

Copyright (C) 2018 by Grim

Paperback ISBN 13: 978-1-912919-04-8  
Hardback ISBN 13: 978-1-912919-05-5  
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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 Two - The Fin' 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

Book Two

**Book Two**

It was a glorious morning on Gryphon Island, everything seemed peaceful. But seeming peaceful didn't mean it was. The finding off the Amberinth, the precious and mythical mineral once thought that only the gods possessed. Had the four races that once lived in harmony plotting against each other, all expecting the worse. The dwarfs led by Torms are on a secret mission to mine the Amberinth. While the sorcerers have sent out spies and are preparing for war. However, the elves are being a bit more cautious, and are watching and waiting, all under the watchful eye of Gillant the elven ranger.

As the clouds rolled over the landscape far below, within the Emerald Forest lay the Elven Kingdom and within its realm, right at the heart of the forest lay The Great Oak, home of the Elven King Pholanthion.

Gillant was there to report the latest news, including that the sorcerers might be onto them. But, what he didn't know was Rathall one of the six Masters from The Dark Fortress, was already within The Great Oak, and furthermore, so was Holock, who had been sent to spy on Rathall by Meltoy, his Master.

As Gillant closed the door to his temporary room and set off for his meeting with the king in The Great Hall, so did Rathall, who was back in snake form. Not pinkish-Brown as usual but camouflaged and almost invisible as he slithered along the passageway, changing colour to suit his surroundings. But not that invisible; Holock had spotted him and was keeping his distance, keeping Rathall in his sight. Gillant had made his way up the centre flight of steps to The Great Hall. As he approached, the guards opened the doors for him as they had been expecting his arrival. Due to one of them being present when apprehending him that very morning. One of the guards just looked straight ahead, hoping Gillant didn't recognise him.

As Gillant walked past, he stopped only for a brief moment before continuing. Gillant never made eye contact, or even moved his head, he didn't have to. The guard knew that Gillant knew that he was the one who had delivered the blow, which had led to Gillant's world turning black.

"Ah, Gillant, come, come," spoke Pholanthion as Gillant stepped into The Great Hall. As Gillant looked around, he could see King Pholanthion sitting up ahead. Then, there was Velthrone who was standing by the side of the king, ready to give advice. Velthrone looked himself, all poised and staring, never knowing what he was thinking. In front of the king was a large highly decorated oak table and sitting around the table were eight other high-ranking elves that made up the Elven Council.

"Do you feel better now?" asked Pholanthion.

"Yes, thank you, Your Highness," said Gillant, bowing his head in respect for his king.

"Well, sit, sit, we have things to discuss."

Gillant took his place at the other end of the table, facing the king. As he looked at the table, he could see that a large map had been spread out which covered the entire surface. The map was of the highest quality. It had every detail set out upon it, every clearing and path, even ones in the Ferral Mountains and the provinces. The mapped areas, especially the Emerald Forest were covered in directional arrows showing which areas would be best, for an ambush or an attack.

Whoever had made this map hadn't done it overnight. It must have taken years, centuries even, thought Gillant; nothing was left out. Even escape routes and regrouping points were scattered about in clearing within the Elven Realm. There were even some amongst the warlords' provinces, the Brocken and the Ferral Mountains, right up to the gates of the Dwarfen Kingdom itself.

"If we have this detailed map of their areas and pathways, then they must have the same. No wonder they stumbled across us in the clearing, they were looking to bed down for the night and got a surprise when they did. That would explain why they came in through the back of our camp. They must have been following the Elander Trail, which runs parallel with the main track and would have taken them from the bottom of the Ferral Mountains almost to the bottom of the Brocken Mountains without being detected," said Gillant, forgetting where he was for a moment, engrossed in the map.

"Gillant, don't you think you are jumping ahead. I've only just told the council about your secret mission. I was going to ask you to fill them in on the details of your find," commented Pholanthion.

Gillant looked up from the map. "Forgive me, Your Highness, I did not mean to speak out of turn," he said, bowing his head in respect.

"Please, Gillant, continue with your find and update us with your news," said Pholanthion, nodding his head.

"Thank you, Your Highness." Gillant looked around the table; all the council's eyes were upon him, especially those that belonged to Velthrone, who seemed to be taking a special interest in the whole affair.

"Well, firstly we set off from here," said Gillant, addressing the council, while leaning over the table and pointing at the map with a thin, highly crafted piece of elm that had been placed on the table in front of his chair for his use.

"Then we set up our camp here, and appointed scouts here, here and here," he said as he pointed out the areas where the scouts had been positioned, "ready and waiting for any sight or sound of the dwarfs. We also had two scouts over on the coastal road just in case they had decided to take the long way to avoid cutting through the edge the Emerald Forest. They were positioned somewhere around here." He pointed to an outline of trees that ran down the side of the coastal track. "And as you can see, it doubles up nicely for a good view of The Dark Fortress that lies on The Island of Black Rock."

Gillant looked up from the map for a brief instant. "Now, this is where it starts to get somewhat interesting," he said giving the council a quick glance. "One of the scouts, while hunting for food, shot down a black raven, piercing its wing and bringing it to the ground. It was flying from this direction, about here. When the other scout went to retrieve it, the raven was gone. But in its place was a figure lying face down in a black robe with an arrow sticking out of his arm. The next thing the scout can remember is flying through the air, accompanied by a fireball, and ending up in a tree. Meanwhile, the other scout reported a black raven taking to skies once more and flying off towards The Dark Fortress. After that, fearing the worst they left their post to report the matter."

Gillant paused for a brief moment to let what he had just said settle in, before continuing. "But it doesn't stop there. The other interesting news they also reported was of some strange and unexplained activity that seems to be happening on the island. Fireballs and all sorts of sorcery is lighting up the skies, as if they were getting ready for something. Then, we were literally stumbled upon by the dwarfs the following night, the very ones we were trying to find," added Gillant.

"And these are the dwarfs you were talking about, the ones with the map that came across your camp?" asked Eletall, one of the council members.

"Yes, but whilst we were dealing with our intruders, I noticed a black raven high up in the trees. There was something about it that wasn't quite right," said Gillant, leaning on the table as he spoke to the council.

"Do you think it was the same sorcerer that the scouts shot down?" asked Pholanthion, moving slightly forward in his seat, awaiting his answer.

"Yes, Your Highness, I think he was, he seemed to be listening, and when the dwarfs left the camp, so did he."

"And these dwarfs, what was their excuse for roaming around our forest in the middle of the night?" asked Trenall, another council member.

"They said they were lost, then another dwarf stepped forward and stated they were on a night-time march and had heard screams and left the main track to investigate, and that's how they had ended up lost. But this dwarf wasn't any ordinary dwarf, he was the Captain of The Blood Born Guards, one of Crackzull's finest. I could also make out that over half of the other dwarfs were Blood Born as well. The rest looked like a mining party of some kind."

"Do you think they knew we were waiting for them?" asked Pholanthion.

"All I can say is, the Captain had a keen eye. He noticed that we weren't just ordinary elves out camping, and guessed our numbers were made up of The Elven High Elite. And just as they were leaving, they heard one of our scouts' report that dwarfen wagons had just been spotted on the main track. So, as far as saying do they know we are onto them, I'd say yes. But I don't think they know, we know about the Amberinth. With any luck, they might think we had got wind of a large expedition that had just set out from the Ferral Mountains and were just checking it out."

"And the sorcerers, do you think they know about the Amberinth?" asked Pholanthion.

"I don't know, Your Highness, but whatever they know, I'm sure they will be keeping it a secret, as this is the first time in centuries that one has actually been spotted off their island. For all we know, they could have known about the dwarfs and the Amberinth before we did. But one thing is for sure, they are sticking pretty close to the dwarfs, so I'd say they know something, Your Highness," replied Gillant.

"And if they did," said Pholanthion out loud to the council, "they would know about the true power that the Amberinth has over magic, and they'd want to stop whatever or whoever trying to get their hands on it."

"That might explain all the activity going on at the fortress," commented Eletall.

"You have given us a lot to think about, Gillant. If you were me, what would your next move be?" asked Pholanthion.

Gillant looked at his king, then at the council; all eyes were upon him. "Your Highness, I would never want to take your place, only serve you," he said as he bowed his head.

"You're very loyal Gillant, but by answering the question, you would be serving me. You are always out in the Emerald Forest, the mountains and the provinces, and you've seen what you have spoken of. Who better to ask than you," remarked Pholanthion.

This time Gillant held his head up high and thought about the question.

"Your Highness, I would get the army mobilised and ready. If the dwarfs do find Amberinth and mine it, I don't think it will be the dwarfs we'll have to worry about. I think the sorcerers will strike hard and fast and show no mercy. They will strike out at whoever knows about the Amberinth, and if they didn't know that we knew, I'm sure they do now," said Gillant, stating his case.

Pholanthion smiled. "Thank you, Gillant, for your thoughts. Can you wait outside while we talk?"

Gillant nodded, turned, and walked off towards the hall doors. The guards on the other side opened the doors as they heard the approaching footsteps while springing to attention when Gillant emerged from the room. The guards quickly shut the doors once more; as they were closing, Gillant could hear the council erupt into a discussion.

Gillant had been sitting now for two hours outside The Great Hall. He knew meetings could go on for days when he heard it all go quiet within. Then he heard some footsteps from instead getting louder as they approached the door. The motionless guards sprang back into life; as they opened the door, there stood Velthrone.

"You can come back in now," he said, as he turned around and went to retake his place next to the kings.

Gillant got up and strode into the room, all the waiting had made him restless. He had already spent most of the day in the kingdom; soon it would be getting dark. He wanted to get back to Cluzac and the other elves. Gillant re-took his place at the end of the table.

"Thank you for being so patient, Gillant, but I thought before you leave to carry on tracking the dwarfs you should know what we intend to do about this matter," spoke Pholanthion. "We, the guardians of our kingdom and realm, have all come to a swift and final decision, and with the help and guidance of Velthrone. We have decided to act upon the information you have gathered and presented before us. Firstly, you must go and find out exactly the location of the Amberinth source, and find out if you, can how much there is. If it's a small amount, and there's not enough to suit an entire army, then we have nothing to worry about. The dwarfs can have their find and things will revert to normal. But if there is a vast amount we need to know about it." Pholanthion spoke with a hint of worry in his voice, which only Gillant could sense.

"Secondly, heeding your advice and that of Velthrone's, to be on the safe side I will enable the elven army and start getting them prepared." Pholanthion finished what he was saying by bowing his head slightly to the council. Even though he was king, it was customary to do this when speaking for the council.

"There is a fresh horse saddled and waiting for you. Now, you may leave," concluded Pholanthion.

"Yes, Your Highness." Gillant nodded and walked off, just as the doors opened for him to exit, he heard Pholanthion speak once more.

"And Gillant, take care." But this time it wasn't the king speaking, it was Pholanthion, his dear old friend.

Gillant walked out into the passageway and down the oaken spiral steps, which lead out of the kingdom. When he reached the bottom, there was a fresh thorny elegant horse, with a stable hand holding the reins; awaiting Gillant's arrival. Gillant took two bold strides and jumped up onto the horse.

"Thank you," he said to the stable hand as he took hold of the reins and settled down in the saddle.

Gillant quietly leant forward, placing his mouth close to the horse's ear and with a whisper only the horse could hear. The horse's nostrils flared, and its pupils grew wider, and without warning, it shot off through the trees with Gillant sitting firmly on its back. But on this journey, Gillant was on his own.

*

Rathall had been present throughout the council meeting, coiled up in the corner listening to every word that had been said and observing their reactions. While doing this, he'd noticed something about Velthrone, the advisor. He noticed he had a way of getting his point across without the king or the others being any the wiser. Every time one of them spoke out and Velthrone didn't agree, The advisor would steer them in another direction until they ended up agreeing with what they had disagreed with in the first place.

And if Rathall hadn't been mistaken, he was sure that the advisor was trying to start a war - but why was the question Rathall couldn't understand. As the elves had a pretty good share of the Island already, with no one bothering them. So, why provoke a war.

If the neighbouring warlords or dwarfs found out they were mobilising their army, it could spark one off. But as he lay there watching Velthrone's every move. Rathall could sense there was another side to the advisor, that he wasn't showing some dark and sinister side, some hidden agenda, just by the look in his eyes. Rathall could see the advisor had a dark and twisted soul, tucked away from the rest of the world, but for how long, thought Rathall.

If anybody wanted some guidance about deceitful lying and having a hidden agenda, then Rathall was your first port of call. Rathall hissed quietly to himself as his body coiled in delight.

After another two hours of discussion from the council, about who was going to organise what and where. The council broke up with everyone knowing exactly what they were doing. Rathall had noticed the advisor had offered his services somewhat conveniently, to keep full and thorough records of all the details.

The king left The Great Hall, then the councillors, and then finally the advisor hurried out of the doors, looking like he was late for something. Rathall uncoiled himself and slithered along the floor in pursuit of the advisor, his body-changing colour as it went over a woven rug. The two guards that had been guarding the doors walked into the hall to check that it was all clear. As they did, Rathall slithered over one of their boots and out into the passageway, following the scent of Velthrone.

The guards had a quick check and turned and shut the doors. Just as the doors were closing there seemed to be a rush of air. The guards noticed it as it caressed their faces; both guards, who had a handle each in their hands, stopped and looked at each other. Neither spoke, but they both had the same thought going through their heads. They had been guarding the door all these years and not once had that ever happened before. As they shut the doors one of the guards just shrugged. While the other one with the heavy gold key attached to his belt, took it off and locked the door. Then they walked off in the direction of the kitchens, leaving Holock all alone in the passageway.

Holock was trying to sense which way Rathall had gone. He muttered a few words and a faint trail appeared, glowing softly on the floor, only visible to him. Holock followed the trail as it turned and twisted along the floor to the main set of spiral stairs then headed downwards. The trail behind him now started to disappear as it began to go cold, but the nearer Holock got to Rathall, the brighter the trail grew. After following the trail along three sections of The Great Oak and nine corridors later, he finally came to a great oak door, which was shut.

Holock put his ear to the door; he could hear someone hurrying around in the room inside. The room was a large study, with oak shelves all around the interior lined with books. There was a huge window which gave a magnificent view of the Emerald Forest and surrounding kingdom. In between one of the walls was a door, which was open, and inside was a bedchamber with the finest silk sheets laid out on the bed.

Back in the main study Velthrone was sitting at a large desk, which was piled high with books. One of the books was open face down on the desk, with its cover showing, which read ' _Warlord Rancore_.' There was a marvellous oak-carved bird stand in one of the corners, with three falcons perched upon it. Each one had a leather covering over their heads and on their right talons, they had a long leather strap, which was attached to the perch.

Velthrone sprung up from his desk as if he had forgotten something. He raced over to the door and turned the key, locking it shut. He returned to his desk, picked up a quill, dipped it into some ink, and started scribbling frenziedly on a piece of parchment in front of him.

He was so busy he didn't notice Rathall, who had muttered and hissed a few words, and was now in his normal form, or as normal as his twisted dark power would let him. His hood was pulled over his reptile head. He twisted his body almost motionlessly and without a sound as he coiled his head to one side, giving him a perfect view of what Velthrone was writing.

Velthrone was writing so fast that sometimes he ran out of ink and wrote a few more words before he realised and re-dipped his quill.

Rathall began moving his reptile tail slowly over the floor in delight, relishing every word he was reading. But most of all, he was relishing the fact he was right.

Velthrone held the letter up and blew on the paper to help the ink dry faster, he then rolled it up, ever so small, and placed it into a little tight leather ring with two tassels in the middle, which he pulled tight, trapping the parchment in the middle.

Velthrone pushed his chair back and stood up to walk over to one of the falcons. As he turned his head, he came face to face with Rathal. Rathall darted out his black forked tongue, flicking it rapidly in front of Velthrone's face.

"AHHH!" cried Velthrone as he jumped and half-fell backwards over his desk, sending books flying everywhere. He was in shock at seeing Rathall, but most of all at someone being in his room and seeing him write the note. Rathall slithered forward until their faces were almost touching again.

"You forgot to sssign it," hissed Rathall, as he stared into Velthrone's eyes. Velthrone, who had now had a very brief moment to weigh up the situation. Had come to the swift conclusion he was more scared of the snake-like beast that was staring at him than the note, and his body started to show it as he started to sweat. As he did, Rathall's tongue flicked, tasting one of the beads of sweat running down Velthrone's face.

"You tassste ssscared," Rathall hissed with joy, at the displeasure he was inflicting on his prey. "Why are you ssscared? You have no reassson to be ssscared of me. We..." Rathall stopped and thought for a moment, "have sssimilar goalsss," he hissed, and with that, he moved back from the table giving Velthrone some space and unwrapped his tail from around the advisor's leg, which he had coiled around on instinct rather than to stop the advisor moving.

"What do you want?" asked Velthrone, somewhat shakily.

"I don't want anything," replied Rathall. "The quessstion ssshould be, what can we do for each other?"

Velthrone still lay sprawled out on his desk, half propped up by the remaining books that hadn't vacated the table. Now Velthrone was confused. "Aren't you the sorcerer? Aren't you the black raven?"

At the mention of The Supreme Grand Master, Rathall hissed while his tail slashed around violently on the floor, catching and knocking over the advisor's chair.

"Do I look like a pathetic raven to you?"he hissed in annoyance at the insulting question, all the while his head wove from side to side as he stared at Velthrone as if he was lining his prey up for the kill.

"No, no, not at all, but all this talk about sorcerers and ravens," Velthrone added quickly. "I just thought..."

"Well, you thought wrong," hissed Rathall, as he butted in.

"What is it I can do for you?" blurted out Velthrone, trying to save himself.

On hearing this, Rathall seemed to change, especially at the words "do for you," which were his three favourite words. Rathall stopped bobbing his head from side to side and returned his tail to a slight involuntary movement that lapped gently over the floor.

"Ah that'sss better, now then, there isss sssomething you can do for me," hissed Rathall as Velthrone took a deep gulp, not knowing what he had just let himself in for.

"Sssend that messsage, then after that I think we'd better sssit down and go over a few plansss of our own," hissed Rathall, as he motioned his hand for Velthrone to proceed.

Velthrone, still a bit shaken, pushed himself off the desk with his elbows and walked over to the three falcons that were now restlessly trying to get off their perch. Velthrone took hold of one of the leather straps, pulling one of the fluttering birds down, and untied the leather restraint. He had a firm grip of the bird as it struggled to get free. Although they couldn't see the danger, the birds of prey could sense it; as if it had somehow filled the whole room.

Velthrone threaded and tied the small leather ringlet, which was holding the note to one of the falcon's talons. Then he proceeded to the huge open window, and with his arm outstretched held the falcon aloft while with the other he untied its hood, releasing the bird's vision. In a blink of an eye, the bird had taken flight, soaring out over the trees, calling out as it went. Velthrone turned from the window and reluctantly looked at Rathall, wishing for a brief moment he'd been the falcon.

"Well then, let'sss get down to busssinesss," hissed Rathall.

*

There was only about an hour's worth of sunlight left. Torms was still sitting upon his rock, surveying the landscape for danger. While he had been there, he'd gone through the events in his head that they'd all been through so far, and he was wondering what he'd now be doing if he hadn't found the Amberinth.

He thought he'd probably be in his workshop with the giant furnace going, mending or making something; he stretched out his hands to catch the sun's rays. Momentarily closing his eyes, trying to remember the warmth of the furnace. His hands were like leather, over the years the hot flames and various metals had toughened them up. And if he was back home now, you could put a diamond on it that Sacul being somewhere nearby, wanting to know why he was heating this or that and when to take it out - he was a quick learner, thought Torms as he opened his eyes and gazed at Sacul.

Sacul caught Torms looking at him and gave his cousin a huge smile. That's my Sacul, thought Torms. You can take him anywhere and put him anywhere, and no matter what's happening, he'll always pull out a smile. The approaching Captain broke Torms's daydream.

"Thank you for keeping us safe while we slept," came the voice of the Captain, who was walking down the track with five tankards in his hands, three in one and two in the other.

"Ah, Captain, did you sleep well?" asked Torms.

"Like a coal miner's mule," replied the Captain, which in dwarfen speech meant very well. "I hope you don't mind Torms, but I've told Odall to stay back at the camp. He insisted that he'd only come back to the camp to get some more drinks, but the poor fellow looked like he was going to drop," added the Captain.

"Thank you, I kept telling him to have a break, but he insisted he would keep doing his bit."

"And now let us do ours," said the Captain. "I've sent two guards to take over from Nakie and Tennant, and two will be down shortly to relieve you. But for now, I'll have to do," he said jokingly, as he passed Torms and Sacul a tankard of hot herbs each.

The Captain walked over to the twins; as he did, they woke up, jumping off their blankets with their hands on their weapons.

"I thought I'd find you two here," said the Captain as he passed them a tankard each, leaving himself one. They put their weapons down, stood up still holding the tankards, and had a good stretch not even spilling a drop.

