of the western gate dressed in black. Her wolf sisters were there too, flanking her. No doubt there were more of them hiding in the cover of the nearby trees.

‘I have been waiting for you.’ she said. ‘I believe you have something of mine.’

The wolves prowled around, impatiently padding to and fro, flashing wicked smiles and occasionally licking their slavering chops.

‘Give the stone to me Fox.’ she said, holding out a bony hand.

Her words were somehow persuasive, but he refused.

‘First tell me what you’re doing here.’ he stammered. ‘You should be hundreds of miles away.’

‘Yes, I’m sorry about that. I’m afraid we had to play a little trick on you…’

‘But why? I don’t understand.’

‘You wouldn’t understand.’ she said, quickly. ‘After all, you’re just a man. Nothing more.’

On the inside Fox had been reduced to a bag of nerves, but even so, he tried to put on a brave face.

‘Remember what happened the last time we met old woman.’ he warned.

‘Ha!’ she sneered. ‘Oh come on… The last time I let you believe you’d won.’

Fox drew his sword, and was surprised to hear it start to hum. It sounded not unlike a bee hive.

‘You don’t want to mess with me.’ said the sword.

‘Ha! A talking sword?’ said Cordelia. ‘I wonder how you came by that, eh? My, that is interesting.’

‘You are part of the treachery that brought down Talistay!’ cried Kaliburn. ‘You are the witch of Erebor.’

‘Oh, this is just too much.’ she said. ‘Where did you find this relic?’ With a cackle, she held a claw-like hand out. ‘The stone, Fox. Give it to me now. Or you die.’ she said, clearly getting impatient.

Fox stammered nervously.

‘Like the others in that room down there you mean?’ he said pointing behind himself. ‘I saw them. I saw them all. God knows what happened to them before they died.’

Cordelia raised a craggy eyebrow.

‘Really? So… you met your forebears did you?’ she creaked. ‘How does it feel knowing that you succeeded where they failed? You must feel quite special.’ She sounded quite impressed with Fox.

The sword hummed with bright anger.

‘Prepare to meet your maker, witch.’ it said.

Fox looked aghast at Kaliburn, and then back to Cordelia who was gleefully cackling. If he wasn’t careful, the damn sword was going to get him well and truly killed. He didn’t know what to make of the situation, but it sounded bad, so he began to back off until he was standing against the wall.

‘I like your sword,’ she said mirthfully, ‘but like all men - it talks too much.’

Fox said nothing, except to squeeze the handle, as if to order Kaliburn to shut up.

‘Tell me,’ she continued, ‘how did you manage to take the stone when they did not? Is your heart so pure that it shielded you to the danger?’

The wolves grew impatient but stood their ground on the perimeter of the city. He frowned. Why didn’t they come nearer? Why not just attack us. Something just didn’t seem quite right.

‘Come and take it if you can.’ he stammered.

The lead wolf sniffed the air.

‘Look how he shakes.’ it said. ‘I can smell his fear.’

One came alongside and licked its lips.

‘I can almost taste his blood.’

Another lifted its nose and looked on him with disdain.

‘I want to bury my nose in his chest and tear his heart out.’

Cordelia smiled and patted them. ‘There, there. Patience my dears, patience.’ she soothed, sweetly. ‘You shall have your fill of him soon enough.’

Hillary watched Cordelia for a moment and then stepped forward.

‘Old woman,’ he shouted, ‘it seems that my colleague here has laboured under the pretence that you will help him return home.’

‘And who would you be?’ she asked.

‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that for the time being.’ said Hillary. ‘Who I am is inconsequential.’

Cordelia eyed Hillary suspiciously.

‘Your friend here swore an oath to me which doesn’t concern you.’ she said. ‘If you are wise though, you will back off. It is entirely up to you, but I warn you not to interfere in matters that do not concern you.’

Cordelia turned her attention to Fox and started to mouth words that were laced with command - strange alien-sounding words that took on a life of their own as they sailed through the air unheard and entered his ears.

‘The oath, Fox.’ she began. ‘Have you forgot already?’

Every fibre of Fox’s being tried to resist, but it seemed a useless gesture, and with growing horror, he found himself walking towards her unable to stop. The compulsion was too much to bear.

She looked to her sisters.

‘See, the oath of acceptance is holding strong.’ she gloated. ‘See how easy and weak he is. The fool.’

She watched Hillary, keeping a careful eye on the stranger in case he tried anything unexpected. She didn’t trust him. He didn’t seem genuine enough - seemingly too remote and too distant somehow.

Fox, sensing the hopelessness of his situation, grabbed the seeing stone and screamed into it with all his might. Instantly, Cordelia dropped everything and fell to her knees, clutching her now bleeding ears. Instantly the spell was broken and he could feel the control returning to his legs.

