

Copyright (C) 2018 by Grim

Paperback ISBN 13: 978-1-912919-00-0  
Hardback ISBN 13: 978-1-912919-01-7  
.epub eBook ISBN 13: 978-1-912919-02-4  
.mobi eBook ISBN 13: 978-1-912919-03-1

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Grim Books asserts the moral and legal rights to be identified as the author of this work.

This novel 'The Sword of Oblivion Book One - Could it be?' is a children's adventure story. The author wishes to stress that the story is entirely a work of fiction and purely for entertainment. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination and the views and opinions expressed in this book are expressed by the characters and are therefore not those of the author himself. Any resemblance to actual persons, whether living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published by Grim Books

Printed in the United Kingdom
**Contents**

Map

Book One

**Book One**

The sun was setting, and you could still make out the weary travellers on their cart, laden with cloth, spices, food and ale, but mainly money that they had acquired from trading in the market town of Prokvist located within the Second Province ruled by the warlord Two'Bit. The travellers on the cart were dwarfs heading home to the Ferral Mountains.

Driving the pony-tethered cart was Sinat who was the oldest of the group. He was a bossy person, who liked to throw his weight around. He always had an opinion on everything and if Sinat spoke, his word was final. He was sat puffing away on his clay pipe. Every now and then, he would flick the reins not because he wanted the ponies to go faster; it was just out of habit.

Then there was his younger brother, Sacul, who was the youngest of the bunch. He was very wet behind the ears, but always keen to learn. He was slumped in the back fast asleep, also on the cart were their cousins, Torms and Nakie.

Torms was sat up front next to Sinat he was the second oldest out of the group, he was a great craftsman and thinker but always had to play second best to Sinat. Then there was Nakie who was a fine specimen of a dwarf, he was shorter than most dwarfs but much stockier, and his motto was 'If you can't eat it, fight it.' He was doing what he did best, and that was looking after the food as he sat in the back stuffing his face.

They all lived together up in the Ferral Mountains, where they had a small mine and dwelling called Barren Rock. It got its name due to its location as no one wanted to mine there as it was thought to be barren but after a few years digging they had struck gold literally but thought it best to keep the name as it was. As Gold Rock would have brought them unwanted attention, and they would have soon found themselves with quite a few new neighbours moving in.

They had left the Second Province earlier that day and were on a track, which took them into the Brocken Mountains. Beyond that, it was another day's journey along the edge of the Emerald Forest, which marked the start of the borders to the Elven Kingdom and then into the mountain range of the Ferral, where the Dwarf Kingdom lay.

They had been on the trail for most of the afternoon and were halfway along the mountain path when Torms, who had a keen eye even in the dimming light, spotted something up ahead on the rock face. Although it was very dull, it had a unique glow about it. Torms leant forward, put his hand on Sinat's shoulder.

"What's that?" asked Torms as he pointed out the glow in the distance. At this point, Sacul was woken by a chicken bone, which had just bounced off his head from the direction of Nakie. Who was now on his fourth chicken with grease running down his beard, which had more leftover dinners in it than a banquet hall.

As they pulled up to the place on the rock that Torms had pointed out, he noticed the rock face had recently been disturbed by some kind of landslide. He got down and examined the wall of rock. There was a tiny section that gave off a slight glow of amber speckles embedded into the rock.

"Sacul, bring me a pick," said Torms in a hushed voice, trying not to shout.

Sacul's face lit up, keen and eager, as he jumped from the cart with a pick in his hand. Torms held out his hand as Sacul handed him the pick and with one mighty swing, struck the rock. A piece split away from the rock face and fell to the floor. Torms picked it up and put it in a pouch under his jacket. Torms and Sacul got back onto the cart. But just as they were about to continue on their way, there was slight creaking noise.

"Shh, stay still," ordered Sinat with his hand held up, as he listened very carefully, his hairs stood up on the back of his neck. Something was close, very close. Nakie was in the back of the cart with his feet up, just about to tuck into his fifth chicken, when a hand appeared over the edge. The hand was as big as his head and covered in dirt, with huge thick knobbly fingers. Then a second appeared, and then two big gleaming eyes were staring straight at Nakie.

Now it wasn't that Nakie had anything against mountain trolls, but when they were staring at him and looking at his food, well, there was only so much a dwarf could take. Without a whisper or a blink of an eye, Nakie tore a drumstick off the chicken he was eating and shoved it straight into the troll's right eye. As the troll let out a deafening shriek, Nakie swiftly grabbed his double-handed axe and embedded it right between the eyes of the troll. There was another almighty scream, and the troll fell backwards clasping his head. It rolled around on the floor for a minute, made a gargling sound, and then it all went quiet. All three of them looked at Nakie, then at the troll's head as Nakie jumped down, pulled his axe out, retrieved the drumstick out of the troll's eye, and took a bite out of it. As he turned around the others just sat there staring at him.

"What you lot looking at? A dwarf's gota eat," snapped Nakie as if nothing was wrong.

Torms shook his head in disbelief as Nakie retook his place in the back by the food. Sinat didn't want to hang around, just in case, there were any more trolls ready to take on Nakie and his drumstick. They might not be so lucky next time. So, with that thought in mind, Sinat tugged on the reins and ushered the two ponies pulling the cart with a quiet, "Yah." The ponies instantly pulled with all their might; although they were ponies, they somehow knew when Nakie was on board, and that if they didn't pull their weight, they could be his next meal.

The cart sped off at high speed into the dimming light, knocking Sacul over in the back as it went. They were travelling along a narrow mountain track with a steep rock face on one side and a dense forest on the other. Once they were out of the mountain range, they would camp during the day on the edge of the Emerald Forest, which marked the border of the Elven Kingdom and travel at night. Because they didn't trust the elves, elves to dwarfs were long, tall people with strange ways and customs. If anything doesn't fit in a mine, it has no place in a dwarf's world.

They finally emerged from the mountain range just as the sun was breaking through the treetops. Sinat halted the ponies in a clearing where they usually stopped on their way back. Sacul was the first one out of the cart, which was no surprise. He started unpacking their beds and supplies; what was left of them after Nakie had been looking after them. Sinat got down from the cart, his bones were stiff after driving all night. As he got down, he stretched from side to side, well as far as a dwarf can reach, and that's not far.

Torms got down off the cart and looked like he was surveying the area, going deeper and deeper into the forest. When he had gone deep enough, he put his hand into his pocket and pulled out the glowing rock he had chipped away from the rock face. His eyes were wide open, staring in amazement. He looked at the rock and thought, could it be.

'SNAP!' Echoed around the clearing of trees, within which Torms was encircled. He turned around, but nothing was there. He suddenly realised that he was too deep in the Emerald Forest for comfort. He quickly put the rock back into his pocket, and then returned to the clearing at the side of the track. As he returned, Sinat was leaning against a tree smoking a long clay pipe, which was customary among dwarfs, and he had taken his boots off, much to the disgust of the others. Every now and then he would wiggle his toes, which made Nakie think of sausages. Causing him to grunt at Sacul, to get the fire going, which he didn't mind doing, anything to help his fellow dwarf.

Soon there was a hearty fire ablaze, and the dwarfs were sitting down drinking flagons of ale and eating, whilst thinking about their mine up in the Ferral Mountains, all except one. Torms was thinking about the rock, he couldn't yet be sure he had to wait until he got home and do some tests. Torms was suddenly aware that they were being watched. It was the same feeling he had had in the forest. Although elves rarely attacked dwarfs and vice versa, they still didn't see eye to eye; well, they couldn't because the elves were about three feet taller than the dwarfs and compared to Nakie's size. The only time he had seen an elf, all he remembers is staring at a belt buckle.

The only time you saw an elf in the forest was when they wanted you to. They were masters of the woods, just as the dwarfs were masters of the mountains.

After a long break, Sinat got up and put his boots on, much to the relief of the others. "Right, let's be going, let's load the cart," he ordered. This was interpreted by the others for Sacul to 'hurry up, my bed needs rolling up, and you're the dwarf to do it,' which he didn't mind at all.

As the cart was pulling off, Torms caught a glimpse of somebody or something disappearing into the forest. It was a silent and elegant figure and moved with such grace that it left Torms wondering if it was just the wind.

*

Gillant was a great ranger and tracker. He was one of the Elven Kingdom's finest, and he was heading through the forest at great speed. It would take him a day to reach the Elven Kingdom, so he pressed on. He had to tell Pholanthion, the Elven King, what he had seen, or what he thought he had seen, in the forest: that small piece of rock with the glowing amber specks and with that thought in his head, he pressed on even harder.

*

After another half day's travelling the cart finally pulled into the courtyard of Barren Rock the dwarfs' dwelling, and right in front of them was their mine. What a lovely sight, the whole party thought, there's no place like home. To the left was their dwelling, made of stone, sturdy and strong like most things the dwarfs built. It was big enough for all four of them, opposite that over the other side of the courtyard was their storeroom. Which now had its doors wide open, as Sacul unloaded the stuff from the cart.

Torms had made weapons and armour to take into the warlord's provinces to trade for goods and money which they did every year. They had quite a hoard stored down their mine after many years of trading. However, if Torms had anything to do with it, there would be a lot more money coming their way, he thought as he headed off towards his workshop.

Sinat was now inside the house getting a fire started. Nakie was putting the ponies in their pen next to the storeroom, much to the fright of the ponies; they moved ever so nervously when Nakie came near them.

Torms was in his blacksmith's workshop, which was attached to the other side of the storeroom. It was getting dark outside, and Torms had lit a lantern. The light of the lantern illuminated the workshop. It was an excellent workshop full of craftsman's tools: in the middle was a furnace, and next to it a giant anvil. Above the anvil hung various hammers, which through many years of use were old and battered. But they were Torms's trusted companions on the long winter nights; as locked himself away hammering away till the early hours of the morning.

Torms turned his gaze to the pile of books and scrolls over in the corner. He moved over to a dusty bookcase and put his finger on the books and ran it along their spines. Dust started piling up on his finger. His finger stopped, he pulled out a book, blew off the dust and started flicking through the pages.

Sacul had finished unloading the cart and was walking along the cobbles to their small dwelling when he noticed the light was on in the workshop. He wondered what Torms was doing, but you couldn't go into his workshop without being invited, it would be like trying to steal food from Nakie; you just didn't do it. He kicked a small stone across the courtyard and went inside. There was a roaring fire blazing in the hearth, Sinat was slumped in a chair smoking his pipe, while Nakie was in the kitchen, making a feast for an army. Sacul was feeling tired, so he went into a little room at the back of the house where there were four comfortable-looking and well-used beds. He took off his light leather tunic and hung it on the end of his bed. As he got in, he placed his head on a cloth pillow filled with straw; and started to dream of being a great miner and craftsman like Torms one day, as sleep fell upon him.

Sacul was woken, not by the sun shining through the window, but by Sinat. He was shouting at Nakie for eating all the food. There was nothing left for breakfast. Sacul looked around the room, but he couldn't see Torms. He put his tunic on and ran out into the courtyard. Torms was still in his workshop, Sacul called the other two out; all three of them just stood there watching the workshop. Every now and then the odd sound of clanking or banging came from within.

"What's he doing?" asked Sacul.

"Beats me, he's been in there all night," said Sinat, as he took a puff on his pipe before continuing. "You know he's always got his head stuck into a book or making something."

They sat there for what seemed like hours, just watching the workshop. All that disturbed them was the occasional tap of Sinat's pipe against his boot as he refilled it.

Nakie was starting to feel uneasy, because it had been at least a couple of hours since his last meal and his stomach had begun to make noises; which were starting to scare the ponies.

At last the doors to the workshop flew open and out strolled Torms. "Friends, get your best armour, we're going to Ironclad, and we're going to the palace," he announced.

Sacul's face lit up. He had never been to the palace before. He had been inside Ironclad the Dwarfen kingdom and had wasted many a few hours just staring at palace wondering what wonders lay within but had never set foot in the palace itself.

Torms took a good look at them. What a sorry looking bunch they were, with food all in their beards - particularly Nakie; every inch of hair on his head was greasy and matted, especially his beard.

"Sacul, get the bath out of the storeroom," he shouted, clapping his hands.

Sinat jumped up. "What are you playing at?" he snapped, feeling offended by Torms shouting orders. But Torms stood his ground.

"Cousin, trust me. We're going to be rich," he said, then turned away with a glint in his eye and quickly, before Sinat replaced the glint with his fist.

Nakie was the last one into the bath, seeing as none of the others wanted to go in after him. It took all three of them to try and get him in. Eventually, they chucked a half-eaten chicken in, and Nakie nearly broke his neck trying to get in after it. After about two and a half hours, Nakie's beard had finally let go of all the chicken bones, all apart from one, which was at the bottom of his beard and steadfastly refused to come out. Torms tried to cut it out but got a smack in the mouth for his efforts. Followed by: 'A dwarf's beard is his own,' from a be-grumbled Nakie.

Sacul had polished their best armour and was giving the breastplates their final rub down when Torms stepped out of his workshop with four gleaming steel helmets with chainmail hanging down the back; this was the kind of helmet that said. 'You are someone.'

The detail of craftsmanship was second to none, and the decoration and patterns were amongst the best they had ever seen. Nakie even stopped playing with what looked like a potato duck in the bath and looked up.

"Where did they come from?" asked Sinat.

"I made them last winter during the cold dark nights when I was bored. I think you will find they will fit. I took your measurements off your heads when you were all sleeping," said Torms, feeling rather pleased with himself. He strode over to Sacul and laid each of the helmets on top of their rightful owners' armour, then turned around. "We leave in one hour," he said, then walked off, with one eye still on Sinat.

*

Gillant was standing outside The Great Tree, with two imperial elven guards blocking his way to the entrance. "I have urgent news for the king," Gillant spoke out.

"And who shall I say is calling?" asked one guard somewhat cynically as they both looked him up and down.

"Tell the king, Gillant is here. He will see me."

*

The dwarfs were on their cart and heading towards Ironclad the Dwarfen kingdom. This was located towards the eastern edge of the Ferral Mountain range. It would take them until dusk to reach their destination. Once there, they would have to apply to the advisor at the palace gate, which was located inside the kingdom for an audience with King Crackzull, the powerful Dwarfen King.

As the cart rolled alone Sinat sat there pondering on what lay ahead. It was hard even for the king's mum to get an audience with her son, so what chance have we got? Thought Sinat.

It wasn't that the king didn't like his mum; with most dwarfs, he had a rough and tough image to uphold, and like most mums, they tend to forget that their sons have grown up. Still insisting on getting their hankie out and rubbing a mark off your face that only mothers can see. When you would have sworn blind, wasn't there when you last looked. And seeing as the last time the King's mum visited him, upon seeing her son immediately got her handkerchief out; much to the amusement of the sniggering guards, followed by her complaining that her little bundle of joy was looking thin and had he eaten that day.

It was safe to say that whenever the king's mother wanted to visit him, he was always on other pressing matters. One of which had been inviting in all the mothers of the sniggering guards to the palace not just for a day, not even a week, but to permanently live within the palace walls and not only that move in with their sons. King Crackzull was known for his ruthlessness, but no one ever thought he could have been that ruthless.

Sinat didn't say anything because he wanted to see the look on Torms's face when he got booted out of the kingdom. He didn't hate his cousin, far from it, but Sinat was their leader, and he hadn't a clue what Torms was up to.

Each time he asked Torms what it was they were supposed to be presenting to the king, he would reply, "Wait, you'll see." He would then tap a pouch, which had the rock hidden within, and smile.

This unnerved Sinat a bit, but he hadn't been to the kingdom for a long time, and he was looking forward to tasting the fine ales and having a smoke in front of a roaring fire, and one in particular, The Pickaxe & Pony.

The cart finally pulled into the entrance of Ironclad. The kingdom itself had been carved out of the mountain, with fifty-foot high steel doors embedded into the rock face. The carvings on the door were of the great King Crackzull himself. There were only a couple of hours of daylight remaining. At sunset, the massive doors were closed, and if you weren't in by dusk; you stayed out until the morning.

The two main guards waved them inside and didn't pay too much attention to them as they fitted the general description of a dwarf; short, stocky, had a fat nose and an array of weapons with them, that could stock an entire armoury, but most importantly they had beards. However, one of the guards did have to take a second glance at Nakie who was sat in the back chewing on bones. To establish if they were bringing a wild beast into the kingdom to trade, as that would require a section 247 form to be completed upon entry or 2 gold coins depending on which guards were on.

As the cart rolled in through the main entrance and into the Kingdom, Sacul's face lit up as he stared in awe at the enormous cavern they had entered. Way up in the ceiling, were small holes in the mountain roof, about a hundred feet apart, which let the sunlight in and the smoke out. This was because all the streets inside the cavern had torch beacons filled with oil to light up the dark nights. Then there was the city itself. It was marvellous: there were inns, blacksmiths, armoury shops and everything else you could think of. The streets were packed with dwarfs engaging in one activity or another. Everywhere you looked, Dwarfs were doing deals on this and that, pushing laden carts this way and that way, and before Sacul knew it, he'd be looking at something else of interest that had just rolled past.

He felt at home amongst so many dwarfs, a feeling of excitement arose in his stomach. He felt proud to be a dwarf: if you were a dwarf, this was the place to be.

*

Gillant walked into The Great Tree, also known to outsiders as The Living Kingdom. The Great Tree stood in the middle of the Emerald Forest, which outlined the borders of the Elven Kingdom. The Great Tree was quarter of a mile round; on each of its branches, there were high platforms which housed libraries, banquet halls, study rooms, classrooms, and everything else associated with the graceful lives of the elves. As you went higher up the tree, the nobler you were, until you arrived at the throne room at the top of the tree. Beyond that stood the royal chambers containing The Great Hall, where meetings of the Elven Kingdom took place.

Through those windows, you could see the whole Elven Kingdom and every other race living on Gryphon Island; named after the Gryphons that used to live high up in the Brocken Mountains before the trolls moved in and wiped them all out. To the north could be seen the Ferral Mountains homeland of the dwarfs and to the south the provinces of the warlords. To the east was the coastline of the Baleant Sea, and to the west was The Island of Black Rock and sat upon Black Rock was The Dark Fortress, surrounded by the harsh waters of the Black Ocean, this is where the sorcerers ruled.

No one knows how the ocean got the name of Black; some say it was because of the dark mystical creatures that lurked below. Others say if you swim in its black icy waters it will wash away your soul. However, swimming in it probably would take your soul due to the powerful currents. But if the truth were to be known, it was down to an old and ancient sorcerer only referred in old ancient texts as X, deep down within the long-forgotten section of the library within The Dark Fortress. X was one off the first sorcerers to step foot on the island, and when he did, he turned its shores deadly black and icy cold to keep out unwanted visitors, or as he put it; mindless time-wasting peasants.

Each race was happy in their own lands except one, the warlords. The warlords were divided into four provinces. The First Province was owned by Strangaurd, who was a broad muscular man standing seven feet tall. He was a cruel and merciless ruler; his province was mainly wasteland and marshes, what little it did produce was from farm stock. He squeezed every penny out of the farmers who worked his land. If they didn't pay, he would kill them and hand the land over to somebody else who could make him money. He spent most of his time sat within Castle Attin, scheming all day.

The Second Province was owned by Two'Bit. He was a short, fat, chubby man who would sell his own grandmother. But he couldn't because he had already sold her when he was seven for two bit's, and that is how he got his name, ever since that day the name stuck. He didn't mind; in fact, he liked it. Being born into a market-trading province, the name Two'Bit had quite a good ring to it, and it helped when he was trying to do deals. If he could sell his own grandmother for two bit's what else was he willing to sell.

The Third Province was owned by Zelton; he was sturdy looking, even for a warlord. He had chiselled features with a square jaw. His province wasn't as large as the first two provinces, but it had a good fishing port, Zelton ruled his province with a fair hand.

The Fourth Province was owned by Wykep. This was the smallest province of them all. Nothing of interest happened here. Wykep was tall, with handsome features, and very rich. His subjects paid their taxes and were left alone, his province was a trading port. If you were rich in any of the other provinces, you would try and buy your way into the Fourth Province.

*

Sacul was the first one off the cart looking at this, touching that, whilst Torms had one place in mind and one place only, the palace, which was situated at the back of the cavern; its walls were the inner mountain itself. It had taken generations of dwarfs a thousand years to craft the rock into all the halls and chambers that lay behind the golden doors. The doors stood tall and proud, with carvings detailing the entire dwarfen, ancestral kingship.

"Wait here whilst I go and make an appointment with the advisor, so I can seek an audience with the king," said Torms as he got down from the cart.

"Who do you think you are talking to, I make the decisions around here," snapped Sinat.

"Nakie, Sacul, take the cart down to The Pickaxe and Pony and put the ponies around the back." Ordered Sinat.

The Pickaxe & Pony was the biggest and one of the roughest tavern in the entire Dwarfen Kingdom; it wasn't for the faint-hearted, it was the kind of tavern that searched you for weapons on the way in and if you didn't have any you were given some.

"Me and Torms will meet you in there later. I'm going with Torms; this I've got to see," said Sinat mockingly.

"Can I come?" Asked Sacul.

"No," shouted Sinat as he climbed down onto the street.

Sacul put his head down and muttered something under his breath protesting about wanting to see the palace. At that exact moment, a large cart rolled past and ran over Sinat's foot. As the wheels continued to roll over the small bumps in the cobbles, an apple fell, bouncing off Sinat's head and landed on the floor.

"Oh, for the love of diamonds," shouted Sinat, and began hopping around the place like a street performer.

After about a minute, he began to calm down. "I think my toe's broken," he shouted.

"Two copper pieces and one silver, not bad," said Nakie.

"What?" Asked Sinat, still in pain as he was now holding his foot whilst rubbing it.

"That's what you made, I didn't realise you were so nimble on your feet."

Sinat raised his hand to wallop Nakie. Torms stood between them. "Well, come on, we haven't got all day," he said, ushering Sinat towards the palace, as Nakie and Sacul climbed back up onto the cart.

Nakie tugged on the reins and the ponies set off through the crowded streets. Sacul just sat in awe as he took in all the sites and different smells, accompanied by an array of noises as they rolled past. They had been travelling along the streets for a good twenty minutes when Sacul finally turned his gaze back towards Nakie.

"When will we find the tavern?" Asked Sacul inquisitively.

"You'll know," replied Nakie.

As soon as the words had left his mouth, an axe came flying out of a smashed window and embedded itself in the side of the cart.

"We're here," said Nakie. "Take the ponies and cart around the back. I've some business to take care of." He pulled the axe out of the cart and went into the tavern; or rather he jumped through the broken window from where the axe had just come, shouting, "Who threw that?"

All Sacul could hear was the dragging of chairs, bottles breaking and an occasional scream from a dwarf as they flew headfirst out of the window. After ten minutes it went quiet. Sacul went into the tavern and saw Nakie sitting on his own in the middle of the room at a table; there were piles of bodies all over the floor, in agonizing pain. The odd one or two were wedged in the ceiling, with their fat stumpy legs dangling down through the splintered floorboards above.

Nakie looked at Sacul. "Found him," said Nakie with a grin on his face.

Torms and Sinat were walking down the street towards the palace gates. At least Torms was walking; Sinat was hobbling, saying something about getting his hands on the owner of a large cart carrying apples. They reached palace and stood at the bottom of the steps that lead up to the enormous golden doors.

As they walked up the steps, a very skinny dwarf wearing a robe that was far too big for him met them; it looked like he only wore it to try to make himself look big. Accompanying him were two rather large dwarfs, carrying golden battle-axes; who did look big.

"My Name is Tennant, advisor to King Crackzull, what do you want?" snapped the advisor.

"We urgently seek counsel with the king," said Torms.

"Oh, you just waltz up here and want counsel? Do you think it's that easy? Do you know how long the waiting list is? Now be off with you and don't come back." Snapped the advisor, before muttering under his breath about not having time to deal with common folk.

Torms winked at Sinat. "OK," he said, and turned and went to walk back down the steps. Just as he put his foot on the first step he turned back around, "Oh, just one more thing, can you give this to your philosopher for me, he might find it interesting."

With that, he threw the small pouch containing the sample of rock towards the advisor. The advisor caught it and muttered under his breath, "As if I haven't got enough to do already," and shuffled off dragging his robe behind him.

"I'll be at The Pickaxe and Pony," shouted Torms. The advisor just put his hand up to dismiss them and didn't pay any more attention as he shuffled off through the palace gates.

"WE!" said Sinat. "We, will be at The Pickaxe and Pony, not I," he grunted.

"Oh yes, sorry: we," said Torms as they walked off down the steps to find the others.

"Well, we might as well make the most of it now we're here," said Torms as they strolled off.

Sinat was silently chuckling to himself. Who did Torms think he was, walking up to the palace gates like that. Well, everything was back to normal now: he'd be in charge, and there would be no more of this counsel with the king business. All Sinat was looking forward to now, was a flagon of ale from a dirty flagon, from a dirty tavern, in front of a roaring fire while puffing away on his pipe. What more could a dwarf ask for, he thought.

*

Gillant walked through the grand oak carved doors that led to the throne room. It was magnificently grand, everything in the long hall shone with elven craftsmanship. The Great Tree itself made up many parts of the room, with many fine carvings of leaves etched into its trunk.

Pholanthion, the Elven King, sat at the end of the hall on a giant oak carved throne, and seated next to him was the fair queen, Lynthia, who sat proud and noble. The Elven King sat perfectly straight, his robust and slender figure was dressed head to toe in fine clothes; which gave him a graceful presence.

"Come closer and lift your head up so I can see your face again."

Gillant lifted his head and caught the eye of the king. "How long has it been?" asked Pholanthion.

"About two years, Your Highness," answered Gillant.

"Far too long. What news have you?" asked the king.

"It is news I would like to discuss in private. It is of the utmost importance."

Pholanthion waved his hand, and his advisor appeared. Velthrone was a tall, slender elf with grey-silvery hair; he had served Pholanthion's father before him, he was all-knowing and had mastered every elven art one could imagine.

"Velthrone, see Gillant to the private chambers, feed him and give him anything else he requires. Then open up The Great Hall and bring him up in two hours."

"Thank you, Your Highness," said Gillant.

*

Now it wasn't the fact that Nakie minded people throwing axes, he just didn't like them coming his way. By now dwarfs were starting to come back into the tavern, but, if it was all the same to them, they were giving Nakie a wide berth seeing as he still had his hand resting on his double-handed axe and his other on a chicken leg.

"Sinat, Torms," shouted Sacul as he saw them walk into the tavern. They looked over and headed towards Sacul.

"Well, get the ale in Sacul, and keep it coming and while you're at it, get another three chickens," ordered Sinat.

Nakie grunted. "Make that six," Sinat added, "and while we are here, we might as well stay the night. See if they have any rooms."

Sacul headed towards the bar. After pushing and shoving, he finally got served. "Four ales and six chickens, and do you have four beds for the night?" he asked the fat, chubby innkeeper, who now stood before him.

"Sorry, out of beds, we're full up," replied the innkeeper, tapping his chubby fingers on the bar.

Sacul was a fast learner, and he had learnt a few things from Torms through the years. He leant forward, closer to the innkeeper. "See that dwarf over there, the one who returned the axe? Well, what do you think he will do when I tell he has to sleep out in the street tonight?"

"Will that be one or two pillows with your beds, sir?" replied the innkeeper somewhat hastily.

"One will be sufficient thank you. Oh, and when the ale and food are ready would you be so kind as to bring them over," said Sacul smiling to himself.

"Yes, sir, right away, sir," said the Innkeeper.

Sacul walked away feeling quite pleased with himself. By the time he had pushed his way back through the crowd, the food and ale were already on the table. He sat down and picked up the nearest tankard. "Now that's what I call service!" he said with a grin.

*

The dwarfen advisor was shuffling along the inner chambers of the palace with his burning torch; he had one more stop to make before he finished. He was looking forward to putting his feet up by a nice log fire. He had been the king's advisor for over fifty years and never once had he had a thank you, or a well done from the king. It wasn't that he was bitter; the job was good so was the pay, and he had his own chambers inside the place. 'Well, it beats working down the mine,' were his thoughts on the matter. Even though he was a dwarf, from an early age he didn't even practically look like a dwarf, he was skinny for a start and taller than most dwarfs, plus he never liked to get his hands dirty.

That would usually be punishable by death in dwarfen law, so he had studied hard and worked his way up, even if it was to the mockery of the other dwarfs. This included his own family, particularly his father.

"You want to write on paper for a living and don't want to work down a mine?" were his last words before throwing himself in front of a cart.

"Ah, here we are," he said to himself. He knocked on the philosopher's door, and then opened it, peeking his head around. There wasn't anybody there. The study was big, and the torches on the walls were all snubbed out. "Oh well, I must have missed him," he muttered as he walked across the study, his torch casting a huge shadow of himself on a verity off bookcases as he shuffled across the room. He went over to the philosopher's desk placing the brown pouch in the middle and turned to walk back out. As he did, his overlong sleeve caught the pouch and knocked it off the desk. It bounced off the arm of a chair, and the rock fell out, landing under the table.

The advisor was unaware of any of this as all he was thinking of was a nice cup of cocoa. He walked out of the room and slammed the door shut. The room was pitch dark once more, all except under the philosopher's desk; where a dim amber speck started to glow.

*

Velthrone opened the door to The Great Hall. "Gillant," he announced to King Pholanthion. Gillant walked in; Pholanthion was staring out of the window watching the sun go down. "Thank you Velthrone, you may leave," he said.

"But Your Highness," protested Velthrone.

"That will be all."

"Yes, Your Highness," concluded Velthrone as he bowed his head and left.

Pholanthion turned to face Gillant. "Well, come here my old friend, you're not on show anymore." Gillant went forward and gave Pholanthion a hearty hug.

"It's been far too long. I am pleased to see that you're so fit and well," said Pholanthion.

"Thank you," replied Gillant.

"Well, what's this important news you have for me, or did you just want to talk about old times?"

"Oh no, I have news," replied Gillant.

"Well, let's sit down at the table and have some wine and talk." Pholanthion gestured for Gillant to sit.

"Well, as you know, Pholanthion, I wander the forest as a ranger."

"And a fine one at that," added Pholanthion.

Gillant nodded and accepted the praise before he continued.

"When my travels took me out onto the western edge of the Emerald Forest I came across a party of dwarfs."

"What, you are into watching grubby little creatures now are you, Gillant?" laughed Pholanthion.

Gillant accepted some more wine as he continued: "I saw one of them disappear into the forest, so I followed him into a clearing. He was holding something. When I saw what it was, I nearly fell out of the tree!"

"Well, what was it, a giant diamond?" asked Pholanthion.

"No, it was Amberinth," replied Gillant.

Pholanthion dropped the bottle of wine. It rolled to the end of the table and onto the floor, pouring out its contents. Pholanthion was transfixed and staring at Gillant.

"Amberinth? Are you sure? You must be mistaken."

"I know what I saw, and it was Amberinth," answered Gillant.

"Did the dwarf know what he had in his possession?" asked Pholanthion.

"I think he had a good idea. He headed back to the Ferral Mountains with the other dwarfs. It looked like they had been trading in the provinces. There were four of them altogether, so that means if they were heading towards the mountains the Amberinth must have come from somewhere south of the Ferral," informed Gillant.

"How many paths are there between the Provinces and the Ferral Mountains?" asked Pholanthion.

"There are about four major ones, but the only paths open to the dwarfs are the coastal trail and the main track, which clips the edge at the Emerald Forest to the west. It was on that main track they were travelling. The other two paths lead through the Elven Kingdom, and if you don't know where you are going, you get lost or even killed."

"So, let's say the dwarfs had found some Amberinth and were going back to inspect it, how long do you think it would take them before they had confirmation of what it was? How quickly could a dwarf mining party be sent out?"

"Well, they would under dwarfen law, have to apply for a mining licence," said Gillant thoughtfully.

"Yes, but that's only for the Ferral Mountains. What about somewhere outside their borders?" asked Pholanthion.

"I don't know," replied Gillant.

"I do," said Pholanthion. "Velthrone," he shouted. There was a short pause, and the doors opened.

"Your Highness?"

"Come in and shut the door."

"As you wish," said Velthrone.

He shut the doors and moved over to the two figures sitting down.

"What we are about to tell you goes no further, and it stays between the three of us and these walls," said Pholanthion.

Velthrone nodded.

"What do you know about Amberinth?" asked Pholanthion.

"Amberinth, Your Highness, was the ancient mineral of the Gods. It was indestructible once it had been properly forged. Not even one of our finest bolts would pierce it. It is said the only time it has ever previously been seen was a thousand years ago, when Rancore the powerful warlord ruled the lands and all who lived in them, including the elves, dwarfs and sorcerers. The story says he died in some great battle and the lands were divided equally, as we now know it. However, some of the books don't go back that far, so a lot has been forgotten, and only myths and legends remain. However, Your Highness, this tale is for the story-rooms, it is only a myth," said Velthrone.

"Until now," said Gillant.

Velthrone's eyes flickered slightly, but he kept his composure. "What makes you so sure?" he asked.

"Because I've seen it with my own eyes. The amber glow, only Amberinth has such a colour. I've also studied the ancient books, and I know what I saw." explained Gillant. He then went on to tell Velthrone about the dwarf in the forest.

"This now brings us to your expertise, Velthrone," said Pholanthion pausing slightly before continuing. "How long would it take for a dwarf mining party to set out southwards on an expedition, and would they have claim to any minerals outside their own mountains?"

"I would say only a matter of days once they had discovered what it was they were mining. Dwarfs don't hang around when there's mining to be done. They would be quite quick to mine the mineral. Once they had mined it, and with their expert craftsmanship, they could make the ultimate armour, making them a formidable foe. Or if they sold it, they would be showered with untold wealth, and as long as it was on neutral land it would be rightfully theirs. Whoever had an Amberinth army would be unstoppable! Your Highness" concluded Velthrone.

"We need to prepare," said Pholanthion looking a little concerned; pausing briefly taking in what he had just heard and thinking about what to do next.

"Go and get Cluzac, the Captain of The Elven High Elite, Velthrone, and bring him to me."

*

Strangaurd, Warlord of the First Province was sitting on his throne looking at a large map of Gryphon Island. His massive frame was hovering over the table when the door came crashing open. In came Gypsy, a large-framed mountain troll dog. They were bred thousands of years ago to defend villages against troll attacks. They were known for their solid stature and vicious temper, but somewhere along the bloodline, there must have been a mix-up.

Gypsy looked the part: big, strong, and vicious, with scars all over her muzzle. However, she was soft and as daft as a brush. She only had the scars on her muzzle because she kept breaking out of her cage. She had broken out so many times that Strangaurd thought it easier to let her roam wherever she pleased. It saved him the cost of cages and people did stay away, every time someone wanted something or approached the castle, there was Gypsy, either barking out of one of the windows or from one of the mounts. Which was enough to scare them off; they didn't know she only wanted to play and it saved Strangaurd on a few guards.

There was a time when a travelling pie man was walking past with his cart, full to the brim with pies. Gypsy jumped the fifty feet into the moat, swam across and chased him. He put up a good run, but after a two-mile chase he finally dropped his cart and all its contents. Gypsy scoffed every pie in sight, and just for good measure chewed the cart to pieces before returning home. Since then, nobody had seen a travelling pie man in the First Province, or any other salesman with food products. Once word had got out about Gypsy, the traders had taken a vote and now boycotted the First Province altogether just to be on the safe side.

There were a few adventurous tradesmen that ignored the boycott, but they soon went out of business.

Gypsy now had her head tilted to one side and was staring at Strangaurd. Strangaurd was trying to wave her out of the room but wasn't getting anywhere, when a falcon came through the window and landed in the centre of the table, right on top of the map, with a message tied to its leg.

Strangaurd went to pick the falcon up, but before he could, Gypsy was up on the table faster than a bolt of lightning, her back legs overtaking her front ones as she made a mad dash for the falcon. The bird flew gracefully up into the air just as Gypsy passed underneath, taking the map with her as she disappeared over the table. Then her head appeared from the other side covered with the map; she then proceeded to thrash around on the floor pawing and gnawing at the map to get it off, eventually reappearing with a bit of Emerald Forest sticking out of her mouth; The rest of it was scattered all over the room.

Strangaurd's face went red; his veins were starting to stick out from his neck and face. "GET OUT! GET OUT!" he shrieked.

Gypsy cowered with drooped shoulders, as she walked slowly out of the room, dragging the remains of the Ferral Mountains with her as it was wrapped around her back leg, occasionally stopping while she gave her back leg a slight kick and wiggle, but the map remained.

Strangaurd shut the door and looked up into the rafters. He saw the sharp eyes of the falcon staring back down at him. He tried to coax it down but without any joy. He got his chair and put it on the table, then lifted his big frame up and onto the chair. When the falcon was in his grasp, he took the note from its leg and unfolded the message. The writing was in the most excellent of hand, and read:

_" The break which we have been waiting for has arrived."_

*

It was quite late, and Sinat was leaning back in his chair smoking his clay pipe. Nakie was chewing on a chicken bone. Sacul was quite drunk and was sitting with a smile on his face. "Make it one pillow," he kept muttering; the others hadn't a clue what he was talking about.

Torms had turned around and was now talking to a large fat dwarf with a big ginger beard, which was sat alone on the next table.

"So, then that's all you do each year is it, trade with the provinces?" asked Torms.

"Yes, and I do very well at it. Plus, I buy and sell all over the Ferral Mountains. Today I bought a big shipment of apples into the Kingdom, about a couple of hours ago."

Sinat stopped sucking on his pipe and turned to face the dwarf. "Apples?" he asked.

He moved his chair closer. "Exactly how big is your cart?"

"Oh, it's huge, with great big wheels on it," said the ginger-bearded trader proudly.

"And you say -"

Before he could say, any more Sinat was interrupted by a ' _THUD_ ,' as Sacul's head hit the table. He was out for the count, snoring, and every now and then he'd hiccup.

"I think I will take him to his room," said Torms. "Give me a hand, Nakie."

Nakie grunted in protest because he had to leave his food.

"One, two, three lift." They picked up Sacul and disappeared into the crowded room. Now there was one thing Sinat knew, and that was that Nakie never left his food.

"Now, where was I?" asked Sinat. "Oh yes, you were telling me about your great BIG cart and its great BIG wheels. But before you carry on, would you like some food?"

"That would be splendid," said the trader.

"Well come and sit at our table."

"Chicken, my favourite," said the trader as he sat down, were Nakie once sat.

"Well, tuck in, I'll go and get the ale," said Sinat with a small smile on his face. He stood up and walked towards the bar. "Too easy," he muttered under his breath.

Nakie returned from putting Sacul to bed. You couldn't actually see him coming; you just saw all the other dwarfs go flying out the way as he barged into them. Finally, he arrived at the table to find some ginger-bearded dwarf eating his supper.

All the apple trader can remember was looking at the chicken one-minute, and the next he was looking at a pile of his teeth, which were now embedded in Nakie's fist. Then it all went a little blurry; with a strange sensation of wind rustling through his hair. The next thing he could remember was the sound of breaking glass, and the feel of cold wet cobbles of the street, which he was now lying face down on in a heap.

Nakie had his uses, thought Sinat as he walked over and passed Nakie a mug of ale to calm him down. "What happened there?" he asked, trying not to laugh.

"I dunno, I went upstairs then came back down and there he was; a great big ginger thing eating my chicken."

"Oh well, that's dwarfs for you," said Sinat with a smile.

*

The flames were still burning brightly up in The Great Hall within The Living Kingdom.

"So, you have fifty Elven Elite ready to go and another two hundred on standby. Plus, two thousand archers and five thousand swordsmen in reserve," said Pholanthion to Cluzac, the Captain of the Elven Elite.

"That is correct, Your Highness."

"Now let's go through this one more time. You have to tell your elves that this is of the utmost importance. You take your direct orders from Gillant who is in charge of you and your fifty elite guards. All you need to know is that you must do exactly what he says, understand?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Gillant, do you want to say something?"

"Yes, Your Highness. How many of your elves do you really trust?"

"All of them."

"No, I mean really trust. I only want elves on this excursion that you can trust with your life. Also, we will be gone for some time, and we will need four strong, fast horses for the messengers, and probably food for a month."

"I understand," said the Captain, "but as I said, these are The Elven High Elite, the finest, archers, trackers and swordsmen in the entire Elven kingdom."

"Good, now go' and meet me with your elves and the provisions at sunrise in the Oaken clearing one mile west of here, do you know it?"

"I know where that is," replied Cluzac. He turned to face Pholanthion; "Your Highness." bowed his head and then hurried out of the room.

"Can I make a suggestion?" asked Velthrone. "I think I should go with them to lend my knowledge."

"No, you stay here. Gillant knows everything there is to know about tracking, and I don't think it will be too hard to follow a noisy mining party."

"Yes, Your Highness," said Velthrone reluctantly, gritting his teeth under a smile.

*

The sun had just come up and Odall, the chief philosopher of the dwarfen palace, was making his breakfast on a heated metal contraption or a burner, as he liked to call it. Which he heated his jars on, when testing rock samples; it had just acquired the right glow.

This morning he was cooking sausage and mushrooms, and he had hot water boiling on a neighbouring burner for his cup of hot herbs. He was a happy and very wise old dwarf, who loved his job. Because dwarfs knew everything there was to know about rocks, gemstones and minerals already, there wasn't much for him to do, because everything had already been written or tested, and that suited him just fine. He had been doing the job for over forty years, and after all that time, Odall still turned up to work each morning on time and with a smile on his face.

He was also quite an excellent cook, and his omelettes were the talk of the kingdom. He put his sausage and mushrooms on a plate and walked over to his desk, whistling as he went. He got his cutlery out from the drawer, second on the right where it always was and sat down to eat his hearty breakfast. He was just cutting into his second sausage when his knife slipped, and the sausage flew off the plate, hit the bookshelf behind him and rolled under the desk.

"Blast," shouted Odall as he pushed his chair back, got down on all fours, and stuck his hand under the desk.

"Ah, got you." He pulled his hand out.

"What in a dwarf's mine are you?" He stood up and pushed his plate to one side. He put the rock he had retrieved onto his desk. It was aglow with amber speckles, now Odall knew what it was, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"Is it some kind of ingredient for a plum pudding?" He muttered.

No, that wasn't it, he thought as he turned to face his vast collection of books stacked against the wall.

"Let's try stones of origin," he said out loud to himself, pulling the book off the shelf and blowing the dust off, and in his next breath he sucked it all back in again. Which caused him to start a series of eye-watering coughs.

*

Sacul was the first one out of bed: even though his head felt a bit foggy, he was going exploring. He prodded Nakie in the bed next to him. "Come on, get up."

"What time is it?" came the grumpy voice of Nakie from under his sheet.

"It must be early morning as the first raises of sunlight are starting to come in through the cavern roof."

Nakie just turned over, but Sacul had already got his boots on. He strolled over to the window and looked out. They were on the top floor with a marvellous view of the entire Dwarfen Kingdom.

"We must be in one of the best rooms in the tavern," said Sacul out loud.

In fact, this was true; they were in the best room, it was the innkeeper's room. He had moved his own bed out and into the cellar, and put four beds in. Like his mother used to say: "You can never be too careful." And no truer words had ever been spoken when you had Nakie sleeping under your roof.

Sacul didn't like going exploring on his own, as it was far better to explore with a friend. He turned his gaze back down into the street below. "Oh look, a shop that's selling hot duck sandwiches and hot herbs, how nice."

There was a brief flurry of noise behind him.

"What are we waiting for?" said Nakie standing fully dressed and ready to go by the door. Sacul smiled and went to walk out of the room. He thought about all those late nights he stayed up talking with Torms; at last, it was starting to pay off.

"What about the other two?" asked Sacul.

"Let'm sleep, more food for us. Come on, you're paying," said Nakie pushing Sacul out of the door.

They were sitting in the window with the words 'Hot Duck' above their heads when a fat, big ginger-bearded dwarf shoved his face up against the glass and started peering through. As his gaze fell upon Nakie, he smiled, and as he did Sacul noticed that he had quite a lot of his teeth missing.

"That's him, that's the one, officer. I want him arrested," shouted the dwarf. With that, about twenty dwarfen guards came smashing through the door, and within seconds at least ten of them went back out through the window. Eventually, the guards overpowered Nakie and put him in chains. But not until reinforcements had arrived, and even then, it was still fairly balanced. If Nakie hadn't stopped to take a bite out of the piece of duck, he'd have probably won.

Sacul was slightly concussed as he'd been knocked over by Nakie swinging the table around over his head. By the time he started to come to, all he saw was Nakie in the back of a cart with bars around it, being taken away. Then he saw the fat, big ginger-bearded dwarf handing over a large bag of apples with money poking out the top, to one of the sergeants.

"Here's something for your retirement fund, sergeant."

"Well, thank you," said the sergeant giving him a wink.

Sacul climbed out of the broken window and stood in the middle of the street.

"Oi, Sacul."

Sacul looked around.

"No, up here."

He looked up and saw Torms leaning out of the window.

"Was that Nakie I saw in the back of that cart?"

"Yeah," shouted Sacul back up.

"What happened?"

"I don't know," answered Sacul.

"What do you mean you don't know?" asked Sinat in a loud voice as he pushed his head out of the same window.

"Well, we were eating, and then this dwarf appeared, then loads of guards, then more guards, then Nakie was taken away."

"What do you mean a dwarf appeared?"

"Well, there was this big fat dwarf with a huge ginger beard." Said Sacul, then stopped as he tried his hardest to remember something important.

"Oh yeah, his teeth were missing."

"Oh bugger," said Sinat, "we're be right down, wait there." His head disappeared as quickly as it had appeared as pulled his head back through the window.

*

Gillant was already in the Oaken clearing when Cluzac appeared through the trees followed by fifty of the Elven Elite, four horses and four elves pulling carts. Gillant cast his eye over them and could see they were excellent soldiers. They stood tall and strong, and were dressed in dark green cloaks, with slightly different coloured green shirts and lighter green trousers. Their coloured uniform blended as naturally into the forest as if they had been grown there.

Gillant held out his hand. "I'm glad you made it," he said.

Cluzac clasped his hand. "And I'm glad to be on this adventure, it's about time we saw some action," he replied.

"I don't know about action, but I'm sure it's going to be interesting. Which are your two best scouts?"

"Flennat and Banthrone; but they are a bit rough around the edges," Said Cluzac in a hushed voice.

"They got into the Elven Elite because Banthrone is one of the best shots in the kingdom and Flennat is the best tracker we have."

"Call them over!" ordered Gillant.

Cluzac turned and signalled for Flennat and Banthrone, who came running.

"Take one horse each and ride to the coastal path that leads from the Ferral Mountains past The Island of Black Rock to the Brocken Mountains. Stay hidden in the trees, and report if you see a dwarf mining party heading south from the Ferral Mountains to the Brocken Mountains, or any large number of dwarfs heading that way. Now get on your way and stay out of sight," ordered Gillant.

They nodded then disappeared not making a sound and started collecting their provisions.

Gillant looked back at Cluzac. "Right, the rest of us are going to wait just inside the western edge of the Emerald Forest about a quarter of a mile in there's a small clearing. It will be perfect for a base camp, and we'll post scouts to keep an eye on the main track that leads from the Ferral Mountains to the Brocken Mountains."

"And then what?" asked Cluzac.

"Then we wait, Cluzac, we wait."

*

It was late evening, and there were piles of books spread all over the study. Odall had finished looking through them all, but he couldn't find reference to the glowing rock in any of them. He was about to put them all away when he saw a book he had missed high up on the shelf; he got it down and blew off the dust, this time standing well back. " _Myths & Legends_," said Odall out loud, "well, I've tried all the rest."

It wasn't until Odall had flicked through half the book and was casually scanning down the page, that he came across a picture of an ancient king sitting on a throne. In his hand was a sword, which had some mystical, magical writing along its blade. He flicked through a few more pages before he came across a picture of some glowing mineral, which was said to have been forged by the Gods.

"Amberinth," whispered Odall under his breath. He recalled he had seen it somewhere before; it was in an old book he'd read when he was an apprentice philosopher in The Chambers of Art, located deep down in the lower floors of the palace. However, it wouldn't be there now: it was crumbling when he first read it, and when he'd finished reading it, all he had left was a pile of dust on his lap.

He put the rock under a large magnifying glass with a series of pulleys on. He adjusted them until he had a clear picture of the rock. It was about three inches long by three inches thick; he noticed the dim glow of the amber speckles peering out of the rock, the rock seemed to be hiding something.

He quickly got up and fetched some zoniclode acid; known to most dwarfs as dwarf acid, or to others as 'where's my finger gone acid,' from one of his many shelves of bottles. It was a special formula that the dwarfs had perfected. It dissolved rock and hardened mud and pretty much everything else, but always left behind the diamonds or other minerals that lay within unmarked.

He put the rock into a metal bowl then carefully poured in the Zoniclode acid. Instantly the rock started to fizz and bubble at great speed, hissing fiercely as it dissolved. After about 30 seconds most of the hardened mud had disappeared. Then to Odall's horror part of a skeletons hand appeared, ever so briefly before the dwarf acid made claim to it. After about a minute the fizzing stopped; Odall poked his head over the edge of the bowl and blew away the fumes. He looked into the bowl and could see, half a piece of a round amber disc. He carefully picked up the object with steel tongs and submerged it in boiling water.

Two minutes later, he pulled it out and dried it off with an old rag that lay upon the desk. He then placed it back under the magnifying glass once more; it gleamed magically. On the half piece of the disc Odall had, he could see half a coat of arms. That had a ram on its hind legs, interlocking its horns, and underneath the animal was half a sword. He went back to his book and flicked through the pages once more.

"Ha, ha," cried Odall. It turned out to be the coat of arms belonging to Rancore, the mythical warlord. His coat of arms had had two rams. Both were on their hind legs locking their horns, and underneath the animals was a sword. He went back to the piece of disc to check he had the right coat of arms against that shown in the book. It matched perfectly. But how on earth did it come to be under his desk? Well, he would think about that later, but now he needed to inform the king of his newfound discovery.

He had already run down fourteen corridors, and he wasn't stopping for anyone. The throne room doors got nearer and nearer as he got closer and closer. The two guards standing outside came into view. However, by the time they had noticed him, it was too late. He barged past them, knocking them over as he ran. Flinging open the doors with the momentum of his body, he stumbled in. As the doors were thrown open, Odall let out a shriek as he realised he couldn't stop. He skidded and slipped across the throne room floor and went crashing into the steps leading up to the throne, landing with a thud.

Odall tried to regain control of his body, and as he did he looked up, but he couldn't see the king. Instead, all he could see was four golden double-handed axes surrounding his head. While a fifth one he couldn't see was tightly pressed against his throat cutting off his air supply, although he couldn't see it, he took his throat's word for it, due to the fact he was finding it a bit hard to breathe.

Behind them stood a further eight dwarfs, all pointing rather large pikes at him, and behind that was an additional twenty dwarfen archers, all of whom were aiming crossbows at him.

Suddenly, he was pulled to his feet by about five different pairs of hands all at once. He looked up the steps and saw the Dwarfen King, King Crackzull himself, who he'd almost broke his neck to see. Now, Odall just wondered how long he'd get to keep it. Crackzull was a big sturdy dwarf with a large frame, and menacing features. His beard was jet-black apart from a grey streak that ran down the middle.

"Bring him to me," demanded Crackzull.

Two guards carried Odall up the steps, or rather they dragged him. He was now face to face with the king, a guard either side. Each guard had hold of one of his arms, with his legs still trailing behind him.

Crackzull leant to within inches of his face. "You better have a good reason for bursting in here," said Crackzull sternly.

Odall started to shake and couldn't get his words out.

"Well?" demanded the king; the whole throne room boomed with his voice.

"Amberinth," said Odall somewhat shakily.

"What, your name's Amberinth?" snapped Crackzull.

"No."

"Well make your mind up," shouted Crackzull as he began to lose his patience.

"I have something in my hand to show you," Odall blurted out before anything else was misinterpreted, and he wouldn't have to worry about shaving his neck again. But he was too late, and with his last comment, he felt the axe return and the pain along with it. It even beat the gulp Odall had just taken, as it got wedged in his windpipe.

As Odall struggled to breathe, he opened up his right hand to reveal the softly glowing amber disc.

"And," shouted Crackzull puffing out his chest, "does this half-disc give you the right to come bursting into the throne room like a madman?"

But there was no answer from the now purple-faced philosopher. Crackzull nodded to the fifth guard, and as swiftly as the axe arrived, it was gone again. Crackzull had never heard of anyone getting stabbed to death with a disc before, and half a one at that. But just to be on the safe side, he nodded for the guard to stay close. The now severely shaken Odall swallowed his gulp, before taking in a much-needed breath. He knew he had to talk quick, or things would soon be back to how they were before.

"No, Your Greatness, my name is Odall, and I am your philosopher," blurted out Odall.

"Odall . . . Odall. . . I thought you were our chief chef that makes those marvellous omelettes."

"No, Your Greatness, that's just a hobby, I'm a philosopher."

"And does that allow you to come bursting through my doors?" mocked Crackzull. But as he did, he casually looked around for his advisor, just in case it did.

"No, Your Greatness, I've found a disc, or rather a half-disc' that has been lost for over a thousand years."

"Where?" asked Crackzull inquisitively.

"It was under my desk," replied Odall.

"Well, that still doesn't give you the right to come bursting in here. I suggest you get a cleaner then you might not lose things."

"No, Your Greatness, it wasn't there before, it was hidden in a rock."

"What do you mean hidden in a rock, have you been drinking?" Crackzull looked at Odall strangely.

"No, Your Greatness, what I mean is that it wasn't there when I left for the night, but it just appeared by magic under my desk."

Crackzull nodded to the two guards holding him. "Take this madman away and chuck him in the dungeons, and don't let him come out until he has sobered up. Magic rocks my goldmine, he's drunk."

Tennant stepped out of the shadows as advisors do. It's not that they like standing in the dark, but the habit has been passed down from generation to generation of advisors, since the time of Phobic, one of the greatest advisors that ever lived. Phobic once wrote a rulebook that was now an absolute must for any dwarfen advisor and one to which Tennant now live his life by.

It was entitled _Phobic 's 101 Golden Rules on How to Stay Alive as an Advisor._

_Rule 1: Always stay in the shadows because if the king was having a bad day, if he couldn 't see you, then he couldn't take it out on you._

And, an added bonus was, if wild barbarians suddenly overran the castle, none of them would ever fire a crossbow bolt into shadows just for good luck. And another thing about standing in the shadows it was astonishing the things advisors saw and heard when people didn't know you were there. When Phobic died of old age at one hundred and ten, they didn't bury him for over twenty years because it took that long to find his body. Eventually, it was found behind a suit of armour in the royal chambers, and that was only by chance, as it was being taken away to be cleaned.

"Huh-hum," coughed out Tennant, who was now suddenly standing next to the king, making him jump.

"Stop doing that," demanded Crackzull.

"Doing what, Your Greatness?" asked Tennant innocently.

"You know, just creeping around, and appearing from nowhere."

"Yes, Your Greatness," nodded Tennant, letting the comment go in one ear and out the other. He then continued with what he was initially going to say.

"Well, Your Greatness, I think I can shed some light on this matter. It was me who put that rock in the philosopher's study, and Amberinth, which the philosopher mentioned, is a lost mineral. It was supposed to belong to the Gods and was last seen more than a thousand years ago. When properly crafted it is said to be indestructible," said Tennant all-knowingly.

"Guards! Guards! Bring that omelette-making philosopher back."

Odall reappeared being dragged across the cold flagstones by two guards and once more was flung back in front of the king.

"So, you're not drunk or mad after all. Release him," demanded Crackzull.

The guards released their grip and Odall slumped to the floor. He picked himself up, brushed himself down, and gave his throat a well-deserved rub.

"Well, Your Greatness, as I was saying before I was rudely interrupted," he said sarcastically, and turned and looked at the two guards. He held up the half-disc that was still in his hand. "This half-disc is Amberinth, with the crest of Rancore crafted into it. It was covered by bits of rock and hardened mud, and if I'm not mistaken, there was a hand attached to it at some point in time."

"Rancore! Who's he?" asked the king, oblivious to Odall's sarcasm about the guards, and didn't care if a hand had been attached to it or not.

"He was the ancient ruler of all the lands we know of, and he was up until now considered a mythical ruler. However, this sample of Amberinth proves he lived."

"Tennant, from where did you get this rock?" demanded Crackzull.

"I took it from some dwarfs who wanted counsel with you, Your Greatness."

As he answered, he cringed, as he knew what was coming next and he didn't have to wait long.

"Where are these dwarfs now?"

"I told them to go away," replied Tennant, cringing even more now as the words came out of his mouth.

"You told them what?" shouted Crackzull.

"Well, I thought."

"You thought what?" snapped Crackzull, stopping Tennant short. "Find them and bring them to me, and if you fail I warn you there isn't a place in the Ferral Mountains for you to hide where I wouldn't find you," shouted Crackzull.

"Yes, Your Greatness," said Tennant rather nervously.

Tennant skulked off, waving to a few guards who followed him as he disappeared out through the back of the throne room muttering as he went, about Rule 2 in Phobic's rulebook, which stated:

_Rule 2: Always keep your mouth shut._

Phobic would be turning in his grave if he'd just witnessed that performance, thought Tennant as he scurried off down the passageway.

*

Sinat, Torms and Sacul were standing at the front desk of the local holding compound. The building was said to be the largest in the kingdom apart from the palace. It was not very large on top, but its holding cells were quarter of a square mile underground. When they first built it, they only had one cell, but the prisoner's visitors always smuggled in pickaxes and shovels. At first, the guards turned a blind eye, when a prisoner had dug the length of another cell, they would step in and try to look surprised as they confiscated the tools. Because it wasn't fair on the next dwarf, as they had to give him some hope. More often than not, they'd give him the pick and shovel as well, conveniently leaving them in the cell.

Over the years, and because dwarfs are keen miners, they had ended up with an extra seventy-four cells, for which the Chief of Justice took full credit. Now all visitors are banned from the cells, seeing as seventy-four is enough, even for dwarfs. It was once said that a blind dwarf, known only as 'Digger,' was arrested for being drunk, and instead of being thrown into the local holding compound he was thrown in a tiny hole under the Chief of Justice's house, on the chief's instructions.

He was conveniently left a pickaxe and a shovel, and at many a dinner party dwarfs would comment on how big and marvellous the chief's new wine cellar was. But nothing was ever proven, and if anyone in higher authority ever did question him about the matter, a month later they miraculously had a nice big wine cellar as well. All they would say to Digger was that they were taking him out for some exercise; then they'd put him in someone else's house under the floor and tell him they'd moved him to another cell. And, of course, his tools all conveniently moved with him. Before he was eventually realised, he was accredited for sixty-two wine cellars, two underground pools and a fifty-foot storage room. Everybody had been quite happy with the arrangement, especially Digger, who found that the harder and faster he tried to escape, the better the food got.

Sinat was beginning to lose his temper. He and the others had been there for most of the day. "I've already told you, we haven't got fifty gold pieces for his release."

"Well, I'm afraid your companion will have to stay here for seventy-five days, or until the money's paid."

"Couldn't you look the other way just this once?" pleaded Sinat.

"Yes, I can do that for you, sir." The dwarf turned his head to the right and then back again. "Anything else I can do for you, sir?" said the desk sergeant smugly.

There was a blur of a body as Sinat jumped over the desk and locked his hands around the desk sergeant's throat. "Ya think ya funny do ya?" shouted Sinat as he throttled the sergeant.

It took two guards to pull Sinat off and another two, to realise his grip from around the desk sergeant's throat. "Take him away," shouted the choked sergeant, somewhat croakily, as he regained his composure behind the desk.

"It works every time," he muttered in a calm voice as he sat back down to add the new prisoner to his paperwork.

Underneath the holding compound it was dark and dismal, and every ten feet there was a torch burning on the wall. "Here we are," said one of the guards as they approached a cell door. As they opened it, Sinat saw Nakie sitting on the floor, chewing on a rat.

"Sinat," shouted Nakie, "I knew ya wouldn't let me down."

The guards shoved Sinat into the cell and shut the door, laughing. Nakie got up and brushed himself down. "Where have they gone? Have they gone to fill in the paperwork?" asked Nakie inquisitively.

"Well, no, not exactly," replied Sinat.

Torms walked over to the main desk. "Excuse me," said Torms, trying to get the sergeant's attention. "I think there has been a mistake.

"And what mistake is that then, sir?" asked the sergeant as he stood up. The sergeant lent down, picked up some papers, and started to read them. "Are you referring to the mistake with regard to a dwarf being invited to eat some supper then having all his teeth knocked out and being thrown through a window? Or," said the sergeant as he paused for breath. "Is it the mistake in which your other friend mistook my collar for being too loose and kindly jumped across the desk to tighten it for me?"

Torms just turned around and walked out, followed by Sacul. He thought of himself as being sarcastic, but he knew when he was beaten. There has to be another way, but what? thought Torms as he walked up the street.

*

Tennant was standing at the top of the palace steps looking out over the city. "Where are they?" he said, wondering where the dwarfs could be. He started pacing backwards and forwards with his finger on his lip. "Pickled Pony no, no, no, Pony Pickle no that's not it either. The Trotting Pony, that's it, oh no it isn't. What was the name of that place?" muttered Tennant as he continued to pounder.

"Pony Club!" he shouted. "That's where they are staying, at the Pony Club. Do we have a Pony Club?" Tennant asked himself. "No, that's not it. It's no good, I'll just have to walk the streets and hope I bump into them," he muttered to himself, deep in thought.

I'm an advisor for goodness sake, I shouldn't be walking the streets at this time of night. I should be settling down in front of the fire with a nice cup of cocoa, he thought to himself.

"Come on," he shouted as he walked down the steps followed by four of the palace's royal guards, each carrying a rather sharp-looking pike.

*

Torms was sitting with Sacul at the crowded bar of The Pickaxe & Pony. They had been there for most of the day drowning their sorrows; and the amount they had drunk, their sorrows had drowned hours ago.

"I don't believeee how we got into thhis mess," he said, slurring his words while taking another sip from his tankard.

"Me neitheeer. All I said was leet's go and have a duck sandwich," came the slurry response from Sacul; he hiccupped into his tankard which amplified it, before taking another swig.

"No, no, I don't meean that, my dear frieeend. All we weree supposed to do was comeee to the kingdom, seee the king, show him the rock, askkk for a bunch of miiners to help with a new mine we were gooooing to open in the Brocken Mountains, and we would have beeeen Wich."

Sacul took another large gulp from his tankard. "Same agaaain, innkeeper," shouted Sacul waving up his arm and nearly falling backwards off the stool he was sitting on, only righting himself at the crucial moment.

"Frieend," said Sacul, as he slumped forwards again onto the bar.

"What?" asked the blurry-eyed Torms.

"Frieeend," repeated Sacul. "You said dear frieend," he blurted out as a tear started to form in his eye. He rocked about a bit on his stool before he continued, "Do you really think of me as a dear frieeend?" He sat there rocking on his stool, waiting for his answer. Torms hiccupped, which lifted his head off the bar.

"Of courseeee wereee family," said Torms, slurping his words out once more; he now found himself rocking backwards and forwards in time with Sacul as if a travelling dwarf folk band was playing in the corner of the room and only those two could hear it.

Sacul put his arm around Torms. "Does that meean we're besteeest buddies?" asked Sacul between hiccups.

"Theee best," said Torms letting out a much-needed belch before continuing.

"Leeeeet's drink tooooo it,"

Both of them raised their tankards and went to bang them together, but they both missed. Sacul's tankard ended up hitting Torms full in the face and vice versa, resulting in them both falling backwards over their chairs and hitting the floor. Torms lifted his head "Cheeers" was all he said, before he passed out; Sacul was already snoring, with beer all over his face and his tankard on his head.