Bash'm threw his head to the side and his neck sent out a deafening 'CLICK' as something went back into place. He then looked across the track and saw Torms and Sacul, and gave them a smile, as he took a sip of his herbs.

The Captain walked back over to Torms, who now felt a lot safer, knowing everybody else was awake and they didn't have to rely on him. Torms was now stood by the trusty rock that had been his seat for the day, and watched the sun. As it set far away in the distance, silhouetting the Ferral Mountains as it made its grand departure.

"What a wonderful sight," spoke Torms out loud as the others just stood there watching their homeland being cast in shadow by the day's final rays, nodding their heads in agreement. There was a sound behind them as two dwarfs approached.

"And here are your reliefs," said the Captain as he took one final long swig out of his tankard.

Torms and Sacul had a good stretch of their own. Torms took another small sip out of his tankard and threw the other half on the floor.

"I'm glad that's over. If Odall had given me any more of that, I'd have turned into a herb by sunrise," joked Torms. Sacul laughed, as he felt the same. Bash'm, and Beat'm rolled up their blankets and picked them up, throwing them over their shoulders, and with a tankard in one hand and their double-handed weapons in the other, set off up the hill after the others.

As Torms walked through the camp, he could already hear the familiar voice of Tennant as he grumbled about the state of his aching back from standing around all day, 'doing nothing,' as he put it.

"I'm glad to see being a mere sentry hasn't changed you," said Torms sarcastically, as he entered the camp, still with the Captain and others in tow.

"You can mock me all you like. It's alright for you, you still have your youth," snapped Tennant.

"Captain, I do believe we have some matters to discuss, and I think it's only right for all the cards to be put on the table," commented Torms.

"But Torms" protested Tennant in an outburst, as about Rule 86 in Phobic's rulebook, sprung to mind, which was:

_Rule 86: Never put all your cards on the table, keep a few tucked up your sleeve._

"Tennant, I was put in charge, and if the king gets to hear about this, then I'll be sure to tell him about your objections," remarked Torms. "Sacul, can you go and get Bucket and Ganga, if you please."

Sacul didn't need to be told twice; he had got up and was gone before the final word was out of Torms's mouth.

Ten minutes later, Ganga appeared with a fresh face, all nice and smooth.

"Nice to see you back to your normal self again," remarked Torms.

"Yes, I look ten years younger as well," said Ganga, as he ran his hand over his face, marvelling at his new-found youth. "And it was all down to that ointment you gave me Torms. What did you say was in it again?" asked Ganga.

"Oh, that. I can't take the credit for the ointment," replied Torms rather quickly. "You have the Captain to thank for that. Apparently, it's an old tried and tested ointment they use in the army," said Torms, trying not to laugh as he passed the buck in the Captain's direction.

Ganga looked over towards the Captain, awaiting his answer from him. By now everyone in their small party, including the twins, had turned their attention towards the Captain.

"Sorry I'm late," said Bucket as he entered the camp in his long-johns and a pair of boots and a towel wrapped around his neck. "I didn't have time to change, me and my old mates were just doing a quick workout."

At the mention of exercise, Odall, who had been cooking while staring at the Captain, dropped his pan, sending sausages flying in every direction. He just stood there with his mouth open; at the thought of all those talks, and long mornings had finally paid off.

"And you've got a whistle," muttered Odall to no one in particular, as he had to sit down before he fainted.

Luckily for the Captain, Bucket's arrival took the audience away from him. As everyone was now staring at Bucket, as he sat down to a meeting in a pair of long-johns, boots, and a raggedy old towel. Which looked like a dog had been chewing it and had only given up due to the fact it was no longer appealing.

Torms stood up to address the small gathering, which consisted of Nakie, Sinat Tennant, Odall, the Captain, Ganga, Bucket, Sacul and the twins.

"As you know, we are on an expedition, and even those of you that don't know must have guessed by now that this is an important one. What I'm about to tell you now cannot go any further, and it stays with us."

As Torms said this, he gave Tennant a glancing look; in return, Tennant just shook his head in disapproval, as he knew what was coming next, as Rule 91 in Phobic's rulebook popped into his head, which was:

_Rule 91: What they don 't know, won't hurt them._

But Torms ignored the scornful look of Tennant and continued. "Not so long ago, I prised a piece of rock from these very mountains where we are camped. And not just any old rock, this one contained some ancient element, a very precious mineral called Amberinth."

"Amberinth!" cried out Ganga before the word had even left Torms's mouth.

"But that's just a myth, an old miners' tale, passed down from generation to generation, that stuff doesn't exist!" shouted Ganga wildly.

Torms put his hands down the neck of his shirt and pulled out a leather necklace. Attached to the end was a leather pouch. Torms undid the pouch and tipped the contents into his hand. "Well, explain this then," he said as the Amberinth glowed softly in his palm.

The sun had just set, and dusk had taken ahold of the camp; combined with the light from the fire, it gave the Amberinth disc a hypnotic glow.

"Well, I'll be a son of a coal miner," said Ganga, with his face lit up from the glow given off by the Amberinth. Plus, he had moved so close he was almost in Torms's hand.

"Can I?" said Ganga, not taking his eyes off the Amberinth.

"Be my guest," said Torms, as he knew how important metals and minerals were to dwarfen miners and knew this was a dream come true for Ganga. He gently put his hand up to pick up the half-disc, holding his breath as he clasped his fingers ever so gently around it. He held it up in the firelight, examining it, and marvelling at its beauty, with a beaming smile on his face.

"Ha-hum," came an interrupting cough from Tennant. Torms turned his head towards the advisor.

"I think everyone's seen enough of it now, don't you think?" said Tennant trying to put his point across. "And seeing as this is supposed to be a secret, holding it up in the firelight so everyone can see, sort of defeats the object," concluded Tennant with a hint of sarcastic wit as Rule 32 came into play:

_Rule 32: Always keep things well hidden as people will always take anything you have, and usually your head along with it._

"You're right," said Torms, taking Tennant's advice. "Ganga," said Torms, holding his hand out, but there was no response from Ganga, as he was still staring at the half-disc, oblivious to his surroundings. "Ganga," said Torms in a sterner voice.

Ganga reluctantly snapped out of his daze and, seeing Torms standing with his hand open, placed the disc back in it.

"Thank you," said Torms, as he placed the disc back in the pouch, pulling it tight and concealing it back within his shirt.

"That was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," said Ganga out loud, as he sat back down, still half-dazed and hypnotised.

"Now, as I was saying," continued Torms, "I found this mineral in these mountains, and after I did my own tests on it, I discovered for myself that my initial assumption was right. So, I went to the king, to get his permission and backing, and he gave me you lot. The Captain to protect us, Ganga to mine the mountain, and Bucket to transport us. So, you now see the whole picture, and how important this expedition is."

"But what's so important about this Amberinth? I don't know what all the fuss is about," said Bucket shrugging his shoulders.

Before the flab around Bucket's shoulders had time to finish its shrug, Ganga had jumped up from where he was sitting and grabbed a handful of Bucket's long-johns, either side of his neck.

"What's all the fuss about. What's all the fuss about!" ranted Ganga. "It's only the most precious mineral known to us, that's all, and all you can say is, what's all the fuss about!"

Ganga had surprised the group with how fast he could move, and Bucket had an even bigger surprise as Ganga stuck his face right up to Bucket's, staring at him. With a mad wild look in his eyes.

Bucket didn't budge an inch, he knew if he moved, it could send Ganga berserk, and a berserk dwarf is not a pretty sight. They lose all control and fear, and when a dwarf does that you're in trouble. The best place for you is behind a rock, and even then, there is no guarantee of safety. It takes a lot to send a dwarf berserk, but when he does cross the line, there's no turning back.

There are not many creatures walking around on two legs that could stop them, and even some on four legs would have a problem. It's a genetic defect passed down from generation to generation. Back in the old days, if you came from a line of dwarfs with a bloodline of berserkers running in the family, people left you alone and gave you a wide berth as the smallest thing could set them off. For instance, if you were asking one gold piece for a chicken, and they wanted it for half a gold piece, then you sold it to them for half a gold piece, and you got to keep all your teeth and your stall intact as an added bonus.

There was a famous berserker called Throttle, well, that was his nickname; everyone was too scared to ask him his real name. He was a very forgetful dwarf, and it was said that most mornings he'd forget what day it actually was, so a young dwarf was sent to sleep outside his dwellings every night. So as soon as Throttle stepped outside in the morning, the young dwarf would ask Throttle what day it was, and if he said it was Moon'day, it was Moon'day, even if it was Elvesday, and on one occasion it was Moon'day for a whole month.

The whole village worked around Throttle's calendar. It was a lot easier than trying to explain that he was wrong. Then you'd have to explain to the rest of the villagers why the whole village had been smashed to smithereens. But that's only after you'd woken up from the initial onslaught, and the chances of actually waking up from that were slim.

So, Bucket was faced with a very serious problem. As well as holding his breath, and not blinking, he was finding it very hard to ignore the foam that was now flooding out of Ganga's mouth and dribbling down his chin.

"I don't think he meant anything by it," said Torms softly, as he tried to calm the situation down. "I am sure what Bucket meant was, what's all the fuss about, sending all of us to retrieve it." was the best that Torms could come up with. Torms was finding it hard, as this was the second time he'd been put on the spot in a matter of days. And now seeing Ganga foaming at the mouth, he didn't know what was worse, Ganga or the elves.

Ganga's grip seemed to slacken, as Torms's last comments seemed to have got through, but his hands were still firmly on Bucket's collar.

"Isn't that right, Bucket?" said Torms, "you meant fuss about us, didn't you."

Bucket took a carefully calculated gulp, and slowly nodded his head in agreement. Trying not to trigger Ganga off, then he shut his eyes, just in case Ganga did flipped; as he didn't want to see it.

With the nod of Bucket's head, something in Ganga's must have clicked, as he slowly released his grip and sat back down again, staring into space as his brain and body tried to return to normal.

Bucket let out a huge sigh of relief and so did the others, as they would have been caught up in it as well, whether they liked it or not.

"Sacul, get Ganga some herbs," ordered Torms.

With that, Sacul picked up a nearby empty tankard and poured in some freshly brewed hot herbs, from the pot that was hung over the fire. Sacul took it over to Ganga who was still staring straight ahead. Ganga too the tankard and drank the whole lot in one gulp, wiped his mouth, and carried on with his staring.

"But that was piping hot," spluttered Sacul in disbelief, directing his question at the others, and looking around for reassurance about what he had just seen.

"Yes, we know, Sacul, but if that's the way Ganga likes it, then that's the way he can have it," said Torms, giving Sacul a stern stare. Which he'd come to read over the years as 'shut up'. So, he did, and went back around the fire and sat down.

"Well, as I was saying, we all have our jobs to do, and up until the other night, I thought it was going to be straightforward. But, stumbling across those elves has unnerved me" said Torms, as he gave the others a glancing look to see if they felt the same. "I know they were within the Emerald Forest and had every right to be there. But sitting around all day whilst I was on guard duty, I had time to think, and there's something I couldn't work out. Why they weren't surprised to see us? I mean, at first, when we..."

Torms went on to say 'stumble,' but quickly changed it to, "came across their camp, the initial reaction was alarm and panic on both sides. But after that, they didn't seem to mind or even care that we had been walking around their forest. They just wanted to get rid of us as quickly as possible, and that scout who reported our wagons being on the main track - was that coincidence, or where they were waiting for us?" said Torms, throwing the question out that most of them had been asking themselves.

"Seeing as we didn't know about the secret, how could they?" asked Bucket, who had now recovered from Ganga's moment of madness but was still keeping an eye on him. 'You can never be too careful with miners, they have very sharp picks,' was Bucket's motto.

"That's what I'd thought," said the Captain "but knowing what I know now, and seeing those elves, and not just any old elves. We are talking the Elven High Elite here, and the one who calls himself Gillant didn't look a pushover either. I'd say they were waiting for us."

With that, the small group gave each other a concerning look. Even Ganga snapped out of his trance as the words filtered through to his brain.

"What do we do now?" said Sinat, who wasn't really concerned about the Amberinth, but was more interested in looking after his brother and cousins.

"We could go back," said Tennant. His words came out of the darkness, as he stood in the shadows; out of habit, now that night had taken ahold of the camp.

"Oh, that's great," perked up Odall who was sitting next to him, "here we are at a major breakthrough that could change the face of the Island as we know it, and the first sign of trouble, and you want to go home."

Odall didn't know it, but he had nearly just quoted Rule 44 in Phobic's rulebook, word for word:

_Rule 44: At the first sign of trouble, go home._

Rule 44 was exactly what Tennant was trying to exercise. But he was being ignored as Odall continued.

"We don't know for sure that the elves know, or anyone else for that matter, and let's just say they did. They wouldn't just attack us, it would spark off a war."

"Odall's got a point," said Sinat.

"What do you reckon?" said Torms to the Captain.

"I don't think we have a choice. I say let's keep going and make our minds up about the elves as things progress and deal with them if and when that happens. Because if this Amberinth is out there, then why should we leave it for them." At the mention of leaving anything to the elves, he got an agreeable grunt from around the camp, all apart from one; Tennant who was sulking.

When he started the job as advisor to King Crackzull. He didn't expect to be stuck on a mountain trail with a party of dwarfs, and the prospect of the whole Elven Kingdom coming down him at any given moment. Tennant rummaged around in his huge robe, looking for something. His hand gripped what he'd been searching for, the feel and texture under his touch gave him hope. Tennant knew he had his hands on his old and trusted rulebook. It had been his trusted companion for many a year.

Tennant pulled Phobic's rulebook out and started flicking through the pages, searching for some kind of rule for the predicament he was in now. Trying to find out if it could have been avoided; and if there wasn't one, he would damn well make sure he'd write one in the back.

"So that settled then," said Torms, addressing the group. "We'll carry on, and if things do progress with the elves, as the Captain said, we'll deal with it when it happens. The actual place I found the Amberinth is just long the track, about four hours away. If we stay here for the night and get some rest, we'll be in a lot better shape. Plus, it would make it a lot easier to spot anyone following us in daylight. At least if there were a confrontation, our dwarfs would be nice and fresh."

"You'll be after my job next!" said the Captain as he stood up. "Have a good rest, Torms, and leave the sentries to me, I'm sure I can handle it," he said as he walked away smiling.

"I'll be going then," said Ganga, getting up still with a blank expression on his face.

"Me too, got to be up early in the morning, do a bit of rock lifting with me old mates, seeing as we're in the mountains. Might as well take advantage of the surroundings," said Bucket, as he went to walk off Torms called him back.

"Oh, Bucket," Bucket turned around. "Don't push them too hard, if push comes to shove, we might have to rely on their weight." Said Torms.

With that, Bucket nodded and strolled off. But halfway back to his own fire he stopped and scratched his head, as he tried to work out if Torms had just insulted him or not.

*

Gypsy was running down the corridor, full of excitement. She didn't bother trying to nudge the door in front of her open as usual with her nose, but opted for the more practical approach, and that was quite simply to go through it. Strangaurd was rudely awoken by the sound of a splintering door as Gypsy came smashing through: she couldn't wait to show her Master what she had got.

"Ahh!" cried Strangaurd, not knowing what was happening as Gypsy dived straight on the bed. As she landed, feathers flew all around the room. Initially, Strangaurd thought Gypsy had burst his hand-made, duck-feathered quilt. But as he came too from being rudely awoken, he noticed the feathers hadn't come from his quilt, but had originated from Gypsy's mouth, and to his horror; he could see why.

Gypsy was sitting upright with her head tilted to one side, in her mouth it looked like she had the remains of a falcon.

"NO!" screamed Strangaurd, as his voice carried itself out the door and down the passageway.

Strangaurd lunged for the bird, and right on cue, Gypsy dived out of the way, landing on the floor. Lying with the front half of her body flat on the floor and her back half sticking up, and slightly lifting her head. Her eyes were fixed on Strangaurd, as now she was in a playful mood and was ready to spring again, just as soon as Strangaurd made his next move. And she didn't have to wait long, as Strangaurd came flying off the bed.

"Drop it!" shouted Strangaurd.

He missed and crashed onto the floor in a heap, Gypsy ran around the other side of the bed and put her head on the top of the quilt, still with the lifeless bird in her mouth.

As Strangaurd stood up, two of the castle guards came flying in the room with their swords drawn in response to the sound of Strangaurd's shouting. They stood there blocking the doorway, frantically looking for an intruder.

"GET THAT DAMN DOG!" shouted Strangaurd.

The two guards looked over and saw Gypsy. Now intruders they were trained for, but Gypsy was a different matter altogether. Every guard in the castle left Gypsy alone, and in return she left them alone, as long as they didn't have any food, that is.

If Gypsy found a guard eating, she'd sit perfectly upright staring at the guard, with saliva hanging from her mouth. But this wasn't just any old dribble, this was mountain troll-dog dribble. Which was twice as thick as normal dogs, and had a tendency to hang down very low not quite touching the floor, somehow suspended in mid-air, defying the laws of gravity. Normally at this point, the guard eating the food would consider a few factors. One would be, they'd feel sorry for Gypsy, and feed her. The second was, they might actually drown in her saliva if it eventually reached the ground, and the third was the main thought that occupied their minds. Gypsy was a mountain troll-dog, bred to kill mountain trolls, and very effective she was too, and if a mountain troll didn't stand a chance against her, then, how could they. So, she always went away with a full belly, and the guard had to do without food for the rest of his shift. But safe in the knowledge that, one, he hadn't drowned, and two, he still had all his limbs attached, which was a bonus especially if you were a guard.

But now, the two guards that had come running to their Master's aid wished they hadn't. Their faces dropped as they heard the order to get the dog. In the backs of their minds they knew they should have stayed where they were, and pretended they hadn't heard the shouting. Well, not until some other guards had rushed past them; then joined in on the end.

Right on cue six other, older and wiser guards came flying into the room. Knocking into the first two, who had been taking their time trying to eye up the best approach to the situation. But it was solved for them as they now found themselves flying, head first in Gypsy's direction.

Gypsy's eyes widened with delight, as the two guards joined in the game. She pounced to her right onto the bed and the first guard landed to her left, across the bed, with his arms and head hanging over the edge.

The other guard, who was now on a collision course with Gypsy. Let out a terrifying scream, and held out his arms in a feeble attempt to stop himself in mid-flight. But seeing as this didn't work, he opted for the second-best thing. That was to shut his eyes tightly closed and hope whatever Gypsy had in store for him would be over quickly and painlessly.

Luckily for him, Gypsy was having too much fun, and unluckily for his fellow guard, who was still slung over the bed trying his hardest not to move a muscle and bring attention to himself. He felt the full force of what seemed to him like a giant castle slab hitting him full in the back, knocking all the wind out of him as Gypsy pounced, landing smack bang on top of him.

Still, on top of the first guard, Gypsy re-took her crouching position and eyed up the new six playmates, who, like the first guards, were eager to get to the source of the screams but wise enough not to get there first. But they hadn't counted on Gypsy being there and were now kicking themselves for being too eager.

But Gypsy wasn't hanging around as she dived off the bed, heading straight for them. They seemed to be making it too easy for her, as they froze with fear. Gypsy ran into them at full force, scattering them in every direction, then headed out of the door.

"GET HER, YOU FOOLS," shouted Strangaurd.

Treading on the guards, as he ran out the door in hot pursuit of Gypsy and the messenger bird, still in his nightgown.

It wasn't hard to follow her as guards were lying all over the corridors, left in Gypsy's wake as she bounded down the passageways, thinking they were all part of the fun and games. Every now and then, as Strangaurd followed the scattered bodies, he'd actually catch a glimpse of a feather or two. Putting new life into his legs as he pressed on, eager to know what the message was.

The trail of bodies finally ended at his throne room. Where laid upon the table within, with the bird between her paws, plucking out the rest of the remaining feathers with her teeth, was Gypsy.

Gypsy had led Strangaurd back to the scene of the crime. Sunshine was now shining through the big open window through which the falcon had made its entrance. Only to find to its horror, that the stone statue it had landed on wasn't a statue at all, but Gypsy.

A snapping sound was the last thing it ever heard, as Gypsy couldn't believe her luck. She had never caught a bird before. She had tried many a time, but always failed. But when one flew through the window and landed on her nose it was all too easy, and marvelling in the capture of her first bird, she went to inform her Master. To share her excitement, and now in her eyes, it was time to eat.

As she bent down to scoop the bird up in her mouth, Strangaurd lunged at her. Gypsy didn't move out the way this time, as she had her mind set on devouring the falcon. Strangaurd screeched as he saw the bird disappearing down Gypsy's throat. He quickly wrapped his hands around her throat, stopping the bird's progress, his hands didn't reach all the way around, but he had the front of her throat firmly and securely in his grasp.

Gypsy tilted her head up, trying to force the bird down with her throat muscles. But Strangaurd held the lump of the bird in her throat with one hand, while with the other he tried to prise her mouth open. But Gypsy wasn't giving it up for anyone, and her mouth stayed firmly shut.