‘Noooo!’ she screamed, pointing at him. ‘Kill him!’

Fox watched as the wolves leapt forward, running at full pelt towards him over the drawbridge. He had to think quick - anything less and he was done for. Fox took his bag and emptied the contents onto the ground. He grabbed at the wyrdstone.

‘You want this?’ he said, holding the stone up for her to see.

Cordelia nodded. ‘The stone!’ she screeched. ‘Give it to me!’

He held the stone over the precipice where it dangled precariously on a thin strip of cotton. Any sudden movement and it would fall into the angry waves hundreds of feet below.

‘No!’ cried Cordelia. ‘Do that and you die…’

‘Then call off your dogs.’

With a wave of her hand, the wolves stopped.

Hillary helped Fox back from the edge.

‘This does not concern you whoever you are.’ she warned, pointing an accusing finger at him.

Fox turned to Hillary. ‘Can you get us out of here?’ he panted.

Hillary looked up at the woman, and then back to Fox.

‘First we need to get into that tower behind us.’ he whispered. ‘And then to the roof.’

‘What are you two scheming?’ cried Cordelia, half-listening. ‘I warned you to keep out of this.’

‘The name ’s Hillary.’ he muttered. ‘Don’t wear it out.’

‘Hillary.’ she smiled. ‘What a lovely name…’

She reached up with a bony hand as if grasping the air, and with one quick gesture pulled it towards her chest.

A sickening grinding sound from above forced Hillary to look up just in time to see a large wall of masonry come toppling down on top of them. He pushed Fox out of the way, and crouched down, to shield himself from the falling rubble. Fox watched in dread as the mass of stone and dust completely buried his friend.

There was an uncomfortable silence before a sense of panic descended on Fox.

‘No!’ he yelled.

He wanted desperately to help unearth his friend, but his legs remained well and truly planted to the ground.

‘Hillary! Can you hear me? Hillary!’

He looked at the bag with the stone in; it was tantalizingly just out of reach on the ground beside him.

‘Hush.’ crooned Cordelia. ‘No one can help you now.’

Wearing a wicked smile, the witch began to walk towards him, her grinning wolf sisters in tow.

More »

He hadn’t seen anywhere like this before.

The heavily fortified stone gateway stood thirty feet high and richly carved with tantalising images now sadly worn away to obscurity by the passage of time and weather.

Fox stood before it and peered past into the courtyard suspiciously.

‘I don’t think there’s anyone at home. It’s too quiet.’

And so he listened once more, trying to identify anything that would reveal its true nature to him. But as it was there was nothing but the odd chirp and the distant wash of the sea against Talistay’s ancient bedrock far below.

It was midday, the sky was blue, and a breeze blew softly inland from the direction of the Broken Coast to the north and the Sea of Storms to the west. Further out, like a pillar rising from the waves, stood the gutted remains of the lighthouse of Ulfric, itself just a tiny spec about a mile out to sea.

Fox drew his sword and strolled over the threshold, pausing momentarily to look up at the vaulted arch above, scattered with its murder holes that were too numerous to count. He imagined some foul boiling pitch raining down on him, killing him where he stood.

When he reached the other side he couldn’t help but notice the scarred face of the stonework – caused by battles now long forgotten and lost to history. Curiously some of the marks on the stones looked surprisingly new, whilst others were no doubt ancient.

Grass grew up between the gaps in the blasted rubble that lay all around. Ivy ran up the walls and around windows. Weeds and nettles had forced their way up between the cobbles and moss clung to the damp stones. Even though it was strange and still, the whole place oozed an unearthly charm somehow.

‘Someone once said that the undead roam here,’ he pointed out quietly.

‘Really?‘ replied the sword. ‘Who told you that?’

‘It doesn’t matter now,’ said Fox with a sigh.

‘Surely you don’t think this place is haunted do you?’

Fox turned his attention away from the cobbled street ahead.

‘Who knows?’ said Fox. ‘If I bump into any ghosts, you’ll be the first to know.’

The sword snorted.

‘I remember this courtyard being full of people,’ said the sword, wistfully. ‘My memory is full of ghosts too, but they’re ghosts from the past. Even now I can almost feel the hustle and bustle of things happening all around; the aroma of spice from the market, the constant noise of hooves and cartwheels on cobblestones. It’s amazing how much has changed.’

‘Sounded like a happy place.’

‘Oh, it was… once. Only that the last time I stood here it was different; everyone was preparing for war. There was apprehension and dread in the air. I wonder what happened?’

‘I’m sorry, but you’re asking the wrong person.’