*

Tennant had been scouring the city high and low, but he still hadn't found the dwarfs. He had been to the Pony Pie factory and the Pony pickling factory which was just some dwarf working from home much to the displeasure of his wife. He had been to the Pony portrait gallery, and in fact, the city did have a Pony Club, but that was only open on Saturdays. He'd been everywhere that had a pony in the name. He was now outside a building, tapping his shoe on the side of the kerb to rid himself of a stone when a dwarf bumped into him.

"Hiccup, Scuseee me," said the dwarf.

"Oh, that's all I need, a drunken dwarf banging into me," said Tennant sarcastically. "As if I haven't enough problems."

As the dwarf began to walk away, Tennant noticed he was wearing an embroidered cloth shirt that read: "I got drunk at The Pickaxe & Pony."

"The Pickaxe and Pony, that's it!" shouted Tennant. "Where did you get that?" he demanded.

"You get one wiiith every twenty tankards ya driiink," spluttered the drunken dwarf, feeling quite proud of himself.

"No, I mean where did you get it?"

"I got itss when I was druuunk," laughed the dwarf, much to his own amusement.

Tennant turned and nodded at the guards. The dwarf now found himself up against the wall, with four very large pikes pressing against his throat. "Alright, alright, there'sss no neeeeed to gets nassssty. You can have this one," said the dwarf as he tried pulling his shirt over his head, without much success.

"I don't want it," said Tennant shaking his head.

"Well, maake ya mind up," snapped the drunken dwarf, momentarily forgetting he had four pikes at his throat, but the guards didn't, as they gave him a little reminder and applied a bit more pressure.

"No, I mean whereabouts is The Pickaxe and Pony?" said Tennant, now getting somewhat impatient.

"Overrr there." With that, the dwarf pointed at a tavern a couple of buildings away.

"Thank you," said Tennant. He waved his hand, and the guards removed their spikes.

"No, thank youuuuuuu," said the drunken dwarf as he tried to do a comical bow before he continued on his way at a slow pace up the street. Now and then he would shout, "I diid it!" followed by, "and I've got a ssshirt to prove it," as he swaggered around the street.

Tennant was pushing his way around the tavern trying to find the dwarfs that gave him the rock. He wasn't exactly doing the pushing the guards were, while he stood behind them shouting out orders and directions.

"Over to the bar," ordered Tennant over the noise of the tavern. When they reached the bar, the guards cleared an area for him. "Get the attention of the innkeeper," said the slightly out of breath Tennant.

With that, one of the guards thrust his pike over the counter and pinned the innkeeper to the wall. "Well, that's not what I meant, but it will do," said Tennant. He leaned over the bar. "Excuse me," he said to the innkeeper who was now shaking due to the large pike he had prodding into his stomach, "can you tell me if you have seen two dwarfs?" Tennant stopped as he realised that on its own it was a stupid question, then he remembered they both had on newly crafted helmets. "With shiny helmets?" he added. "They said they were staying here."

"Yes, yes, there's four of them," said the innkeeper in a shaky voice.

"Where can I find them?" asked Tennant.

"Well, you are standing on two of them as we speak," answered the innkeeper.

Tennant looked down. "Oh, so I am." He bent down and took a close look at Sacul, lifting the tankard from his face. "No, that's not him," said Tennant as he replaced the tankard. He then looked at Torms. "That's him," he shrieked, feeling rather pleased with himself. "I knew I would find them eventually, I had no doubt whatsoever."

The four guards looked at each other as they silently recalled all the places they'd visited that night beginning with Pony and all the cussing that went with it.

"Well, don't just stand there, pick him up and take him with us. Oh, and you might as well bring his friend as well," ordered Tennant.

Tennant walked off down the street with his head held high and a spring in his step, followed closely by Torms and Sacul who had a guard attached to each arm, dragging them along the cobbles as they both snored, oblivious to the little night-time stroll, or rather night-time drag. As Tennant walked past other dwarfs, he gave them a nod, as if he was some great explorer who had been away for years and had just returned home with some great find.

He walked up the palace steps to the golden doors and banged on them: "Open up, it's Tennant, The Grand Advisor to the king," he shouted. He had wanted to do that for years, even though his hand was throbbing a little it was worth it. It was the first time Tennant had actually struck anything in his life.

All apart from when he was eight when he tried to shoo away an annoying fly accidentally striking it dead. He still had the fly to this day, it was mounted on a wooden plaque in his private study; he called it his ' _Show off strength_ ,' as he killed it in one masterful blow.

The doors opened, and he strode forward. "Come along, keep up," he said to the guards. They walked down the torch-lit corridors until they came to the throne room doors and were confronted by the two guards, guarding the door. "Well, come on, chop, chop," demanded Tennant. "Come along, or I'll have your heads."

The guards didn't know what to make of him. They certainly didn't instantly recognise the skinny dwarf in his oversized robe standing in front of them, but that was no fault of theirs because Tennant spent most of his life in the shadows. But acting on instinct and thinking as guards do if someone comes to your door and says things like "I'll have your head," or "Here's fifty gold pieces," they decided Tennant must be important. So, they quickly flung open the doors, and as they did, King Crackzull came into view, deep in conversation with Odall.

"So, Your Greatness, if you don't have the heat too high you won't burn the underside of your omelette," said Odall, displaying his expertise on the matter.

"But what if you want to add slices of sausage, do you cook them first or not?" asked the king.

"Uhm-uhm," interrupted Tennant, standing at the bottom of the steps leading to the throne, with Torms, Sacul and the guards behind him. Sacul and Torms were still oblivious to everything and were still snoring their heads off.

"Your Greatness, I have the dwarfs you wished to see."

"Is that all of them?"

"Err, no, Your Greatness, but this one here," he said pointing at Torms. "Is the one who gave me the rock."

"Well, what's up with him?" asked Crackzull as he looked down at Torms.

"I think he's drunk, Your Greatness."

"Well, wake him up!" bellowed Crackzull.

Tennant nodded at some guards, who ran off to fetch two buckets of cold water and returned, placing them in front of Torms and Sacul. As in most kingdoms throughout the centuries, when someone higher up than you waves his hand or nods at you, you had better been paying attention to the situation, and make the right decisions. It was once written that a king's sword broke midway through a battle, so he discarded it and raised his hand for a new one. Instead of a soldier handing him a new sword, he was handed a stuffed pheasant and a bowl of orange sauce. Needless to say, the king didn't reign for long.

_' If you want to stay in employment, you'd better pay attention_,' was the motto throughout the Kingdom - which was taken up by many a guard.

Tennant turned and signalled to the guards, that still had ahold off Torms and Sacul by their arms. They stepped forward and dunked Torms and Sacul's heads into the buckets. After about ten seconds, they pulled their heads out; Both of them were now coughing, spluttering and gasping for air.

"Did we win the shirt?" spluttered Sacul as he looked over to Torms.

Tennant signalled again, and both dwarfs were dunked for the second time, and then pulled back out.

This time Torms turned to Sacul. "Somehow I don't think we did."

"Ah, sense at last," said Tennant. "You may let them go."

The guards released their grip, allowing Torms and Sacul to stand on their own accord. With water still running down their beards and faces from the dunking's, they wiped their eyes clear and now found themselves staring straight at the king, who was sitting on his throne. "Well then," said Crackzull, "what is your name?" addressing his question to Torms.

"Torms, Your Greatness," said Torms, trying to look dignified while he stood there dripping wet and trying to sober up fast: it wasn't the entrance he had hoped for. But Sacul, who was standing next to him, couldn't have cared less as he stared in awe at the king.

"Well then, Torms, you've put the whole palace in a bit of a spin with this Amberinth business."

Deep down, Torms smiled to himself, he was right, after all, it was Amberinth.

"What were you trying to gain by bringing it to me?" asked the king.

"I wanted royal approval to open a mine outside the Ferral Mountains, Your Greatness."

"So, this half-disc doesn't come from our mountains then?"

"Disc, Your Greatness?" said Torms with a confused look on his face.

"Yes. My good friend the chef here -"

"Philosopher, Your Greatness," said Odall, politely interrupting.

"Oh, yes, philosopher here - has told me it is an Amberinth disc that once belonged to the great Rancore himself. He also stated that it could be a crest from a door, which, in the philosopher's eyes, could be the entrance to an old forgotten Rancore Amberinth mine.

"He also told me that I would be extremely rich if I had such a mineral, and my army would be indestructible. So, you brought this to me seeking royal approval?

"Yes, Your Greatness," said Torms, unable to believe his ears.

"But one more thing I want to clear up before we continue."

"Yes, Your Greatness," answered Torms quickly.

"Why does your friend keep smiling at me?"

Torms turned to look at the wide-eyed Sacul, who seemed to be in some sort of trance.

"You'll have to excuse him, Your Greatness, he's just happy to be here, he's always dreamt about meeting you one day." Torms side-kicked Sacul to make him snap out of it but it didn't make a blind bit of difference.

"Where exactly in the Brocken Mountains did you find this Amberinth?" continued Crackzull, trying to ignore Sacul who was now starting to unnerve him.

"I'm not sure exactly where, I would have to go back to find it. It was just getting dark when I spotted it."

Crackzull let out a rip of laughter as he slapped himself on his leg. "Ahh, ah, a dwarf after my own heart. I like that in a dwarf. You do realise I could have you tortured until you told me, don't you?"

"Yes, Your Greatness," said Torms worryingly as he sobered up, and realised his honest last answer to the king's question had come out as some sort of bargaining tool, which miraculously seemed to pay off. He came to ask the king a favour, not to hold him to ransom.

"So, what is your proposal?" asked the king, as he rubbed his hands together, enjoying the thrill of the moment and the dwarf stood in front of him, and a drunken one at that. Coming into his kingdom issuing demands or being dragged in. How he got there wasn't important now, but the deal was. Crackzull leant forward on the edge of his seat, ready to hear the deal.

"Fifty percent?" asked Torms, but the king just stared at him. "Err, forty percent? Thirty percent?" suggested Torms nervously.

"How about five percent?" said Crackzull, putting in his bid, "and you and smiley there get to keep your heads."

"Deal," said Torms as he let out a sigh of relief.

"Well that's that then," said Crackzull, pleased with himself.

"Oh, Your Greatness, there is one other small issue, concerning my other two companions. They seem to have managed to get themselves locked up in the city's holding cells."

"Do you need them?" asked Crackzull as he instantly went back into barter mode.

"Well, they are my family," said Torms in his defence, hoping the king didn't strike the deal at only letting one out.

"I can see to that." He nodded towards Tennant who had his notebook out.

_Rule 21: Always take notes - you may have cause to depend upon them._

Sacul whispered something into Torms's ear. "Oh, and can my cousin here have a tour of the palace?"

The king readily agreed as he nodded his head. "Anything to stop that damn dwarf smiling at me. Is that it?" asked the king, a little sarcastically.

"Err, yes, Your Greatness."

"Good, then I will let you have a royal mining crew which will consist of thirty-five dwarfs, fifty of the palace's finest Soldiers, The Blood Born Guards, and my advisor, Tennant, to keep an account and records of the whole expedition."

"Me, Your Greatness?" asked Tennant, somewhat shocked, as he hadn't been outside the kingdom for over forty years.

"Do you have a problem with that?" asked Crackzull.

_Rule 41: If you are asked by a king if you have a problem, answer "No."_

"No, Your Greatness."

"Good, then see to their needs. Now be on your way before anybody else finds out about this Amberinth."

"Err, excuse me, Your Greatness," uttered Odall, "may I go as well, they might need somebody like me?"

"OK, I suppose it's true what they say, an army marches on its stomach, and they will need a good cook."

Odall didn't mean his cooking skills but said nothing; as he was just happy he was going.

"And you, Torms."

"Yes, Your Greatness?"

"You're in charge," ordered Crackzull.

Torms and Sacul were shown to one of the royal chambers by Tennant.

"These are your bells, if you want anything, just ring them," said Tennant with his face all twisted, still bitter about Torms being put in charge. He'd been in the palace for forty years, Torms shows up; one hour later, and he's in charge.

"Thank you," said Torms, smiling, taking the bell, still in a bit of a daze trying to get his head around the fact that he was in charge.

"By the way, do you have to do everything I say?"

"Within reason," answered Tennant.

"And those fifty Blood Born Guards, how about them?"

"Yes, why?" asked Tennant.

"No reason. Just be here at seven in the morning with two of the biggest Blood Born Guards you can find."

"Anything else?" asked Tennant sarcastically.

"No, that will be all, thank you."

Tennant turned and had just got his foot out the door, when Toms asked another question that had been niggling away at him since the King had said it.

"One more thing."

The 'TUT' from Tennant's mouth echoed down the corridor as he turned around to address Torms once more. But smiled with gritted teeth as Rule 28 sprung to mind in Phobic's rulebook, which stated:

_Rule 28: If you 're displeased just smile and grit your teeth, it's better to grit your teeth than lose them to a fist._

"Why do they call them The Blood Born Guards?"

Tennant was going to say it was because if you meet them, you wish you had never been born but humour had never been his strong point, he didn't really see why people made jokes, life was bad enough without someone poking fun at it he thought.

So, he just shook his head, as he knew he had to now give Torms a quick history lesson instead off settling down to his cocoa and a good book, which he should have been doing over two hours ago.

"The Blood Born was formed after the great battle of Ragga Doom between the Dwarfen Clans and the Troll Tribes long ago. When the dwarfs took over the Ferral Mountains as their homeland and forced the trolls out. Technically speaking they massacred half of them," added Tennant putting his personal opinion on the matter. As he never really quite understood why history booked used the word forced instead off Bludgeoned to death.

"There was a dwarf called twitchy who was on the battlefield."

"Twitchy?" butted in Torms

Tennant gave Torms a scornful look as if it wasn't bad enough giving him a history lesson this late at night but repeating himself as well. Drinking cocoa this late was going to play havoc with his bladder.

"YES TWITCHY" Snapped Tenant, as an image of himself flashed through his head of the long walk down the corridors later that night to the palace latrine.

"He was called twitchy because he always started to twitch before he went berserk, now is there anything else you want me to clarify or can I continue." Torms nodded his head, as he wanted to know what happened.

"At the beginning of the battle he had been knocked unconscious by a tree stump thrown by one off the troll chieftains, and when he awoke sometime later, he found himself under a huge pile of slain dwarfs. Because at this point the dwarfs were losing the battle." Tennant quickly added; trying to fit in as much as he could. Whilst his mind wandered to his cocoa, as it was the only little bit of pleasure he ever got. Right at the end of the day, the time when no one wanted anything and especially no one wanted him.

"He managed to crawl out from under their bodies, but when he emerged, he was covered head to foot in his kinsman blood. Upon seeing all his fallen comrades, he instantly went berserk and charged at the nearest tribe of trolls, which were caught off guard, and he single handily slaughtered the lot. Which turned the tide of battle in the dwarf's favour. He was the very dwarf that changed our history. The rest of the Troll Tribes on the battlefield fled, mainly to the Brocken Mountains. Because they thought he was some sort off demon dwarf born from the blood of his fallen kinsman, hence that is why they are called The Blood Born Guards and wear red tunics in honour symbolising the blood of their fallen forefathers." Concluded Tennant, who was now mentally changing the trip to the latrine later to two visits instead of one, as he produced a small hourglass from out of his robe giving it a quick inspection and shaking his head at the time. If it hadn't been bad enough, that he had been traipsing the city all day and night after Torms, he was now wishing he hadn't found him and just dealt with the Kings wrath, at least his bladder would have thanked him for it later.

Tennant started tapping his foot under his robe in protest as he stood looking at the sand granules slowly drain away, at least twenty had passed through before Torms turned his attention back to him.

"Oh sorry," said Torms who had been deep in thought about Twitchy and The Blood Born Guards and most importantly, that he was going to be in charge off fifty off them.

"You can go now."

"Thank you, your so kind" was the cynical response from Tennant as he put the hourglass away and walked out the door, muttering about how in the morning he was going to get the palace builders to build a new latrine next to his room, then he cussed and grumbled something about the smell, and continued to complain that he would need a new pair of shoes if he was going to staying up at night, making all those trips.

Torms shut the door and looked around and saw Sacul admiring the room. He was glad Sacul hadn't been in on the conversation or Tennant would have been there all night having to explain every detail blow by blow.

"Wow, we've got silk sheets," commented Sacul as he ran his hand over his bed. "And there's a wash-bath in the corner. This is what I call fancy living, Sacul the dwarf sleeping in silk sheets." Sacul stooped what he was doing as he remembered the others.

"Hadn't we better go and fetch Sinat and Nakie from the holding cells?"

"All in good time, my dear cousin, all in good time. I don't think another night will hurt them," Torms said with a smile.

It was precisely seven the next morning according to Tennant's hourglass, which he carried around with him everywhere he went. He had a much larger twenty-four hour one in his chambers, which he turned without fail at five every morning, just as the last sand granule fell through, signalling the start of his day.

_Rule 10: Always be on time._

Tennant knocked on the door to Torms's and Sacul's chamber. There was no answer, so he knocked a little louder. "Okay, okay, I'm coming," came the muffled shouts of Torms from behind the door.

Torms opened the door. Instantly his mouth dropped open, not because of the sight of Tennant at such an early hour in the morning. But because of what was behind him, which was even blocking out the torchlight. Stood behind Tennant was a pair of the biggest dwarfs Torms had ever seen. They were taller than the average dwarf and twice as wide. Their forearms were as big as a dwarf's leg. One was carrying a rather sizeable Double-handed War hammer and the other a Double-handed Battle axe. Torms stood there in his long-johns with his mouth wide open.

"What mine did those two crawl out of?" he asked.

"May I introduce the twins Bash'm and Beat'm they belong to The Blood Born Guards. You asked for the biggest, and they don't come any bigger than these two, I can assure you of that, these two are the biggest in Ironclad," announced Tennant.

Torms gulped. "I'll take your word for it," he said, not doubting Tennant for a second. As he looked the twins up and down getting his first ever look at a Blood Born Guard. They certainly lived up to their name with their blood-red tunics, and an array of weapons, and if that wasn't scary enough there was a huge belt buckle. Which was a skull with two crossed war hammers, which matched the design on their tunics. Torms could only put that down as their emblem, and why not if you had a name like Blood Born you wouldn't want to be walking around with dog licking its paws for a belt buckle, thought Torms.

Torms moved a little closer to Tennant just out of ear shot from the twins.

"Are you sure they're safe?"

"Yes, very safe, and they will do anything you ask," replied Tennant.

"They'd do anything I ask?"

"Yes," snapped Tennant, having to repeat himself.

It was now customary, for someone in Torms's position, to ask them to hop on one leg, but in this case, he thought he would give it a miss.

"Well, let me get my things on, and I'll be right with you," he said turning to go back into the room and at the same time feeling a little uneasy about turning his back on the two monstrosities standing in the corridor. He'd seen the look in Tennant's eyes when the king had put him in charge, and he didn't know if, as soon as he turned his back, one nod from Tennant would mean payback time.

Sacul jumped out of bed and started dressing. "Wait for me," he shouted.

"No, you wait here," said Torms, "This is personal." He turned to Tennant, "Can you have a guard show my cousin around the palace?"

Tennant sighed under his breath and clapped his hands; another dwarf came running up the corridor with a mop and stood in front of Tennant.

"Have you been working here long, soldier?"

"No, sir."

"I didn't think so," said Tennant sarcastically as he looked at the mop.

"Well, if you make one more mistake like that, it could be your last. Now give Sacul here a guided tour of the palace."

"Yes, sir," said the soldier, with a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his face.

"Right, I am ready. Have a nice time, Sacul," said Torms as he walked out of the door. He strode down the corridor and turned right, closely followed by Tennant and the twins as they kept pace behind him; all the time he kept thinking, 'I'm in charge,' as he strolled along with his head held high, 'in charge of a whole expedition!'

After about ten minutes he opened some large doors and strode through them. He was now standing at the entrance of the bakery and not at the palace gates, as he had thought. All the dwarfen bakers stopped working and were now staring in his direction. Well, they weren't staring at him; they were in fact, staring at the two giant dwarfs behind him who stood there expressionless, with their double-handed weapons slung over their shoulders gleaming in the light.

All of a sudden, the bakers each had the same thought running through their minds: they knew they shouldn't have taken that last loaf home with them, even if it did look all lonely by itself on the shelf.

Now with everybody looking at him, Torms quickly decided to take action; he walked over to the nearest cupboard, and as he did, all the bakers cringed as another thought did a circuit around their heads. Out of all the cupboards he could have picked it had to be that one, and as Torms pulled open the doors, some of the bakers closed their eyes, as they couldn't bear to look. Torms looked inside the bare cupboard and shut the doors again.

"Err, right, everything looks spick and span. As you were," he said to the now very surprised-looking bakers. Torms turned around slightly red-faced and embarrassed, then walked out followed by the others, shutting the doors behind them.

"I think I'm, err, lost," said Torms in a hushed voice to Tennant.

"Lost?" said Tennant sarcastically.

"Can you show me the way out please?" he asked Tennant with his head slightly bowed.

"Certainly, this way, follow ME," Tennant said with a smug smile on his face. They were now standing at the top of the palace steps after retracing most of Torms's corridors, turning left where he had turned right.

Torms moved to the front again. "Right then, let's go and get my brother and cousin out," he said as he strolled off.

As they walked through the streets of the city, they received quite a few funny looks from dwarfs staring at the twins, who were marching in time with each other with their weapons slung over their left shoulder and swinging their right arm in time with their feet.

"Right, here we are," said Torms as they came to a halt outside the city's holding cells. "Now, you're sure I'm in charge?" asked Torms, just checking.

"Yes," answered Tennant.

"And Bash'm and Beat'm will do anything I say?" asked Torms, just to confirm matters.

"Yes," replied Tennant, wondering how long the questions would be going on for, and where all this was leading.

"Right, from now on, I want Bash'm, and Beat'm to be my personal bodyguards, do you understand?"

Tennant tutted again, pulled out a book. Then retrieved a bit of flint that was wedged behind his ear and scribbled something down.

"Done," he said as he slammed the pages of the book together and returned the flint back behind his ear.

"Good," said Torms, pleased with himself. "Right then you two."

"Yes, boss," the twins suddenly shouted out in unison.

" _Boss_. I like that, it has a certain ring to it," said Torms. "Tennant, from now on I want to be called boss."

"Very well," sighed Tennant, rolling his eyes and wondering how it had come to this.

"Uhm-uhm," came out of Torms' throat. "Very well what?"

Tennant gritted his teeth. "Very well, BOSS."

He thought it was bad enough calling King Crackzull 'Your Greatness,' but now working for a dwarf who wants to be called 'Boss,' was too much; but he thought about Rule 13 in Phobic's rulebook, which stated:

_Rule 13: If anybody wishes to be called by whatever name or title and they were in charge, just get on with it, it 's only a name._

"Well then, Tennant, I need to get Nakie and Sinat out of the holding cells, have you got some kind of official paperwork for this sort of procedure?"

"Hang on." Tennant put his hand inside his giant robe. As he was feeling about, he kept sticking his tongue out and twisting his face. "No, no, not that," he muttered as his robe continued to flap around.

"Ha, ha, I've found it." Tennant's hand reappeared with a piece of parchment.

"Here we are. All you have to do is add their names to it."

"Have you got some flint?" asked Torms as he took the parchment.

Tennant handed him the flint he had tucked up behind his ear.

"Here you go, BOSS."

Torms was looking around for something to lean on but couldn't see anything. "Ah, I know," cried out Torms, "Bash'm, stick your arm out."

Bash'm thrust out his arm, nearly taking Torms's head clean off his shoulders. If it wasn't for the fact he was standing just out of Bash'm's reach, he would have. Torms could feel Bash'm's knuckles touching his cheek. He stepped back and looked at him. "I thought you were Beat'm?"

"No boss, I'm Bash'm."

"Oh well, easy mistake," said Torms, and nearly a painful one he thought, as he walked around and placed the paper on Bash'm's forearm and used it as a temporary desk.

"There, that's that done," said Torms as he scribbled Sinat and Nakie's names down. "Right, you two wait outside here, if I need you I'll whistle. Come on Tennant, let's go."

Torms and Tennant walked into the main reception area of the holding cells, and, sitting behind the desk, was the very dwarf Torms wanted to see.

The sergeant looked up from behind his desk. "Oh, you again, sir, and what can I do for you today?" he said in a sarcastic tone.

"I want Sinat and Nakie set free."

"Oh, so you've scraped together one hundred gold pieces have you, sir?" he said as he picked up the relevant paperwork for their release. "I'll be sorry to see them go," said the sergeant; Which was the standard, comical phrase used in every holding cell throughout the land.

However, this desk sergeant really was sad to see them go, especially the little stocky one he called 'The Rat Catcher.' The rat population had dropped dramatically while he had been down there, and in about a week, the desk sergeant had been hoping, there wouldn't be a rat problem at all.

"No, I've done better than that. I've got this." Torms produced the parchment Tennant had given him and placed it on the desk. The desk sergeant picked it up and read its contents out loud:

_" I hereby announce that Sinat and Nakie have won first prize in the dwarfen beauty" pageant, and by honour of this certificate they are to be known as the fairest of all dwarfs in the Ferral Mountains._

That's very nice, sir, I'm pleased for them, they could do with a bit of cheering up at the moment. I'll have it framed for them and stick it on their door."

Torms glared at Tennant, who was now frantically searching in his robe for the right piece of paper. "Do you know who this is?" asked Torms, pointing at Tennant.

"Your granddad, sir?" said the desk sergeant hazarding a guess. Tennant stopped what he was doing and stared at the sergeant. Then he put his hand back into his robes. This time he wasn't looking for a get out of jail free scroll, but a death warrant.

"No, he is the advisor to King Crackzull himself," snapped Torms.

"And what will he be coming as tomorrow, sir, the king?" asked the sergeant sarcastically.

"Right, that's it," shouted Torms, who had just about enough. He didn't hesitate any further, as he put his lips together and he let out a whistle. Suddenly the room was cast in shadow as the twins ran in and the light seemed to run out, and the room felt a whole lot smaller.

Torms pointed at the sergeant. "Bash'm, Beat'm, restrain that dwarf."

There was a smashing sound as Bash'm smashed the desk with his Double-handed War hammer into a thousand splinters, as Beat'm run over it, to get to the sergeant. Lifting him clean off the floor by his throat with one arm, and in his other hand he was holding his axe inches away from the sergeant's face.

"Oh, and make sure he can't talk," ordered Torms.

Beat'm lifted up his axe and buried it into the wall next to the sergeant's head; he then pulled out a long knife with his free hand.

"WAIT! Beat'm, it is Beat'm isn't it?" asked Torms politely.

"Yes, boss."

"Instead of cutting out his tongue, I think just putting this in his mouth will be sufficient." Torms took the beauty pageant paper off the floor, crumpled it up, and passed it to Beat'm, who shoved it into the sergeant's mouth; The sergeant at this point was starting to turn a deathly shade of white. Torms walked over to the sergeant, who was still about two feet off the floor and took his keys from his belt.

"I'll be needing these. Don't mind if I borrow them, do you?" asked Torms jokingly, not expecting to get an answer-back; and he didn't expect to be getting the pageant parchment back either after he had seen how far down the sergeant's throat Beat'm had shoved it.

Torms turned to face the other guards, who had taken to hiding under their desks. "Is there anybody else who wishes to say something or may like to try to stop me from collecting my brother and cousin?" The room fell silent. "Well, I'm waiting," said Torms; then all of a sudden there was a collective "No" that rang out from underneath the desks.

"Right, I shall continue then. Wait here, I'll be back in a moment," he said to the others, as he walked off towards the stairs that led down to the holding cells.

At the bottom of the stairs, it was dark and wet, and Torms was pondering on which way to go. He was trying to make his mind up when he heard a rumbling sound come from a corridor on the right. "Aha, I'd recognise that sound anywhere."

He walked in the direction of the noise until he was standing outside a cell. He peered through and sure enough, it was the sound of Nakie's stomach. "I knew it," said Torms as he let out a laugh.

"Are you guys having fun?" asked Torms, looking through the bars at Nakie and Sinat's sorrowful looking faces.

"Torms," they both said together. "Have you got any food?" asked Nakie as he rubbed his stomach. "They were just about to feed us when a dwarf came running down the corridor screaming something about two giant dwarfs and a beauty pageant. Then they locked themselves in a cell down the corridor with all the food," concluded Nakie bitterly.

"Or, are you here to say goodbye, or have you come to gloat. If it wasn't for you and your mad idea about seeing the king, we wouldn't be in this mess in the first place," grumbled Sinat.

Torms turned the key in the door. "I can do better than that. I can let you out, and I think I had better take you two for breakfast, especially Nakie before he brings the whole mountain down on us with his rumbling, and I'll explain what's happened. Come on, we haven't got all day," joked Torms as he flung open the door.

Sinat and Nakie followed Torms down the corridor and up the stairs. When they reached the top Sinat's mouth dropped open as he saw Bash'm, and then even more when he saw there was two of them as he gazed turned towards Beat'm who was still holding the sergeant off the floor. He realised the petrified guards that had ran past his cell screaming weren't joking when they described them as giants.

"Sinat, Nakie, meet my two personal bodyguards, Bash'm, and Beat'm."

"What do you mean, your personal bodyguards?" asked Sinat. Then he turned to Nakie:

"You told me those mushrooms in the cell were safe to eat, now look what I'm seeing and hearing. I suppose I'm going to walk outside now and see a fifty-foot mouse or something," snapped Sinat.

"Beat'm, you can let go of him now before he stops breathing," ordered Torms.

Tennant put his hand into his robe and pulled out his hourglass. "Well, in fact, he stopped breathing over one minute ago," concluded Tennant.

Beat'm released his grip from around the sergeant's throat. The sergeant hit the floor, forcing out a deep breath, which sent the beauty pageant parchment flying across the room. "Ah, that's better, he's breathing now," said Tennant. Torms walked over to the sergeant, who was in a crumpled heap, sitting on the floor with both eyes streaming. Torms bent down until their faces were almost touching.

"Thank you for your co-operation sergeant," said Torms as he patted the sergeant on his cheek. "Nobody likes a smartarse." Torms stood up, all pleased with himself. 'He who laughs last laughs the longest,' sprang to mind as he took one last glance at the broken sergeant.

Torms turned to the others. "Well, come on, I think breakfast is in order." Then, after breakfast, I have one more thing to do, thought Torms.

"But I've got all the organising to do, all the supplies and troops, I don't have time for breakfast, I must get back to the palace," protested Tennant.

"Oh, very well, you can go," said Torms, dismissing him.

"Oh, thank you, BOSS," said Tennant sarcastically as he turned and left, muttering under his breath as he went.

"Can somebody explain to me what's going on? And why does everybody keep calling you boss?" asked Sinat.

"Like I said, I will explain over breakfast," replied Torms.

*

There was a small fire burning in a hidden clearing; a little distance from the main track that led from the Ferral Mountains. Gillant was sitting down against a tree, eating breakfast. Next to him was Cluzac.

"So, then Gillant, how long do you think we will be here, and just how important are these dwarfs?" asked Cluzac.

Gillant didn't answer but looked up to see the Elven Elite doing various tasks around the camp before replying.

"I don't know but let us just say if we miss these dwarfs, then the fate of the island as we know it could change forever. How many watchers have you put up in the trees overlooking the main track?"

"Four altogether, they change every six hours."

"Good," said Gillant, happy with the numbers.

"And they are under strict instructions to report any movement whatsoever," concluded Cluzac.

*

Torms and the others were sitting eating breakfast in a small building just off the main high street. "So, there you have it, the whole story so far" Concluded Torms

"And King Crackzull personally put you in charge," said Sinat shaking his head.

"Yes, and we get five percent, and we get to keep our heads as well," Torms quickly added, not wanting any of the detail to be left out.

"And we're in charge of the whole expedition?" asked Sinat.

"No, I'm in charge of the whole expedition," said Torms, trying to stay in control.

"Why you?" grunted Sinat.

"Why me? Why me?" shrieked Torms. "It was me who found the rock, me who stayed up all night finding out what it was, and it was me who brought us all here, and me who did the deal with the king. And the last bit, I might add, whilst you were messing about in a holding cell stuffing your face with dodgy mushrooms."

"I wasn't messing about in a holding cell, I was there trying to get Nakie out," snapped Sinat. "And as for the mushrooms, they were safe, and I was hungry!" As Sinat said that, he took a slight sideways glance out of the window checking for a fifty-foot mouse, just to make sure.

"Isn't it funny how things work out," interrupted Nakie who had a mouthful of sausages. "I was put in a holding cell because some dwarf was eating my food. I think he was a travelling apple trader, that's what it said on the arrest report, and now look, everything's worked out fine."

"Apples, you said?" asked Torms.

"Yep, apples," replied Nakie as he stuffed down another sausage. "Yep, that's what it said, and Sinat was put in for fighting with the desk sergeant and forty of his guards when he tried to get me out."

"Forty?" spluttered Torms as he nearly choked.

"Yes, forty, he told me all about it when we were in the cells. He said he would have got the better of them, but he got cramp in his foot and had to stop to have a sit-down, and they overpowered him."

Torms looked over at Sinat, who had gone bright red. "And now here we all are, eating breakfast while Sacul is getting a guided tour of the palace. Well, we got there in the end, but one thing that's been bothering me is, why was that trader eating my food if he had all those apples to eat in his cart?"

"Yes, I wonder," said Torms as he turned to face Sinat, who by this stage had his head down looking at his plate as if something very interesting was on it.

"Did you ask Sinat?"

"Yes, I asked Sinat, and he said he hadn't a clue," replied Nakie.

"I bet he did," said Torms sarcastically. Nakie didn't say much, but when he did, it was worth listening to, thought Torms.

Before Torms could embarrass Sinat even more, and ask the question burning on his lips, Bash'm thrust his hand up. "Yes, what is it?" asked Torms.

"Can I go to the toilet, boss?"

"What?" asked Torms surprised at the question.

"I'm bursting, boss. I've been trying to hold it until we got back, but I've drunk too much."

"No, I mean what are you asking me for, of course you can go," said Torms.

"You don't have to ask me every time, just go."

With that, he got up and ran off towards the wooden sign that said 'Toilet', entering sideways. Otherwise, he would have taken the door with him. Beat'm was also sitting at the table, looking uncomfortable, but he hadn't put his hand up yet, as he was waiting to see what reaction Bash'm got.

"And that counts for you too," said Torms.

Beat'm let out a sigh of relief and a slight smile as he took off after his brother. Torms just sat there shaking his head in amazement. Two of the biggest dwarfs he had ever seen; the size of a mountain, and they put their hands up to go to the toilet. This leadership business is a funny thing. Thought Torms.

"Right then, let's get going." Said Torms, as he went to get up.

"But I've still got ten sausages to eat," protested Nakie. "And I've still got my beans," added Sinat.

"Oh, very well, you two stay here, I still have something to do anyway." Just as he said that, Bash'm, and Beat'm reappeared from the toilet, with smiles of relief on their faces.

"Right, you two come with me, we have one more thing to do before we go back to the palace."

Torms walked up to the counter. "How much do we owe for the breakfast?" The owner looked at Torms, and then at the twins behind him, then leant over the counter.

"What do you mean, owe me?" asked the shopkeeper in a whisper.

As he did, Torms kept noticing the shopkeeper looking over his shoulder. Torms turned around and saw Bash'm, and Beat'm acting very peculiarly, as they pretended to look around the shop, and the noise coming from their lips Torms could only imagine was their attempt at a whistle.

"No charge, no charge," said the shopkeeper as he produced a bag of coins from behind the counter and gave Torms a wink.

Torms looked at the shopkeeper oddly, but not as strangely as the shopkeeper looked at him as Torms just turned and walked off, leaving the bag on the counter.

"Thank you," Shouted Torms as he stepped out of the door wondering how on earth the shopkeeper made any money, if he kept giving free breakfasts away and then tried to pay you for eating it; especially when Nakie was eating there.

Torms and the twins walked along the busy street until they came to the shop Torms had been looking for, it had a large shield hanging on chains, with a war axe attached to it, hung over the street on a broad wooden beam so that the shop couldn't be missed. As Torms went to go in, a dwarf accidentally knocked into him.

"Sorry," said the dwarf as he continued on his way.

Torms turned his head as he thought he recognised the dwarf. 'Who do I know with a big bushy ginger beard?' thought Torms.

He watched as the dwarf entered the shop where Sinat and Nakie were finishing their breakfast. 'Oh well, maybe it will come to me later' were his final thoughts on the matter, as he shrugged his shoulders and entered the armoury shop.

The armourer had his back to Torms as he entered. "I'll be with you in a minute," he said from behind the counter.

"Where are your helmets please?" asked Torms.

"Over to your left," replied the armourer as he signalled with his arm, still with his back to Torms.

"Right then, you two over here." The twins followed Torms to the left-hand side of the shop where there was a magnificent array of helmets made of the finest steel in the kingdom.

"Well, take your helmets off then," ordered Torms. The twins removed their helmets as he passed them two new ones he had picked from the large selection that lay before him. "Right, try these on for size," said Torms.

The twins tried them on, but they were too small. "No, no, and these," said Torms as he picked out two more. "No, no, they won't do either." Then Torms's eyes fell upon two identical, rather large studded war helmets. "Ah, what about these two?" he said as he picked them up and stuck them onto the twins' heads. They fitted perfectly.

"Yes, yes, these are the ones," said Torms feeling rather pleased with himself.

Nakie was just tucking into another plate of mushrooms when somebody rudely bumped into his chair, knocking the mushrooms off his spoon.

"My fault," said a voice.

Nakie turned around and was face to face with a fat, toothless, ginger-bearded dwarf.

"YOU!" shouted Nakie as he jumped up out of his seat.

"But I thought you were in the holding cells?" stuttered the trader.

Sinat jumped up and stood in between them. The trader looked confused and quickly turned to Sinat. "Ah, you were also there, maybe you can tell your friend about the mixup?"

"And maybe you can tell my foot about your cart," Sinat said as he grabbed the trader, turned him around and kicked him in his rear end, knocking him clean out of the door. Sinat followed him out into the street and stood over him.

"And you can also tell me about the mix-up between you, my friend, a guard, a bag of money and a holding cell."

Torms placed the two helmets on the counter.

"Ah, finished," said the armourer as he turned around. "Ah, you have chosen. A fine choice if I may say so, sir."

"Do you do steel mounted lettering?" asked Torms.

"Yes, we do, sir, out the back, but it will take a day to mount the letters on the helmet. They would be ready for you by tomorrow afternoon, sir."

"That's fine," agreed Torms.

"Would you also like a coat of arms, a war hammer mount, or perhaps you have your own design sir?"

"No, it will just be a name, that will be sufficient for what I need. If you have some flint and paper, I'll write it down for you."

The armourer looked around the counter. "Ah," he said, then pushed the paper and flint across the counter. "Under my nose all the time, sir."

Torms wrote, "Bash'm" and "Beat'm" on the paper.

"These are the names, one name on each of the helmets please," he said pushing the paper back across the counter.

"No problem, sir, I'll just check the spelling." The armourer suddenly dropped the paper and let out a yell.

"Ahh, where are they, where are they?" he shrieked in a shaky voice, hiding behind his counter, his head just popping over the top.

"Well, they're here," said Torms as he turned around. The shop looked empty.

"Well, they were here a moment ago," he said. Then he noticed two large figures trying to hide behind the suits of armour that were on display in the window, but they weren't having much luck. "What are you doing, come here!" ordered Torms. At first, neither of them moved, then Torms noticed a bit of pushing and shoving going on until Bash'm's head popped up from behind one of the suits.

"Well, come on," snapped Torms. Very reluctantly they climbed out from the window, and very slowly walked towards Torms; and if his ears weren't deceiving him, they were trying to whistle again and doing their funny 'look around the shop' routine at the same time.

"Here we go again, what is it with you two? First the breakfast shop, and now here."

Torms turned back around to the armourer, only to find a bag of money on the counter.

"Here you are, sir, it's a little bit short, but you're two weeks early," came a hidden voice from underneath the counter.

Torms turned to face the twins, who were by now bright red in the face because they were trying to whistle so hard. But all that was coming out was a gush of air. They both turned around with their backs to Torms and their hands clasped behind their bodies as they looked out of the window at the sky; as if they were watching a pig fly. Well, it looked like a pig, a fat toothless, big ginger-haired one, going straight past the window.

"The trader," shouted Torms. Then quickly turned to the armourer.

"I'll pick up the two helmets tomorrow and keep your money. I think I've got a few words to say to those two."

He turned and ran out of the shop to his right, where he saw the trader in a heap on the floor. To his left, he could see Sinat and Nakie standing in the middle of the street arguing.

"What did he mean when he said you could explain about the mix-up, and why did you take over my fight?" demanded Nakie.

"Well, let's just say I owed you one, and we'll leave it at that."

Nakie was even more confused now than he was earlier. All this time Sinat had owed him something and he never knew it, and now he was supposed to forget it, even though he never knew what it was he had to forget.

"Oh, that's just great," said Torms flinging his arms up as he walked down the street towards them. "I've got these two running a protection racket and you two fighting in the middle of the street."

The twins now had their heads hung in shame and were staring at their boots and were just about to pucker their lips, as their cheeks filled with air.

"And don't even think about it," bellowed Torms up the street towards them.

"I've just about had enough of that noise for one day. Right, do you think we could all return to the palace without any further complications, or have we forgotten to burn out a shop or beat somebody up? Well, if the answer is no, then can we please get going!" shouted the enraged Torms, as he stormed off shaking his head. Sinat and Nakie started walking trying to keep a straight face and not laugh. The twins followed on behind them; who were now pushing each other from side to side.

"I told you we'd get found out," said Bash'm as he shoved his brother. "No, you didn't, you said it would be a doddle," replied Beat'm as he returned the shove.

"Oh, that's great, blame it all on me."

"Oh, I suppose it was me who said let's do it for a year, and then we would be set up for life," said Bash'm, pushing his brother in retaliation.

"Well, let's hope he doesn't tell the king, or we'll be shovelling rocks for the rest of our lives."

As they walked through the palace gates, they saw Tennant ordering some dwarfs about while ticking off his long list of supplies. The paper was touching the floor the list was that long.

"How far have we got?" asked Torms.

"Oh, you're back. I've gathered all the provisions together, and I'm just putting together a mining team. So, if there's nothing more, I'm quite busy."

"Well, there is something else. Where do my friends and bodyguards sleep?"

"What?" snapped Tennant as he lost count. "Oh. Put your friends in the room next door to your own, and the bodyguards can sleep on the floor."

"When do we leave?" asked Torms.

"When you stop bothering me, that's when," muttered Tennant under his breath.

"Sorry, I didn't quite catch that," said Torms.

"I said, we leave the day after tomorrow, BOSS."

"Good, well, keep me informed," said Torms as he walked away trying to remember the way back to his room.

As they were walking, Sinat and Nakie were staring at the detail in the corridors.

"They must have broken a pick or two building this place," said Sinat in admiration of the craftsmanship.

After about ten minutes, Torms stopped. "Right, these look like your quarters. Sacul and I are in this one, next to yours. If you need anything, just ring the bell inside on the shelf, or just clap your hands. I saw the advisor do it this morning, a guard will come running and get you anything you want - or a mop, depending on which one's on. While you're at it, see if you can manage a bath, there should be one in the corner of your room. Especially you, Nakie, sitting in a cell all night eating rats has left you with a bit of an odour problem."

With that, Nakie lifted his right arm, exposing his armpit, and took a deep sniff.

"I don't smell anything," he said as he turned his armpit towards Sinat.

"I don't smell, do I?" he asked Sinat, with his armpit inches away from Sinat's face. Sinat opened the door to their room. "I'll get the wash-bath, you clap your hands," he said, as his eyes began to water.

Torms opened the door to his room, followed by the twins. "Right then, you two make yourself at home." Shouted Torms as he entered the room. Bash'm, and Beat'm just looked at each other; they had never had a home before and they certainly never had to make one.

"Ah, Sacul you're back, did you have a good time?" said Torms, knowing the answer already by the smile on Sacul's face.

"It was marvellous," replied Sacul, "I saw everything, the fountains, the dungeons, the kitchens. Oh, and I have a present for you."

With that, Sacul dived over his bed and reappeared with a large box. Torms opened the box and was presented with a huge multi-layered, finely decorated cake with the words "Thank You" iced on.

"Ah, that's nice of you, Sacul, you shouldn't have," said Torms, putting the cake down on the side.

"Oh no, it's not from me," said Sacul, "they gave it to me in the bakery. They asked me if I knew you, and when I said yes, they gave me this and said it was a little something for not saying anything when you were doing your inspection earlier today."

"How weird," said Torms, then he quickly looked at the twins who both shook their heads from side to side.

"Just checking," said Torms.

He knew they had nothing to do with it. Otherwise, they'd be walking around staring at the ceiling, trying to blow a hole in it by now.

"Well, you two, don't just stand there, sit down, take your boots off and relax."

"Relax, boss?" said the twins in unison.

"Yes, relax, you know, when you're not working."

"But we don't know how to," they said with a worried look on their faces just in case it was something they should have learnt in guard school but had forgotten.

"What do you mean, you don't know how? If you can run a protection racket and scare half the city to death, I'm sure you can relax. Look, all you do is take off your boots and sit down."

Torms showed them and sat down on some cushions that were scattered about the chambers. "There you go, now you two try."

The twins took off their boots and sat down opposite Torms. They sat bolt upright with their knees tucked up touching their chins with their arms wrapped around their legs.

"There you are; now then, do you feel relaxed?"

"Yes, boss."

Torms looked at them. "You don't, do you?"

They looked at each other then they started to sweat. "Well do you?" repeated Torms.

"No, boss."

"Oh, this is hopeless. Just at least try to relax and enjoy yourselves."

"Well, I'm off," said Sacul, "I'll see you in a minute."

"Where are you off to?" asked Torms.

"I thought I heard Sinat and Nakie. I thought I'd go and say hello," said Sacul.

"I wouldn't bother them just yet; trust me, I don't think your nose would thank you for it," said Torms.

"Well, I'll go to the Pickaxe and Pony then, to get all our stuff. I had forgotten all about it until I found this." And with that Sacul held up a bit of card, on which there were little pictures of tankards that had been made by some kind of rubber stamp dipped in ink.

"You see, I thought we had won an embroidered shirt. Look, all twenty boxes have been stamped."

"And how do you propose to carry all our stuff back on your own?"

"I hadn't thought of that."

Torms looked at the twins, then back at Sacul. "Seeing as these two are having such a great time you can take them with, you to help you carry all the stuff back. Is that alright with you two?" asked Torms turning towards the twins. However, they weren't there they were by the door putting their boots on like schoolchildren that had heard the headmaster ring the bell.

"I suppose it is then," Torms said to himself, smiling.

Sacul shut the door behind him and strode off towards the palace gates. He remembered their whereabouts from his guided tour earlier. As he was walking, he kept looking back at the twins. 'This is the life,' he thought. Here he was in the palace of the Dwarfen Kingdom, followed by two of the biggest rock bashers he had ever seen in his life. Finally, he arrived at the palace gates and as he did, the guards swung them open for him. Sacul stood upon the steps looking out over the kingdom with his hands on his hips.

"Yep, this is certainly the life."

Torms was sitting down on the cushions, but he kept fidgeting, unable to get comfortable. After about ten minutes he got up: The twins were right, this isn't relaxing at all, I'll go and check on the others to see if they are settling in alright, he thought.

He put on the slippers that had been left by the bed for him and went next door. As he opened the door, he could hardly believe his eyes. Nakie was sitting in a wash-bath full of bubbles and had a scantily clad female dwarf feeding him chicken, while another one was washing his hair. Next to him in another tub was Sinat, smoking a long clay pipe, with a female dwarf cutting his fingernails and a second one massaging his feet.

"Ah, Torms," shouted Sinat as he noticed Torms standing in the doorway, "we took your advice. Here, pull up a bath and grab yourself some company." As he said the word 'company,' he had given Torms a wink.

"What kind of a dwarf do you think I am?" asked Torms.

Sinat clapped his hands and in popped two female dwarfs carrying a wash-bath, and another two carrying buckets of hot water.

"It's amazing what you can achieve if you tip the guard," said Sinat laughing.

Torms stood and watched as they began to fill the bath. Oh well, it would be rude to turn down such hospitality, and if you can't beat them, you might as well join them, he thought as he started to take off his slippers.

Sacul walked into The Pickaxe & Pony proudly holding the rubber-stamped card from the night before. As he walked up to the bar, he turned to the twins.

"Well, seeing as we're here, we might as well have a drink don't you think." There was a small pause - "or two," added Sacul.

The twins looked at each other and smiled. Up until yesterday, they had been guards. Get up early, stand by a door and guard it, even though they were in the Blood Born they still had door duty. But they had always thought, 'who in their right mind wanted to take a door anyway?'

In fact, all the guards they had spoken to about the matter thought the same. Then they would have bread and cheese for dinner, then back to their precious door, then have some stew for supper, a game of cards, and then go to bed. They would do that for ten days and then have two days off, then back to work again.

However, since that morning they had had some fun in the holding cells with the desk sergeant, they had been out for breakfast, watched a dwarf fly, and tried a thing called relaxing. Although they weren't quite sure about the relaxing bit yet; but they thought they might get the hang of it.

And now they were in a tavern and just about to have a drink - or two, as Sacul had put it, and it had only just turned afternoon. For the first time in their lives, they were actually beginning to have fun.

"Right then, I think we will start off with three tankards of Old Troll's Foot, is that alright with you guys?" asked Sacul.

The twins just sat there at the bar, nodding, and thinking they could get used to this.

*

Odall was busy packing his things for the expedition; earlier that morning he had received a letter that had been pushed under his door, which read:

_" Members of the expedition, we leave the day after tomorrow at seven a.m. sharp"_  
 _Don 't be late._  
 _By order of the king_  
 _Signed: Tennant_

So, it was all nice and official, and he had the letter to prove it; 'if his old professor could see him now,' thought Odall.

He had already packed his magnifier, his book on Myths & Legends, and a few essential cookery utensils that he couldn't do without. He had also written a letter to Tennant to ask him to pack at least twelve barrels of dwarf acid. All his robes were packed, and a good pair of walking boots. Which he already had on his feet to wear them in; getting his feet used to them before the long trek.

He had also been down to the kitchens to sort out the provisions with the head chef. Seeing as King Crackzull himself had made him chief chef of the expedition. He had given the head chef his list, which clashed with Tennant's, but a bag of gold later and Tennant's list accidentally got baked.

Odall didn't mind that the king had made him chief chef, he didn't mind at all. At least as he was getting to go, and he was quite looking forward to cooking for the expedition. He saw it as a challenge even though each group would probably be cooking their own food, on their own fires. But at least he'd get to cook for Torms and the others, were his thoughts on the matter.

He had now finished preparing and had the rest of the day spare. This is going to be some adventure, he thought. Sitting on a comfortable chair in his chambers, sucking on his pipe in front of a roaring log fire with his feet up. With his trusty walking boots, resting upon on a pile of old tatty plump cushions.

*

It was now quite late, and the streets were empty, apart from two very large figures with a small one in the middle. They were staggering from one side of the road to the other and back again.

"You two areee amongsst my bestest friends," said Sacul as they staggered about with their arms wrapped around each other, holding each other up.

"Are we reeeally?" slurred Bash'm.

"Yep." Replied Sacul.

"Ah," said Beat'm, "weeee haven't got many friends. All we've got are workmates but that doessssn't count because they only talk to us because they're scared we'll bash'em."

"or Beat'm" Slurred Bash'm

"AHHH," cried out Sacul, followed by, "BASH'M and maybe we'd BEAT'M."

Instantly all three of them burst out laughing. Beat'm was leaning against a burning beacon, which was lighting up the street, banging it as he laughed. Sacul was on all fours, pounding the ground and crying with laughter whilst Bash'm was on his back in the middle of the road, kicking his legs up and down in the air shouting.

"Just in case we BASH'M or BEAT'M, do you get it?" at the top of his voice as he laughed hysterically. Then, just when they thought it couldn't get any funnier, the beacon that Beat'm was bashing started rocking and bending so much that some of the burning oil flicked out, landing on the back of Beat'm's trousers. He then proceeded to run around the street with the seat of his trousers on fire. "PUT IT OUT, PUT IT OUT!" he hollered as he ran.

This only made matters worse, as the other two laughed and screamed even more. Beat'm then saw a water trough and jumped in rear end first, to put the fire out, splashing and soaking the nearby buildings as he landed. All Sacul and Bash'm could see was Beat'm with his legs, arms, and head sticking out the trough, with a massive cloud of steam rising around him as the water hissed. By this time, they had tears running down their faces through laughing. Beat'm began to laugh as well, as he saw the funny side of it. However, because he was moving up and down so much with laughter, the trough gave way, sending him crashing to the floor and flooding the whole street, which brought on another bout of hysterical laughter from all three of them.

Sacul had now almost beaten a hole in the ground from laughing so much. "Stop it, stop it, I'm going to wet myself!" he shouted hysterically.

At this point, one of the windows above them in the street was flung open, and a little grey-haired old lady dwarf appeared. "Will you lot knock it off down there, I'm trying to sleep. I've got to be down the mine in the morning," said the little old lady with a stern look on her face.

Sacul stood up, wiping the tears from his eyes, and looked up. "Sorry," he said, as he stuck up his hand accompanied with a hiccup. He staggered over to Beat'm who was sitting in the remains of the trough, surrounded by water. Bash'm picked himself up and walked over to Sacul and his brother. They each grabbed an arm - "One, two, three," said Sacul - and they lifted Beat'm onto his feet.

"Now that's better, you should be ashamed of yourselves," said the old lady. "Grown dwarfs setting themselves on fire and running around the streets, disgraceful. It would have never off happened in my days; we didn't even have the luxury of fire, let alone a street" she muttered to herself as she slammed her window shut.

All three of them staggered off sniggering to themselves. After about two hours they finally made it back to the palace gates, which had only ten minutes away. But they had decided to take the drunken route, which consisted of going from pillar to post and back again. It then took them a further thirty minutes to get the palace guards to open the gates. It wasn't until Sacul used a universal language, that all guards understood - "If you don't open these gates, these two will crack your heads together," that they finally opened them.

When Sacul and the twins finally reached their chambers, Sacul stood outside the door with his finger to his lips.

"Sshh," he said to the twins, who in turn put their own fingers to their lips.

"Take your boots off," whispered Sacul.

After twenty minutes of banging, shushing and Sacul helping Beat'm; all boots were removed. Sacul opened the door and peered his head around. The torches were still burning brightly in the room.

"All clearrrr," he half-whispered, half-slurred. They all walked in on tiptoe with their boots in their hands, trying not to make a sound.

"I think we've madeee it," said Sacul in a hushed voice.

"Well, think again," said Torms as he stepped out from behind the door, shutting it with a bang.

"And what have you three come as?" he asked as he looked them up and down.

Sacul stood there in a cloth shirt embroidered with the words:

"I got drunk at The Pickaxe & Pony."

The twins stood there in their own cloth shirts over their tunics, and although they were double-extra-extra-large, they were still bursting at the seams.

"And what's that in your hand?"

"Oh, thiis?" said Sacul as he lifted up a money-pouch filled with gold coins.

"Oh, you'll never guessss where I got thiss from," said Sacul.

At this point Bash'm, and Beat'm tried to whistle, pretending to look around the room.

"Oh no, not again," said Torms.

"Well, let's have a go. Did the landlord at the Pickaxe and Pony, give it to you by any chance, whilst giving you a wink?"

"How diiid you know that?" asked Sacul, utterly gobsmacked.

"And where, may I ask, are our clothes and the rest of our stuff you went out to fetch?"

"I knew I'd forgotten sommmething," slurred Sacul, scratching his head.

"Never mind," said Torms, "get yourself to bed, and I'll talk to you in the morning. And you two, I've had beds made for you in the corner."

"Thanks, boss," said the twins in unison. They walked off with their heads bowed.

"And don't think you have got off scot-free. You've only been in the job for less than a day, and you come back blind drunk." Torms went around the room and put out the torches.

"And if you two don't buck up your ideas up, it will be back to the guardroom for both of you," he said, finally climbing into his bed.

"And no snoring, that's an order," snapped Torms as he pulled the covers up over his head.

*

The sun was up, and Odall was walking around a corridor on his way to his study when he bumped into Torms. "Oh, sorry," said Odall.

"No, my fault, I should have looked where I was going," replied Torms.

Odall looked at him. "Torms, you seem troubled, my friend."

"Oh, it's nothing," said Torms.

"Yes, but nothing can lead to all sorts of things. Have you had breakfast yet?" asked Odall.

"No, why?" asked Torms.

Odall put his arm around Torms's shoulders. "Well, come with me, and I'll make you one of the finest breakfasts in the kingdom, then you can tell me all about it. Come on" said Odall, who wasn't taking no for an answer as he ushered Torms off towards his study.

Seven corridors and one set of steps later, they finally arrived at their destination. Odall opened the door to his study and walked in, "Here you go," he said as he dusted off a nearby seat, with two heartily big slaps. "Sit down on there, and I'll get the burners going."

Torms looked around the room: there were books piled high on every shelf. They covered every subject imaginable, everything to do with rocks and minerals, to geography of the land and surrounding mountains. On the other shelves were stacked jars, hundreds of them, all with different labels stuck on, written in perfect handwriting. Within the jars, there were various shapes of rocks and minerals, and some even had strange liquid in them that kept letting out a plopping sound, followed by a bubble.

"How long have you been the chief philosopher?" asked Torms.

"Oh, so long now I've forgotten, probably about thirty years or more. I started as an apprentice and through time, as people died and moved on, I eventually became the only one left."

"How about your apprentice?"

"Oh, I've never had one. By the time I was in charge everything had been discovered and written about, so there wasn't much point really."

Odall lit his burners, then poured some water into a beaker and put it on one of the burners to make his morning ritual cup of herbs. From a lower cupboard within his desk, he bent down and pulled out half a dozen sausages, a container of mushrooms, and some eggs.

"How do you like your eggs?"

"What?" said Torms, who was studying the charts of rock formations on the wall.

"Your eggs, how do you like them?"

"Oh, my eggs. I'm not fussed, I'll have them as they come," answered Torms.

"Ok, as they come it is then," commented Odall and he started to fill up his trusty frying pan with food. "Right, that's the sausages and mushrooms on," said Odall, talking mainly to himself; immersed in his cooking.

"Excuse me, Odall, but why did you volunteer for this expedition?"

"What do you mean?" replied Odall, as he turned over one of the sausages with a fork.

"Well, you've got all these books to read, you're left alone, and you can do what you want."

"Exactly, my dear boy," he said leaning over his desk to look at Torms, monetarily taking his eye off the sausages. "I've read all the books, I've been left alone, and I've done everything I can do. That's why, when this Amberinth fell into my possession, well, it was like having new life thrust into me." He banged his fist down on the desk, making the beakers jump. "You see, this is something that hasn't been written. The small amount that has been is only written in the books of Myths & Legends. At last, I have a chance to write a detailed book about a mineral that nobody has ever written about before. That's why I want to go on this expedition. And one more thing," said Odall.

"Yes, yes," said Torms, sitting on the edge of his seat in anticipation.

"Your eggs are done."

He put the eggs with the sausages and mushrooms and passed the plate to Torms. He opened another drawer and took out a knife and fork and passed them over.

"Well, eat up before it goes cold. Would you like a glass of herbs with your breakfast? It is very good for your skin, you know," said Odall.

Torms nodded. He was enjoying his breakfast, and in fact, no conversation took place while they ate. After about ten minutes, Torms put down his knife and fork.

"I must say that was one of the best breakfasts I've ever tasted."

"Splendid, splendid, I'm glad you enjoyed it. Now then, with your stomach full, let's get on with the matter in hand."

"What do you mean?" asked Torms.

"The thing that is bothering you, it's written all over your face."

"Oh, that, it isn't really much of a problem," replied Torms.

"Well, spit it out anyway. You are just about to take charge of an expedition that will be written about for generations to come. You should be full of joy, not misery."

"Well, I don't know if I'm the right dwarf for the job," said Torms. "You see, to start with I had it all planned out before we came to the kingdom. We get a meeting with the king, we go off and mine the Amberinth, and I become rich and live happily ever after, easy. But from the start I tried to take charge, and two of us ended up in the holding cells. Then I was put in charge of the expedition. It was all good to begin with but after last night I had a go at my dear cousin Sacul for enjoying himself, and I can talk, I spent most of the day in a bath with . . . Ah, oughhh . . ."

Torms seemed to develop a small cough in his throat before continuing. "Well, let's just skip that bit . . . Then I had a go at my two bodyguards, who for the first time in their lives were probably having some fun. I mean, who am I to boss them around? And tomorrow I'll be in charge of another eighty-five dwarfs. Do you know I even had them calling me boss, what a joke!" Torms sat there shaking his head "me and my big ideas."

Odall stood up and walked over to put his hand on Torms's shoulder. "You know, I've served many a boss in my time, and I know you will make a good one," he said with a friendly smile on his face. "Nobody said it was easy at the top, just be yourself and talk to people; you don't have to order anybody around. The soldiers know how to fight, the miners know how to mine, all you have to do is point them in the right direction," said Odall as he gently gave Torms a reassuring pat on the back.

Torms sat there for a bit thinking about what Odall had just said.

"I didn't think of it like that," said Torms as he jumped out of his seat with a new glow about him. "From now on I'll be a good leader, and I'll make it up to them." He turned and faced Odall. "Thank you, and you say you have wasted all those years doing nothing. I don't think so. You're a very wise old dwarf, Odall."

Torms walked over to the door and turned - "and you're not a bad chef either" - before giving Odall a wink and walking off.

Odall stood in his study smiling. "That boy will go far, now let's have another cup of herbs," he said to himself as he walked over to his burners.

Torms strode up the corridors with his head held high and arrived at the main palace doors. "Open the doors please, if you would be so kind," he said. "I've got some shopping to do."

Sacul opened his eyes, and everything in the room looked fuzzy. "Where am I?" he asked. He tried to roll out of bed but hit the floor with a thud, then stood up to have a stretch, but didn't have the energy. He looked around for his clothes but couldn't find them. Then he realised he was still wearing them. He went over to the mirror near his bed and looked at himself. He tried to read what it said on his cloth shirt, which was reflected backwards. "I g-ot d-run-k at T-he Pic-kaxe & Pon-y."

"Oh no, I didn't did I?" he asked himself aloud. He turned around. "Ahh," he cried out as he saw Bash'm and Beat'm standing by the door. "Cor, you two gave me a fright. How come you're both up?"

"We're guarding the door," they said in unison.

"What do you mean, you're guarding the door?"

"Well, the boss said if we didn't buck our ideas up we'd be out of here, and we are supposed to be his bodyguards. But we must have overslept because we missed him going out."

"Oh, don't worry about him, sit down and relax."

"No thanks, we're alright here."

"Fine, have it your own way." Sacul walked out the room and went next door.

"Ah that's more like it, he thought, as the door opened, as he saw what was on the other side. Sinat and Nakie were sitting at a large table in the middle of the room, piled high with food.

"Oh, Sacul, come on in and join us. There's enough breakfast here for all of us. Where's Torms and those huge rock bashers of his?" Shouted Sinat.

"Torms has gone out somewhere, and the twins are guarding a door," said Sacul.

"A door?" questioned Sinat.

"Yes, a door - don't ask," replied Sacul as he pulled up a chair and sat down at the table.

It was now midday, and Torms was walking back down the palace corridors, with boxes piled high over his head. Finally, he came to the door of his chambers. He couldn't quite reach the handle, so he raised a leg, trying to open it with his foot. "Ah, got it," he said. At that precise moment, Bash'm opened the door from the inside because he thought he had heard a noise.

Torms came flying through the door into the room and landed in a heap on the floor. All the boxes he was carrying were thrown into the air and were now scattered all over the place.

"Sorry, boss," said Bash'm as he ran to pick him up, followed by Beat'm.

"Don't mention it," said Torms as they pulled him out from under some of the boxes. "So, what have you been up to all morning?"