Strangaurd moved his hand around, under one of Gypsy's slobbery mouth flaps, and tried to gain access through the side of her mouth. But still, Strangaurd had no joy.

Strangaurd was beginning to sweat now, and his hand was beginning to ache, due to the struggle. With one final effort, Strangaurd reached up and held Gypsy's nose, cutting off her air supply. Gypsy started snarling, and the vibrations of her growling were making Strangaurd's arms shake. Then, for a brief moment, as she tried to shake her head free, she opened her mouth slightly, taking in air; and slightly was enough to get his hand into her mouth.

Although Gypsy could have quite easily bite his hand off if she wanted to, she didn't. As Strangaurd was her Master, well, as close as anybody had got to being her Master and Strangaurd knew this. Otherwise he wouldn't have dared put his hand anywhere near her mouth.

Finally, Strangaurd's hand found what it was looking for, as he stretched his fingers out he felt the talons of the bird, and what felt like paper. Clasping his hand around the talons, he quickly pulled his hand out, just in case Gypsy changed her mind.

There was a bit of coughing and spluttering from Gypsy, and as Strangaurd extracted his hand from her mouth, he let go of her throat. Strangaurd now sat slumped on the floor, holding the lifeless and featherless falcon in his hands, covered in thick drool. His eyes focused on the piece of parchment, which was larger than normal, but still intact, and bound by the neatly tied leather strap around the falcon's talon. Strangaurd rubbed his slobbery hand off, on his nightgown, then placing the bird in his lap, untied the leather straps.

Gypsy had now established her sitting position and was sitting upright with her legendary drool hanging from her mouth, her gaze firmly fixed on the bird.

Without looking up, Strangaurd tossed the lifeless falcon out of his lap, as it had served its purpose. In a flash, Gypsy darted forward snapping her huge jaws shut, missing it by a whisker. The bird headed straight out the window and down the castle walls, ending with a splash as it hit the water in the moat, and started its slow descent to the bottom.

But, as Strangaurd unrolled the parchment, he was interrupted by a second splash, and a somewhat louder one. As he looked up, he noticed the room was empty. Strangaurd had a puzzled look on his face, as he pushed himself up from the floor, and to satisfy his own curiosity, went to the window and looked down.

Strangaurd could see Gypsy swimming to the bank, with something in her mouth. He didn't have to wait and see what it was, he could guess. As Gypsy climbed out, and put something in between her paws, and started to eat.

Strangaurd shook his head in disbelief, then walked over to the throne room table and sat down in his chair, and read the parchment.

The moment I talked about is finally here, soon the Island will be ours, and you will be the one true ruler of Gryphon Island. The elves have already started to gather in their army; you must do the same, and when the time is right we shall strike, taking everyone by surprise.

"GUARDS!" shouted Strangaurd at the top of his voice.

Two guards appeared poking their heads around the door checking to see if the coast was clear, and in the backs of their minds, cursing themselves at getting there first. But they couldn't help it; it was a force of habit.

Strangaurd, upon seeing the appearing heads, barked out his orders. "Get my messengers, there is to be a meeting of the warlords, now go," shouted Strangaurd.

The guards scurried off down the corridor in full flight, as they went, they passed two more guards who were running at a snail's pace towards them. One of them had his hand on his back, in immense pain. But nevertheless, he had a smile on his face with the knowledge that they weren't the first ones there this time.

*

The sun had been up for a couple of hours, and the dwarfen party in the Brocken Mountains had all been fed. Whilst listening to the wheezing and puffing of the drivers as they were exercised by Odall; which had included rock lifting upon Buckets request.

Torms stood leaning on their small cart watching, as the last remaining dwarfs loaded their rucksacks up onto the wagons; as he did Sinat walked over to join him.

"Fine bunch aren't they" Said Sinat, as he took his pipe out and stared to fill it.

"They sure are" Answered Torms with a proud look upon his face. There was brief pause before Sinat continued the conversation.

"About last night" continued Sinat.

"Yes, what about it" Asked Torms.

"Well last night when you told the Captain and the rest of them about the Amberinth, I was just wondering why you left out one minor detail." Sinat paused once more as he held his pipe up to his lips and light it.

Torms's proud look was now gone and it was replaced with inquisitive one. Whilst he had to wait for Sinat to take a couple of puffs on his pipe to get it going. He ran over the series of advents that had unfolded the night before. From telling them about the Amberinth to the mad look Ganga had in his eyes, to the foam that had bubbled out his mouth.

"And what was that then" Said Torms somewhat inquisitively.

"Well I was just wondering why you missed out the bit about that huge mountain troll, who mistakenly tried to take Nakie's food and ended up with a splitting headache. Trolls don't take it to kindly when you kill one of their own" Concluded Sinat. There was a slight pause as Sinat's words sunk in.

"Oh Bugger" Shouted Torms.

Then quickly walked off in search of the Captain. Sinat stayed where he was and took a well-deserved puff on his pipe. Even though he was normally in charge but now Torms was, he knew deep down Torms would be lost without him.

Tennant, like most advisor, had a knack at being in the right place at the right time. Upon walking past doing his inspections, had picked up on the conversation and listened with great interest; at the mention of a huge troll. Rule 38 in Phobic's rulebook:

_Rule 38: It pays to listen._

Tennant casually walked over to Sinat and pretended to be looking for something, as he engaged Sinat in conversation.

"Was I mistaken, or did I just hear you say you came across a troll last time you were here," said Tennant, seeming as if he wasn't bothered.

"That's right, one of them tried to take Nakie's food," replied Sinat.

"What do you mean THEM," asked Tennant somewhat alarmed and taking a deep gulp at the mention of more than one.

"Well, we only saw one, but most trolls belong to a small gathering or some sort of tribe, so I dare say the others weren't too far away."

"And did you see them?" asked Tennant, rather hastily. "Are you mad, if we had. We wouldn't have been around to tell the tale. Nakie only killed that one troll, because it had his guard down. He must have thought Nakie was some sort of harmless animal. I personally think that the troll thought he was a large bore or something like that seeing as his beard is constantly covered in grease and bits of bone. I reckon by the time the troll realised Nakie was a threat, it was too late. After that, we didn't hang around to find out where the rest of them were," added Sinat.

"And please tell me, these trolls, are they territorial creatures, or do they move around?" asked Tennant, getting more and more nervous with every word Sinat spoke.

"No, no, they're strictly territorial. Our ancestors found that out when we dwarfs took over the Ferral Mountains. Before it was taken over, all the trolls had to be relocated," said Sinat with a smile.

"You mean killed," said Tennant, rolling his eyes at how barbaric his fellow dwarfs could be.

"Oh, that's what it means. You know, all these years I always wondered what it meant."

"Didn't it bother you to ask anyone?" said Tennant.

"Oh yeah. When I was small, I asked my father, and he just said he'd tell me when I was older. Then he'd quickly walk off."

"So, what you're trying to tell me is that he didn't know either," said Tennant. Leaving Sinat standing there scratching his head and pulling a face.

"Now you mention it, my father did use to say that phrase quite a lot."

Tennant stood there shaking his head in disbelief.

"If you don't mind getting back to the mountain trolls that actually live in these mountains," said Tennant somewhat nervously, before continuing, "do you think that killing one of their group or tribe last time you was here would upset them at all?"

"Oh, no, not at all, they won't be upset," said Sinat as he was lifting his pack into the back of the cart.

There was the faint, phew sound coming from Tennant's direction, as he let out a sigh of relief. But it was too soon.

"They'd be bloody fuming," said Sinat, as he finally threw his pack into the cart. Sinat slapped Tennant on the back and walked off to see if he could be of any help to Odall who was struggling and getting in a tangle with his blanket as he tried to fold it away.

As Sinat strolled off, he was oblivious to the horrific images he had just put into the advisor's head of blood-hungry trolls out for vengeance for their fallen tribesman. Tennant stood staring into space with a blank expression on his face. As images kept playing through his mind of huge teeth and hands and whatever else the mountain trolls possessed, or his mind could come up with.

Tennant's left leg began to shake, then his right, then his whole body. Then Odall, who now had the blanket wrapped around his head, fell over backwards, knocking him into the pans with an almighty 'CLANG.'

"Ahhhh!" was the sound that exploded out of Tennant's mouth, which in turn brought Rule 81 into play in Phobic's rulebook, which stated:

_Rule 81: After letting out an involuntary scream, it 's wise to jump at least half a metre off the floor, bringing your knees up to your chest. Whilst wrapping your hands around your legs, thus tucking everything out of harm's way._

As Torms walked back over, he was greeted by the sight of Tennant in mid-air, tucked up like a ball, with the facial expression of someone who had just woken up to find that the good-looking dwarf they went home with last night; after sixteen tankards of ale. Was in fact, a lot older than they remembered and on closer inspection, had another set of legs and a fondness for grass.

Torms stood and watched in amazement, impressed by how high and long the advisor actually stayed in the air before hitting the ground with a thump. After doing two or three gambols around in a small circle, the advisor uncoiled and was lying flat on his back staring up at the sky.

Before Tennant moved, he wanted to check to see if his heart was still beating as it had definitely missed a beat when he took to the air, and at his age every beat was critical. The image of the peaceful clouds passing overhead restored calm into his mind. Which in turn relayed the message to his heart that all was well, and a wild tribe of mountain trolls were not descending upon him, set on revenge.

As a cloud rolled past overhead, another image appeared in its place; as Tennant focused on the new image, Torms's face appeared.

"Are you quite finished with whatever you were doing?" asked Torms, leaning over the fallen Tennant.

"Yes, quite finished," said Tennant lying on his back, with the peaceful and tranquil thoughts still in his head, from the clouds.

"Well, in that case, would you mind joining us as we have an expedition and some Amberinth to find. That's if it's alright with you?" said Torms somewhat sarcastically.

"Oh yes, right, sorry," said Tennant as he scrambled to his feet, still with a slight look of contentment on his face.

Sinat's cart was all loaded, and Torms helped Tennant up into the back with the others, then walked around to sit up front so he could get a good view of the track and terrain. So, he could find the very spot he found the Amberinth disc, well half of it anyway.

Torms raised his hand and lowered it, giving the signal for Sinat and the others to start moving. About this time, he would normally turn and admire the convoy and soldiers. Which were rolling and marching along behind him with a good sturdy sound in their step. But Torms had other things on his mind; Amberinth and where to find it.

However, the rest of the small expedition were still chatting about the elves. Gossip had spread through the camp that morning, faster than a pitfall. The dwarfs were looking forward to the next encounter with the elves. As somehow a story had got around about how the elves were trying to push their way in on the expedition, and that the drivers had to make sure, if they were sighted, to push them out of the way. The story had to be true because it came straight from Torms himself; well, that's what one of the drivers said.

Because when they'd been doing their rock lifting that morning, Bucket had told them not to overdo it. As he had come to the conclusion that the comment, Torms had given him the night before the one about 'we might have to rely on their weight' had a hidden meaning. At first Bucket thought it was an insult, then he realised Torms must have seen how fit they were looking, and not wanting to show the Captain of the guards up in front of the others, had put it into code for him.

After a lengthy debate, Bucket and the other drivers had finally cracked the code Torms had given them, and after some scribbling in the dirt with a pointed stick Bucket had set out a few ground rules. About what they should do, if the enemy was sighted and the best plan of attack. When everyone had agreed, Bucket had stood up, started to whistle whilst he casually walked over his drawn plans in the dust, destroying them. Then he sat back down and gave the other drivers a big over-the-top wink, and they all returned the wink with an acknowledging nod. That their secret orders were; 'to seek out the elves' which was now stored in their heads, never to be spoken of again.

As the wagons rolled along, following Sinat's cart, the wagon drivers sat up proud in their seats, as they now saw themselves as Torms's chosen ones. To head off any attack that the elves might throw at them. Some of the drivers, who had got friendly with the guards on their wagons, had done secret deals with them; stating they'd cut them in on the action. Much to the confusion of the guards, who just thought the lack of food was finally taking its toll on the drivers.

*

Gillant had made it back to the elven campsite. It was empty; just as he'd expected. Gillant followed the trail of the elves, and that wasn't easy. The elves' tracks were almost impossible to track, due to their nimbleness, and the fact they moved through the forest like the wind, leaving no trace. But Gillant still picked up the odd track here and there, if anyone could track one of his own, it was Gillant.

Gillant made his way through the forest and eventually to the outer rim, where the forest meets the Brocken Mountains. It was here that he finally caught up with Cluzac and others. As he got near the small clearing where Cluzac had situated his elves, Gillant noticed two bows trained straight at him from way up in the trees. He pulled back his hood to reveal his face and show the sentries he wasn't a threat.

The customary arrow was fired into the clearing, alerting Cluzac of his approach. Cluzac was awaiting Gillant as he rode into the small clearing. Gillant noticed a camp hadn't been set up; all the elves were packed and ready to go. Gillant climbed down from his horse and slightly straighten both his legs given them a much-needed stretch. This being the first time he had stopped since he set out the day before.

"Was it a worthwhile journey?" asked Cluzac, as he strolled up to greet Gillant.

"It was certainly interesting," said Gillant, as he lightly put his hand on Cluzac's shoulder and walked off to a quiet spot just outside the clearing.

"Where are we up to, with the dwarfs?" asked Gillant inquisitively.

"They have been camped just over the first ridge of the mountain for the past day and night. A scout has just come back and reported they're moving out, while the other scout has stayed with them. We were just about to follow, but it's hard for us, as there isn't much cover," said Cluzac, offering the question out for some advice.

"Don't worry about that, the further you go along the track the terrain changes. I've spent many a night in there. We'll follow them at a distance until we see the first signs of trees. Just about the same time the mountains start to stretch out. On one side of the track you have the mountains rising up sharply with vast cliff faces and on the other side of the track it becomes much rockier but has plenty of thick woodlands. Once we reach there, we can disappear into the woods and catch up with them, matching their every move. We will have the perfect cover, and even get in front of them if need be," added Gillant.

"How long since your scout came in?" asked Gillant.

"About an hour," replied Cluzac.

"Good, that's plenty of time to put distance between us. If we set off up the track now, we'll reach the first line of trees round about midday. Then we can disappear into the woodlands and catch them up." Concluded Gillant.

Gillant and Cluzac walked back to the other elves and gave a silent signal. One by one they emerged out of the Emerald Forest in single file, and with one quick glance just to make sure it was clear they set off, led by Gillant.

They walked the winding track that lead up to the Brocken Mountains. Their heads turning sharply as their renowned sense of hearing, picked up every sound from the barren landscape. Gillant was used to these surroundings as he quite frequently travelled around the Island, experiencing different sights and terrain. But, for a few of the elves, this was only the second time they had been in a mountain environment. The first being when they had done their training; even then they didn't particularly like it, and they certainly didn't like it now. It was too quiet, they felt to exposed as they walked up the track hardly making a sound, whilst following Gillant as he set a deadly pace, in pursuit of the dwarfs.

*

Velthrone and Rathall had been locked away in Velthrone's study and private chambers all night. The sun had re-emerged and had been shining through the huge open window for the past three hours.

"Ssso then, do we have a deal?" hissed Rathall. "We join forcesss, you provide your warrior army under the control of Ssstrangaurd, and I'll provide the magic giving the warriorsss, that little bit extra on the battlefield. When the battle isss over you will reign over the isssland with your warlord, and I'll be on The Isssland of Black Rock asss the new Sssupreme Grand Massster," hissed Rathall in delight, as the thought of being in the tallest tower engulfed him.

"Do you think we can defeat all the sorcerers?" asked Velthrone, concerned at the thought of all that power.

Rathall darted his head towards the elven advisor. "That isss where YOU come in. If you can convince the Elven Council that they possse the biggessst threat and eliminate them firssst, it would be a crucial factor in deciding the winner of the battle. Hopefully, the dwarfsss might sssee thisss and do the sssame. And with the warlordsss attacking asss well, they would be too weak to defend themssselvesss againssst an onssslaught of that magnitude. They couldn't lassst forever, not after usssing all that magic, and when they are finissshed. We will pull back the warlordsss, and let the natural hatred of the elvesss and the dwarfsss play itsss role. Then we'll pick up the piecesss, and the ressst will be hissstory," hissed Rathall, in delight at the thought of his plan.

"We have a deal," said Velthrone holding out his hand.

Rathall wrapped his snake scaled hand around it, and hissed with joy at his new ally. Although Velthrone didn't trust Rathall, he didn't really have a choice, and if they were going to be on the battlefield at the same time, it would be better to have a sorcerer on your side than not.

A couple of times during the night Velthrone felt like crying out to the guards, bringing their attention to his newfound intruder. But Velthrone didn't think he'd even get the first syllable out of his mouth before Rathall would strike.

After listening to his plans, it soon became clear to Velthrone that Rathall seemed to be more obsessed with the total domination of The Island of Black Rock and its towers, and the killing of a sorcerer he called Meltoy. So, putting everything in order, it seemed a small price to pay. He got Gryphon Island, leaving one tiny island to Rathall, which didn't really concern him anyway.

Rathall released his grip on Velthrone's hand as he rose from the chair he had been slivering in all night. Rathall walked over and stood in a small open space in the centre of the room, bent down, and marked a symbol on the floor with his finger, whilst muttering an ancient text. The symbol glowed dark red, then disappeared into the floor without a trace.

"There, that'sss that sssealed," said Rathall standing back up.

Velthrone stood up with a worried look on his face, wondering what Rathall had done.

"Don't worry I haven't condemned you to a cursssed dimensssion. I've just made it easssier for me to keep abreassst of thingsss. From now on I can reach thisss exact ssspot from anywhere on the Island. All I do isss utter the text from the sssymbol I've placed in thisss room, and I will appear on thisss very ssspot," hissed Rathall.

Velthrone nodded his head in acknowledgement, but deep down he wasn't happy about the symbol and the fact Rathall could just show up at any time he wanted. Rathall was a sorcerer and sorcerers couldn't be trusted; he kept this in the back of his mind.

"I ssshall return at tomorrow'sss nightfall, make sssure you're here, I have mattersss to take care of elssse where." With that Rathall closed his eyes, muttered a few words, and the symbol he had drawn earlier appeared, glowing dark red. As Rathall stepped onto the symbol, the room fell completely silent, as if the symbol was drawing in the surrounding force. Then a sound like a very faint crack of thunder filled the room, just loud enough for Velthrone's ears to hear, and then there was nothing; the symbol disappeared and Rathall along with it.

Velthrone sat back down in his chair and adopted a slouching position as he stretched his legs out, hanging his arm over the side of the chair. Velthrone flung his head back whilst closing his eyes. He was grateful that Rathall had gone, at least for now anyway, he thought.

As Velthrone was relaxing, he heard another faint strange sound, come from outside his door. Still, with his eyes closed, he ran the sound through his brain until it finally gave him an answer.

"THUNDER." He shouted as he shot up from his seat and spun around to view the area that Rathall had marked, but nothing was happening, not even a glow.

Velthrone watched and held his breath, but still nothing. Pull yourself together, he thought as he sat back down in his chair. I've been up all night talking with the first ever sorcerer spotted outside their fortress in centuries, I'm bound to be a bit jumpy. Was Veltrone's final thought on the matter as he closed his eyes, hoping to catch five minutes sleep before he went to check on the elven army's preparation. He put the second sound of thunder down to his tired mind playing tricks on him.

As he closed his eyes again and faded off into sleep, so did the faint blue symbols on the floor just outside his study door.

*

It was midday now, and the sun was soaring down on Torms and his expedition. Torms had been straining his eyes, scouring every inch of the rock-face as it rolled past; hoping it would look familiar.

The mountain path had opened up and spread out an hour ago. Torms now had a dense, rocky woodland to his left and a sheer rock-face on his right, but still no sign of any rock disturbance or familiar sights.

Sinat was also giving the passing scenery a good stare, trying to help Torms.

"What about that?" said Sinat as he noticed something up ahead.

"What?" said Torms as he sprang forward in his seat surveying the rock-face with his eyes.

"No, not the rock-face, that," said Sinat, as he pointed to something that was lying just inside the foliage of the woods.

Sinat pulled the cart up alongside the object; Torms jumped down from the cart and ran over to it. Torms moved the bits of bark and branches that had fallen on top of it.

"It's nothing," shouted Torms as he stood up, brushing himself down.

"It's just a skull and a pile of bones. The creature probably got attacked by wolves or something," said Torms as he scrambled back onto the wagon and sat back down next to Sinat. Sinat didn't say a word, he just sat there staring at Torms with the reins in his lap.

"Well, come on, I don't know what you're staring at, we have Amberinth to find," said Torms.

Sinat still didn't say anything and just sat there. Torms shrugged his shoulders.

"What?" asked Torms.

"You say there's a pile of bones," replied Sinat.

"Yes."

"And you say there's a skull."