‘But why is this place so deserted?’ the sword said. ‘What happened to the world?’

‘You said yourself you were preparing for war; with who?’

‘It pains me to relive it. We were fighting our own people in a civil war. I seem to recall Dark Aelfs and the old races of the world had become involved though. Half the factions that were once loyal to Talistay broke away and took up arms against us. And all masterminded by the King’s bastard son Remus, no less, of the Knights of the Fiery Brand. It turned out that he had enlisted the help of an Ereborian witch. The war that ensued was terrible and many people died.
‘The king and what remained of his knights took to the air in an attempt to wipe out Remus and the witch. But in the midst of it all, the king’s dragon was brought down by magical fire, and Artus was struck by an arrow. He was forced to retreat into Tinderwood Grove where he was taken prisoner.
‘But before he was taken, he took me and hid me in the trunk of a dead tree. After that I know very little. Every once in a while I would hear footsteps or branches breaking underfoot, or the rustle of leaves, and I’d feel the passing of the seasons, or some animal would find me and make a home in the tree with me.
‘And then you came along with your great clodhopping feet and your impressive show of swordsmanship…’

With a smile, Fox shrugged and looked around.

‘Well, even so, you know more than I. Maybe the answer to all our questions lie with the battle scars on the stones here?’ he said, indicating the marks on the wall. ‘Or maybe it lies with the stories of the spirits of the dead that they say haunt the grounds?’

‘Ah,’ nodded the sword. ‘Maybe the people who died here were held in such high esteem that the whole area became a sort of living cemetery, or monument to the past perhaps.’

‘Maybe.’ said Fox. ‘Or maybe something happened here so terrible, so awful that people turned away from it until it became just a home for myths, or nightmares, or worse…’

He felt the sword shiver slightly in his hand.

‘I do hope it’s not the latter.’ it said.

‘Me too.’ said Fox, glancing around nervously.

From where he stood, the elaborate windows of the uppermost turrets were like forbidding doorways into the dark places of the city; where shades would glare down on the unsuspecting below with baleful stares. He couldn’t shake the unsettled feeling he was experiencing. It was a strange sensation.

And then, just as he was beginning to reassure himself, something scythed silently through the air high above, and he crouched down and quickly craned his neck up to follow its path through the air. Dazzled by the sun, he tried to shield his eyes as best he could, and squinted as its shadow passed over him. But it couldn’t have been a bird, he thought, it was far too big for that. And then, in a matter of seconds, it was gone, obscured by the tall spires of Talistay.

Fox was completely confounded. His heart was beating like a drum and his mouth was agape.

‘What the hell was that?’ he said, staring into the sky. ‘Did you see that?’

‘Calm down, calm down! And hold me properly damn you!’ shouted the sword. ‘See what? I didn’t see a thing…’

Fox snapped his gawping mouth shut.

‘There was something in the sky…’ he muttered.

‘What? Like a bird you mean?’

‘I don’t know. I only saw it for a fraction of a second, and then it was gone. No. It wasn’t a bird. It was too big for that.’

‘Too big was it? Listen to me - there are lots of very large birds around here. Hugh they are.’ said the sword. ‘I’ve seen them. The king kept them all; The Hawks of Erebor, Nightspurs, Gyrfalcons, even Tuscan Owls. You don’t mess with them.’

Fox shook his head impatiently.

‘No. I said it wasn’t a bird.’

‘Ok then.’ said the sword, calmly. ‘What about a dragon then perhaps? Maybe it was a dragon.’

‘No. Definitely not.’ said Fox, and then he scowled at the sword. ‘Now you’re just being stupid.’

‘Then what?’

‘I don’t know. It’s just that… If I didn’t know any better… I could have sworn that it looked like…’

‘Like what?’ asked the sword, a little testily.

The sword glared at him.

‘A carpet.’ said Fox, eventually.

The sword continued to glare at him.

‘And how many flying carpets have you seen?’ it said.

Fox shrugged. Indeed, now that he came to think about it, it did sound very, very silly.

* * * *

The first that Hillary had learned of Fox’s disappearance was from the farmer’s hysterical wife Mary.

He’d listened intently with growing interest as she described with a trembling voice how she had watched him vanish into thin air. Needless to say, the incident had deeply affected her and initially she had sought consolation from Eliza who in turn had sent her to confide in the hermit who lived in the windmill by Ketton Marsh.

Hillary, being close to Fox - having helped him defeat the Ketton Cockatrice the previous year - felt obliged to look for an answer, and so he decided to try to research the problem by burying his head in his vast collection of books and esoterica.

After several days of tireless study it had become apparent that the clues led to somewhere called Faerie, and a city called Talistay. But the real difficulty arose when he attempted to find a bridge between the two worlds – a crossing point.