"Err, guarding the door, boss."

"What, all morning?"

"Yes, boss," they said together.

"Oh, right, and did anything happen to it while you were guarding it?" asked Torms jokingly.

"Well, apart from you coming through it, no, boss."

"Right then, from now on I order you not to guard any more doors."

The twins just looked at each other.

"And from now on you are my friends, and apart from stepping in if somebody is about to seriously knock my head off with a large axe or some other weapon, you can do what you want, understand?"

"Yes, boss."

"No, I'm not your boss, alright? I'm your friend."

The twins were now getting seriously confused and were beginning to sweat.

"Err, yes, boss."

"Oh, not to worry, one step at a time. Alright, you can still call me boss, but relax a bit."

With that the twins took off their boots and went and sat down in the corner, on the cushions, their knees tucked up and sitting upright.

Torms burst out laughing at them. They looked at him and then at each other. "Just look at yourselves sitting there like a couple of school kids."

Bash'm looked at Beat'm and started smirking. Beat'm stared back at Bash'm.

"I don't know why your smirking for Bash'm, you both look the same," said Torms. With that, he started laughing even more. Then the twins started laughing as well, as Torms walked over to them. "See, you can relax if you try. Now if you are quite finished, I've got something for you both of you. Now where did I throw them?" he asked himself, looking through the boxes on the floor.

"Ah, here they are. Bash'm."

"Yes, boss."

"Here you go." Torms chucked him a large box. "Beat'm, this one's yours. I hope you both like them."

The twins pulled at the string that held the lids on, both opening the boxes at the same time. They put their hands in, and each pulled out a battle helmet. But not any old dull battle helmet. On the front of each helmet was their name, which boldly stood out in steel letters four inches high.

"Well, put them on, let's have a look," said Torms.

The twins put on their helmets and looked at each other. Instantly, their bottom lips started to quiver, while a tear began to form in their eyes. Torms walked over and stood between them.

"Come on you two, it's only a present, and it saves me getting you both mixed up and nearly getting my head knocked off," he said as he remembered what happened outside the holding cells when Bash'm nearly knocked his block off.

"Cheer up, haven't you ever had a present before?" asked Torms jokingly, trying to change the mood.

"No," they replied with a sniff.

"What not ever? What about your mum and dad?"

"We were left on the doorstep of the guard academy when we were babies, and they brought us up."

Now Torms had a lump in his throat and a tear in his eye. "Well, you must have been given a birthday present from the guard academy?" he said quickly.

"We've never had a present because nobody knows when we were born."

Now Torms's bottom lip began to quiver as he tried to hold back his tears.

"So, you don't even know how old you are?"

"No," replied the twins. This was now getting too much for Torms as started to well up.

"Well, from now on we will call today your birthday; and your helmets," Torms paused, sniffed, and wiped his eyes, "you can consider your helmets your birthday presents," said Torms, trying to fight back the tears.

With that, the twins burst out crying, chucking their arms around Torms, hugging him and picking him off the floor.

"We've never had a present before," they sobbed as they gave Torms an extra big squeeze; now all three were in floods of tears. But Torms's tears of happiness soon turned to tears of pain, as he began to feel every bone in his body was reaching breaking point.

At that moment Sinat, Nakie and Sacul walked through the door to be greeted by Torms and the twins having a group hug.

"Sorry if we are disturbing anything," said Sinat with a smirk. "We'll come back later when you're finished."

The twins dropped Torms on the floor and turned away, frantically trying to dry their eyes before they were seen. Torms scrambled to his feet and wiped his tears away, then gave himself a quick pat down, just to make sure there weren't any broken bones. "Uh'm, the twins were just showing me how to do a bear hug, weren't you?" he said, as he gave one of them a backwards kick for some support.

The twins produced a hankie each and were now blowing their noses and nodding their heads, trying to back Torms's story up. "Torms, I don't care what you get up to in your spare time. If you want to wrestle with two big dwarfs, then that's up to you, but please not in front of Sacul."

"I wasn't wrestling with . . ." Torms stopped halfway through his sentence. He noticed Sinat and the other two laughing at him. "Alright, alright, they were thanking me for their presents, and while we're talking about presents. I've got some here for you lot as well," he said as he began sorting through the boxes on the floor again.

"Ah, here we go. This one's for you, Sinat, this is for you Nakie and this one's for Sacul," he said as he passed them over.

Sinat opened his box and found a brand new long clay pipe with a leather pouch full of the kingdom's finest tobacco. Nakie had a brand new, hand-embroidered, leather axe harness that went around one of his shoulders and across his body with an easy-access strap so that he could carry his double-handed axe on his back.

Torms had bought it so he could put his axe out of the way when he was eating instead of always leaving it on the table. It was either that or a hundred chickens, and although Nakie would have preferred the chickens, Torms came to the quick decision that a harness was a lot easier to carry back. Sacul got a pewter tankard with his name on it; the rest of the tankard had a dwarfen mine etched all around it. Torms thought that if Sacul was going to keep drinking the way he had been, he might as well drink in style.

"Well, thanks very much," said Sinat as he stuffed his new pipe with tobacco.

"This must have cost you a fortune, where on earth did you get all the money?" Asked Sinat.

Sacul looked over to the table at the side of the bed. He knew he had forgotten something: the large bag of money was missing; the one that the innkeeper had handed to him the previous night, stating something about not wanting any trouble. Then he remembered Bash'm and Beat'm whistling at the bar, then something in Sacul's brain went _click_. No wonder we didn't have to pay for any of the ale last night, he thought.

"Err, I know where he got the money from," said Sacul.

Torms had seen Sacul staring at the table where the money had once sat, and now he found himself trying to whistle for some strange reason.

Sacul stopped what he was saying mid-sentence and remembered the good old dwarfen saying, "Snitches get stitches." However, this quote wasn't entirely true -dwarfs would normally just cut your tongue out if you snitched, but that didn't rhyme.

However, it was rumoured that there were a few snitches that actually did try and stitch their tongues back on so in essence; this quote did have some truth about it.

"I saw him bring a big bag of money with him before we set off from home. It must have been his share of the armour we sold in the Second Province," concluded Sacul, giving Torms a wink.

"You didn't have to spend your money on us, but it was very nice of you just the same," said Sinat.

Torms let out a sigh of relief, but not too much, because if Sinat thought about how much all the presents had cost, he would also work out that he didn't have to spend the night in the cells as well. Then, Torms would have to tell him where the money really came from.

He had always been against bullying tactics, and he had been on his way to return the money to the innkeeper. However, when he'd started shopping and taking coins to pay for the stuff, he kept telling himself he'd put them back later. In one shop he even asked the shopkeeper if he knew Bash'm and Beat'm. And when the shopkeeper had stood there shaking and nodding his head in sheer panic, expecting his doors to be booted off at any moment and the twins to come rushing in, Torms had casually added that Bash'm and Beat'm now worked for him, trying to get a discount. He got more than that: he got the items wrapped, packed, and free of charge. In fact, during the whole shopping trip, he only had to pay for two things. One of those was a map of the city from a dwarf in a booth so he could locate all the shops, and the second was for a pair of walking boots he needed for himself, which he had purchased at the beginning of his little shopping spree.

After that he used the Bash'm, and Beat'm discount, as he liked to call it, and by the end of it all, he had changed his mind about the whole concept of a protection racket. He thought if the shopkeepers were stupid enough to hand over their goods, then he might as well relieve them of them before anybody else did.

He was even offered the monthly bags of money, but he refused: even he thought that was going just a bit too far, and at the end of it all, he still had a bag full of money, give or take a few coins.

Torms was now standing in the middle of the room trying to remember what the dwarf in the booth had told him about an annual fete. He took out his map and laid it on the table as the others were stood admiring their gifts.

"Ah, there it is." There was a cross on the map where the booth teller had squiggled, indicating the place. "Right then, seeing as I've got some money left," he said as he patted the full money bag that was hanging from his belt and returned a quick wink to Sacul, "why don't we go out and celebrate the twins' birthday? We're off to the fete!"

Sacul's eyes lit up, and so did the twins, he had never been to a fete, and neither had they. Their bottom lips started to quiver, as they were about to start crying again.

"No, not now, we've got company, and that's an order," said Torms. With that, the twins suddenly went into guard mode and stood to attention.

"I didn't know it was the twins' birthday," said Sinat. "No, neither did they until about twenty minutes ago," replied Torms. He turned to the twins. "Well, it's your birthday, do you fancy going to the fete?"

"Yes, boss," they said, with beaming smiles.

"Well, then, what are we waiting for Come on," said Torms as he walked out the door.

"Oh, I nearly forgot." He went back inside and picked up another neatly bound package off the floor. "We've got to make a quick stop and pick someone else up on the way," he said as they all proceeded down the corridor in high spirits.

Even Sinat, who usually liked to take charge, was taking a back seat on this one. He was happy to hang back and smoke his pipe and let the order of events take over.

The twins couldn't stop smiling. Bash'm turned to Beat'm. "What's a fete?" he said as they walked along.

"I don't know, but with the boss in charge, it's got to be good," replied Beat'm, enjoying his first birthday.

"You're right," said Bash'm as he carried on smiling.

Torms arrived at a door. "Right, this looks like the one," he said as he knocked.

"Come in," shouted a familiar voice from inside.

Torms walked in. "Err, hello Odall."

"Ah, Torms, my dear boy, have you sorted things out?"

"Yes, thank you, and I've got something for you," said Torms, passing Odall a package.

"You shouldn't have, my dear boy. Can I open it now?" asked the appreciative Odall.

"Be my guest," said Torms.

Odall opened the package; inside was a large leather book, along with a fine selection of flints to write with. Odall opened the book. "But it's empty," he said looking at Torms quizzically.

"Yes, it's meant to be. It's for writing all your notes in about Amberinth, to be read by generations to come."

"Well, thank you very much, and it's nice to see you so happy."

"And that's not all. Seeing as it's our last day, and you said earlier that you're bored being in here all day, I'm inviting you," Torms stopped. "I'm sorry, _we 're_ inviting you to join us to celebrate Bash'm, and Beat'm's birthday."

"I didn't know it was their birthday . . ." said Odall.

But before Torms could say anything, Sacul stepped in. "Neither did they," he said with a smile.

"Where are you going?" asked Odall.

"We are going to the annual fete," said Torms.

"The annual fete? I've been here all these years and didn't even know we had one. But I'd love to. Just let me get my hat." He retrieved his hat from the coat-stand by the door and brushed off the dust. "It's been a few years since I last wore this," he said as he looked at the rather bedraggled pointy hat in his hands. "In fact, I can't remember the last time I stepped outside the palace!"

All seven of them walked down the corridors and out into the city. Every couple of streets, Torms kept checking his map, to ensure they were going in the right direction. After about twenty long streets, three side streets and some steps they finally found it. It wasn't hard to miss; there must have been a thousand people all moving around like ants. The fete was in the far corner of the cavern, music was playing and every now and then laughter and screaming came flooding out.

They walked through the main entrance; all they could see were stalls of every description, selling pipes, food, and novelty armour hats with 'pick me quick,' written on them.

"Right, twins, it's your birthday, what do you want to go on first?"

The twins didn't know what to do, they had never been asked to choose anything before; they just stood staring at the stalls and things to do.

"Look, Torms, a 'hitta ma thingee,' I've read about these," shouted out Odall excitedly.

"You have to hit a piece of wood, and a disc goes up into the air attached to a long bit of board, then if it hits a bell at the top you win, or something or other. Come on, let's have a go." He set off like a small child to the stall.

"How much for a go?" he asked the stallholder as he ran up.

"I'd save your money if I were you, old dwarf," mocked the stallholder with a laugh, as he looked the slightly out of breath Odall up and down.

"Really?" said Odall, "well, in that case, I'll just have the one go, then please."

"Well, that will be one copper piece."

Odall eagerly placed one copper piece into the palm of the stallholder's hand.

"What do I get if the bell rings?"

"If the bell rings you get a dwarf made out of cloth carrying an axe. But you will never ring it, you're not big enough." Mocked the stallholder.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I'm not paying for me to have a go. You've got me all wrong. I'm paying for my friend." He turned to Bash'm. "Bash'm will you please do the honours?"

As Bash'm stepped up, and the stallholder just stared at him, starting at his boots and working his way upwards, all the time his mouth was opening wider and wider, while his eyes looked as if they were going to pop out of his head.

"Is this the hammer?" asked Odall picking up the large wooden hammer leaning against the stall. The stallholder was still staring at Bash'm, and he just nodded his head.

Odall handed Bash'm the wooden hammer. By this point, Bash'm was starting to get really excited.

"Right, Bash'm, just hit the wooden disc here, and make the bell ring," said Odall standing well back.

Bash'm took the hammer and raised it above his head. He stuck out his tongue, closed one eye, and eyed up the wooden block; all the others saw was a blur of a wooden hammer as it rocketed down and stopped with an almighty thud. Everybody was looking up at the bell, waiting for it to ring. All except one, the stallholder. It wasn't that he wasn't interested, but he had other things on his mind, and one of the things occupying it at that precise moment was an immense pain emanating from his foot.

The stallholder was just about to scream out when the scream got stuck in his throat as his brain told him not to look down. But he did, and all he could see was a big wooden hammer embedded in his foot, which had now grown to twice its normal size. Now, before he could see any more, his brain decided it was far too painful and unpleasant, and made him pass out.

As the stallholder hit the ground, everybody turned their gaze downwards and could see what had happened. "Oh, well, better luck next time," said Torms, taking the hammer and placing it back against the tall pole. "Come on, let's go and see what's over here," he said, quickly walking off; you could even say he was running, with the others only a pace behind him. Within five minutes they were on the other side of the fete.

"Ah, what have we here? A nice, simple game," said Torms.

He walked over to a stall and behind the counter was a huge wooden barrel containing water. There were bits of potato in the water in the shape of ducks, with a steel hook sticking out top their heads.

"Hello," said Torms to the stallholder, who was leaning against one of the stall posts, puffing away on a little clay pipe. "What do you have to do, and how much for a go?"

"It's one copper piece a go, just get this stick here." With that, the stallholder pulled out a three-foot-long rod from behind the counter with a one-foot long piece of string hanging from it. The string had a loop on the end. "All you do then is hang the line over the water and hook yourself a duck. Underneath is a number and you win a prize according to the number on the duck."

"What number do you need for that giant cloth dwarf holding a tankard?" asked Torms, pointing to one of the prizes hanging from the canopy.

"Number four," replied the stallholder.

"Right, we will each have a go please." He handed over seven copper pieces to the stallholder, who in return handed them a rod each. He put his hand in the water and started swirling it around in a circular motion, making the ducks bob around a bit.

"I've got one!" shouted Odall as he pulled a duck out of the water and took a look at the number underneath. "Number seven, what have I won?" He said as he waited in anticipation.

"Let's have a look." The stallholder looked on a chart pinned to one of the supports for the canopy. "You've won a shiny pebble," he said, as he put his hand in a bag around his waist and pulled out a shiny pebble and gave it to Odall.

"Is that all?" asked Odall, bitterly disappointed.

"You can always have another go," beamed the stallholder.

"I've got one!" said Torms. "Me too!" said Sacul.

"Right, let's have a look. Oh, number seven," said Torms.

He looked over to Sacul's duck, which was now overturned in the stallholder's hands. They both had a number seven. "Right, let me see," said the stallholder as he looked at the chart again. "Ah, a shiny pebble," he said as he handed them a shiny pebble each.

By now the other four had hooked themselves a duck. Well, that wasn't entirely true: when the stallholder wasn't looking, the twins had leaned over the counter and grabbed a duck each and put it onto their rods.

"Well, let's have a look then," said the stallholder as he pulled Sinat's and Nakie's ducks from their lines and looked underneath.

"Oh, number seven;" and then a slight pause "number seven again," said the stallholder, trying to act surprised. He then turned to the twins. Who now had anticipation in there their eyes, as when they had put their own ducks on, they had forgotten to look at the numbers.

"I hope it's a number four," said Bash'm.

"So, do I," said Beat'm, all excited.

"I wouldn't hold your breath," said Torms, who was beginning to cotton on that something wasn't quite right.

"Oh, number seven, and again," said the stallholder, turning over both their ducks.

The twins looked disappointed. "Let me see," said the stallholder pretending to check his chart to see what prize they had won.

"No, let _me_ see," said Torms as he climbed onto the counter and swung his legs over the other side.

"HEY, what are you doing?" asked the stallholder, walking towards Torms.

He had only taken a few steps when he realised he wasn't moving any further. Bash'm, and Beat'm had leant over the counter and grabbed him by his arms; he was now two feet off the floor.

Torms turned over the first duck in the vat of water. "Oh, number seven, what a surprise," he said tossing it up over his shoulder. He lifted another. "Oh, number seven again." He went through the whole lot, and each one was number seven. "Right then, I think a refund is in order, don't you?" he asked the stallholder. He had given him the easy option first, but by the look on the stallholder's face at the mention of refund, Torms knew he had to go straight to option number two.

Torms nodded to the twins, who turned the stallholder upside down and shook him until all his money and pebbles fell out all over the floor. Torms bent down and picked up seven copper pieces. "And I think under the circumstances a couple of prizes are in order, don't you?" With that, he took down two large cloth dwarfs holding tankards and handed one each to the twins; Forgetting they had a hold of the stallholder, they eagerly grabbed their prizes, dropping him headfirst in the process. Torms climbed back over the counter, then turned and leaned over, looking back down at the stallholder. Who was on all fours rubbing his head whilst trying to pick up his money and pebbles.

"Thank you," said Torms and smiled smugly before walking off.

"You'll never get away with this, we fete folk stick together you know, WE STICK TOGETHER!" bellowed the stallholder as they all walked off.

"Apples, toffees, apple toffees," they heard someone shouting, "apples on a stick covered in toffee, only one copper piece." Torms walked through the crowd with the others, trying to find out where the cry was coming from. The trader had his back to them when they finally found him. "I'll have seven please," said Torms, tapping the trader on the shoulder.

"Certainly, sir," he said. As the trader turned around, Torms noticed something familiar. It wasn't the big box of apple toffees in a tray that was hung around his neck, that wasn't it. It was the big ginger beard above the tray, covering a mouth, which seemed to have quite a few teeth missing that Torms found familiar.

"Ah, it's you lot again," shrieked the trader, throwing his tray up in the air before making a run for it.

"I suppose these are free then," said Nakie as he bent down and put the tray around his neck. "And look, a portable table," he said, as set about eating the apples.

Torms quickly took six sticky apples off the tray before Nakie got too attached to them and handed them out; he left the rest for Nakie to eat as they strolled around the fete once more.

"Oh look, a rock shy, come on let's have a go," shouted Odall, as he dragged the more than willing twins over to the stall. "Look, all you have to do is chuck a lump of rock at another lump of rock sitting in a cup that's balancing on a thin stick of metal down at the other end. If you can knock the rock out of the cup, you win a prize," said the excited Odall.

"I'll go first, I was quite a shot when I was a boy. How much?" he asked.

"Which do you want, sir, it's one copper piece for three balls or one silver pieces for nine balls?" said the stallholder.

"We'll have nine please," Odall said. "I'll take the first three, and show you young'uns how it's done," said Odall handing over a silver piece, whilst rolling up his sleeves.

Odall picked up one of the rock and started moving his hand up and down trying to get a feel for the weight. Then he held it up to his eye to check it for aerodynamics while nodding his head in approval. Then he pulled his arm back, took two deep breaths and then threw the rock as hard as he could down the length of the stall, but it just missed. He turned to the others.

"Just getting my throwing eye in." He picked up the second stone and took aim, and with all his might sent it on its way. Striking the rock in the cup dead centre, but it didn't even move. "That's odd, I could have sworn that was a perfect hit."

He picked up his third rock. "Stand back," ordered Odall, as he took a run up and threw the stone as hard as he could. Another perfect hit; The rock hit the one in the cup and fell to the floor, and again the rock in the cup didn't even move.

Now if anyone knew about rocks, it was Odall, and the other object sitting in the cup definitely wasn't one. Even the others were a little suspicious. Odall decided he had to take a closer look. "Sinat, keep him busy," said Odall as he slipped off out of view and headed off down the side of the stall, towards the back to check the targets.

"Uhm-Uhm, excuse me," said Sinat to the stallholder, "how much did you say again for a go?"

"One copper piece for three balls or one silver pieces for nine balls," said the stallholder.

"How much for ten balls then?" asked Sinat. "Ten? I don't know," replied the stallholder scratching his head.

"Well, let's say twelve then, will that be four copper pieces or one silver and a copper?" asked Sinat. Now the stallholder really did look confused.

Meanwhile, Odall had crept down the side of the stall and had managed to lift the cloth up around the back, to take a closer look at the rocks in the cup. He picked one up. "Just as I thought, seven times heavier than a rock, and made of metal." He muttered to himself. Then he noticed a tin of paint tucked under a blanket, with some more metal shaped rocks already painted disguised as stones. "These will do nicely," he said with a smile.

He put the one in his hand back in the cup and returned to the others with six of the painted metal rocks. By the time he reached the twins, he was huffing and puffing and sweating quite a lot; through all the effort of carrying the heavy metal rocks.

"Here you are," he said to the twins, placing the six newly painted metal rocks he had acquired with a thud on the counter, "take three each. I think you may find them a little more useful."

Odall then casually pushed the other six normal rocks that the stallholder had given him earlier, back over the counter and onto the floor. The stallholder didn't see a thing, as he was still trying to answer Sinat's question about the cost of the balls. "So then if a party of forty dwarfs wanted a go, and they each wanted two rocks, how much would they have to pay?" asked Sinat.

The stallholder was by now scratching his head even harder as he tried his hardest to come up with an answer. Sinat noticed Odall standing behind the stallholder. Odall gave Sinat a nod. "That would be four silver pieces, one copper, I think, and I will throw in the other rock for free," said the stallholder. "When are they coming?"

"Oh, I was only asking," replied Sinat.

And before the stallholder could work out what exactly had just happened, Odall butted in. "Uhm-uhm, can we take our other six shots now please?"

The stallholder turned and waved for Odall to continue; still deep in thought. He was working something out in his head but wasn't quite sure what.

The twins picked up the first of their three metal rocks, both pulling back their arms, and with one mighty surge, they sent the metal rocks hurtling down the stall. They both missed their targets, but carried on, hitting the cloth behind the cups. Two perfect holes appeared in the backdrop. "Not to worry, not to worry, have another go, lads," said Odall ushering them on quickly.

The stallholder was now staring down his stall at the holes in his cloth, but before he could say anything, he heard two more whooshing sounds and watched as a second wave hurtled down in a blur towards their targets.

One hit one of the other metal rocks in the cups full on, and instead of knocking it out of the cup, both of them shattered. Sending bits of hot metal all over the place while the second carried on and went clean through one of the corner-posts at the back, which was holding the stall and canvas up. The canvas collapsed on top of the smouldering bits of metal that were scattered all over the ground. Instantly, the stall burst into flames. All of them just stood there in disbelief including the stallholder, silently watching; some with their mouths open, others just staring as they watched it burn.

"THERE THEY ARE!" shouted a voice behind them. As they turned around, they were confronted by a mob of dwarfs, and they didn't look happy to see them.

"That's them, they broke my foot," said one of the dwarfs with a heavily bandaged foot and a big wooden hammer in his hand.

"And there's the giant cloth dwarfs they stole from my stall," said another.

"And there's my tray of apple toffees, and he's still got them around his neck," said another, standing well back, hidden behind the rest of the angry mob. But if you looked hard enough, a ginger beard could just be made out.

"And look, now they've burnt down old Twozac's stall," said another

They all stared at what was now a pile of smouldering embers and ashes, as Twozac lay on the ground banging on the floor and sobbing.

"I told you we fete folk stick together; come on, let's get them," shouted the stallholder who ran the duck stall.

The mob rushed forward, all except the dwarf with the ginger beard. He ran in the opposite direction and hid behind a stall; he knew better, and he had the teeth missing to prove it.

The first of the mob ran at Nakie, as he thought he would be the easiest being the shortest of the dwarfs. But how wrong he was. Nakie just lifted the tray from around his neck and smashed him over the head with it. A second dwarf ran at Torms but found himself running into what he thought was a brick wall. He hadn't seen Beat'm's fist awaiting his arrival.

Sinat threw one of them onto the red embers. This was followed by a scream as a dwarf ran down the street with his backside on fire. Odall was confronted by the dwarf with the broken foot and large wooden hammer. So Odall dropped one of the remaining metal rocks onto his injured foot and watched as the dwarf passed out for the second time that afternoon.

Sacul had another in a headlock, who was now starting to turn blue. Even though Sacul was the youngest, he'd had plenty of fighting practice. When you had Sinat as an older brother and Nakie as your cousin, you soon picked up the odd trick or two.

After the rest of the mob had seen what had happened to the first five dwarfs, they ran like wild beasts trying to get out of a burning forest.

"Well then I think we've had enough fun at the fete for one day, how about we go to the Pickaxe and Pony and continue to celebrate the twins' birthday there? said Torms, before turning his attention to Sacul. "Come along Sacul, let go of that dwarf and let's get some ale." At the mention of ale Sacul released his grip from around the dwarf's neck, allowing the now very blue-faced dwarf to take a deep breath for the first time in several minutes.

Torms entered The Pickaxe & Pony ahead of the still smiling twins. Who had just entered one off the roughest, toughest and most feared taverns in the whole of Ironclad carrying two giant stuffed dwarfs. Followed by Sinat and Nakie, who was just finishing off the last of the apple toffees. Bringing up the rear were Odall and Sacul, who had been swapping fighting stories since they had left the fete.

Odall had never been in a fight before. The nearest he had ever got to one was when someone broke his beaker when he was an apprentice, resulting in him standing with his hands on his hips giving the other apprentice a hard stare for at least a minute; but apart from that, nothing. Now he had his hands over his head and was bringing his arms down, showing Sacul how he had dropped the metal rock on the stallholder's foot. Then Sacul grabbed Odall around the neck, trying to teach him how to get somebody in a headlock. Odall was attempting to speak, to tell Sacul to loosen his grip but couldn't get the words out. Sacul let go of him once he started to feel some frenzied banging on his leg, as Odall was about to pass out; Odall stood up, feeling a little dizzy.

"Well, thank you for showing me that, Sacul," he said, trying to stay on his feet.

"Remind me never to upset you," said Odall as he headed off towards the bar, rubbing his neck.

"Bash'm, Beat'm, go get us a table, one next to the fire will do, and I'll get the ales in," said Torms.

"Yes, boss," said the twins as they walked off.

"Right then, we'll have seven of your finest ales please, innkeeper," ordered Torms. The innkeeper took one look at them and started to shake. He handed over the seven ales with a slightly shaky hand and took a deep breath.

"Can I have a word with you please?" he said, somewhat reluctantly.

"Of course, you can," replied Torms.

"Well, I don't want to trouble, and I don't want to offend, but I noticed that you're not staying here anymore," said the innkeeper.

"Yes, that's correct, we are staying at the palace," replied Torms in a friendly tone.

"Well, if it's not too much trouble, and I don't want to rush you, but . . . Can I have my room back now, as it's rather damp down in the cellar? But if you still want to keep your clothes and things in there, I don't mind. It's all there, I haven't touched it. Oh, and I've fed and watered your ponies twice daily," said the innkeeper, hoping he'd done well.

"The ponies - I'd forgotten all about them and all about our clothes too. Yes, of course, you can have your room back, dear fellow, we will take everything back with us when we leave tonight."

The innkeeper's face lit up as the damp in the cellar had been playing havoc with his back. "Just leave it to me, I'll load your cart and see to it that it's all packed safely. And you can keep the table," he said, still smiling.

"Table, what table?" asked Torms.

The innkeeper pointed over Torms's shoulder. Stood behind him were Bash'm and Beat'm holding a table. "Here's your table, boss," said the twins. Torms looked at them, and he could see the others were trying not to laugh. Torms didn't want to hurt their feelings, seeing as it was their birthday after all. He looked the table up and down. "Oh yes, very nice, you've made a fine choice." The twins stood there with proud looks on their faces. "Can I suggest you now put it back with the chairs, and we will use it to put our drinks on."

"OK, boss," said the twins, and walked back off with the table, towards the fire. With that, the others burst out laughing. "Lay off, you lot, their hearts are in the right place, even if their brains aren't," said Torms, who couldn't help but have a little chuckle himself.

The ale was flowing, and they had managed to get through two barrels of Miner's Foot, which was the taverns strongest brew. It was well into the night now, and Sacul was asleep with his head on the table and stuck fast in his hand was his new tankard, which he still had a firm grip on. Even if fifty miners with picks had come walking in right there and then; wouldn't have been able to prise it out. Next to him was Odall, who was holding his tankard with both hands, smiling every now and then and taking a sip from it.

On the other side of the table was Nakie, who had a drumstick in one hand and a tankard in the other. He was chatting away to Sinat, who had his feet up on the table smoking his clay pipe. The twins kept nodding off, but momentarily kept waking themselves up as their nodding heads hit the table. Then they would take another sip from their tankards and start all over again.

Torms looked at them all. 'Well, at least everybody had a good time,' he thought. "Well, come on everybody, we'd better be heading back, we've got a big day tomorrow," called out Torms, gently rubbing his hands together.

Only Nakie and Sinat had heard him. "Nakie, give the twins a shove to wake them up," said Torms.

Nakie stretched his arm out and shoved Bash'm. "Oi, wake up," grunted Nakie.

Bash'm didn't wake up, he just fell off his seat, taking his brother with him as his head had been resting on Bash'm's shoulder. It was only when Bash'm landed on Beat'm, that they finally woke up.

"WHO WANTS SOME," they both shouted at the same time; Instantly jumping to their feet, with their fists raised, standing there ready to fight the next dwarf who walked through the door.

"Twins, load Sacul and Odall onto the cart around the back." Asked Torms.

"Err, yes boss," they said in unison, as they started to remember where they were.

Torms slightly staggered to the bar. "Is everything packed?" he asked.

"Yes, sir, and I've even washed your clothes," the landlord replied.

"Well, thank you," said Torms as he threw the innkeeper the money-pouch that Sacul had relieved him of the previous night. "I think this belongs to you." The innkeeper caught the money-pouch and stood there scratching his head with a puzzled look on his face.

Torms walked out the back to the cart; he watched the twins load Sacul and Odall on board and then climb up into the back themselves with Nakie. Torms pulled himself up and sat next to Sinat up front. With everyone accounted for, Sinat pulled on the reins, and the cart pulled away and headed off towards the palace.

*

The sun shone through the cavern roof and onto Tennant, who was standing outside with his long scroll, ticking off the dwarfs and their provisions. In front of him were fifty of The Blood Born Guards, standing proudly with battle-axes at the ready, and crossbows strapped to their backs. Behind them were thirty-five miners, picked from King Crackzull's finest. Further back were ten wagons packed with dwarf acid, mining equipment, provisions, canvas for shelters, and anything else Tennant had seen fit to add to his list. He pulled out his hourglass; it was one minute after seven a.m. precisely.

"Where are they?" he muttered to himself. He shouted to the guards at the palace gates.

"Have you seen Torms this morning?"

"No, sir," came the reply, as they hadn't a clue who Torms was, and in good old guard thinking; if they didn't actually know him they hadn't actually seen him, even if they had.

Well, I suppose I had better get on with it, thought Tennant. He stood in front of the dwarfs and started a roll call. He had shouted out all The Blood Born Guards and miners names, and they were all present and correct, then he got to Odall's name.

"Odall," he shouted. There was no response. "ODALL," he tried again, raising his voice a little and looking towards the back of the group.

"Here," shouted a voice from behind him. Tennant turned and saw Odall's head sticking out of the side of a cart parked by the royal fountain. Which contained a statue of the king in the middle; which the two ponies attached to the cart, were now drinking out of. Odall tried to straighten his crumpled hat, which was even more crumpled than usual, while at the same time kicking the others in the cart to wake them. But he accidentally stuck his foot straight into Nakie's mouth and, Nakie being Nakie, and still half asleep, thought it was breakfast and sank his teeth into the philosopher's foot.

"Ahhhh, my foot, my foot!" screamed Odall, trying to prize it out of Nakie's mouth, which instantly made Nakie bite even harder.

Nakie awoke and found an old leather boot in his mouth and spat it out. Sinat and Torms, who were asleep over the front seat of the cart. Were rudely awoken as a half-eaten, half-chewed boot hit Sinat on the back of the head. Making Sinat jump up wondering where he was and what was going on, as he did he got his foot caught in the reins, tightening them and startling the ponies. Which in turn made them rear up and shoot off around the fountain, heading straight towards the Blood Born, who were standing their ground because they hadn't been given any order to move.

The miners, on the other hand, had scattered all over the place, some hiding behind plant pots and statues but most of them taking cover behind the wagons. The cart was now at full speed, with Torms and Sinat trying their hardest to stop the startled ponies. "Give us a hand," shouted Torms frantically to anyone in the back.

With that, Bash'm leant forward and pulled hard on the reins. The two ponies didn't know what had happened as their heads and front hooves were lifted clean off the ground. They literally stopped in mid-air. Bash'm let go, and the ponies fell to the ground right in front of the Blood Born. By now, their front rank was pouring with sweat; they all let out a collective breath which they had been holding in, as they braced themselves for the impact.

"Ah, Torms," said Tennant sarcastically and continued in a cynical tone, "I'm glad you could make it. Everybody, this is Torms. He is in charge of the whole expedition, would you like to say a few words, BOSS?"

Torms was still struggling to get up. He managed to get to his feet and brushed himself down. He gave Tennant a sideways look, climbed up onto the front seat of the cart and cleared his throat. "Ahem." As he looked up, he could see the miners getting back into position, and the front row of Blood Born Guards were still looking a little pale. All eyes were now on Torms, especially Tennant's, who was loving every minute of Torms's discomfort.

"Well, as you know, I'm going to be in charge of the expedition, and it has been bestowed upon me by King Crackzull himself to follow it through. I would like to first point out that . . ." He suddenly stopped, paused, and turned to look at Odall, who just sat there with a smile on his face. He then turned back to the dwarfs assembled in front of him. "Right, err, I'm not going to point anything out. You there," he pointed to one of The Blood Born Guards.

"Yes, sir!" bellowed out the Captain of the Blood Born, as he snapped his heels to attention.

"Are you in charge of the Blood Born?"

"Yes, sir. I am their Captain," the guard replied.

"Well, then, if we were attacked, can you order them to fight?"

"Yes, sir," he replied.

"Well, that's that problem solved. From now on if anybody attacks us, or you think we need to attack anybody else, then you just go ahead, don't let me stop you. And one other thing, next time a cart is hurtling towards you, don't wait for me to give you any orders, just get out of the way, OK?"

The Captain looked a little puzzled. "Err, I suppose so, sir."

"I mean, "YES, SIR," he said as he reigned in his train of thought.

"And my name's not sir, my name is Torms. Right, who's in charge of the miners?" shouted Torms as he turned his attention to the array of picks slung over the shoulders of a sturdy-looking mob of dwarfs at the back.

"I am, sir," came a voice as a hand shot up. "The same goes for you. When we get to the point where we are going to mine, just get on with it, so long as you don't mind me and my friends helping."

"We won't mind, sir," said the miner.

"And the same goes for you, my name is Torms, not sir."

The Chief Ganga of the miners nodded with a smile.

"Right, that's that solved. All I can tell you is that we are going to the Brocken Mountains and that's where we intend to mine. Right then, any of you need to do anything before we leave? I just have to pop in and get the rest of my stuff from the palace. So, let's say be back here in one hour." Concluded Torms as he finished his speech.

He turned to look back at Odall. "How did I do?" he asked under his breath.

"Perfect," replied Odall grinning, "just perfect."

"Well, then, let's all go and get our things. Bash'm, Beat'm, get your bedding and stuff, and I think you better leave your giant cloth dwarfs in the chambers don't you." Said Torms. As he noticed Beat'm still holding his, in fact it looked like he had gone to sleep that night cuddling it, by the way all the straw was squashed in the middle.

"Yes, boss."

"Sacul, you can get my things, and I'll give Odall a hand with his stuff. Right, let's go." They all piled out of the cart and headed towards the palace. The Captain of the Blood Born still had his dwarfs standing to attention. He had a distressed look on his face because nobody had told him or his dwarfs to fall out. He looked over towards Tennant for a gesture or order, but Tennant was sitting on the fountain with his head in his hands; staring blankly at the floor. "Fifty of the best guards in the land and he tells them to do what they want. Why do I bother?" he said to himself.

The Captain turned to face his dwarfs. "Dismissed," he ordered. "But don't go far, just in case he comes back and changes his mind," he said cautiously.

On the other hand, the Chief Ganga, who was in charge of the miners, had already told his dwarfs to lounge about and have a smoke. 'I think I'm going to enjoy working for this Torms,' he thought to himself while puffing away on his pipe. After about thirty minutes Sacul was first to arrive back out of the palace. All bright-eyed and high-spirited, even though he still had a hangover that felt like an army of dwarfs were doing drill practice in his head; and it didn't feel like they were going to be stopping anytime soon. But he was still all keen and eager for the adventure that awaited them. He was laden with Torms's and his own clothes, 'the nice ones,' as he liked to call them. Because they had been given to them when they were staying in the royal chambers, next to appear were Sinat and Nakie, followed by the twins.

The twins looked quite a sight, as they each carried a small mattress rolled up and tied by leather straps to their shoulders. With an array of weapons strapped all over their bodies from knives, throwing axes to a short sword. But they still had their customary huge weapon each. Bash'm had his rather large Double-handed War hammer slung over his shoulder, and Beat'm had his equally Double-handed Battle axe slung over his.

"I wouldn't like to meet them on a battlefield," said Sinat, nudging Nakie.

Then Torms reappeared carrying most of Odall's books and other bits and pieces. Odall himself was bringing up the rear with a look on his face as if he was saying, "I wonder if I've remembered to turn the burner off?"

"I'll be back in a minute," said Odall as he turned and went back into the palace.

Torms walked down the stairs to join the others, who had started loading the cart and storing their various bits and bobs. "Ah, Sacul, did you see and pick up the other box I left in the room, it was tied with dark blue string?" asked Torms.

"Ah, yes, it's here somewhere." Sacul scrambled around in the back of the cart before reappearing with a box.

"Here it is," he said, passing a box to Torms.

"Thank you," said Torms as he walked off towards the fountain. As he approached Tennant, he noticed a rather large jet-black raven sitting on the head of King Crackzul's statue, staring down at Tennant. The raven looked as if it was taking a keen interest in the advisor, weighing up whether it was worth trying to fly off with him or not for such a small amount of meat. Torms reached the fountain and sat next to Tennant.

"Here you are, a present for you. It is just to say thanks for organising everybody, as I couldn't have done it without you," said Torms.

Tennant looked up with a worried expression. Nobody had ever thanked an advisor, ever. Everybody knew that advisors organised and advised, it was all part of their job as Rule 51 in Phobic's rulebook flashed through his head closely followed by Rule 52 which was:

_Rule 51: Never ask or expect thanks._

_Rule 52: If somebody does thank you, then you are probably being set up for something which will lead to you losing your head._

But there was no mention in the rulebook about anything to do with accepting a present, let alone being given one. Perhaps you would lose your body, as well as your head! thought the now very nervous Tennant, who was now looking at Torms very cautiously.

"Well, come on take it," said Torms.

"What do you want?" asked Tennant.

"What do you mean, what do I want? I want you to have this, that's what I want," said Torms.

"What do you think I am, stupid? Do you expect me to take that and then before I know it you're asking me questions about the king, like when does he go to bed? And what does he drink? Who makes his cocoa before he goes to bed? Then I'll end up losing my head because I made the foolish mistake of dropping my guard by accepting a present from you. I'm on to you, Torms. I'm right aren't I?" concluded Tennant.

"Nope," replied Torms, who had a confused, look on his face. "I bought everybody else a present to make up for being bossy and to mark the beginning of the expedition, that's all."

"Oh," said Tennant, "well, thank you," he said as he took the present and was just about to open it; He even had his finger on the string when he stopped. "Is it a trap? Is there some kind of poisonous snake in here? As soon as I take off the lid will it strike out and bite me?" said Tennant as he scoured Torms's face for some kind of inkling. Torms stood shaking his head. "No, there is no snake, no scorpion or anything else that can kill you." He walked off towards the others laughing to himself. "Right is everything packed?" he asked.

"Yep, we're all ready to go," said Sacul.

"What have you done to him?" asked Sinat, nodding towards Tennant. Torms looked back around at Tennant and saw him with a blue piece of string in one hand while with the other he was lifting the lid off the box with a stick. Having got the lid off, he started poking about inside, just to make sure.

"Oh, that," said Torms, "I gave him a leather-bound book and some flint, similar to that I gave Odall, so he can keep his records in it, so when he returns he can give the king a detailed account of what happened. Instead of writing everything down on those long scrolls of his."

"Well, does he think it's going to bite him or something?" asked Sinat as he watched Tennant still prodding it with his stick.

"Funny you should say that," laughed Torms.

"What's he doing now calling that guard over?" asked Odall, who had only just returned back from turning his burner off. But was now enthralled in the advisor's antics.

"Look, he's even making the Captain of the Blood Born shake it." Said Torms

"Forget that," said Sinat, "what's the Captain licking it for?"

"I think my colleague the advisor may believe you have put poison on the book, so he will now wait to see if the Captain dies." Answered Odall.

"That dwarf has definitely got to get out more," commented Torms. As they continued watching as Tennant produced his hour glass from his robe and started to count. After about a minute; and the Captain still alive. Tennant returned the hour glass and took the book from the Captain.

Torms and the others watched with bated breath as Tennant slowly opened the book. At that precise moment, the Captain of the Blood Born shouted. "ATTENTION!" as he saw King Crackzull appear; walking down the palace steps with his bodyguards in tow.

Which in turn made the already very nervous, very suspicious Tennant jump, causing him to chuck the book clean up into the air, followed closely by himself. When he finally came back down, Tennant found himself in the fountain, followed by the book. Which was now perfectly perched on top of his head, still on the page he had opened it at.

"Ah, Tennant," said the king walking over to the fountain. "Taking in a bit of light reading before you leave are you, or is it just a last-minute bath you were wanting? Well, whatever it is you are doing, would you do me the honour of standing in the presence of your king? It's a good job I put err, uhm . . ." the king hesitated, not remembering the name. "Torms, Your Greatness," said Tennant reluctantly and very bitterly, as the bit about 'being set up' in Rule 52 flashed briefly through his mind.

"Ah yes, Torms. It is a good job I put Torms in charge. Where is he?" said Crackzull as he looked about.

"Ah, there he is. Torms, come here," ordered Crackzull. Torms puffed out his chest and walked over to the king.

"Well, now you have troops and miners, plus one of our top chefs." As the king said that, Odall, who was standing a little away from Crackzull, muttered "Philosopher" under his breath, while still maintaining his usual beaming smile.

"You better bring me back something worthwhile." He tapped his nose and looked over his shoulder to see if anybody was listening. He then leant forward and whispered to Torms.

"You know what I mean, don't you?"

"I certainly do, Your Greatness," whispered Torms, tapping his nose and then at his chest, referring to the half Amberinth disc in the leather pouch that now hung around his neck on a piece of leather cord, underneath his garments.

"Right, right. You had better get going, and all the best to you," said Crackzull before turning his gaze towards Tennant. "And Tennant, watch what you're doing, you can never be too careful," he said, then turned and walked off back towards the palace.

Tennant pulled himself out of the fountain and started wringing out the wet arms of his robe. "Never be too careful," he muttered to himself, at the same time giving Torms the evilest of looks.

"Right then, we had better be off," said Torms.

"Who goes first, us on the carts followed by the guards, then the miners in front of the wagons? Or should we put the miners first, then the guards?"

"What are you look at me for, you're the BOSS. I'm just the advisor," said Tennant, still bitter at being shown up in front of the king.

"Well, in that case, advise me of the order we should travel," said Torms.

"I don't know." Snapped Tennant, and by saying that Tennant had just broken Rule 72 in Phobic's rulebook:

_Rule 72: Never say you don 't know; always say you'll look into it._

Tennant had been an advisor for over forty years and had stayed alive because he had run his life by the book of the great advisor Phobic, containing the _one hundred and one golden rules of how to stay alive_ , and it had proved its worth up until Torms, and his rock had shown up.

"Uhm, what I really meant to say was that I'll check my book on travelling procedures," said Tennant, a little embarrassingly.

He put his hand inside his robe and was fidgeting about for a moment before pulling out a book. It was the right book, but there was one small problem, it was soaking wet, and the pages had run into each other. The advisor let out a gasp of frustration as he pulled all manner of other books of knowledge from his robe. They were all the same: his entire collection was ruined. The only book which wasn't was Phobic's book of rules since somehow the old advisor had seen this problem coming.

_Rule 23: Always be prepared._

Phobic had coated the sheets of the pages with a thin layer of wax, but Tennant had the rulebook memorised anyway rule by rule; wax or no wax.

He sat down on the edge of the fountain and looked as if he was about to go into shock or have a nervous breakdown. "I've been an advisor for over forty years; all that knowledge in all my books has gone, gone, and all because of that stupid dwarf and his rock. Why me, why not somebody else? All I ever wanted was a quiet life, and now I am going off on an expedition, and at my age," muttered Tennant hysterically.

Odall tapped Torms on the shoulder. "I think you had better put him on the cart with us, so we can keep an eye on him."

"Good idea. Bash'm, Beat'm, escort the advisor up onto the cart and make him comfortable in the back somewhere," said Torms.

"Yes, boss," the twins replied. They picked Tennant up and carried him over to the cart, placing him on a comfortable blanket in the shape of a chair Sacul had made. The advisor just sat there muttering to himself.

"Right, let's sort this out, Captain," Torms shouted. The Captain ran over and stood to attention, saluting. "Is saluting necessary?" asked Torms.

"YES SIR," bellowed the Captain.

"Why?" asked Torms.

"To prove to you I don't have a weapon in my hand, sir," he said, coming up quickly with an answer.

"I know you haven't, but you have a ruddy great axe hanging from your belt though," said Torms.

"No, I mean, I raise my hand to prove to you I'm not going to attack you, sir," said the Captain.

"But why would you attack me, you're here to protect me, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, put your hand down then."

The Captain of the Blood Born had a funny look on his face as he was trying his hardest to work out why he had in fact saluted Torms. Torms had a good point. If he couldn't be trusted, why was he working for Torms? he thought. He lowered his hand, feeling a little confused.

"That's better, now we've established that no one is out to attack anyone," said Torms, "do you know the correct procedure of travel as our friend the advisor seems to have had a funny turn?"

"Not exactly, sir. We normally just follow orders," replied the Captain.

"Well, let's put it another way then. Seeing as you are in charge of keeping us alive, what would be the best position for everybody to travel, ensuring we aren't vulnerable to an attack?" asked Torms.

"Well, . . ." the Captain bent down. He pulled out some flint from his tunic and started drawing on the cavern floor. "I would suggest you at the front on the cart, seeing as you're showing us the way, then the miners in the middle, with the wagons bringing up the rear; this way, nobody gets covered in dust from them. I will then position my dwarfs all around the convoy, allowing us to cover all sides from attack, giving us twenty-five of my Blood Born on each side."

The Captain stood up and on the floor was a neat diagram of a cart, a group of miners, and a convoy of wagons, with crosses on each side showing the position of the Captain's Blood Born.

"Well, I see you have things under control, so let's get going," said Torms. Torms looked up and walked over to the Chief Ganga. "We are setting off now, so if you and your crew would just follow our cart, that would be just fine."

"Right you are," said the Chief Ganga. Torms walked over to the wagon drivers.

"Right, put yourself in order and follow the miners, Okay?" One of the drivers gave a nod, Torms assumed he was the head driver as he fit the main characteristics of a wagon driver. He was obviously overweight due to sitting down all day and not getting any exercise. The only exercise he got was to lean over to his lunchbox every ten minutes, for another half-chicken or two. However, the real giveaway was the greasy hair and body odour, plus the fact he had 'Wagon drivers do it while they are eating' carved into the wood on the side of his wagon, which gave it away slightly.

Torms pulled himself up onto the cart and sat next to Sinat who was filling his pipe ready for the long journey. He looked into the back; Sacul and Nakie had their backs to him facing the rear of the cart and facing them were Odall and Tennant. The advisor had stopped muttering to himself now and was just staring into space.

"Where are the twins?" asked Torms.

"Here, boss," they said, appearing either side of the cart.

"What are you doing down there, why aren't you in the cart with us?"

"We can guard you better from here, boss," they both said together.

"Well, the choice is yours. Right Sinat, if you would do me the honours, let's get this expedition started."

Sinat pulled on the reins, and the cart pulled off, moving down the cobbled streets towards the main entrance. Dwarfs stopped in the streets, and others came out of their houses as the procession went past. As they neared the main gates, the gate-guards stood to attention and brought their axes to a salute, as they rolled out through the gates onto the mountain track; leaving the Dwarfen Kingdom of Ironclad behind them. Torms took a deep breath as he looked at the Ferral Mountains in all their glory, as the morning sun shone upon them.

He turned around and saw, the Chief Ganga and his crew walking behind the cart. He looked further down the line and saw the wagons stretched out, the last one just clearing the main gates. He could see the Captain of the Blood Born walking up and down the convoy, checking to ensure all his dwarfs were in the correct position. Their axes were glimmering in the sun as they lined the outside of the convoy, marching in a perfect line, each one equal distance apart.

Torms turned to face the front; he had a funny feeling in his stomach. He felt sick and excited all at the same time. 'Well, there's no turning back now,' he thought.

Sacul was sitting in the back with a beaming smile on his face as he looked at the miners and guards following them, and felt he was part of something and not just any old something. He was part of an expedition; one approved by King Crackzull's himself.

Even Nakie looked up from eating a bag of chicken drumsticks to look at the convoy, but not for long; in his eyes, once you have had seen one royal convoy, you have had seen them all. But the chicken drumsticks, now that was something completely different.

"Can you roughly remember whereabouts we found that rock, Sinat?" asked Torms.

"Yep, I think so, I think it was just on the bend where the Brocken Mountains start to get steeper," replied Sinat.

"How long do you reckon it will take us, seeing we are only moving at marching pace?" asked Torms.

"Well, let me see, it will probably take us at two to three days to get out of the Ferral Mountains then a few days along the main track. Then probably a further day or two until we reach the spot where we found the rock. So, I'd say about five to six days, maybe even stretching to seven if we hit bad weather. However, I doubt it at this time of year."

Torms pulled out a map that he had bought in the Dwarf Kingdom. It was only a small map, but it was full of detail. It indicated all the roads and dirt tracks, even secret ones. Because there hadn't been a war for nearly a thousand years dwarfs, elves, men and even sorcerers got bored and went exploring other provinces and realms. Even if they were caught, they were only asked to leave. Well, they weren't exactly asked, they were tortured a little first, but that was all.

On one occasion, an adventurous dwarf who now goes by the name of Stumpy had made it into the Elven Kingdom; he even made it to the first level of The Great Tree before he was detected with an arm full elven silver, an elven dagger and a very nice looking hourglass. But he wasn't killed because nobody wanted to start a war. They might not like thieves or even their neighbours, but each was as powerful as the other. So, when Stumpy was caught, they just chopped his feet off and bandaged them up. Because they didn't want him to bleed to death, that would have been bad publicity. They even looked after him until he was better. Before taking him onto the main track and leaving him there with a basket of fruit; eventually, a passing dwarf in a cart picked him up and took him home.

However, the elves made one fatal mistake, in not chopping his hands off as well. To get his revenge, Stumpy made maps of all the secret trails within the Emerald Forest and even ones for the provinces. Which he had visited under cover of darkness before he was caught.

Torms sat immersed in the map, making little crosses on it. Then he'd rub them out and put them back in a little further down the track. He hadn't realised the time, as the sun was beginning to set; they must have travelled more miles than he had realised. He turned to see if everybody was still marching along strongly, which they were.

"What do they feed those dwarfs on?" said Torms as he stared at them in amazement, they didn't even look tired.

"Well, you wanted the best, and it looks like you've got them," remarked Sinat.

Torms waved to the Captain of the Blood Born, who came running up alongside the cart.

"Yes, sir," said the Captain.

"Do you want to stop and have a rest?" asked Torms.

"Well, that would be nice, sir."

"Why didn't you ask?" replied Torms

"I didn't want to. We march until we are told otherwise."

"Well, when do you eat?" asked Torms.

"When you tell us to, sir," replied the Captain.

"Jump up here, I want to show you something," ordered Torms.

"I can't do that sir. If my dwarfs see me riding it's not good for morale," replied the Captain. "If my dwarfs march, I march."

"Very well then, I'll get down." Torms jumped from the slowly moving cart.

"There, that's better isn't it," said Torms as he tried his best to keep up with the long marching strides of the Captain, while trying to show him the map.

"Take a look at this?" said Torms.

The Captain studied it in detail as they walked alongside the cart. "Where did you get this map, sir?" he asked.

"Oh, I bought it in a map shop in the kingdom. I just walked into the shop and asked for a special map of Gryphon Island. I was then asked if I had ever seen birds fly north in the summer?" And, as it happened, I had in fact seen a bird fly north in the winter but not the summer and told the shopkeeper so. He then gave me a nod and a wink and scurried off into his storeroom. He returned fifteen minutes later with a map wrapped in a brown paper bag. When I asked him how much, he told me that I didn't have to pay as long as I used it wisely. Anything to help a fellow adventurer, he said, and went off into the back again with a clunk, clunk, clunking noise.

"What do you mean, clunking noise?" asked the Captain.

"Oh, didn't I tell you? It was bizarre, but where his feet should have been, he had two wooden stumps."

"But, sir, this isn't a normal map. It is more of, err, how do I put it, a thieves' map, sir. It has more secret routes and pathways than I ever knew existed."

There was a short pause as both of them stared at each other. And without a word being said, just by the looks in their eyes, it was agreed that the Captain wouldn't say anything if Torms didn't and with the silent agreement sealed, they both continued as if everything was normal.

"Well, then, do you think this would be a good place to camp for the night, Captain?" asked Torms pointing to a cross he had placed on the map earlier.

"Yes, a good choice, sir."

"How long will it take to get there?" asked Torms

"Another hour or two," replied the Captain.

"Can your dwarfs wait until then to take a break? It seems a little stupid to stop then start again, and if we move quickly, we will make it before sundown."

"Yes, sir," said the Captain handing back the map. He nodded and walked off once again to inspect his troops. Torms climbed back onto the cart.

"What's all that about birds flying north in winter?" asked Sinat.

"Oh, that. Well, it seems that the map I've acquired belongs to some kind of inner circle of thieves who like to call themselves adventurers. But what it has to do with birds beats me," said Torms turning to face those in the back, shrugging the whole thing off.

"How's the advisor doing?" he asked.

"The advisor's doing fine," replied Tennant, somewhat sarcastically.

"Oh, I'm glad you are back with us, it wasn't the same without you," said Torms.

"We thought we had lost you for a minute."

"No, you hadn't lost me, I was just in deep concentration, and I didn't want to be disturbed," snapped Tennant.

Sacul started to snigger, along with Nakie. "Looks like you were _very_ deep in concentration to me," said Nakie with a mouthful of chicken; both he and Sacul burst out laughing. Odall had to turn away from Tennant, pretending to look over the other side of the cart for something, whilst having a quite snigger to himself.

Tennant just glared at Sacul and Nakie and shook his head in a sign of disapproval.

"Nothing but a bunch of coal miners," he said lifting his head up and looking down his nose at them.

Sacul and Nakie's laughter could still be heard as the cart rolled into the distance, with the rhythmic background sound of the dwarfs marching.

The sun had just gone down and campfires had sprung up and started to burn within in a small clearing, amongst the woods of the Ferral Mountains. We must be at least thirty miles from the kingdom, thought Torms, as he studied the map while sitting at the campfire Sacul had built. There were two long poles placed over the fire holding ten chickens just turning a nice crispy brown colour. Sacul was doing the cooking under the watchful eye of Odall while Sinat and Nakie sat talking, whilst puffing away on their pipes.

The twins had taken off their boots and were attempting the art of relaxing again whilst warming their feet by the fire; their huge frames and faces flickered in the dark as its flames lit them up.

Torms stood up and looked around. "Where's Tennant?" Everybody just shrugged their shoulders. Torms could see five smaller fires burning in the camp, making a neat cross, with about ten glowing faces at each fire. "That's got to be the Blood Born," he said under his breath. Next to them was a much larger fire; he could see dwarfs laughing and cheering. "That's got to be the miners." Then there were ten wagons on the other side of the Blood Born, which had another, roaring fire in the middle; Torms could tell who they were by their oversized silhouette from the flames. "And that's the drivers. Way behind them was an attempt of a fire burning all on its own, and not a very good one at that, as it only seemed to have one flame.

"Tennant," he said out loud.

"Bash'm, Beat'm, come with me," ordered Torms. They put on their boots and followed him.

As they approached the fire, Torms could see Tennant's face lit up by his one small solitary flame. He was trying to cook a chicken but wasn't having much luck. Torms could hear him cussing under his breath. As Torms drew nearer, he stood on a twig, which snapped. Tennant looked up, but all he could see were three shadows in the dark; two of which looked to be the size of a troll. "Aaahhh!" screamed Tennant.

Then all Torms heard was a clanking of armour, as five Blood Born Guards suddenly surrounded his location, all with their crossbows loaded and pointing into the woods.

"What happened, sir?" said one of the Blood Born, approaching Torms. Torms stepped forward into the fickle light of the fire so Tennant could see who he was. But Tenant had actually stopped breathing; he was now laying on his back with his arms and legs up in the air exercising Rule 73 which was:

_Rule 73: When alone in a dark environment, if you 're suddenly surrounded by shadowy figures, play dead._

"Nothing, nothing," said Torms. "My friend the advisor and I were just checking out the security arrangements" As he said that, he gave Tennant a slight nudge with his foot for two reasons: one, to snap him out of his death trance, and two, he was actually making sure Tennant was in fact, still alive.

"You guards are a credit to the kingdom." Complimented Torms then let out a sigh of relief as he caught a glimpse of Tennant opening one of his eyes as he checked to see if the coast was clear.

The Captain suddenly appeared at Torms's side with a further twenty Blood Born Guards. "Is everything alright, sir?"

"Yes, yes, everything's fine. Come on, Tennant, up you get, you've proved how good they are. Bash'm, Beat'm, get his things and bring them over to our fire, and don't forget to put the fire out." The twins looked at each other, then at the miserable excuse of a fire, then back at Torms. "Well, the flame then. Just make sure it's out. Tennant, this way please," continued Torms, ushering the still bewildered Tennant in the direction of the main camp.

Just as Torms said that there was a colossal ' _THUD '_ as Beat'm stamped on the small flame, and with a gush off small sparks, the woods plunged into darkness. Just at that precious moment Torms tripped over a fallen branch, before his eyes could adjust to the dark. Torms went to curse under his breath, but he knew it was his fault, he should have given them more precise orders like, 'put the flame out when I'm gone,' he thought as he regained his footing.

"I was perfectly happy where I was," said Tennant, half-protesting, as he followed Torms.

"Oh, I know, you looked it," said Torms, somewhat sarcastically. "I know you would rather be out there on your own in the dark with only a small fire for protection and company. But if you don't have any objections, I would like you to stay with us, just in case I need to be advised on something," said Torms.

"Well, if you put it like that, I suppose my advisory skills might be called upon, and I suppose I could make the sacrifice and join you just this once," replied Tennant.

Torms smiled to himself and walked on. When they finally made it back to the others, Sacul and Odall were handing out the cooked chickens.

"We have another guest," said Torms. The group looked up as Tennant stepped into the light, his head slightly bowed.

"Ah, Tennant," said Odall, "come here and sit by me, I've got a spare pipe if you want one."

"Well, I don't want to get too comfy, I'm only here purely in an advisory role just so you know," said Tennant trying his hardest to hide his true feelings. He moved over to Odall, his robe dragging behind him as he went. Sacul passed him a chicken and a tankard of ale. Tennant looked up; there seemed to be a tear forming in his eye. He had never been part of anything in his life, even though he was an advisor, making him a valuable asset to the kingdom. He was always on his own, and an advisor's role is to be nasty to everybody because they were only coming to you for something or another. And now here he was, sitting with dwarfs he despised, and all they had ever done to him was try to be his friend.

They had given him a present, and he thought it was a trap. They had even come and fetched him when he was on his own in the woods, and now they were giving him, food, ale and companionship, and they didn't even want anything in return.

Sacul turned to Tennant. "If you want any more just ask," he said whilst passing Nakie his second chicken. Tennant had a lump in his throat. He hadn't known dwarfs actually lived like this, he thought it had all been an act.

"Where do you want these, boss?" asked Bash'm, and Beat'm as they walked into camp with Tennant's meagre possessions in their arms.

"Just put them down on the floor, we will sort that out later. You two had better get some food before Nakie eats the lot."

As they sat around the fire all you could hear was chicken bones cracking, then the fire took over with its gentle crackle as the burning wood split. Torms leant forward. "Uhm, Tennant, how much ale did we bring with us?"

"Too much, the dwarf at the stores thought I ordered twenty barrels instead of ten," answered Tennant.

"Coooah-uhm," coughed Odall as he got a piece of chicken stuck in his throat as he remembered walking past the stores and casually changing the ten to a twenty when no one was looking.

"So, you don't mind me having five then?" asked Torms.

"Well, you can't just . . ." Tennant answered before stopping himself. He couldn't think of any good reason why Torms shouldn't have what he asked for.

"What I meant to say is, you can't take it until I've ticked them off." He produced the large leather book Torms had bought him and scribbled something down.

"There you go, all done, you can take them now, and thanks for the book, very handy, boss."

Torms smiled. "You are very welcome, Tennant, but from now on no more 'boss'. My name is Torms, just simple plain Torms."

Torms stood up and set off towards the wagons, automatically the twins got up and followed him. After a few stumbles and a stubbed toe Torms finally made it to the wagons.

"Is everyone ok," said Torms as he walked into the circle.

"Oh, evening," said one of the drivers, trying to get up off the floor, but his weight was causing him a bit of a problem as he was trying to rock himself from side to side to get himself up. "No, no, there's no need to get up, just tell me which wagon contains the ale if you'd be so kind," said Torms.

"The one at the back, boss," said the driver looking slightly embarrassed and pointing in the wagon's direction.

"Thank you," said Torms.

"Don't mention it," said the now very out of breath, fat driver.

As he approached the rear wagon, two Blood Born Guards appeared from nowhere; their crossbows pointed directly at Torms. "Oh, sorry sir, didn't realise it was you." Said one of the guards.

"Don't you worry yourself, at least your alert, I'll give you that. Right, you two, get up there and get me five barrels down," he said to the twins.

Whilst they were unloading the wagon, Torms turned to the sentries. "So, had enough to eat, have you?"

"Yes, thank you, sir," they replied.

"How long do you intend to stay out here then?" asked Torms.

"We change guard, every four hours, sir."

"That's reassuring, well carry on and keep up the good work." Complimented Torms; then turned his attention back towards the twins.

"Right, you two, I want one given to the drivers, two to the miners, and two to the guards. We don't need any because I saw Nakie acquire one from the wagon earlier."

Nicked or stolen would have been a much better word for it, but when food or drink was around, and so was Nakie. It was so much easier and safer to say he had just acquired it; saved a lot of arguing and a few fat lips.

As they were delivering ale to the different camps, each camp let out a roar as they saw the twins with the barrels on their shoulders. Torms asked the leaders of each camp to join him in half an hour at his fire. He stated that the ale was a present for marching so long and hard on their first day, as a sort of apology for not stopping for a rest. Which he explained was his fault. Because he'd had his head stuck in the map all day and simply forgot; Now the whole camp had their hearts set on marching all day, the next day as well, just as long as they got the same again the next night.