"Yes," snapped Torms, as he didn't know where this conversation was going and wasn't in the mood for repeating himself. "Are you going anywhere with this or are you just out to annoy me?" snapped Torms impatiently, as he wanted to get going.

"Did the skull have rather a large split down the middle?" said Sinat, hoping to point Torms in the right direction.

He didn't need much pointing, as he jumped off the cart shouting, "Nakie's axe!" followed by. "The troll!"

Torms ran back over to the foliage, diving in headfirst.

"It's the one, it's the troll Nakie killed," came shouts out of the undergrowth, much to the horror of Tennant. Who was now up onto his knees looking around and surveying the area, with a panic-stricken face.

Torms appeared out of the foliage struggling as he carried the huge skull of the troll, with the split right down the middle. Torms picked it up and dropped it up on the cart for everyone to see.

Tennant was now frantic, as he saw how big the head of the mountain troll really was. It certainly didn't look that big in the books they had in the library.

"All right, all right, we've seen it now, now put it back where you found it," said Tennant somewhat frantically, as images of huge fangs started to appear in his head again.

"Look at the size of those teeth," said Odall, as he scrambled to the front to get a better look at the troll's skull. "They would rip you apart." He concluded as he ran his hand over one of the large fangs.

This was getting all too much for Tennant. He shut his eyes, and stuck his fingers in his ears, and began to reel off Phobic's rulebook from memory, starting from Rule 1, in an attempt to block out the others.

"And you killed this, Nakie?" said Odall, in praise of his handiwork, as he turned back to acknowledge Nakie. Who was sitting at the back of the cart with his mouth full of chicken.

Nakie didn't get up but raised his right hand with a chicken bone in it, in acceptance of the praise.

"Is this the spot?" said the Captain, who had come up from the rear to see what the hold-up was.

"It's around here somewhere," replied Torms, as he picked the skull up off the seat and walked it back over to the foliage, dropping it back in the undergrowth. Much to the delight of Tennant, who was squinting through one of his closed eyes. Because he'd just got to Rule 8 in Phobic's rulebook, which was:

_Rule 8: Always keep your eye on the problem._

So, Tennant had compromised and kept one of them half open, as trolls weren't clearly stated in the rulebook.

"That there, Captain was a troll that Nakie killed last time he was here, and it was at this very spot we found the Amberinth. The troll was probably eaten by wolves or other creatures of the woods. They must have dragged the body off, just enough to get it off the track and out of sight."

Torms walked over to the other side of the track to the rock-face, and started searching it with his hands. All along the bottom, where his feet were, were boulders that ran along the base of the mountain as far as he could see.

"GANGA," shouted out Torms.

There was movement on one of the wagons, then Torms saw Ganga jump down and started to run up the track towards him.

"Captain."

"Yes, Torms," said the Captain, who was close by.

"Can you take your soldiers and search down the track, you're looking for anything out of place."

"Consider it done."

The Captain ran off shouting orders, just as Ganga arrived, somewhat out of breath.

"Ganga, get your dwarfs and search this section here, I'm sure this is the place, and being the kingdom's finest, I'm sure you'll find it."

"Right you are," said Ganga, still wheezing from his run.

Ganga went to turn around and run back to tell the others. But instead, he decided his legs weren't what they used to be, and just waved the miners off the wagons and called them up to him. One by one they turned up, and one by one Ganga delegated a different section of the rock-face for them to search. In no time at all the whole rock-face was awash with dwarfs, doing various things to it. Some were running their hands over it, others were tapping it with small hammers, while they had their heads pressed against it. And one or two of the older ones were chipping tiny fragments away, tasting it, giving it a quick analysis, then spitting it out again.

Torms stood back and watched the miners at work; it was a delight to see.

"Look at them go," said Sacul as he stood watching in excitement. Even Tennant had stopped reciting Phobic's rulebook, and was upon his knees in the cart. Making notes in his book, of their exact location.

Sinat was now laid back in his driver's seat, his legs outstretched, and his arms behind his head. Puffing away on his clay pipe, feeling content with himself at spotting the skull. Joining him was Odall, who was also puffing away, and giving the rock-face a good looking over for any deviation or fault from a philosopher's perspective.

His eyes caught something that looked slightly out of place, he stood up and put his hand up to shade his eyes.

"I'm too close," he muttered as he jumped down off the cart, walking to the opposite side of the track away from the rock-face. Odall shaded his face once more, then put his hand down and walked across the track, over to where one of the miners was working.

"Excuse me, do you mind?" asked Odall as he politely moved into the area that the miner was working on.

The miner stopped what he was doing and stepped out of the philosopher's way. Odall turned around and was looking for something. His eyes settled on what he was looking for, and it just happened to be in Bash'm's hand.

"Ah, Bash'm, you'll do," called out Odall as he waved him over.

Bash'm turned and looked at Torms for permission. Bash'm, and his brother were sticking close to Torms, guarding him. Just in case the elves turned up again. Torms waved his hand, and Bash'm walked over to where Odall was standing. Torms and the others watched on in anticipation, wondering what the philosopher was up to.

"Right, Bash'm, I want you to hit this rock-face as hard as you can," was all Odall said, standing well back, giving Bash'm some room. Bash'm looked at Odall, then he rolled his shoulders a few times and took a firm grip of his Double-handed War hammer, and started to swing it around his head.

Everybody watching was making small circles with their own heads, as they kept their eyes on the huge hammer, and on the third swing Bash'm brought it down to bear. Slamming it with devastating force into the rock-face, sending bits of shattered rock and powder everywhere.

There was a funny sound that followed the huge impact. By now, everyone had stopped what they were doing as word had spread down the line, that they might have found something. The ones at the end who hadn't received the message yet didn't need it. As the strange sound had overtaken the message and carried on down the track.

"That's sounds hollow," said Ganga, who was now standing next to Torms.

Odall stepped up to inspect the rock-face. The surface had two rather large splits in it, with fine cracks, running in all directions, from the initial impact of Bash'm's hammer.

"And again please," said Odall as he stepped back once more.

Bash'm spat in each of his hands and re-took the hilt of his hammer. Torms was counting the swings as they circled Bash'm's head, then on the third, Torms closed his eyes; along with most of the others. As bits of shattering rock, came exploding from Bash'm's direction. Bringing dust and debris along with it, accompanied by the hollow sound again. But, hidden amongst all that was another sound, not loud enough to be a landslide, but defiantly a sound of sliding rock.

A huge cloud of dust rose up and swept out, engulfing the spectators. When the dust had settled, Torms opened his eyes to see Bash'm and Odall completely covered from head to toe in fine grey powder. Beyond them, there seemed to be a brownish-black hole in the side of the mountain. Torms couldn't quite make out what it was, as the breeze was still carrying the dust particles away.

"What is it?" muttered Torms as he walked over, holding his hand up to his mouth; coughing as he breathed in the grey powder. As he got closer he saw that it wasn't a hole at all, but some kind of brownish rock. He placed his hands on its surface.

"It's steel," he muttered, turning towards Odall, who was patting himself down. But it wasn't making a blind bit of difference.

"IT'S STEEL!" Torms called out to him.

"Yep, it sure is, and just not any old steel, but steel that belongs to a door," said Odall.

"But how did you know it was there?" asked Torms in amazement.

"Come with me," said Odall, ushering Torms with a nod of his head to follow him. Then stopped and turned back towards Bash'm, who hadn't moved an inch since he delivered the last devastating blow.

"We've got it from here, thank you, Bash'm," said Odall.

Bash'm was looking at his hammer which was still against the steel door. Then he started looking around, wondering where the ringing noise was coming from.

Odall, seeing that Bash'm hadn't heard a word he had said, walked over and grabbed him by the arm, leading him back over to his brother.

"Look after him, it will wear off after a while, he's just a bit deaf, that's all," said Odall to Beat'm, as he left Bash'm standing beside him. Bash'm's whole attire consisted from head to toe of a grey powdery design.

Beat'm turned and looked at Bash'm, who was standing looking around, trying his hardest to see if any of the other dwarfs were ringing some sort of bells.

"You certainly hit that hard," said Beat'm as he leaned over to one side to talk into his brother's ear, in that special lean only guards do when they look ahead but hold entire conversations without even looking to see who they're talking to.

"WHAT?" shouted Bash'm, putting his hand up to his ear. Which made Tennant, who was still in the cart, jump. He'd only just forgotten about mountain trolls, especially the teeth, and had his mind focused on the steel doors. But now it all came flooding back to him in an instant.

"I said you certainly hit that HARD," repeated Beat'm, leaning over towards Bash'm some more, this time raising his voice.

"YES, I'LL HAVE IT WITH MY BREAD LATER," replied Bash'm, still trying to look for the bell ringer.

"What?" cried out Beat'm, as it was his turn to be confused.

"THE LARD, I'LL HAVE IT LATER."

Beat'm was now looking at his brother in bewilderment.

"I'll take it from here," said Sacul as he stepped in, putting Beat'm out of his misery, and his arm around Bash'm; or as far as it would go around. As he led him off to one of the wagons to wash him down.

Odall and Torms were standing on the opposite side of the track to the rock-face.

"See, I noticed the rock pattern on this patch was a slightly different colour, due to the steel doors hidden underneath. Over time, their slight corrosion finally reached the surface, discolouring the rocks and minerals on its way," said Odall. As he pointed out the huge outline of the steel doors with his finger in the air, before continuing. "The section Bash'm has uncovered is only a small piece, and the rest of the two huge doors are still behind the rock."

"But how did the doors get behind the rock-face?" asked Torms, somewhat puzzled.

"Well, to start off with they would have been on the outer face of the mountain. But over many centuries the doors were never used and then earth, and fine rocks would descend from the top of the mountain, due to rain. After time, layer upon layer of earth, rock and another natural material would have built upon the doors, covering them. Making a thin protective crust, and then, as time passed, a much thicker one - the one we are left with today," said Odall with a philosopher's point of view, before he gave Torms his real views on the matter.

"Or some bugger covered them over, deliberately causing a landslide," concluded Odall.

"Why do you think they stopped using the mine and just left it sealed up?" said Torms with a hint of intrigue in his voice.

"Now that's a good question," replied Odall, as he stood with his hands on his hips, staring at the faint outline of the rest of the hidden doors.

"What next?" asked Torms.

"Well, I'd let Ganga and his miners go to work on the rest of the rock with dwarf acid and pickaxes. They'd soon get all that rock cleared away from the doors. Then we can get started on opening them and having a good look at what's inside, and in doing so answer a few questions," said Odall.

With that, Torms walked off to find Ganga, who was already one step ahead of the situation and had started to unload the dwarf acid off the wagons. The rest of the miners had formed another line and were unloading their tools off the remaining wagons. Torms walked down to Ganga who was stood up on top of one of the wagons issuing his orders.

"Can I help at all, Ganga?" shouted up Torms.

"No, no, it's okay, you've done your job and got us here, now let us do ours, by getting the rest of that rock shifted away from those doors and getting into that mine."

Torms put his hand up in acknowledgement and went to walk off.

"Oh, Torms, there is one thing," shouted out Ganga.

Torms turned around. "What's that?"

"Keep the Captain and the rest of his axe pokers out of our way, and tell the wagon drivers as well."

"Will do," shouted out Torms, as he walked off and found Bucket at the lead wagon, still in his seat.

To Torms's surprise Bucket wasn't watching the goings on of the miners, or the huge hole Bash'm had put in the side of the mountain. Instead, he was deep in concentration, staring into the woods to his left as if looking for something.

"Bucket, can you tell your drivers not to go near the rock-face while the miners are working on it," asked Torms.

"Oh, don't worry about us, we're not going anywhere," said Bucket. And with that, he turned and gave Torms a big wink, and then turned back around and continued to survey the woods.

Torms walked off puzzled at Bucket's wink but seeing as it wasn't so long ago he was chucking himself head first of off wagons and shouting 'watercress!' Torms thought nothing more of it and walked off to find the Captain.

*

It was late afternoon, Rathall had been in his tower all morning and afternoon. Slithering around placing different scrolls and parchments within his robe, and reading the contents of old dusty books that were in the outer sanctum of his room, hidden away under piles of dust that had been undisturbed for decades. Rathall was looking for something, but as he slithered around the room, he couldn't find what he was looking for. Then he remembered where he had seen it last. He closed his eyes, muttered a few words, and reappeared in The Mystic Chambers; in front of the rounded bookshelves.

Rathall started to dart his head from side to side, sometimes quickly, then slowly. He had covered nearly half the books on the lower section when his gaze fell upon the book he was looking for.

"Ahh, The A-Z of Demonsss and Textsss," hissed Rathall as his eyes lit up. He waved his hand over the spine of the book, and it sprang to life, taking itself out of the shelf and elevating parallel with Rathall's face. Then with a rustling of pages, it stopped at the desired spot. Rathall raised his hands into the air and closed his eyes and started muttering, which turned into a chant. The pages of the book turned slowly, and when he got to a specific pitch in his chant, the book turned another page. All the while the text and script in the book glowed dark red, as if someone was reading it.

An hour passed before Rathall let out a gust of air and opened his eyes, bringing his arms back down to his side. The book closed itself and returned to its place on the bookshelf.

"Looking for something?" said Meltoy, as he seemed to appear out of nowhere.

Rathall hissed wildly, spinning around.

"You have been back in the fortress for almost the entire day, and yet you haven't seen fit to update me on the elves, seeing as I'm in charge when Trantore isn't here." Spoke Meltoy rather sternly.

Rathall hissed again in protest at having to answer to Meltoy. "SSSorry, Massster," he hissed, his eyes narrowed as he was forced to apologise.

"Very well, report to me in my study in one hour."

Rathall hissed again in defiance, then slithered out of the room, his head slightly lowered under the hood of his robe, but keeping both eyes firmly fixed on Meltoy. Rathall slithered out of the doors and down the corridor, still hissing as he went.

Meltoy raised his right hand. "Wait," he said in a soft voice, and with that Holock appeared in front of him.

"Keep following Rathall, and after I see him in my study, I want a full report from you," ordered Meltoy.

Holock bowed his head in acknowledgement and vanished once more. Meltoy raised his right hand again and pulled it back sharply. Out of the bookshelf, the A-Z Book of Demons and Texts came flying towards him. Meltoy muttered a few words and the book opened at the beginning of the Fire Demon section. He muttered a few more words, and the first page started to glow a very faint red.

Meltoy skimmed through all the pages until the last red traces of sorcery stopped, right at the very last page of the Fire Demon section. Meltoy remained deep in thought as he threw out his hand, returning the book to within confines of the shelf.

"Why would Rathall come to The Mystic Chambers and memorise the entire section of Fire Demons?" muttered Meltoy.

What was more peculiar, he had been at loggerheads with Rathall for as long as he could remember, and not once had Rathall ever apologised. Even more concerning was that Rathall had called him Master. But what puzzled him the most was what Rathall was planning. By apologising, Rathall had dropped his guard, and there was no way he would do that unless he had a hidden agenda, thought Meltoy.

Holock had caught up with Rathall as he disappeared into his lecture room. Just before the heavy oak door; with the emblem of a snake engraved on it, closed shut. Holock slipped through the gap.

The few students that were in the lecture room studying; including Kellet, jumped. At the sudden appearance of their Master slithering across the room towards his pulpit. A deadly silence fell over the students as they watched their Master climb up and adopt a powerful stance. Rathall's gaze settled on Kellet, who was his number one student. Kellet took a deep gulp as images of demons and gifts cascaded through his head.

Rathall raised his right hand, and with his scaly index finger beckoned Kellet to join him at the front. Reluctantly, Kellet made his way to the pulpit but slowly, trying to think how he was going to get out of this one. He had pulled some stunts before, just like every student, but this time it was different, he had overstepped the mark.

Kellet was now standing in front of Rathall, looking up. Even though he'd been walking as slowly as he could, he'd arrived there far too soon for his liking.

"SSSit," hissed Rathall.

Kellet sat down on the floor, lowering his head to avoid the Master's eyes. This was common practice for Rathall, as it humiliated his students and he felt more powerful as he looked down on them.

Rathall had called Kellet to the pulpit to found out if anything had happened whilst he was away. But he could now sense, just by the way Kellet approached his desk, and the darting looks the other students were giving each other. That something important must have happened. So Rathall stood up straight, raised his snake-like head, and with both hands pulled back his hood.

Kellet's bottom lip started to shake, as if it was holding back the words from his mouth that were about to explode with information. Now, Rathall had adopted the posture of someone who knew something already but wanted to hear it straight from the perpetrator's mouth and decided to say the seven magic, words that never failed in a situation like this.

"Have you got sssomething to tell me?" hissed Rathall, hiding his bluff perfectly, as he stared at Kellet. Who was now frantically racking his brains for an acceptable explanation for his latest actions. But his mind and mouth weren't working together, and his bottom lip buckled as words came flooding out.

"I didn't mean to, it was the demons' fault, they made me do it. I tried to stop them, but they must have had some sort of hold on me. At first it was easy, I only had to hand out a few cards and some robes. Then before I knew it, I was up to my neck in it," blurted out Kellet as he got all the facts off his chest, while trying to put together some sort of defence. Kellet had more but had run out of air, he took another deep breath to refuel his lungs.

Just as he was about to carry on, Rathall leant forward with his eyes wide open, and his scaly face outstretched towards Kellet. His forked tongue began licking and tasting the air, which was filled with fear. Rathall opened his mouth, and as he did, Kellet took a deep gulp at the sight of his fangs.

"What demonsss?"

Kellet, who was getting ready to blurt out the second half of his defence stopped. His mind went blank as he sank down and began to cower under the gaze of Rathall. Then, one thought started to register in his brain and that was; he had just fallen for the oldest trick in the book, and now found himself in a deeper hole, than when he started.

"You were sssaying sssomething about demonsss," hissed Rathall, with a slight smile on his face.

Holock who had been standing silently with his back up against the wall, listened as Kellet relayed everything that had happened while his Master was away, from the business cards to the meeting with the four elements. As his final words came out of his mouth, Kellet flinched, closing his eyes, expecting the worst, and hoping it would be short and swift. . . but nothing. Thirty seconds had passed and he still felt whole, Kellet ventured to open one of his eyes to see if he was still in The Dark Fortress, and more to the point still in the realm. But to his surprise, instead of feeling the full wrath of his Master, there was nothing.

Rathall was now standing away from Kellet deep in thought, then without warning, he lunged forward.

"AHHHH!" screamed Kellet, closing his eyes and bracing himself once more; but again nothing, not even a crackle. Kellet opened his eyes and was this time confronted by the face of Rathall; that was so close Kellet could smell his stale breath.

"Tell me, what were the namesss of thossse demonsss again?" hissed Rathall.

One hour had passed, not a second too soon or a second too late. When there was a knock on Meltoy's door to his private study, within his lecture room.

"Enter," called out Meltoy, who was sat behind the great oak table covered with the faces of the old scorpion Masters, that had been before him. Even the one Meltoy had killed and defeated.

The door opened of its own accord and in slithered Rathall, swaying and hissing under his breath.

"Ah, Rathall, come in and be seated," said Meltoy as he tried to be pleasant, to get the meeting over with as soon as possible. Meltoy waved his hand, causing Rathall to flinch; a chair moved out from the other side of the desk, just enough for Rathall to sit down. There was a slight clunking noise as the door shut. Then a deadly silence, as both archenemies sat facing each other.

Rathall wanted to pounce over the desk and strike out at Meltoy, but caution kept him looking around the room, flicking out his tongue, tasting the air for any unseen demons or traps. Seeing as he was now in Meltoy's surroundings, he felt very uneasy.

"So, have you any news on the elves?" asked Meltoy to break the atmosphere getting the talks underway. "Or are you just going to sit there admiring my study all day?"

Rathall turned his head sharply towards Meltoy and hissed profusely. "The elvesss are getting their army ready and are following the dwarfsss towardsss the Brocken Mountainsss," hissed Rathall in a sharp tone, still bitter at having to answer to Meltoy. But he knew he had to if for his own plan to work.

"And the dwarfs, do they know about the elves?"

"No," hissed Rathall.

"And where do you get your information from, about the elven army?" said Meltoy as he clasped his hands together, trying to keep calm. Not letting his emotions take over the proceedings, as he knew Rathall was holding back information.

"I followed an elf called Gillant to the Elven Kingdom, once there, they held council about the dwarfsss and the Amberinth." Rathall paused before continuing,

"And they know about Trantore."

"WHAT ABOUT ME?" came a voice out of nowhere that filled the whole room, as Trantore stepped out of the corner of the room.

Rathall froze with fright, and it made Meltoy sit up as well. It was a fright for Rathall, but even a bigger one for Meltoy, as he didn't even know Trantore was there, and more to the point how long he had been there. Trantore walked to Meltoy's desk and cast his gaze upon Rathall. Rathall stared up at The Supreme Grand Master, trying to disguise the lie he was about to tell as he opened his mouth.