After a few weeks of chasing leads that led nowhere, he discovered an obscure reference that, if followed up, would lead him halfway around the world.

He calculated it would take him half a year or more to reach it. But the length of time to get there wasn’t really acceptable. What he needed was a more elegant solution.

And so, with that thought in mind, he reverently unfurled the carpet that had once belonged to King Solomon and which Badr-al-Din had entrusted to him, and flew there instead.

* * * *

Fox pushed the creaky door open.

Even though all of the rooms that they’d discovered so far had been abandoned, most of their contents were - rather bizarrely - still intact, including scrolls, manuscripts, books and other such volumes of knowledge.

Cautiously he picked a scroll up, but it disintegrated in his hand, crumbling away to dust. He threw the remains at the wall in disgust.

‘Everything is ruined!’ he growled. ‘There’s nothing of any worth here!’

‘But I could’ve given you that piece of advice for free.’ the sword groaned. ‘What are we doing here anyway?’

Fox walked over to one of the traceried windows and stared out to the courtyard below.

‘I’m looking for a stone. A half-stone that looks like some plain old rock apparently. Do you have any idea what I’m talking about? Because I sure as hell don’t.’ he said. ‘I know it sounds stupid,  but that stone has the power to send me home.’

He threw his hands in the air and slumped down on the dusty floor.

‘Wherever home is…’

The sword was clearly affected by Fox’s constant moaning.

‘Oh shut up and let me think will you?’ it said, and pondered for a moment.

‘A half-stone you say?’

‘Yes.’ nodded Fox. ‘Why, do you know what I’m talking about?’

‘Maybe. If you’re looking for what I think you’re looking for then we’re going in the wrong direction to find it. You don’t know how lucky you are… If I remember correctly, over by the main gate, there should be some stairs that will eventually lead us down into the bowels of this place…’

More »

Scarlet kept her head hung low, holding the knife that she’d taken from the inn the previous evening. She seemed to be in a daze and kept twirling it in her hand absently. Every now and again, she’d glance over at the body by the roadside, wishing that she could have prevented the death somehow.

‘I can’t believe it’ she repeated, shaking her head. ‘I just can’t believe it.’

Thomas looked up and cradled his sister.

‘It doesn’t make sense,’ he said. ‘The Fiery Brand here?’

No sooner had Thomas said the words, than he felt something move and he looked down. With a frown, he felt in his pocket and pulled out the filigree cage that housed the clockwork brain of the guardian.

‘What is it?’ said Scarlet.

‘I don’t know’, he said, giving the cage a shake. ‘For a moment I thought I felt something… move.’

And then the cage begin to vibrate as it started to make tiny clicking and whirring sounds.

‘Bzz… who said that?’ asked the guardian, in its scratchy metallic voice.

Thomas held the cage up to his face and scrutinized it with a beady eye.

‘Who said what?’ he said, tapping the case with a finger.

‘Bzz… the words …zzz… that I had hoped I would never hear again,’ replied the guardian.

Thomas silently mouthed the last few word exchanges to himself.

‘You mean the Fiery Brand?’ he asked.

Scarlet stood up.

‘My god,’ she said, ‘you know them, don’t you? You know the Fiery Brand.’

‘…zzzyess…’

‘How? Tell us. Tell us your story. We want to know.’

‘There is very little to tell … zzz … apart from the fact that my name is Artus … zzz,’ said the guardian, ‘and I am the last king of Taliszzztay.’

Scarlet looked dumbfounded and clapped a hand over her mouth, dropping the knife that she was holding.

‘But everyone thinks you died at Tinderwood Grove,’ she said, numbly. ‘Hillary told us so. Torfang and Eliza too.’

Artus said nothing for a few moments, and then replied.

‘Killed was … zzz … I? No, that was … zzz … a lie.’ said Artus. ‘I was taken prisoner by a murderous traitor … zzz … My own son brought down Taliszzztay.’

‘But how?’ said Thomas. ‘And how did you come to be in this thing?’

‘He put me in it! zzz … And now I want more than anything in the world … zzz … to see him with my own eyes and punish him … zzz … for all the damage he has done. Even if I have to be put back into another guardian…’

Scarlet remembered the battle with the guardian. She remembered how close it came to killing them both, with its relentless drive, and shivered at the thought.

‘Swear that you will help me! zzz’

‘Don’t you remember trying to kill us?’ asked Scarlet.

The guardian ignored the question.