Torms and the twins returned to their own fire. "What's all the cheering about?" asked Sinat.

"Oh, they were just happy at the extra ale, that's all," replied Torms.

"Extra ale, extra ale," spluttered Tennant. The group stared at him before he continued.

"What a great idea," he said as he remembered where he was and didn't fancy being back in the woods again on his own, with only a flame for company.

Because, for the first time in his life he was starting to feel content. Even Nakie had talked to him, although it was only to ask him if he was going to eat the chicken legs on his plate, and if not, could he have them; But it was still a conversation nevertheless in Tennant's book.

"We are expecting company in a moment," said Torms.

"Tennant, Odall if you would care to join me, your combined wisdom would be most welcome, and anybody else who wants to have their say can also join us. I had the twins set up a makeshift meeting area earlier."

With that Torms walked off to an array of tree stumps and small trees that the twins had pulled out the ground earlier; as Torms had stood watching in disbelief. Which now acted as a makeshift table and seating area just a few yards away from their camp.

Sinat immediately got up and walked over to join Torms. But Nakie, Sacul and the twins were quite happy eating and drinking by the fire. Sacul was getting a little tipsy again and was showing the others how he got that stallholder in a headlock for the umpteenth time, but he couldn't quite get his arms around Beat'm's neck.

As Torms lit the small fire in the makeshift meeting area, Odall appeared with tankers full to the brim followed by Tennant.

"Ah, here they come right on time," said Torms as the Captain of the Blood Born arrived, followed by the Chief Ganga, and the leader of the wagon drivers, who waddled into the light of the fire, heavily out of breath.

"Right, sit down my friends and get yourself a tankard." Said Torms as he waited until they each had a drink in their hands and were seated, before continuing.

"I've brought you all here so you can have your say. All I can tell you is that we are heading towards the Brocken Mountains. In the morning we will meet back here and I'll show you a map. We will then pick the best route to travel without drawing too much attention to ourselves. It is important that nobody knows the destination of our expedition. We are safe at the moment in our own mountains, but nobody owns the land where we are going apart from the trolls living there. That's about all I have to say; each one of you is an expert in your own field, and on this trip, you will be pushed to your limits."

Torms looked at each of them for a moment, trying to see if they understood the importance of the expedition, before continuing. "I've brought you here tonight, so we can get to know each other and know each other's strong and weak points. Firstly, what do we call each other?" said Torms as he once again gave them a quick glance each before continuing.

"You can call me Torms and here next to me is Sinat and next to Sinat is Tennant - but I think you all know him and next to him is Odall our chief philosopher. Over by the other fire is Nakie, Sacul and the twins Bash'm, and Beat'm" Torms concluded, then looked at the Captain.

"Well, just call me Captain, everybody else does," he said.

"And that goes for me too, just call me Ganga," said the chief miner. Now everyone's attention turned to the fat wagon driver. Torms had already assumed that Driver, or Drivey might be his title and waited to see if he was right.

"Bucket," was the word that came out of the fat driver's mouth.

"BUCKET?" blarted out Sinat, unable to contain himself. "Is that some kind of nickname?" Torms quickly added after Sinat's rude outburst.

"Oh, no, it's my real name. You see I come from a big family, I have seven brothers and no sisters, and my mother was hoping desperately that I was going to be a girl. And, as you know, the priest normally comes around at the time of a birth to name the newborn the moment it arrives. And when the priest announced that I was a boy, 'BUCKET' was the first thing my mother shouted out, and holding to dwarfen law, once the name has been announced, it can't be taken back. I just guess my mother must have liked the name, that's all," added Bucket.

The others gave each other a funny look as the penny dropped, all apart from Sinat. Tennant lent forward and cleared his throat as he approached the delicate matter. "Huh'um, the priest that named you wasn't Old Brother Post, from the sacred sect of the Broken Pick, by any chance?"

"Brother Post," called out Sinat.

"Yes, they call him that because of his slight hearing problem, apparently, he's nearly as deaf as one," continued Tennant.

"Yes, he was," answered Bucket, bemused by Tennant's lucky guess. Then Sinat's penny dropped. "OH, right, now I get it, when his mother saw another boy she cried out F -"

Torms quickly slammed his hand over Sinat's mouth, all that could be heard was the muffled protest that was going on underneath.

Everyone once again looked at Bucket, who hadn't a clue what all the fuss was about. He had always wondered why some dwarfs looked at him funny when mentioning his name or the story that went along with it.

The story goes that even his own father, just after Bucket was named ran out their small dwelling screaming at the top of his voice and then spent the two next months in the local tavern, only returning home once he'd drunk it dry.

Torms thought he had better change the subject and quick. "Hah'hum. Right, now that's all sorted out, I'll continue. From now on, I want you all to mix together. The wagon drivers mix with the guards and the miners with the drivers and so on. I don't want the guards doing all the sentry patrols. The others will double up with them so they can learn a new skill. The guards will learn how to handle the wagons and so will the miners. I know you are all trained and very good at your jobs, but this isn't an ordinary expedition. Everybody has to pull their weight. Now, does anybody have any questions?"

"Yes, I have. How do you expect the drivers to stand and guard for four hours, they're all too fat?" asked the Captain.

"Fat, fat, who are you calling fat?" said Bucket, rocking from side to side trying to stand up, but failing miserably.

"And another thing, I'm not letting you lot, or the miners, anywhere near the wagons, you wouldn't have a clue how to handle the ponies," spluttered Bucket.

"And I wouldn't let you anywhere near a mine, you wouldn't even fit in one. You wouldn't even get through the opening!" snapped Ganga.

"Ha, ha, very funny, just you wait till I get up, then you'll see," said Bucket as he pulled himself up with the help of a nearby tree, which was buckling under the strain and almost at snapping point. Bucket ran at Ganga, but he tripped on a log, knocking not only Ganga but also the Captain onto their backs.

By now the other members of the different groups were looking over, watching the commotion. The miners, who by now were quite drunk, got up and started heading towards the fire to help their Ganga. The guards did the same for their Captain, as did the drivers. Somehow, they all ended up meeting in the middle of the clearing at the same time. They all began pushing and shoving each other out of the way to get to their own boss, and before they knew it, a shove led to a push, and a push led to a right-hander straight in the mouth.

Then an almighty fight broke out, but it was so dark they couldn't be certain who they were punching. It was just a mass of bodies punching and kicking, and every now and then you would see one of them fly through the air as the light from the small fires lit him up. The three leaders scrambled to their feet and tried to break up the commotion but simply got caught up in all the action.

Torms, Tennant and Odall were left sat watching, as the events unfolded. Now and then one of them would give a commentary, pointing out the different groups of dwarfs fighting and whom they belonged to as they flew through the air.

"You're not as naive as you make out, are you, Torms?" asked Odall.

"I don't know what you mean," replied Torms, somewhat puzzled at Odall's question.

"Oh, so you didn't make them march all day, fill them with ale, get their leaders arguing with each other, and start a big fight? and then in the morning, everybody will be the best of friends because there's nothing like a good old-fashioned punch-up to bond dwarfs together. Then the whole expedition will work as a team," observed Odall.

"No," answered Torms, looking at Odall, who returned his stare.

"You are joking, aren't you? Surely you didn't expect them to just get along with each other?" asked Odall, somewhat shocked.

"Yes, I did," replied Torms.

Odall puffed on his pipe and carried on watching. "Oh well, things will turn out alright in the end," he said, casually ducking out of the way of a pickaxe that was hurtling towards him, which ended up embedded in the tree behind him.

"And where do think you four are going?" asked Torms.

As he spotted Nakie, Sacul, and the twins walking towards the fight. Sacul was already practising his headlock on an imaginary dwarf.

"Just thought we would join in on a bit of exercise," said Nakie.

"Well, make sure you look after Sacul," said Torms, nodding to the twins.

"We won't let him out of our sight, boss," said the twins with a serious look on their faces, as they set of towards the mass of bodies.

"Wait for me," shouted Sinat as he jumped up and ran after them. Torms, Odall and Tennant were the only ones not fighting; even the sentries had joined in.

"I feel sorry for them, they don't stand a chance." said Tennant as he watched Sinat and the others shouting at the tops of their voices while running towards the fight.

"So, do I," said Torms, taking a sip of ale, "I just hope they don't hurt too many of the soldiers, we might be needing them."

Tennant looked at Torms strangely, he had meant Sinat and the others not the other way around. Tennant turned his gaze back to the fight; he could just make out all five of them running into the mass of bodies parting it straight down the middle. The screams grew louder and louder, and now even more dwarfs seemed to be practising their flying skills as they took off in every direction courtesy of the twins.

"Well, then, I'm off to bed," said Torms. "I can't see it going on for much longer, with Nakie out there."

"I think I'll turn in as well," said Odall getting up from the floor and heading towards the other fire.

"Are you coming, Tennant?" asked Torms. Tennant stayed where he was straining his eyes. He could just make out the twins by their sheer size, silhouetted against the light from the fires.

"No, no, I'll just stay here for a minute thank you," said Tennant still gazing at the fight, screwing up his face every now and again as he saw something nasty happen to one of the dwarfs.

He hadn't witnessed a real fight before. There had been scuffles within the palace which required him to write a report, but nothing compared to the grand scale he was witnessing now. If he had to give a punch-for-punch account of the mass brawl that was now in full swing before him, it would take him a year just to get started, he thought.

"Well, goodnight," said Torms. Tennant just put his hand up, still staring dead ahead, immersed in the fight.

_Rule 93: Always keep a careful watch on a fight, so you know which way to run._

Torms laid down on his thin roll-down mattress and pulled a blanket up over his shoulders, as he placed his head on another one he'd rolled up as a pillow. He could hear Odall, or what he thought was Odall, washing the pans. Torms closed his eyes, listening to the screams of the fight. Just before he dropped off he could have sworn he heard some dwarf scream in sheer panic. "He's bitten my foot!" That's my Nakie, thought Torms, as finally fell asleep with a picture in his head of Nakie with some dwarf's foot in his mouth, while every now and then a strange clanking sound rang out around the camp.

Torms awoke to the smell and sound of sausages sizzling in a pan. He laid there for a bit with his eyes close enjoying the morning sun on his face. He pulled the blanket off, got up, had a good stretch and yawn, then opened his eyes. He was confronted with the pleasant sight of Odall, with three big pans on the fire. One contained sausages, one had eggs frying, and the third had mushrooms, each cooking to perfection. He noticed Sinat sitting on the far side of the fire smoking his pipe - but gently, because his lip was split, and could only just about open his mouth. Then he noticed Sacul sitting next to Sinat sporting a huge black eye, unlike the twins who apart from swollen knuckles from hitting everyone, didn't have a scratch between them.

They were all chatting away, swapping stories from the night before. "Good night was it last night?" asked Torms.

"Well, it got rid of the cobwebs, put it that way," answered Sinat rather sorely.

"Well, it got rid of something," said Torms. "It got rid of Nakie, where is he?"

"Oh, Nakie. He's still over there, the fight broke up after about an hour, everybody was getting too battered and bruised and one by one they went back to their own fires until it was only us left. So, we decided to come back and get some sleep, but Nakie insisted on staying, just in case anybody returned for some more," said Sinat.

"So, he's stayed out there all night?" asked Torms.

"Yep," replied Sinat.

"I'll go and get him," said Sacul, as he jumped up to go and fetch him.

"Sit down, Sacul, Nakie will return as soon as he smells the breakfast cooking," said Torms. Just as he finished speaking there was a voice behind him: "Morning," said Nakie, walking into their camp right on cue.

"Ah, good morning, Nakie, did you sleep well?" asked Torms.

"Like a baby. Are those sausages I can smell?"

"Yes, and they're ready," replied Odall.

"Uhm-hum, Nakie, you've got something hanging from the corner of your mouth," said Torms.

Nakie wiped his mouth, and a buckle-strap from a boot fell to the ground. Torms smiled to himself. Nakie will never change, he thought and walked over to the small queue that had now formed in front of Odall as he began to hand out the breakfasts.

"I'll just have eggs if you don't mind, I don't fancy the sausages and mushrooms this morning," said Sinat.

"Why's that, easier to eat, are they?" said Nakie, who had somehow miraculously ended up at the front of the queue; with his plate full to the brim. Nobody had actually seen him move, but when it came to food, he always seemed to be at the front.

"No, it's not that they're easier to eat, I just fancy eggs this morning, alright."

"Yeah, whatever you say," said Nakie with a smirk. "And I suppose that fat lip you have was caused when you tripped getting into bed last night and had nothing to do with the soldier smacking you in the mouth with his shield."

"Well, at least I don't go around trying to bite off people's feet in the middle of a fight," snapped Sinat in his defence.

"Uhm-uhm, when you are ready, your eggs are going cold," interrupted Odall.

They both looked at each other, then Sinat pushed Nakie out of the way to get his eggs and stormed off. Torms approached with his metal plate, and as he did, he noticed something different about Odall. He hadn't noticed it at first but now he was close enough, he saw it alright. Odall had a huge black and purple eye. Torms looked at the pan in Odall's hand, he noticed it was slightly dented; and there was Torms thinking he was washing the pans up last night when he'd actually been selecting one to do battle with.

As Torms got his breakfast, Odall gave him a big smile. "You didn't think I was going to miss out on all the fun, did you?" he said with a chuckle. As Torms walked of he had a slight chuckle himself as he settled down to his breakfast.

During breakfast, Sinat and Nakie kept smirking and laughing to themselves. Dwarfs never held grudges for long. A fight's a fight to them, as far as they're concerned, and as long as it's a good one, that's all that matters.

"What are you laughing at, Sinat?" asked Torms.

"Well, I keep seeing that dwarf trying to kick Nakie in the face and getting his foot stuck in his mouth. The look of pain on the dwarf's face," replied Sinat, rolling his eyes.

Sacul started laughing out loud. "Yeah, I saw that as well, and do you remember Sinat getting hit by that shield thrown by that guard? Then Sinat chased him all around the clearing and into the woods. You could hear the guard's screams, even above the noise of the fight."

Everybody carried on talking about the night before. Torms laughed, as everything was back to normal, or so he thought as the Captain appeared with a swollen cheek.

"Oh, Captain, do you fancy some breakfast?" asked Odall, who was still busy cooking more sausages.

"No thank you, I've just eaten."

Then the Chief Ganga appeared, along with Bucket. "Breakfast anyone?" asked Odall to the two new arrivals.

"No thank you, I'm finding it a bit hard to eat this morning," said Bucket, giving his bruised jaw a delicate rub.

"None for me either, thank you," said Ganga, who wore a nasty looking cut over his left eye.

"Right then, let's get down to business. Tennant, over here please," said Torms, putting his plate down.

They all walked over and sat down in the makeshift meeting area, leaving the others sitting behind them, still swapping stories from the night before.

"So, how do we all feel this morning? Have we sorted matters out?" asked Torms.

Everyone looked at each other, and it was the Captain who spoke out. "We had a meeting of our own this morning, and everything's sorted out. But there's one condition we all feel very strongly about, that's if you don't mind," said the Captain.

"What's that then?" asked Torms

"Well, it's your friend. I believe you call him Nakie." When the Captain spoke Nakie's name, he pronounced it in a harsh whisper and looked over his shoulder just to make sure Nakie hadn't heard him.

"Well, I don't know how to put this, but the rest of the dwarfs, and I think I speak for everyone -" Ganga and Bucket readily agreed with nods of their heads "- are, shall we say, rather nervous around him. One of my soldiers was nearly missing a foot last night."

"And he nearly bit off one of my miners' ears off," butted in Ganga.

Bucket also interrupted: "And I can't tell you what he has done to one of my drivers, it makes me feel sick just thinking about it. None of us got any sleep last night knowing he was still out there," added Bucket.

"We even had to put sentries encircling him, or as close as they dared get, just to warn the rest of us if he woke up," added the Captain. "And we have come to a conclusion that it would be a good idea to learn new skills just in case something happens, and we don't mind working together, but just as long as," the Captain hesitated again before whispering, "Nakie . . ." He looked around again before continuing, "stays with you."

"I think I can sort that out," said Torms, "he's really a nice dwarf once you get to know him."

"We'll have to take your word on that," said the Captain. The other two just nodded.

"Well, then, I'm sure Tennant can make up some shift rotas, and we'll start by doubling up the drivers and sentries and so forth, can't you Tennant?"

"Consider it done," replied Tennant scribbling in his book.

"Right, now this is the interesting bit," said Torms pulling out the secret map he had acquired in the kingdom. "The Captain's already seen this and informed me that I had acquired a, shall we just say, an extraordinary map, which given the expedition we are on, just might come in handy."

He spread the map out on the make shift table. "Gather round. I want you all to have a look."

Everybody gathered around the map. Torms pointed on the map at a cross he had previously marked. "We are here," he said, "and we need to get somewhere around here." He pointed where the mountains started to get stepper in the Brocken Mountains. "Now, the only problem we have is, once we leave the Ferral Mountains we are going to attract attention to ourselves. I know anybody is allowed to use the main track but what we are going to dig for is, err, shall I say something we don't want anybody else poking their noses into. The Brocken Mountains don't really belong to any one race, not the elves, not the warlords, not even the sorcerers, and that includes us. But apart from being infested with trolls, that should be our only problem. So, I've brought you all here so you can have your say. I've marked a few routes which I think we could take, but you're the experts, and the small crosses I've marked are openings along the routes where we can make camp. The map's detail is good, it even shows where to hide according to the time of year."

Torms paused and looked to see if everybody was paying attention. "The forest is good at this time of year being summer, the leaves are still on the trees, and there are quite a few secret clearings heavily surrounded by foliage in which we can hide. I've marked them on the map. There are also some in the Ferral Mountains that I was unaware of. Take your time and have a good look. I'm just going over to get some hot herb and fetch Odall over for his comments. Anybody fancy any hot herb?" There were muffled no's and no thanks as they continued to stare, fascinated by the map.

"I've heard it's good for healing cuts and bruises," added Torms. They each looked up.

"Maybe just the one," said the Captain.

"And me," piped up Ganga.

Bucket rubbed his chin. He usually had three chins but due to the swelling that morning, he had one huge purple one. "Make mine two," he said.

Torms went to fetch the hot herbs, leaving them to discuss which route they ought to take.

"Can I have five hot herbs please, Odall?" asked Torms.

"Certainly," smiled Odall.

"And if you have finished cooking, can you lend me your wisdom?"

"I think I can do that, for the drinks use those tankards there," said Odall, pointing at some tankards. "And the pot in the middle has the hot herbs in," he added.

"Nakie, can you do me a favour and fill up the tankards for the Captain and the others and take them over," asked Torms.

"Can't you see I'm eating," replied Nakie with his mouth full of food, spitting bits out as he talked.

"I'll do it," said Sacul jumping up.

"No, you sit down, I want Nakie to do it, then I'll leave him in charge of finishing off what's left of breakfast."

Before Torms had finished off his sentence, Nakie was up and filling the tankards. He then looked like he was running, and without spilling a drop as he reached the other group. "Right then, where do you want them?" asked Nakie standing over the Captain and the others, who were still engrossed in the map; they hadn't noticed Nakie.

"Ah, the drinks," said Bucket, all three of them looked up and then their faces dropped as they saw Nakie leering over them.

They wanted to make a run for it, but their legs didn't seem to be working. They each took a tankard from Nakie somewhat nervously, and it was a good job Bucket had asked for two, as his hands were shaking that much, he spilt half of his on the floor.

Nakie eagerly returned and took over from Odall. "Right, Nakie, everybody's full, I think," said Odall, handing over the pans as he looked up and around at the others and saw the twins patting their stomachs in appreciation.

"So, it's all yours."

"Uhm, Nakie," said Torms.

"How did the Captain and the others like their drinks?" he asked hesitantly, wanting to know if his little joke had paid off, while at the same time enforcing his power over them by having Nakie on his side.

"I dunno. I suppose they must be all right because they gave me five gold pieces each as a tip. Funny lot, these palace folk," he said, tipping the leftover sausages, mushrooms and eggs onto one large plate.

Torms and Odall walked over to Tennant and the others. As they approached, Torms accidentally trod on a twig, snapping it. The Captain of the Blood Born went for his sword.

"Captain, it is only me," said Torms, "you're a bit jumpy, aren't you?"

"One can never be too careful," said the Captain looking over by the other fire to make sure Nakie was still there.

"Right, what have you come up with?" asked Torms.

"Well, if we go along the main routes we will be spotted, that's for sure," said the Captain.

"But, if we take an alternative route, we won't get the wagons through," said Bucket.

"We could split up into two or even three groups. If ten wagons were travelling along the main route, people would just think we were on our way to one of the provinces. Whereas, if they see fifty Blood Born Guards marching outside the Ferral Mountains, they will start to ask questions," said the Captain, "plus, added to that, thirty-five miners. They'll know we're up to something."

"May I suggest something?" asked Tennant who had been busily scribbling something down in his book.

"Of course," said Torms.

"Why don't we send the wagons in two groups? Say, two hours apart, and at night they can set up camp together; not many people will see them at night if any. Each group will have five wagons, ten guards and ten miners. That will leave...." Tennant took a quick glance at his book then continued: "...thirty guards and fifteen miners, forty-five in total, who will take a different route."

"Yes, but people will still see the guards on the wagons," offered the Captain.

"Not if we disguise them as traders. I'm sure that between the drivers and the miners they have enough clothes to dress twenty guards. That will give each wagon two Blood Born Guards as a defence, and another two more miners per wagon for back up. If you stop just outside the Brocken Mountains, about here," he said pointing to the map, "everyone can meet up and carry on into the mountains together," concluded Tennant.

"What do you think, Odall?" asked Torms.

Odall picked up the map and smiled. "Where, might I ask, did you get this map? It appears to be, err, how shall I put it, well drawn," smiled Odall upon seeing the map for the first time and instantly recognising it for what it was.

Torms went a little red "I acquired it just before we left, as I thought we might need one."

"Well you certainly acquired the right map for the task at hand, and as for Tennant. I think he has rather a good plan," concluded Odall.

"And the rest of you?" asked Torms.

"Yeah, I think it will work," said the Captain; the others just nodded in agreement.

"Right then, only one more thing left, which route are the rest of us going to take?" asked Torms.

"Well, I suggest we stay as close to the wagons as possible, seeing as we are keeping off the main track, so we don't get spotted. So, what if we choose this route here" With that, the Captain pointed to a small trail inside the Emerald Forest, past the Elven borders and well within the Elven Kingdom.

"It looks like a secret path running parallel with the main track. But I'd say it's probably a quarter of a mile between them. That will give us an added advantage just in case the wagons get attacked by barbarians or thieves the guards on the wagons could blow on their rams' horns, and we'd hear them loud and clear," replied the Captain.

Torms asked the question that was on everyone's mind.

"Is it safe to be that far over the border." Everyone's attention now turned towards the Captain.

"I'm guessing they wouldn't take to kindly to us being within their borders. And as long as we're not there for too long, and stay quiet, we might just slip through."

"That's that sorted then. Tennant, if you don't mind, I'd like you to ride on our cart, and Odall if you don't mind going along with him. I'll get Sinat to drive and lead the first five wagons, and Nakie to tag along up front with the second convoy of five wagons, seeing as he doesn't like elves and trees that much. I can't really see him spending two to three days walking through the Emerald Forest."

"Nakie's coming with me?" gasped Bucket.

Torms put a comforting arm around Bucket; well as far as he could, he was struggling even to reach the centre of his back.

"Well, put it this way, if you do get attacked, wouldn't you rather have him with you?" asked Torms.

Bucket's faced changed as he was deep in thought, weighing up the pros and cons.

"Well, if you put it like that, he can ride up front on my wagon, if he likes."

"Splendid, well that's that sorted then, and that just leaves Sacul, the twins and myself who will go with the others by foot, along the secret path led by the Captain, if that's alright with you?" asked Torms of the Captain.

"No problem," said the Captain.

"And Ganga, you can go with either group."

"I'll come with you if you don't mind. I spend most of my time down the mines digging, and I wouldn't have it any other way. But, seeing as we are here, I might as well get some fresh air, and a nice walk in the forest would do me good," said Ganga cheerfully.

"That's settled then. Tennant, can you work out how much provisions each will need in their packs and all that stuff?"

"Consider it done," said Tennant scribbling away once more in his book.

"All we have to do now is sort out where we are going to camp each night, so we are not far apart from each other," said Torms, pulling out a piece of flint. "How about if we camp here, and have the wagons stop at this spot. There appears to be a secret clearing near the main track marked on the map," suggested Torms pointing it out on the map and marking it with the flint.

"We can stay together for the next two days as we are still protected by our own mountains. Then we'll camp just before we leave the Ferral mountains, just here," Torms marked the location, with another small cross.

"We can then split up the following morning," said Torms. "Oh, and I nearly forgot, Tennant, you need to get some clothes for the guards."

"I'm already on it," he replied, still scribbling in his book.

"Right then, pack up, we will leave in an hour. Captain, divide some of your dwarfs onto the wagons, and Ganga, if you would do the same straightaway so they can get used to their new roles and won't look out of place when we do split with the convoy," said Torms.

"And Bucket, I'll leave the actual division of the wagons down to you, but don't split up until we leave the Ferral Mountains. The rest of us will walk in front of the wagons, for now, so we get used to each other as a group. Right, see you in an hour."

As they left to divide the groups, Torms bent down and picked up his map. Whilst Tennant snapped shut his book and scuttled away to organise matters, his oversize robe trailing behind him dragging in the dirt.

"How do you think I'm doing, am I still doing alright? I'm not too bossy, am I?" asked Torms to Odall, who was the only person left.

"You're doing just fine, just fine," answered Odall, putting his arm around Torms's shoulders as they walked back to the others.

Nakie was just polishing off the last of the sausages when Torms walked over to join them. "Right, in a couple of days we are splitting into two groups, just as we leave the Ferral Mountains. Half will be travelling along the main track with the wagons and the other half will travel one-quarter of a mile inside the Emerald Forest."

"I'm not going into any forest," snapped Nakie, wiping his mouth.

"No, Nakie, you're not going into the forest. You are on the wagons, and Sinat, if you would do the honours of leading them on the cart with Tennant and Odall. And Sacul, you're with me," said Torms.

"Yes," said Sacul punching his fist in the air. The twins weren't as energetic as Sacul; but they did have big smiles on their faces, pleased to know Sacul was coming with them because where Torms went, so did they.

"We leave in an hour," said Torms as he went to get his things ready. "I think I'm getting the hang of this," he muttered to himself as he strolled off through the camp.

Everybody was packed and ready to go. The guards disguised as drivers sat up high on the wagons. But if you looked carefully, you could tell that they were nowhere near fat enough to be wagon drivers; each had a crossbow hidden under a blanket thrown over their legs. Sat in the middle of them was the driver and at the back were two of the mining party with their legs dangling over the edge. They sat there chatting away and smoking their pipes, happy to be the chosen ones, travelling on the wagons instead of walking.

The Chief Ganga had picked them fair and square. He had put all their names into a miner's helmet and pulled them out one by one. And, subject to the unspoken dwarfen law that applies in these circumstances but is never mentioned. Namely bribing, threats and blackmail, or maybe a note saying, "I know where those missing diamonds went", or anything else they might have on Ganga, their names were miraculously drawn out of the helmet first.

Bucket was sat upon the lead waggon with Nakie, with a large basket of food wedged between them. A third of the basket had already been demolished, and the long journey hadn't even started. "I like a dwarf who likes his food," said Bucket, helping himself to some cold sausages out of the basket. When he put his hand into the basket, it was hard to tell the difference between his fat fingers and the sausages. With his other hand, he passed Nakie half a chicken.

"And I like a dwarf who gives it," said Nakie.

"Seeing as you have quite a unique appetite, haven't you ever thought of becoming a wagon driver?" asked Bucket.

"Can't say I've ever given it any thought," replied Nakie with bits of chicken falling into his beard as he spoke. Then, with food in their hands and food in their mouths, they just sat there eating away while taking in their surroundings, feeling content.

Torms caught sight of them as he walked passed on his way to the front to join the Captain and Ganga as he did he smiled; he knew those two were the perfect travelling companions. As Torms approached the front, Ganga was stood chatting to his remaining fifteen miners. In front of him was the Blood Born Guards, making thirty in total. The Captain was giving them a kit inspection, checking their rucksacks, tunics and weapons.

"Why are they wearing their rucksacks when they can put them in the wagons? They don't have to wear them until we split up," stated Torms.

"Start as we mean to go on, that's my motto," replied the Captain.

"Very well, they're your dwarfs," said Torms.

"Ganga, how about your miners?" he asked.

"We loaded our rucksacks first thing this morning onto one of the wagons," said Ganga while puffing away on his clay pipe.

Torms laughed to himself. 'That's miners for you,' he thought.

He walked to the very front, where he came across the familiar faces of his friends. There was Sacul, all ready to go, standing there smiling with that eager look on his face. Next to him were the twins looking as menacing as ever. Then there was Sinat, sitting up front on the cart, and in the back was Odall who was still nursing his black eye, which seemed to be getting darker by the minute. But he still had his beaming smile, he was sat in the back with Tennant chatting away; and Tennant was looking for the first time on the expedition as if he was finally starting to enjoy himself.

"Right, jump up," said Sinat to Torms.

"What do you mean, jump up?"

"Well, you're supposed to be leading this expedition, aren't you, and you don't go on foot until we split into groups," replied Sinat.

"Well, for your information, I'm taking a leaf out of the Captain's book. Start as you mean to go on," replied Torms. "So, I'm going to march for the next couple of days. It will do me good, and I can lead this expedition just as well from down here as I could if I was sitting up there with you."

With that, Sinat burst out laughing, slapping his leg. "Very well, but don't come crying to me when you get blisters the size of boulders on your feet."

"You walking? This I've got to see," said Sinat as he sat on the cart filling his pipe.

"Right then, are we ready?" asked Torms as he looked around, gathering nods from the respective dwarfs, apart from Sinat, who was still smirking while puffing away on his pipe.

"Don't let me stop you, you just go on ahead, and I'll fall in front of the wagons," sniggered Sinat.

Bash'm, and Beat'm appeared either side of Torms, holding their heads high, puffing out their chests.

"Right then, let's go," said Torms stepping around the cart, ignoring Sinat's comments.

The convoy moved off, and Sinat pulled his cart in front of the wagons. The ground under Torms's feet was very hard. The track on which they travelled had been pounded and compacted so much over the centuries from the heavy wagons carrying rock and minerals from the Ferral Mountains that it was like walking on rock.

Torms could hear Sacul whistling as they walked. You could put that dwarf anywhere, and he'd enjoy himself, he thought.

As the convoy moved on, the dwarfs on the wagon could be heard chatting away and laughing as their words were carried along on the breeze, and further up still was a jet-black raven, circling above them.

"Have you noticed that bird before?" Torms said to the twins.

"What bird, boss?" they asked in unison.

"The one up there," said Torms, pointing out the raven.

"I noticed it yesterday. I don't know if it's me, but it seems as if, it's following us."

The twins just shook their heads.

"Oh well, not to worry, it must be my imagination," said Torms, still staring up at the raven as they continued along the hard track.

They had been walking all morning, and the sun was midway in the sky. Torms wouldn't say it, but his feet were starting to hurt. He looked at his map and checked for the clearing he had marked the previous day. It seemed to be just around the bend, and as they turned the corner, he let out a sigh of relief, as it was where the map had indicated it would be. He turned to the others.

"Right, pull up over there, and we'll stop for a rest and something to eat and drink. Only for an hour, otherwise we want make it to the next camp point before nightfall."

As Torms said this, there was a collective grumble, and a series of muffled moans let out by the miners. Not protesting at only having just an hour for a break, but at having to stop at all; as the image of another two barrels of ale that night went out the window.

Torms led the convoy to the clearing on the side of the road then headed for a large boulder that, in his eyes, had his name written all over it. He walked, or somewhat hobbled, over to it and sat down, then bent down to take off his boots.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," came a voice. He looked up and saw the Captain standing over him.

"What?" said Torms, somewhat puzzlingly.

The Captain leant forward so nobody else could hear him. "If you take your boots off your feet will swell, making it harder to put them back on. If your feet are hurting, why don't you take a seat on the cart for a while?"

"No, no, I'm fine," said Torms, "But thanks for the advice. I'll keep my boots on."

"Here you are," came another voice over the top of both of them.

Sacul was standing there with three tankards of water and what looked to be a squashed cooked chicken under one arm and a loaf of bread under the other. Either side of him were the twins, carrying more food. "I've got a tankard and food for you also, Captain," said Sacul sitting down and handing out the tankards as he began to divide the chicken and loaf up.

"You have him well trained," observed the Captain.

"What, Sacul?" said Torms, "He's one of the most eager dwarfs I've ever known, and what's more, he's family."

"Oh, I didn't realise," said the Captain.

"Yes, we're all family." Torms looked up and could see Sinat stretching by the cart.

"See him over there?" The Captain looked in Sinat's direction as Torms nodded towards him.

"Yep," replied the Captain.

"Well, he's my cousin, and Sacul here is my cousin too; he's Sinat's younger brother," said Torms. "And Nakie over there."

The Captain's face changed: "Yes, I think I know Nakie."

"Oh yes, I forgot, your soldier's foot; well, he's my brother."

"BROTHER!" exclaimed the Captain.

"Yes, my brother," replied Torms patiently; as it wasn't the first time he'd seen that reaction.

The Captain looked over his shoulder just to make sure nobody was there and leant closer to Torms to whisper: "We all thought he was half-animal or beast."

He looked over his shoulder again, then back to Torms. "As he looks like a dwarf, and maybe a little smaller than most. But he's broader and stockier, and he fights like a wild animal." The Captain paused for a moment as he remembered the fear in the soldier's eyes that had his foot bitten by Nakie. "And if he can't hit you, then he bites you, and when you look at him, it's like looking into a beast's eyes. You don't know what he's going to do next. Then the next minute he's all over you - and the pain, oh, the PAIN."

"Snap out of it Captain," said Torms, waving his hand in front of the Captain's face.

"Oh, sorry," said the Captain, still a little distant.

"Well, you have nothing to fear. I can assure you, he is one hundred percent dwarf, but growing up without our parents did take its toll on us. Come to think of it, he did use to spend a lot of time in the woods when he was a child. He was always copying the cat and coming back with a dead vole or mouse in his mouth; hiding it under his bed. But he grew out of that as he found it a lot easier just to eat them, it saved a lot of messing about."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear about your parents," said the Captain, trying to change the subject of Nakie chewing on dead voles, as he was eating.

"Oh, don't be sorry. Our parents, along with Sinat's and Sacul's parents, went out one day and never returned."

"What happened, was it a mining accident, a rockfall, or did they get attacked by trolls?" asked the Captain, waiting in anticipation for the answer.

"Oh, no, nothing like that," replied Torms, before continuing: "They went out one day and never returned because they came across . . ."

"Yes, yes," said the Captain, with his eyes wide open.

"A log cabin," concluded Torms.

"A log cabin?" asked the Captain.

"Yes, a small holding, way up in the Ferral Mountains, it was very run down and going cheap. They turned it into a twenty-bedroom tavern, and now they do a thriving trade catering for the more," Torms paused as he picked his words more carefully before continuing. "Adventurous dwarfs and all that. They said they'd had enough of the mine and they wanted a change of scenery. They left us a note at the time saying that we were old enough now, to know what we were doing. They left us the dwelling and the mine, and we have never seen them since. We get a letter from them now and then from a passing traveller who stops by on the way back from their tavern. They called it The Horris, have you heard of it? It's quite famous you know."

Torms hesitated before continuing, not wanting to boast. "It has even been rumoured that the king himself has stayed there."

"I can't say I've heard of it," said the Captain, rubbing his chin. "Exactly how old were you when they left?" he asked.

"Oh, about eleven," replied Torms.

"ELEVEN!" exclaimed the Captain.

"Yes, eleven. They said it would toughen us up a bit, make real dwarfs out of us Sacul was still in nappies. It was a bit hard to start with but we got used to it, and after a while it was quite nice to do what you wanted. We had a drinking well, a workshop full of books, and a mine what else does a dwarf need? And of course, we had ground rules that were written down and left for us. Over the years these mysteriously got lost and seeing as Sinat was the only one who had read them before they went missing, and he was the oldest, he dished out the orders. He said he had them stored in his head. That's how we all grew up. It was a bit weird at first, especially as we always had to do most of the work while Sinat sat around all day stating that's what was written. Then, over the years as we all grew up, we decided on a new set of rules.

Sinat was against it at first, until I pointed out that I had found the old ones shoved under his mattress and that I was going to tell Nakie that scrubbing Sinat's feet once a month wasn't one of them."

The Captain looked at Torms and took a bite out of his chicken. He looked over his shoulder again at Nakie and could see him sitting with the drivers, eating chickens and chucking the left-over bones over their shoulders. From a distance, they looked like a pack of wolves, and well-fed ones at that, attacking their prey with bones scattered all around them.

No wonder he has turned out like he has, thought the Captain of Nakie. He shuddered as the image returned once more of Nakie eating live mice and voles.

"There it is again," said Torms, as he pointed out the jet-black raven. It was perched on top of the cart above Odall and Tennant. Torms placed his tankard on the floor and stood up, and so did the twins.

"No, you carry on eating, I'm just going over to check on things," said Torms.

As he walked towards the cart, he couldn't take his eyes off the raven. It had its head cocked to one side as if it was listening to Odall and Tennant's conversation. As he approached the raven looked up, but to Torms's surprise, it didn't attempt to fly off.

"Ah, Torms, how's the walking coming along?" asked Odall.

"Okay, thank you," he said, not taking his eyes off the bird.

"Don't you find that bird a little strange?" he said, pointing above their heads.

Odall and Tennant looked up. "Oh, what, the raven? He's been following us since we left. I thought it was someone's pet," said Odall.

"I'm sure it's the same one I saw perched on the statue in the kingdom," said Torms.

With that, the raven gave a 'SQUAWK' and flew off high into the sky, over the trees and off into the distance.

"Well, maybe it wasn't somebody's pet then," said Odall and he turned back to Torms.

"I wonder," said Torms as he turned around and headed back towards his rock.

With their rest completed, the convoy was back on the track, with Torms once again leading the way on foot. His feet weren't hurting so much now, as he had other things on his mind. Something black that squawked, dressed in feathers and most importantly, Torms could have sworn it was spying on them.

*

Having flown off over the treetops, the raven was now soaring on thermals and heading out to sea. It had already flown some distance over the Ferral Mountains across the tip of the Emerald Forest in a south-westerly direction, and now it could see its destination as it came into view. It was a large tower, stretching high up into the sky, just below the clouds. It was stone-built and stood strong and proud amongst five smaller towers that were laid out beneath it, each one descending in height below the next tower; below them ran a vast network of buildings.

Each building was linked to another by numerous corridors which, all added together, made up a fortress, but not any old fortress; this one was known as The Dark Fortress. It was a magnificent sight to behold, sitting on the high cliffs of The Island of Black Rock.

The island had been the home of sorcerers for many years and was where they practised their dark art of black magic. In the past, they had been wizards, and nobody knows why and what caused them to change into sorcerers. Since the change, few have ever been to their island, and those who have never made it back again.

The sorcerers hadn't ventured off the island for more than two hundred years, or so the rumours went. However, these rumours, like most rumours, were wrong - very, very wrong.

The raven flew through a window in the tallest of the towers and stood in front of a tall mirror. It seemed to be muttering something in a foreign tongue and then all of a sudden there was a deadly silence, followed by a rumble, then a slight bang. The raven transformed from having two wings and feathers to a fully-grown sorcerer; but not the ordinary run-of-the-mill sorcerer. It was Trantore, The Supreme Grand Master of The Sorceror's Code of The Back Arts, who had total power over all matters in The Dark Fortress and all the sorcerers within.

Trantore had been The Supreme Grand Master of The Sorceror's Code of The Back Arts for over two hundred years. Nobody knew how old he was, but he had never looked a day over thirty. He was tall, lean and had a strong and powerful presence; he was dressed head to foot in black. He never took to having a beard or pointed hat, so he wore a black hooded robe with an even blacker emblem off a raven on the back. His eyes were piercing jet-black, and his hair was the only thing that gave away his age. It also was jet-black with fine white, almost silver, streaks throughout. He lived in the tallest and most significant of the six towers.

Then there were the five other Masters who occupied the towers below him; the size and height of their tower depicted their ranking within the fortress. Battles were always raging between the Masters, sometimes resulting in one of them being killed. In sorcerers' law, you could challenge any sorcerer whose ranking was above yours. This was done to gain more power and a higher tower closer to The Supreme Grand Master, and if you so wished, you could even challenge The Supreme Grand Master himself. But nobody had ever dared to take such a challenge, not even the highest of Masters, who were quite happy with their second and third places on the island, and with all their molecules intact.

Only once had they witnessed The Supreme Grand Master Trantore do battle, and that was when he just suddenly appeared out of nowhere two hundred years previously, challenging the then almighty Supreme Grand Master Belone. The arena was set on the shores of Black Rock. Belone had stood there looking all-powerful in his pointy hat and staff. While Trantore stood facing him fifty meters apart as was the rules, dressed in black, his face hidden by his hood. Then the horn was sounded for the challenge to begin.

Belone swung his staff around his head and started chanting. The sea began to rise and started taking the form of a giant fist. Belone was just about to bring his staff to bear in the direction of Trantore when Trantore began muttering a few words under his breath; he threw his hand out, and an invisible force flew across the beach, knocking Belone off his feet. Trantore then threw out his other hand, turning Belone into a crab.

Trantore walked over and crushed the crab under his leather boot, then turned to face the others. "Anybody else?" was all he said.

The onlookers had shaken their heads in a collective no, all at the same time. Many of them had seen battles between Masters go on for days, weeks even. Typically, there were demons summoned and all sorts of creatures called to do battle against each other. But never had any of them seen a sorcerer turned into a crab and squashed like that before, and so quickly, and it happening to a Supreme Grand Master was unheard of.

And that's how Trantore came into power; nobody knew whom he was or from where he came, but one thing was for sure, the largest tower was his for as long as he wanted it, no questions asked.

Trantore now wrote something down on a piece of parchment, and then muttered a few words before the parchment vanished. Then turned and went and laid on a large flat grey slab of stone, behind him. It had various illegible symbols carved all over it. Trantore laid his head down, closed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest to gather some much-needed rest as all the flying had taken its toll.

Messages started to appear in each of the Master's towers below, or wherever the Masters were, as the messages appeared it was accompanied with a squawk.

_" Meeting tonight of The Council of Black Arts, to take place in The Mystic Chambers,"_

The message read itself out in a squawking voice before turning into a magical jet-black raven, flying up into the air and with one final 'SQUAWK' vanished, which was Trantore's trademark.

One by one each Master heard the message, and one by one each trembled with fear. They all had the same thought: He's never held a meeting before.

*

The sun was going down, and the expedition had reached its campsite for the night. The fires were soon burning, and even the different groups were getting on, moving from fire to fire, laughing and chatting.

But Torms had his mind on other matters. He couldn't quite put his finger on what was bothering him, but deep down he knew things were going to change, though he didn't know how or why. It was merely a feeling he had.

"Put this on your feet," said the Captain, joining him as he tossed a bag of ointment on the floor.

"What?" asked Torms, somewhat startled.

"Your feet," repeated the Captain. "It will help keep the blisters down. It's an old soldier's remedy, passed down from generation to generation. One week after putting that on, your feet will be like leather, even after a day you'll see a difference."

Torms had forgotten about his feet, he looked down at them and saw his trusty boots covered in dust from the track. He leant forward and untied one of the laces; he could feel the pounding in his foot even before the boot had come off. He removed his sock.

"Whooh, ooh, it's like looking at a bag of coal," said Sinat, staring at the blisters on Torms's foot and feeling the pain for him. "Are you sure you don't want to travel on the cart tomorrow? There's plenty of room," he said laughing.

The Captain laid his hands on Torms's shoulder and whispered in his ear: "Just put the cream on, it will take the sting out of it and ease the swelling. I'll make a soldier out of you yet." He gave Torms a wink and then walked back into the woods to inspect the sentries.

*

Trantore awoke from his sleep; the room within the tower was pitch dark. He waved his hand and the torch beacons on the wall, which were in the shape of an upturned raven's claw, burst into flames. Magical flames instantly illuminated the room, but the colour wasn't that of an ordinary flame, more a darker orangie-red. Trantore arose from his slab; his clothes seemed to straighten themselves, and the creases disappeared. He looked as if he had just dressed in new clothes. "It's time," he said to nobody but himself.

He waved his hand and as he walked towards the window, he changed from sorcerer to raven and flew out into the night sky. He circled the tower and then headed down towards a glowing round building that was lit up by an orangiered light, shining through thin slits in its roof. The raven squawked and turned its gaze downwards, towards The Mystical Chambers.

Inside the chamber stood an ancient and mystical round wooden table with a huge six-pointed star carved in the centre of it. Where the points of the star touched the edge of the table, a Master of Sorcery sat. There were already five Masters sat around the table and one empty seat, which belonged to Trantore. The chairs themselves were made of dark magical oak, but Trantore's chair was different from the other Masters in that it was much bigger and had images of ravens carved into the wood. On the end of each arm was a carved raven's head, which seemed to move ever so slightly if you caught the raven's eyes.

Each of the other Masters had grand throne-like chairs such as Trantore's, but they each had their own particular design. One was a snake, another a jackal, a toad, and so on. The room itself was round and was lit with six torches that hung on the walls, one behind each sorcerer. Between the burning torches were rows of bookshelves that ran around the entire inner wall, each shelf full of books on every subject imaginable. The flickering torches reflected off the books, making them look as though they were on fire.

A huge oak door protruded from the wall, with giant black looped handles, and way up in the roof were six slits that let in the night air; they were not all they let in. Through one of these holes had flown the raven which was now perched on one of the beams high above the five sorcerers sitting at the table. It was looking at them as if they were field mice, and the raven was about to strike.

"I'm telling you," said one of the sorcerers, "something must be happening, he hasn't called a single meeting since he became Supreme Grand Master, and that was over two hundred years ago."

"Silence," said the sorcerer sitting next to the empty chair. His name was Meltoy, he looked just like a sorcerer should; all masterful, and powerful he had pale blue hair and a beard to match. He was second in ranking and in command of the council of The Black Arts in Trantore's absence. This was confirmed by the height of his tower, just below The Supreme Grand Master's. He sat upon a chair covered in scorpions, which was his symbol.

Sitting on the other side of the empty chair was Rathall, third in the sorcerer ranks. He was the most devious of the sorcerers and had taken the snake as his image of The Dark Arts. He had been practising the art for so long, he even started to look and sound like a snake and would hiss, when he was talking.

He had challenged Meltoy many times to gain a higher tower but had always suffered defeat at Meltoy's superior hands and was very bitter about it. On more than one occasion, Meltoy could have killed him but he liked to toy with Rathall, and in truth, he enjoyed the constant challenge. If Meltoy's name were mentioned in front of Rathall, he would hiss furiously in disgust, moving his head from side to side, just like a snake in distress.

"What do you mean sssilencce, you're not The Sssupreme Grand Massster," hissed Rathall, as he turned his head towards Meltoy in a snake-like motion, flicking his fork-like tongue tasting the air.

"No, I'm not, but before we start coming to any wrong conclusions, I think it would be wise not to make any comment whatsoever," replied Meltoy.

"But what's the meeting about? Everything was going along smoothly, then suddenly he calls a meeting," said Penta who was fourth in rank his tower sat just below Rahall's. Penta was strange looking even for a sorcerer; he was taller than most with gaunt like features that made his cheekbones stick out.

"I agree with Penta" commented Wubuck, he was the fifth-ranked sorcerer. Wubuck normally did agree with most things Penta said. Over the years they had become good friends, and you couldn't get two sorcerers that looked so different, he was the complete opposite to Penta: short and podgy with a big round face to match. Wubuck had never once challenged Penta to a duel to gain a higher tower, in all the history of The Dark Fortress. The students had a nickname for them; they used to call them Famine and Greed. Many a time when they were chatting away whilst walking down a corridor, you would often hear the faint whispered alarm call of, 'Famine and Greed are coming', halting the student's prank in progress momently as they walked past.

The last sorcerer sat at the table, and lowest ranking was Ricket or old Master Ricket, or commonly called by most of the students "Rickety Ricket." Even the other Masters called him Rickety because he looked just like a piece of old rickety furniture; poorly made, and likely to collapse at any minute. It was rumoured that he had been one of the first to set foot on the island wedging a wooden post in the ground and claiming the island for the sorcerers. But as with most rumours told by students, you couldn't believe a word of it. The only reference you could draw from such a rumour was that Old Master Ricket was as death as the post he was supposed to have wedged in the ground.

He was in fact, the oldest there apart from Trantore, but no one knew his age. Rickety was the sixth and final sorcerer that made up The Council of The Black Arts. He was in the lowest tower of them. According to the records, he was over six thousand and two years old.

Rickety was actually wide-awake which was a first; than anyone could remember, epically Rickety. Usually, he would have been fast asleep during council meetings. But he hadn't seen The Supreme Grand Master in over two hundred years, so he thought it best to make an effort.

"Well, I'm sure we'll find out soon enough," replied Meltoy. As he spoke, a black feather floated down from the rafters, gliding from side to side as it descended, shimmering in the magical light of the torches, and landed in the middle of the table. The sorcerers had one thing on their minds and one thing only: Trantore.

Silence reigned as the sorcerers stopped bickering and looked at each other, then up at the roof. A jet-black object could be seen glistening in the moonlight as it sat perched underneath one of the slits on a beam. They held their breath as a set of piercing black eyes looked down on them; even though Trantore's eyes were jet-black, they still seemed to cut through the darkness like a knife. There was a 'squawk' as the raven swooped from its perch, circling down in a spiralling motion. The sorcerers never took their eyes off the raven as it landed behind the back of The Supreme Grand Master's chair.

There was the faint sound of muttering then deathly silence fell over the room, then a rumble and a bang, as Trantore stepped out from behind his chair. He waved his hand, and his chair pulled itself out. As he sat down, the chair moved back into position at the table.

The sorcerers bowed their heads and stared at the table in a mark of respect. Trantore's hood masked his face in a cloak of shadow, but The Supreme Grand Master's piercing black eyes could just be made out under the brim. The burning torches seemed to add shadow to Trantore's dark figure, making him look twice the size he was. He cast his gaze over the others.

"Well," he said, in a toneless voice. But the words seemed to boom out across the table. No one moved, and they didn't dare breath. Since the day of the old Supreme Grand Master Belone, who was defeated and killed by Trantore, no one had seen Trantore. Meltoy and Rathall occasionally saw him fly out of his window, high up, in the tallest tower. But no one had actually seen him in over two hundred years. But of course, life carried on in the sorcerer's domain.

Over the years, decisions had been made, and meetings held, but always without Trantore's attendance; although his presence ruled The Island of Black Rock, he hadn't once made an appearance. It had been a bit hard to start off with, but as the years went on it just seemed normal.

At these meetings, Meltoy made and had the final say in matters, because he was second in rank, much to Rathall's disgust. The only way to overturn his decisions was to go to Trantore himself, but that never happened. The sorcerers thought, if he stays up in The Supreme Grand Master's tower, not bothering them, why should they bother him?

But here he was, sitting at his rightful place at the table. The magical force in the room was electric; there was so much tension that every now and then a spark would fly off the head of one of the sorcerers as they started to sweat in the presence of their Supreme Grand Master.

"Well," he repeated, "you had something to talk about while you awaited my arrival - why have you stopped, do you not wish, to hold council in my presence? Am I not The Supreme Grand Master?" spoke Trantore.

"No, Supreme Grand Master, that's not the case, our conversation was of no importance to one as high as you," said Meltoy hurriedly.

"Ah, at last, one of my subjects speaks."

"We are highly honoured to have you amongst us, Supreme Grand Master," continued Meltoy, trying not to offend Trantore, still with his head bowed.

"Well, Meltoy, you have done a good enough job in my absence," said Trantore in soft and toneless voice, causing Meltoy's heart to miss a beat. Was The Supreme Grand Master angry with him for carrying on the affairs of The Dark Fortress and sorcerers without him? Meltoy wondered if his second ranking would soon be coming to an end.

"But I have little time for politics, and things seem to have run rather smoothly under your guidance," continued Trantore.

Meltoy breathed a sigh of relief before continuing his defence in case it was a trap.

"But, Master, I do not wish to take your place. I was happy to do your bidding in your absence," said Meltoy, feeling he was being led into a duel with his Master.

"Meltoy, relax. I know where your loyalties lie, unlike some others within this room," he said, turning his gaze towards Rathall, who looked away, letting out a hiss of sheer fright.

"I have brought you all here tonight to discuss something of importance. Just because I take little interest in our domain, it doesn't mean I don't elsewhere. I haven't been idle during the past two hundred years. I have been learning about the other races, flying from the mountains to forests, markets to castles. Over the years I've studied the ways of others, their kings, their secrets, their alliances, and even their spies, but most of all their power. But, with all their power, no race is strong enough to gain the upper hand over the others." Trantore paused for a brief moment, "Until now, that is".

With that last remark, if he didn't have the sorcerer's attention, he did now.

"It seems that a group of dwarfs have found a sample of Amberinth and are planning to mine it. I picked up the trail when I was perched on a tree and saw the elven ranger they call Gillant spying on the dwarfs. I followed him to the Elven Kingdom and learned about the Amberinth. They are now camped just beyond the main track, ready to track the dwarfs and follow them to the Amberinth source." The sorcerers waited with bated breath for him to continue.

"I caught back up with the dwarfen party in the Dwarfen Kingdom, within the Ferral Mountains. I gained access through the holes in the top of the mountain caverns of the city. At first, I lost them. However, I waited, and it paid off: it seems that the king has granted them the power to carry out the expedition and even provided an armed escort. They are now camped about two days' travel from the Dwarfen Kingdom. They intend to split into two groups, so they do not arouse suspicion. I don't know where their final destination is, but the elves seem to think that they are heading towards the Brocken Mountains. Whatever happens, each race will want the Amberinth for themselves."

"Whatsss isss thisss Amberinth, Sssupreme Grand Massster?" hissed Rathall, still afraid to look at Trantore.

"It's a special mineral, lost over the centuries. Apparently, the last person to have it was Rancore, a powerful warlord who ruled the whole Island and all within it. I have also researched this mineral and found out that Amberinth is not affected in any way, shape, or form by sorcery or any other form of spell you throw at it. It will only absorb the power, making the mineral more powerful and rendering us useless in an attack. So, you see, if they were to forge it into weapons or armour it would provide them with ultimate power, leaving us with a potential problem on our hands."

Trantore's black eyes peered out from underneath his hood as the room fell silent once more until Meltoy spoke. "What do you want us to do, Supreme Grand Master?" he asked.

"Ah, at last, the magical word. That has never been spoken before in the whole of sorcery, US is the word. What I want you to do is, no more bickering over towers, which means no more fighting or duels. And you have to stop sending demons to each other's towers in the middle of the night, trying to slaughter your rivals." Trantore looked at Rathall once more, who again cowered and hissed.

"You can go back to that afterwards, but for now we have to join together and stand as one, or our days could be numbered."

"Why don't we jussst ssslay them all now?" hissed Rathall.

"That's your problem," said Trantore, "I've been watching you closely Rathall, you always act before you think. You would have been slain long ago if it wasn't for Meltoy playing with you."

Rathall hissed wildly in disgust but recoiled back into his seat when he saw the displeasure in the black eyes of The Supreme Grand Master.

"We could probably defeat the dwarfs," continued Trantore, "and the warlords, and even the elves, but if we attacked one, then they would soon join forces, and their sheer weight in numbers alone would soon overthrow us. No, we wait. The dwarfs don't know they're being watched, nor do the elves, and we don't know how much of this Amberinth there really is. But there is one thing we can do" Trantore paused for a brief second before continue.

"WE CAN PREPARE." The words boomed out around the room and even crackled slightly as he said them.

Trantore stood up, putting both hands on the table. "I want you to have your students brush up on skills such as lightning, fireball, and whirlwinds. And the more advanced, they can brush up on their summoning skills; we are going to need a lot of demons if things don't go our way. Go and prepare, we will meet again tomorrow night when I shall expect a full report on your own faculties and their skills. Now, go."

Trantore raised his right hand, causing the sturdy oak doors of The Mystic Chambers to open, and one by one, the sorcerers left the room according to their rank, with the most senior last to leave. Rathall didn't so much as walk across the room rather than slither across the floor. Behind him was Meltoy, and as he passed through the doors, they closed in behind him.

Trantore was still leaning on the table, hands outstretched before him, the light still flickering over his figure, as if the flames were licking him. "Let the games begin," he said to himself.

*

The elven campfire was burning within the Emerald Forest. Gillant's face could clearly be seen in the flickering light. The fire used for cooking was well hidden, and out of sight, huge trees, and bracken six-foot-high surrounded its position. The elves were being very cautious. They couldn't give their location away, and they certainly couldn't let the dwarfs know they were onto them.

They each wore heavy hooded robes, which completely covered them from head to toe. At night the elves just pulled the robes around themselves, and it doubled up as their bed; once they were covered, it was almost impossible to spot them.

Cluzac, had just checked on the sentries, there were four in total posted around the camp. They only needed four as they were in their own forest, so wasn't expecting any unwanted visitors. Anyone who wanted to pass through the Emerald Forest used the main track.

Cluzac walked over and sat down next to Gillant, and as he did, one of his sergeants brought him over a hot cup of herbs. Cluzac pulled his robe around his shoulders.

"So then, Gillant, when should we be expecting these dwarfs?" he asked as he took a sip from his mug.

"I'd say the sentries on the track should see them in about two to three days; they must have set off by now and I'd say they will be in a hurry to get where they're going. You know dwarfs, all brawn and no brains," said Gillant.

"Well, I don't mind being camped out here for a few days," said Cluzac sipping from his mug, "it makes a change to be out in the woods, looking at the stars. It beats marching my elves round all over the place and endless kit inspections, at least we have a chance to do something worthwhile," concluded Cluzac.

"Oh, worthwhile it will be, Cluzac, very worthwhile, if things go to plan," said Gillant.

*

Fifty miles away to the west sat Flennat and Banthrone, the elven scouts, watching the coastal track. They had made their camp in the top of one of the tallest oak trees they could find. From their lookout point, they could quite easily see the coastal track and all its surroundings. They even had an excellent view of The Island of Black Rock, the sorcerers' island and the coastline belonging to it.

Although they had heard of the island, they had never set eyes upon it before. From their vantage point, they could see the rugged Dark Fortress with its high stonewalls. The island was surrounded by rocks jutting up from the sea, which were taking volley upon volley of waves as they came thundering down, crashing against them as if trying to get into The Dark Fortress itself.

They could see glowing lights shining out from the towers and, every now and then when they were looking at the fortress; it seemed to change its shape as if somehow it was alive.

"Weird, isn't it," said Banthrone. "The way it just stands there on that island, taking all that battering from the waves, and doesn't budge an inch."

"Yep, sure is," replied Flennat. "I wonder what a sorcerer looks like."

"Well, he's a man who has control of the black arts at his fingertips," said Banthrone.

"Yes, yes, I know what he is, that's not what I asked. I asked what does a sorcerer really look like. We've all seen the pictures in the library books when we were younger, but I wonder what they really look like right up close, face to face," said Flennat, with an intriguing hint of wonder in his voice. "Having them so close to your face, you can feel their breath," he continued.

The thought of this sent a shiver down Banthrone's spine. "Alright, I think that's enough now. Nobody has seen a sorcerer for hundreds of years, they keep themselves to themselves, and that's fine by me. We're not here to spy on them, our job is to watch the track and watch the track we shall. I'll have no more talk of this dark arts and sorcerer business, especially when we're this close to the island."

"Oh, is Banthrone scared of the black magic?" said Flennat teasingly.

"No, I am just saying we should be more careful and not mock what we don't know," said Banthrone, a little unsure of himself.

"Well, I say to Oakwood with them, if they're that powerful why don't they show themselves, or maybe, I don't know, do something grand to show their power? Uh, I am not scared of them." As soon as Flennat finished his sentence, one of the two horses below them let out a 'Neigh'.

Instantly, Flennat jumped up banging his head on a branch above him and toppled backwards. Banthrone thrust out his hand, just managing to catch hold of his robe, stopping Flennat from falling out of the tree, and pulled him back into their makeshift lookout.

"Not scared, you were saying, you could have fooled me," smiled Banthrone.

"Right now, if you've quite finished messing around, you can take the first watch. Wake me up when the moon's overhead, and let's cut out all this talk of the black arts nonsense," said Banthrone. With that, he tied himself to the tree, wrapped his dark green robe around his body, and settled down for half a night's sleep.

It was customary to tie yourself to a tree if you were an elf when you were sleeping, something you learnt on, day one, week one of training. It wasn't uncommon for elves to sleepwalk just like most people. But most people when dreaming they are falling in their sleep, wake up with a jump and realise they are still wrapped up warm in a comfy bed.

However, for elves, the experience was the other way around and a lot more painful. Instead of being wrapped up in a warm comfy bed, they were wrapped up in branches, only to be rudely awoken when they hit the floor. As they laid there in a heap, thinking about why they hadn't tied the rope properly the night before; They would dream off a nice warm comfy bed somewhere and one where they still had their teeth.

Flennat and Banthrone had only reached the coastal track that morning, and it had taken them the rest of the day to build the platforms for their observation post, but they were the best scouts the Elven Kingdom had to offer, and the small hideout they had built proved that. It wasn't visible at all from the coastal track, and even if you were standing under the tree, you had to know what you were looking for before you spotted the tell-tale signs of the camp. Even the saddles for the horses were up the tree with them.

Elven horses were well trained and had been left under the tree for a purpose. If any anyone approached from below, the horses would rear up, sounding the alarm, then make off into the woods, so friend or foe would just think they were wild horses. But that would give the elves in the trees plenty of time to prime their bows and have them pointing at their prospective targets. Eventually, the horses would return when each of the masters gave the appropriate whistle. It took a long time to train horses in this way, but the elves were experts in such matters; and in a lot more things as well.

Flennat stared out between the walls of the lookout, watching the track, but he couldn't resist the occasional glance at The Dark Fortress. Although it was dark, and there wasn't much light from the moon, the outline of the fortress was even blacker than the night sky. All that was visible was the occasional flicker of light and the white foam of the sea attacking the rocks, making its final flight, jetting up towards the fortress before disappearing into nothing.

*

The sun was up, and the first rays were shining through the trees into the clearing where the expedition was camped. You could hear the clanking of pans as the wagons were once more packed for the day's journey ahead. Torms was inspecting his feet.

"Has it helped?" asked the approaching Captain.

"Yes, very well, thank you," answered Torms, taking a closer look at the soles of his feet where the blisters had hardened, and the pain and swelling had completely disappeared.

"I must say this stuff is amazing. But it has a funny smell to it, what's in it?" Asked Torms inquisitively.

"Huh-hum." The Captain cleared his throat somewhat reluctantly. "Well, the main ingredient is gileena, a common weed that grows in the mountains. It brings the swelling down; then there's a mix of herbs like jebie, gaabthree and threphone that act as a pain reliever. Then there's dried . . ." The Captain put his hand up to his mouth and let out a loud cough, which just happened to have the last ingredient in it. "Dried phantomoss," he said, quickly followed by, "which helps to harden the skin."

But Torms's ears were too sharp. "Dried phantomoss, what's that?" he asked.

"Dried pony poo," said Odall as he casually walked past, having caught the last part of the conversation.

Torms looked at his feet, then up at the Captain. But before Torms could say anything, the Captain quickly walked off like he had just remembered something urgent he had to do.

Torms grabbed hold of his foot and pulled it up to his face, giving it a sniff.