"They know all about the sssorcerersss knowing about the Amberinth, and they are preparing their army to attack The Dark Fortresss," hissed the now cowering Rathall.

"How many elves have they got?" asked Trantore.

"About three thousssand in total." Rathall lowered his head a little, as he knew full well that number was at least double.

"And how do they know we have knowledge of the Amberinth?"

"They guesssed it because of the two ssscoutsss that ssshot you down, and the one called Gillant ssspotted you in the clearing when the dwarfsss ssstumbled upon them," hissed Rathall.

"I thought you said the dwarfs didn't know about the elves," butted in Meltoy, as his posture turned to a sterner one at being lied to by Rathall.

Rathall's top lip curled, showing his fangs, as he hissed out in displeasure at being caught out. "I thought you meant, did the dwarfsss think the elvesss knew about the Amberinth?" answered Rathall as he tried to talk his way out of the lie.

"NO, YOU DIDN'T!" shouted Meltoy as he jumped up from his seat, knocking it over in rage as he raised his hands.

"I'LL TEACH YOU TO LIE TO ME!" cried out Meltoy. As his hands began to fill with bright blue bolts of lightning.

"STOP!" shouted Trantore as he threw out his arms momentarily pausing time itself, as he cast his authority over the two sorcerers in the room, stopping them dead in their tracks. Rathall was halfway over the desk, and Meltoy's hands were stretched forward, ready to unleash the lightning. They both stopped what they were doing and Trantore had their undivided attention once more.

"Rathall you may leave, and after you have rested keep following the elves, we're not finished with them yet," ordered Trantore.

Rathall darted his head back towards Meltoy.

"GO," echoed out all around the room as Trantore repeated his request, and the table Rathall was leaning on shook beneath him.

Rathall withdrew back across the desk, turned, nodded to Trantore and slithered to the door, which opened and let the sorcerer out. The lightning orbs vanished from Meltoy's hands, and Meltoy bowed his head in shame.

"Sorry, Supreme Grand Master, I forgot where I was for a moment," apologised Meltoy.

Trantore turned and stared at Meltoy. "I know you only have The Dark Fortress's best interests at heart. Now sit, your time will come."

With that, Meltoy bowed his head, and with a wave of his hand, his chair righted itself, and he sat back down.

"Now, why don't you give us the real story," said Trantore, and with that Holock, who had been invisible but had been in the room the whole time, appeared. Not by his own making, but by Trantore's.

*

There was only about another hour of sunlight left for the miners to work in, and although they were very skilled. Even the king's finest dwarfs weren't going to mess around with dwarf acid in the dark. They used it deep down in the mines, but that was with plenty of light from lanterns. But the Captain had issued orders that only small fires were to be lit, and he didn't want lanterns all over the doors, illuminating them for all to see.

Torms approached Ganga, who was standing with his hands on his hips about ten feet away from the huge steel doors, which were almost revealed. Torms stood shaking his head in admiration of the miners, who were making light work of the rock-face. They were all over the rock-face like a swarm of ants, all working together. Some with double-handed pickaxes, others with smaller ones, all chipping away. Then there would be a hissing sound as some of the dwarfs with dwarf acid loosened the rock as it began to eat and dissolve the layers of built-up mud and rock.

The huge doors stood about thirty-foot-high and twenty feet across. The miners had wedged wooden and metal spikes into the rock-face either side of the doors. Starting at the bottom, they climbed up onto the spikes they had just hammered in and inserted another; two foot above the one they had just done. Then they put a plank of wood across and used it as a platform, they continued this process until they reached the top. Working their way up the rock-face, revealing the huge door as they went, and now they were at the very top chipping and hissing away.

"How much longer now do you think?" asked Torms, adopting an admiring pose; by putting his hands on his hips and staring up at the miners.

"I'd say they'll be finished before the sun goes down, but without the proper light and the doors being stuck fast we will have to wait till the morning before we begin to get them open," said Ganga, somewhat disappointed, as he was dying to get inside the mountain and find out its secrets.

"Will the doors be much of a problem?" inquired Torms.

"I don't know, but here comes a dwarf who will."

With that, Torms watched as a dwarf with a bit of rope tied around his waist in a series of knots abseiled down from the top plank. Torms watched in amazement as the dwarf controlled his descent with a rope that was in his right hand, on which he was wearing a thick leather glove; as the dwarf descended the glove made a funny buzzing sound. There was a slight 'thud' as the dwarf gently touched down on the ground.

"Very impressive," said Torms, as he had never seen anything like it before.

"We call it dwarf-in" said Ganga, "we've been perfecting the technique for years. It's proved that successful we even teach the Blood Born how to do it, once a year. We give them a lecture and practical on new techniques, much to their annoyance. It just goes to show, they're no better than us." Ganga paused for a bit, as if he was reflecting on something. "Do you know, I used to get a kick out of rubbing their noses in it as well. But now, after encountering those elves in the forest. Then seeing them marched without rest, guarding and encircling the wagons, protecting us all from danger, and I might add without a single one moaning about it. I have a lot more respect for them now. I'm glad they're here, especially at night when we're sleeping. I can sleep well knowing they're watching our backs."

"I know what you mean," said Torms, as a guilty feeling ran through his brain, reminding him that he fell asleep while the soldiers marched on. He watched as the dwarf-in dwarf, stepped out of some sort of harness and walked over towards them.

"Torms, I'd like you to meet Ripper. He's my number one."

With that, Ripper stuck out his short stubby arm, but when Torms looked closely his arms weren't short. It was due to the fact that Ripper had huge thick forearms, and on even closer inspection Torms noticed that Ripper's entire body was bulging with muscles.

"I don't have to ask why they call him Ripper," said Torms, trying not to express any emotion of pain. As Ripper shook his hand firmly, although Torms could have sworn he heard a couple of bones click.

"That's right, he certainly lives up to his name," said Ganga as he gave Ripper a hearty slap on the back, not even budging him an inch; as if Ripper was stuck to the floor. "There's nothing he can't rip apart or rip open," said Ganga proudly, before continuing. "Now then, Ripper, what's your verdict on them steel doors?"

Ripper folded his arms, or as close as he could get to folding them, and placed one of his hands on his chin, rubbing it.

"Well, they've been stuck for some time, and I'm not talking hundreds of years, more like a thousand. But there is corrosion and rust, which is why I reckon, if we mix some dwarf acid with oil and prextoc and leave it to soak on them hinges overnight, then we shouldn't have much of a problem," said Ripper, giving his expert view on the matter.

"Any locks?" asked Ganga.

"No" replied Ripper with a strange look upon his face, "the doors just seemed to have been shut. But saying that they could have been sealed from the inside, but that wouldn't make any sense. However, there was one really odd thing though, when we were excavating the doors we came across the remains of a skeleton. Which only had half a hand and within that hand was this funny half-disc."

With that, Ripper tossed Ganga the half-disc he had uncovered. As it flew through the air, catching the last rays of the sunset. Ganga's face lit up with the same expression as the one around the campfire, the previous night. The glow on his face from the half-disc stopped as he threw out his hand, clasping it tightly around the disc. But it soon reappeared again, as he held his hand up to his face and slowly opened his fingers to reveal the lightly glowing disc. As Ganga stood there gawping in a hypnotic like trance, Torms fumbled around inside his shirt.

"I'll be off then, got to get them hinges soaked," said Ripper as he looked up at the disappearing sun, knowing he didn't have much time left. He certainly wasn't going to mess about with dwarf acid in the dark, and end up losing another one of his fingers.

Well, that wasn't true, you didn't lose it, it just disappeared. One minute it would be there then you'd feel something icy cold splash on your finger, then a hissing sound. By the time you looked to see what it was, your finger had disappeared; that's if you were lucky.

Ripper took a good look at his left hand, and there was a gap where his middle finger should have been. Then a distant memory of a hissing sound ghosted through his ears. He shook his head, dispersing the memory. He looked over to the miners that were up on the planks.

"Right, you lot," he shouted up as he strolled off, barking his orders.

Torms pulled out his half of the disc and placed it into Ganga's hand, and upon doing so, a round beam of light lit up the whole of Ganga's face, as both half discs fitted perfectly together.

"What do you think it means?" asked Torms as he studied the crest on the disc.

"It's the crest of Rancore," said Odall as he strolled over and peered over Torms's shoulder, taking a closer look at the disc. "If you look closely you can make out the two rams on their hind legs, interlocking their horns, and underneath them some sort of sword. Yes, definitely the crest of the ancient warlord who ruled the Island a thousand years ago," concluded Odall.

"It's' beautiful," whispered Ganga, not wanting to raise his voice, just in case he disturbed the disc.

"Do you think it was Rancore's private mine?" asked Torms, as Odall walked around from behind him.

"Now as to that, my dear fellow, I haven't got the foggiest," replied Odall. And with his hands behind his back, he stuck his head out, almost putting it in Ganga's hands for a closer inspection. "Very interesting, I must say."

Ganga looked up with a burning desire in his eyes, and a look on his face to suggest that the moment he had been waiting for all his life, had finally arrived.

"I'll tell you what, if this stuff is in these mountains, then I won't stop till I've mine'd every last piece of it," said Ganga, as he took one more last look at the disc, and reluctantly handed it Torms.

He knew it belonged to Torms, and although he would have given his right arm for the disc, dwarfs had honour and loyalty in their hearts when it came to important matters. Torms was the leader of the expedition, so the second half of the disc belonged to him. Ganga took a deep breath in, then out and cleared his head.

"Right then, I better get my dwarfs in order, it's going to be a long day tomorrow," said Ganga, as he walked off towards the direction of Ripper who was still shouting out his orders.

"OH GANGA," shouted Torms.

As Ganga turned around, there was a faint 'tap' and then a chiming sound, as Torms flicked the second half of the disc towards him. Ganga caught it in his hand, but he could have caught it in his mouth if he had wanted to, which was now wide open.

"Can you look after this piece for me?" said Torms with a smile.

The open mouth of Ganga turned from being open to a massive beaming smile, as Ganga flicked the half-disc into the air, and with a swift swipe, re-caught it. Then, with an extra stride in his step, strode off whistling.

Odall patted Torms on the soldier. "Right then, how about some of my famous kingdom omelettes." said Odall, leading the way. As night-time descended upon the mountains, and shadows started to take over the camp.

*

No sooner had the sun thrown out its first ray of light, the whole of the dwarfen party had been up. But this was mainly due to the breaking of twigs, as you could just make out the figure of Bucket in his long-johns, and the other drivers, running through the woods. But instead of a whistle, Bucket was using hand signals to prompt the next exercise. Plus, when he thought no one was looking, he would throw in a secret one as well.

What the rest of the camp didn't know was; what was really going on. From a distance, it looked as if they were taking their usual morning jog. But up close, Bucket and the others were scouting and combing the woods for any sign of the elves. Searching the undergrowth and scanning the tops of the trees.

However, there was one that knew what was going on, it was one of the soldiers from the Blood Born. Bucket had given him a big bag of coins earlier that morning. In exchange for him to reveal some off the brotherhoods secret hand movements and commands. Of course, the soldier eagerly took the payment, and he did in fact spend at least an hour with Bucket that morning teaching him some. But there was no way the solider was going to divulge or dishonour the name brotherhood of the Blood Born, and seeing as the signals were secret how would Bucket know if they were real or not, so he just made them up. He had taught Bucket ten in total; but his favourite three were the signals for:

' _Look Over There '_ which was three fingers pointing down, whilst sticking your tongue out.

_' Spread Out'_ which was a gentle flapping off the arms.

But the soldiers' ultimate favourite. Which he didn't know how he kept a straight face whilst demonstrating it, was the signal for.

_' Stay Alert'_ which was slapping yourself in the face, the harder the better.

They had been out in the woods now for the past two hours and hadn't seen or heard a single elf. But that was totally different story for Flennat and Banthrone. They could see and hear everything, right down to Bucket's hand signals. As they sat up in a tall sturdy oak, wrapped in their camouflage robes.

They'd been sitting up in the tree with their hands over their mouths, trying their hardest not to fall out the tree with laughter. Especially as the big fat one they had worked out to be the leader kept slapping himself in the face. On one occasion he even slapped one of the other dwarfs. But Flennat and Banthrone put that one down as a false signal; seeing as the dwarf that got slapped had just trod on his foot.

Banthrone had even worked out the hand signals and although very basic, they proved very efficient, thought Banthrone. As he watched Bucket hold three fingers down, whilst sticking his tongue out, and with his right hand pointed over to his right. This, in turn, sent two out of breath overweight dwarfs crashing through the undergrowth, only to return to Bucket shaking their heads from side to side, whilst patting their stomachs.

"Well, although we didn't find any," said Bucket. As he lent against the very tree Flennat and Banthrone were sitting in, addressing his fellow drivers. "I know they're here somewhere, I've got a gut instinct on this one."

As Bucket said this, Flennat looked down and had to put both hands over his mouth. As he caught a glimpse of Bucket's Stomachs, all three of them hanging out in every direction. Flennat thought to himself that if anyone had a gut feeling it was the fat overweight dwarf now stood below him.

But as Flennat's immediate attention was to stop himself, from bursting out hysterically with laughter. He forgot one important factor about sitting high up in an observation tree; on a branch fifty foot off the ground. That was the laws of gravity, and it was in the best interest of anyone to hold on.

As Flennat plummeted towards the ground, the hysterical laughter had a twist of fate; as it does, and decided to change sides opting for hysterical panic. Now, with his eyes and mouth wide open, but not making a sound that might alert the dwarfs below. As Flennat thought it best to allow the thudding noise of the impact, and the sudden appearance of an elf landing on them, to announce his arrival. And with that thought in his head, he closed his eyes tightly shut and braced himself. He was proud to be in the Elven High Elite, and he was going to fall like one. Part of the training was to fall head first out of a tree without making a sound, even if you hit some branches you were trained to do it quietly. But if you snapped too many on the way down, or made too much of a thud, you failed and screaming was definitely not on the schedule.

But the impact was replaced with a sharp jolt, not from his expected crash-landing but from his left leg. Flennat opened his eyes, he was about a third of the way down, and slightly swinging from side to side. He tilted his head up and looked up from where he'd fallen and could just about make out his robe wrapped around his leg. Attached to the other end of the robe was Banthrone, gripping it with both hands, upside down, with his legs wrapped around a branch - but for how long. Flennat couldn't tell, but by the look on Banthrone's face and the funny colour of red that was appearing alongside the veins. That were beginning to emerge on his neck, showing the tremendous pressure he was under; it didn't look promising.

"Let's get back then and have some toast," said Bucket, pushing himself off the tree he'd been leaning on. "I think we've earned it this morning, and if we run back, I'll even let you put some butter on it."

With that came a stumbling noise, and a lot of twigs snapping, as the drivers turned and ran for the camp, pushing and shoving each out the way. Possessed with the image of soggy toast drenched in dripping butter.

Bucket set off after them. "Last one there makes the herbs," he shouted as he was catching up with Tamli. Who was carrying an extra three more bellies than the others and was feeling the strain in his arms as he had to hold his lower bellies up, enabling his legs to run.

Just as Bucket was about to overtake him, over the loud puffing noises of the other drivers, he thought he heard some twigs snapping, then a thud, coming from behind him. Bucket stopped, then there was a second thud. Bucket spun around, but the woods were still.

"Stupid fool, you've been out here that long you're hearing things," he said to himself as he shook his head. "And what's more, you're talking to yourself," he added, and with that, he turned and ran as fast as he could to try and catch up with Tamli, who hadn't really got much further, only a couple of feet.

"Get your foot out my mouth," moaned Flennat, as Banthrone lay on top of him. Banthrone sat up and shook his head, then started to pat his body down, checking if any of him had been left in the tree. He felt a wriggling underneath him.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to get up," said Flennat sarcastically, and with that, he pushed Banthrone off him.

"Oh, that's great that is, I've just fallen about fifty feet out of a tree, hitting nearly every branch on the way down, and now you'd like to get up," snapped Banthrone.

"Yeah, but you had a soft landing," moaned Flennat, as he turned over and sat up, brushing himself down.

Banthrone's face turned stern as he took a deep breath, as he couldn't believe what his ears had just heard.

"If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have fallen out of the damn tree in the first place," yelled Banthrone as loud as he could without drawing attention to himself.

"Oh, that's it, blame it all on me, why don't you." And, with that, Flennat stuck his head up above the ferns to see if the coast was clear. Then he stood up and stretched his legs.

Banthrone had now turned purple, with his cheeks puffed to bursting point and a wild look in his eye. He stood up behind Flennat, with his fist clenched.

"All you had to do was grip a bit tighter with your legs," said Flennat as he turned around, but didn't get to finish the sentence. Due to the fact that his mouth was full of Banthrone's fist.

There was a release of pressure from Banthrone's lips. As he let out the built-up air, and an instant smile appeared on his face as he looked down at Flennat. Who was now sparked out cold on the woodland floor.

"Right, where's my bow?" he said to himself as he slapped his hands together in a jollier mood, as he looked around. Then spotted it half-hanging off a branch halfway up the tree. He turned to the tree, took a hand and foot-hold on one of the knots in its bark, and started his ascent.

*

Torms walked over to the huge rusty steel doors, all the planks, pullies and ropes had been taken away now. All that was left were the pegs that run up the outside of the doors, which had a few last remaining dwarfs standing on them making some final adjustments. As he looked up, he was confronted by Ripper hanging off one of the hinges.

"Morning," he shouted down to Torms, then went back to kicking the hinge with his left boot.

"It won't be long now," came another familiar voice approaching from behind, as Ganga walked up beside him. "Ripper's been on those hinges, the minute the sun broke."

"RIGHT, EVERYONE OFF," shouted Ripper as he grabbed hold of one of the wooden pegs and swung down.

"See, I told ya," said Ganga. Then shot off to inspect a small team of dwarfs that had just arrived with two ropes, and with a quick inspection from Ganga and an approving nod. They started to attach the ropes to the two huge steel loops, that were the handles of the door.

"Do you think we will soon be inside?" said Sacul all excited. Who had run up when he saw the ropes being attached.

Torms smiled as he looked at the expression on Sacul's face, all full of wonder and mystery. "I don't know, but I think Ganga's got things in hand," said Torms.

"Yeah, literally," joked Sinat, as he turned up with Nakie and the twins and observed Ganga picking up the ropes and dividing his miners equally along the two ropes.

Torms turned and looked at the others, who were just standing there watching the miners. Nakie had even brought what looked like a packed lunch. He had a cloth hankie in one hand which contained what looked like sausages and mushroom, and in the other hand a giant breadstick. Every now and then he'd bite a bit off the breadstick, then shove his face into the hankie. Emerging with sausages poking out of his mouth and bits of mushroom stuck all over his face.

"Well, don't just stand there, give them a hand!" shouted Torms, which made them all feel a bit embarrassed at just standing there watching. They all rushed forward and picked up different bits of the ropes. All apart from Nakie who was trying his hardest to fit all of the bread stick into his mouth; before he even thought about helping.

Torms stood there with an uneasy feeling in his stomach one of excitement and nerves, as everything was now finally coming together. He knew it wouldn't be long now before he started to get some answers. As he watched the drivers taking their places along the ropes.

The soldiers, who had been keeping their distance - mainly due to the stories about dwarf acid, and the number of miners who were actually walking around with fingers and toes missing, and the odd one with a wooden leg. Were just waiting for reassurance that the area was safe. Due to the fact it's a bit difficult to hold a Double-handed War axe in the midst of battle if you're missing a hand.

As they took their place amongst the others Ganga was soon busy working away, putting them in and swapping them around. He had them all facing away from the door with the rope over their right shoulders.

Even the sentries joined in, not wanting to miss out, followed by Bucket and the rest of the wagon drivers. Even Odall and Tennant had joined in, securing their place and making sure they were written down in the history books, as having opened the steel doors.

Tennant on the other hand, had only joined in because he didn't want to be left alone all by himself next to the wagons, just in case a troll or two turned up. And as far as the history books were concerned, he'd be the one writing them anyway. He would have fitted himself in there somewhere, probably in a more masterful role as an overseer, or some other figurehead. But seeing as there were trolls in the mountains, he was quite happy picking up the rope and taking his place in line; which just happened to be in front Beat'm. As he acted out Rule 61 in Phobic's rulebook, which was:

_Rule 61: A king will always remember who was there and never forget who wasn 't._

Torms watched Ganga as he made his final adjustments but was distracted by a munching sound. Torms turned his attention to the noise, as he turned to see its origin he was confronted with Nakie. His face stuffed full to brim, holding an empty hankie and all that was left of the bread-stick was crumbs in his beard.

Torms shook his head in disbelief. "Here we are, probably just about to make the greatest find ever, and all you worry about is your stomach! Come on, let's give them a hand," he said as he put his arm around Nakie's shoulder, leading him towards the others. "At least it can never be written that you helped open the door on an empty stomach!" said Torms jokingly. "In fact, it can never be written that you do anything on an empty stomach," he added, as he took another look at Nakie who had just swallowed his last sausage.