‘Swear … zzz … that you will help me,’ repeated Artus. ‘I am still king … zzz … whether I have a body or not…’

Scarlet didn’t know what to say. Thomas didn’t either. Scarlet wanted to tell Artus about the Levitonite rings and queen Isolde who had bore him children, and the dragon that had carried her to safety. She wanted to tell him how his children had culminated in the ones that were standing before him now, but somehow she knew that her words could not adequately sum it all up and she remained silent.

Eventually they both nodded their heads and mumbled a few words that sounded like ‘yes’.

‘Have you … zzz … seen them?’ asked Artus.

‘I think so,’ nodded Scarlet. ‘But they look different now. As soon as I felt something deep down in the pit of my stomach lurch, I knew it was them.’

* * * *

Tobias didn’t like horses. In fact he hated them. Normally he wouldn’t have been seen dead near one. Even so, this was exactly where he was, and using all his concentration to stay on top of one as well.

No matter how much he persevered though, his efforts were being undone with each trot; each bounce made him slide around uncomfortably, and he gritted his teeth and tried to haul his sorry saddle-sore backside into position again.

‘Stay still, damn you,’ he grumbled, growing more and more impatient with his predicament.

But the horse, it seemed, was having none of it. Sensing the awkward and clumsy nature of its rider, it suddenly halted in the middle of the road, causing Tobias to hurtle over its head with a feeble wail, and land with a splash in the muddy water below.

That was it, he thought, wiping his forehead. He’d had enough. He threw his hands down in temper and slapped the ground, covering himself in more water.

‘Swine horse!’ he shouted in frustration. ‘Think you’re clever, eh?’

The horse gave a petulant snort and nodded its head.

Wendle, who was balancing on the hindquarters of Hillary’s horse up ahead, turned to look back at him.

‘Need some help old chap?’ he offered, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

Tobias returned the grin, albeit momentarily, and hauled himself to his feet. God, he hated being wet – even more than he hated horses. But even so, he grabbed the reins and clambered onto the saddle once more, determined not to let go and cling on for dear life this time.

Once he was up and sitting, he let out a sigh and leaned forward slowly towards the horse’s ear.

‘You won’t win you know,’ he whispered.

Then he sneezed violently and fell off again.

In the meantime, Raedwald and Sigbert had taken up flanking positions on either side of Hillary and Tobias. It hadn’t entirely escaped Tobias’ attention that both of the warriors from Winding were constantly staring into the trees and keeping curiously silent.

What were they being so suspicious about, he thought? From what they were talking about earlier, it seemed that they would soon be coming to the edge of the forest. To Tobias this sounded like blissful relief, but the two warriors knew better; they knew what remained in the dark foliage of the outer edge was hazardous and murderous and difficult to negotiate.

‘There they are!’ cried Hillary, pointing with his staff into the distance.

‘They are?’ replied Tobias, incredulously, and scrambled to his feet as quick as he could.

Hillary spurred his horse and galloped off, the wind whipping his cloak about as he disappeared rapidly away leaving Tobias to negotiate his willful steed.

Raedwald and Sigbert followed him closely behind, all the while keeping a careful watch in all directions.

‘You go ahead Hillary. I’ll catch up,’ shouted Tobias with a wave of a hand.

He patted his horse.

‘And no more funny business thank you.’ he said, wagging a finger at it.

* * * *

Scarlet and Thomas sat by the roadside.

Both of them seemed utterly dejected and oblivious to the approaching drum of horse’s hooves in the distance. Somehow they knew that it was Hillary and Tobias, but what they’d just been told had been like a bombshell and they were struggling to come to terms with it.

Hillary drew nearer and nearer. His face was serious but filled with relief. As they got close, Wendle jumped off and padded over to them.

‘There you are,’ bellowed Hillary, swinging down from the horse, his face serious and stony. ‘Thank god you’re safe. We were worried about…’

But Hillary’s words trailed off when he noticed the bloody body by the path, and the strange look on the children’s faces.

‘What happened here? Are you both alright?’

When Scarlet started to laugh and giggle, Hillary’s stony look dropped, replaced by one of curious surprise. Something was making her laugh, but for the life of him, he couldn’t guess what it could be. It was more a nervous laugh than one of mirth, and as soon as it began it stopped, and she looked up at him.

‘Well, where would you like us to start?’ she said. ‘The reason we left in the middle of the night?’

She nodded over to the dead man.

‘Or what about the facts concerning the murdered coachman over there?’

Hillary was about to speak, when Scarlet spoke again.

‘What would you say if I told you the Fiery Brand killed him?’

Hillary recoiled at the words.

‘The Fiery Brand?’ he muttered. ‘But how?’

He was entirely lost for words.

‘Or better yet,’ she said, ‘how about the history of this little clockwork box here? The clockwork brain that you took from the guardian after we defeated it?’