"Phew, I thought I recognised that smell, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it," he said to himself. But now, he had put his foot in it, literally, he thought. Oh well, if it helps me walk and keeps the dwarfen army marching, then the whole of the dwarfen army can't be wrong. Which was his final thought on the matter as he pulled his socks on and donned his boots, then headed off towards the front of the convoy, positioning himself between the twins. And with everyone ready, Torms turned around, gave the others the nod, and stepped off.

*

Meltoy stood in his pulpit, made of sturdy oak, which had magnificent carvings of scorpions encircled all around it. The pulpit was positioned at the front of his lecture room. Which, like every other lecture room in the university, was big, with seats rising up in tiers before him. The seats were made out of oak and attached to the arm of the chairs was a flap that lifted up, to be used as a desk when the student was seated.

The lecture room was packed, with over a hundred apprentice students, that served under Master Meltoy. All of them were dressed in their black robes with a dark blue scorpion motif embroidered onto the back. Every student on the island had to display the faculty and Master they were serving under, and each and every one wore a black robe with their Master's motif embroidered onto the back. Meltoy's had a dark blue scorpion, Rathall's apprentices wore one with a dark red snake on, Penta's a dark green jackal, Wubuck's a dark brown rat, and Rickety's had a dark yellow bullfrog.

Because the main design was on the back, the Masters thought it wise to have their own colours embroidered around the hem, especially around the face of the hood. Because midway through a food fight in the dining hall, it was a bit time-consuming to keep stopping and checking the back of one's opponent, just to make sure he wasn't one of your own. And a bit embarrassing if he was, especially if you had just thrown a sausage attached to a rather large fireball and just singed off one of his eyebrows.

It was Meltoy's idea as 'boys, will be boys' was how he put it. However, the Masters opted out of having the colours around their hems or their hoods. Because if any food did find its way heading towards one of the Masters, in any one of the many infamous and notorious food fights, which was usually when the chef did his annual Squid pie. The unlucky student that had just thrown it would normally found himself pinned to the ceiling for the rest of the meal, and he wasn't even allowed down for dessert.

The lecture room was deadly quiet, but excited tension filled the air. The whole fortress had been buzzing like a beehive that morning. They had woken to find a letter nailed to the faculty notice board that read:

_8 a.m. sharp in your lecture room, anyone not there for any reason will be banished_

This notice had caused all sorts of rumours, from man-eating demons to a six-headed dragon coming their way, and there was even one started about a pancake-eating competition . . . It doesn't matter what continent, what world or even universe, there's always one.

Meltoy looked around the room at his students, all of which were looking back at him with eager fresh faces, seeing as most of them were well over five hundred years old they didn't look too bad. In fact, most of them looked like they were still in their teens. That's the advantages of practising The Dark Arts, time and physics work slower and in another dimension. Every forty to fifty standard years was equivalent to one sorcerer's year. But there was one slight disadvantage to the whole process; they didn't act their age, they acted the age they looked. Hence so many food fights and practical jokes at bedtime.

However, Meltoy did look older and wiser, he was well into his thousands, but he never said which one. Like most of the Masters, they could bend The Dark Arts to suit themselves within reason. But when it comes to Old Master Ricket, even The Dark Arts had its limits. Plus, he was that old he'd forgotten how to, so just put up with old age, which suited him just fine, as he 'never had to rush anywhere as he put it.'

All the students were now on the edge of their seats, awaiting the announcement. Meltoy noticed one of the students had even brought some maple syrup, and a couple of the others, knives and forks; there was even one right at the back with a napkin tied around his neck. How strange, he thought as he cleared his throat.

"Huh-hum. You have been gathered here today because there might be something occurring, and it might have a direct effect on us, and that's all I'm prepared to say for the time being."

A few of the students let out a disapproving moan, especially the one with the maple syrup as his belly let out a slight rumble in protest on missing out on the pancakes.

"Right, I want you one at a time to come down to the front to receive your instructions. In addition, I want one volunteer . . ."

Before Meltoy could continue, every student thrust his hand in the air.

"Oh, um, you. Yes, you," said Meltoy pointing to one of his students.

The student got up and walked down the steps towards Meltoy, his head held high, ignoring all the scornful looks, on the other student's faces. One of them even tried to hurl a small fireball, but the student had been ready for it. As soon as he was picked, he muttered a protective spell, which put an invisible barrier around him. The fireball bounced off and returned in the direction of its origin. The student who cast the fireball ducked for cover and fell head over heels onto the desk of the student in front of him. The fireball continued and hit the student behind him, setting the bottom of his robe on fire. Then all at once panic and fire set in as the students started to run, topple, and fall over one another.

"STOP!" shouted Meltoy in a voice that bellowed out across the room. He muttered and waved his hands, instantly everything was back to normal. The fireball was put out and the robe returned to its original state, as good as new.

"You'll have plenty of time for fireballs later," said Meltoy. "But what worries me most is that not one of you put it out - aren't you even aware of the basics? Where we might be heading, there will be more than fireballs to contend with. You will face axes, arrows, spears, and the pounding of drums that will enter right down into your very soul. When you come face to face with all that, you will wish you were back here dealing with a measly fireball," warned Meltoy.

"Now make an orderly line in front of the pulpit and proceed to me one at a time." The line was anything but orderly with all the pushing and shoving going on accompanied with a few elbows, followed up with the odd kick as the students formed what resembled a line of some sort in front of Meltoy.

The volunteer that had been selected was already at Meltoy's side and was giving the student that threw the fireball a smug smile.

"Right, take this chalk and go over to the board. We'll do it the old-fashioned way, just to make sure." Meltoy turned to face his volunteer, who was now standing next to a slab of slate stuck to the wall behind Meltoy's pulpit.

"Write four headings, Fire, Water, Earth and Wind. Then, when I've dealt with each student, put a mark under the element I call out. Have you got that?" called out Meltoy.

"Yes, Master," replied the eager student, already scribbling down the word fire on the board.

"Good, right, first one step up to the pulpit." Meltoy opened up a large leather-bound book that contained all the students' names, grades, and achievements. "Name?" he asked.

"Ceric the Incredible, Master," the student replied as Meltoy gave him a quick look up and down.

The book flicked through the pages all by itself and stopped at the student's name.

"Right then, let's have a look, Ceric," he said to himself as he looked at the student's statistics. "You are five hundred and forty-nine years old, you have your masters in fireballs, lightning and hovering," said Meltoy, raising an eyebrow, picking up on the last entry.

"Yes, Master, I've been practising hovering, and I've got it down to a fine art. I can make over fifty people float at once," said the student proudly.

"Well, I'm unsure if hovering will be useful - how good are your fireballs? We'll probably be needing a lot of them."

"Well, as you said, Master, I have my masters in fireballs. I can create one big fireball, and just before impact, it changes into five smaller ones, which have screaming fiery faces. I can show you if you want," said the now excited Ceric as he began to roll up his sleeves.

"No, no, I don't think a presentation is in order, I'll take your word for it, or we'll be here all day. And I think we've seen enough fireballs for one day thank you," said Meltoy shaking his head - but there was still something nagging him about Ceric's title.

"This fifty-man hovering thingamajig is that why they call you Incredible?" asked Meltoy.

"No, Master," replied Ceric.

"The fireballs and the screaming faces then?"

"No, Master."

"Banished a demon single-handedly?" asked Meltoy, having one last stab as he felt his patience starting to run out.

"No, Master. They call me Ceric the Incredible because last year on Hog Day I ate a whole hog all by myself and an onlooker just happened to mention it was incredible; since then, it's just stuck with me," concluded Ceric the Incredible with a big beaming smile. Meltoy rolled his eyes and would have walked out there and then if the job at hand, wasn't so important.

"ONE FOR FIRE," Meltoy shouted over his shoulder. The volunteer marked it on the board. "Right, go away and practise your fire spells, and only your fire spells.From now on I want you to wear a strip of red cloth tied around your right arm." And with a wave of Meltoy's hand, a strip of red cloth appeared in Ceric's hand.

"Ceric the Incredible" muttered Meltoy under his breath, as Ceric walked off.

"NEXT . . . Name?"

"Freno," replied the student. The book turned itself to the correct page.

"Right, you're six hundred and fifty-nine years old, masters in fireballs, masters in water-shields and masters in demons. Oh, I had forgotten about them, put demons on the board."

The volunteer scribbled it on.

"What demons can you summon?" asked Meltoy.

"Four in total: two Fire Demons, one Earth and one Wind," replied Freno.

"And which one do you get on with the most?" continued Meltoy

"Um, I'd say Zacrog the Fire Demon."

"Oh, Zacrog, I haven't heard that name for a long time. I thought he was dead or banished or something like that."

"Oh no, Master, I played cards with him just last week."

"Oh, and did you win?"

"No, Master, I think he was cheating," said Freno with a de-scrupled look on his face. But Meltoy already knew the answer before Freno spoke: it didn't matter how many times he told them not to play cards with their demons, or play with them at all, for that matter.

Meltoy moved his hand once more and another strip of cloth appeared this time brown.

"Right, tie this around your right arm and go and talk to Zacrog: find out how he feels about fighting. One for demons. NEXT" shouted Meltoy.

"Gelldin the Great, Master," said another as he stepped up to the desk.

"Oh, no, not another one," sighed Meltoy, but this time he couldn't be bothered to go through the hassle of asking why. He raised his head to address the rest of the students in the line.

"Right, from now on, when you arrive at the pulpit, just give me your real name. No fancy name, no nicknames, and especially no more names stating how great, superior or BOLD you may be," Meltoy quickly added bold, as he could see one of the students went to put his hand up. But, at the last comment, he brought it back down again, grumbling as he did.

Meltoy returned to his book. "Ah, I see you favour your studies of the earth."

"Yes, Master," replied Gelldin.

"What's your favourite?"

"Earthquakes, Master, followed by a twenty-foot split in the ground, a hundred feet deep," said Gelldin with a smile on his face as he stood there all proud and noble looking.

"And when this happens, do we get jets of larva shooting out, a hundred foot high?" asked Meltoy.

"No, Master," said Gelldin, as his smile fell from his face.

"Well, you're not so GREAT then after all, are you. NEXT!" shouted Meltoy. A green strip of cloth appeared in the now humiliated Gelldin's hand, while the other students looked on and sniggered. The students continued to walk up to the desk and left wearing a ribbon of one colour or another; they did so right up to until supper, when the final one had come and gone.

The room was now empty, and Meltoy had a vast range of attacks and defences, from Fire Demons, fireballs, fire spears, giant earthworms with three rows of fanged teeth, and many more for the attacking. For defence, he had water-shields that spread out fifty feet wide and fifty feet high to stop catapults and arrows, to a tornado in the shape of a troll's head that could uproot trees. Three of the sorcerers who specialised in wind had stated that if they combined their forces, they could even summon a seventy-foot-tall Wind Demon to blow rocks out of its mouth, as a sort of special effect.

As Meltoy had been reading up on the sorcerer's records and giving them their bands after listening to their specialities, his mind was starting to sound alarm bells. He was beginning to wonder what The Supreme Grand Master had let himself in for. It was alright saying, 'let's all club together and get ready for a big fight and brush up on our skills.' But imagine all the Fire, Water, Earth and Wind Demons all being in the same place at the same time.

Now, it was perfectly alright when two sorcerers wanted to do battle, to call their demons out from another realm to do the fighting for them. The sorcerers would say an ancient text belonging to a said demon, wave their hands around, and the demon would appear. The sorcerers would be in total control and order their demons to attack or defend. However, if a demon got hurt, so did the sorcerer as a magical bond connected them. So, if a demon were just about to die, the sorcerer would quickly banish him back to his own realm. But, on the very rare occasions, a demon did die, it would take the sorcerer weeks, if not months, to recover because of the connection between them, leaving the other sorcerer and his demon triumphant.

In those circumstances, the other sorcerer could quite easily order his demon to kill the now exhausted, defenceless, rival, as he wouldn't have stood a change. But normally after the winning sorcerer gloated for a few minutes, they would send their demon back to its own realm, being happy with just the bragging rights, for the next few hundred years.

And that's what bothered Meltoy. If all these demons were in one place and were told to fight together, would they, or would they turn on each other because of old grudges for previous banishing's or defeats? And that was just his students' demon - who knows what the other Masters are going to come up with, thought Meltoy. Will there be a show of sorcery and black magic; the likes of which Gryphon Island had never seen before, or will there be an almighty mass of chaos? Well, whatever happened, Meltoy was going to make sure he stood at the back. 'Master's privileges and all that nonsense,' he told himself as he walked out of the door, with the list of the student's tactics under his arm.

*

Torms was walking along looking at his map as the final rays of the setting sun illuminated the Ferral Mountains in a warm orange glow one last time before night took over. Torms had done a rough calculation in his head: he predicted it would be another good thirty minutes' walk till they got to the camp for the night. The pain in his feet had subsided, and they were hardly hurting him at all now as he marched along, enjoying the walk.

Further behind him was Sacul, still smiling away to himself; happy to be on the adventure. Further back still was Sinat, puffing away on his pipe, sitting on the cart with Odall and Tennant in the back, all three of them were heartily chatting away to each other. It wasn't surprising they were in high spirits. Odall had cracked open a bottle of his special brew, which he'd packed for the trip. And seeing as it had been such a hot day, it was almost empty. Now all three of them had a different outlook on life. Especially Tennant who wasn't used to drinking, and especially not in the afternoon. He had said the fatal five words earlier that day when Odall had passed him the bottle, which was "I suppose one swig want hurt."

"I didn't think he'd be able to walk all this distance," said Sinat, as he took his pipe out of his mouth and gave it a tap on his knee.

"Well, tthere's a lot of tthings I bet you thought he couldn't doo," said Tennant, slightly slurring his words, who was now very relaxed and enjoying himself. "Like ttravelling to the kingdoom and acquiring a royal expedittion. You know, I've oonly known him foor a shortt while, but he's quite a surprisingly mottivated dwarf," added Tennant.

"You're right there," said Sinat. "'Surprisingly' being the word. I've known him all my life, and he's still surprising me now. I thought I knew everything there was to know about him, all his talents and faults. I know I've been hard on him in the past, but being the oldest, I had to bring them up with a firm hand. But sitting here now, looking at him, I'm proud of him, and I'm glad to call him family," said Sinat with a lump in his throat and a little tear forming in his eye.

Tennant leant forward and put his hand on Sinat's shoulder. "Well, I tthink your whoole family must have some hidden ttalents because you've surprised me as welll. I didn't knoow you had a sensittive side, Sinat. Next, you'll be tellling me Nakie can eatt with a knife and foork," he slurred.

Sinat pulled hard at the reins. Tennant shot forward, over the back of the wooden seat, and landed next to Sinat. Sinat grabbed Tennant's robe and pulled him closer to his face.

"Let's get one thing straight; I'm not sensitive. I was just pointing out the facts as they were, alright? And while we're on the subject, I had some grit in my eye, and if you tell anyone about this, there will be one less dwarf on the trip, do I make myself clear?" shouted Sinat to the now slightly shaken Tennant.

"Crystal," replied Tennant as he quickly sobered up and Rule 17 in Phobic's rulebook suddenly popped into his head, which stated:

_Rule 17: Never let your guard down._

Sinat released his grip, sending Tennant slumping to the floor. Sinat pulled on the reins once more, and the cart pulled away again.

Tennant picked himself up off the floor of the cart, climbed back over into the back, and sat down next to Odall, who was sitting there with a smirk on his face.

"For all your advisory skill and teachings, you didn't see that one coming, did you," said Odall jokingly.

"Well, it's all your fault," snapped Tennant who had now instantly sobered up, after his little run in with Sinat. "You keep saying join in, get to know everyone - a fat lot of good it did me. Well, that's the last time I try and bond with him."

"Bond? What do you mean bond with him? The only thing you nearly bonded with was his fist. You made one mistake," said Odall offering out some wisdom and advice.

"Oh, you think so do you, and what's that then, MR KNOW IT ALL?" Snapped Tennant sarcastically.

"You mentioned sensitive and Sinat in the same sentence - everyone knows dwarfs are rough, tough fighting machines. Oh well," said Odall, "I've got to hand it to you, at least you're trying," he said, still chuckling away to himself. "Sensitive side," he said out loud - which was his final say on the matter, as he puffed away on his pipe.

Nakie was sitting up front with Bucket, with two of the Blood Born either side of them, feeling all content patting his stomach.

"You know what, Bucket?" he said as he looked over.

"What's that, me old mate?" said Bucket, even though he'd only known Nakie a few days. If a driver spoke to you once, even if it was just to ask you the time or direction, the second you'd spoken to him, you were his old mate. It must have been bred into them at the wagon academy and it gets confusing around the campfire at night if you're an outsider. All you hear is "me old mate this" and "me old mate that" and "oh, you know him, yes you do, it's your old mate what's his name..." So, you can just imagine the confusion if you've got ten or more drivers talking together. According to them, they know everyone in the whole of the Ironclad.

But Nakie didn't mind, he was getting quite used to it now, and was even starting to talk and sound a bit like them. As long as the food kept coming, which it did, then Nakie was content.

"Well, I'll tell you," replied Nakie, "since we left the kingdom and I've been travelling up here, eating, drinking and taking in the sights as we roll along, I've come to respect you drivers."

"Well, thank you," said Bucket, taking the compliment -though he would soon wish he hadn't, as there was more to come. Nakie had only stopped to take a bite out of a chicken before continuing.

"Outsiders look upon you as fat, lazy slobs who just sit on their backsides all day. But there's a lot more to it than that, there's the bits they don't see, like getting up early, making and packing huge hampers of food that takes at least two hours each morning, and that's not counting the ale. Then there's the vast expertise involved as you eat, drink and drive the wagon at the same time. It must have taken you years to learn how to handle the reins like that with your feet and drive in a straight line. And all that knowledge of the roads and paths stored up in your head. No, I've got to hand it to you drivers, you're certainly not the thick, stupid slobs that you make yourselves out to be," finished Nakie as he diverted his full and undivided attention back to the chicken.

Bucket looked over at Nakie, then at the half-eaten drumstick in his hand. "Do they really think that?" he said.

"Oh no," said Nakie.

Bucket stopped looking hurt and went to take another bite out of his drumstick. But again, he'd forgotten that Nakie liked to eat in between conversations.

"They don't think it, they say it," said Nakie.

Bucket slowly turned away from Nakie and looked down at his fat belly - well, there were three in total; then he looked at the drumstick, which he still had in his hand. He threw the drumstick over the side of the wagon, then looked at his hands, which were holding the reins, and all he could see were fat stubby fingers: his hands looked like giant stuffed pies with sausages sticking out of them. He turned and looked at the guard who was sitting to his right.

"Is it true?"He said in a soft voice, like a dwarf who had just found out that his diamond mine was a coal one. "Is it, is that what dwarfs say?"

The guard just nodded his head in agreement. Bucket turned back and stared at the road. He could see that the soldiers and miners had pulled over into a clearing and he pulled his wagon in behind them.

It was starting to get dark; Sacul and the twins were back in the woods finding firewood. You could hear them leaving their mark on the woods with the snapping of roots, as they pulled up trees. The twins still hadn't got the art of scavenging for wood yet. Torms had tried to explain about picking the dead wood up from the forest floor, but somehow the twins couldn't quite grasp it. The way they looked at it was, if it's growing right there in front of your eyes, you might as well take it as it saves bending down for it.

Odall was helping the still slightly shaken Tennant off of the cart, as Tennant had insisted on staying put for a while as he took in the scenery and made a point in saying, it had nothing to do with Sinat and the fact that he wanted to see where he went first.

Sinat and Nakie were already sitting in front of the clearing where the fire was going to be put, with a tanker of ale each. The miners had set up their site, and so had the Blood Born and wagon drivers. But there was one dwarf who still hadn't moved; he was still up on top of his wagon with the reins in his hands, staring straight ahead into space.

"Hey, are you going to come down, or are you going to stay up there all night, me old mate?" said one of the other drivers.

Bucket said nothing he just sat there.

"Right then, be like that, more food for us then," said the other driver as he waddled off muttering to himself. "Making me waste my energy like that by going over there and talking to him," he said as he retook his place back at the drivers' campfire.

Night had fallen, and everyone around the main campfires bellies were full, all apart from Nakie's but he was content to wait a few hours until his next meal.

"Your cooking gets better and better, Odall," said Sinat as he put his metal plate on the ground.

"Yep, those dumplings will soak up all that ale, alright," said Nakie, joining in the compliments.

"Where's Torms gone?" said Sinat looking around.

Bash'm, and Beat'm immediately jumped up; as they did, Beat'm caught his arm on one of the branches that was sticking out of the fire, which was still attached to a tree they had ripped up and chucked on earlier. The whole fire shook, and red-hot ashes flew up into the night air.

There was a loud 'SQUAWK,' from above. But no one seemed to hear it, as they were looking around frantically for the missing Torms.

"I saw him sneak off into the woods about twenty minutes ago with that pouch of ointment the Captain gave him," said Sacul, and with that, he pointed over in the direction he had gone.

The twins grabbed their weapons and were just about to go charging off into the woods when Torms emerged from the trees, holding his socks and boots, hopping from one foot to the other; trying to avoid sticks and stones. He stepped into the clearing and was confronted by Bash'm, and Beat'm, just standing there holding their weapons.

"It's a bit late to go out chopping firewood now," he said to them, as he hobbled past them, like a cat walking on a hot tin roof.

Torms finally reached his destination letting out a small sigh of relief as he sat down. Sacul brought him over a tankard of ale. "Ah, that's better," he said, as he took a sip from the tankard. As he did, the twins just looked at each other and put their weapons down, looking a little puzzled. But nevertheless, they still kept an eye on Torms, just in case he tried to sneak off again.

*

Just above them, high up in the trees sat a jet-black raven, trying to blow out its tail feathers, which were glowing in the night breeze. One minute, Trantore was circling around the camp trying to find a spot to land, so he could listen in on the dwarfs. Next thing he knew, he was surrounded by a gust of hot ashes that came flying up from one of the fires and set him alight.

*

"What's up with Bucket?" said Sinat to Nakie. "He's been sitting up there since we stopped."

"I dunno," grunted Nakie with a mouth full of food. "I paid him a compliment this afternoon, and since then he's turned a bit strange and seems to be in a world of his own."

"What does he keep staring at his hands for?" asked Sinat.

"Beats me," said Nakie.

"What's that smell?" said Sinat screwing his face up, as his nostrils got a full whiff of something awful.

"What smell?" said Nakie.

"That smell, I smelt it the other night," said Sinat in disgust.

"Don't look at me, I didn't make it. I know, I had one or two more dumplings than usual, but they never smell that bad," said Nakie in his defence.

Torms, who had been listening to their conversation from the other side of the fire, slipped his feet under one of his blankets.

"Oh look, Bucket's moving," he said, trying to change the subject. It seemed to work, as everyone turned in Bucket's direction, all of them still fascinated by Bucket's behaviour.

They watched as they saw Bucket start to climb down from the wagon. When he was halfway down, one of the steps gave way with an almighty 'SNAP!' Bucket fell, catching his cloth shirt on one of the foot pegs, bringing his descent to a halt. Bucket was left hanging halfway down the steps, not being able to continue. He tried to lift his arm up to unhitch the shirt but was unable to do so due to layers of fat that were now blocking his arm from getting to the foot peg.

The onlookers could just make out his buttons flying off one by one in the firelight. Then it was too much for the final few, and they all gave way. Bucket fell backwards off the wagon, landing on the floor, stripping his shirt off his back as he went, leaving it hanging on the foot peg. He was lucky his fat broke his fall, which triggered a rippling effect from his double chins all the way down to his toes.

Sinat let out a loud laugh as he looked on; even the others let out a little snigger. Bucket just laid there listening to the laughter. He wanted to get up but couldn't, not until his bellies had stopped moving.

"Shut up you lot!" shouted Nakie as he stood with his fist clenched.

"What's got into you?" said Sinat.

"That's my old mate, that is," said Nakie as he strode off in the direction of the driver.

"What's he mean, his old mate? He's only known him a few days," said Sinat, surprised at Nakie's outburst but putting it down to how much food Bucket must have given him. Most dwarfs have to know someone for months, even years, before they counted you as a friend, but not Nakie: he didn't think like most dwarfs, he counted in food rather than days.

By the time Nakie had reached Bucket, the waddling had stopped, and Bucket was just lying there with only his trousers, buckled up with a thick leather belt, and his boots on.

"Come on, let's get you up," said Nakie as he leant forward.

"No, no, I don't need any help, thank you," he said as he tried to roll over onto his knees to get up.

"Fine," said Nakie as he crossed his arms and stood there watching Bucket rolling from side to side. He was starting to build up a rhythm, and with every movement his fat would sway and rock him, taking him a little bit further every time. Just when Nakie thought he was going to roll over onto his front, Bucket, who had been holding his breath, let it all out, spoiling the momentum, and his body swayed back onto the ground, where he now lay puffing and panting, trying to get his breath back.

"Well, maybe just a little then," said the slightly out of breath Bucket as he held up one of his arms.

Nakie smiled and bent down, grabbing hold of one of his arms. Even Nakie was surprised at how heavy Bucket was as every muscle in his body sprang into action. He started to drag Bucket to his feet and was relieved when Bucket managed to get a foothold in the ground and stood up.

Nakie went over to the wagon and climbed up the broken step, unhitching the Bucket's buttonless shirt. He took it down and walked over to Bucket, putting it around his shoulders.

"There you go."

"You're a good old mate, Nakie," said Bucket as he put his arms into the sleeves. "That's it for tonight, Nakie, I'll see you in the morning," he said as he walked off towards the drivers' fire.

All the other drivers hadn't seen a thing: they were all too busy eating, drinking and talking about all their good old mates. When Bucket stood in amongst them, his shirt flapping and his stomachs hanging over his belt, one of the drivers looked up.

"For the love of dirt tracks, what's happened to you?" he said.

With that, all the other drivers stopped what they were doing and stared at Bucket.

"Let me ask you something. When you look at me, what do you see?"

The drivers just looked at each other, then back at Bucket. "Well, I'm waiting." One of the drivers put his chubby hand up."I see the boss," said the driver cautiously - he had only put his hand up because he thought there might be some sort of edible prize.

"No, no, what do you really see?" asked Bucket.

None of the drivers put their hands up now, as it was quite clear by the look in Bucket's eyes that there wasn't a prize and it definitely wasn't food.

"No one?" continued Bucket "Well, let me make it easy for you," he said as he took his shirt off. "Still no answers?" He bent down, and with great effort, half pulled and kicked his boots off, then he undid his belt and let his trousers fall to the floor and stepped out of them.

He was now starting to scare the other drivers, and one or two of the younger ones were shaking. He was now standing by the fire with his hands on his hips, in just a pair of cloth underpants with holes in which had seen far better days. His pants were pulled up over his bellies, but there was still more hanging over the top. He slapped his guts, making them ripple up and down his body.

"There, that's what I'm talking about," said Bucket. "This is what I want you to see."

Now all the drivers were beginning to shake.

"Do you know what people think of us?" cried Bucket. "Well, I'll tell you, shall I. They think we're fat, lazy, slobs, that's what they say, and do you know what, they're right. Just take a look at me and then at yourselves, we're all the same. When was the last time a female dwarf paid you a compliment or as a matter of fact, even spoke to you?"

All the drivers by now were looking at each other and nodding in agreement.

"Why aren't we married, why haven't we got wives to go home to? I'll tell you why, because we disgust them, we're a big joke to them. How many of you say to yourselves the only reason you're not married is because of the long hours on the road? But what you really mean is, no female dwarf in the kingdom would want to get within a mile of you. So, you blame it on your work."

Again, they were all nodding in agreement, just like before, but this time with more conviction.

"Well, are we going to stand for it any longer?"

"No," said the others.

"I CAN'T HEAR YOU," shouted Bucket, standing there in his underpants, raising his flabby arms in the air.

"NO!" shouted the others, as they tried to stand up in unison with Bucket but were finding it a bit difficult at such short notice so settled on thrusting their chubby arms up as well.

"That's the spirit," said Bucket.

"Right, all get some sleep, we're getting up bright and early tomorrow, things around here are going to change."

All the other campfires, including Torms's party, were looking over in the direction of the drivers. All they could make out was a fat, naked dwarf illuminated by the fire, standing in his underpants, waving his arms about whilst the other drivers sat there watching, nodding their heads, and waving their arms about.

"A strange lot, those drivers," said Sinat, as be puffed away on his pipe.

Up above him in the trees, the leaves rustled as a jet-black raven flew out from one of the branches. It circled around the camp twice, then flew out in the direction of The Island of Black Rock.

As it flew out across the small campfires, now and then the light from the fires lit up its black coat making it shimmer in the darkness; as it did, it caught Torms's eye.

"There," he said, quickly trying to point out the raven.

"What?" said Sinat.

"The bird that I keep seeing, it just flew over the camp again."

"I didn't see it," said Sinat, looking up into the night. "There are probably hundreds of birds flying about in the mountains, of course, you're going to see them."

"Yes, but this one's different somehow," said Torms as he searched the sky, trying to catch another glimpse.

*

It was now early morning and the sun was just coming up. The first rays were reaching out and touching The Dark Fortress; and as like every other morning the fortress shooed them away. It was the fortress off Dark not the fortress of light.

When a black raven flew through the slits in the roof of The Mystic Chambers and down into the room, just as Trantore was going to land on his seat, he changed back into himself, and when the rumble and bang was over, he was sat perfectly in his chair. Sitting in front of him were the rest of the Masters, who had been waiting all night for the meeting, which Trantore had called the previous night. Many of them had been asleep with their heads on the table, and the bang had woken them up. All apart from Rickety who was still fast asleep; he hadn't heard a thing.

It was very rare for them to fall asleep in front of one another, and probably the first time it had ever happened, due to the fact that they might not wake up again. But since The Supreme Grand Master had made it law for no one to fight each other at all, not even for rank. The sorcerers had taken full advantage of it and were able to fall asleep without being awakened by a fire-breathing demon trying to smash them to a pulp, or anything else their rivals might have had in store for them.

The only one who didn't sleep that night at the table was Rathall, who had spent the whole night pacing up and down behind Meltoy when he'd fallen asleep, plotting and thinking what he could do to him while he was in such a vulnerable state. Every now and then he'd let out a hiss of disgust as he cursed every minute that passed by while Meltoy was still breathing.

But unbeknown to Rathall, Meltoy wasn't asleep at all and heard every curse, and hiss Rathall made behind his back; he only pretended to be asleep to taunt him, and he had been enjoying every minute of it. Meltoy didn't mind at all Rathall being behind him because Rathall wasn't alone. There was a fifteen-foot-high invisible ice demon standing against the bookshelf that went by the name of Lacktice, who had been watching and waiting for Rathall to make his move. Meltoy still didn't trust Rathall as far as he could throw him, and that was quite far. In one duel they had, Meltoy had actually thrown Rathall so high up into the sky with such force that he didn't come down until the following day.

But, although fighting each other was now banned, Trantore never said anything about protecting yourself. Lacktice the ice demon had been there all night, under strict instructions to freeze Rathall the moment he started muttering any kind of magic behind Meltoy's back.

"I'm glad you're all still in one piece," said Trantore, as he waved his hand and the smell of burnt feathers that had filled the room disappeared.

"Before we start, who's is that fifteen-foot-high ice demon leaning on the bookshelf?"

All at once the sorcerers turned around and were frantically looking everywhere but couldn't see anything. Rathall, who was still standing behind Meltoy's chair, sprung around, hissing. Meltoy was the only one sitting up straight, looking ahead.

"It was only for protection purposes," said Meltoy as he waved his hand, the ice demon appeared for a split second as it was sent back from whence it came. All the other sorcerers let out a shriek as they caught a glimpse of Lacktice before he vanished. They all had the same thought, had it been there all that time whilst they were asleep? Shivers ran up and down their spines, but Rathall was hissing profusely in disgust due to the fact that he had been outwitted again. Even if a duel hadn't taken place, he knew whom the demon was for.

"Sit down, Rathall," ordered Trantore.

Rathall jolted forward and hissed at the back of Meltoy's head as he slithered over to his chair and sat down.

"Has everyone done as I asked, have you sorted out your students, have you got your results?" asked Trantore.

Rickety being the lowest ranking Master went first and waved his hand, and his parchment of honours slid across the table towards Trantore. Well, this wasn't entirely true it was Meltoy that slightly waved his own hand, which took control of the still fast asleep Rickety's hand, which in turn made his parchment slide across the table. Meltoy draw from past experiences that it was better to leave sleeping dogs lie or in this case sleeping old sorcerers.

Wubuck was next to follow being second lowest in rank sending his parchment across the table, which placed itself on top of Rickety's and so on, until all five parchments, one for each of the Masters, were stacked on top of one another, with Meltoy's on top.

"Let's have a look then," said Trantore as he picked up Meltoy's list.

"You have a fine attack and defence," he said as he gazed down the list.

With that, Rathall let out a loud "hiss," at the mention of Trantore's praise of Meltoy, still bitter about the demon.

"Enough," said Trantore as he raised his hand to Rathall, sitting next to him.

"It says here that your students can summon fifteen different types of demons. Is that correct?"

"Yes, Supreme Grand Master," said Meltoy, bowing his head in respect.

"And these giant earthworms, how come they're not under demons?"

"Well, Supreme Grand Master, I just placed them under Earth, because they are not actually summoned. When the spell is cast, any worm within a five-metre square of the spell will grow to forty times its normal size, that's about the size of an arm, and acquire three sets of razor-sharp teeth," explained Meltoy.

"Oh, I see, yes, you were right to place them under Earth."

"Thank you, Supreme Grand Master," said Meltoy.

Rathall couldn't help himself and mimicked Meltoy under his breath. "Thank you, Sssupreme Grand Massster."

As soon as the words came out of his mouth, Trantore threw out his left arm, muttering as he stood. His chair slid back across the room into the bookshelves. Rathall who was still in his chair had been hurled high up into the rafters and was pinned to the ceiling, unable to move.

"I SAID THAT WAS ENOUGH," boomed Trantore, making the whole room shake as bits of dust fell down from the shaking rafters; the room went deadly silent.

"Soon we might have to go to war," said Trantore, now speaking in his usual toneless voice once more. "And we have a lot of preparation to do, and all you think about is bettering yourself and getting one more step closer to the top. Well, let's make an exception shall we, why don't you miss Meltoy out altogether and take a shot at the title, let's see what you've got." With that, Trantore brought his hand down, releasing his grip on Rathall. Which sent him thundering down from the ceiling, crashing down onto the floor, his chair breaking his fall and shattering into pieces.

Trantore waved both his hands in a triangular pattern, and the whole room tripled in size, then tripled again, leaving a vast arena in which to do battle. Trantore glided over to the far end, opposite Rathall. "Your move," he said.

Rathall was still on the floor, his splintered chair all around him. He was cowering and trying to take cover under what little shelter the shattered chair gave him. Rathall spread out his scaly hands in front of him and placed his head on the ground.

"Forgive me, Sssupreme Grand Massster, for I have been blinded by greed and foolissshnesss. I would never dream of duelling sssuch a powerful Massster asss yourself, do with me asss you sssee fit," hissed the pitiful Rathall.

There was a brief silence of uncertainty. "You have chosen your symbol as a snake well, Rathall, indeed it fits you lying there on your belly like one, and you have not only poisoned your looks, you have also poisoned your mind. You control your teachings, don't let your teaching control you. I will spare you for the moment, in the hope that you might prove worthy in the end. We will need more than a few snakes like you if we are to win."

Trantore crisscrossed his hands again, and the room reverted back to normal. Even Rathall's splintered chair was back at the table. Rathall slivered over and retook his place with his head still cowed.

Trantore stepped over to the table, waved his hand and his chair slid out so he could be seated. He looked at the other sorcerers who were all a bit bemused and bewildered. Half of them had only just wiped the sleep out of their eyes when they saw Rathall taking flying lessons and the chamber trebling in size. A few of them, especially Rickety who was now wide awake and had been since a piece of Rathall chair had hit him on the head, thought they were still dreaming. Until the pinch they had delivered to the back of their hands told them otherwise.

All apart from Rickety's; with the accumulation of old age and poor circulation, a message had been sent back from his brain, saying, 'I'll get back to you.' So, for now, Rickety just sat there in silence and looked on, awaiting the results of the pinch, which could take a couple of days or more.

"Where was I?" said Trantore as he looked at the next list of honours. He looked at the heading; it had a dark red snake crest on top.

"Ah, Rathall,"

There was a clanking sound, as he looked to his left he saw Rathall's chair topple over backwards and his scaly tail disappearing under the table. Trantore bent down and looked under the table. All he could see was a hood with two beaming yellow eyes with red slits staring at him.

"And why, may I ask, have you taken to hiding under the table?" he said.

"I thought you had changed your mind, Sssupreme Grand Massster," hissed Rathall, still with an image in his head of a lightning bolt hitting him when Trantore called his name.

"I will do if you don't get up and take your seat at the table. I have far better things to concern myself with than wasting my time on you," said Trantore in his toneless voice.

"Yesss, Sssupreme Grand Massster," hissed Rathall as he quickly slithered out from under the table, retaking his place upon his chair once more. The others couldn't quite see it, but if they had looked closely, they would have seen a sort of twisted smile under the hood of Trantore.

Although Trantore hadn't thrown a lightning bolt at Rathall, he had actually planted the image into his head when he called out his name, just to test how weak Rathall really was. Meltoy was the only sorcerer in the room that sensed the small amount of magic used for the mind trick.

Meltoy looked over at his archenemy. Rathall was still shaking slightly in his chair, you could just make it out, under his robe. Meltoy felt quite sorry for him. Making a fool out of Rathall was his job; but now it seems it was also The Supreme Grand Master's. Although Rathall was a powerful sorcerer, he was weak and relied on deceit and ferocious attacks. And now Meltoy wished he'd killed him in their last duel, just to save him from this misery.

Normally, the other sorcerers would have found the sight of Rathall in distress funny, but they had no intention of laughing and interrupting The Supreme Grand Master. And they certainly had no intention of visiting the ceiling, accompanied by their chairs.

"Is this true what I've read?" Trantore spoke out loud. "Out of nearly one hundred and fifty students, you haven't got a single defence spell? All your students are masters in attack, fire showers, flying larva in the shape of a dragon, and spells that rip the branches off trees and turn them into flying spears, but you have no defences."

Trantore flicked through the rest of the parchments in front of him from the other Masters. "Right, if the worst comes to the worst and we do go to war, then Ricket can provide you with sufficient cover."

"Huh," said Rickety at the mention of his name, and putting up a little protest at having to help Rathall.

However, if anyone was an expert in defences it was Rickety that's why no one ever challenged him, not even his own students, whose number were only three and they were nearly as old as he was. He was the only sorcerer who learnt only defence spells.

The reason that he was never challenged was that it was once written, a long time ago, that a young and up-and-coming sorcerer named Scraten challenged him to a duel. Rickety picked the battlefield: it was a hot and dusty desert. As soon as the duel began, Rickety sealed himself in a protective shield, followed by another protective shield, this one made out of ice, followed by an outer molten lava shield, which set rock hard, making an impenetrable outer shield, and there he sat, reading a book.

The story goes that the young Scraten threw everything he had at Rickety, but nothing got through. He even summoned the mighty Trogop, the great Earth Demon, but even with all his might, he couldn't break the seal to get at Rickety.

After about a week of constant battling on Scraten's part, and four and a half books later on Rickety's, Scraten started to weaken and the magical hold he had over Trogop lessened. Trogop had been out in the desert under the scorching sun for a whole week and was starting to get irritable; signs of cracking were beginning to appear all over his body. Finally, he had had enough. Without any warning, he turned around and attacked his Master. There wasn't much detail of what actually happened to Scraten; all apart from they never found the body, and Trogop went back to his realm on a full stomach.

Since that day, no one has ever challenged Rickety. They just skipped him and went straight to the rank above him, which suited Rickety just fine. He was happy at the bottom, no one ever bothered him, and that's just the way he liked it. You could go as far as to say that he was the only pacifist sorcerer alive, that's if sorcerers were allowed to be pacifists - no one has ever looked it up.

And his students shared the same ideals as he did; not a single one of them could conjure an attack spell, but they were masters in every form of defence that was known to them and even some they had made themselves.

Rickety looked over at Rathall and could just about make out his snake-like eyes, staring at him, and the scales around his face.

"It will be a pleasure working with such a high-ranking sorcerer," said Rickety, bowing his head and smiled, not meaning a damn word of it.

Rathall nodded his head in acknowledgement.

Rickety despised sorcerers like Rathall, for even though sorcerers were supposed to be bad, Rathall gave 'bad' a bad name.

"That's that sorted then," said Trantore.

"Under Attack we have 212 for Fire, 72 for Earth and for Defence, 44 for Water and 37 for Wind, with 41 Demons to back us up, that's a total of 406. That should be enough. We will go over the battle plan when we know what we will be up against but keep your students on their toes and practising. Any questions?" Trantore looked around at the other Masters.

"Good, I will get back to you when it's time, you may leave" concluded Trantore.

Rickety and the rest of the lower-ranking sorcerers went to leave the table. In fact, Rickety had started the process over twenty minutes ago as it took him that long to get up, he had a knack at knowing when meetings were coming to an end and found twenty minutes was enough warning to send a message down to his legs to start working.

"I've got a minor one, Supreme Grand Master," said Meltoy.

Trantore fixed his gaze on Meltoy. He liked Meltoy as a fellow sorcerer because he was a very powerful one. But disliked some of his qualities, mainly due to the fact that he had never killed Rathall in any of the duels they had had. Trantore couldn't work out whether it was a sign of weakness on Meltoy's side or that he was just pure evil and liked seeing Rathall squirm as he looked down on him from his tower every night. Where Rathall would be without fail, looking up and hissing at him, in a false sense of hope; that one day the higher tower would be his.

"And what is that?" said Trantore as he addressed Meltoy, interested in what Meltoy had to say.

"Well, I know you would have thought about this, Supreme Grand Master, and I'm only mentioning it because the matter hasn't been addressed, but all these demons in one place . . . Do you think that would be wise Supreme Grand Master, seeing as they have probably all fought each other in their lifetime? Many of which will be holding personal grudges" said Meltoy cautiously.

There was an uncomfortable pause from the other sorcerers, especially from Rickety, who was half-crouched from sitting to standing up, to walking out the door when the question was put forward. And it was now too late to cancel the movement order he had sent his legs earlier. He now froze, not wanting to move and interrupt The Supreme Grand Master. But it was a very uncomfortable pause for Rickety. Being over six thousand and two years old, his legs weren't as supple as they used to be and even then, they weren't that supple; so, as the pain started to take hold of his legs, he began to sweat.

Trantore's eyes seemed to flare up just a fraction at Meltoy's question. "I have thought of that, Master Meltoy." Meltoy now felt uneasy, as it was the first time Trantore had addressed any of them using their full title.

"And you were right to bring it up. But, seeing as we are all Masters here, I'm holding you all personally responsible for your own faculty's demons. Any demons that get out of control, you will be held responsible, so I suggest you tell your students to make that perfectly clear when talking to them. They must tell their demons that there will be no personal wars between the realms. Do I make myself clear?

"Yes, Supreme Grand Master," came a collective voice from around the table.

"Anything else?" He looked around the table and set his gaze on Meltoy, who bowed his head in respect. "You may leave," concluded Trantore.

With that, there was thud as Rickety fell to the floor. Penta and Wubuck helped him up and carried him to the door.

"My legs just went numb, I don't know what happened." Came the mutterings of Rickety as they lead him of down the corridor.

*

The sun was just coming up over the dwarfen camp when the whole camp was awoken by a thudding noise, accompanied by the ground shaking. Torms opened his eyes from underneath his blanket.

"AMBUSH!" Rang out around the camp, as a panic-stricken soldier, who was still half asleep; and had just been rudely awoken by the noise screamed out in horror.

"ROCKFALL!" came from the miner's camp as they too leapt from their sleep.

Sinat also jumped up and shouted something, but Torms wished to ignore the foul language. Torms pulled his blanket off and stood up. He looked around and saw the whole camp was awake and staring in one direction. He followed their gaze until it fell upon the drivers' small camp.

All ten drivers were standing in their long-johns, with only their big heavy boots on to keep them company. Bucket was standing at the front facing them shouting out orders.

"AND AGAIN!" shouted the now very wheezy Bucket, demonstrating how to do a star jump, followed by the others trying to copy him. Well if you could call it a star jump. As soon as their feet left the ground, they came crashing back down again, their arms only just making it to shoulder height before gravity took effect and forced all the fat back down.

The sweat was pouring off them, and the puffing and wheezing noises that were flooding out over the camp and into the woods; were starting to scare all the wildlife away.

"AND CHANGE!" shouted Bucket as he attempted to do another exercise - even though the whole camp had tilted their heads to the left, they still couldn't work out what it was. No one said a word, they just stood there with their mouths open, taking it all in, as Sacul walked over to Torms.

"What do you think they're doing, do you think it's one of their birthdays, and this is some sort of drivers' ritual?" asked Sacul, still with his eyes transfixed on the drivers.

"No, Sacul," Torms replied. "I do believe they are trying to exercise."

"AND CHANGE!" flooded across the camp once more.

"What are they doing now? It looks like fast walking," said Sacul.

"I'll grant you that, it looks like fast walking, but I've seen them walk, and that's definitely them attempting to run," added Torms.

The show went on for about ten minutes, during which time the whole camp stood there in wonder and disbelief. The spectacle came to an end when Bucket collapsed on the floor. The other drivers didn't hang around, and since they had been copying everything he had been doing all morning, did the same and hit the deck.

There was one final earth tremor that ripped across the floor. As it did, a couple of the braver animals that had taken cover and kept out of sight came darting out of the woods into the clearing, jumping, diving, and running, and making all sorts of weird noises; with a look of sheer panic in their eyes.

The camp was starting to whisper, and this led on to talking. Although they thought it quite funny, no one was prepared to laugh, due to the fact that they didn't want ten sweaty fat drivers coming their way dressed only in their long-johns and boots. It took a lot to scare the Blood Born, but they thought this image was best left in their heads and not made into reality; as shiver ran down their spines at the thought of it.

After about fifteen minutes, everything was back to normal. The sound of wheezing had been replaced with the sound of sizzling fat in the pans, as breakfast was being cooked all over the camp. Whist Bucket, and the others got their breath back.

Bucket rolled over onto his front, then up onto his knees. He managed to stand up, but his left leg felt like jelly. "Right then, that's it for today, let's hit the showers," he said as he strode off towards the back of the wagons, leaving the others all staring at each other. But, one by one they followed him.

When they got to the showers at the back of the wagons, it consisted of a bucket filled with cold water, and it was firmly nestled in the hands of Bucket. One by one, he threw the cold water over them. Usually, this would have caused a reaction in a normal dwarf, but seeing as they were carrying so much fat, they didn't even feel it; In fact, it was quite refreshing.

After the shower, they all stood by the fire that was still burning from the night before and dried themselves off. Bucket was the first one to get dried and walked off, leaving the others talking and wondering if they had actually agreed to be put through all this pain. Or somehow, had the heat of the moment last night clouded their judgement now that they were starting to feel the full effect of their actions, as their legs began to feel stiff. Well, at least a good hearty breakfast would cheer them up, they decided as they stoked the fire and got the pans out. One of them hurried off to get some food off the wagon: even though he was aching, the thought of food gave him an extra burst of energy.

Bucket returned just as they were about to put the sausages in the pan. You could hear the pan fat sizzling as bits flew out; as if trying to pull the sausages in.

"NO, YOU DON'T!" shouted Bucket.

The driver holding the sausages looked up.

"There'll be no more of that," added Bucket.

Now all the other drivers were bemused and were looking at one another to get support and to challenge the boss, but no one came forward.

"From now on we're going to eat healthy."

"Healthy?" said the driver, who was holding the sausages over the pan; looking as if he was just about to dribble.

"But we're _drivers_ ," said another, as a final cry for help.

"Yes, we are," said Bucket. "Big, fat, overweight ones, who have never been in female company, unless you count your mothers. So, I've brought in some help."

"Is it a female dwarf?" said one of the younger enthusiastic drivers.

"No, it's not a female dwarf," snapped Bucket. "Ha-hum," he cleared his throat ready for an announcement. "Fellow drivers, I give you . . ." he now had their full and undivided attention. Even the driver with sausages had put them down.

"Odall," announced Bucket.

Now Odall had been standing behind him all this time, but you just couldn't see him, stepped out into the clearing. The drivers let out a sigh of discontent, especially the youngest one, as he thought Bucket might have been joking and there actually was a wagon-load of female dwarfs parked up around the corner.

"How's a philosopher going to help?" said one of the drivers.

"Oh, he's not just a philosopher, he is also a great cook. He's going to show us how to eat healthily, so no more of this greasy food from now on its. Healthy! Healthy! Healthy!" said Bucket, swinging his arms across his body and pointing towards Odall as if he was a travelling sales dwarf trying to sell something to an unwilling audience.

"Thank you, Bucket," said Odall, looking at Bucket doing his arm movements, accompanied with a big smile on his face. Then he turned his attention to the others.

"From now on, you can have three meals a day like the rest of us and not one continuous one. That starts when you get up and carries on throughout the day, right up until you go to bed. That's no good for you. You can start with breakfast, but no more fried food. You can have bread and porridge. I've asked the soldiers over there if you can have their porridge in exchange for your usual sausage, bacon and eggs, and out of the kindness of their hearts they kindly agreed."

The drivers turned their heads and scowled at the soldiers, who were by now on their second helping of sausages. When the soldiers saw them looking, they all raised their bowls and plates and let out a victorious cheer. One of the drivers had had enough and went to get up.

"Leave it," said Bucket. "They're only jealous." The driver just stared at Bucket as if he were mad.

"And continuing," said Odall. "You can have two ham sandwiches for dinner, with an apple, and for your supper, a nice hot stew."

Odall paused for a moment, to give the shocked drivers a little time to get their breath back, before continuing. "And Just on the off chance that a couple of pounds of sausages might mistakenly get thrown in by accident. I'll be cooking it . . . as we wouldn't want that now would we." Concluded Odall with a smile.

There was even a bigger sigh now, as their last hope had just packed its bags and left on the first wagon out of there, which is where most of them wanted to be right now, preferably with a nice big hamper next to them.

"Right, to start with, let's put all this food back and get the porridge off the wagon." No one moved.

"Come on, chop-chop, or we'll miss breakfast altogether." Ordered Odall clapping his hands together. This seemed to work; mentioning the word 'miss' and 'breakfast' in the same sentence had an overwhelming effect on them, as they all got up to go to fetch the porridge.

"I don't know why you're all going, it doesn't take nine of you to get the porridge. And if any of you are thinking of going to your private stash of food or your trusty lunchboxes for a snack, don't bother. Bucket showed me where they were all stashed, and don't think I didn't get all of them because I did, even the cooked chicken that was strapped to the underside of a pony."

"Drat!" said one of the drivers; he kicked the ground while the others just stood there, with a disheartened look on their faces. And with much reluctance, two of them went off to take the food back and get the porridge; under the watchful eye of Odall.

*

The sun was shining; it was late afternoon. Meltoy was just finishing off in his lecture room.

"So, you see the importance of it all, those of you that have a brown band on, need to talk to your demons about holding grudges against old rivals. And make it quite clear, all that has happened in the past must stay in the past and be forgotten. The rest of you keep practising. Now, go and summon your demons, but make sure you stay apart from each other. We don't want any accidental meetings now, do we? Class dismissed," concluded Meltoy.

When all the students had left, he got down from his pulpit, and made his way to the little room at the back, his private study or his "Sorcerer's Sanctuary" as he liked to call it; the door opened as he approached and there in front of him was his trusted chair, next to his desk. Meltoy sat down shaking his head. "I don't know, I just don't know," he said to himself quietly.

Freno, one of Meltoy's students, had tucked himself away in a small room in a nice quiet part of the fortress and started muttering and chanting. After about five seconds books started falling off a small shelf in the corner as the room began to tremble. There was a red flash of light, and there was Zacrog, face to face with Freno, literally. Because of Freno's lack of judgement, he had forgotten that Zacrog was twenty-foot-tall and about the same wide; the room Freno had chosen wasn't much bigger.

So Freno now found himself pinned up against the wall, with Zacrog's face touching his. Zacrog was all crunched up, with his knees tucked up, touching his chin.

"Master, you have summoned me," spoke Zacrog, his foul breath making Freno's eyes water.

"Yes, I have. I have something important to tell you."

"If it's about the cards, Master . . ."

"No, no, it's something more important than that," said Freno moving his arm from underneath Zacrog's foot, as it was beginning to go numb. He was also getting a bit fidgety and very distressed at having a three-thousand-pound demon breathing in his face. Freno kept thinking, one false sneeze or burp on the demon's behalf, and it would leave a smouldering hole where his head used to be.

"There might be a fight coming up."

"Yes, Master?"

"Well, it might be a big fight, more like a battle," said Freno, not really knowing how to approach the subject.

Zacrog's eyes lit up at the mention of a battle. "Who with, Master? A Water Demon, or maybe an Earth?"

"No, not that kind of battle. You might have to do battle against elves and dwarfs and anything else that comes running at you, trying to take your head off."

"A WAR, Master," said the demon, smiling and showing Freno his razor-sharp teeth. Some were chipped, and others had the remains of his last meal on them.

Freno started to shake, and this was a bad thing to do in front of a demon, especially if it was Zacrog. If you show any sign of weakness or fear in front of a demon - well, let's just say you'll never show it again.

"Yes, a war," said Freno in a deep, commanding voice. Trying to gain control of the situation. "But a war with a difference: you will have help on the battlefield, and I don't mean us sorcerers. You will be part of a demon . . ." Freno paused, as he didn't know how to put it. ". . . Um, a fighting force. There won't just be you there, there will be Earth, Water, Wind and, of course, Fire Demons, forty-one in total, and you will be expected to fight side by side."

Now, this caught Zacrog's full attention his eyes narrowed, as he stared hard at Freno.

"Side by side, Master?"

"Yes, why have you got a problem with that?" said the now petrified Freno, still trying to keep control.

Zacrog, still staring at Freno paused for a moment, then smiled to himself, but only softly, as he didn't want his Master to see. "No, Master, I have no problem with that," he said, in a somewhat cynical way.

"Very well then, you may go." And with that, Freno muttered a few ancient words and the room was empty, much to his relief. Freno slumped to the floor. That was the first time he had seen Zacrog up close, and he made a mental note to always summon him in the open from now on.

*

The convoy was moving along nicely and had been all day, but it was starting to take its toll on the drivers especially Bucket. Nakie had been testing his will power, eating chicken after chicken from the moment they had set off that morning. They had stopped earlier for dinner. But all Bucket and the rest of the drivers had had were their sandwiches, under the watchful eye of Odall.

They had been back on the road five hours, with another two hours to go before they stopped for the night. All you could hear were the driver's bellies rumbling as they sat upon their wagons. When it first happened, the soldiers either side of them kept looking up at the sky, looking for lightning, as they thought it was thunder but couldn't work it out; as there wasn't a cloud in sight.

"So, how long are you going to be on this diet?" asked Nakie, with his face stuffed full of chicken.

Bucket looked over to answer Nakie, but he couldn't get the words out. He just stared at the chicken Nakie had his face buried in. Bucket was beginning to dribble, and the look on his face was a look of someone who had been hypnotised as he stretched out his hand to touch the chicken. He got within a foot before he was suddenly and somewhat violently slapped out of it by Nakie, who was now staring at him, still with the chicken in his mouth and a wild look in his eyes.

"Now, now, leave Nakie's food alone," said Odall, shoving his head out from under the canvas sheet on the back of Bucket's wagon.

"AAAH!" shouted Bucket, with a mad frenzied scream. Nakie had just slapped him seven ways sideways, and now Odall was jumping out, scaring him.

"How long have you been there?" cried Bucket, still in shock.

"Oh, since dinnertime. I sneaked on when you weren't looking, just after I made and packed Nakie a lunchbox and told him he was under strict instructions not to share it with anyone, which suited him just fine if I recall. Remember, no pain, no gain!" said Odall as he disappeared back under the canvas again.

Bucket sat upon his wagon with a great big, dirty red hand-mark on his face and his belly rumbling. He put his hand up and felt the swelling to his face; then he looked over to Nakie, who was busy eating his chicken. He then lifted up the canvas flap behind him, but Odall was gone. Bucket dropped the flap back down and turned to face the front. Was he imagining things? did all that just really happen? Or was it a lack of food playing tricks with his mind? One thing was for sure, the pain he had in his stomach was now replaced by an even larger one on the side of his face, courtesy of Nakie.

But, nevertheless, the wagon rolled on, and Bucket just sat there, oblivious to his surroundings or anything else that was going on around him.

*

Zacrog was sitting in the Fire Realm. There were separate realms for Earth, Wind and Water as well, but these realms weren't really anywhere or any place, they just existed, neither here nor there, and you couldn't get to them by normal means. You had to use magic to summon demons in and out of their realms. The realms didn't really have any fixed shape, structure or size, they just seemed to go on forever and took on the features of the inhabiting demons.

Zacrog was sitting upon a fiery slab of rock. He had just been telling the other Fire Demons all about the upcoming war in great detail and had quoted Freno word for word. In front of him were about forty to fifty Fire Demons, all staring at him. Some were standing, some were sitting, ranging in size from tall to thin to low and wide. There were even smaller demons perched on the shoulders of the bigger ones.

Demons of the same element usually got on with one another, and even if they did get summoned to do battle against each other, they hardly ever gave it their all. There might be big explosions of some sort, even a few missing limbs every now and then, but never anything serious. But you summon a Fire Demon and a Water Demon and put them to battle, and they'll fight to the death. But the sorcerers usually send their demons back to their realms before they lose them forever. So, all at once, the demons were thinking the same thing: revenge.

"How can we make sure we all get summoned onto the same battlefield?" shouted out one of the demons.

"With these," said Zacrog as he pulled out a piece of card from thin air.

*

The wagons had stopped and been unpacked, and the fires were burning. Night had set in; all around the camp you could see the faces of the dwarfs, lit up by the various fires. Most of them had a smile attached to it, due to the fact that Odall was in some sort of undergarment while ten drivers were stripped down to their long-johns running around him in a circle. Well, one or two of them were just walking, but they were still pouring out a good sweat. Then, much to the enjoyment of the camp, Odall would reach down for his wooden whistle tied around his neck by a bit of old string and give it a blow. Which one of the Blood Born had made him earlier, as they wanted to make sure Odall kept the drivers exercising as the more he did, the better their food got.

Odall was giving out a series of bursts. One to change direction, two to start star jumps, three to do push-ups and so on. This was also the call for some of the more drunken miners to join in, mimicking the exercises that the drivers were doing, and thus entertaining their fellow miners by the campfire.

After about thirty minutes, only one of the drivers was still standing; not because he was fit, because he had been so exhausted that he had actually fallen asleep standing up.

There was one long, final blow on the whistle. "That's the lot for today, me old mates," shouted Odall. "See you at daybreak." There was a collective groan from the drivers, who were on the floor. Odall looked around, picked up his belongings, and strolled off towards Torms and the others.

It wasn't hard to see which campfire theirs was. It was the one that looked as if, two giant boulders had decided they were cold and had come out of the woods and plonked themselves down by the fire. As Odall got closer, the boulders turned into Bash'm, and Beat'm, with Sacul sat like a small rock next to them. Next to them were Torms, the Captain, Ganga, Sinat, and Tennant, all huddled around the map.

"So, then, that's it. Tomorrow we split up the wagons; they'll take the main track two hours apart while the rest of us head off into the Emerald Forest." Torms had his finger outstretched, tracing a footpath on the map. "We will camp here the first night and the second night here, and Sinat, if you camp the wagons here and here.I've already gone over it with the Captain, and he has picked out the best spots. As stated before, I'll be taking the Captain, thirty Blood Born and fifteen miners, and accompanying me will be Ganga, Sacul, and the twins. You, Tennant, will be on the cart with Odall, driven by Sinat; behind you will be the first of the wagons. The second set will be following you, under the control and guidance of Bucket, and accompanying him will be Nakie. So, then, is everyone happy with what they have to do? Remember, we will only be about a quarter of a mile away from you in the forest, so any trouble, blow your horns." Torms looked around. 'Where's Bucket?"

Odall stepped into the circle tucking in his shirt. "Oh, he's just having a bit of a lie-down, don't worry, I'll remind him about the horns in the morning, during our workout."

"Oh, I was going to ask you about that, Odall," said Torms.

"Don't you think you're pushing then a bit hard?"

"No, no not at all, the first week is always the hardest," said Odall with a smile on his face.

Torms shook his head as he looked over towards the drivers that were still slumped on the ground. "Oh well, I suppose you know what you're doing. Right, everyone, get a good night's sleep, you'll be needing it, as tomorrow we begin our journey through the Emerald Forest."

No one heard it, but there was a faint rustling of leaves overhead as a jet-black raven flew out between the canopy and off into the night.

Torms was awoken by the sound of sizzling sausages coming from a giant pan that Nakie was holding and the faint noise of intermittent bursts on a whistle, followed by 'One two, one two ...' coming out of the woods. He looked around and saw Sacul, already packed and sitting on his rucksack.

"Morning!" shouted Sacul as he got up and raced off to get Torms some breakfast.

Then the drivers appeared out of the woods. They looked like they were ready to drop, running in their long-johns, with their big leather boots on.

"Come on! Come on!" shouted Odall as he ran past Bucket, who was at the front.

"Get those knees up!" he shouted as he led the drivers through the camp, much to the amusement of the others.

"You've got bigger melons than my missus," said one of the soldiers as they ran past.

"You're right there," said another.

"And they look softer," said another.

"Just ignore them," shouted Odall as they headed for the shower, which was the customary bucket of cold water awaiting them behind the wagons.

The camp settled back down again, and everyone was packing up and sorting out their things for the journey into the Emerald Forest. All apart from three soldiers, who seemed to be fighting. Every now and again you could hear one shouting, "How do you know how soft her melons are?" Followed by a thump and a scream.

The Captain didn't break it up, he thought it best to leave it and let them get it out of their systems, as there would be no room for fighting once they entered the Emerald Forest. They had to keep the noise down to a minimum, and not draw any attention to themselves, no matter what, if the Elves knew they were in there, and with such numbers, anything could happen.

All the wagons were lined up and packed. Tennant was there doing the final checks, with Bucket moping around behind him holding his stomach. Tennant was busy running around the wagons, his long robe trailing behind him. Now and then he'd look up, count out loud, then make a tick in his book.

"Right, that's the lot," said Tennant to Bucket.

"And have you split your drivers into groups?" Bucket nodded.

"And don't forget that the two convoys must be two hours apart, and we meet up again tonight in the first clearing," added Tennant.

"Yeah, first clearing," muttered Bucket.

"I'll be in the cart with Sinat. I'll be in charge of the first five wagons, and then you'll be in charge of the second set."

Tennant paused as Rule 53 entered his head, which was:

_Rule 53: Never under any circumstances take charge of anything unless it 's your own senses._

Tennant thought for a few seconds before continuing, "Like I said SINAT will be in charge of the first convoy and I will be advising." This time, there was no answer from Bucket.

"Have you been listening to a word I've said?" snapped Tennant.

Bucket seemed to snap out of the daze he was in. "What?"

"You'll follow us two hours later with the second set of wagons. You're in charge," snapped Tennant, then walked off to check on another wagon.

Bucket couldn't believe his luck. He was going to be left two hours behind everyone else, with five wagons, and one of them was loaded with food; and on top of all that, he was in charge. A big smile appeared on his face as he touched his stomach. 'Not long now, I'll soon have you full again,' he thought.

"Oh, and I nearly forgot," said Tennant, as his head reappeared around the wagon.

"Odall will be travelling with you. He put in his request last night, and I agreed. Well, no time to waste," said Tennant as he walked off once more.

There was an almighty wail as Bucket sank to his knees, hitting the floor sobbing.

"How much more can a dwarf take!" he cried out, as his fists pounded the ground. He suddenly stopped. "Wait, maybe I could kill him or push him off the wagon. Yes, yes, that's it, I'll push him off the wagon, a fall like that would kill him." Bucket began to smile.