"A dwarf's gotta eat," replied Nakie, as he joined the front of one of the lines, and Torms joined the other. As Torms took a grip of the rope, Ganga appeared with Ripper standing in front of them to address the expedition.

"Right, when I give the word, everyone pull," shouted Ganga, as he addressed the dwarfs on the two ropes. "I'll shout, one, two, heave," and everyone pull on 'heave', understood?"

There was an acknowledgement of nodding heads, as everyone prepared themselves for the task at hand.

"Right Ripper, were take a door each, you take the door on the right, and I'll take the one the left," ordered Ganga. With that, both of them walked over to the base of the pegs. Picked up a leather bag that contained a mixture of oil and grease, and slung it over their shoulder and started their climb. When Ganga was in position. Which was halfway up between the two hinges of the door, he turned and looked at the two lines of dwarfs; all of which had their backs to him.

"RIGHT THEN, TAKE UP THE SLACK," he shouted down.

There was a faint clanking noise as the two steel rings swivelled around in their holdings for the first time in a thousand years.

"GET READY, MAKE SURE YOU HAVE A GOOD FOOTING," shouted Ganga, and with that came a scuffling of a hundred and one pairs of feet, as they all ground themselves into the floor, ready for a good push off.

Just as Ganga was about to give the command, as if on cue; a black raven settled on one of the top pegs, having the best view in the house.

"ONE, TWO, HEAVE!" yelled Ganga, and with a relay of grunts the dwarfs pulled on the ropes with all their might - all apart from Tennant who gave an excellent performance of someone doing just that, as he felt the need to exercise Rule 33 in Phobic's rulebook, which was:

_Rule 33: Always put on a good show, but keep some back for an encore._

There was a creaking sound as the hinges tried their hardest to keep the doors closed and hold onto their secrets, but they didn't budge.

"WOAH," shouted Ganga, bringing the pulling to a stop. There was a loud gasp as the dwarfs on the ropes, exhaled all their stored air.

Ganga and Ripper started climbing up and down the pegs, tipping oil on the hinges, and with one final tap of Ganga's right boot he retook his position.

"ONE, TWO, HEAVE." This time there was an eerie creaking sound, but again the doors held out.

"WOAH," shouted Ganga once more, as he repeated the process of oiling the hinges.

"ONE, TWO, HEAVE." There was a loud 'CRACKING' noise, and Torms could have sworn he had moved forward at least an inch.

"WOAH, WE NEARLY HAD IT THERE" shouted Ganga excitedly, as he hurried up and down the pegs with his oil.

"RIGHT WE'VE DONE THE HARD BIT, NOW PUT YOUR BACKS INTO IT! ONE, TWO, HEAVE!" he shouted even louder than before this time, trying to stir up one last almighty pull.

As Torms gave it his all, he could feel the rope cutting into his hands, as it was trying to slip through. But he gritted his teeth and pulled with every muscle in his body and to his surprise, he found himself slowly walking forwards.

"THAT'S IT, KEEP IT GOING," he heard, as Ganga shouted down from up on the pegs.

Sweat started to trickle down Torms's neck then onto the centre of his back, as he placed his foot down for the second step. There was a weird creaking and crumbling sound from the hinges, but Torms couldn't see anything apart from his feet, as he leant forward, raising his right foot.

As the doors started to slowly open, Ganga and Ripper continued running up and down the pegs like maddened dwarfs, tipping oil onto their hinges. Until it dribbled down the sides; with oil bubbles, popping out the top. Then with a quick kick of boot they moved onto the next one.

Torms thought either he was getting stronger, or the doors were giving up their secrets as he continued to slowly walk forward. He knew the doors must nearly be open, and with this thought in his head he pulled even harder. Just as Torms let out one final grunt of effort, there was an almighty snapping noise, and the rope went slack.

"That must be it, the doors are open!" muttered Torms, as he spun around to get a glimpse of the inner Mountain. But to his fright, the only thing he got a glimpse of was a flying dwarf, and not just any flying dwarf it was Tennant. Fully airborne with his arms outstretched, holding onto a piece of rope, shrieking his head off.

The snapping noise wasn't the sound of the doors snapping open. It was the sound of the rope breaking. Unfortunately, it occurred between Tennant and Beat'm.

Beat'm ended up falling backwards, knocking down the entire row behind him. Whereas, due to the immense pressure and forward pull of the rope. Which Tennant was now attached to, Tennant was flung forward like a catapult. As the rope flew upwards, it was pulled out of the other dwarfs' hands.

Torms was confronted with an even closer look at the fright and sheer panic on the face of Tennant, as the impact between the two of them was seconds away. Torms closed his eyes and braced himself. He felt a rush of wind and heard a thud. Torms kept his eyes closed but couldn't work out whether he was hurt or not. His ears had definitely heard a thud then a groaning sound, then a sort of sliding noise, followed by something hitting the floor. But there was one thing that was puzzling him, as he stood there with his eyes shut; he was still standing up. Apart from a slight rush of air, he hadn't felt a thing or budged an inch.

Torms opened his eyes and was confronted with blackness. He rubbed his eyes and refocused, then had a sniff. That's not blackness that's dark tanned leather thought Torms, as he took a step backwards and the mass of black transformed into Bash'm's back. Torms gazed down at the base of Bash'm's feet, and there all crumpled and twisted up in a heap was Tennant; with limbs all over the place not making a sound.

Sacul suddenly appeared from nowhere with a bucket of cold water and threw it all over advisor. Tennant instantly sprung to life spluttering and coughing around on the floor like a fish out of water, then sat upright and looked around.

"What happened? One minute there was a snap, then I found myself flying through the air, then it all went dark," spluttered Tennant.

He looked to his left and saw the two large feet of Bash'm. He moved his gaze upwards from the feet to the knees, then up to the large frame of Bash'm hovering over him. Tennant gave himself a little shake as he felt water starting to drip down his neck. As he did drops of water flew off his wet clothes and soaking hair onto the floor. He took another look up at Bash'm.

"I dare say he had something with why laying on the floor," snapped Tennant.

"Yeah, it was marvellous," interrupted Sacul, still holding the bucket that had just drenched Tennant, as he eagerly jumped in to tell the story and to fill Tennant in on the bits he missed.

"You were flying through the air, shouting and yelling and heading straight for Torms. Then, just as you were about to collide, Bash'm appeared from nowhere and blocked your way, and you went head first into his steel breastplate, and look," said Sacul, all excited as he ran over and pointed to a small dent in Bash'm's breastplate.

"You even left a mark, that must have really hurt," said Sacul as he concluded his full and accurate account of what happened.

"I didn't feel a thing," said Tennant as he put his hand on his head, and after a quick probe about, found the rather large bump he was looking for.

Sacul turned around with a bewildered look on his face.

"But you must have."

"No, no, believe me on this one," said Tennant somewhat sarcastically.

"I really didn't. I think it must be down to the fact that, I WAS KNOCKED OUT COLD," he said rather loudly, as he voiced his anger.

"That was lucky then," said Sacul, not catching onto Tennant's sarcasm.

"LUCKY, lucky, you think, flying through the air and . . ."

"Ha-hum," came a voice, as Ganga stepped into the conversation.

"If I can interrupt you lot for a minute, I thought you might like to take a look at the doors," said Ganga with a beaming smile on his face at his own achievement.

"The doors, I'd forget all about them," said Torms as he stepped around Bash'm, looked up, and joined the others with the customary jaw-dropping; that normally occurs at moments like this.

The two huge steel doors were wide open, and there was stale smell and taste in the air coming from within. But apart from that, there was just a massive pitch-dark hole in the side of the mountain not even the sun could penetrate.

"What do we do now?" asked Torms. "Send in the guards or the miners?"

"We're ready if you need us," came the Captain's voice as walked over towards Torms.

"No one goes anywhere until we find out if it is safe or not," snapped Ganga as he gave the Captain as stern look.

"This could be one of the biggest finds ever to written about and seeing as I was the one who got the doors open. I'm not about to roll over hand it on a plate to the army. If anyone is going to be the first one to set foot in there. For the first time in a thousand years, it's going to be a miner, and I know just the dwarf for the job." Said Ganga.

"SNIFFER!" shouted Ganga as he turned around and surveyed the dwarfen party, looking for movement.

"Sniffer?" asked Torms loudly.

"Yeah, he's what you might call the miner's version of a reconnaissance dwarf, every good mining party has one. You see, once you discover a new hole or pit, you just can't go wandering in there it's too dangerous, you don't know what could be waiting for you. Poisonous gases, unsafe cavern roofs, potholes that disappear a hundred feet down - and that's if you're lucky. Oh yes, you have to check these things out," said Ganga.

"And what happens if there's any weird and wild beasts in there?" asked Tennant. Who had just appeared from knowhere where like advisors do. Rule 67 in Phobic's rulebook:

_Rule 67: Never miss a thing, otherwise you might find you have things missing 'like your limbs.'_

But what he really wanted to know was, if there could be any trolls in there and would they be upset about the new entrance that had just suddenly appeared in their home. Followed by a mass invasion of dwarfs; he just wanted some clarification on the matter.

"I shoot them with this," said a voice.

A rather stumpy looking dwarf appeared next to Ganga holding a giant crossbow, and just like Ripper Torms could tell why they called him Sniffer, as he had a huge nose, with big nostrils. But this wasn't what caught Torms's eye, it was the contraption Sniffer had on his head, some sort of modified helmet with different types of magnifying glass in a series of rows, each one attached to a metal arm that could be pulled out of the way. These were positioned over his right eye. As Torms looked at Sniffer's right eye, it looked five times its normal size; through the assortment of glasses.

"But what happens if he misses the wild beast or monster, what do you do then?" asked Sacul inquisitively, looking in awe at Sniffer's giant crossbow. While still running the scenario of vast caverns and wild beast through his head.

"I'm glad you asked that," said Ganga. "What happens then is we get ourselves a new Sniffer, and send the guards in."

Sacul burst out laughing and slapped his knees, but after a brief moment he looked up to find no one else was laughing, but were just standing there looking at him, especially Sniffer.

Sinat and Nakie stood there now with a smirks on their faces, as they watched Sacul go bright red, as he stood there not knowing where to put his head. Sniffer walked forward and put his hand on Sacul's shoulder.

"I'll tell you what, I'll give it my best shot."Then he gave Sacul a big wink with his huge right eye, swung the hefty crossbow over his left shoulder, turned around, and walked off towards the black abyss of the open doors, whistling a chirpy tune as he went. Everyone in the dwarfen party watched him step into the darkness and disappear.

"AAHHHHHHHHH," came echoing out of the mountain, and then a clattering sound followed by a 'thud.' The Captain raised his axe, and so did the others. Just as the Captain went to run off into the tunnel, a voice came echoing out.

"WHO THE BLOOMING 'ECK LEFT THAT THERE!"

Then it all went silent again.

After a couple of minutes, Torms spoke to Ganga. "What happens now?"

"We wait," said Ganga, "we wait."

"But he didn't take a torch in with him," piped up Sacul, recovering from his earlier embarrassment.

"Nope, and if he had he probably wouldn't be coming back out," replied Ganga as he watched Sacul screw his face up in confusion.

"Well, you see, if there were to be any dangerous gases in there, walking in with a great flaming torch would inflame the situation, and I mean that literally. The whole tunnel would go up. And if there were any beasts or monsters, and let's say just by chance they were friendly. By running in and setting their lair on fire you would certainly make them wild. So, we stopped doing that the day Sniffer replaced his predecessor. Let's just say the dwarf he replaced was never found. If the explosion didn't kill him, the tunnel trolls he set on fire certainly would have."

"What's a tunnel troll?" asked Sacul.

"They are about the size of a normal troll, but with great big eyes. Which enable them to see in the dark and they have razor sharp teeth that would rip any dwarf apart in seconds."

There was a loud 'THUD' everyone stopped listening to Ganga and turned around but nothing was there, until their gaze fell upon the floor. Tennant was lying there motionless not moving a muscle. He was out cold, with a shocked and worried look upon his face, with his eyes wide open. Sacul bent down and put his hand over the advisor's mouth.

"It's ok he's still breathing." Confirmed Sacul.

With that they all turned their attention back towards Ganga; as they were now becoming accustomed to the advisor and his little outbreaks.

"As I was saying." Continued Ganga, giving Tennant a funny look for interrupting him and stopping the flow of the conversation.

"These tunnel trolls are almost blind if they come into contact with light, and setting them alight isn't the smartest move. Not unless if you want to kill them, then that would be the smartest move." Chuckled Ganga.

Normally when he told that joke when giving a lecture about tunnel trolls, during the induction week at the Royal Miners Academy, he would get around of laughs from the new students. But as he looked at the blank faces now staring back at him he realised this wasn't the time or the place, so he quickly continued.

"But Sniffer's been our sniffer now for years, and with his inventions, especially his helmet, after about ten minutes his eyes adjust to the darkness. There's not much he doesn't miss," concluded Ganga.

"Right then," said Odall. "I suppose he'll be an hour or so, so why don't we all have a nice cup of herbs while we're waiting." As he turned to walk off he stopped and looked down at Tennant.

"Oh, and can someone get another bucket of water to throw over the advisor please," he said as he strolled off.

*

Flennat and Banthrone strolled into the elven camp, as they did they looked for Gillant. Who was sitting with his back to them, leaning over and drawing in the earth with a stick while talking to Cluzac. Who was deep in concentration, watching and listening.

"Ah, Flennat, Banthrone, have you anything to report?" said Gillant, still with his back to them. Cluzac looked up and saw the two scouts standing there. Then looked at Gillant who was wiping away the earth map he had just drawn with his hand. Cluzac didn't know how Gillant knew that it was Flennat and Banthrone, or how at the previous camp he had known about the tired horses. But one thing was for sure, he was glad Gillant was on their side.

"Yes we have, as you know from our report yesterday, the dwarfs uncovered two huge steel doors in the side of the mountain," said Banthrone. Then, before he could say any more, Flennat spoke up.

"Now they've opened them."

Before the final word could come out of Flennat's mouth, Gillant had spun around and stood up. "How long ago was this?" he quickly asked.

It was Banthrone who answered the question, retaking control.

"About thirty minutes ago. As soon as it was open they waited for a bit, then they sent a dwarf in with some sort of contraption on his head, carrying a huge wooden crossbow. We left the other two scouts that were keeping watch in the neighbouring tree and came to report back straightaway." Concluded Banthrone.

"A sniffer," said Gillant out loud, as he stared straight ahead in thought.

"A what?" asked Cluzac, not quite catching what Gillant had said.

"He's what they call a sniffer, he's sent in to investigate and give the tunnel the all clear before the main party goes in," said Gillant.

"Goes in for what?" replied Flennat, speaking out of turn, unable to help himself. But he seemed to get away with it.

"Now that's a good question," said Gillant somewhat philosophically.

"And we're not going to find out sitting back here. Cluzac, move everyone up to the main track where the dwarfs are. Stay well within the woodlands and wait for me there." With that, Gillant shot off into the woods and disappeared out of sight.

"Right, you heard him, get your things packed we move out in five minutes," ordered Cluzac.

*

Rathall was high up in his private tower. Standing up with his hood pulled down over his face, muttering in enchanted tongues. There was a flash, a smell of sulphur, then the room got a whole lot smaller; not through sorcery. Because there was now a ten-ton Fire Demon standing right slap-bang in front of him. Ducking its head due to the low beams, and it being over ten-foot tall didn't help either.

However, this wasn't any old Fire Demon this was Threnog and he wasn't in a good mood. Last time he was in the sorcerers' realm, he was humiliated in front of the other elements and had his mouth stitched up; and it hadn't stopped there. There was the ridicule of the meeting as well. And now, in being summoned again, Threnog wasn't going to stand for a second humiliation. But just as he was about to bear down his full force onto the sorcerer, striking first to get the upper hand. He sensed something that was lacking in the previous sorcerer, and if demons could sense one thing, it was pure unadulterated vengeance. The whole room was full of the sickening smell, and it was radiating from the sorcerer standing before him.

Although all sorcerers have evil and vengeance and everything else that comes with practising the dark arts for so long. After a while they learn to master the power, and can turn it off and on whenever they wish.

But Threnog was picking up a pure source, something not often found in sorcerers, and never in a Master and this intrigued him. So Threnog put the pre-emptive strike on hold, which was more to do with curiosity than the fact. That attacking a Master could seriously make a dent in his existence.

As Threnog stood filling up the room, all hunched over with his nostrils flaring as he breathed in and out. Rathall put his scaly hands up to his hood and revealed his snake-like face; his tongue flicking out, tasting the presence of Threnog. Rathall looked up and stared at Threnog, looking him up and down.

"Sssso you're the one called Threnog," hissed Rathall.

"HMMMMM," grunted Threnog in an affirmative way, still on his guard and not wanting to get his mouth stitched up again.

"And I've been told you tried to ssstart up your own private war between the other elementsss," hissed Rathall as he stared into Threnog's eyes.

Threnog just stood there not moving a muscle.

"Well, how would you and sssome off your fellow demonsss like to be on the winning ssside?" hissed Rathall.

As he said that, he watched as he got the reaction he was looking for. Threnog's eyes grew wider at the thought of the proposition. As he thought about Zacrog and the mockery he'd suffered, and how he'd like to get even. Then a smile appeared on Threnog's face, accompanied by a set of huge spiked teeth, shooting out in different directions, and that gave Rathall his answer.

*

It was late afternoon, with only a few hours of sunlight left. Torms and the others were sitting near the entrance, chatting away. Over the noise of Nakie who was leaning up against a rock, crunching chicken bones. When they heard the faint echoing sound of footsteps, coming from within the mountain. They grew louder and louder, then they suddenly stopped; everyone held their breath. Then a foot appeared from out of the cover of the darkness, and much to their relief it was covered in a thick steel toe-capped boot. Usually associated with the miners, and this one just happened to belong to Sniffer.

Sniffer reappeared into the sunlight his arm up over his eyes, as the new-found light was blinding him after spending so much time in the dark. In his other hand was his huge crossbow dragging on the floor.

Sniffer dropped the crossbow, raised his other hand up and took off his helmet. Ganga and Ripper were the first ones over to him, followed by Torms and the others, who were eagerly awaiting the news of what was within the mountains.

All apart from Nakie who just stayed where he was, sucking on a bone. His philosophy was, if it's important enough, Sacul will be over relaying all the details soon enough, and if he isn't, then he hadn't wasted his time getting up.

"WATER, can we have some water over here please," shouted Ganga as Sniffer stood there all covered in dust and dirt. He slowly began to lower his arm as his eyes started to get accustomed to the light.

"Ah, thank you," said Ganga, as he took a tankard of water off an out of breath dwarf, who had just arrived.

"Here, get this down ya, wash that dust out ya lungs," said Ganga as he passed the tankard to Sniffer. As he drank it, Odall gave Ganga a weird look. Realising Ganga might be the best there is at mining but when it came to dwarf anatomy he hadn't got a clue.

Sniffer started to gulp the water down and as the tankard was tilted upside down, the last remaining drops trickled into Sniffer's mouth. As he lowered the tankard and wiped his arm across his bearded mouth. This seemed to be the signal that he was now ready to answer questions.

"So then, any poisonous or flammable gases?" asked Ganga.

"No, none that I could detect," replied Sniffer as Ganga got ready for the next question.

"Any wild beasts or tunnel trolls?"

"Nope," said Sniffer as he looked down and patted his trusty crossbow, which was still loaded.

Now all the boring questions were out of the way, Ganga licked his lips and got ready for the main one. "How about any . . ." Ganga stopped, had a quick look over his shoulder, and then in a much quieter voice said, "any other unusual types of minerals down there?"

He waited with bated breath, and he wasn't the only one. Sniffer had the full attention of Torms, Sacul, Sinat, the twins, Ripper, the Captain, Odall and Tennant who were all standing around him in a circle.

"Nope," replied Sniffer. There was a deadly silence, as Torms looked at Odall, Odall looked at the Sinat, Sinat looked at Tennant, Tennant looked at Sacul and Sacul looked at the twins. Who hadn't a clue why they had to look at someone, but did it just in case it was important; so, they just looked at each other.

Now it was Tennant's turn to ask a question, as it was his neck on the line, literally. Since it was down to him to report back everything to the king. As Rule 87 out of Phobic's rulebook was starting to set off alarm bells:

_Rule 87: Always make sure you know the full facts, especially if you have to relay bad news to your king._

And Rule 87, had a crudely draw arrow, which Tennant had drawn; linking it to Rule 88 which was:

_Rule 88: When you break bad news, always make sure you have someone to blame_.

Then there was another inscription scribbled down in Tennant's hand writing next to Rule 88 which read ' _then exercise '_ Rule 34, which was:

_Rule 34: After bad news, always disappear out of sight and hide._

So, with Rule 87 still flashing through his brain, and alarm bells ringing Tennant wanted answers.