She held up the little clockwork cage. It sparkled and gleamed as its little gears spun and whirred and ticked. Hillary frowned as he stared at it.

‘Apparently, it says that it’s Artus – the last king of Talistay…’

* * * *

The Green Man moved slowly through the trees, as quiet as a moth, careful as to not make any sudden sounds or movements that would reveal himself. Instead he glided through the pines like some ghostly apparition.

He and the wolf pack had been watching the unsuspecting group of riders since they left The Windings. By now they were closing on the back marker, having tracked him by a combination of his scent and the sound of his constant moaning.

And then there was another sound and he quickly concealed himself behind some foliage as another man on horseback approached. It was the leader. He looked familiar to him, and yet at the same time, wasn’t.

As the two talked, there was one word that lodged itself firmly in his mind. And then the leader rode off again leaving the dawdler behind grumbling again.

The name that formed in his head had almost been forgotten, but still it clung to his conscious thoughts like some parasite feeding on his past; a name that clearly meant something a long time ago, but now since the fog had descended on his mind shrouding his thoughts, making him forgot everything, nothing made sense anymore.

The passage of time had been slow, and it had buried all thoughts of his previous life.

He shook his head as if trying to clear his mind.

He needed to make himself known to them.

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Cyrus whipped the horses with another bout of frenzied lashes, driving the exhausted wretches until they were fit to drop, back in the direction of Solace, in the direction of the spice town of Tarragon and the port of Tankard far beyond that - itself reachable only through the great pass of Ysbrida.

On the cusp of dawn, amber light started to flood the horizon, lighting the sky with vast dashes of red and pink as the sun grew gradually in the west.

Thankfully, the rain was relenting and the dense trees had started to thin out, a sure sign that they were nearing the forest’s edge; an edge that was itself scattered with dense pockets of Fernbane; horribly crooked devil trees that swayed about with leathery tendrils, ready to whip and pluck and snap hungrily at any sign of movement.

All the while the stagecoach continued to cut a swathe through the fog-enshrouded devil trees, leaving little vortices of mist that twirled and curled in its wake. The morning birdsong and the exhausted snorts of horses - even the incessant rocking of the stagecoach - had little effect on the feeling of unearthly calm that had settled over the area.

Eventually, the coach burst out of the mist and onto the flat plains beyond, wheels whirling like dervishes past a steep plateau of red weathered rock to the left that rose majestically into the clouds and the distance - home to a town called Solace and the ancient stones that stood atop it.

The rattling coach swayed first this way and then that. Inside, Remus was deep in conversation with Titus and Ursus.

‘Cyrus seems certain that the little brats from Blakeby are here.’

‘Then Hillary must be here with them also,’ said Titus, ‘for they could never have made it here without him. I find that hard to believe though, because for that to be true it would mean that they all survived the Cockatrice.’

‘So it would seem,’ replied Remus with a half yawn. ‘It’s all rather unfortunate.’

Remus, who was by now becoming bored by the constant reference to Hillary and the children, didn’t mind displaying his boredom to everyone.

‘Unfortunate?’ remarked Titus. ‘Understatement perhaps?’

Remus snorted. ‘Ha! You think so?’ he sneered. ‘You think that two insignificant children are going to alter our plans at all? I think you overestimate their chances, and their motives somewhat.’

Remus looked up and narrowed his eyes.

‘Is that what you think?’ he said.

And then he paused for a moment and sighed. ‘Hillary and his friends have no doubt been a thorn in our side since the beginning, but that’s all they’ve been. Nothing more. Never forget that he actually failed in preventing us from breaking the curse.’

‘No - I agree. That much is true. But he’s here nonetheless,’ observed Titus. ‘Doesn’t anyone find that just a touch ironic? I mean, that after all this time, we can’t shake him off!’

‘Irony has nothing to do with it,’ said Remus, dismissively. ‘Fate maybe. But not irony. You risk our downfall just by uttering such words.’

‘Pah!’ said Titus, throwing his hands in the air, through frustration more than anything else. ‘What are we talking about? We don’t know for sure it was them. We’re jumping to conclusions.’

Remus raised an eyebrow, and leant forward. ‘Come Titus,’ he said, quietly, ‘you of all people should know that fate has a wonderful ability to turn events on their head.’

Titus nodded. ‘Of-course I do, but what could they possibly want in coming here?’

‘Isn’t it obvious? They’re trying to reverse the breaking of the curse.’

‘But that isn’t possible. Is it?’

‘You are correct.’ said Remus, sitting back. ‘At least theoretically.’ Remus placed a hand over his coat pocket. ‘At least judging by the passages in the grimoire.’