"No, no, what am I thinking!" he shouted as he banged his head against one of the wheels on his wagon. "It's only a diet, I must be strong," he said to himself as he wiped the tears from his eyes, stood up, brushed the dirt from his trousers and turned around.

"Ahh!" he cried as he came face to face with Odall, who had been standing behind him holding a tiny lunchbox with Bucket's name written on the lid.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you, just thought I'd bring you your lunchbox. I made it myself, watercress sandwiches. I've handed the other drivers their boxes and given the guards strict instructions to keep an eye on them," said Odall.

He held out the lunchbox for Bucket to take, but Bucket just stood there staring at Odall. Bucket started to sweat, his eyes were wide open, his head kept twitching, and he had a mad grin on his face, half-smile, half-twitch, as he began muttering something.

Odall couldn't quite make it out, so he moved closer and turned an ear towards Bucket's face. Odall could just make out the word "watercress" when suddenly he felt two hands around his throat as he was being lifted off the floor. Then he was flung around, being throttled backwards and forwards. Odall's world began to spin, and all he could hear was Bucket shouting, "WATERCRESS!"

Then came a thudding noise and he fell to the ground, face down. He then felt a great weight across his back, as it went dark. Something was pinning him to the floor; he couldn't move. Then, just as suddenly as the weight had appeared, it was gone again, and he found himself being lifted off the ground, this time by his arms and not his throat, and finally ended up back on his feet.

Odall shook his head, as everything was still a little bit blurry, and put a hand up to his throat.

"Here you go," came a voice.

Odall stared in the direction of the voice and Torms came into view, holding a tankard of water.

"Get that down you," said Torms, passing the tankard to Odall. "It's a good job Tennant has an obsession to recheck everything twice and came back to check Bucket's wagon and raised the alarm. I told you, you were pushing them too hard."

With the last comment, there was muttering from Tennant about not having an obsession and that he was just doing his job correctly. But, as the advisor turned to the twins for a little support, they turned away, filled their cheeks and puckered their lips.

"What happened?" said Odall as he looked around and saw Bucket lying flat out on the floor.

"Well, by the time we got here, you were two feet off the ground being strangled, with sandwiches flying everywhere. So Bash'm clumped Bucket around the head with the back of his axe, knocking him clean out. Then Bucket fell on top of you, and Beat'm pulled you out. We thought you were a goner for a moment." Said Torms, giving an accurate account of what had just prevailed. There was now a groaning noise coming from the floor.

"What happened, what hit me, where am I?" said the confused Bucket as he was getting up on all fours. Then he decided to just turn around and sit on the floor. He felt the back of his head. "I'm bleeding," he said, still trying to remember what had happened. All he could remember was checking the cart with Tennant, feeling hungry, and Odall holding a lunchbox.

Bucket looked over and saw Odall staring at him and holding a tankard that was now starting to shake.

"What happened to him?" said Bucket. "And why is my head bleeding?"

Tennant walked over to Bucket, and with a nod of his head Bash'm chucked a bucket of cold water over him.

"Now then, remember any more?" said Tennant.

Bucket shook his head from side to side.

With another nod from Tennant, it was now Beat'm's turn to empty the contents of his bucket over the driver.

"Yes, yes, wait a minute: _watercress_ , that's it. Someone attacked us with a watercress sandwich," said Bucket, with a vague look on his face; as if had just remembered something important.

"And do you think a watercress sandwich would knock you out then? Do you?" said Tennant sarcastically.

Bucket sat there scratching his head. "Maybe if the bread was stale and it caught you at the right angle," said Bucket, looking up at Tennant from where he was sitting, like a pupil to a teacher, waiting to see if his answer was right.

"No, you weren't savagely attacked by an assailant wielding a watercress sandwich - this is pointless," said Tennant, throwing his hands up.

Torms stepped in to put an end to it all. "Bash'm, Beat'm load Bucket onto his wagon. Nakie" shouted Torms. Nakie's head appeared from around the wagon.

"Do you think you could drive the wagon?" asked Torms.

"No problem, me old mate," replied Nakie, wiping his mouth.

"What's that you're eating?" asked Torms as he walked over.

"Oh, just something I found lying around on the floor, that's all," grunted Nakie. In Nakie's rules, anything on the floor belonged to him.

Torms took a closer look. "It's a sandwich, and there's bits of it in your beard." He shook his head. "Well, let's stop wasting time and get up on the wagon, and look after Bucket while you're up there, he's still a bit dazed," said Torms as he turned around to Odall.

"And how do you feel now?" asked Torms.

Odall straightened himself up. "Fine, thank you. I think it was down to the salt intake, I've been giving the drivers. I must cut it down a bit," said Odall as he walked over to the wagon and climbed up next to Bucket.

Bucket turned, looked at Odall, and then back at the track again, still in a trance-like state. The wagon rocked as Nakie pulled himself up onto the driver's seat. Bucket turned his head again and looked at Nakie, but this time he didn't turn back to stare at the road. Instead, his gaze was fixed on Nakie's beard; he was staring at a bit of watercress that was stuck to it.

"AH. WATERCRESS!" shouted Bucket, as he dived headfirst off the wagon and landed in a heap on the floor.

"What is it now?" said Torms as he walked over to examine what was going on and was confronted with Bucket lying face down on the floor.

"What happened?" sighed Torms, as he turned and looked up at Nakie.

"What? I didn't do anything," snapped Nakie.

"Oh, I suppose he just got up and threw himself headfirst off the wagon, is that what I am supposed to believe?"

"Well, not exactly," said Nakie. "He shouted 'Watercress' first."

Odall nodded. "Yes, that's right, he did shout 'Watercress' just before he jumped, I can vouch for that."

"I haven't got time for this, Bash'm, Beat'm, put him back up on the wagon. Nakie, brush the crumbs out of your beard and you're in charge of the second convoy, until Bucket here comes to his senses and decides that dwarfs weren't meant to fly." Said Torms shaking his head.

"If anybody were to come across the wagons and saw the drivers running around in their long-johns and Bucket throwing himself off one of them. There's no way they'd think they were part of an expedition, they'd probably think they were some kind of circus freak act or something." Torms muttered to himself as he walked up to the group of miners and soldiers that were gathered.

"Here you go," said the Captain, handing Torms some sort of green clothing. Torms looked around; everyone was dressed the same.

"So, we don't stand out in the forest, it will help us blend into our surroundings," said the Captain.

"Oh yes, very good, you soldiers think of everything."

"I had them loaded onto the wagons before we left. Always be prepared, that's my motto," said the Captain.

Torms got changed into his new clothes. They were all different shades of green from the tunic to the trousers. Sacul was grinning from ear to ear, walking up and down in his uniform. He kept looking at the others, then at himself; he felt part of a team. All this time he knew that they were on a secret expedition, but now they had secret uniforms to match. This was the life, 'this is what he had been born for.' He thought, as he picked up his rucksack, swinging it over his shoulder.

"Right then, time to set off," said Torms.

Torms looked over at their cart with Sinat and Tennant in, and behind them the first of the five wagons, and further back still, Nakie and the second team. Torms put his hand up. Sinat and Nakie gave him a nod.

"Right then, let's do it," were Torms's final words as he set off at the front of the pack. He could hear the wagons one by one pull away and follow on behind him as he walked. They had about a quarter of a mile walk before they got to the base of the Ferral Mountains. At which time, they would disappear into the Emerald Forest, while Sinat and Tennant would lead the first set of wagons along the main track. Nakie would stop at the base of the mountains, give it two hours, and then follow. Then he would catch up and camp with Sinat and the others later that night.

Before Torms knew it, they had reached the base of the Ferral Mountains. The main track stretched out in front of them. He stopped and gave a quick glance over his shoulder, Sinat gave him a nod as he continued along the main track. Nakie pulled up his wagon, leant over to a basket that was next to Odall, and proceeded to eat a drumstick that he had packed earlier.

Torms turned and followed the others, and as he disappeared into the dense forest, he had an uneasy feeling stirring within his stomach, the mountains he knew but forest, that was something completely different.

The Captain had decided to put Bash'm, and Beat'm at the front, to clear a path for them. As the small party made its way through dense undergrowth; some of the ferns were taller than the dwarfs, but they hacked their way through it. Everyone was trying not to make too much noise. But because they couldn't see where they were going, there was quite a lot of thuds and the odd sound of a dwarf falling: backed up by a lot of swearing.

Torms ordered them to stop, he took out the map then fought his way through some ferns to where he thought the Captain might be.

"Any clues?" asked Torms, as he found the Captain behind a rather quirky-looking fern.

They both looked at the map. "Well, according to the map there should be a small path along here somewhere," said the Captain, checking the map then looking up at the sky, trying to work out which way they were facing by the sun.

"I know," said Torms, as he disappeared into the ferns again. You couldn't quite see him, but you could see the ferns moving as he headed towards the twins, only finding them as he stumbled into them. As Torms had guessed, Sacul was with them.

"Right then, Sacul you climb up onto Bash'm's shoulders and tell me what you see."

"Right you are," replied Sacul and without having to be told twice, he took off his rucksack and put down his throwing axes.

Beat'm picked him up and placed him on Bash'm's shoulders.

"What can you see?" asked Torms.

"Trees!"

"What?"

"Trees, and lots of them," replied Sacul.

Torms sighed. "Apart from the trees, can you see a path?"

"No!"

"Well, look harder."

"No, just trees," said Sacul.

"Well, stand up on his shoulders, and get a better look," cried out Torms, getting a little frustrated.

After kneeing Bash'm in the face and poking him in the eye, Sacul was standing on his shoulders with Bash'm's hands clasped around his ankles like giant shackles.

"Oh, wait a minute, I can just make out a small path, just past the big rock."

"That's it," said Torms. "Right, down you get."

Sacul gave Beat'm a nod, and jumped off Bash'm's shoulders, and right on queue he was caught by Beat'm, who placed him firmly on the ground.

"Sacul, the twins aren't there for your amusement, they are my personal bodyguards."

"We don't mind, boss," said the twins in unison.

It was clear to Torms that Bash'm, and Beat'm had taken quite a shine to Sacul. They looked on him as a younger brother and seeing as he had Nakie as a cousin, they wouldn't have looked out of place if he was. Though Torms.

"Right, let's get going." Torms pointed out to the twins which way to head for, and they resumed their hacking away at the ferns, eventually coming across the big rock, and just beyond that, the path they were looking for.

Torms again pulled out the map and was surprised to find the big rock was actually marked on the route. He made a mental note; next time he was in the kingdom, to pay the map shop a visit and take the - how did the dwarf in the shop say it? - oh yes, 'Fellow adventurer,' out for a drink.

Torms looked at the map. The Captain came over to join him. "What does that look like to you?" asked Torms of the Captain.

The Captain turned the map around in his hand. "It looks like a giant V," answered the Captain.

"That's what I thought, oh well, the map hasn't been wrong so far." And with that, Torms took a final glance at the map, rolled it up and stuck it back within his tunic.

"This way, single file, Bash'm at the front, and Beat'm if you don't mind bringing up the rear just in case someone decides to creep up on us, and Bash'm, tell me when you get to a giant V."

"What, boss?" said Bash'm, scratching his head.

"Don't worry, just keep your eyes peeled," said Torms, ushering Bash'm forward.

Sacul raced up ahead and pushed in behind Bash'm, he was enjoying every minute of it, looking this way and then that, at the different trees and colours. He had only travelled through the Emerald Forest before on the cart and spent the odd night, or two camped in a clearing on the main track, but that was nothing compared to the splendour and beauty of the different varieties of trees he was now walking through. Every now then, he'd be staring at a tree and walk straight into the back of Bash'm.

He wasn't the only one enjoying the view, pretty much all the dwarfs were as they walked along in silence; though they wouldn't admit it, especially not the miners, given a choice, they preferred rock to bark anytime, but this was a nice change.

But they weren't alone. High up in the trees sat a black raven, perched on a branch, watching as the party carried on into the forest, following the path as it twisted through the Emerald Forest.

Nakie was tucking into his fourth chicken when Odall cleared his throat. "Ha-hum."

"Oh, sorry, Odall," said Nakie. "If you want some, there's plenty in the basket, help yourself."

"That's not it, Nakie. Don't you think we should be getting on? I think the drivers have been tortured enough by watching you eat your way through four chickens in the past two hours," said Odall subtly.

Nakie shoved the rest of the chicken in his mouth, and wiping the grease from his chin and beard, picked up the reins, looked over his shoulder, and gave the driver behind a nod. The driver let out a sigh of relief: he'd heard the story about Bucket and the watercress sandwich and sitting there watching Nakie eating, he didn't know how much more he could take. But at least now he was moving and had the scenery to take his mind off food. The drivers had actually drawn straws to see who was going to be following Nakie. Knowing how much he ate, they knew it would be almost certain mental torture. So, during the two-hour break, they drew straws, and Addsell lost; but they did agree to draw again each morning, just to make it fair.

Odall turned his attention to Nakie to start a conversation. He had already tried to talk to the guard who was sitting next to him, but all he got was, "Yes, sir, no, sir," and every other military answer that was short and sweet, and always said in a fashion that only a soldier knows. Which actually means when interpreted properly, "Sod off, I'm busy."

Which they were, the two guards sat at the front were scanning the trees for anything that moved. They hadn't been selected to be in The Blood Born Guards for nothing.

They had started off like any other soldier, doing the basics like marching, taking orders, and all the standard stuff. Then, one day there they were minding their own business, guarding a door as usual, when a note appeared under the door. Well, all the guards had heard the stories, but when it happened to them they didn't know what to do: read it or just kick it back under and pretend they saw nothing, then spend the rest of their career guarding doors, thinking 'What if?'

But for the ones who did read it, it wasn't an automatic entry into The Blood Born Guards. It would just say, " _Ever wondered what 's behind this door? Open it at twenty-two hundred hours. No sooner, no later."_ And that was it.

Some dwarfs had been known to guard that very said door and never see a note. Others just gently tapped it back under with their foot and then spent the rest of the watch moving uneasily from foot to foot, gently whistling. Then, the next day, they would usually find themselves guarding the servant's toilets for the next twenty years, only to find themselves moved on to guarding the laundry room in their later years.

But, the ones who did actually pick up the note and read it, screwed it up and put it in their mouths to swallow. Then spent the rest of the watch sweating, finally opening the door at twenty-two hundred hours, only to find they had been guarding an empty cupboard for past two years. Empty, apart from a note pinned to the back, which every guard leant forward to read, only to find it said, " _Behind you. "_

Which was normally too late by the time they had finished reading it. They would then hear a rush of feet behind them, followed by a cloth bag being pulled over their head, then a thump as something large and heavy hit them over the head. Then, just as they began to think in a somewhat confused and dizzy state that nothing else could happen, their arms got tied behind their backs. The next thing they knew, they were in a dark room with a bright flaming troche shining in their eyes. Just about able to make out a dwarf standing in front of them holding a bucket, as they sat soaking wet, tied to a chair.

The dwarf holding the bucket would then proceed to shout, and rant on about the tied-up dwarf's mother or girlfriend, in a manner that made them want to jump up and use his head as a pick-axe but couldn't, as they were tied to the chair. Then, if they could get through that, the bag was returned over their heads. They then found themselves going on another dark journey, at the end of which they're left in a forest somewhere, in their underpants, with no weapons. Only to find themselves being chased by a bunch of mad axe-wielding dwarfs, hell-bent on catching them.

Finally, after about five miles some dwarf in a uniform appears from nowhere, gives them a pat on the back, hands them a cloth patch with the Blood Born Emblem on; a skull with two crossed war hammers, shakes their hand and then says.

"Welcome to the brotherhood."

Then another dwarf appears carrying their new red uniform of The Blood Born Guards to put on. Then they're whisked off to a nearby tavern by a load of dwarfs all bearing the same symbol of the skull and crossed war hammers. From then on, they are given as much ale as they can drink. Then they pass out, only to wake up in a secret underground barracks under the kingdom, which they didn't even know existed. Apparently, the story goes some blind dwarf called Digger built it, so no one knew its whereabouts, courtesy of the Chief of Justice. After that, there was still another six months of intense training to go through. But, that was how the guards were selected to be part of the Blood Born.

There had only ever been two cases of automatic entry ever recorded, and that was for Bash'm, and Beat'm. After a long debate by the heads of The Blood Born Guards. They couldn't get any volunteers to bundle Bash'm, and Beat'm into the cupboard, or further still any dwarf who was willing to talk about their mother in any way, shape or form. And they definitely had no one who would come forward to volunteer to try and chase the twins through the woods. Even though they were promised, to be issued with imperial heavy-duty battle-axes and double pay. The thought of the twins standing there in their underpants and trying to ambush them with only an imperial axe was pure suicide. So, the Captain of the Blood Born just walked up to them one day while they were guarding a door, passed them their patches, gave them a pat on the back, and asked them very kindly if they wouldn't mind accompanying him to a tavern to get drunk.

That was the only thing they didn't change. That night everyone got drunk, especially the other brothers of The Blood Born Guards. As Bash'm, and Beat'm were now part of their brotherhood, and there wasn't a broken jaw in sight.

So, the two guards who were posted to guard the wagons were just following orders, they were there to protect, and they were doing just that; as they had no intention of guarding the servant's toilets for the next five years. So, they sat there silent and alert as Odall and Nakie were in conversation.

"So, then, Nakie, what do you think of it so far?" asked Odall, trying to engage in conversation.

"I don't know what to think, Odall," said Nakie. "It's all moving a bit too fast for me. It was only a few weeks ago I was travelling to the Second Province. Now look at me, I'm travelling along the same track in charge of five wagons. I suppose it'll all turn out okay in the end. At least it's Torms's neck on the line if it doesn't," said Nakie, jokingly, as he leant over and helped himself to a ham sandwich. "Want one?" asked Nakie, offering one to Odall.

"No thanks," said Odall, shaking his head, but at the same time felt privileged to be counted as one of Nakie's friends, as Odall realised he was highly honoured to be offered some of Nakie's food.

Nakie took a bite out of it before continuing. "Well, I don't suppose it wouldn't only be Torms's neck on the line, would it?" he said, talking with his mouth full, as crumbs started falling out of his mouth like a waterfall.

"What do you mean?" replied Odall, intrigued by Nakie's question.

"Well the way I see it. It's like this, this whole expedition is because of what -" he looked around, leant towards Odall, then in a soft voice said "- of what Torms found, right?"

"Yes," said Odall.

"And if Tennant hadn't put it in your office, and you hadn't discovered what it was, then there wouldn't have been an expedition."

"You could say that," said Odall, not really liking the way the conversation was going.Then Nakie said, rather pleased with himself, "If things do go wrong, the king will blame you."

Odall sat there for a minute or two, pushing the idea around in his head. Well, putting it like that, he thought to himself, the king probably thought the same as someone of Nakie's intelligence. Then he probably was the first in the queue at the chopping block.

Odall put his hand in the hamper and took a sandwich out and started to chew on it. He wished he'd never tried to talk to Nakie at all now, and instead of sitting and enjoying the scenery; all he kept thinking about now was an axe and a very sharp one at that.

"I thought you weren't hungry," said Nakie.

"Comfort eating," said Odall as he sat there chewing on a crust, not paying much attention to what he was eating. For if he had, he would have realised he was now chewing on half his sleeve, which had got caught in the sandwich. But he had more pressing matters on his mind.

*

"What shall we have for supper then?" asked Flennat as he felt his stomach let out a little rumble.

"Don't mind, don't care," said Banthrone as they sat in the observation post high up in the tree. "All I know is, it's your turn to cook."

"Alright, I'll cook, if you shoot the food," responded Flennat.

"Deal," said Banthrone, picking up his bow. He put an arrow in the string and pulled back, closed one eye and surveyed the area with his aimed bow. A deer appeared in his sights. "How about deer?" asked Banthrone.

"No, we had deer yesterday," said Flennat.

Banthrone carried on searching. "Rabbit then."

"No, we had that the day before."

"Hang on, here's something we haven't tried yet," said Banthrone.

There was a silent twang as Banthrone sent an arrow rocketing into the sky. Followed by a loud 'SQUAWK,' as a black raven fell to the ground in a field, just on the edge of the forest.

"Did you see that!" said Banthrone.

"It was alright I suppose," said Flennat, not really interested.

"Exactly, just alright. I shot the bird in the wing, and I was aiming for the body. It turned just at the last minute as if it sensed something," said Banthrone.

"Oh well, it's down now, you could have shot it a bit closer, I've got to walk all the way over there to collect it," complained Flennat, as he started to climb down out of the tree.

Banthrone sat there looking at his bow, occasionally giving it a twang. Then he studied the shaft with one eye closed, to see if it had a kink in it.

Flennat walked over to the spot where the raven had fallen, but instead of the bird, there was a figure lying face down in a black robe, with a raven's crest on the back. The fallen figure had an arrow sticking out of his arm. Flennat leant forward to roll the figure over, and that was the last thing he could recollect.

He now found himself twenty feet up, hung over a branch of a great oak tree, and there was a terrible smell of something burning that he couldn't quite make it out. Then he felt himself falling; hitting every smouldering branch on the way down, until he finally hit the ground. Then, for no apparent reason, Banthrone chucked a bucket of water over him.

The burning smell seemed to disappear, only to be replaced by a smouldering one; as he looked down, he noticed that most of his clothes had been burnt to a crisp. Flennat quickly put his hand to his head, only to find to his horror clumps of his hair was missing and that the disgusting smell had been his hair on fire.

"What happened?" asked Flennat as he tried to come to his senses.

"Well, I'm not exactly sure," said Banthrone, standing scratching his head, trying hard to remember the order of events.

"Well, I was checking my bow when I heard a bang. I looked up, and I saw a giant fireball flying through the air, in which you were the main feature. Then you hit a nearby oak and stayed in the tree. The fireball continued on for a bit longer before exploding into a thousand pieces. Then there was a flash, some smoke, and a raven flew out of the field. Then I grabbed a bucket of water and came running over to you," concluded Banthrone.

"You say a giant fireball?" asked Flennat, checking his face and finding one of his eyebrows missing. He got up, looked around and saw some smouldering branches and half the remains of an oak tree. "And you said the fireball hit that tree and exploded?"

"Yes," replied Banthrone.

"So why isn't the rest of the forest alight?" asked Flennat.

Banthrone turned and looked from where Flennat had flown from and followed his path, his gaze settling at the tree. "Beats me," he said.

"Unless the fireball was . . . _magic_." They finished off the sentence together.

"Which way did the raven fly off?" asked Flennat, with his face all twisted up and full of panic because he already knew the answer before Banthrone told him.

"Towards The Island of Black Rock," Banthrone replied, with a big lump in his throat. Suddenly things were beginning to come together and make sense.

They both stared at each other. "You know what we were talking about the other day," said Banthrone. "The bit about us wondering what a sorcerer looks like up close."

"Yes," said Flennat, somewhat uneasy with the question.

"Well, what do they look like?" asked Banthrone.

"Hot," replied Flennat. "Very hot."

With that thought still in his head, Flennat quickly ran over to his horse and jumped up onto its back.

"Where do you think you are going?" shouted Banthrone as he watched Flennat mounting his horse.

"Well the way I see it, it's like this. First you shoot down a sorcerer, then I fly about a hundred fifty feet through the air. Then you see a raven fly towards the island and let's just say for argument's sake that sorcerers, being sorcerers, come up with the idea we are sitting in a tree spying on them and not waiting for a dwarf convoy. How long will it be, do you think before this whole place is swarming with fireballs?"

"Good point!" answered Banthrone as he ran and jumped, clearing the ground in one fell swoop, and appeared sat on a horse next to Flennat's.

"Well, what are we waiting for!" shouted Banthrone, kicking his horse into action.

*

Trantore flew through the window of his tower, changed almost immediately, and fell onto his bed. The wound wasn't that bad; it would heal. But all the flying and staying in the form of a raven for the last couple of days had taken its toll. Plus, the fireball hadn't helped. "Lutie lass pronunas," whispered Trantore, and as a protection spell encased the room, he closed his eyes.

*

Bash'm had been setting a good pace along the path, and he still hadn't a clue what a giant V looked like. He didn't even know where to start, but he kept looking all the same. They hadn't stopped for dinner, the paths were far too narrow, and they didn't want to stop and make a small camp as it might bring them unwanted attention. So, they all had a couple of sandwiches each, which had been wrapped up in a hankie, that Odall had made the night before. They had eaten them as they walked, but that was hours ago now, and it was beginning to get dark.

"Stop at the front!" shouted Torms, as loud as he could in a hushed voice. He got out his map and waved the Captain over; they stood bent over the map, examining it.

"This is great," said Sacul as he took off his rucksack and looked about. "I wonder what's over there," he said as he tried to stand on tiptoes to see over the ferns, but with no joy.

"Here, let me help," said Bash'm, picking Sacul off the ground and placing him in a tall oak tree so that he could get a better look.

Sacul gawked in awe as he stared through the dense forest; he went to climb higher but found the tree hadn't any upper branches. In fact, it didn't have any, and when he looked down at his feet to see what he was standing on, it turned out to be a split in the tree.

Sacul jumped down, walked to the other side of the path, turned around, and looked at the tree he had just been standing in. "What does that look like to you, Bash'm?" he asked, pointing at the tree.

"Err, a tree."

"Yes, but what else, what does it look like?"

"Err, um, a tree that's brown."

"And?" said Sacul, trying to prompt Bash'm.

"Errr . . ."

Sacul looked over at Bash'm, who was now sweating and beginning to shake as he tried his hardest to answer the question. But, somehow his brain wasn't equipped to handle question after question.

"It's a V!" shouted Sacul quickly, putting Bash'm out of his misery. He hadn't meant to put Bash'm on the spot like that, he was only trying to point out the V in the tree.

The big oak tree looked as if it had been hit by lightning many years ago, and now it stood bare, with a split down the middle which nearly made a perfect V. Sacul walked over to Torms, who had his head well and truly buried in the map.

"Ha-hum, can I help?" asked Sacul.

"Not now, Sacul, I'm busy," came the muffled reply of Torms.

"Oh, all right then, I'll just go and wait over by the big oak tree," said Sacul walking off slowly. "The one in the shape of a giant V."

It took a couple of seconds for the penny to drop, but it did.

"WHAT!" yelled Torms. At which point half of the party grabbed their axes, thinking they were under attack. Whilst the others, mainly the miners, dived for cover. Torms looked around and waved his hands downwards; the soldiers put back their weapons. Some of the miners stayed hidden in the undergrowth, but not out of choice; some of them had dived in too deep, and all you could see were their boots sticking out.

"You've found the V?" said Torms, in a somewhat quieter voice.

"Yes, over here."

Torms followed Sacul to the giant oak. "And what makes you think this is it?"

"Go over there and take another look," said Sacul, pointing Torms over to the other side of the path.

Torms walked over to the other side and turned. "You're a genius, Sacul, a pure genius."

"Well, thank you, Torms, but it was Bash'm who found it, not me. As soon as he saw it, he picked me up and put me straight in the middle of it," said Sacul, giving Bash'm a wink.

"Well done, Bash'm," said Torms, patting him on the back, causing Bash'm to beam out a huge smile.

"Right then, Captain, it says here in small print if we walk off the path west from this V, then we will come to a large clearing where we can bed down for the night with plenty of cover. It states that it's ideal in the summertime, so we can get the fires going and get some hot food in us. It's been a long day, let's waste no more time. Bash'm, seeing as you're proving to be a good scout, would you do the honours?" asked Torms.

Bash'm stood by the V, trying to work out which way was west. He was starting to sweat again.

"I think it would be better if I got on his shoulders," said Sacul as he climbed up the tree; swinging his legs over Bash'm's shoulders. After briefly adjusting himself he taped the top of Bash'm's helmet. "I think you'll find it's this way," he whispered into Bash'm's ear as he stuck out a leg in the right direction.

With that, Bash'm disappeared into the thick undergrowth, followed by the rest of the party, with Beat'm bringing up the rear with Ganga. As the light was fading, you could hardly make Ganga out due to all the camouflage he was wearing.

Ganga had ferns sticking out of his helmet, his rucksack, and even his boots; what wasn't covered in ferns was covered in soil and leaves, seeing as Beat'm had only just pulled him out of the undergrowth. He would have still been there if it hadn't been for Beat'm tripping over his boots, which had been sticking out over the path.

Ganga had thrown himself so hard and fast when he thought an ambush was taking place he couldn't get himself out. He couldn't shout for help due to a large mushroom that had gone straight into his mouth on impact; which he'd started to eat his way through when Beat'm grabbed hold of a leg.

The party headed off in the direction of the clearing. Night was setting in now, and all you could make out was Sacul's head above the giant ferns. The party looked like an invisible snake moving through the undergrowth. All you could see was the tops of the ferns moving, accompanied with an occasional swear word; as one off the party stubbed their toe or tripped over a fallen branch. At last, Bash'm stepped out into the clearing, followed by the rest of them.

"Right, get set up," said Torms surveying the area. "This looks like the spot."

About a quarter of a mile away in a clearing, just off the main track, Nakie had spotted Sinat and was just pulling his wagon in, followed by the rest of the wagons having made it without a hitch.

"Nakie!" shouted Sinat, pleased to see him. "Come, come, there's a warm fire and a nice plate of roast deer with your name on it."

Nakie didn't have to be told twice, he jumped down like a bolt of lightning and sat down by the fire before Sinat had finished his sentence. Odall was getting down off the wagon, still pondering about his neck on the chopping block, only to be confronted by an even worse image. The drivers from the first convoy were standing in a line in front of him, in their long-johns and boots. There was a noise to his left, and as he turned his head, he could just make out the other drivers in his party starting to strip.

Right, enough of this nonsense about my neck, I've got some dwarfs to train, and with that thought in mind, Odall stripped off down to his all-in-one; grabbed his whistle, put it to his lips and gave it a short, sharp burst.

With that, Bucket, who had been asleep most of the day, instantly sprung up, jumped off the wagon and started to strip. The rest of the group stood there watching. While Bucket took his place at the front of the queue and then looked around at the others.

"What?" snapped Bucket, wondering why everyone was staring at him.

"Oh, nothing, nothing. Do you feel up to exercising this evening?" asked Odall, somewhat sympathetically.

"What do ya mean by that?" snapped Bucket.

"Nothing, nothing" replied Odall, hastily putting the whistle to his mouth and giving it another short burst. "This way!" he shouted, and set off at a gentle pace, followed by the small earthquake behind him.

*

It was now late into the night when Trantore awoke, arose off the bed, and walked over to the mirror. He pulled up the sleeve of his dark robe. The wound that the arrow had made was gone. He gave it a quick inspection, dropped his sleeve, muttered a few words, then disappeared and reappeared right in front of Meltoy, who was in his lecture room scribbling and making notes on the chalkboard. In an instant, Meltoy had dropped to the floor and encased himself in a huge slab of granite.

"What have I done?" muttered Meltoy to himself as he sat there in an air pocket in the middle of the granite. "Is it because he's fed up with me not challenging him?"

There was a tapping on the granite. "I would like a word with you," came the magical words through the granite.

Is it a trap? If he came out, was he going to be blown to smithereens by some powerful force? Thought Meltoy.

"Don't keep me waiting."

With that, Meltoy uttered some words, closed his eyes very tightly, gritted his teeth, then waved his hand. The granite slab disappeared, leaving him exposed to Trantore.

"That's better," said Trantore waving his hand in a circular motion. There was a faint rattle and a swishing of water. Meltoy closed his eyes, fearing the worse, but nothing happened.

"Hum-hum," coughed Trantore.

Meltoy dared to open one of his eyes. As he slowly opened it, Trantore came into focus. He had a cup of hot herbs in his hands; the hot vapour was doing a weird and twisted ascent towards the ceiling in the shape of a raven.

"I think you could use one of these, I do believe you drink such substances."

"Oh!" Meltoy got up off the floor; he felt rather stupid. He brushed himself down and took the cup from Trantore's outstretched hand. He went to take a sip. Is it poisoned? He thought as the cup was pressed against his lips. He took a sip and screwed his face up. "Ahhh." It was nice and refreshing.

"Meltoy, if you're quite finished, I'd like to talk a few things over with you."

"Me, Supreme Grand Master? What about the council?" asked Meltoy.

"What about the council?" enquired Trantore, "I haven't got time for them. Rathall's a waste of space and the others just sit there agreeing with each other and whatever is put in front of them and Old Master Ricket is only there to make up the numbers. But you, Meltoy, you're different."

Meltoy took a deep gulp. He felt he should have kept his thoughts to himself at the last meeting. 'Well, I suppose I've had a good inning as a sorcerer,' he thought as he waited for the inevitable fireball to scatter him across the room, as he didn't want to spend the rest of his life entombed in a slab of granite.

"So, that's why I've come to talk a few things over."

"Oh yes, Supreme Grand Master?" Meltoy didn't know whether to feel relieved or not.

"First, there is an elven scout party watching the island, which means that they might be on to us. But how do they know that we know?" Trantore said out loud.

He waved his hand in the air, and the chalkboard cleared. He waved it back again, and a detailed map of Gryphon Island appeared. "Take a look at this." He flicked out a finger. Three blue dots appeared on the map. Trantore pointed at two of the dots, and as he did, they glowed.

"Now this is where two of the dwarfen convoys are parked up for the night. In the morning they will split, leaving two hours between them, and continue along the main track. This other blue dot here," as he spoke it glowed, "is the rest of their party, mainly consisting of The Blood Born Guards from the Dwarfen Kingdom. And further down here," again he waved his hand, and three red dots appeared. "This one here," one of the dots glowed red. "Is where the main camp of The Elven High Elite is situated, just off the main track. And here," another red dot glowed near the main track. "Is where an Elite scout look out party is waiting to sight the dwarfen party."

Trantore paused and as he did, his eyes seemed to flare a little. "And here" The spot where Flennat and Banthrone had been near the coastal track was glowing sharper and darker than the rest of the dots on the chalk board, almost burning a hole in it; as if sensing The Supreme Grand Master's mood.

"Is where another elven scout party was placed, and I can only assume that they were spying on us." Concluded Trantore with a bitter tone his voice.

"So, you can see we might have a problem. We need to know what they were doing this close to the island. I have more important things to be getting on with than watching two mere scouts. I could have killed them easily, but that would have raised the alarm when they failed to report in. So, I need someone to stay close to the elves and watch them every minute of every day, and to track them from now on. While I remain with the dwarfs, as the key to all of this lies with them."

"Right, I'll see to it, straight away, Supreme Grand Master. I'll attend to the matter personally."

"No, not you!" spoke Trantore in a stern voice.

"I'll send Rathall, I need you here. You've run this fortress and kept it in order for the last two hundred years, do you think I'd let a fool like Rathall just step in and take over? With me tracking the dwarfs and you the elves, I don't know what I'd come back to - if there were anything to come back to, after leaving him in charge. No, you stay, it will be Rathall that will be going. Meet me in The Mystic Chambers in one hour. I just need to check something."

Trantore went to utter some words, then he stopped. "Oh, I nearly forgot." He waved his hand, and a giant black granite block appeared in the centre of the lecture room, twice the size and twice as thick as the one Meltoy had tried to hide himself in. Trantore flicked his index finger at the granite. It shattered instantly, covering Meltoy and the lecture room.

Trantore muttered a few more words and was gone. Meltoy looked around. There were bits of granite in the walls and ceiling, and even in the chalkboard, but he understood the message. He started waving his hands about, and bits of granite started pulling themselves out of the walls, then disappeared. The walls also started to repair themselves, this was normal within fortress; The Dark Fortress wasn't alive, but it wasn't exactly dead either. It was going to take Meltoy an hour just to clear up the mess. But Meltoy was glad of the warning. And most of all he was glad he hadn't been sitting in the middle of the damn thing.

Rathall was standing in his tower, as he did most nights, looking up at Meltoy's tower silhouetted by the moon when a card appeared on his desk. It undid itself and levitated up to reading distance for Rathall. The message read itself out in a squawky voice.

_" Be in The Mystic Chambers in one hour."_

Then, it changed into the customary small black raven, flew up into the air and with one final 'SQUAWK,' it disappeared.

"That Trantore, what doesss he want now?" hissed Rathall out loud, banging his scaly hands on the desk and recalling an image in his head of the last time he was in The Mystic Chambers, and how he was shown up in front of the other lower-ranking sorcerers.

Trantore was in his tower his gaze was transfixed as he poised over a water bowl. It wasn't any old water bowl this one was a 'Seeing Bowl.' It was carved out of dark wood from trees that had long disappeared from the lands, and it was decorated with magical symbols of ancient tongues.

The water inside was black and thick and was moving of its own accord. Trantore passed his hand over the water, then again quickly in another direction, as if he was looking for something.

"Ah, got them," he said, as an image of Flennat and Banthrone appeared in the bowl.

The water started spiralling faster and faster until it was spiralling so fast you couldn't see it at all. All that was left was a clear picture of the two-elven scouts, riding as fast as their horses would carry them. Trantore moved his hand, and the whole image zoomed out, becoming more of an actual bird's eye view, with the elves as pin-dots moving through the forest. Trantore took a closer look at the direction in which they were going.

"Just as I thought," he uttered under his breath. He clenched his fist, and the water stopped spinning and remained deadly still.

Meltoy was pacing up and down in The Mystic Chambers when the chamber doors magically opened and in slithered Rathall into the torchlight. With every slither he gave off a shimmering effect as the torches lit up his scales under his hood, letting Meltoy catch a glimpse of his reptile face.

Rathall let out a hiss as he saw Meltoy standing in the room. His scaly tail gave a sharp flick of annoyance as he slithered over to the other side of the chamber, putting the table between himself and Meltoy.

He started moving his head from side to side as if looking for an angle to attack. Rathall slowly slithered around the table so that he was within striking distance and started letting out a low hissing sound, while his fork-like tongue flickered in the air.

Meltoy rolled up the sleeves of his robe, all the while keeping his eyes on Rathall.

"You do realise, if you attack me, you're going against The Supreme Grand Master's wishes. All fighting is suspended. BUT!" shouted Meltoy. "If you do attack I'll defend myself and, make no mistake, you won't be around to find out the result, and there will be an empty tower for one of your students to fill," he warned.

Rathall who had been slithering closer and closer to Meltoy struck out. But Meltoy had it covered. Meltoy had a magical air protection spell all around him. There was a bright flash of light and Rathall was frozen in full flight, suspended in mid-air, his snake-like face fully forward with his mouth wide open, showing two enormous fangs. His scaly arms were fully outstretched towards Meltoy, followed by the rest of Rathall's body.

"Hm, that's odd," said Meltoy as he walked around the suspended body of Rathall. All Rathall could do was follow Meltoy with his eyes, as he was powerless and helpless to any attack. "My spell shouldn't have done that to him," said Meltoy, muttering to himself.

"BUT MINE SHOULD!" boomed the voice of Trantore as he appeared out of the shadows of the beams up above, slowly floating down in his usual form, his black robe gently flapping, and then finally coming to rest on the floor.

"Supreme Grand Master, let me explain," said Meltoy with his head bowed.

"Oh, there's no need, I've been here since Rathall entered the chambers," spoke Trantore in his toneless voice, walking over to the immobilised Rathall, then pushing his face right up close, so that Rathall could feel his breath on his scales. "I think I'll let Rathall do the explaining."

Trantore breathed on Rathall's head, which momentarily broke the spell, allowing Rathall full control of his head while the rest of him was still paralysed in mid-air.

"Well, I'm waiting," whispered Trantore in his ear.

Rathall's head started to shake, and so would the rest of him if it had been allowed to. "It'sss Meltoy, Sssupreme Grand Massster, I dessspissse him," hissed Rathall, in a low and shaky voice.

"So, you thought you would go against my wishes then. And what makes you think you're an exception, that the rules I set down don't apply to you!" spoke Trantore, still in a toneless voice.

"Rillouis, condewious, blassformatious, contutuss," muttered Trantore. Instantly Rathall started to hiss, and his face began to screw itself up in pain. Trantore waved his right hand, and Rathall fell to the floor. Rathall started thrashing around violently, holding his head with one hand, the other on his stomach, hissing even louder now.

"The pain, the pain, out, get it out!" hissed Rathall.

"What's up, Rathall? Don't you like poison? I've replaced all your blood with it. I thought I'd give you a taste of pure evil."

"Ahhh, Sssupreme Grand Massster, make it ssstop!" Rathall screamed out.

"I haven't got time for this," said Trantore. He muttered a few more words, and Rathall stopped squirming.

Rathall lay on the floor, still doubled up from the torment he had just suffered. He stayed coiled up, his head hidden from Trantore's gaze.

"Get up, Rathall, we've got business to attend to," ordered Trantore as he turned, pushing his hands together. The six-pointed star that was carved on the table's surface turned into a map of the continent.

Rathall uncoiled and pushed himself off the floor, then slowly and gently slithered over to the map. All the while with his head held extremely low.

"I've already told Meltoy about the arising situation. The blue dots are the dwarfs." As he said that, the map on the table started to glow as blue dots appeared. "But that doesn't concern you. It's the red dots that do. Firstly, here is where I found two elven scouts spying on our island. Now they have abandoned their post and are heading here." Another red dot glowed in the dim light that the torches were giving off.

"Now, this is the main camp of the elven party, consisting of thirty-five of The Elven High Elite, led by Cluzac and under the command of Gillant. They should reach the camp just after sunrise. The other red dot is another elven scout party, watching for the dwarfen party. You must be at the main camp by sunrise to find out what the first scouts report. Also, find out why they were spying on us, and most important of all, if they think we know about the Amberinth."

Trantore stopped and stared at Rathall, just to make sure he was listening before he continued. "If they do, then we will not have the upper hand when we spring a surprise attack once the dwarfs have found and mined the Amberinth, and we definitely can't let the elves have it. You must not fail me Rathall. You report back anything that concerns the Amberinth. Do I make myself clear?" said Trantore as he placed both hands on the table and leaned forwards towards Rathall.

"Very, Sssupreme Grand Massster," hissed Rathall.

"Now go, leave us, and remember you have only a few hours to overtake the scouts and position yourself at their main camp."

Rathall bowed to Trantore and left the table, slithering out of the door, leaving Meltoy and Trantore in the room.

"Supreme Grand Master, I'm not questioning your judgement, but do you think it wise to send Rathall? He only thinks of himself and not of the council," said Meltoy with his head bowed, not wanting to offend.

"I know that, Meltoy. That's why you're going to send your best student to follow him and to keep a track on his movements. Don't let him get too close, or Rathall will sense him. But close enough to watch him and make notes. I know exactly what Rathall's capable of, and if he stays true to form, he might prove to be quite useful."

Meltoy smiled under the hood of his robe. 'There's method in his madness,' he thought.

*

The first rays of sunlight were breaking through the trees in the Emerald Forest when one beam caught Torms in the face. It gently warmed his cheek; he opened his eyes and looked around to find that most of the camp was still asleep. All that fresh air we took in yesterday while walking through the forest must have done us good. He thought as he got up onto his feet and looked around.

The small clearing looked different in the sunlight from when they pitched down and started the fires for cooking last night, wherever they found a spot and having only the moonlight to guide them. Now a few of the others were up and had managed to stoke or re-light the fires and had already started to put a few sausages in the pan. Before long, most of the camp was up either eating or packing their stuff back in their rucksacks.

"Where's Ganga?" asked Torms, looking around. "Captain," he called, in a half-hearted shout.

"Yes, Torms," he replied as he came running over, his hand on the helm of his axe which was strapped to his back, not knowing what to expect.

"Have you seen Ganga?"

"No, last I saw of him was last night," replied the Captain.

"How about the sentries, have they seen him?" asked Torms.

The Captain waved over a couple of dwarfs who had just sat down to a nice plate of sausages and mushrooms. They put the plates down, muttered something about "not getting a minute's rest," and came running over towards the Captain.

"Here you are, Torms, these two were on duty last night," he said as they arrived by his side with a sharp, "Yes, Captain," and sprang to attention.

"At ease, lads, at ease," said the Captain.

"Have you two seen the Chief Ganga at all?" quizzed Torms.

The guards looked at each other then back at Torms. "Well, he was the first one up this morning, and he was acting a bit strange," said one of the guards.

"In what way?" replied Torms.

"Well, he was scrabbling round in his rucksack. I couldn't quite make out what he was doing, but it looked as if he was looking into a mirror. Then we heard a scream, and he ran off into the forest. I went after him and found him just outside the camp, hiding in the undergrowth. I couldn't see him, but I knew he was in there because I could see the ferns moving. I went to go into the undergrowth, when I heard his voice from inside saying that he was all right. It was definitely Ganga," concluded the guard.

"And how long ago was that?" asked Torms, somewhat puzzled.

"About two hours," said the other guard as he looked over to his fellow guard, who gave him a reassuring nod.

"Can you take me to the last place you saw him?" enquired Torms.

The soldier turned and looked at his hot plate of sausage and mushrooms. His stomach started to rumble, he turned back around to face Torms; as he did he caught the Captain's gaze, which was coming straight at him, hard and fast. A thousand-night patrols suddenly flashed into the guard's mind as his gaze returned to Torms.

"Be my pleasure, this way," he said as he headed off into the undergrowth.

Torms and the Captain walked off into the forest, followed by Bash'm, and Beat'm, with Sacul bringing up the rear. As they walked, every now and again the guard would stop and look at the floor. Eventually, they came to a stop.

"It was round about here, as I recall."

"Ganga!" called out Torms, as he stuck his head into a clump of ferns.

The others started to do the same, all around the spot where they had stopped.

"Shhh, I thought I heard something," said the Captain. He thrust his hand into the undergrowth next to him.

"I've got something!"

"Ah! Get off, that's my beard!" came a voice from inside the ferns.

The Captain released his grip from Ganga's beard and withdrew his hand.

Torms walked over to the clump of ferns. "Are you okay, Ganga?" he asked as he stood next to the ferns where Ganga was.

"No, I'm bleeding not alright, and trying to pull my beard off won't make a blind bit of difference," he snapped, still hidden inside the undergrowth.

"Well, can you come out and talk about it, we have a tight schedule to keep and we really have to be setting off or we won't meet the wagons in time tomorrow."

"No, you'll laugh," replied Ganga.

"Well, we can't leave you out here now, can we. One, you'll starve and two without the map you'll get lost or, even worse be picked up by the elves, and we can't have that."

"But it's my face and my hands," blurted out Ganga.

"What about them?" asked Torms.

"Well, last night it was so dark, and I was so tired, I just chucked my stuff down on a nice soft spot and went to sleep. But how was I supposed to know where I was sleeping in this damn forest. When I woke up, I was itching like mad, and when I looked around, I was sleeping on a bunch of giant leafy-type things with little hairs on and I think I'm allergic to them or something."

"I don't care what you look like, we have to get going," replied Torms.

"But you'll laugh," repeated Ganga.

"Bash'm, Beat'm, get him out," ordered Torms, who had had enough of talking to ferns.

"No, no, I'm coming, I'm coming," cried out Ganga. "But promise me you won't laugh."

"Yes, just come out," said Torms, as he started to lose his patience.

There was some rustling and the sound of a couple of twigs snapping. The small party waited with bated breath as two hands appeared through the ferns. They were bright red with tiny white spots on, which looked sore and painful. The hands parted the ferns, and Ganga's head was the next thing to emerge out of the undergrowth.

It looked even worse. All puffy and red; tiny white spots covered his entire face, even his ears. Ganga stared at the others.

"You promised me," he said as he stepped out.

After the initial shock, it was Sacul who started to snigger first and had to turn and look away. Next, the twins' shoulders began to shake as they struggled to fight back the urge to laugh, and the guard who had led them there had almost turned blue from holding his breath.

The Captain walked over to the twins with a massive smile on his face and his cheeks stretched to bursting point; short, sharp bursts of air kept coming out of his mouth uncontrollably, as he addressed the twins.

"Remember, we're soldiers, keep a grip on things, we're professionals," he said in a somewhat feeble manner. "We're part of the Blood Born." There was another burst of air as he fought back the urge to laugh, before continuing. "We can deal with anything that's thrown at us. So, eyes front, shoulders back."

As the captain said this, all three of them looked forward. Ganga was right in their view, with his bright red puffy-face, covered in white spots. Tears now started to form and pour out of the Captain's eyes, as he was fighting a losing battle.

"See, I told you!" snapped Ganga as he looked at the Captain. "You gave me a promise," he said as he addressed Torms, who was now staring at the floor, avoiding looking at Ganga.

_' As long as I look at my boots,'_ Torms kept repeating over and over in his head.

"See, he's crying with laughter at me, the Captain's laughing," ranted Ganga, standing there with his fist clenched, stamping his feet on the ground.

"I'm not laughing at you, I've got something in my eye," replied the Captain in a humorous manner, which got a round of sniggers from the others.

"I'll give you something in your eye in a minute!" shouted Ganga as he raised his fist.

"Okay, that's enough," said Torms, trying to get a grip on the situation. "Let's look at this rationally."

"Rationally. Rash! That's a good one!" bellowed out the Captain, bursting out laughing while sinking to his knees. This acted as a release valve for all the others, who had been holding it in, and they each exploded.

The twins were slapping each other on the back, trying to help each other breathe. Sacul had run off into the ferns to go to the toilet as he was going to wet himself. Torms had given up on his boots and had joined the Captain rolling around on the floor in tears, while the other guard had run off to tell the others.

Ganga stormed off in the direction of the camp, ranting and waving his hands, and muttering something about being "back in a mine."

Sacul re-emerged out of the ferns. "That was lucky," he said, tucking himself in as he saw the twins picking the others off the floor.

"Did you see those white spots all over his face. That must be sore," laughed Torms as Bash'm pulled him to his feet.

"Its clump weed," said the Captain, wiping the tears from his eyes. "More commonly known as grumble weed."

"Grumble weed."

"Yep, grumble weed, and you've seen for yourself firsthand its effects on anyone who comes into contact with it."

"Grumbles," laughed Torms.

"You've got it Torms, and Ganga's certainly going to be doing a lot of that. Have you still got any of that ointment that I gave you for your feet?" asked the Captain.

"I've got about half of it left. Why?" inquired Torms.

"Well, that's the only cure for clump weed," replied the Captain.

"But its main ingredient is pony -"

The Captain cut Torms short before he finished his sentence.

"I know, but I doubt if he does." With that, Torms and the Captain burst out laughing again.

"Oh. come on, we must be going," said Torms as he walked off to the camp still chuckling. "This just gets better and better," he said to himself.

As they approached the camp, they could hear roars of laughter. Torms stepped into the clearing. "All right, all right!" he shouted. "That's enough, remember we are supposed to be on a secret expedition. Any more of this and this place will be swarming with elves." Some of the dwarfs were still laughing at the Chief Ganga, who was taking swings at every available dwarf.

Torms turned to the Captain. "I'm serious now. The whole expedition will fail if we don't keep it down. Sort the dwarfs out, Captain."

No sooner had the words left Torms's mouth than the Captain was off. It wasn't that he didn't like a good laugh, but Torms was right, they had a job to do.

"Twins, with me," said the Captain as he proceeded to move around the camp leaving silence in his wake. It wasn't just down to the fact that he had a dominant presence about him, Bash'm, and Beat'm played their part as well, as they followed on behind. Any dwarf who was still sniggering got a reality check from them, as they found themselves being lifted about two feet off the ground by their necks. Then Bash'm or Beat'm would pull them up close and turn them slightly, so the dangling dwarf's ear was level with their mouth. Then they'd hear in a very low but stern whisper the word "Quiet." Then a thud as they were released from the twin's grip as they hit the floor.

The camp soon became deadly silent, and everyone was pulling on their packs and starting to form a queue.

"Thank you, Captain," said Torms.

"Don't mention it," replied the Captain.

Torms knelt down and started rummaging around in his pack. He felt a cloth package.

"Ah, there you are." He pulled it out and walked over to Ganga who was packing his rucksack.

"Here you go. Sorry about earlier," said Torms as he chucked the small bundle to Ganga.

"What's this?" said the be-grumbled Ganga, still in a mood.

"Ointment, apparently you spent the night sleeping on a patch of grumb . . . clump weed," Torms quickly changed his wording. "Just rub this on your hands and face, it should start to clear it up."

Ganga unwrapped the string on the cloth bundle. "Whoo-wee!" he said as the smell from inside came flooding out. "What is this stuff?" he enquired, sticking his finger into the ointment and holding it up to his nose. "It smells like pony -"

Torms butted in. "Well, let's just say it's done wonders for my feet, and if you don't want to be walking around with your face looking like a mushroom for the rest of the trip, I suggest you start using it."

Ganga went to tie up the bundle.

"Hum-hum, now rather than later would be a good idea, as those spots appear to be getting bigger," suggested Torms.

Ganga sighed, stuck two fingers into the ointment, pulled out a huge dollop and started spreading it on his face. "The smell better be worth it," grumbled Ganga as he was rubbing it under his nose. The pain started to die down straight away, and the itching stopped almost immediately. "Ah, that's better," sighed Ganga as the effects started to set in. "Thank you," he said, as he gave Torms a nod, dropping his stern-faced expression.

"You're welcome," replied Torms as he turned to walk off.

"Oh, and Torms," cried out Ganga.

"Yes?"

"If this is a wind-up, those two bodyguards of yours won't stop me sticking my pickaxe up your..."

Torms intervened once again. "It's not a wind-up, I can assure you. Now, will you join us as we are about to leave. Oh, and Ganga, can you walk at the back of the pack, just in front of Beat'm, as I don't think the others will appreciate walking behind that smell all day."

Ganga's stern face reappeared once more as he gave Torms a hard stare before sighing. "Well, I suppose it's worth it," he said as he tied up the ointment and stood up. "But if you say a word about what I've got on my face -"

"Yes, yes, I know, the pickaxe and where you'll shove it," Torms said as he smiled and walked over to join the others. You had to hand it to Ganga, he was quite a fiery dwarf once he got his back up, thought Torms.

"Are we all set, Captain, everyone accounted for?"

"Yes, counted and correct." Snapped the Captain, with a short sharp answer; military fashion.

"Right then, we've wasted enough time this morning. So Bash'm," said Torms as he patted him on the back, "set us a good pace, we need to make up a bit of time. So then shall we proceed?"

With that Bash'm set off, followed by Sacul and the others.

*

Rathall was in place; he had transformed into a snake and was coiled under a rock at the main elven camp. He was within earshot of Gillant and Cluzac. Rathall had been there since sunrise. He had used a transportation spell, which had put him just outside the camp. Then, he had slithered his way into the camp and set himself up with a good view, awaiting the arrival of the approaching scouts.

But just outside the encampment, there was a slight swaying of a tree, as if a gentle breeze had just blown through; if you looked carefully and you knew what you were looking for, you could just make out that one of the branches was slightly bent and under pressure. It had good reason to be, as Holock, Meltoy's best student, was perched on the branch.

You couldn't see him as he had already made himself totally transparent. You could see straight through him. He had already sensed Rathall and also spotted Gillant and Cluzac. He was under strict instructions to keep tracks on them, especially Rathall; but also, to gather any other information on the elves.

Meltoy had used his magic on Holock. Before he left, he enhanced all of Holock's senses with a powerful wind spell, so he could keep his distance and observe and where the wind blew, so did Holock's scenes.

Holock heard a slight twanging noise just off in the distance. The rest of the camp hadn't heard it yet. Then an arrow flew past Holock's head. It would have struck him as well, knocking him clean out the tree if he hadn't moved when he heard it coming.

The tree swayed as Holock skilfully kept his balance, but the arrow wasn't meant for him. It was from a sentry's bow, who was high up in the trees some distance away to warn of approaching horses.

As the arrow-tip hit the earth in the centre of the camp, Gillant was already on his feet; he ran over to pick up the arrow while the rest of the camp sprang into action.

The fine elven feathers on the flight were sticking out of the ground. Gillant bent down to examine them: they were green, which meant elven scouts were approaching the camp. He raised his hand in the air. "Stand down. They're ours." The Elite guards lowered their bows, while Gillant stood up to await the arrivals. Cluzac walked over to him.

"Do you think it's the scouts from the main track?" asked Cluzac.

"I don't know, but I can just about make the noise out now, and it sounds like horses and not just any old horses. The way they're crashing through the forest, they sound tired."

Cluzac looked at Gillant. He had heard he was one of the best trackers in the Elven Kingdom. But to know that horses were tired just by the noise they made while coming through the forest was impossible thought Cluzac, as he now awaited their arrival in anticipation.

He didn't have to wait long, as Flennat and Banthrone came crashing through the undergrowth, coming to a sudden halt in the centre of the camp. Some of the elven soldiers ran over to help them off their horses.

Flennat nearly fell off his as Gillant and Cluzac ran over to them. Cluzac noticed the horses were exhausted. They had been pushed to their limit. A couple more hours and they would have been dead - and what had happened to Flennat? He was blackened from head to toe. The horses were led off to be fed and watered.

Banthrone had regained some of his posture and was stretching his legs, as they had gone numb. Flennat on the other hand, who still being supported by two soldiers was trying to talk so fast, he wasn't making any sense; Gillant couldn't make out a word he was saying.

"Both of you, take deep breaths now and calm down," spoke Gillant as he waved his hand and a guard came running over with two tankards of water, prising a tankard each into the hands of Flennat and Banthrone.

Flennat gulped his down, nearly choking on the last drop. Then carried on taking deep breaths while Banthrone slowly drank his.

"I'm alright now, thank you," said Flennat as he stopped slouching and stood up; the two guards loosened their grip but stayed close by.

"Are the dwarfs at the coastal path?" asked Cluzac, not wanting to wait for the news.

"No, much worse," said Flennat, giving Cluzac the answer he wasn't expecting. The camp was quiet before, but now it was even quieter, as Flennat had the full attention of every elf in it.

And even the attention of one or two sorcerers, especially Rathall, who had the best seat in the house. He was right under the rock Flennat was standing next to. Rathall couldn't help but flick his tongue out to taste Flennat's boot. Flennat carried on talking, much to the horror of Banthrone. Banthrone had known Flennat for far too long and letting him do the talking was never good, and sometimes even painful.

"Well, we were on the edge of the forest by the coastal track as we'd been ordered and set up an observation lookout in a giant oak. We kept watch night and day for the dwarfs. From where we were, we could see The Island of Black Rock and The Dark Fortress. Nothing was stirring along the coastal track, we saw nothing, not even a traveller. But, after we were there a couple of days, the fortress seemed to get a lot busier," said Flennat.

"In what way?" asked Gillant.

"More kind of alive. Fireballs were flying around everywhere and other things we couldn't quite make out. But the crunch came yesterday. As Banthrone was catching our lunch . . ." As Flennat said Banthrone's name, Gillant looked over at Banthrone, who had his head slightly bowed down. "I think it's better if it comes from Banthrone, as I can't remember much," concluded Flennat hastily, passing the buck onto Banthrone, to inform the others of the bad news.

Banthrone turned his head, stared at Flennat and gave him a stern look; bit his bottom lip, and turned to address the others.

"Well, as my GOOD friend -" as he said this, he raised his voice in sarcasm, "- pointed out, we were hunting for -"

_" You_ were," butted in Flennat, trying to point out the facts, and trying to distance himself from the events that were to follow.

Banthrone once more gave Flennat a hard stare. "Do you want to tell it?"

"No, carry on, Banthrone," said Flennat.

"Get on with it!" ordered Cluzac.

"Sorry, Captain. As I was saying -"he raised his voice again as he said the word 'I'. "I was hunting for lunch." As he said this, he caught Flennat nodding his head in agreement with the 'I' comment. Banthrone just bit his lip again and tried to control his temper in front of the Captain.

"When I spotted a black raven -" Flennat nodded again, much to the anger of Banthrone.

"I took aim and fired at the raven, hitting it on the wing, bringing the raven to the ground in a field on the edge of the forest. As I was inspecting my bow, Flennat got down from the lookout and walked over to the field. The next thing I saw was Flennat flying through the air, attached to a giant fireball, finally ending up in a giant oak and with the fireball carrying on, taking out a nearby tree behind him. Instantly, I climbed down, grabbed a bucket of water, and ran over to him. By the time I got there, he had fallen out of the branches, and what wasn't burnt was still on fire, so I put him out."

"And the rest of the forest?" asked Gillant.

"Well, we didn't have to put that out. Once the fireball hit the neighbouring tree and exploded, leaving a small crater where the tree had stood, it just, well, sort of burnt itself out and disappeared."

_" Magic_," muttered Gillant. "And what became of the raven?"

"It flew off towards The Island of Black Rock."

"And what did you see, Flennat?" demanded Gillant.

"All I can remember was walking across the field, and where the raven should have been was a figure lying face down, dressed in a heavy black robe with a black raven embroidered on the back and an arrow sticking out of his arm. I bent down to roll him over, and that's the last I remember, apart from being hot, very hot, and the sense that I was flying."

Gillant now looked very puzzled and was deep in concentration.

"That's all for now, go and get washed and a change of clothes and something to eat," ordered Cluzac as he took over.

Both of them walked off. As they did, Banthrone cuffed Flennat around the back of his head, followed by, "What's all this 'I' business?"

Gillant strolled out of the clearing and leant against a tree, followed by Cluzac.

"What's bothering you?" asked the concerned Captain.

"I don't know, I've just got a funny feeling about all of this. Why didn't the sorcerer kill the two scouts, why leave them to report back to us? It doesn't make sense. Sorcerers are known for their violence and cruelty. To the sorcerers, it would have looked like we were watching them, not waiting and watching for a passing dwarf convoy. To all intents and purposes, they should have been killed, not allowed to leave," spoke Gillant in a worried voice.

"Do you think they know about the dwarfs?" asked Cluzac.

"More importantly, do they know about us?" replied Gillant.

"Double the sentries around the camp - and Cluzac?"

"Yes?"

"Make sure they're alert, we will wait until tomorrow to see if we are attacked, then I'll report this matter to the king for his guidance."

"I'll go and double the sentries right away," said Cluzac as he strode off, grabbing the nearest elf to him.

There was a slight movement in the undergrowth just behind Gillant, as Rathall also retired back to the main camp, slithering under a fallen tree as he continued to watch and observe the rest of the camp.

But it was Holock who had the best view, as the tree Gillant had leant against was the very tree he was standing in. Luckily for Holock, Rathall had been so engrossed in the conversation between Gillant and Cluzac that he didn't notice Holock. Even though he was invisible, a powerful sorcerer that close to another would have at least sensed him. But Holock had a lucky escape; that Rathall had other things on his mind.

*

Sinat was tapping out his pipe on the side of the cart as it made its way along the road while he was driving.

"What do you actually think about all this then, Tennant?" he asked as he pulled his hand up from the side of the cart and began to fill his pipe.

"Well, yesterday went without a hitch, and today seems to be going okay," answered Tennant who was sat next to him upfront; not really thinking too much about the question.

"No, I don't mean it like that," replied Sinat looking over his shoulder, just to make sure no one else was in the cart. The only things behind him were the five other wagons.

"I mean the Amberinth," whispered Sinat in a hushed voice. Feeling a little uneasy about mentioning it.

Before Tennant answered, he acted out Rule 79, which stated:

_Rule 79: When talking about sensitive matters, even though someone has checked: check, check and check again._

So, it was Tennant's turn, to turn around and check the back of the cart, to make sure it was empty.

"Amberinth," said Tennant somewhat quietly, as he also felt uneasy about talking about it, but seeing as it was Sinat, he'd make an exception. He also needed to stimulate his brain and talk about something else, rather than listening to Sinat talking about all the fights he'd had.

It started off interesting, but after hearing about it all day yesterday and also again since they set out that morning, it all started to sound the same. In most of the fights, it always ended up with Sinat being outnumbered, followed by a huge fight in which he'd be the only dwarf still standing.

It wasn't that Tennant disbelieved him, he just didn't believe in mindless violence. Whereas most of the Sinat's fights usually started over something trivial, like someone bumping into him, or just staring at him in a crowded tavern. He'd even had a fight once over the price of a loaf of bread.