"So, then, let me get this right. You're telling us there's nothing in the mine at all?" said Tennant somewhat hesitantly, not wanting to hear the answer.

"Mine, Mine," replied Sniffer, as he got the full attention of the others for the second time.

"That's no mine. I followed it down as far as I could, and it's just one long passageway carved into the mountain. But not any old passageway, this has magnificent carvings carved into the walls and high ceilings. There isn't a spare bit of rock that hasn't been carved and polished, then there's steel torch-holders in the shape of gauntlets hanging out of the walls. There's one on each side, spaced about twenty feet apart. Finally, I got to the end after about two hours of walking, and I came to another set of doors. This time they looked stronger than the ones we opened this morning, and the lock is still intact. But it's nothing like I've ever seen, I couldn't pick it. There's some kind of mechanism and a hole for a disc to fit into," added Sniffer.

Torms stood silently as something in his brain clicked. His hand dove into his cotton shirt under his tunic and clasped around the leather pouch within; pulling it out. Buttons from his shirt flew in every direction as the leather pouch took the fastest route possible.

Torms emptied the contents of the bag into his hand; his half of the disc fell out. He wasn't the only one who had a hunch. Ganga had produced his half and placed it in Torms's hand, and with a faint snap, the two pieces were joined together. Torms held out the disc to Sniffer.

"Was the round hole about this size?" he asked.

Sniffer took the disc from Torms, then bent down and picked his helmet up off the floor putting it on his head. He held the disc up to his right eye pulled and down all six magnifying glasses, and gave the disc a closer inspection. There was a flipping sound as he flipped up two of the magnifiers.

"Yep, I'd say it was the exact size, funny that," said Sniffer.

"I don't think it is," said Odall as if he knew something but wasn't quite sure, so he wasn't going to share it with the others, not just yet.

"Yeah, funny that, the exact size," said Sacul, shaking his head in amazement adding his thoughts on the matter; trying to get in on conversation. As he did he looked at the twins, who in turn backed him up and shock their heads in amazement. They didn't even know why they were shaking their heads or what for. But they had only just stopped staring at each other and thought they had missed something.

"No, that's not what I meant," said Sniffer.

"It's funny about the door."

Now Sniffer had got their full attention for the third time, as if it was a unique talent he had, and once again they all stopped breathing as they waited for the next part of the sentence, which they knew was coming. Although most of them had only just met Sniffer, they somehow knew the best was still to come. He might be a good sniffer but his reporting skills, or lack of them; left a lot to be desired.

"The door, you mentioned, the DOOR," blurted out Tennant, as he saw a possible lifeline appearing between himself and the king, and the possibility that he still got to keep his head when all this was over. As losing your head as an advisor was considered as an occupational hazard.

"Oh yes, as I was saying," said Sniffer, who had momentarily gone off into a world of his own. Probably due to the fact he spent most of his time in total darkness, with only his own thoughts for company. "The door is made out of a strange mineral." As he said this, he held up the Amberinth disc. "Just like what this is made out of, both panels. About twenty-feet-high, a quarter inch and five chisel taps, give or take one or two."

Tennant stood shaking his head impatiently, as Sniffer's attention to detail seemed to be misplaced. Tennant was just about to shout, 'Get on with it!' as he didn't much care about a chisel tap, and he certainly didn't want to know what kind of chisel would tap it - when Sniffer suddenly moved on without any warning.

"Very peculiar. I've been mining all my life and have never come across that before, the way the doors just glowed softly on their own."

The small gathering of dwarfs certiannly were not disappointed at the conclusion of Sniffer's sentence. With most of them standing there with their mouths open, gawping like fish, envisioning two huge doors made out of Amberinth. It was mainly the twins who weren't really all that bothered, and Ripper didn't have a clue what all the fuss was about, seeing as nobody had mentioned the word Amberinth to him; he just assumed it was some sort of gold.

While Sniffer, on the other hand, who had been stuck down a cavern for most of the day, wasn't going to stand there like a judge, judging what looked like a group of dwarfs doing a fish impersonation contest. He leant forward, took ahold of Torms's hand and placed the disc back in his palm, closing his fingers around it for him. Then turned around and with Ripper by his side, walked off. Discussing what type of rock compound, the walls of the tunnel were made out of, and the fine details of the carvings that lay upon them.

It was Odall who broke the silence first. "Two twenty-foot doors made out of Amberinth," he said in a soft-toned voice.

"The beauty of them," spoke Ganga, still all misty-eyed.

"But we still have one question that hasn't been answered." The others turned their heads, waiting, expecting Torms to answer his own question. "And that is . . ." Torms paused, adding effect and making sure he had their full attention. "What's behind them."

As the words flowed out of Torms's mouth, all manner of thoughts sprang into the heads of the others, taking their minds off the doors and onto all sorts of things. Ranging from a treasure room in Sacul's head, and at the other end of the spectrum, a hoard of savage tunnel trolls, all fangs and claws. That's all Tennant could think of. He shuddered as a cold shiver ran from the base of his neck and down his back, accompanied by a funny, "Errrrrhhhh," sound, which flowed from his mouth.

"Well, whatever, it's secret, just like the first set of doors, I'm sure we will find out soon enough," said Ganga.

"How long before we can get going?" asked Torms.

"As soon as I've unloaded my special wooden torches off the wagons, we can set off straight away. The sun will be down in a few hours, but I can't see that being a problem as we'll be in the tunnel with torchlight. It won't make a blind bit of difference to us," added Ganga.

"Captain, what about the safety and secrecy of the entrance?" asked Torms, requesting the vital knowledge of the Captain.

"Well, I suppose if we position the wagons more around the entrance and use the canvas awnings from the wagons stitching them together. Hanging them up on the pegs and letting them drop down. I can't see that anyone or anything just happening to be passing will spot a thing. And if the elves are out there in the woods, watching us . . ." at this, the Captain glanced over to the tree line ". . . then I dare say that they know about the doors anyway, so I say let's get going. The sooner the better!"

"What, all of us?" asked Sacul, all excited.

"Good point," said Ganga. "It doesn't need all of us to go charging in there. I'll only need myself, Ripper, Sniffer, and one more. He's one of the finest lock-pickers in the kingdom, just in case the disc doesn't work. His name is . . ."

"Picker," said Tennant out loud, cutting the suspense short.

"Yeah, that's right. Picker, how did you know that. Do you know him?" asked Ganga, somewhat inquisitive.

"No, no, I don't know him, just a lucky guess I suppose," said Tennant, very sarcastically, as he'd worked it out long ago. There was an uncanny link between the jobs the miners did, and their names.

Ganga's eyebrows hunched up as he gave Tennant a funny look as if Tennant had been spying on them from the moment they set off. Tennant held his head up and looked away just in case 'Thumper' came over to see what the problem was. They must have one, thought Tennant; then had to stop himself from having a little chuckle.

"Ganga," called out Torms, trying to get his attention.

Ganga slowly turned back around to face Torms, but at the last minute darted his eyes back towards Tennant, just to let him know he would be keeping an eye on him from now on.

"Yes, as I was saying, there will be myself and three others," concluded Ganga.

"Captain, how about you?" asked Torms.

"Well, I can't see there being much danger in there, as what lies behind the doors has been there for a thousand year. So, seeing as the twins will be with you, and I take it Sinat and Nakie will be accompany you as well. I will stay behind to provide back up and to guard the entrance."

Torms nodded his head in agreement with the Captain.

"Of course, I'll have to come," perked up Tennant, "seeing as I have to keep account of every detail," as Rule 27 in Phobic's rulebook, sprung to mind:

_Rule 27: If treasure was to be found make sure you 're the one to find it._

"Of course, I wouldn't leave you out, nor my trusted philosopher," said Torms, while giving Odall a quick wink. Odall's face lit up, as Torms had just made an old dwarf very happy. As Odall had thought his age might slow the expedition down at this crucial stage.

There was a lot of huffing and puffing coming from between the twins; as if someone was trying to draw attention to themselves.

"Yes, yes, Sacul, I haven't forgotten about you. You can come as well, we've all come this far together, you didn't think I would leave you out did do you?" said Torms.

An immediate smile appeared on Sacul's face, but he wasn't the only one happy at the new he was going in the tunnel. As his smile was joined by two others as the twins stood there, with two huge beaming smiles sat upon their faces; upon hearing Sacul was joining them.

"Right then. Ganga, you sort out the torches and the canvas awnings to cover the entrance. Captain, you sort out the security of the camp, I'll go and brief Bucket on the latest developments. And let's say we'll set off as soon as it gets dark, just in case anybody is watching. They might not see us slip into the tunnel."

There was a volley of nods, and everyone walked off to get ready. Nakie, who was still propped up against a rock, eating cold sausages, sighed as he saw the inevitable figure he had been dreading walking towards him. All smiles and buzzing with energy, which was shown in the way the figure bounded across the ground towards him.

"You'll never guess what!" bellowed out Sacul, as he went to relay the patchy events of what Sniffer had told him.

"Oh, I bet I can," said Nakie, cutting Sacul short and preventing him from spilling off the forthcoming news.

"Let me guess. Sniffer's come back with some news nobody expected, and now we have to go in there and find out exactly what's in there. And now I'm one of the lucky ones that's been picked to walk off into the side of a mountain that's been holding a secret for a thousand years. While the main party gets to stay behind to sit around and stuff their faces. Am I close?" asked Nakie as he crammed another cold sausage into his mouth.

Sacul stood there in a daze, having trouble coming to terms with Nakie's perception.

"How did you know that?" gasped Sacul, as he stood there watching Nakie chew and gulp down the contents of his mouth, and wondered if all this time Nakie had been harbouring a dark secret about being able to read minds. Nakie wiped his mouth, rolled over onto one knee and stood up, brushing the crumbs from his beard.

"Because, young Sacul, it was written all over your face!" laughed Nakie. As Nakie went to walk off, he caught a glimpse of Sacul quickly checking his face with his hands. Nakie turned to put the poor dwarf out of his misery.

"I could hear you, that Sniffer isn't the quietest of dwarfs I've ever come across," he chuckled.

Sacul stopped checking his face, and an expression appeared on it. One of total concentration as his brain quickly threw out the mind-reading and facial-writing and replaced it with the final and rightful answer; amongst all the other bits of knowledge Sacul had stored in there.

"Come on. As I recall, we leave at dusk, and by my reckoning that only gives us about one hour's worth of eating before we set off. Now which way did Odall go?" said Nakie as he raised his head, looking around. "Ah," he said as he spotted Odall, just where he wanted him, right by a fire with a pan in his hand.

"Come on, Sacul, this way," he said as he set off towards Odall.

*

A hundred meters from the main track deep within the woods were three sets of elves, high up in the trees observing everything. Below them was the rest of the main elven party. Cluzac hadn't given the order to set up camp as he was waiting the arrival of Gillant for further orders. Cluzac could just make out some ferns rustling behind him, as the ferns parted; Gillant appeared.

"Right, it's a bit different to what I expected," said Gillant as he sat down next to Cluzac between the ferns before continuing. "I got close enough to hear that things aren't what they seem. I don't think the dwarfs know what they have found. At dusk move up to the very edge of the treeline and set up observation posts up in the trees that line the main track. Then at daybreak move your elves back here. Just leaving the scouts in the observation lookouts to watch and observer. On the treeline there are only two sets of dwarfen guards. With your camouflage, they won't spot you. Plus, there's only a half moon tonight, so setting up the looks-outs shouldn't be a problem. But there's one small problem that Flennat and Banthrone missed out in their report." Gillant paused for a brief moment.

"The black raven seems to have returned," said Gillant in a cold voice.

"Do you think it's the sorcerer?" asked Cluzac.

"I don't know, but for now don't say anything to the rest of the elves. You saw how jumpy they were last time." Ordered Gillant.

"Do you think he's protecting or watching over the dwarfs?" asked Cluzac.

"Protecting. No, but watching, yes, almost definitely."

"And the dwarfs, do you think they know?"

"I don't know. I don't think so, they're too busy with their own problems. But as for the sorcerer, I'm sure we will all find out later what he's up to, and let's just hope we're ready for him. Now you stay here and make sure everyone's fed and watered because once you move up at dusk, it will be too late. I don't want to hear a peep out of them, as the dwarfs can't know that we are here, not this time. Right I'm going back up to the treeline, join me at dusk." With that, Gillant got up and disappeared into the trees, seeming to vanish as if the trees themselves had absorbed him.

Cluzac rolled over onto his belly and crawled through the undergrowth to the rest of the elves, who were lying flat on their chests, almost invisible as their robes lay over them from top to toe.

"Listen and pass the message along," said Cluzac as he tapped the first elf on the shoulder. "Get some food down you and water, but no fires, at dusk we all move up to the treeline, to set up some observation posts."

The elf nodded and passed on the message to the elf next to him. As the message was being relayed down the rank of elves, Cluzac heard the faint whistle of an approaching arrow. Which embedded itself halfway up an oak tree they had picked as a marker.

He stared at the arrow-feathers, and to his horror they were blue. Which meant only one thing; dwarfs were approaching. No sooner had he seen the arrow, he heard approaching footsteps, accompanied by heavy thuds and a lot of twigs snapping.

Cluzac quickly pulled his hood over his head, trying his hardest to blend into the environment. He had his eyes wide open underneath his hood, but all he could see was total darkness. The smell of ferns filled his nostrils as he lay there hearing the approaching thuds getting louder and louder. Cluzac wondered how many there were, and if it was just a scouting party, why they were making so much noise. This thought ran through all the elves' heads as they lay there, deadly silent, all apart from two of them.

Flennat and Banthrone had heard that sound that very same morning and now had an image in their head of ten fat dwarfs. Running around in their underpants, looking for elves. All sorts of things started to take shape and run through their minds as they laid on the floor.As to, why were they searching for elves in their underpants? To, what they were going to do with them when they caught them? The two scouts shuddered, as the same thought ran through their minds at the same time. Flennat quietly took a hold of his robe and pulled it tighter around him for some extra comfort. Whilst Banthrone just hoped Flennat didn't do anything stupid.

Bucket held his hand up and started patting his head, the drivers who were on their twice-daily exercise regime-slash secret orders stopped for a breather. Trying to catch their breath as they slouched forward. Putting their hands on their knees, Coughing and spluttering in the process. The hundred-metre run from the main track, had nearly finished them off. And for the unlucky ones who hadn't seen their knees in years, let alone put their hands on them, had to follow Tamli's lead, and lean on the nearest tree available; which was almost half of them.

Bucket pulled his hands up from his knees, taking in some deep breaths as he got back his strength and surveyed the tops of the surrounding ferns on the horizon, looking for something out of place.

At this precise moment, Cluzac had one factor working for him in his favour, and one against, as he lay face down in the ferns. The one for him was that Bucket hadn't a clue what he was looking for. Otherwise he would have realised where he was standing, and the one against him was; Bucket was standing on his hand.

Although Cluzac was one a of the Elven High Elite, and in fact, the best they had to offer. He didn't know how much longer he could hold out. He could feel the bones beginning to break as he lay there silently in pain. His training running through his head as he tried his hardest to think of a scenario which contained so much pain but couldn't find one.

To keep his mind off the pain, Cluzac was trying to make a mental note to add the scenario to this year's selection programme, under 'fat dwarf standing on your hand.' And if any elf spoke out saying it was stupid, as it would never happen. Cluzac also made another mental note, to pick up the nearest bow and shoot them.

But Cluzac was running out of mental notes to make, as his pain barrier was near critical, and now he just hoped he passed out before he yelled out.

But just as Cluzac thought he couldn't take anymore Bucket raised his right arm made a circle movement with it. Then put his finger in his ear which meant everyone, then pointed forward. The drivers moved off, and to Cluzac's relief, Buckets foot went along with them. The pain was still there, but for now, Cluzac could live with that. But it was short-lived, as Cluzac felt a boot in the centre of his back. He quickly tensed, knowing what was to follow, and as Bucket literally ran over the top of him, all the air exhaled from Cluzac lungs as he was violently squashed. Cluzac lay almost lifeless, face down in the ferns, wondering what had just happened to him as he heard Bucket and the others go crashing off into the distance.

He didn't want to move, for fear of finding out every bone in his body was broken, but he wasn't the only one who had suffered under the feet of the drivers. Two more of his elves had been trampled on. One of them was very unlucky and had an encounter with Tamli, resulting in cracked ribs, and possible memory loss due to shock. Whilst another had a black eye from a boot as the dwarfs stumbled past.

As Cluzac lay there trying to catch his breath, he knew he had to rise above his own personal pain as it was his job, to check his elves. He lifted his head.

"Casualties?" he whispered very softly, and the message quickly went down the line and back again, as the elf next to him turned his head.

"Possible cracked ribs and one of the elves has temporarily lost vision in his bow eye, that makes two altogether."

"Make that three," said Cluzac as he rolled over onto his aching back and stiffly sat up. Cluzac popped his head above the ferns and risked a look, so he could see his punisher for the first time.

The dwarfs had their backs to him, he saw Bucket keep stopping, and slapping himself in the face then pointing. Then the other drivers went running off in different directions. Now being a professional, by now Cluzac would have seen what he needed to and would have ducked back down undercover to avoid detection. But he didn't, he was to intrigued as to why ten fully-grown dwarfs were running around the woods in their undergarments slapping themselves, and now he was observing one of them flapping his arms doing an owl impression.

He knew as he had seen it with his own eyes, that the dwarfen party had an attachment of The Blood Born Guards with them. But he couldn't work out why they weren't the ones on patrol. He knew Gillant wasn't telling him everything, and maybe he had good reason. He was there to follow orders, not to ask questions. But he thought the least Gillant could have done was tell him about these sorts of wild dwarfs. Even though his elves were the best of the best, if one of them was to just by chance bump into one of these dwarfs and wasn't on his guard. Suddenly being confronted in the middle of the night by a dwarf weighing at least six times his own bodyweight and wearing a pair of pants and grin to match. Would be a testing time for even one of his toughest elves, thought Cluzac. He watched as Bucket and the others ran off out of sight, before he ducked back down again.

"Right, there's nothing we can do now, eat and get the elf with the cracked ribs bandaged up, he'll be alright and get some wolf-whistle leaves for the other one's eye," ordered Cluzac to the elf next to him.

"Oh, and get a few leaves for me as well," he said, as he held his own hand up. It was all swollen; red and purple as the bruising was beginning to form.

"Better make that a bunch." Added Cluzac. The elf next to him nodded, got up, had a quick check around and disappeared into the woods.

*

The sun had set and gone down, and the newly appointed tunnel expedition was mustered and ready to go just outside the mountain entrance. Tennant was scurrying up and down making notes and ticking people off in his book. "Torms, Nakie, Sacul, Sinat, Odall..." muttered Tennant to himself, before continuing. "The twins, Ganga, Sniffer, Ripper, Picker . . ." As Tennant said all the miners' names at once, he let out a little chuckle. But decided to stop when Ganga swung his pickaxe off his shoulder and held it in a menacing way.

The Captain had put all his plans into action and the guards were all in place, and the miners had put up a massive canvas. Which now hung down from the wooden pegs covering the entrance, keeping in its secrets.

Bash'm, and Beat'm had their weapons strapped to their backs, and were carrying huge sacks under their arms. Which were at bursting point completely full with Ganga's special torches; another one of his many designs. They were soaked in some special formula he had invented. Which made the torches burn slower, but still gave off the same amount of light and lasted at least fifty times longer than the average torch.

Ganga had tried to market the invention in the Dwarfen Kingdom but came under strong opposition from the other traders and merchants. As the torch business was big money, and a revolutionary new torch would have put them all out of business overnight. Ganga turned down their offers to buy him out; even the bribe to work with one of them and cut the others out. But in the end, he decided not to go ahead and market his idea as he thought it would put a lot of dwarfs out of work, and his fellow miners respected him for that.

But what he didn't tell them was the bit about the pony's head that was on his pillow one morning when he awoke. A clear sign that the traders and companies knew people, and not just any old people, they actually did know people. So, after burying the head in the woods and changing his sheets. He decided to keep his ideas of getting into the torches business in his head, and with that, he got to keep his head. As he certainly didn't want someone, somewhere, burying it in a woods. And after announcing his plans to save jobs and not to market his idea. He found the darkest, deepest mine to work in for the following six months, and as no more heads appeared in his bed, he hoped the matter was now settled.

But from that day onwards, he could never look another pony in the eye again without breaking out into a cold sweat, and if he was in a stable with one. He made sure the stable was lit, and the doors were open.

"Are we all set then?" asked Torms, as he looked around and got a round of nods. "I suggest that the twins go first, and we follow, they should have enough torches to line the route as we go," commented Torms, as he gave the bulging sacks under their arms a quick glance.

Sacul had given himself the role of torch-lighter and was going to follow the twins. Who, upon entering we're going to walk down the tunnel. Stopping at the gauntlet torch-holders on either side, placing a torch in each, which Sacul was going to light.