Titus seemed relieved, but not entirely so.

‘Surely they must know that it isn’t possible?’

‘Evidently not. I suggest we put as much distance between him and us as we can.’ he said, gesturing out of the window at the blurred landscape shooting past outside. ‘Obviously that is, until we find what we’re looking for.’

‘You mean the stone…’ said Titus.

‘Then, and only then, when we have the power shall we confront him, and put him down, once and for all.’

The stagecoach bolted over a rut in the road, forcing it to sway violently from side to side for a moment. Remus gripped the side of the chair to steady himself, and as he did so, a little wooden box that had remained hidden below the seat slipped out coming to rest beside his feet.

‘What’s this?’ he mused, picking the box up and turning it over in his hands.

Ursus grinned. ‘I thought it was rather strange that the stagecoach appeared empty.’

‘Indeed.’ said Remus, taking out a long knife from his coat.

He inserted the blade into the lock and joggled it around roughly. Eventually, the box made a tiny clicking sound and the lid flipped up to reveal its contents; a solitary paper which had been carefully rolled and sealed with wax.

Remus took it out and inspected it carefully. It bore the great seal of the Duchy of Tankard. The appearance of the scroll was rather impressive, but Remus broke it nonetheless and unravelled the parchment and started reading with interest.

When he had finished, he rolled the paper up and replaced it in the box.

‘My, that is disturbing news.’ he muttered, eventually.

‘Well?’ said Ursus, impatiently.

Remus gave a little chuckle, and looked up at them both with eyes that reflected no trace of humour.

‘Well, my friends, it would seem that we have returned just in time to see this land tear itself apart.’ he said grimly. ‘It would seem that forces threaten the peace here in Faerie. Forces that are, as we speak, massing at Talistay.’

Ursus looked confused. ‘Talistay? But why? The last time we were here it was all but a ruin.’ he said.

‘What forces are we speaking of here, though?’ asked Titus, with a frown.

‘Apparently, there is a witch at the centre of it all.’

Ursus gave a short snort of disgust. ‘Never trust a witch.’ he growled.

‘Especially one from Erebor,’ replied Remus, ‘and especially one who has amassed an army of thousands, and who threatens war with everyone; from the Duchy of Tankard, to the Principality of Tarragon, to the Caliphate of Cinnabar and the Kingdom of Winding.’

‘Let us not forget the other places such as Aldspell, Murkwater, Illepuschia, Frithia and who knows where else. Judging by the letter it would appear that they are ready to wage war, having fortified their position at Talistay. The letter also speaks of this witch sending dream demons out into towns to strike fear into the local population. Why though, or for what reason, remains unclear.’

‘So Talistay is now overrun?’ growled Ursus.

Remus nodded. ‘It certainly sounds like it.’

‘So, it would be difficult to gain entrance then… What else did the letter say? Who is this witch that the letter refers to?’

Remus’ hand twirled the air with a gesture of disinterest.

‘Regarding that, the letter says relatively little. But what it suggests is that without the combined assistance of all the great houses of Faerie, the whole security of the land could be in grave danger.’

Remus rubbed his hands together and grinned.

‘It seems that we have arrived here at a time of great change. Powers that have existed side by side for centuries are now re-evaluating their position and the peace of the whole land now hangs in the balance. From order to chaos and back again, full circle. For us it is rather interesting, for times such as these have a habit of providing means to an end. At least for enterprising souls such as us.’

Titus frowned.

‘My, that sounds a touch melodramatic don’t you think?’

‘Indeed.’

‘I seem to remember we put our trust in a witch before…’ recalled Ursus, with disgust.

‘We shall suffer no more witches, my friend.’ said Remus. ‘Of that there can be no doubt.’

‘So, what do we do?’

‘We turn the negative into a positive. We use whatever we can to achieve our aims. We still need to gain entrance to Talistay, just that we’ll now need to get there incognito. Whether we swap sides a few times remains to be seen. The only question is whether we reach it either through the town of Tarragon and the swamp of Murkwater and chance the goblin warrens and the Stayngate, or go via Tankard and north past Erebor and Tinderwood Grove. We’ll need to decide soon. Either way has its own drawbacks…’

Ursus looked suspiciously at Remus.

‘And how, pray, shall we do what you say without bringing undue attention to ourselves?’ he said. ‘Explain that.’

Remus delved into his pocket and pulled out something, but decided for whatever reason not to reveal it. Instead he just sat there with his fist clenched. He held it there for a moment trying to gauge his comrades’ reactions. Titus and Ursus looked on with mild puzzlement, and then he finally unfurled his grip and revealed what was hiding there.

‘Oh ye of little faith…’ declared Remus finally.