But here was a conversation worthy of an advisor like himself, someone of his knowledge and wisdom. Tennant leaned forward in his seat.

"So then, Sinat, what do you want to know?" he said in a soft low voice.

"Well, as I've been sitting here and thinking about this whole expedition, and the Amberinth and all that, there's been one question that's been going through my mind, over and over again."

"What's that?" replied Tennant, who was now perched on the edge of his seat.

"Well, once we get there, and let's say we do set up a mine, and get this so-called Amberinth . . ."

"Yes, yes?" said Tennant trying to usher Sinat along; whilst he sat there nodding his head in a listening manner.

"And let's just say, for argument's sake, that the other races get to find out about what we've got."

"Yes?" nodded Tennant.

"Well, do you think . . ." Sinat stopped and scratched his chin, deep in thought.

It was getting too much for Tennant, who by now was being overwhelmed by the stimulating conversation.

"Do you think there'll be any fighting?"

There was a 'THUD' as Tennant fell off the edge of his seat; in disbelief.

A black raven was perched up in a tree, watching the second convoy of wagons. The occupants of the lead wagon consisted of Bucket; who was now in a fit state of mind and had resumed his role as driver. Sat either side of him were two guards, with Nakie and Odall sat in the back accompanied by two miners.

The raven seemed to be counting the wagons as if doing a stock check. The small convoy was oblivious to the raven, as it rolled on by the tree it was sitting in.

As Bucket's wagon passed by, the two miners that were sitting on the tailgate at the back were playing some kind of card game whilst puffing away on their long clay pipes. Then one of them shouted "Goldmine!" as he laid down the final card in his hand.

The wagon rolled past, only to be replaced and counted by the next, until the last one had rolled by and had disappeared into the foreground. With that, the raven squawked, gave a hard flap of its wings, pushed off the branches of the tree and flew further into the forest.

*

Meltoy was in his lecture room in his private study, sitting at his desk, scribbling down different attack formations on some parchment. He thought if they were going to go to war, then at least there should be some sort of battle plan in place. There was knock at his door.

"Come in," he called out. As he did, the door opened by itself, revealing Freno, who was standing there with a worried look on his face.

Meltoy looked up from his desk. "Well, come in, don't just stand there like a useless wand." Which was pretty useless to a sorcerer as most of their power flew out off the end of their fingertips. 'Wizards used wands, sorcerers used their hands' was a common phrase within Meltoy's lecture room. He was forever confiscating wands during lectures. Well you couldn't really call them wands more like a stick, that some of the more younger enthusiastic sorcerers had made; by ripping off a small branch of a nearby tree. Some of the more adventurous ones had even painted theirs and written magic symbols on them. Then sold it off to a fellow student, swearing blind that it was a family heirloom passed down to him, from generation to generation. The student should have known better; as only paying one gold piece, a bag of sweets and the odd copy of _Spells weekly_ should have set alarms bells off.

As Freno walked in, Meltoy waved his hand, and a chair from the other side of his desk pulled itself out, making a dragging sound on the flagstones as it went. It finally stopped a short distance from the desk. Freno sat down with an expression on his face that Meltoy had come to know all too often, especially when he had moved himself up the ladder and went from student to Master and found out it wasn't all night parties, living it up in the towers. There was a price to pay, and that was staring him straight in the face now. Students!

You had to teach students, and that was definitely not one of the perks of the job; now the look on Freno's face was giving Meltoy an uneasy feeling in his stomach.

"Okay, out with it, what have you done or what's happened?" asked Meltoy, placing both hands on the desk.

"Well, I don't really know, Master, but I've just got this feeling."

"I know how you feel," butted in Meltoy.

"I think my demon's up to something," concluded Freno.

"And what makes you think that?" asked Meltoy.

"Well, last night . . ."

"Yes?" said Meltoy, as he crossed his hands and put them on his lap, adopting a listening pose.

"Well, I beat him at cards."

There was a deadly silence as both of them stopped breathing. Meltoy, because he couldn't believe what he had just heard, and Freno, because he was scared to say anymore. Meltoy leaned forward over his desk.

"Now, you're telling me that you actually beat a fully-grown demon at cards. There's no mistake. It wasn't an apprentice demon or something like that. I mean, it could have been dark, and you might have had a few," stated Meltoy, hoping the student had been drunk; which was against fortress rules on a school day, but would have let it go just this once, not wanting to believe what he had just heard.

"No, Master, I hadn't been drinking, and I'm not mistaken."

"Well, was it an accident, did he lay the wrong cards?"

"No, Master."

"Well, did you use the dark arts?" asked Meltoy, frantically searching for the answer. But, deep down, Meltoy knew that if Freno had of used sorcery, he wouldn't be sitting in front of him now, or at the very least would have had the odd one or two limbs missing.

"No Master, I didn't need to, as I'd been winning all night."

"ALL NIGHT! ALL NIGHT!" screamed Meltoy, springing up from his desk, knocking his chair backwards. "Jumping fireballs!" he shouted. "Next you're going to tell me he paid up!"

There was a clatter of coins as Freno emptied a bag of gold coins onto the Master's desk.

"Every coin," answered Freno, somewhat reluctantly as he quickly worked out for himself that the demon paying up wasn't a good thing.

Meltoy was now pacing up and down frantically, muttering to himself. Trying to go through every possible scenario in his head as to why a demon would do such a thing. But no matter how many different events he imagined, it all led to one thing.

"He's up to something," spoke Meltoy out loud.

He stopped walking and turned to Freno, not wanting to ask the next question, but he knew he had to. "And who, may I ask, were you playing cards with last night?"

Freno gulped as he tried to build up some courage. "Zacrog" he muttered.

"Who?" asked Meltoy. He had actually heard him right the first time but was asking again just in case Freno wanted to change his mind and stop him from having a heart attack.

"Zacrog, Master," replied Freno again.

"AHHH!" screamed Meltoy, followed by, "ANYONE BUT ZACROG!"

Meltoy then proceeded to try and pull his hair out, while going red in the face. The whole room started to shake.

"ZACROG!" screamed Meltoy again, as the chair underneath Freno shattered.

Freno decided to take cover under Meltoy's desk, seeing as he was already on the floor. There were a couple of bangs and flashes, and Freno could have sworn he saw a giant scorpion go flying past the desk before he closed his eyes.

Freno, by now was huddled up in a ball with his eyes firmly closed, uttering every protection spell he knew. He even tried to recite others he didn't. Freno knew he should have paid more attention in the lectures. Then it all fell silent, Freno opened one eye. He saw the chair he had been sitting on earlier, putting itself back together again under the influence of Meltoy's muttering. Freno looked out from under the desk and saw the rest of the private study; which had been entirely obliterated, starting to do the same, as Meltoy muttered and waved his hands, somewhat in a calmer manner now.

The Dark Fortress was helping as well, putting back the furniture and walls back to normal but it was taking its time in solemn protest as it hadn't been so long ago a granite block had exploded in that very same lecture room. Even though The Dark Fortress didn't make notes, or in fact didn't even think; everything it did it just did. But somewhere deep down in a forgotten part of the fortress Meltoy's name appeared on some parchment under the heading _Trouble Maker_.

Freno decided to stay under the desk, for now, just to be on the safe side, in case Meltoy hadn't got it all out of his system.

Meltoy stopped muttering, straightened himself up and took a deep breath, then exhaled.

"Ah, that's better," he said out loud as he opened his eyes then frantically scanned his study. "Freno!" he shouted as he noticed the empty chair. Meltoy started to panic, as images of scattering Freno into a million pieces ran through his mind as he tried to recall what spell he had uttered during his outburst.

"I'm under here, Master," came a voice from under the desk.

"Ah, Freno," said Meltoy with relief.

"Is it safe now, Master?"

"Yes, yes, quite safe. Come on, up you get," said Meltoy reassuringly. As he did, he took a quick glance over his shoulder, just checking, as he wasn't a hundred percent sure where the giant scorpion had gone.

Freno's head appeared from under the desk as he gave the room another quick inspection, then he got up off the floor and sat back on his chair.

"That's better," said Meltoy, having a big stretch.

"That's got rid of a few cobwebs. It's amazing how much stress builds up over a hundred years or so. So then, where were we?" he said as he retook his seat, feeling all refreshed and revived.

"Err, well I was under the desk, Master," replied Freno.

"No, no, not that," chuckled Meltoy, somewhat in a jollier mood now. "I mean about your demon, Zacrog."

"Oh, Zacrog, well, we got to the point of him paying up," replied Freno, who was now a little uneasy with Meltoy's chuckling as it was a side of his Master he'd never seen before, but more importantly the first sign of madness.

"Ah yes, that was it. And you say that he let you win all night?"

"Yes, Master."

Meltoy pulled over a large leather-bound book, which he had been preparing. It was inscribed with the words: _In case of war, open_.

The book flicked through its own pages until Meltoy said, "Stop." He looked down at the inscription relating to Freno.

"Ah, here we are, you're down for demons."

Meltoy looked up. "Where's your brown armband?" he inquired.

"Well, that's the other thing I wanted to talk to you about, Master," answered Freno, who at this point would have preferred a chuckle from his master to the hard-glaring stare he was receiving now.

"Carry on," said Meltoy sternly, as the burdens of being a Master ran through his head again.

Freno didn't know whether to get under the desk now or later as he continued, but with caution. "Well, the demons seemed to have picked up on the coloured bands, and it's not just me," Freno quickly added. "The other students had been sensing weird goings on as well. So, we had a meeting and decided to take them off."

"Without my authority, disobeying a direct order from your MENTOR and MASTER?" cried out Meltoy in outrage.

Freno bowed his head. "Sorry, Master, but we had to make sure that we weren't imagining things as there's so much sorcery going on at the moment. We wanted to be sure, and last night when I won at cards against Zacrog, well, that put the spell in the spell book so to speak," concluded Freno.

"What do you mean, weird goings on?" asked Meltoy, temporarily letting Freno off the hook.

"Well, at first no one really noticed, then one by one students started talking and were finding cards pushed under their doors. Or woke up with a brand-new robe, woven to the highest standard, wrapped in brown paper and left on their bedside table with a card on top."

"Have you got one?"

"Yes, Master."

"Well, show it to me then," snapped Meltoy, eager to see the thing that had broken his chain of command.

Freno held his arm out. "Just check out the craftsmanship on the trim, it's rather remarkable."

"Not your robe, you fool, a card. Have you got a card!" snapped Meltoy.

"Oh, sorry, Master," spluttered Freno, going red in the face while frantically patting himself down, trying all his pockets, inside and out. It's the only problem with a new robe he thought. You never know where you put things.

Especially in a sorcerer's robe as the black magic they conjure distorts the cloth, which in turn distorts the space inside, making it an empty void. So, a sorcerer can carry anything he likes in his robe. On a reality check, it isn't exactly at the same time and space as the robe itself. The void is only broken when you put your hand in to retrieve something. That's why many an assassin had failed when it came to killing a sorcerer. Due to the fact that; when they'd cornered a sorcerer whilst wearing every available protection symbol known to the assassin profession, and just when they were about to deliver the killer blow, the sorcerer delivers an even bigger one. By putting his hand inside his robe and pulling out a double-barrelled crossbow; letting rip with both bolts, killing and pinning the assassin to the wall. Which usually comes as a significant shock to the would-be assassin, and a fatal one at that, bringing his career to an end.

But because no assassin has ever lived to tell the tale, history kept on repeating itself. So, in time, mainly due to the dwindling assassin population, they came to a decision. Not to take any job on concerning sorcerers. They had a meeting, and they filed it under _Health and Safety_ , due to the fact that you always ended up dead; and that was considered an occupational hazard.

It was even said once that a grand sorcerer from long ago produced a mountain troll. Due to much shock and horror, the assassin, seeing the sorcerer pulling a mountain troll out of his robe by his big toe, died of a heart attack - just before the troll hit him over the head with a giant wooden club. Freno's hand finally found one of the cards; it was under a bunch of sandals that he had put in his pockets the day before as he was moving all his property out of his old robe into his new one. It had taken him most of the day, and that was with the help of his fellow students, all one hundred of them. They had formed an orderly line and passed possessions from one robe to another. Everyone hated robe duty, but it had to be done. Otherwise, it would take a lone sorcerer a decade just to change his robe.

In fact, it was only the second robe he'd had since he'd been practising the dark arts. Some sorcerers never changed their robes, even if they did start to look a bit tatty. Even when repaired by magic, they never looked the same as new. But what dark and sinister secrets lay in some of the sorcerer's pockets were best left forgotten, and a robe change would only drag it all up again.

Freno pulled out a card. It was a nice card; it fitted perfectly into his hand. He passed it over to Meltoy, who at once knew by the touch that it was no ordinary card, it wasn't even from their realm. There was a red crest embodied on white parchment, in a very fancy design. It had a demon's name on it, 'Taelop,' in deep red lettering on the front and on the back, there was an inscription, also in red, for summoning the demon with a P.S. at the bottom, which read, ' _No job too big or too small. '_

"And you say that every student who had a brown band on, got one of these cards?"

"No, Master."

"But you said they did."

"No, Master, I mean yes Master, they all got a card, but each time they were different, a different demon representing himself. First of all, all we received were Fire Demon cards, but then after a couple of days, we started to receive Earth, Water and Wind cards. I've got over forty myself," said Freno rather proudly as he reached into the pocket of his robe, under the sandals again, and grabbed the rest of the pile; handing them over to Meltoy.

"Great fireballs!" shrieked Meltoy, as he inspected the other cards.

Each had different names on and different shades of blue, green, brown and red. A blue card caught his eye. It had a faint blue hologram on it of Whateron, a Water Demon. When Meltoy turned it in the light, the name changed into a picture of the demon, which had its mouth open, snarling. Meltoy turned it over and under the summoning spell was written the demons past performances, how many fights it had had, how many wins, and its personal statistics, like how tall he was and how much he weighed.

"I've seen it all now," muttered Meltoy turning it over and flicking the hologram once more.

"That's one of the new ones, Master," piped up Freno. "They only started to arrive yesterday. I don't know how to put it, but each day they seem to get better."

"Each outdoing the next?" commented Meltoy.

"Yes, Master."

"That's demons for you," muttered Meltoy in a dreading way, but a part of him had to respect them for they were resourceful creatures. "And tell me, Freno, is there any other purpose for these cards, apart from a text to summon a demon?"

"Well, not exactly, Master, but we have given them our own name."

Meltoy stopped staring at the hologram of Whateron and looked up.

"And what, may I ask, is that?"

"We call then Trading Cards, Master."

"Trading Cards. What on earth for?" asked Meltoy, as Calling Cards was the answer he was looking for; or he would have settled for Bribery Cards.

"Can I show you, Master?" said Freno picking up some of yesterday's new arrivals.

"Well, see Fellyton, the Earth Demon here."

"Yes, yes," said Meltoy, a bit intrigued at where this was going.

"Well, if you turn it over and look at his statistics, you can see his Power is 200, and his Intelligence is 20, and so on," said Freno, as he showed his Master the back of the card, all enthusiastically.

"Yes, I've got that."

"Well, now turn yours over, the one you've got in your hand, and take a look at his statistics."

Meltoy turned the Water Demon Whateron, over in his hand to take a look at the back.

"Well, mine says, Power 150, Intelligence 30, Resistance to spells 70, Attack 90......"

"Yes, that's okay, Master, we don't have to go through them all," stated Freno, subtly stopping Meltoy reciting the whole of the back of the card.

"Well, let's just say that I haven't seen your card, right, and you haven't seen mine. Now the whole point of trading cards is to get your opponent's card, and we do that by picking a strong point out of my demon's card. Let's take my card, for instance. It says Power 200. Now if we look at yours, it says Power 150, which means I beat you. I get to keep your card, and then I place both cards at the bottom of my pack. We then turn over the top cards on our packs and I pick again because I won."

"But you cheated, you looked!" snapped Meltoy, reluctant to hand over Whateron; but he did.

"But Master, I was just explaining the rules."

"Oh yes, I knew that," stated Meltoy, quickly moving on. "And you're saying sorcerers are playing this all over the fortress?"

"Yes, Master."

"This won't do, THIS WON'T DO AT ALL," shouted Meltoy, as he slammed his hands on his desk. "I want every student in the fortress to report to me in the main Assembly Hall at once. Now go and tell everyone you see," said Meltoy waving Freno out of the door.

Just as Freno was about to leave, Meltoy looked up. "Huh-hum, come back here." Freno sighed, as he thought he had got away with it. He turned with his head bowed and walked back to Meltoy, who was now standing there with his right hand outstretched.

"Come on, give me back Whateron," ordered Meltoy.

Freno was hesitant but only five minutes ago he had seen the Master in action, and if that wasn't enough, he could now see out the corner of his eye the tail of a rather large scorpion sticking out from behind a bookshelf. Which his brain thought it wise; to instruct him to hand over the card and get out of there.

Meltoy waved his fingers. "And the rest."

Freno half shook his head as he put his hand in his pocket and handed over the rest of his collection. Meltoy cast his gaze over them giving them a quick inspection.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" said Meltoy staring hard at Freno. Now if one of his fellow students had just asked him that question while standing there with their back to a giant scorpion, there would have been only one answer.

"But it's my best card, Master," pleaded Freno in his defence, half-heartedly, as the one eye he'd left on the scorpion; had spotted the tail move.

"Oh, that's alright then, you can keep it. But when we are standing in the middle of a battlefield, surrounded by elves, dwarfs, warlords and whatever else we might have to face, and we are relying on you for backup, what are you going to do, get your Trading Cards out?" Meltoy said sarcastically. "You're meant to be studying, we haven't had a war for a thousand years, and you're playing Trading Cards, now I know for a fact you have one more card. AS I HAVEN'T SEEN IT." The room began to change colour as Meltoy started to shout.

Freno hurriedly put his hands inside the back of his hood, where there was a secret lining and pulled out a red card, written in the grandest of handwriting. The hologram image of a ferocious demon flashed in the light as he handed it over, and then it was replaced with the demon's name _Zacrog_ , as Meltoy put it in the bundle with the others.

"Now go and tell the others," ordered Meltoy.

Freno bowed his head turned and hurried out of the door. Meltoy stood in his lecture room. 'This has to be stopped, and it has to be stopped now,' he thought. He walked over to his desk and started to scribble on some parchment. After finishing, he held it up for inspection.

_All Students From Every Faculty Must Report Immediately To The Main Assembly Hall_  
 _NOW!_  
 _By Order Of Master Meltoy_

He uttered some words, and the parchment flew up into the air, multiplying itself, filling the whole ceiling. Then, all of a sudden, they disappeared. Instantly reappearing all over the fortress, on billboards, in students' hands, anywhere and everywhere. And just in case any student tried to say that they hadn't received one, it turned up in the most unlikely places.

As Penop soon discovered; at the precise moment the message was sent out, he was sitting on a huge wooden toilet just about to start on the paperwork. He leant over to retrieve some paper off the hook. Which generally consisted of some pages out of an old discarded magical book of some kind. Which had on more than one occasion, left the user walking around oblivious to some fireball arranging technique or other imprinted on his rear. But, in this case the writing was different. The message sent by Meltoy now appeared as large print on every page of the discarded book.

But sometimes the message sent might adapt to its surroundings, changing the message ever so slightly to the environment it was in. The Students had always blamed The Dark Fortress. Stating because dark sorcery was practised within its walls, that it was somehow mischievous with a dark and twisted sense of humour.

Like the time a message had been sent out by one of the Master's asking his students to hand in their papers. Only for half of them to get a message asking them to hand in their pants, much to the disgust and annoys of their Master.

And the time Old Master Ricket got a message, which should have been read.

_Meeting in The Mystic Chambers, 10 p.m. Signed Meltoy._

However, his was different from the other Masters, his read.

_Meet me in The Mystic Chambers 10 p.m. Love Meltoy X._

And still to this day, Meltoy has always wondered why Rickety had never turned up for that meeting.

It was also rumoured that the fortress even had a fondness for pancakes and on more than one occasion a notice appeared on the notices boards about pancakes in some way shape or form. One time there was even a full blow investigation held, as to why students were running amuck in the kitchens, with flour and eggs trying to make pancakes; to win first prize of a guided tour of the forgotten dungeons. But the investigation drew a blank when the notice suspiciously disappeared.

But if the truth should be known the students were right, it was The Dark Fortress. But it didn't do it because it had a dark scene of humour as it didn't have one, it did it because it was bored.

Penop stared at the message on the paper. It read:

_Go To The Assembly Hall, Move Directly To The Assembly Hall, Do Not Pass Poo_

Penop read the message in bewilderment "What kind of toilet humour is this?" he called out, as he ripped a strip off and proceeded with the job in hand.

Meltoy was sitting in his lecture room waiting for the other three Masters to arrive. He had sent them a personal message each, just after sending out the general notice to all the students. He thought he'd better bring them up to speed on the Trading Card scandal if they hadn't already spotted it. There was a knocking on the door to his private study.

"Come in!" Shouted Meltoy.

The door opened by itself and in stepped Penta and Wubuck. As the door was shutting slowly, someone was yelling.

"Hold on, wait for me, wait for me," came echoing across the lecture room, as Rickety hurried across the room towards Meltoy's private study. The door re-opened, and Rickety came scuttling in all out of breath.

"My legs aren't what they used to be," he said as he leant forward, putting his hands on his knees to catch his breath. "And even then, they weren't much cop," he continued to mutter.

"Thank you for giving us a rundown on your health, Rickety, but if you please," said Meltoy, who was pointing in the direction of some chairs that had just appeared on the other side of his desk.

The fortress furniture was very accommodating like that; it arranged itself according to the needs of the moment.

"Please sit," said Meltoy, as he himself sat down. "Fellow sorcerers. I have brought you here to discuss a matter of importance that's sweeping through the fortress. Instead of the students getting on with their studies, they are being distracted by a new . . ." Meltoy stopped what he was saying as he noticed it wasn't just his students that were being distracted. The other Masters were as well. The Masters weren't looking at him, but instead, they seemed to be focussing on a spot just behind him, and accompanying their stare was a weird and a somewhat horrified look that sat upon their faces; and Rickety's looked like it was about to run off.

Meltoy spun around and was confronted by a four-foot scorpion just about to strike. With a wave of his hand, it disappeared.

"Right then, where was I?" commented Meltoy, turning back around, not at all flustered by the sudden appearance of the scorpion. Unlike Rickety, who was having a careful look under the table, just in case the scorpion had a friend.

But Meltoy chose to ignore Rickety, who was now lifting up his chair and stamping out the bumps in the rug.

"Right, as I was saying," said Meltoy raising his voice above Rickety's stamping.

"The students are being distracted by a new, how can I put it," Meltoy said, trying to think of a word. "Ah, _trend_ , yes, a new trend, which has taken a grip of the fortress."

"Well, can we kill this so-called trend that's attacking us?" asked Rickety, who was stood holding his chair.

"We can do better than that, we can stamp it out," replied Meltoy.

"Well, if we can just stamp on it, why don't we send in the cook, he does quite well with the rats."

"What are you blithering on about!" asked Meltoy somewhat bewildered at the conversation that was now taking place.

"Well, this trend creature that's got a grip of our fortress, if he's that small that you can stamp on him, why don't we just get the cook to do it?" said Rickety as he stood there with a smug look on his face.

Deep down, Rickety was feeling pleased with himself as he thought that the others might be in higher towers than him, but his feet were firmly on the ground. It takes an older, more mature sorcerer to come up with the simple solution. 'Young sorcerers of today don't even know they're born,' were his final thoughts on the matter.

Meltoy sat back in his chair and shook his head. "This trend is not some monster or demon that's attacking us. I was speaking metaphorically."

"Meta what?" replied Rickety. "What's he got to do with it?"

Meltoy just stared at Rickety in disbelief, wondering how he had survived to the age he was. But Meltoy just ignored him and so did the others.

"As I was saying, there is a new -" he paused for a moment. "Thing that's taken hold of our students."

"Make your mind up, one minute you say it's attacking the fortress. Now you say it's taken hold of our students," butted in Rickety.

Penta, who was sitting next to Rickety, leant over and placed his hand on Rickety's shoulder; who was still stood up holding his chair. He spoke loudly and clearly in the old sorcerer's his ear.

"I'll explain it to you later."

"Thank you, Penta," said Meltoy as he gave Rickety a hard stare.

"I called you all here to bring you up to speed. It seems that the demons are getting themselves organised. They are sending our students some kind of -" Meltoy paused slightly. "What I can only describe as Business Cards, and that's not all. They're trying to bribe them by using cheap tricks like offering them expensive robes made of some of the finest cloth and stitching I've ever seen."

"Hah-huh." Wubuck coughed as he tried to clear his throat and move uneasily in his seat at the same time.

"No, not you. Tell me it's not true," said Meltoy, noticing the fine and elegant heavy black robe Wubuck was wearing. Wubuck went bright red in the face. "It arrived yesterday. It was just lying at the end of my bed, what else could I do? I couldn't just throw it out. It would have been rude and funnily enough, there was a card that came with it . . ." spluttered Wubuck.

"Have you still got it?"

"No, I just threw it out, I didn't take much notice of it, I just thought it was a gift from an admiring demon."

"And didn't you think it was a little bit strange, that after all this time a demon you hardly know, apart from in the old scrolls, just happens to look you up, and sends you a gift?"

"Well, putting it like that," muttered Wubuck, as he fell silent once more. Meltoy just shook his head before continuing.

"Something is going on, and we have to find out what. The demons are up to something, and they need us to help them. Only this morning I had one of my students in here telling me that he beat a demon at cards last night."

"No!" came collectively from all three sorcerers followed by a gasp. Even Rickety, who understanding the question, had never heard of any sorcerer ever beating a demon at cards.

"And listen to this," said Meltoy, holding back the next sentence to add greater tension to the issue. "He paid up in full, that very same night, and we're not just talking about any old demon, we're talking about Zacrog."

"This is serious!" shouted Rickety, waving the chair around in the air, as he flung his arms up in protest.

He might have been a slow starter, but he was definitely on board now, thought Meltoy.

"But we might be able to nip this in the bud before it gets out of hand. So far, the students don't see it as serious as we do. They don't see these cards as a way or means for the demons to come out of their realm. They see it as a game."

"A game?" asked Wubuck, puzzled at the idea.

"I can't go into it right now, but they call it 'Trading Cards', and we need to put a stop to it straight away. Before any of them get it into their thick skulls to actually summon these things. If they summon some of the more powerful ones without proper training, they won't be able to control them. Then there's no telling what might happen, so I've called them all into the main Assembly Hall. When they're all there, I will give them a lecture and confiscate all the cards. Then we have a more important task to do."

"What's that?" asked Penta, momentarily butting in. Meltoy looked at the other Masters concerningly.

"We have to find out whose passing these things around, as the demons can't be doing it themselves. Because they can't get to this realm without being summoned. So, keep your eyes open for anything or anyone who looks suspicious as it looks like they have someone on the inside."

Meltoy paused for a brief second and looked at Wubuck then dismissed the idea, before he continued. "Doing their dirty work for them." The room fell silent, a deadly silent, as they all thought about the matter at hand.

"Right, fellow sorcerers, if you please, we have an assembly to conduct, and let's put a stop to this," said Meltoy as he stood up, and walked out of this private study, through the lecture room and out through the main door. Heading in the direction of the Assembly Hall followed by the others trailing behind him in accordance with rank; leaving Rickety bringing up the rear, still carrying his chair.

The hall was full to the brim with students of all five Masters. Meltoy's students sat at the front, all one hundred and two of them. Behind them sat Rathall's students whose numbers were much bigger than Meltoy's. But Meltoy went for quality rather than quantity, then Wubuck's, Petra's, and finally Rickety's. All three of them were sat on their own at the back, looking as if they hadn't been invited and they'd just sneaked in. Trantore being The Supreme Grand Master didn't have student; it was one of the perks of being the boss.

The students were all talking, and the odd pranks were being played on each other, as was normal when such a large gathering of students occurred. There was also a lot hatred between the different faculty's filling the room, especially between Rathall's and Meltoy's students. This was because Rathall's students had to sit behind Meltoy's and stare at the crest of the large dark blue scorpion that was embroidered on the back of their robes, and that made them feel second best. They waited for the day when their Master, Rathall, challenged Meltoy and won. Then they would get to sit at the front, and Meltoy's faculty would get to stare at a snake.

The doors to the Assembly Hall opened and in stepped Meltoy, with his hood drawn over his face, closely followed by the other Masters. As they strolled in, the assembly went quiet as all eyes were fixed upon on them. All apart from one student, who was trying to turn his foot back to normal after a prank on a fellow student went wrong. And he ended up turning his foot into the giant webbed claw of an albatross; which would have been fine if he was going swimming, but in assembly, it posed a bit of problem.

Two other students were talking as Meltoy made his way to the front of the stage. He turned his head.

"SILENCE!" shouted Meltoy, his voice booming and shaking the whole room. Everything and everybody stopped doing what they were doing; even time itself stopped for a brief second. It even made those that were giving Meltoy their full attention feel guilty, thinking they hadn't been trying hard enough.

Meltoy was in a different mood and posture altogether; now that he was presenting himself as the highest-ranking sorcerer in the fortress. Apart from Trantore, that is, but he was away so the role fell upon his shoulders and he couldn't show any sign of weakness.

Meltoy walked up onto the stage, turned, and stood behind a large pulpit which was made out of dark magical oak, all twisted with different carvings of past great sorcerers engaging in battle. As he stood behind the magnificent carvings, they changed ever so slowly, depicting the actual battles themselves. Meltoy put his hands up to his hood, pushing it back, revealing his face to the onlookers. He looked different; his whole structure appeared to be darker and larger with an almost invisible power whipping itself around him, as a fine light blue mist danced about on his robe; now and then a bit would take a dive from the robe and disappear.

His face was no longer soft; all his main features were harder and more defined. His eyes were glowing a soft dark blue. His pale blue hair wasn't sloppy and hanging down like it usually was; it was now slick and swept back over his head, trailing just below his shoulders like a mane. He now had everyone's full attention.

Even the other Masters felt uneasy as they sat behind him in the row of chairs; there was one extra one at the end next to Rickety as the fortress, being accommodating, hadn't taken into account Rickety bringing his own.

Meltoy took a deep breath and surveyed the now captive audience; everyone was ready, so he began.

"It has been brought to my attention that certain cards have been making their way around the fortress, going by the name of TRADING CARDS". He raised his voice as he said the last two words and leant forward on the pulpit. The students would have taken an uneasy gulp but didn't want to draw the attention of the Master.

"Now, let it be known that this trend, game, or anything else you want to call it, stops now. And anyone caught playing it will be banished, or even worse, transported to another realm till the end of their days. Do I make myself clear?" Every student was now too scared to answer as their minds drifted to the cards in their pockets.

"DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?" shouted Meltoy, blasting the words out again, much to the regret of the first row. Who were blown clean off their benches and into the second row, luckily most of the third row managed to duck in time, as the first and second row rolled on by, ending up in the fourth and fifth.

There was an enormous eruption of "YES, MASTER MELTOY," as the rest of them tried to regain their balance and stay seated; When a student was in his own lecture room with their own faculty Master, it was more relaxed you could just call them Master. But when in the presence of other facility's and other Masters a student had to address them by their full title.

"Firstly, let me point out that you are meant to be studying and developing your skills or chosen tasks. Do I have to tell you, how much these skills will mean to us if we eventually have to use them?"

"No, Master Meltoy," came another chorus of voices from the students, much to the relief of the front row, who had only just put back their upturned benches back and sat down.

"Well, then, stop acting like fools. And if anyone receives any more cards or gifts . . . and don't think I haven't noticed the new robes!"

With that last comment, Meltoy seemed to look at all the students who were sporting the new robes all at once.

"Now, form an orderly queue in front of the stage and deposit all your cards. AND I MEAN ALL OF THEM," raising his voice again ever so slightly and gently rocking the front row, just enough to get the message across.

"And those who have cards in your rooms or dorms, go and get them and bring them back here. You have ten minutes. And don't think I won't know if you hide them. There isn't a single nook or cranny I don't know about in this fortress. NOW GO."

The last statement Meltoy just made wasn't exactly true. It wasn't that Meltoy was lying he just didn't know about the other thirty-seven secret rooms and chambers within the fortress. The Dark Fortress had never told anyone about them for one simple reason; it couldn't talk.

Instantly, half the students jumped up in a mad frenzy to get out of the Assembly Hall. Their hearts were trying their hardest to beat out of their chests as they tried to pick up momentum to get out and to their rooms to retrieve the cards and get back in time.

Some of the students who hadn't even got cards hurried out the room just to get out of the same room as Meltoy. They accumulated and gathered just around the corner of the Assembly Hall, just out of site. All of them had their pipes out, trying to take as much smoke down their necks as they could suck. Some of the ones that had been in the front row; had to have their pipes lit for them as their hands were shaking so much. Whilst one of them was keeping track of time so they wouldn't be late getting back in.

Meltoy called the other Masters forward with a wave of his hand. They all stood there bearing down their presence as one by one each student emptied their pockets and turned their cards over into a large sack that was positioned at the front of the stage, in line with the pulpit from which Meltoy was looming down on them.

Even Meltoy was surprised at how many cards had actually been handed out. Then one student caught Meltoy's eye, one of Rathall's. Who had returned with two big sacks slung over his shoulder and was shaking like a leaf. All the colour had drained from his cheeks. But, that wasn't what had caught Meltoy's attention. The student was covered from head to toe in brand new attire, jet-black suede half-cut ankle boots, brand new undergarments. Then, to top it all off, one of the finest robes Meltoy had ever seen, even the stitching was held together by stitching.

Rathall's student was out of breath as he joined the back of the queue. The students who had already deposited their cards retook their seats as the procession continued, with Rathall's student getting closer with each deposit. His head lowering a little, with each step he took.

Wubuck and Penta had noticed the student as well. Rickety, on the other hand, was otherwise engaged. 'A sorcerer of my age, having to stand up for so long, and being a Master as well.' He thought, as his legs and back began to ache. He was trying his hardest just to stay on his feet, whilst holding his chair. He had picked up the chair once more as he didn't want to offend The Dark Fortress by bringing his own.

He had heard the rumours and noticed the odd sorcerer missing. Which normally happened in the dead of night accompanied with a harrowing scream. That went right through to your soul followed by a Burp, and when the other students went running to the scene instead off finding their fellow student tucked up in bed having a nightmare. Upon entering his room, they found it empty and spotless; bed made, room tidied and immaculately clean, as if someone had just given it a once over to hide any evidence.

Some of the more older and wiser students went to sleep with pancakes at the end of their beds, much to the amusement of their fellow students; but it was safe to say they never vanished.

Finally, he arrived at the stage. Just as the student was about to leave after depositing two full sacks into the main one at the front of the stage, Meltoy, who hadn't taken his eyes off him since he stepped back into the hall, lifted his right hand up.

"WAIT!" boomed out the single word from Meltoy. Every student in the queue froze, expecting the worst. "You, the one at the front!" Meltoy pointed straight at Rathall's student.

"Wait behind at the end."

"Yes, Master Meltoy," came a shaky answer from the half-cocked head of the student as he half-nodded in Meltoy's direction. But dared not look into his eyes, for fear of something dreadful happening to him.

"Continue," said Meltoy, and the line continued to flow. Meltoy and the other Masters, all except Rickety, kept their eyes on the student as he retook his place amongst the others and sat down.

The line in front of Meltoy was slowly coming to a halt, as the last couple of students deposited their cards. Meltoy gave it a quick glance; the bag seemed to be at bursting point. There was one final group of sorcerers that entered in a huddle, waving their hands in front of their faces; a couple of them were sucking on mints as they quickly retook their seats.

"I TAKE IT THAT'S ALL OF THEM," boomed Meltoy, addressing the students.

"Yes, Master Meltoy," came a unified reply.

"Very well, we will have no more of this. Now go and practice, and when the time is upon us, I want you giving it your all. Remember, this will go down in history, so how do you want to be remembered?" Meltoy said, as his stature seemed to get even slightly bigger than before. "Now, go and prepare," came his final words, ordering them to leave the assembly.

There was a lot of hustle and bustle as all of Meltoy's students got up and left, followed by a few sly comments as Rathall's students followed, and so on, in order of rank, until Rickety's students got up slowly and wearily made their way to the doors.

All three of them were almost as old as Rickety himself. Rickety was more of a friend than a Master, and he was only their Master because he lost and drew the short straw one-day; literally. As none of them wanted the responsibility of being a Master and attending all the meetings.

When their old Master died from natural causes, or as natural as you could get by falling asleep in bowl of soup. By the time his lips told his brain they were burning, it was too late, his lungs beat them to it and told it he'd drowned. No new sorcerers ever wanted to join their faculty, on account that they never believed the bowl of soup incident was just a freak accident, and added to this, the fact that the faculty of the 'Yellow Bullfrog' was too old and boring, according to the _Sorcerers ' Weekly_. So, all in all, they had their small gathering of friends, and they were happy, and as they stepped out of the Assembly Hall, Meltoy waved his hands, and the doors closed behind them.

"Now then, step forward, I want a word with you," said Meltoy. All his attention was now on the lone student, sat all on his own in the middle of the room. The student got up, thinking he was making his way towards the end chapter of his life. As he walked, his legs felt like lead. The whole room seemed to close in on him as he stepped closer and closer towards Meltoy. Stopping at the front of the stage, in front of him was a huge sack; full to the brim with cards. He knew what was coming next and he couldn't bear to look at the cards. He started to shake and sweat as he cast his gaze further down to avoid looking at the bag.

As he did, his eyes rested on his brand new jet-black suede boots, which he had acquired from his dealings with the demons, which had seemed a sure bet at the time; but now just made matters worse.

"I'm sure you have worked out for yourself why you were kept back," spoke Meltoy.

"Yes, Master Meltoy."

"Oh, at least I'll give you some credit for a truthful answer. What is your name?"

"Kellet, Master Meltoy."

"And tell me, Kellet, why did you take it upon yourself to plague this fortress with these Business Cards?"

"Well, at first," said Kellet, as if he was speaking into his boots.

"LOOK UP AND SPEAK UP, YOUR FATE LIES WITH YOUR ANSWER!" boomed Meltoy. As he said, this Kellet's robe rippled with the force of the words.

Kellet quickly raised his head. "At first, Master Meltoy, it all started off innocently. I had summoned my demon, Threnog, a Fire Demon. We were going through some battle commands when at the end of the session he said he had a spare ten minutes, and if it was okay with me, he'd like to tidy my room."

"Tidy your room?" repeated Meltoy in disbelief.

"Yes, Master Meltoy," replied Kellet.

"We are talking about the same Threnog here, aren't we, The Great Threnog who took out an entire army back in the perionic days then gathered all their bones together and crafted himself a bone shield out of them. Then, deciding it wasn't strong enough, attacked the army he was supposed to be fighting for just to gather more bones to make his shield stronger. Is this the same demon?"

"Yes, Master Meltoy."

"And you're telling me he offered to tidy your room?"

"Yes, Master Meltoy, and press my clothes."

"Oh, so he's a bit of an all-rounder when it comes to the domestic front is he?" said Meltoy.

"Well," started Kellet, who was just about to give a full and detailed account.

"I WAS BEING SARCASTIC!" bellowed Meltoy, making Kellet's hair flow backwards in the bellowing force.

"So then, when did you start to take delivery of your new attire?" Meltoy asked, tapping his fingers on the pulpit.

Kellet looked at Meltoy strangely.

"Your clothes, man, your clothes," said Meltoy, rolling his eyes at the lack of Kellet's vocabulary.

"Oh, my clothes, well, Threnog gave me the robe and asked me if I'd pass some cards out to the rest of the students. I didn't think it would do any harm. Then I thought there must be other demons from the other elements doing the same. As I had also received cards from them, from other students. So, I summoned one demon for each element -Fire, Water, Earth and Wind - not at the same time of course" Kellet quickly added not wanting to look stupid; but that moment had come and gone long ago. "And I sort of had a word with them," said Kellet. Once again decided his shoes had all of a sudden become very interesting and was now noticing for the first time the fine craftsmanship that must have gone into them.

"When you say, 'had a word with them', you mean you asked them to do all their business through you and in return you received, no doubt, your boots, undergarments and anything else you might require?" commented Meltoy, while giving Kellet a hard stare. Which, if it hadn't been for the extra grip he was receiving from his new shoes, probably would have knocked him off his feet.

"Yes, Master Meltoy," Replied Kellet

"And the robes that were left as gifts for the other students, where are they now?" asked Meltoy.

"They're all in my room with the other stuff."

"Other stuff, what other stuff?" spluttered Meltoy, hardly believing what his ears had just heard. Kellet took a deep gulp before continuing. "Well, each night I'd summon the demons, and they would appear with a whole new bunch of cards and gifts. Each element gave different gifts, trying to outdo the others. Only last night I received twenty hand-crafted Fire Demon pipes, made from the finest wood, with a different carving of a Fire Demon on them. Fifteen ankle-cut boots from the Earth Demon Eiretol, sixteen hand-stitched undergarments made of the finest cloth from Castol the Wind Demon, and Wepthrong the Water Demon gave me some black magical hand towels which when picked up, washed your hands then dried them. That was just yesterday, and I've still got boxes of stuff I haven't given out yet, I've been so busy."

"It looks like it," commented Meltoy.

"Right, I think the first step is an inspection of your room, then after that, a talk with the demons from each element would be in order I think. Kellet, lead the way," ordered Meltoy, as he walked down off the stage, followed by the other Masters. Who were all eager and keen as Meltoy was; to find out what else lay within the four walls of Kellet's living quarters.

All apart from Rickety, who was busy in his own little world, trying to work out if he should take the chair away with him or not, seeing as he brought it in in the first place. Still not wanting to upset the fortress, as moving furniture about was its job.

As they walked along the corridors of the fortress and passed other students; they stood still and faced the Masters in respect. Every now and then there was the sound of wood knocking against the cold stonewalls, which echoed along the corridor. But after several long corridors, fifteen flights of stairs, seven landings, one hundred and twenty-two stares of respect and admiration, and a lot of moaning from Rickety who was bringing up the rear with his chair, they Finally reached Kellet's door.

Kellet spoke a few magic words to unlock the door, and it swung open, revealing a room packed from floor to ceiling with boxes. The sorcerers stepped into the room; there wasn't much left of it. There were boxes everywhere, some opened with the contents half-hanging out, others still sealed with the emblems of the elements stamped on the side.

"Someone has been busy haven't they," muttered Meltoy, as he made a short inspection of the room, looking in the boxes, pulling items out and giving it the once-over.

"How do you know, to give which items, to which students?" enquired Meltoy.

"It's written on tags attached to the items, as on the robe you have in your hand, Master Meltoy."

"Ah yes," replied Meltoy, as he took a look at the label. "Jolent. Oh, he's one of mine." Meltoy turned the robe over. And the right design on the back as well," Meltoy pointed out, as the dark blue scorpion design presented itself in fine craftsmanship on the rear of the robe. Meltoy held it up with one hand and held out the other arm and measured the robe for width, then length, to see if it was dragging on the floor too much.

"My size as well," he said, momentarily forgetting he was in company.

"Right, all this stuff must be got rid of straight away. Penta, would you do the honours?" he asked, giving Penta a wink.

"Oh yes, more than happy to."

"I'll give him a hand," said Wubuck, returning Meltoy a wink back; as he had seen the wink Meltoy had thrown Penta. Penta and Wubuck eagerly walked over to the boxes and started waving their hands and the boxes and gifts started to disappear.

In a far-off room in the fortress, an empty storeroom started to fill itself up with boxes, and that very said storeroom just happened to be attached to Master Meltoy's private study within his lecture room, which just happened to be a coincidence.

Well, that's what sorcerers normally say when faced with situations of this nature. One of the most common sentences used in the fortress was, "Oh, what a coincidence." It saved on anyone stumbling across anything by accident and being roasted alive by a giant fireball.

And if anyone did stumble across Meltoy's little hoard, they'd just say, "Oh, what a coincidence, that out of all the realms and places to banish the gifts to, they just happened to end up in a storeroom allotted to Meltoy's lecture room." Then, just shut the door and walk off: it saved a few lives and stopped unwanted fireballs flying through the fortress.

Rickety stepped forward. "Shall I give them a hand?" he said, as he went to wave his hands over the nearest box to vanquish it forever.

"NO!" All three Masters shouted at the same time, making Kellet, who was already a bag of nerves, jump. As they all had the same vision of the boxes ending up in a faraway realm somewhere.

Rickety stopped halfway through his spell. "But if I help, it will be done a lot quicker."

Meltoy walked over to Rickety and placed his hands on his shoulders and turned him away from the boxes.

"I've a better idea, I've left the bag of cards down in the Assembly Hall, can you fetch them and take them to my private study inside my lecture room?"

"But, all those stairs, I'm not walking down all those again," grumbled Rickety.

"I'll give you a hand to get there then," said Meltoy. There was a small muttering of words, and Rickety was gone. All apart from the chair which he'd still been holding onto. Which was left in mid-air, but before it fell to the floor it quickly disappeared as the fortress seized its chance and reclaimed it.

"Now, as for you," said Meltoy, turning to face Kellet, who was trying his hardest to stand as still, so that he wouldn't be noticed. "Is there any more of this stuff?"

"No, Master Meltoy, that's the lot," said Kellet as he looked at his room again. Which was now completely empty of any merchandise whatsoever, as he witnessed Penta banishing the last box from his room. Penta and Wubuck stood back, each one wiping their hands together, as approval of a good job well done.

"Right, if I'm not mistaken, you said you dealt with four main representatives, one from each element. Threnog for Fire, Wepthrong for Water, Eiretol for Earth and Castol for Wind."

"Yes, Master Meltoy"

"Well, I think we will summon all of them at once and find out exactly what they're playing at." Meltoy waved his hand; every corner of Kellet's room started to stretch outwards. Then, a wave of the other hand changed the room into a barren desert as far as the eye could see.

"Right, that's the mood set, now let's sort this out once and for all. One each will do. Have you got the text which makes it possible to summon these demons?" asked Meltoy looking at Kellet, to save a bit of time.

"No, Master Meltoy, all I had were the cards, and I handed them all in." Meltoy let out a "TUT" and shook his head.

"Oh well, at least you obeyed orders." Meltoy closed his eyes and started muttering, his right finger pointing out and moving from left to right as if he was reading something. As he did the books in The Mystic Chambers seemed to be moving very slightly, and if you looked carefully a very fine line was being made across them, as if someone was running a finger across them.

"Ah-ha," said Meltoy out loud, still with his eyes closed. His outstretched finger stopped, and his hand seemed to grip the desert air.

"The A-Z of Demons and Summoning, that's the one."

The book in The Mystic Chambers lifted itself off the shelf, as if some invisible force had picked it up, then vanished into thin air, leaving a dusty space on the bookshelf. The book reappeared in Meltoy's hands. He muttered some words and the pages of the book started to flick, finally stopping on Threnog.

"Here we are, you take Threnog if you please, Penta," as he said this, a piece of parchment with the summoning text appeared in Penta's hand.

"And you, Wubuck, you can have Wepthrong. Kellet, you can take Eiretol, and I will take Castol."

With a wave of his hand, and a few muttered words, the book disappeared and the empty space within the bookshelf in The Mystic Chambers was full again. Leaving each sorcerer standing under the baking sun, each holding a piece of parchment.

"Right then, before we start summoning demons from each element, let's go over a few ground rules as this will prove difficult once they are here. All they'll want to do is be at each other's throats. The first sign of it getting out of hand and you feel that you are losing control over your demon, send him back, especially you, Kellet. They might have been kind to you so far but now we are onto them I'm sure they will have a change of attitude."

"Yes, Master Meltoy," replied Kellet, feeling a bit out of his depth standing there with three of the Masters.

Meltoy would have used Rickety, but it would have taken him all night to tell him what the plan was, and even then, there were no guarantees, so Kellet had to do.

"Shall we begin. First of all, let's make some space between us," said Meltoy. All four of them took a few steps backwards, to make way for the demons.

"Protect yourselves with the appropriate protection spells," ordered Meltoy.

The Masters started muttering under their breaths, and a very slight coating seemed to cover them from tip to toe. It was only noticeable due to the hot sun shining down on them and the way the light bounced off their robes very slightly in the wrong direction because of the magic.

Kellet was muttering under his breath then he'd stop, poke at the sand with his right foot, then stamp at it while biting his bottom lip.

"For the sake of sorcery, you're not telling me that you've been summoning these demons all this time and not once protected yourself with any spell whatsoever?" said Meltoy.

"Well, I didn't -" Kellet went to carry on, but Meltoy stopped him short.

"Don't say anything, have one of mine."

Meltoy raised his hand and muttered a spell. Instantly, it took a grip of Kellet. At first, Kellet panicked and started to feel as if he was suffocating; he held his breath.

"BREATHE, MAN, BREATHE!" shouted Meltoy, as he shook his head in disbelief. Kellet tried breathing but still felt as if he was being packed in some sort of invisible metal box. His chest felt tight then all of a sudden, he let out a big gush of air.

"The first time is always the hardest," chuckled Penta to the others.

"At last you have decided to join us," commented Meltoy. "You're telling me you don't learn or practice any protection spells whatsoever studying under Rathall?"

"Yes, Master, I mean no, Master Meltoy," spluttered Kellet, still feeling dizzy from the effects of the spell and adjusting to the heavyweight that seemed to be pressing in on him from every direction.

"And, just for interest's sake, please satisfy my curiosity and tell me why?" asked Meltoy, who had already guessed the answer.

"Well, Master Rathall says there's no use in learning all that pointless stuff about protecting oneself, it's attacking that does the damage."

"Oh really, and does your Master have the knowledge of protection spells?"

"Yes, Master Meltoy, he said he learnt them a long time ago and decided they were useless, so he wasn't going to waste time teaching them."

"And please humour us one more time," said Meltoy, hardly believing what he was hearing. "Do many of your students challenge Rathall to gain control of his tower and be appointed the next Master?"

"Well, about a hundred years ago there used to be a couple of challenges a year, but just lately no one dares challenge him due to the fact that he always tortures anyone who tries before he explodes them to a million pieces all over the battleground."

"And do you think Rathall might just use one of his 'OLD' -" Meltoy raised his voice to emphasise the words "- 'USELESS' protection spells on such an occasion?"

"I suppose so, Master Meltoy," replied Kellet.

"So that would be of great advantage to Rathall, if he were the only sorcerer on the battlefield that knew how to protect himself, would it not?" said Meltoy, waiting for the penny to drop. Kellet stood there with a blank look on his face, working out the scenario in his head while Meltoy stood there, studying his face: it went from a totally blank expression to a smile, with eyes wide open, as he worked out the answer. This was suddenly replaced by another blank expression as Kellet realised what the answer was.

Now it was Meltoy's turn to have a smile, but only a small one. "Right, now that little matter is cleared up, shall we begin fellow sorcerers? Your demons please," Meltoy said, with one eye on Kellet's face, which now had a furious look upon it.

"Kellet, your DEMON," said Meltoy in a stern voice.

Kellet snapped out of his furious trance and looked up at Meltoy, forgetting where he was. Meltoy was giving him a long hard stare.

"Oh, yes, Master Meltoy, my demon," he said as he hurriedly started muttering the text on the parchment. And so, did the other Masters.

There was a deadly silence in the air, then a flash of smoke followed by an almighty "ROAR" as the space in front of Penta was suddenly filled by Threnog, then a sound like a thousand waves crashing against rocks as Wepthrong appeared in front of Wubuck. Next, the earth beneath Kellet's feet shook and, with a rumble like a rock fall, Eiretol appeared. And, lastly, a mini whirlwind shot out of the desert floor, picking up sand and spinning it in every direction far and wide. When it died down, out stepped Castol, the Wind Demon, next to Meltoy. At first, there was slight panic as the demons stared at each other, then at the Masters, then at each other's hands. Each demon was holding a rather large sack and in the other hand a stack of cards.

"I KNEW IT!" roared Threnog.

"YOU STOLE OUR IDEA!" he bellowed at Wepthrong the Water Demon, who had been his arch enemy for as long as he could remember.

"NO, IT WAS YOU WHO STOLE OUR IDEA!" bellowed back Castol, as he went to raise his fist. Meltoy raised his hand, and Castol lost the power in his raised fist, which just hung in the air, motionless.

"Well, seeing as you've admitted it, that will save a bit of time," Meltoy said, drawing the attention of all four demons.

"You have been summoned here by us to explain your actions regarding these Business Cards and gifts that you are flooding The Dark Fortress with. As you are all standing here with sacks in your hand, I take it there full of gifts?" asked Meltoy, addressing the demons.

Threnog roared at being put on the spot and having to answer for his actions.

Meltoy gave Penta a nod. Penta muttered a few words and Threnog's mouth was instantly stitched up with rope, much to the displeasure of Threnog, who was now trying to pull it off.

"That's better." Meltoy slashed his hand through the air, and the sack Threnog was holding, had a huge giant gash appear on its side, exposing robes and letting some of the items fall to the floor.

"As I thought, and the rest of you?" asked Meltoy in a commanding voice. He stared at each of the demons, stamping his authority on the situation and showing them who was boss. Meltoy waved his hands again, and the other three sacks ripped open spilling some of their contents onto the desert floor, revealing an array of various gifts. One, in particular, caught Meltoy's eye as it fell out.

A rather nice highly decorative hand carved box, in the shape of a Water Demon, engulfed in waves. That would like rather nice on my desk, thought Meltoy. As he studded the excellent craftsmanship upon the box and thought about all the untidy flint that was laying around on his desk. Penta let out a little cough, snapping Meltoy out of his little daydream alerting him to matters at hand.

"Oh Yes, where was I. Yes, that was it," Said the slightly embarrassed Meltoy retaking control of the situation.

"We know that you are flooding the fortress with these so-called Business Cards and gifts, and I can only assume it's for one reason and one reason only," he said, as he looked at each one again, trying to see if their faces would give away their secrets.

All the demons looked furious and frustrated, especially Threnog, who now had steam coming out of his nose and ears. All thoughts of disembowelling each other had turned to Meltoy for summoning them and holding them against their will, not to do battle, but to answer questions.

"Now stop me if I'm wrong," said Meltoy, pausing to check to see if he had got their attention, which he had.

"The demons that had been summoned by our students have each returned to their realms and have told the rest of you that we need demons from each realm to do battle for us in a war. And now you somehow think that, by trying to bribe the faculty students, that each and every one of you will earn a place on the battlefield. Which would be very nice for us, surely giving us a vast upper hand with any enemy stupid enough to take us on. But, seeing as your demons and I'm not stupid, there must be another motive. I can only draw my own conclusions, and what I came up with, was you simply want to get enough of you summoned onto the battlefield as possible, from each of the elements. So that you can have a private war of your own and settle old scores. Does that sound about right?" concluded Meltoy, scanning the faces of the demons once again.

This time even he was shocked. Wepthrong, the Water Demon, seemed to be looking at the floor, and as for Eiretol and Castol, they appeared to be trying to whistle a duet, looking at the sky. Much to the annoyance of Meltoy, as Castol the Wind Demon just happened to be standing next to him and being a Wind Demon, he could whistle up a loud tune. It had started off being very quiet, but as Meltoy's gaze stopped at him, it had grown louder and was now beginning to make a ringing sound in Meltoy's right ear.

Even Threnog had stopped blowing smoke and was looking guilty, well as much as a thirty-foot fire-breathing demon with hands the size of a small cart could look guilty. And, for a Fire Demon, it was a very rare and peculiar sight, as it was for all the other demons as well.

"Just as I thought," said Meltoy, crossing his arms. "Well, it's got to stop right now. Demons don't control us, we control you, and if you don't like it, that's fine by me. Just tell us, and we will clear all existence of you from our records, WHICH WILL." Said Meltoy raising his voice to put the point across. "Banish you from our realm forever," warned Meltoy, pointing a finger.

"Is that what you want? Because that's what will happen," Meltoy looked on in utter disbelief, as the expressions on their faces changed once more; to a sorry-for-themselves look. He even thought he saw Wepthrong with a tear in his eye, but being a Water Demon, it was hard to tell.

Meltoy stood there speechless for the first time in his life. Here he was, giving four of the most powerful demons in the realm a ruddy good rollicking, and he seemed to be getting away with it. But the most important thing on his mind was, he was still in one piece. And the same went for Kellet and the other Masters, who had doubled their protection spells under their breaths. All apart from Kellet who was just praying his spell didn't break; Penta had even tripled his, about the same time as his demon, Threnog, had started to produce smoke from his nostrils. All three sorcerers were all standing there as still as a rock, not wanting to move or speak, all of them wondering; if Meltoy could turn the demons into having a conscience. What could he do to them?

"Ha-hum," Meltoy cleared his throat, ready to wind up the meeting before the demons had a change of heart. "Right, so no more Business Cards or gifts to enter The Dark Fortress, and that's final. And those of you who disobey and manage to get in with the help of inside contacts," with that he looked at Kellet. Who all of a sudden found it hard to breathe again,

"who might just manage to slip through a back door somehow, will be banished from the lists of demons forever. So, you go and tell your fellow demons and let this be an end to all this nonsense. Do I make myself clear?"

All the demons, which by now had their heads bowed and were looking at the floor, nodded their heads in agreement. And it wasn't just the demons nodding their heads, the other sorcerers were nodding as well, even though they weren't in the wrong; all apart from Kellet. They thought it best just in case, as you never know they thought.

"So those of you who have been selected to fight with us," Meltoy raised his voice for the next bit.

"ALONGSIDE ONE ANOTHER, will do as you are ordered. And you will give your fellow demons the same message as well. Any squabbles or old feuds that exist can be kept for another day, is that clear?"

The flurry of nods came back as fast as the question went out.

"Oh, I nearly forgot," said Meltoy "Remember one thing, if we are beaten on the battlefield, or even worse, annihilated, then who will be left to summon you to our realm? You'll be locked out forever. So just remember that." Meltoy was just about to give the nod to the other Masters and Kellet to send the demons back when he gaze fell upon the rather nice wooden box once more.

"Oh, and leave the items and cards, we will dispose of them." With that, there was a sound of four thumps, as the bags hit the hard desert floor, accompanied with grumbles off discontent from the demons; especially Wepthrong, who had personally been up all-night carving wooden boxes. Then a slight fluttering noise filled the air as they dropped the cards; a few of them were blow away across the desert floor, not because it was windy. Because as Castol dropped his he let out a little "HUFF."

"Good day," said Meltoy nodding his head. Each sorcerer muttered a few words, and the demons vanished, leaving four sorcerers standing in a desert; with four rather large ripped sacks and a pile of cards.

Meltoy threw out his arms, muttered a few words and the background became the foreground, and the dimensions turned inside out and upside down until they were standing where they had started, in Kellet's room.

"Fellow Masters, will you do the honours with the sacks and cards please."

Penta and Wubuck didn't need a wink this time as they hurriedly set about banishing the sacks and cards; and, just by coincidence, their final destination just happened to be the very same storeroom where the rest of the banished contraband was.

The bags arrived with a thud that woke up old Rickety, who had been snoring in a chair in Meltoy's private study with a large sack of business cards next to him. He lifted his head, had a quick look around, then closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

Back up in Kellet's room, Kellet was standing with his head bowed, awaiting his punishment now everything was back to normal. If his Master Rathall were here, he'd probably make an example of him, not because he broke the fortress rules about deals with demons but because he hadn't been cut in on the deal.

"Masters," came Meltoy's voice, as he strolled towards the door.

"Let's be going. We have students to train." Meltoy turned to face Kellet. "Let this be a lesson to you," he said, then turned around and left the room.

Kellet stayed looking at the floor, just in case Meltoy changed his mind. He could still feel the protection spell around him, but he could tell it was beginning to fade, and he didn't think it would be any use anyway if Meltoy decided to step back through the door with both hands blazing.

After about five minutes Kellet sneaked to the door and stuck his head around, just to check that they had gone. He walked back in, shut the door and went over to his bed. He lay down and stared at the ceiling, trying to work out exactly what had just happened and why hadn't he been punished. All those things Master Rathall, had told him and his fellow students about Master Meltoy being weak and powerless and that Master Rathall was just biding his time. But Master Meltoy didn't look powerless to him. In fact, the complete opposite.

Then Kellet's face changed to anger as he recalled what Meltoy had said about Master Rathall and the teaching of protection spells. All this time he and the other students had been open to attack. Kellet sat up on the bed, still running over events. Then it dawned on him that he had been punished and the punishment was Meltoy telling him the painful truth.

Meltoy by now, was halfway to his lecture room and deep in thought, not taking in his surroundings at all, but walking on auto-pilot. He also had events running through his mind. Firstly, he had held an assembly, followed by a room search, then some demon summoning. He had then proceeded to give all four of them a rollicking, and to top it all, he had robbed them of their bags and sent them packing. This had never been done before, or if it had, no sorcerer had ever lived to boast about it.

Meltoy snapped out of his thoughts momentarily as he came face to face with a door bearing his name, 'Master Meltoy,' then underneath, 'Lecture Room,' with a scorpion embossed upon its surface. Meltoy turned and looked up the passageway he had just come down, not remembering walking a single step of it. He shook his head.

"I need a good cup of herbs," he said, followed by, "open," commanding his door to let him enter. The door swung open, and Meltoy stepped in. A slight bang echoed down the corridor as it closed behind him, leaving the corridor in silence.

*

It was a different story in the Fire Realm. Threnog was ranting and raving, especially now that the rope stitches in his mouth had worn off and disappeared. He was still Fuming for being totally humiliated by a sorcerer in front of the other element, whilst being powerless to do anything about it.

The other demons were trying to keep out of his way, and the unlucky ones who didn't found themselves flying through the air. His fellow demons didn't know what was wrong. Threnog had left with cards and a sack full of gifts like most days, only to return with his mouth stitched up and the cards and bag missing.

The other demons had sent for Zacrog to come and calm Threnog down. He was probably the only one there strong enough for the task. Zacrog stepped through a wall of red mist. As he did, another unfortunate demon half his size came flying in his direction, as Threnog threw him over his shoulder.

Zacrog caught him by the throat, looked at the demon gave him a discourteous grunt, then dropped him on the floor.

"How dare he talk to me like that!" shouted Threnog, stomping around oblivious to everyone and anyone else around him.

"And who cares about being banished from his realm, there's plenty of others!" he bellowed, as he continued his torment.

"STOP THIS," bellowed Zacrog, as Threnog had now turned and was heading in his general direction, still talking to himself. Seeing as Threnog hadn't heard him the first time, he thought a more direct approach would get his attention. Zacrog thrust out his right hand, and a fireball emerged from his palm, heading straight towards Threnog; hitting him dead centre in his stomach. Lifting him clean off the floor with such a force that his legs and arms were left trailing behind.

Threnog flew through the air, finally landing on a giant slab table, cracking it in half before hitting the floor. He shook his head and looked up. There was a towering figure standing over him, but he was still dazed and couldn't quite make out who it was.

"Do you want some more?" came a voice, as a head appeared looming over him. Zacrog and Threnog were now face to face. Zacrog's face was so close his nose was pressing down on Threnog's.

Threnog let out a loud "ROAR", pushing Zacrog out of the way to get up.

"You won't be so lucky next time!" shouted Threnog, as he wasn't in the mood for fighting; he had other things on his mind. A meeting had to be held, and he had to tell them the bad news about the battle.

"If it wasn't for you and your stupid cards," snarled Threnog in Zacrog's direction.

"And what about my great plan?" grunted Zacrog.

"Great, great, you nearly got us all banished," Threnog said, as he threw his arms in the air, and on doing so knocked another demon out of his way which had just made the unfortunate decision to come out from under a table, thinking it was safe.

Threnog then proceeded to grab every possible demon he could get his hands on.

"Meeting NOW, tell the others," was all he said, then he snarled at them before letting them go. In every direction, demons were now scurrying off to pass on the message.

Threnog was making his way to a large red slab of garnet: or 'The Speaking Slab' as it was more commonly known. To take his place at the front, still shouting at everyone and anything as he went. He strolled into the huge tunnel that led into the open-air auditorium. This was their sacred place, where anyone could voice their issues without being attacked. They might be attacked the moment they had voiced them, but at least they got their say.

As Threnog appeared out the other end of the tunnel, tiers of rock seats towered above him. Where they stopped a constant red mist of the realm hung above them, in the form of wispy clouds that sailed by. Threnog walked to the front and sat his heavy frame onto a slab of garnet, then proceeded to place his hands on the table in front of him, as he awaited the arrival of the others.

Slowly the demons started to appear. First, a couple of flying demons flew into the auditorium, perching themselves on its high rock rim. Then, a steady flow of demons came down the tunnel which led into to auditorium and started to fill up the seats in any order; some of the lesser demons sat high up at the back, just to keep out of the way and make up the numbers.

Then, in stepped Zacrog, who made his way to the front and sat down next to Threnog. Threnog gave him a "GROWL" as he snarled at him; as Zacrog took his place next to him. Zacrog returned the favour and let out a "ROAR" and snarled back at him showing all his razor-sharp teeth. Then they seemed to calm down, accepting the fact that neither of them was going anywhere.

Threnog had to be seen to give Zacrog a challenge and vice versa, especially in front of all the other demons. If you show weakness especially in a realm like this, there is no telling what might happen to you.

By now, the auditorium was at bursting point. Threnog stood up and raised his hands. "Fellow demons," he started, "I've called a meeting to pass on the progress of our personal war, which was going to be raged in the Twenty-Third Realm. I was summoned today to The Dark Fortress, thinking that I was going to hand over our next batch of cards. As I appeared, I came face to face with three demons, one from each of the other elements, and yes, it is true, the rumours were correct, THOSE LOW LIFES HAD STOLEN OUR IDEA!" bellowed Threnog, striking his fist on the table.

There were cries of outrage from the crowd as they spat out their hate for the other elements in an array of fireballs and lava.

"They had enough cards between them to fill the battleground three times over. But, that wasn't the problem. I say the more there are, the more we can KILL," shouted Threnog, this time thrusting his arm up in the air, which got an outbreak of maddened mayhem as the demons' lust for blood momentarily took over as they screamed their approval.

"But we have a problem," Threnog spoke out, as the demons calmed down. "It seems our so-called sorcerer, the sorcerer called Kellet, has been found out. As from now, any cards that appear in the Twenty-Third Realm with a demon's name on, that demon will be banished from that realm forever. And, as you know, the Twenty-Third Realm is one of the best we have, as most of the others don't even have sorcerers to summon us, and even if they did, there's not much there - a couple of sheep, maybe a cow. So, you can see we have a problem. Do we ignore the warning and be banished forever, or do we sit back and let these sorcerers dictate to us?"

Threnog paused for a moment to let the other demons think about the question, before continuing.

"If it wasn't for the Business Cards in the first place, then maybe we would have had our own private war, it might have been a small one, but at least some of us would have had revenge." As he said this, his gaze turned towards Zacrog, who in turn flared his nostrils and gave out a snort. Zacrog sprang up from his rock.

"WELL, AT LEAST I DIDN'T GET STITCHED UP!" he bellowed.

From this comment came an outbreak of laughter that echoed around the auditorium. All the demons laughed. It hadn't taken long to get around about Threnog returning with his mouth stitched up; as in most realms, news travels fast.

"AHHHH!" cried out Threnog, throwing out a fireball in a random direction. It flew up out of the auditorium, and just as it flew out over the rim, it hit an unsuspecting flying demon who was late and hadn't seen it coming, knocking him backwards clean out of the auditorium; which just inflamed the laughter.

Threnog sat down, furious at being humiliated again.

"SILENCE!" boomed out Zacrog, who now had control of the meeting.

"Yes, the Business Cards do seem to have been a failure, and yes it was my idea, but it was worth trying. We will just have to try and find another way to fight the other demons in an all-out war, just them and us. Our time will come, when we won't need those pathetic sorcerers to summon us to do battle against the likes of Weptrang the Water Demon and Eiretol the Earth Demon, just to satisfy their gains. There will come a time when we will rule, and they will have to do our bidding."

A "ROAR" leapt up from the crowd, as they were working themselves up over the words Zacrog was preaching. They were punching the air in agreement, especially the bit about ruling-the-sorcerers.

"So, for now, let's just play along with their pathetic, small-minded war and do as they wish and fight alongside -" Zacrog spat out a fireball in disgust at what he was about to say next "- the other elements," he continued as the fireball buried and burned itself into the ground. "Remember, we are looking at the bigger picture here, and mark my words, our time will come."

As he said this, Zacrog threw his arms up in the air and shot out two bursts of fireballs that flew straight up in the air and exploded, filling the area above the auditorium in sparks and flashes that flew out in every direction.

"ZACROG, ZACROG, ZACROG!" started to ring out around the auditorium. The crowd was now in a frenzy. They were all jumping up and down, calling out Zacrog's name while letting their own fireballs off.

Zacrog turned and looked at Threnog, who just sat there snarling at him. Zacrog walked out from behind the table and headed back towards the tunnel, gave one long glance around at his admiring fans, put one hand up in acknowledgement, and walked off into the tunnel; which was echoing his name.

*

It was pretty much the same in the realms of Water, Earth and Wind. Each one had held a meeting, and each one had decided to go along with the sorcerers' plan to fight alongside one another, although none of the other elements were happy with the situation, they knew there wasn't much they could do about it.

*

Torms had halted the party in a small clearing that had sprung up alongside the path. He had issued the order for a five-minute break as they had been walking for most of the day. He was sat on an old fallen-down branch staring at the map with the Captain.

"Well, as far as I can gather, we are here," said Torms, as he pointed to the fine detail on the map which showed a small clearing on the side of the path.

The Captain nodded his head. "Yes, that's about right."

"So, that makes us about four miles from the next campsite. That gives us at least two hours of sunlight left so we should get there just after dark. So, in the morning, all we have to do is follow the path for about ten miles then we will come out the other end Emerald Forest and join up with the others, who should be waiting for us at the base of the Brocken Mountains," said Torms with a smile. He was happy with their progress, and as he hadn't heard any horns, the wagons must be on track too, so that meant everything was going to plan.

Torms folded up the map and placed it in his pocket, giving it a little tap. As he did, Sacul came over and handed him a small pottery cup filled with water.

"Ah, thank you, Sacul." Torms looked up. Sacul still had a big beaming smile on his face, enjoying every minute of the adventure. Sacul turned and started to walk off.

"Sacul, can I have a word with you?" asked Torms just managing to caught Sacul's attention before he strolled off.

"I know how good Bash'm is at being a scout, and I don't want to take anything away from him," Torms said smiling. "But can you tell him when we come across a giant rock with a hole in the middle?" laughed Torms.

"I'm sure he'll find it all by himself, but if he does require my help, I'll tell him," said Sacul, as he turned and walked off, chuckling to himself.

"Right then, that's that sorted," said Torms, talking to no one but himself as he got up off the broken branch. The others took this as their cue to do the same, and everyone resumed their positions in an orderly line. Which still involved Ganga being at the back due to the awful smell of the ointment; even Beat'm was getting a bit fed up, seeing as he was right at the back, bringing up the rear behind Ganga.

When they had first set off that morning, Beat'm's eyes had been watering due to the vapours from the ointment, which in turn meant he kept walking into trees as he strolled along the path. But, as the day had passed, his eyes became used to the vapours, and funnily enough, his nose had become accustomed to the smell as well.

But now that they had stopped, he'd taken his first breath of fresh air since that morning; and what a pleasant smell it was. Full of fresh pine, ferns and every other woodland smell that the forest could throw at him. But now he found himself back to square one, stuck behind Ganga, eyes watering, trying to rattle his brains as to what the smell reminded him of.

As Beat'm brought up the rear, his final thoughts on the matter were, 'at least it keeps the flies off me,' as he looked at the massive swarm of flies buzzing around Ganga's head.

As the party strolled off along the path heading for their campsite for that night, the wind gently whispered through the trees; a black raven, high above where the dwarfs had just left, sat perched on a branch welcoming the gentle breeze as it engulfed its body, rustling its feathers. It had been a long day, flying from tree to tree, following the party, and it had paid off, Trantore now knew where they were camping.

So, his attention and thoughts now focussed on the wagons and their progress. He was beginning to piece together who was who and what role they all played on the expedition. So far, he had worked out that Torms was in charge but took counsel from the Captain of the Blood Born and the other one they called Odall. While Sacul, Nakie and Sinat were his relatives, just along for the ride, and Tennant was some sort of advisor to King Crackzull.

Trantore spread his wings out fully, relishing the cool breeze lapping over them. He hopped off the branch, catching the wind and glided through the trees and then upwards until he appeared above the canopy of the forest and started heading towards the main track in search of the wagons.

*

Gillant was pacing up and down the camp, still thinking about the sorcerer that Flennat and Banthrone had shot down. "Why didn't he kill them?" Gillant kept muttering to himself under his breath when Cluzac entered the clearing, accompanied by four guards closely behind him. As he approached Gillant, Cluzac moved his hand up by his head, and the following guards stopped and disbursed themselves around the camp.

"Gillant" called out Cluzac. But Gillant didn't hear him and paced on, this time with his finger up to his lip, deep in concentration.

"Gillant!" Cluzac called out a bit louder, which did the trick and got Gillant's attention. He looked up, somewhat shocked and confused, his eyes darting around the camp, trying to remember where he was. As his gaze fell upon Cluzac, he was brought back to reality.

"Are you okay?" asked Cluzac, concerned for Gillant.

"Oh yes, yes, I'm fine. I'm just trying to work out the reason why your two scouts survived. To all intents and purposes, they should be dead.

"I know" replied Cluzac, "I've been thinking about nothing else as well. That's why I've sent out a four-elf patrol to walk between the lookouts, just in case. I went out on one of the patrols myself, and I've just got back. Do you think we would stand a chance against a sorcerer?" asked Cluzac, looking to Gillant for some reassurance.

Gillant stared back at him. "Not if we didn't see him coming," he replied sternly.

*

The sun had been down for over an hour, and the dwarfen party led by Bash'm, was walking along the path by moonlight. Just up ahead there was a rather large pale boulder that slightly shimmered in the dark, but not any old boulder; this one seemed to have a hole in it. As they approached, Sacul noticed it straight away. He gave Bash'm a gentle poke in the back and walked up next to him, half on the path and half in the ferns.

"Does that look like a rock with a hole in it to you?" asked Torms.

Bash'm strained his eyes and lurched his head forward as he kept walking.

"Yep," replied Bash'm with a smile on his face, as they got nearer the hole got bigger and bigger, until finally they were standing next to it. Sacul shoved his head into the hole to take a look.

"Yep, it's a hole alright," came a low echoing voice from out of the hole, followed by Sacul as he withdrew his head.

"If you're quite finished," said Torms, who had come up to see why they had stopped, only to be confronted with a pair of legs sticking out of a boulder. "Are you sure," said Torms sarcastically, "you don't want another look?"

Before the sarky comment had sunk in, Sacul was already waist deep in the boulder, giving it a second inspection.

"Bash'm, get him out of there!" said Torms shaking his head, remembering what Sacul was like growing up with, no matter where he went or what he saw, he always wanted to know more, how something worked, what was it for - the questions had been endless. He always had his head shoved somewhere or another, and not forgetting his most favourite saying when he was growing up, which was, "Why is that then?" Although Torms never discouraged him from going down the learning path. At that precise moment, he had to get everyone off the path and into the forest to set up camp.

Torms got out his map and tried to read it under the moonlight. But the dense forest was making it difficult, and on top of that, he had the added distraction of hearing Bash'm pulling Sacul out of the rock by his feet. Much to Sacul's annoyance, as he'd "never seen a big boulder with a great natural hole in it before," which were his actual words; as Bash'm finally extracted him from the rock.

"I can't make this out," muttered Torms as he turned the map about, then himself, to try and catch more moonlight on the paper. "Can you, Captain?" said Torms, as he passed the map over to the Captain. Then the Captain had a go at moving around a bit.

"No, it's too dark," commented the Captain. "But I know a dwarf who can, ask Ganga, he should be able to read this. He's spent most of his life down the mine, rumour has it he was born down there," added the Captain.

"Where's Ganga?" asked Torms, looking around trying to spot him in the dark.

"I think I smelt him over there, came a voice from out of the darkness."

Torms looked at the various silhouettes of dwarfs; dotted all around the path. Then his gaze fell upon one lone dwarf standing there all on his own.

"Ah, there he is," said Torms.

As Torms strolled over to him, before he got there he knew he had picked the right silhouette by the way his eyes started to sting, and his nose filled with the hideous smell of the ointment. "Huh-hum," went Torms, as he approached Ganga. It wasn't that he wanted to get Ganga's attention, he had just taken his first breath close up to Ganga and the smell had taken his breath away; literally.

"Can you take a look at this for me?" gasped Torms, as he tried not to let out all of his air, so he wouldn't have to take another breath.

"What am I looking for?" asked Ganga, much to Torms's annoyance, as he had to take another breath to answer him.

"Well, as you know, we've been following the path and now we've reached the rock with the hole in it. We have to find the campsite for tonight, it's around here somewhere," spoke Torms rather quickly.

Ganga looked at the map and gave it a quick turn. "Walk past the rock with it on your right-hand side, then turn right into the forest heading towards the main track, and it's about a hundred feet dead ahead."

"And you can read all that in this light?" said Torms, as he momentarily stopped holding his breath and stood there with his mouth wide open in amazement at Ganga's ability to see in the dark.

"Yep," replied Ganga. "And I could see you were holding your breath, and your nose as you approached me as well." Torms would have looked embarrassed, but he didn't, just in case Ganga saw that as well.

"Do I really smell that bad?" asked Ganga.

"Well, I wouldn't go as far as to say that you smelt _that_ bad," said Torms, trying not to hurt his feelings.

"But seeing as I've have had it on all day, I can hardly smell it. In fact, I've even started to like the smell, strangely enough. What did you say it was again?" asked Ganga inquisitively.

"Right, let's get this party camped for the night," said Torms, as he quickly took the map off Ganga and walked away in a hurry, all the while pretending he hadn't heard Ganga's last question.

Torms made his way to the front of the line until he saw the huge silhouette of Bash'm outlined at the front, standing next to the pale shimmering boulder.

"This way," said Torms in a slightly raised voice, as he took the lead and walked past the rock, turning right, then disappearing into the undergrowth, closely followed by Bash'm and the rest of the party.

Torms couldn't see where he was going, but all he knew was if he kept going in a straight line he'd end up in the clearing. The ferns brushed his face as he trod down the dense bracken with his feet. He was making slow progress but kept going, with the rest of the small party still following on behind. At last, the blackness that was in front of him seemed to be getting lighter.

The clearing must be just ahead, thought Torms taking one more giant step, pushing his way through the final fern, and in doing so tripped on a knotted tree-root that was sticking out of the ground, which made him emerge out of the thick, dense undergrowth headfirst in full flight; but that was the least of his problems.

There was one thing the map had left out, one minor detail, which at this point made quite a bit of difference. It hadn't included the rather large, Elven Elite party which was now encamped at the clearing. As Torms fell head first out of the ferns, stumbling aimlessly towards the centre, he caught glimpses of the elves which were scattered everywhere in groups of two.

He had a much closer look at one, when he trod on him as he was sleeping, and just to let the elves know exactly how he was feeling, Torms let out a scream of fright as he continued to half-thrash, half-stumble through the entire elven camp single-handedly. Every time he nearly came to a standstill, he'd trip on something or someone else. But he wasn't alone for long.

Upon hearing Torms's screams of distress, Bash'm, who had been right behind him, let out an almighty war cry, jumping out into the clearing with his Double-handed War hammer ready for action. This, in turn, sparked off a chain of reactions through the line as each one heard the one in front, which finally ended at Beat'm. Who, upon hearing his brother's war cry, had made a new path through the undergrowth and was now standing by his brother, covered in bits of fern and the odd tree branch; snarling and panting with a mad look in his eye as the moonlight glistened on his Double-handed Battle axe.

Although it was a great shock for Torms to find himself stumbling headfirst into an elven camp, it was an even scarier one for the Elven Elite. All day Flennat and Banthrone had been telling the rest about the black raven and the fireball. Then, around about this time in the story, Flennat would lower his hood to the sound of gasps and woes that came from his captive audience as they caught a glimpse of the smouldered bold patches, which now covered Flennat's head. But, every time he told the story, or someone else did, it got added to or changed very slightly to add a more dramatic element to it, and by sunset everyone, even the sentries had heard the story about Flennat and Banthrone. The brave scouts who had engaged a three-headed dragon that had rained down fire upon them until finally, they got the upper hand when Banthrone the brave sent an arrow streaming through the air, knocking the beast to the floor. Then when the beast was finally beaten, with its last remaining strength, took flight towards The Dark Fortress.

But that wasn't the only story. There was a second one doing the rounds about the camp, and this one included why all the sentries had been doubled, and why there were extra patrols. This was down to a rumour that the sorcerers were coming to attack them in the middle of the night and change them into all sorts of weird and twisted beasts.

So, when the whole camp was suddenly awoken as Torms made his dramatic entrance, the only elf that had said the rumours were all rubbish and got his head down and went to sleep wished he hadn't. As he got a rude awakening, having one-foot trampling on his leg, followed by a second on his head by what looked like a wild beast hurtling through the camp screaming; and the rest of the camp didn't know what was going on either.

One minute they were all sitting around quietly talking when they heard something gathering momentum through the undergrowth, followed by a scream that spread out over the camp, followed by an almighty war cry that filled the night air. Then, some more crashing, then a silhouette of a mighty beast appeared out of the undergrowth, followed by a second one; that looked as if a tree had just up rooted itself and was standing there snarling. These were soon backed up by smaller versions, all with their eyes peering through the darkness. As the small fires picked up their shadows and flicked them around the camp, making them seem bigger.

Being the Elven Elite, they should have had their arrows in their bows, aimed and poised at the intruding dwarfs. But, as they were all filled with fear of the three-headed dragon and sorcerers, some of them hadn't even picked up their bows, let alone put an arrow in them.

But there was one who had been prepared, and this was Gillant: he had drawn his arrow the second he'd heard the ferns part and had taken aim, then proceeded to follow Torms everywhere he stumbled, moving and adjusting his aim with every step Torms took. And now, the arrow-tip was inches away from Torms's face, as unluckily for him his last stumble over a blanket had thrown him to the right and now left him at the feet of Gillant. A silence now fell upon the camp, as each party tried to work out what had just happened.

Gillant knew what had happened: he knew that it was a dwarf stumbling out of the forest by the sound of the footsteps. He had even heard him stub his toe on the tree-root. Otherwise, anything else that had appeared out of the undergrowth would have had an arrow in its heart by now. But what Gillant couldn't work out was how or why the dwarfs had literally stumbled into their camp. All this time they had been looking for them on the main track, and they turn up here.

"Can I help you?" said Gillant.

Torms turned his head upwards as he was trying to pick himself off the floor, only to be confronted by a rather elegant metal arrow-tip pressing against his forehead. So, he thought it was better to stay where he was, as he preferred the arrow to stay in the bow and not in him.

Gillant gave Torms a hard-stone-faced stare, from under the hooded cloak he was wearing, and eased the presser of the bow, much to Torms's relief. He relaxed the bow and put the arrow back in its quiver, and with the bow held in his right hand, pulled Torms from the floor.

By now Bash'm, and Beat'm had appeared by the side of Torms, holding their weapons ready and willing. Gillant's left hand was still prepared to take an arrow from his quiver if one of the twins stepped any near. Torms took a good look around and now saw the elven camp in all its glory as the elves nearest the fires had thrown more wood on; lighting the camp up to get a better look at the intruders.

After their initial reaction of thinking a three-headed dragon was attacking their camp, followed by whatever dark and twisted beast their minds had produced due to the stories, they now realised it was a party of dwarfs. But some of them had to look twice at Bash'm, and Beat'm. Once they realised, it didn't take them long to put their arrows in their bows, which were now all pointed in one direction and one direction only, towards the intruders.

Torms could see the pointed tips of the arrows glowing orange from the firelight, plus the huge array of weapons from the dwarfen party, which consisted of throwing axes, war axes and even a couple of pickaxes, which the miners were holding ready to swing at anything that moved. Torms briefly caught a glimpse of the Captain, who was now up front with him, with Sacul by his side, snarling and showing his teeth while he moved from foot to foot, with two throwing axes in his hands.

Torms turned back around to face Gillant; cold sweat started to trickle down his back as he could see a couple more elves up in the trees behind Gillant, their bows pointing in his direction.

"Huh-hum," went Torms, trying to clear his rather dry throat while trying to think of what to say, seeing as he now found himself in rather a tight predicament. But, his clearing of the throat had an adverse effect on the slightly nervous elves as they didn't know if Torms was speaking in some old and ancient dwarfen tongue and was given his party a secret signal. So, they applied more pressure to their bows, ready to release at the very first dwarf that moved, or more to the point coughed.

Torms looked even more alarmed now and thought he'd better start talking, or there was going to be a lot of wood flying through the air, with very pointy ends; seeing as most of it would be going in his direction, Torms decided to say the first thing that came into his head.

"We're lost," came out of Torms's mouth.

There was a long pause as Gillant took in what Torms had just said, and Torms was trying to take it in as well. Everyone in camp had stopped breathing, waiting for Gillant's reaction. Gillant slowly raised his left hand and made a low patting motion in the air. The elves lowered their bows but still had them paused and ready to fire. But, to the delight of the dwarfen party, they were now pointing at the floor and not at their heads.

Torms turned around to face the rest of the dwarfs, giving them the same signal as Gillant, and although very reluctant, they lowered their axes and other weapons. Torms turned to face Gillant, and as he did Gillant raised his hand and pulled back his hood to reveal his face, the glow from the fire seemed to dance across his hardened features.

"So, you say you're lost," said Gillant in a somewhat unbelieving yet inquisitive tone. V

"And tell me, dwarfling, how did you end up in the Emerald Forest?"

Torms took a deep gulp as he searched his brain to find an answer.

"If I may speak," came a voice from behind Torms as Bash'm, who was to his right, stepped to one side, letting the Captain step up and address Gillant.

"Firstly, please accept our utmost apologies at intruding on you like this, and secondly, we were out on the main track when we thought we heard someone in trouble, so we came to investigate," said the Captain.

"And what were you doing on the main track, at this time of night?" questioned Gillant, waiting to see what excuse the Captain would come out with next.

"Night-time marching," replied the Captain.

"And do you do a lot of this night-time marching, so far from your kingdom, CAPTAIN?" said Gillant, emphasising the word 'Captain.'

"Captain of The Blood Born Guards from the Dwarfen Kingdom, loyal only to King Crackzull himself," commented Gillant, as he waited for a reaction.

Now it was the Captain's turn to get suspicious, as neither he nor his dwarfs had got any kind of markings on their uniforms at all, and here he was standing in a clearing, which to all intents and purposes should have been empty but instead was swarming with elves and not just any elves. The Captain had taken a closer look, and the elves that were in the camp looked like The Elven High Elite from the Elven Kingdom.

But, what intrigued the Captain the most was the elf standing in front of him: this wasn't just any ordinary elf. The Captain didn't sense he was of army origin or making either. But he knew this elf was playing with him and knew more than he was letting on. Why were they all camped out so secretively near the main track, and why here? Thought the Captain, but for now, he was willing to play along.

"That's very perceptive of you, and who may I ask are you?" enquired the Captain.

"People know me as Gillant, I'm a ranger and tracker from these parts," replied Gillant.

"And do you normally associate yourself with The Elven High Elite from the Elven Kingdom, loyal to King Pholanthion himself, or did you just happen to stumble into them as well!" remarked the Captain.

Gillant smiled softly at the Captain's keen observation of his elves, which, just like the dwarfs, weren't wearing any kind of markings or patches. "I'm training them how to track more efficiently. Like yourself we were just out on exercise," said

Gillant.

Now the Captain and Gillant both knew each was lying through his teeth but to keep the peace they both decided to accept each other's story.

"Well, as you can see, there's no trouble in these forests, so I suppose you will be getting on your way," said Gillant.

"Yes, I suppose we will, and we will leave you to your TRACKING," said the Captain, as sarcastically as he could. He gave Gillant a nod of his head, and just as he was about to walk off, an arrow whistled through the air and embedded itself in a tree next to Gillant. At this, the dwarfs raised their weapons, and in return, the elves raised their bows, and instantly the whole camp was back to a stand of again.

Gillant didn't bother to turn around: he knew it was one of the scout's arrows, and he knew what colour the arrow feathers would be. They would be green, a sign that the dwarfs had been spotted on the main track and a scout would be approaching the camp to relay the news.

But what the scout who was heading on horseback into the camp didn't know. Was they had guests, and upon entering he didn't register the new arrivals as he jumped off his horse, and at the same time shouted out the message.

"They're here, five wagons led by one cart that has just pulled in off the main track; they're setting up camp, and they're definitely dwarfs," commented the scout, just as he finally landed on the ground, straightening himself up to face Gillant. Only to find himself face to face with the Captain of the Blood Born, and instead of seeing an elf was now staring at a very smug looking dwarf.

His mouth dropped opened, as Gillant gave him a glancing look, Gillant turned to face the Captain. "As you can see, I train the guards well, and I dare say those wagons just off the main track are your wagons, with your supplies for your long march." Said Gillant, offering the Captain a lifeline, not wanting to have to go through the rigmarole of a series of lies again.

"Yes, they are," said the Captain taking the lifeline, "And thank you for spotting them for us. So, we'll be off then," he said, but stopped and just stood there looking around, as if he had forgotten something.

"Uh-hum, Captain, I think you'll find the main track is that way," said Gillant, raising a finger and pointing in the right direction.

"Oh, thank you," replied the Captain through gritted teeth.

"Do you want the scout to show you exactly where you left your wagons?" asked Gillant, just to add insult to embarrassment.

"No, no, that won't be necessary. I wouldn't dream of taking him away from his tracking, he'll probably get back there before we do anyway," said the Captain mockingly as he stepped off in the direction of the main track, followed by Torms and the twins and then a trail of dwarfs led by Sacul. Who was still snarling at the elves; as he walked through the camp, his knuckles were starting to go white as he tightly held his throwing axes, still not trusting the elves for one minute.

The dwarfs made their way through the forest led by the Captain. The walking soon got a lot easier, as there seemed to be a small, well-trodden, path leading to the main track. Torms leant forward as he walked to get closer to the Captain's ear.

"What do you think that was all about?" spoke Torms in a soft voice, trying to keep it to a whisper.

"Shhh," spoke the Captain, as he turned his head, looking over his shoulder. "Talk later, not here," he said in a stern manner. Then turned back around and carried on leading the party at a steady pace through the giant trees that lined their route.

For the first time since they had started their expedition, Torms felt afraid. Afraid for his cousins, afraid for his brother, and afraid for the rest of the dwarfs he had dragged along. Seeing all those arrows pointed at him just brought it all home. Now the Captain, on the other hand, he was a true leader. He didn't freeze at the first sign of danger or say the first stupid thing that came into his head, contemplated Torms, as they disappeared into the darkness.

But they weren't alone: two scouts had been sent to follow them, and they were keeping their distance, as it didn't take much to hear dwarfs walking through the forest. The elves always seemed to know precisely where the dwarfs were as if the trees were talking to them. But the two scouts weren't the only ones keeping an eye on things.

High up in the treetops, Trantore was keeping an eye on everyone. He had seen the confrontation at the camp and heard the conversation. He had even spotted Rathall under one of the rocks, and Holock, the spy Meltoy had sent. Well, he didn't actually see him, he sensed him in one of the trees. But now he had left them to follow the dwarfs, waiting to see their next move. He had witnessed the whole event that had unveiled, and no one knew he was there, or so he thought.

Gillant had spotted him the moment he perched himself on a branch. He'd caught a quick glimpse of Trantore's raven body as the moonlight flicked off his feathers, giving away his shape and position, just before Torms made just grand entrance.

The elven camp was now well and truly lit up, with fires burning brightly as they didn't have to try and hide their position anymore, not now they had been found out. Gillant was standing in the middle with Cluzac.

"Did you see him?" asked Gillant, staring at the branches of the trees, then to the night sky.

"Yes, sir, I think he's known as the Captain, no one knows his real name. But you were right, he is the Captain of The Blood Born Guards of the Ferral Mountains and things must be serious if he's with them," added Cluzac.

"No, not him." Gillant turned his gaze upwards. "The sorcerer, did you see the sorcerer?"

Cluzac's face changed at the mention of the sorcerer. He quickly put his hand on the hilt of his dagger, which was in its sheath upon his belt.

"Don't worry, he's gone now, he flew off towards the main track. I don't think he's after us." Gillant paused for a second. "Well, at least not yet," were his last comments as he strode off towards one of the tied-up horses and climbed aloft.

"Cluzac, you're in charge till I get back. I need to take counsel with the king, as things have changed somewhat since we last spoke. If the dwarfs leave, follow them and keep an eye on them. Don't worry about me. I'll catch up and find you once I have spoken with the king." With that, Gillant pulled on the reins of the grey mare, kicked his heels in, and shot off into the darkness, heading in the direction of The Living Kingdom.

*

But, in the camp, he wasn't the only one making decisions. Rathall had decided to uncoil himself from under the rock where he was hiding. Then, he slid across the camp, keeping in the shadows between the bedding and the packs that lay until he reached the edge, facing the way Gillant had just disappeared.

He slithered until he was far enough away from the camp before he hissed a few words and was transformed into his usual scaly self, then he proceeded to lift and tilt his head upwards, darting his tongue in and out, tasting and smelling the air. He could tell the direction Gillant was heading by the smell of his horse; now all he had to do was follow it.

He muttered a few more words, and he was transformed into a dark red mist that took the form of a snake, and he set out through the trees. Gliding through the air weaving in and out as he went, gathering quite a pace, hot on the trail of the horse. Stopping every now and then to taste the air before continuing his pursuit.

But there was one more to add to the party heading towards The Living Kingdom and that was Holock, who was following Rathall as he jumped from tree to tree, high up in the branches. The wind spell that Meltoy had cast on him didn't only enhance his senses. It also increased his strength and speed as he quite easily kept up with the pace of Rathall.

*

The dwarfs had been trekking through the forest for about an hour when they finally broke free from the Emerald Forest and emerged out onto the main track.

"Where do you think they are?" asked Torms, as he looked up and down the road, trying to spot the wagons.

"This way," called the Captain, acting on instinct, setting off at a startling pace along the track towards the Brocken Mountains.

They walked for about another hour until their ears were filled with a faint sound of laughter and waves of voices.

"That's Sinat" said Torms to himself, not wanting to interrupt the Captain. As they drew nearer, so did the sound of the camp, then the smell of hot grilled sausages filled the air as they approached the wagons. By now, Torms could make out all ten wagons parked together and even their own little cart, with a fire burning by the side of it. He could now see the much-missed faces of Sinat, Nakie, and Tennant, which were lit up by the fire, while Odall was bent over the flames, cooking and messing about with some pans as usual.

"Halt, who goes there!" came a voice from out of the darkness to Torms's left, followed by some ruffling sounds. Then, more figures appeared from under the canvas of the wagons, brandishing heavy crossbows pointing in their direction.

Upon hearing the order, Torms jumped. He didn't mind the elves pointing their bows at him as he didn't have a say in the matter, but these were his own dwarfs. Still, at least it showed that the soldiers were alert, thought Torms as the

Captain said something in an old dwarfish tongue which Torms didn't quite catch, as he was still a bit jumpy. The guards quickly lowered their weapons and came out from hiding to greet their Captain.

"Sorry, Captain didn't know it was you. We weren't expecting to see you until tomorrow," said one of the guards, who seemed to have been left in charge. But no matter how hard Torms tried to catch a glimpse of him, he sort of disappeared.

"We have no time for chat," spoke the Captain. "We have to get going, start packing." The Captain turned around and faced Torms and the rest of them, who he'd just led out of the forest. "You have twenty minutes to get a hot meal inside you, and a hot drink then get yourselves onto the wagons, it's not safe here, there's something not quite right. The sooner we get away from the forest and into the Brocken Mountains the better. We stand a much better chance in familiar surroundings. Now go and eat, we leave in twenty minutes."

Torms was in charge, but he knew the Captain knew what he was doing, or he wouldn't have taken over and was glad he did, so with no time to waste Torms headed over to Sinat and the others.

"Well, I'll be a coal miner's daughter," said Sinat, jumping up to greet Torms and Sacul as they entered their little enclosure.

Torms didn't say anything, he was just happy to be reunited with his cousin. He was even more delighted when Nakie put down his plate of food and stood up to greet him. He gave Nakie a hug and a pat on the back and then did the same to Sinat.

"Steady on there," said Sinat, as he felt Torms's squeeze get tighter. "Anyone would think you've been on the lantern fuel. You're acting like you haven't seen us for years, but it's only been two days."

"It's just nice to see you all," commented Torms as he stopped hugging Sinat.

"Something happened in the forest and have to get going, we can't talk here as it might not be safe."

"But we've only just got here ourselves" complained Nakie, as he settled himself back down again ready for a good night's eating, as he started to tuck into the sausages on his plate.

"Nakie! This is not some picnic we're on here, now get your stuff packed, we're leaving," snapped Torms as he let out all his emotions, which just happened to be directed at Nakie. Nakie looked up and saw a look on Torms's face he had never seen before; he looked worried. Nakie put his plate down, stood up, took his blanket off the floor and started rolling it up, all the while still looking at Torms. Sacul arrived on cue as usual, with a cup of hot herbs and a hot sausage sandwich, which he handed to Torms. Torms willingly accepted and took a sip from the cup.

"Ah, that's better" he muttered quietly to himself, with his eyes closed.

When he opened them, he saw that Nakie had packed most of his stuff. "Forgive me, Nakie, I didn't mean to shout, but something is happening, and I think it's going to get a lot worse before it gets better. I'll tell you all about it when we are safe in the mountains, but for now, I think it's better we don't say anything, especially this close to the Emerald Forest. Once we are out of its reach, we shall talk." And, with that, he took a much-needed bite of his sandwich.

As he did, he could hear the small clanking noises of a ladle as Odall dished up some food onto plates for Sacul and the twins, who were now huddled around the fire. The rest of the camp was the same: mainly quiet but alert. The other soldiers and miners who had been with him were dotted around fires, eating what they could, while the rest packed up the wagons.

"We go in ten minutes," came the voice of Captain, as he walked past, patting Torms on the back as he went. He went around the rest of the fires, giving everyone the same message.

Torms finished his sandwich, licked his fingers, took a couple of gulps of his now lukewarm herbs and chucked the rest of it onto the small fire. "Come on, let's get out of here," said Torms, as he took his pack off his shoulders. Which he'd forgot to take off before he'd sat down. He threw pack into the cart before climbing up onto the front.

Sacul was helping Odall load the pans and supplies back onto the wagon. It rocked ever so slightly as Nakie jumped in the back, then turned around and helped Tennant climb up, taking hold of his arm and pulling him in; then he did the same for Odall.

Sacul took a more direct approach as he climbed up one of the wheels of the cart and got in the back with the others. Sinat was the last as he climbed up into the driver's seat and took hold of the reins. He looked over and stared at Torms, putting his hand on Torms's shoulder.

"Are you okay?" asked Sinat, concerned for his younger cousin.

Torms turned and patted Sinat's hand. "Yes, I'll be alright when we're out of this forest."

With that, Sinat pulled on the reins.

"WAIT!" cried Torms, "where are the twins?"

"Here, boss," came two voices, one either side of the cart.

"Come on, you two get in, we've been walking all day and we still have a lot of ground to cover till we reach the mountains," said Torms

"If it's all the same to you, boss, we'll stay here and walk alongside the wagon, just in case -" Bash'm stopped and turned to look at his brother on the other side of the wagon and then together they both said "- something happens."

Torms wasn't going to argue with them as an image entered his head of all the elven arrow tips which had been pointing at him earlier. He turned back around and gave Sinat a nod. Which, in turn, made Sinat pull his cart out and onto the main track and stop to form a convoy. The other wagons lead by Bucket had done the same; they were all stretched out along the track behind Sinat, ready to move.

The miners including Ganga, that had been part of the small group within the Emerald Forest, were now bedding down for the night in the backs of the other wagons. While the rest of the minors that had been with the main convoy positioned themselves with crossbows, one in each corner of the other wagons.

Bucket had two miners sitting up front with him; their crossbows loaded gently slung over their arms ready for action. While the whole of The Blood Born Guard, even the ones that had been in Torms small party were all on foot, with their war axes drawn.

The Captain walked up to the side of Sinat's cart and banged the side. "Move on," came the order as he disappeared down the ranks, making sure all the wagons were following while checking he had every angle covered.

The moon shone down upon the main track, lighting up the way to the Brocken Mountains. Which made it easier for the two elven scouts that had been sent to follow the dwarfs track them. They had watched them pack up camp and set off; before one of them had gone back to tell Cluzac. Whilst the other one continued to follow keeping well inside the forest, using the shadow of the trees to conceal his movements.

*

The sun was just breaking through the tops of the trees when Gillant reached the outer ring of the great oaks that led into The Elven Kingdom, and up to The Great Tree. The outer sentries had spotted him and recognised him and let him pass. As he approached The Great Oak, however the other two guards guarding the main entrance didn't, and now had their long pikes pointed straight at Gillant as he jumped off the horse hitting the ground running.

"HALT!" Shouted one of the guards, as Gillant was now upon them.

"Out of my way, I haven't got time for this!" he shouted, ducking his head as one of the guards swung his pike. Gillant ran up the winding stairs inside The Great Oak, making his way to the upper chambers. He could hear the guards behind him raising the alarm, and the clanging of their pikes as they pursued him.

This was a bonus for Rathall, who was following as he slithered in through the main entrance unopposed and made his way up the inner spiral staircase. He wasn't the only one to benefit from the absent guards; Holock wasn't far behind him either.

Gillant had made it quite a way up before he eventually came to a halt, as he got to one of the guardhouse levels of the tree. There was one at the bottom and another halfway up just in case someone did get past the first level, and Gillant had quite a reception waiting for him as he was overpowered and sent crashing to the floor.

"Let me go, you fools!" cried Gillant, as he felt himself being pinned to the floor. Then it all went dark.

*

As the sun broke over the trees, beams of light came flooding over the main track, lighting up the dwarfen party, washing away some of the demons that lay within their heads. Caused by tiredness, mixed with the darkness, and the added fact that they had been staring at the treeline all night. Making them imagine elves pointing bows at them, which they kept seeing out of the corner of their eyes; but vanished when they turned and focussed in on the spot.

But now the soft gentle rays brought comfort and warmth to the weary travellers. Torms felt the warmth on his cheeks; he was dreaming of sunny afternoons upon the mountains back at Barren Rock when the cart went over a bump and woke him up. He slowly opened his eyes and found himself looking at the world sideways. He closed his eyes again, trying to recapture the image of his dreams, then suddenly he shot up out of the wooden seat he was laying on, madly looking around, trying to work out where he was.

"Easy there, or you'll fall out of the cart," said Sinat, who was busy puffing away on his clay pipe.

"How long have I been asleep?" he asked, as he noticed the sun breaking through the trees.

"Oh, most of the night," said Sinat chuckling to himself.

"All night? Why didn't you wake me?" asked Torms.

"What for?" replied Sinat. "Just to tell you that you had fallen asleep? Don't be daft. It looked like you needed it. You were tossing and turning all night and every now and then you'd mutter something then go back to sleep. Anyway, you weren't the only one to get some sleep." With that, Sinat pointed over his shoulder.

Torms turned around and saw bodies everywhere. Odall and Tennant were leaning on each other, fast asleep with their heads together. Sacul was stretched out with his arms and legs everywhere; fast asleep with a big smile on his face and firmly placed in each hand were his two throwing axes.

Further back, still making a racket with his snoring was Nakie, sitting upright. Leaning on the packs with his legs sprawled out in front of him, with one hand on his axe and the other on a drumstick. His mouth was wide open, and a constant flow of drool was coming out of the side that even a fountain would have been proud of.

Torms turned back around smiling. "How long do you think it'll be before we reach the Brocken Mountains?"

"See for yourself," said Sinat, as he steered the cart around the corner and the Brocken Mountains came into view. Shining in all its full glory as the sun introduced itself to its surface. Torms had never been so pleased to see a mountain in all his life. He studied it from top to base, picking out the winding paths and crevasses on its rock-faces, and the scattered clumps of trees that lined them. He followed the ridge until it disappeared out of sight. They would be at the base within the hour he thought, answering his own question.

He glanced at Sinat who looked tired. There we all were, sleeping, and poor Sinat didn't make a fuss but carried us away from danger, he thought. Then another thought raced through his mind. "The twins," he muttered as he swung around in his seat.

He quickly glanced either side of him and saw Bash'm and Beat'm marching alongside the wagon, looking like they had when they had set off the previous morning when they'd been in the Emerald Forest. As he looked at them, they both nodded, not wanting to say anything, just in case they woke the others.

Torms scanned the rows of soldiers lining the wagons, all in perfect step and walking at a brisk pace. The Captain was walking down the right-hand side, talking to the soldiers softly, giving them support and encouragement. Torms couldn't quite hear what he was saying, but whatever it was it seemed to be doing the trick.

The wagon drivers did look a bit tired though, thought Torms. Their faces looked all puffy; But Torms couldn't work out if that was normal or tiredness. He noticed some of the miners were asleep on top of the wagons, but not all of them. Especially not the one, Ganga was on. He was right at the back on the last wagon; everyone on his wagon was wide awake, mainly due to their eyes watering.

The dwarfs the king had given him were the finest in the kingdom and Torms could tell that just by looking at them. As he sat there watching them, he was proud to be part of the expedition and proud to say he knew them. But, as he remembered the elven encampment, he knew they were going to be pushed to their very limit and he had a bad feeling that this was just the start of it.

*

Gillant was awoken by the sound of birds singing. He opened his eyes and found himself staring at a detailed wooden ceiling with pictures of doves and other forest birds carved upon it.

"Go tell the king he's awake," said a soft and gentle voice by his side. Gillant went to get up and as he did the room started to spin. He fell out of the bed which was underneath him and went crashing to the floor. He felt someone grab his arm to help him up.

"Leave me!" Snapped Gillant, pulling his arm free from their grasp. He managed to kneel up on one leg and felt the back of his head. As his fingers ran over his skull, he felt a large bump with a split down the middle. "Imbeciles!" he shouted, just as the door opened.

"I hope you're not talking about me," said Pholanthion. Gillant looked up and saw his old friend and king standing before him.

"Leave," said Pholanthion waving his hand and the female elven healer that had been tending to Gillant's recovery, bowed her head and left the room.

Pholanthion nodded to the guards either side of him, and they retreated out of the door, closing it behind them. Pholanthion turned and made sure the door was shut, then turned to Gillant and grabbed hold of him under one of his arms, helping him up onto the bed.

"So then, tell me, dear friend, why were you in such a hurry to burst into The Great Oak and what was so urgent that you couldn't wait, ending up with half the palace guard descending on you?"

Gillant looked up. "Forgive me Pholanthion, but I had been riding most of the night, and I have news of great importance."

"Have you spotted the dwarfs?" asked Pholanthion with great interest.

"Yes, Your Highness, but there's one problem," replied Gillant.

"And that is?" said Pholanthion.

"They've spotted us too," he said as he screwed his face up, as a sharp pain ran over the back of his head.

"How did that happen?" asked Pholanthion.

"I've been asking myself the same question, and I'm not exactly sure. They seemed to have come out of the forest from behind our camp. They had split with their wagons. It looked like their wagons travelled by the main track and their main troops via the forest. But that's not all. I don't think we're the only ones that are on the lookout for the dwarfs," said Gillant.

Pholanthion's face changed as he heard Gillant's voice change slightly. He knew something terrible was going to follow and he didn't have to wait long.

"I think the sorcerers are following them as well."

"Do you think they know about the Amberinth?" asked Pholanthion.

"I'm not sure, but I know they're up to something," replied Gillant.

"Two of the scouts you gave me shot down a sorcerer as they mistook it for a black raven. Then a fireball blew one of them through the air in return. But they weren't killed, they were left to go free. Then, there's the strange goings on in The Dark Fortress days before the shooting. They reported seeing fireballs and all sorts of other sorcery springing up all over the fortress and island. They reported it increased every day, steadily building up."

"Do you think they are getting ready for an attack?" asked Pholanthion.

"I don't know, as everything's been quiet for centuries. But why now, why have we started to see them again? And another thing, last night, as we were stumbled upon by the dwarfs, I spotted a jet-black raven high up in the trees with its head tilted to one side, as if it was watching and listening to the events that were taking place. Then it flew off, following the dwarfs."

"Do you think it was the sorcerer?" asked Pholanthion.

"I can't be sure, but there was something about the raven that just wasn't right. The way it looked and acted - and the other strange thing was, there wasn't another bird in sight. Even after it had left, it was as if the other birds had been scared off."

"What do you make of it all?" asked Pholanthion.

"I don't know, but one thing is for sure, if they do know about the dwarfs then they know about us as well," warned Gillant.

Pholanthion turned for the door, but before he left, he turned back towards Gillant.

"I'll send in the healers with some fresh clothes and a hot meal, then meet me at The Great Hall in one hour. We need to hold council. This has gone from an observation mission to something that could get out of hand very easily," commented Pholanthion. With that he left, shutting the door behind him.

Gillant could hear him talking, giving orders outside the door. A few minutes later the door re-opened, and the female healer came back in carrying a hot meal, closely followed by four more carrying hot water, herbs and fresh clothes.

"Put them on the side please, then leave," ordered Gillant.

Just as the last healer was walking out of the door, Gillant called out, "Wait." The healer stood in the doorway, gazing at Gillant.

"I'm sorry about earlier, and thank you," he said as he put his hand on the back of his head to feel his bump.

"You're welcome," said the female healer in a low and soothing tone, filling the room with a sense of calm. "Put some of the ointment in the green jar that I've left by the water on it twice a day. That will deal with pain, and in a couple of days it will be completely healed."

Gillant picked up the bottle, taking off the lid to smell it. "What is it, root of the threno tree, mixed with the oak leaf?"

"You know your remedies," said the healer. "It is threno root but mixed with the leaves of the ash tree." She nodded her head and closed the door.

Gillant put the bottle of ointment back down on the oak table next to the water. He got up off the bed and, putting his hands either side of the bowl, submerged his head into the warm water.

*

Sinat's cart was finally at the base of the Broken Mountains; Torms let out a sigh of relief as the Emerald Forest was behind them now, and in front was the much more familiar site of mountains, as the cart started to make its accent up the track.

The Brocken Mountains weren't owned by any one race. No one owned them, and no one had claim over them, the only race that might benefit from them were the dwarfs and the only creatures that really lived there were the mountain trolls which inhabited every part of the mountain. Over the years there had been a few expeditions and small mines set up, but nothing was found. Well, nothing of any interest. The few mines that had been set up were old and abandoned by now. The dwarfs had deserted them because off the contestant attacks from the mountain trolls. So, the mountains were left mainly to the traders, as pathways between the Kingdoms and provinces.

As the cart pushed on up the mountain, it went over a few loose rocks that rocked the cart, knocking Tennant's head away from Odall's, then returning it back again with a thump. Both of them woke up startled.

"I'm late, I'm late!" cried out Tennant, still thinking he was in the kingdom. He shot up in the cart, and as he was standing there wondering what he was doing, the cart hit another rock, sending him flying backwards, the main part of his body landing on Sacul while his feet continued over his head, his left boot finally ending up in Nakie's mouth.

Which wasn't the best place for your foot to be, and as Torms turned around to see what was going on. He just caught a glimpse of the advisor's foot, before Nakie, who was still fast asleep, closed his mouth around it, as he dreamt that someone had just put a rubbery meat sandwich in his mouth.

Torms heard the crunch, then a ripping sound, then a chewing one, as he watched Nakie eating Tennant's boot, which he had just ripped off Tennant's foot in one foul chew.

Tennant was still trying to get himself up when Torms butted in.

"Huh-hum, Tennant, I suggest you move your foot," he said, as he pointed in Nakie's direction.

Tennant, who had been oblivious to the whole event, cocked his head to the side and witnessed Nakie now grabbing his foot, which had his toes sticking out of the end of a well-worn sock that was resting on Nakie's chin. He noticed his boot was missing and could just make out the remains of a shoelace hanging out of the corner of Nakie's mouth.

"AHH!" screamed Tennant as he pulled his foot free, scrambling forward on all fours, knocking Sacul once more, who had been awoken by the first fall Tennant had dished out. But, when he opened his eyes he was still half asleep, and all he could see was the darkness of Tennant's robe, which was draped over his head, and he thought it was still night. So, he closed his eyes again.

But, now he was awoken once more by Tennant kneeing him in the chest, followed by a half-eaten, soggy boot, which had just hit him full in the face. Sacul sat up and took a look around, wondering what had just happened. Nakie was wide awake as well, trying to work out where his meat sandwich had gone and why he had a half-eaten boot in his mouth, which he had just spat out.

"Good morning," said Torms, as he chuckled at the humorous events he had just witnessed, in which all four of them in the back had played a part but were now totally oblivious to the whole event. Torms sat back around in his seat, wiping a small tear of laughter from his eye as he surveyed the dirt track, for a clearing where the party could pull over and set up camp now that they were under the protection of the mountain range. As he did, he heard Tennant in the back complaining about his boot being wet as he returned it to its rightful place on his foot.

"Do you mind," snapped Tennant as he leant forward and grabbed hold of the leather lace that was sticking out of Nakie's mouth. He held it at the very end, holding it up to examine the damage. About a quarter of it was missing, which was by now probably in Nakie's stomach. But as he looked at it, all twisted and bent, dripping with saliva, he decided that he had just enough to thread it back through his boot. Which also looked a bit twisted due to the large teeth indentations that were embedded upon the surface and, right at the very tip, a bit of the boot was missing, presumably now in the same place as the missing bit of lace.

Tennant noticed the hole in his boot, lined up perfectly with the hole in his sock: which his big toe now took it upon itself, to stick out of, getting some much-needed fresh air.

"Oh, that's just great. First, I get a hole in my sock and now my boot. Oh, I can't wait till it rains," he said to himself sarcastically as he started to thread the wet soggy lace through the eyelets of his boot.

"Does that look like a small clearing to you, Sinat?" said Torms, pointing to an area off the track, just as it started to level out.

"Sure does."

"Well, I think we'll pull in over there, and get some well-deserved sleep," remarked Torms.

Sinat gave Torms a funny stare, as he couldn't believe what he had just heard. But Torms had noticed Sinat staring at him.

"Not me, the others that have been marching all day and night," continued Torms.

Now Sinat gave him an even sterner stare. "Haven't you forgotten someone?" said Sinat, somewhat grudgingly.

"Oh yes, I nearly forgot, the miners have been keeping guard on the wagons all night, they must be exhausted," said Torms, trying not to laugh as he continued winding Sinat up.

Sinat lunged at Torms. "All right, all right, and the drivers have earned a good sleep as well," he shouted out, just before Sinat got to him. Sinat shrugged his shoulders and sat back down. Torms didn't look directly at him but was looking out of the corner of his eye.

"But you have been sitting on your backside all night," he said as he burst out laughing and jumped off the cart; and a good job he did, otherwise he would have been making the acquaintance with Sinat's fist as he took a swing in Torms's direction.

Torms stood on the side of the track and watched as Sinat pulled the cart in, followed by the wagons. As he stood and watched the procession flow past him, he could see the Captain bringing up the rear making sure everyone was accounted for. As the last wagon was approaching, Torms put up his hand to acknowledge the Captain. The Captain approached Torms smiling.

"At last, we're in the mountains, with rock at our feet and sheer walls at our backs," said the Captain, putting his arm around Torms's shoulder, as they walked further into the clearing.

"Thank you, Captain," said Torms.

"What for?" asked the Captain, somewhat taken aback by Torms.

"You know, for taking over and getting us out of trouble when we encountered the elves. And for keeping everyone going."

"You're thanking me for that," said the Captain a little surprised, "I was only doing my job, which is to protect you and the rest of the party. That's why I'm the Captain of the Blood Born. That's what we train for, to expect the unexpected. Have you ever been chased through a forest by fifty dwarfs wielding axes and all you have on is your underpants? And what do you mean, 'taking over'? The way I remember it, I lent you a hand," he said, as he slapped Torms on the back and gave him a wink.

As they walked into the clearing, the wagons were already being unpacked, and small cooking fires were beginning to spring up around the place.

"Right, I'm off to set the sentries up" said the Captain.

"Wait," said Torms as the Captain went to walk off.

"Seeing as we are camped in the mountains, and behind us is a sheer rock face, while in front is a sheer drop, and the only two ways into our camp are from the left or the right and seeing as you lot have been marching all night, Sacul, Nakie, Tennant, Odall and myself will do the guarding. And, if we see anything that even looks like it has pointy ears, don't you worry, I can shout pretty loud, and I'll have the whole camp awake. You and your soldiers have been going now for the past two days, and we don't know what will be waiting for us around the corner. So, I need every dwarf fully recharged and rested before we carry on, and that includes you," said Torms in a way that told the Captain, that Torms's mind was already made up.

"Are you sure you've never been chased through a forest in your underpants?" laughed the Captain.

"Does Nakie count?" replied Torms. The Captain laughed again.

"And Captain, don't try and put an extra couple of guards on as a precaution just in case," commented Torms.

The Captain put his arm up to admit defeat and walked off shaking his head, still laughing to himself. "And you say you've never been chased," were his final words as he walked to the nearest fire to get some food before resting.

Torms looked around and found what he was looking for, the familiar faces of the others around a fire listening to the sound of sausages sizzling in a pan.

"So, you say Torms just fell straight into the elven camp," said Sinat, as he and the others were engrossed in the story that Sacul was telling them.

"Then all coal dust broke loose," said Sacul, as he started to wave his hands around excitedly. "There were elves with their bows pointed at us, and we were all pointing our axes straight back at them, twitching ready for action. Oh, and not forgetting the war cry of the twins," said Sacul, looking around and giving the twins a look as they were unpacking their bedding.

"Was it loud?" asked Odall, wishing he had been there, amongst all the excitement and action.

"Loud? Was it loud? Do coal miners pee in the dark?" said Sacul sarcastically.

"It was so loud the hairs on the back of my neck stood up with fright. Then, as the roar seeped through my body, it was replaced with pure adrenaline, and for the first time I knew what being a dwarf was really like. My arms holding my axes pumped with blood, I felt I could take on the whole eleven camp by myself."

"Then what happened?" said Odall, hanging on every word Sacul was saying, and even letting the sausages begin to burn ever so slightly; which was a first for Odall.

"Well, when Torms had finally stopped stumbling through the camp, he ended up at the feet of this tall elf with a hood over his face, who had an arrow pointed straight at Torms head. Then the elf said, 'Can I help you?"

Everyone listening to the story stopped breathing, waiting to hear what happened next, even the twins had stopped; and they had been there.

"Then Torms lifted his head up and was face to face with the arrow-tip pressing against his forehead." Sacul left a pause, letting the tension mount. But it was too much for Odall who, up until this adventure, had led a pretty boring life.

"And what did he say!" shouted Odall, being impatient.

"Well, as he looked up, staring death in the face, the elf bent down and pulled him to his feet," said Sacul.

"Yes, yes, and?" said Odall.

"Torms just looked at the elf and said, 'We're lost'."

There was deadly silence, then a ripple of laughter went around the small gathering as they all burst out laughing. Sacul sat and watched the reaction of the others.

"What? That's what he said," cried out Sacul, thinking the others were mocking his storytelling, but Sacul was just making the laughter worse.

"Are you sure it wasn't something like, 'Get that arrow out of my face or I'll shove it up your...'" Sinat went to carry on the sentence, but Torms butted in.

"Well, I'm sorry I don't have your bravery, Sinat, but seeing as I had just fallen headfirst into an elven camp and then realised I was about to be used as target practice, I'm surprised I even got those words out," snapped Torms in his defence.

Sinat just carried on crying with laughter while slapping his leg. "Oh, I'm sorry for laughing, Torms, but you must admit that's pretty funny," said Sinat, wiping the tears from his eyes.

Torms stood there watching Sinat and Nakie laughing at him, while Sacul stood there frowning. It was nice to be back to normal, he thought.

"I can see your point," laughed Torms, as he started to see the funny side of the story.

"You certainly did, especially when it was pressed against your forehead!" said Sinat, laughing at his own joke.

"Shh, shh," went Nakie, trying to say something, but unable to get the words out because he was laughing so much. He pulled at Sinat to be quiet, and they both managed to bring it down to a chuckle. "Shh," went Nakie once more as he took a deep breath, trying not to have an outburst, before he got his sentence out.

Sinat was still holding his breath but was finding it hard, as Nakie let out a little bit of air just enough to talk. "Do you think he's seen the arrow of his ways?" said Nakie, followed by a burst of air that exploded into laughter and was accompanied on cue by a duet from Sinat.

Torms, who was still chuckling to himself, walked over and sat down next to Sacul, giving him a friendly cuff around the back of the neck before he did. "You could have left that bit out," he said as he smiled at his younger cousin.

"Odall, could you knock us up some sandwiches, as we have drawn guard duty for the whole morning and the rest of the afternoon too? You, Sacul, Nakie, Tennant, and myself. Seeing as we slept last night, it's only fair that we do our bit." The others nodded their heads in agreement at Torms's request, all apart from one, as Rule 53 popped into Tennant's head, which was:

_Rule 53: Never do anyone else 's job apart from your own._

"Me, guard duty?" snapped Tennant, "Do you expect me to stand there all day at my age, and not forgetting my foot - look at it." As he said that, he held his skinny leg out from under his robe and wiggled his big toe, which was sticking out of the end of his boot. "I'll catch my death of cold standing out there."

"Oh well, if you put it like that then. I'm sorry, you can stay here and sleep in the cart and guard it just in case someone sneaks past us and tries to take it," said Torms sarcastically. "But, before you get settled, make sure you go and tell one of the others who have been marching all night, that they have to do your guard duty because you have a hole in your boot." There was another long pause as Rule 53 was boycotted for Rule 62 which was:

_Rule 62: If you 're told to do something and the outcome for not doing it means you will be beaten, remember advisors don't like beatings._

"Alright, alright, point taken, where do you want me to stand?" said Tennant, standing up, grumbling; as he had a vision in his head of a guard throttling him. But he made a point of placing his foot on the floor and wiggling his big toe as a sign of protest.

"Nakie, if you'd do the honours and take Tennant with you and guard the top of the track, and Sacul you're with me guarding the bottom, the way we've just come," said Torms.

"Oh, and Odall, when you've finished making the sandwiches, can you take Nakie and Tennant some then come and join us. We could do with an extra pair of eyes, just to see whether anyone has decided to follow us."

"Come on," said Nakie, as he walked past Tennant and headed off just outside the camp to the top of the track.

"Oh great, first he eats my boot, and now I've got to spend the whole day with him. Today just keeps getting better and better," moaned Tennant, trailing after Nakie.

"Well, Sinat, you get your head down, and we'll see you when you wake up," said Torms to the now sleepy-eyed Sinat.

As Torms went to walk off, he was aware of a movement behind him. He turned around and was confronted by Bash'm, and Beat'm. "And where do you think you two are going?" said Torms.

"With you, boss," said the twins, in unison, with a slight look of confusion on their faces.

"I don't think so, you two have been marching all night, now go and get some sleep, and that's an order."

The twins looked at each other and then back at Torms.

"Get some sleep," said Torms, walking off with Sacul trailing behind him.

Torms walked through the camp until he found the Captain and a small group of soldiers, sitting around eating some broth out of a big cooking pot that was on the fire.

"Well, Captain, as you can see, we're off to stand guard. Have a good sleep, and when you wake up, I think we'd better talk about what those elves were doing so conveniently close to the main track."

"My thoughts exactly," said the Captain.

"And Captain, I meant what I said about the extra guards, make sure everyone gets their rest."

The Captain was too tired to argue, he knew the camp was in good hands if Torms was looking after it and Torms was right, there were only two ways to get to their camp and those were either side of the track. So, with that in mind, the Captain put his bowl down, leant back on his blanket and closed his eyes.

Torms had walked to the edge of the camp and was now standing on the track. He looked up the track and could see Nakie and Tennant sitting on a rock with their backs to each other. He looked down the track and saw what looked like two big boulders on the side of the track.

"Ah, there we go, Sacul, our seats await," he said, strolling off to take up his position. As he got closer, he noticed the shapes become less like boulders, and started to take the shape of two rather large dwarfs lying down with blankets over them.

"I thought I told you two to stay back at the camp and get some sleep," said Torms.

Bash'm, and Beat'm both lifted their heads off their rucksacks, but it was Bash'm who replied. "You just told us to get some sleep. You didn't say where and seeing as it was a little bit crowded over there, we thought we'd sleep over here." Beat'm didn't say anything but was nodding his head in agreement with his brother.

Torms smiled at the loyalty they had for him; they certainly were bodyguards, even when they were sleeping.

"Yes, you're right, I didn't state where you had to sleep, you're quite right about that." Concluded Torms.

With that, the twins put their heads back on their rucksacks and closed their eyes. Torms spotted some smaller boulders on the other side of the track, and this time they were real ones. He quietly signalled to Sacul to move across the track and took up position on the rocks. Torms stared at the track that twisted down the mountain, showing the way they had just come, he followed it until it disappeared into the Emerald Forest. He looked back over to the twins, who were sleeping. He was glad they were close at hand just in case anything did start making its way up the track. Although they were there for him, he knew they were there for Sacul as well, whom they now seemed to look upon as their best friend, companion, or even their little brother. Torms had noticed this more and more as the days passed by.

"Here you go," came the familiar voice of Odall, as he came up behind Torms holding three big tankards of hot herbs and a cloth wrapped bundle containing freshly cooked sausage sandwiches. "Look at those two," continued Odall, as he passed Torms and Sacul their tankards and placed the bundle on the ground. "Those two left the minute your backs were turned. Wild ponies wouldn't have kept them from being by your side."

"I know, I'm glad of their company, and especially when I was in the forest with all those arrows pointed at me. I still felt safe, and it might sound daft, but I could sense that if any of those arrows had come my way. They would have stepped in and shielded me, does that sound mad to you?" said Torms, looking at Odall, who had given him his advice and reassurance from day one of the expedition.

"Not at all, you don't get dwarfs like Bash'm, and Beat'm come along every day, they're special. Up until now they were just guards in the Blood Born, but now they are being allowed to shine and develop their true nature. Those two dwarfs aren't guards. They're champions. Have you ever seen such fine specimens of dwarfs in all your life?" spoke Odall in a grand voice, not expecting to get a reply as he knew he was right.

"And you truly are the lucky one, Torms, as you have unleashed them and set them on their way. For the first time in their lives they have been treated as equals, and for that, they shall follow you wherever you take them. Even to the end of the world and back again if they had to, and you'll never once hear them complain. And you were right about the forest. They would have taken every arrow the elves had fired at you, right up until they had drawn their final breath, and they would have still died thinking they had failed you. So, mad you're not, Torms, but a leader you are," praised Odall, before taking a sip from his tankard.

"But in the forest, if the Captain hadn't been there then -"

Odall cut Torms's sentence short. "Look, Torms, you've got us this far so don't feel bad about the forest. The Captain was there, and do you know why he was? Because you had gone to the king and asked for him to be there, so it all boils down to you again."

"And you, Odall, what do I owe you for such wisdom? I didn't ask the king for that," said Torms, placing his hand on Odall's shoulder.

"What, me? I'm just an old fool who's out for a bit of an adventure before life decides to give up on him, nothing more, nothing less," said Odall with a smile. As he took another sip from his tankard.