For there, sitting in the palm of his hand, were four perfect gold rings. Rings that looked as new as the day they were forged.

Titus looked at them with baited breath and watched as they glittered and reflected the light of the early morning.

‘Our rings of change.’ swallowed Titus. ‘You kept them?’ he said, raising an eyebrow. ‘I thought I’d seen the last of them.’

Remus nodded. ‘It would have been a shame to discard them.’ he said. ‘We paid for these many years ago. In more ways than one.’

He banged the ceiling with his fist, and Cyrus acknowledged it with a crack of the whip, and the stagecoach lurched forward again with another surge of speed.

‘Damn this stagecoach.’ he said, shaking his head. ‘We’re not making much headway. We need to go faster.’

Remus leant out of the window against the rush of wind and bellowed at the top of his voice.

‘Can’t you make this thing go faster?’

Cyrus looked down at him and squinted. ‘What? You must be joking!’ he shouted, and cracked the whip again. ‘I’m killing these horses as it is.’

‘The quicker we get there the better…’ said Remus.

Cyrus shrugged. ‘Any ideas?’

‘Maybe.’ said Remus, and popped back inside.

He took the ancient grimoire out that he’d been looking after carefully and began flicking through its pages indescriminately.

Titus watched, and then sat forward and proffered his hand to Remus. ‘Mind if I have a look?’ he asked, licking his lips.

‘No, of-course not.’ replied Remus with a smile, and offered the book to him. ‘Why, be my guest.’

Titus carefully accepted the book and eagerly started scanning the text page by page, before finally lingering on a section.

‘Ah, this looks interesting.’ he said.

‘Anything useful?’ said Remus.

‘Possibly…’ grinned Titus.

More »

‘What are you?’ Fox said, swinging the sword about in the air. ‘I must say you feel remarkably light for such a large sword.’

He swung it once more to feel it again. The sword made a bright ringing sound as it scythed through the air. He couldn’t say why, but it felt just right in his hand, and the sword gave a giddy laugh, clearly happy that it was free once more.

‘I suppose that would be the Levitonite.’ it said, cheerfully.

Fox looked bewildered.

‘I’m not sure I understand?’ he said.

‘I’m not sure that I understand completely either.’ the sword said, wistfully. ‘All I know is that it’s a crystal.’

‘I see.’ said Fox, turning the sword over in his hand. ‘You mean this stone set in the pommel?’ he said, rubbing a finger over the green glass-like stone.

‘Exactly.’ the sword said.

‘So, who are you then?’

‘Me? Well, there’s a bit of a funny story there you see.’

‘I’m all ears.’ said Fox, suddenly stabbing the sword into the ground and sitting down.

‘What are you doing?’ cried the sword. ‘Pick me up!‘

Fox shook his head and crossed his arms.

‘Not until you tell me what I need to know.’

The sword sat there, feeling neglected, until finally it relented and mumbled something.

‘I’m sorry?’ said Fox, trying to hide the smile that had started to form on his lips.

‘I said,’ replied the sword, with more clarity this time, ‘Once upon a time there was a court jester…’

There was an uncomfortable silence, and Fox raised an eyebrow slightly.

‘Oh really?’ he said, doubtfully.

‘Look, do you want to hear this story or not?’ said the sword, irritably.

Fox coughed and spluttered, trying desperately to hide his mirth.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘please carry on.’

‘Do you know what has happened since I’ve been lost?’

‘I’m afraid not. I’m not from around here you see. In fact, I was hoping you could tell me about this place.’

‘Oh, that is bad luck. I was hoping that you would be able to tell me!’

‘Sorry I can’t help. I’m looking for a way home. I come from Blakeby. Have you heard of it?’

‘Can’t say I have, although who knows what’s happened since I’ve been lost? Two thousand years is a long time.’

‘You said you’d been lost for two thousand years. How can you be so sure?’

‘I counted the days.’

Fox blinked, but said nothing.

‘I know it sounds bizarre,’ continued the sword. ‘But can you even begin to guess how mind-numbingly boring it is spending two thousand years in a dead tree?’

Fox shook his head. ‘No, I can’t say I do.’ he said, stifling a snigger.

‘I’ll tell you shall I? It was hell.’

‘So what happened to you then?’

‘Do you know of a place called Talistay?’ asked the sword.

‘I have heard of it, yes. But that’s all. I’ve never set foot there.’

‘Well, it is a grand place, full of wonders and sights to behold, but I’ll say no more about it for now, and instead concentrate on the events that lead me to be in my current predicament.

‘As I said, I was once a court jester - a fool - and it was my second week in court. There had been countless other fools before me who did not find favour and who had been sent away to some awful job or other, but those tales did no