Sacul who was so eager to get going, sparked two flints together trying to light the torch he had tucked under his arm. Two sparks leapt out missing the torch completely but headed straight for Tennant's beard; just at the last minute the sparks fizzled out and died. Tennant let out aloud tut and wrote something down in his book. Sacul leant over to see what it was, as he did Tennant snapped the book shut.

"What do you think you're doing?" asked Sinat, with a look on his face Sacul knew only too well. He now waited to be told he was doing something he shouldn't be. Against his better judgement, Sacul thought it best to answer Sinat.

"Lighting my torch," replied Sacul softly, knowing it to be the correct response, but the wrong answer.

"And why do you think the miners have stitched this canvas and hung it over the entrance?"

"To stop people knowing what's in here," replied Sacul for the second time, not knowing when the crunch was coming.

"Exactly, and by lighting your torch this side of the curtain, then opening up the canvas for us all to walk in. Don't you think you'll be lighting the tunnel up, telling everyone out there that we are going in!"

That was the killer crunch Sacul had been waiting for. He put the flints back in his pocket and lowered his head.

"Thank you," said Torms to Sinat.

"No problem," replied Sinat, as he was only too pleased to help, and not be totally useless about making discussions anymore. Seeing as he had brought them all up ever since they were left to fend for themselves. Although Torms was in charge, it didn't bother Sinat now, it had at first. But now he was prouder of his younger cousin than resentful.

Torms nodded in the direction of the twins, who in turn pulled back on the opening in the canvas, and stepped in, one by one they all followed. Odall, who was the last one to step in, let the heavy canvas drop behind him.

"Oh, before I forget, there are a couple of . . ." said Sniffer, but it was too late.

"AHHHHHH!" screamed Tennant, who now found himself flying through the air again. But this time he wasn't alone, as he took Ganga with him. They both landed on the floor with a funny 'CLUNKING' sound.

"Sacul, get the torches lit," ordered Torms.

Sacul was already one step ahead as he struck his two small flints together; the torch in his hand instantly burst into flames. Exploding light filled the tunnel, as it did everyone stopped what they were doing at stared at the walls and ceiling in awe. As they looked at the magnificent detail that was carved into the rocks surface for the first time.

"It's marvellous," said Torms out loud, as he walked over to the walls and ran his hands over the highly polished surface. There wasn't any pictures depicting any animal or race, instead there were interesting designs of complex and simple patterns running through each other and making one huge pattern, that seemed to run down the length of the tunnel.

"Is this what you forgot to tell us, Sniffer? About the outstanding beauty of the tunnels." said Torms, with his gaze still fixed upon it craftsmanship.

"No, I was going to warn you to watch your step because of the skeletons," replied Sniffer.

With that, a silence fell upon the group, as they thought Sniffer had saved the best to last when he told them about the Amberinth doors. But it seemed they were wrong yet again, as he got them once more. As they took their gaze from the walls and ceiling and looked down at the floor.

The floor was made up of the mountain itself, it had a sort of cobbled effect carved into it. It also had the remains of some ancient skeletons as well, just like Sniffer had said. Much to the horror of Tennant and Ganga. Who were getting a much closer and better look at them, being on the floor. It was Tennant who finally broke the silence, as he looked down at his foot and discovered exactly what he'd tripped over; and if that wasn't bad enough, it had followed him.

He had a skull stuck to his foot, he had wedged his foot in its mouth when he stumbled upon on it, ripping it clean off its body.

"AHHHHHH!" screamed Tennant for the second time, as he jumped up. Trying to shake the skull from his foot; as he began some sort of mad dance. Hopping about from one foot to the other. Hopping and stumbling further and further into the tunnel as he went, just as he was going to disappear out of sight, Sniffer piped up again.

"Watch your step, there's..." It was too late. Another sound of 'CLUNKING,' then a 'THUD', came echoing up the tunnel.

"More of them," said Sniffer, over the new yells of fright, as Tennant discovered this for himself.

"Come on, let's get going, I think the quiet approach of us entering the tunnel has somewhat gone sailing down the river," said Torms. Ushering for Sacul to led the way with his torch. With Bash'm, and Beat'm closely following him, carrying their sacks.

Tennant came into view as the torch licked and flickered its way down the tunnel as if doing a ritual dance. He was sprawled out on the floor with his legs up in the air, with the skull still attached to his foot. Lying in a pile of skeletons, covered in white powder from some of the brittle bones that had crumbled into dust.

"Pick him up, somebody," said Torms, as he looked down on the sorry sight of the advisor. Thinking that there was probably a quote in that book of his, to cover the situation the advisor now found himself in. Which in fact was true, as going around in Tennant's head was Rule 19 in Phobic's rulebook, which was:

_Rule 91: Sometimes, it 's just better to stay in bed._

Bash'm leant down and with a handful of robe, picked Tennant up by the scruff of the neck. Holding him up with his feet dangling off the ground. With his oversized robe and the flickering of the light, Tennant looked like a cat, that had just been dragged out of a pit. Bash'm went to put him down.

"Wait," called out Torms. As he walked over and removed the skull that was wedged on Tennant's foot then causally threw it over his shoulder; it landed with a shattering 'clunk.' Torms nodded to Bash'm, who placed the embarrassed Tennant back on his feet.

"If you have quite finished Tennant, I think we have a rather pressing matter to attend to," commented Torms. This just caused Tennant to give Torms a dirty glare. But to his horror he got one straight back from Bash'm, who was still close enough for Tennant to feel his hot breath. Tennant took a deep gulp, and turned his attention to brushing himself down; he hoped the unnecessary attention he was getting would pass, and he didn't have to wait long.

"Sacul, can I burrow your torch for a minute," asked Odall, as he leant down to one of the skeletons, on the other side of the tunnel. Sacul handed him the torch.

"Take a Look," said Odall as he pointed out a medallion that was hanging around one of the skeleton's necks. Now Sinat, who wasn't quite brought up in the ways of a philosopher, took Odall's words literally and bent down to get a good look. Grabbing the medallion, then giving it a good pull. The skeleton's neck didn't put up much of a fight, seeing as it had been dead for the last thousand years. The head bounced off the chest bone and shattered on the floor.

"What are we looking for?" said Sinat as he held up the medallion, trying to make out the picture.

"Sacul, light the torch gauntlets, let's get some light on the matter," said Torms.

Sacul didn't need to be asked twice, as he eagerly shot off down the passageway with the twins. He didn't have to go far until he got to the first pair of gauntlets; one either side of the tunnel. Bash'm, and Beat'm placed a torch in each holder, while Sacul reached up and lit them. Light leapt out into the tunnel, dancing and licking the walls as it went; shining on the matter at hand.

"It's a six-pointed star, with two rams on it and a sword underneath them," said Sinat, as the medallion came to life in the flickering flames, glowing a soft Amberinth colour.

"Yes, that's right," spoke out Odall. "And not any old medallion. it's an Amberinth one, bearing the crest of Rancore. "Didn't you notice these when you entered the tunnel?" asked Odall, addressing his question to Sniffer.

"Yep," said Sniffer.

"But seeing as we didn't ask, you didn't tell us!" piped up Tennant. Who was getting a bit fed up with the way Sniffer relayed his findings, like the bit about skeletons lying around all over the place. Which would have been a great help to have known about when entering the tunnel, Sniffer went to answer.

"Don't answer that," said Tennant, shaking his head. But Sniffer wasn't used to sarcasm, and especially not Tennant's, and just carried on saying what he was going to say.

"Fifty," spoke out Sniffer.

Now to Tennant's dismay, he knew he had to ask. "Fifty what?"

"Fifty of them, all lying around with them medallions around their necks," replied Sniffer, standing there with one big beaming eye on Tennant.

"And you didn't think this was important, that there were fifty of these things in the tunnel?"

"Monks," said Odall, as it was his turn to add to the conversation.

"What?" said Tennant, getting all confused by the outbreak of cryptic clues.

"These things are monks," replied Odall, as he stood there with a torch in one hand and a large leather book open in the other, balancing on his forearm and chest.

"Oh, these people have been in here for a thousand year, unknown to the outside world, and you have just come to the conclusion that they are monks, have you?" snapped Tennant.

"It says it right here, in the book, if you don't believe me!" With that, Odall held out the leather-bound book for Tennant's inspection.

Tennant took the book and stared at its pages. His eyes were drawn to a piece of text, which was accompanied by a roughly-drawn sketch of a man dressed in a robe, with a six-pointed star on a chain around his neck. Not wanting to be beaten, Tennant turned the book over to read the front cover.

"Oh, that's just great, _Myths & Legends_," said Tennant out loud. "And are we supposed to believe this?" he said as he flicked through the book and stopped at a random page.

"Ah, a two-headed gargonout, a mythical dog of the gods - do we expect to find them down here as well?" he mocked.

Odall snatched the book from him and placed it back into the leather holdall, which he had slung over his shoulder. "Don't mock what you don't know," said Odall softly.

Sacul was waiting eagerly under the first set of gauntlet hands. Torms could tell by the look in his eyes, and the excitement on his face, that Sacul was eager to get going, wanting to set the next pair ablaze. Torms nodded to Sacul, who ran off to find the next pair, then waited patiently for the twins to plod along after him, carrying the sacks.

"Now then, is there anything else you have forgotten to inform us about, a hidden trap, a bottomless pit, snakes?" said Torms, directing the question towards Sniffer, who just stood there, staring with his huge right eye, as the remark went clean over his head.

"Fine, then let's get going, we have a lot of ground to cover," said Torms as he set off down the passageway, following Sacul and the twins, who were busy lighting the way.

As they went, they did actually pass the rest of the skeletons, and there were exactly fifty. Which Tennant had noted down in his book, including the ones he had smashed. Although he was in a state of shock and blind panic earlier as he hurtled and smashed his way down the tunnel. He still adhered to Rule 43 in Phobic's rulebook, which states:

_Rule 43: Always keep abreast of the situation, and make mental notes. No matter how distressing a situation you find yourself in._

Tennant had been mental notes all right, and placed them right next to the huge troll's skull along with all the teeth.

As they passed down the tunnel, leaving the flickering torches behind them, a strange shadow appeared on the walls. Nothing to distinctive, but every now and then a twisted shape of a human appeared, with a raven's head. Then as the flames flickered, it would disappear. Only to be picked up again further down the tunnel, all the while keeping its distance from the others but matching their pace. But, to the naked eye, the tunnel behind them was completely empty.

*

Holock was outside Velthrone's private chambers awaiting Rathall arrival. He had been there since just before dusk, as he knew Rathall was returning at nightfall. Velthrone was inside, every now and then Holock would hear him moving about. Holock didn't have to wait long, it had just gone dark when he heard a faint noise stirring from within, then a startled Velthrone.

"Ah, Velthrone," hissed Rathall, having a quick look round. Just to check that Velthrone hadn't changed his mind and that there wasn't an array of elven fine steel or arrowheads pointing in his direction. "Hasss our mutual friend the warlord sssent back a messsage yet?"

"Yes," replied Velthrone, somewhat shakily, as he had forgotten how hideous and evil Rathall really was. Velthrone handed him a small piece of paper. "He sent it with one of the homing falcons I had placed in his company some time ago."

Rathall read the note:

I have called a meeting with the warlords, it takes place tomorrow night. I am the host.

"Oh, sssplendid," hissed Rathall, as his head swayed with delight. "And when did you receive thisss?"

"Yesterday evening."

"Ssso, the meeting isss tonight." Rathall paused for a second in thought. "I sssuppose I'd better meet thisss warlord and lay down my ssside of the bargain. It would be a good time for him to meet his new ally. Don't you agree?" Rathall darted his head towards Velthrone, who just stood there frozen to the spot, unable to move.

"I'm glad you agree. Now, where can I find thisss warlord, What'sss hisss name?"

"Strangaurd" said Velthrone, quickly, not wanting to get on the wrong side of Rathall. Velthrone stood there, hoping he had made the right decision about Rathall, and hoping he'd live long enough not to regret it.

"Ah, Ssstrangaurd, and where might I find him and hisss little gathering of the Warlordsss?"

Velthrone took a deep breath and tried to maintain his posture as he walked over to his desk and to a map that was spread out upon it; pinned down at each corner with a leather-bound book. Velthrone pointed to a castle situated in the First Province. Rathall swayed his head to take a closer look.

"Cassstle Attin," hissed Rathall out loud. "And tell me, Velthrone, have you been to thisss cassstle? And have you ssstood within itsss wallsss?"

"Yes," replied Velthrone, not knowing where this line of questioning was going, and if he had he wouldn't have answered.

"And where would thisss SSSTRANGAURD . . .be holding thisss meeting?" hissed Rathall.

"In the main hall where the throne is situated, all meetings of importance would be held there," replied Velthrone.

"And tell me, Velthrone, have you been inssside thisss hall?"

Velthrone, still unsure as to the question, reluctantly replied, "Yes."

A small smile appeared on Rathall's scaly face as his tongue darted in and out.

"Good, good. That will sssave a lot of time."

Without warning, Rathall darted out his scaly hands, placing them onto Velthrone's forehead. As he did, he stared into the now terrified eyes of Velthrone.

"DON'T FIGHT IT, LET ME IN." Commanded Rathall.

These were the last words Velthrone could remember, as he went into a dark horrible world full of hate and vengeance. He could feel someone inside his head probing and prodding. Every now and then an image would shoot past in the darkness, first an old image of him as a boy, then an older one. Velthrone began to panic, and the more he panicked the worst the images got. Then the pain appeared to take hold of him; then nothing. All apart from a huge image appearing in the darkness, of Strangaurd's throne room. Then, as quickly as the darkness had taken ahold of him, he was standing back by the table. With a blurry image of Rathall in front of him. Velthrone went to speak, and as he did a sharp pain filled his head.

"Don't worry, it will passs quickly," hissed Rathall.

Velthrone gripped the edge of the table and looked down; the floor began to come back into focus.

"What did you do to me?" was all Velthrone could manage.

"I had to retrieve the image from your head of the throne room. Now I can re-materialissse to the exact ssspot."

"Why couldn't you use the map?" half-asked, half-demanded Velthrone, as he began to get more of his senses back, letting go of the table and straightening himself up.

"I wouldn't get an accurate dessstination from the hand-drawn map. Jussst an inch out of ssscale, and I'd end up two milesss away. I could reappear at any manner of location, a lake, a river, up a tree, but now, thanksss to your co-operation, that won't happen." As Rathall said this, a faint smile appeared on his face. But it had the opposite effect on Velthrone, he shuddered as he felt a fierce twitch of pain come flooding back through his mind again, as he was still trying to get a grip on the real world.

"Now then, I think it'sss time I met this Ssstrangaurd fellow," hissed Rathall out loud. He slithered over to where his secret symbol was etched in black magic on the floor. He turned and looked over to Velthrone, who was staring back at him in a way that a dog does. The first time it realises it has a Master, and has just realised it's not the leader of the pack.

Rathall nodded his head and started muttering. The hidden symbols appeared and glowed dark red within the floor, and with a faint rumble, Rathall was gone.

Velthrone gasped out a sigh of relief, putting his hands up to his head. The pain had gone, but he found it hard to concentrate and needed a lie-down. As he made his way to the back of his chambers and walked through the open door into his private retreat, shutting it behind him. He didn't hear the main door open.

Even if he had, he wouldn't have seen anything. Normally, being an advisor, he would have locked the door and checked it at least four times before he went to sleep. But Velthrone had other things on his mind as he walked to his bed. Falling on top of one the kingdom's finest hand-stitched throw-overs; that lay spread out over the top of it. Before his head had hit the pillow, his eyes were closed and he was fast asleep.

Holock searched Velthrone's desk and found the huge map laid out upon it. He hurried as he searched the map with his hand. Following it with his eyes as he scanned for what he was looking for, and stopped right at the very spot. "Castle Attin," he muttered as he threw out his hands.

All the features of the map lifted off the page: hills rose, and rivers ran. Holock clenched his right hand around Castle Attin and muttered in some ancient tongue. The rest of the map filled the room. As Holock flew over treetops and across the open plains, as he rapidly approached his out-stretched fist.

There was a blinding white light as he reappeared, far away from Velthrone's study. Holock lay still as he tried to get his bearings, without moving his right hand. He looked up, all he could see were reeds and rough grass. Holock felt damp, he realised he was in a marsh, and the water he was lying in was beginning to seep through his clothes.

He knelt up and made a quick inspection of the reed beds. Even though he was invisible he wasn't taking any chances when it came to Rathall. The more he followed him, learning more about him, the more cautious Holock had become.

He stood up as the coast was clear, still with his right arm outstretched, still facing the direction he had arrived from. Holock looked down the length of his arm and used it as a marker, the elven map wasn't far off scale. In the near distance he saw what he was looking for; as Castle Attin now stood before him.

Castle Attin was a strong looking well-built and a well-fortified castle, which stood smack bang in the middle of the marshes on a slightly raised rock formation. Lit up by burning torches from every point on its walls, it looked dark and menacing.

As Holock observed the structure looking for the best way to approach it and gain entrance, he couldn't help but notice the hustle and bustle that seemed to be engulfing the castle. Banners were everywhere, and guards were all mustered at their posts, all shining in their spiky war armour. Even though it was jet-black, the moonlight still bounced off the highly polished suits. The weapons they were holding were just as hideous as their armour. They were covered in spikes; on their axes, on their swords, even the spikes had spikes.

Holock took a deep breath as he prepared to set off towards the castle, trying his hardest to reassure himself everything was going to be all right. Just as long as he didn't sneeze, due to the fact he was soaking wet. Which was the last thought he had to shake out of his head, as he strode off to find the throne room, and to finally find out what Rathall had up his sleeve; and being a sorcerer's sleeve, that could be anything.

Rathall was standing in the shadows at the back of the throne room. He had appeared precisely where he had wanted, at the expense of Velthrone's memory. Rathall had been there for the past couple of minutes, just standing and observing the warlords, trying to work out their strengths and weaknesses before he confronted them.

The room was large and lit up by torches that hung up on the walls, and because it was Strangaurd's castle; he was holding court. He was sitting on his throne, with his back to Rathall, with two huge heavily armoured warriors either side of him. In front of him were three other throne-like chairs, just slightly smaller than his. Each one contained one of the warlords from the other three provinces. Zelton, Wykep and Two'Bit, who were sat at a long oak table facing Strangaurd. Each with their finest warriors and personal bodyguards on either side of them. Further behind them still were their personal envoy's and heads of war. Ranging from officers, captains, the odd sergeant or two, and whoever else looked like a natural born leader.

Rathall had soon learnt who was who, and although Strangaurd was by far the biggest and strongest of the four Warlords, he didn't seem to hold much weight with the others. As if they could see straight through him, through all the show of armour and spikes.

As Rathall lay in wait for his moment to introduce himself, he listened as Strangaurd tried his hardest to convince the other warlords to go to war. He explained about his contact in the Elven Realm, and how the time had arrived to take back the whole Island under warlord rule. Strangaurd then went on blindly, trying to explain he didn't know what was happening. But if they mustered their men and their armies now, they would have the upper hand.

Rathall listened on, as Strangaurd was put down again and again by each of the warlords, especially Wykep. Who owned the Fourth Province; unlike Strangaurd, he had nothing to prove. Wykep was already rich, and out of all the provinces he had the best-trained army. His shoulders weren't covered in spikes, and his warriors didn't have fierce designs of animal like demons on their helmets like Strangaurd's.

Wykep was more civilised and held his province as if he were a king. His title was still warlord, but his armies were made up of discipline and order and had strict chains of command. His men were dressed in the finest armour, smooth and light, which enabled his men to move faster and to strike with precision rather than with brute force. Wykep didn't see the point in provoking a war.

Zelton was the second to raise the issue: like Wykep, he was happy with how things were running, and wasn't going to commit his warriors on the say so of Strangaurd. Who, in his eyes was just selfish and hot-headed, and just like his brain his province reflected its ruler; all barren and bare.

Zelton and Wykep had had many a private meeting about joining forces to eradicate Strangaurd, as they were fed up with his constant persecution of his own people. Joined together they would have crushed him, but nothing ever happened. As neither of them knew where Two'Bit stood on the matter. Although many a time when the moment arose, they would drop subtle hints. Two'Bit always gave them back subtle answers, and without knowing where Two'Bit stood on the matter, they couldn't act, just in case, he sided with Strangaurd.

It was in Two'Bit that Rathall saw a possible ally for Strangaurd. Unlike the others at the mention of war, Two'Bit seemed to be rubbing his stumpy fat hands together under the table. As he did, Rathall could see his thick gold chunky rings covered in emeralds and diamonds glistening in the torch light.

Two'Bit put his hands gently on the table and stood up. He nodded to Wykep and Zelton, who were either side of him, to ask for their permission to address Strangaurd. They nodded in acceptance. Although it was just a procedure, that you acknowledged your fellow warlords when you felt it necessary to stand and deliver your question. It was an important one, and one they all respected.

Due to the sudden deaths of their great-great-great-great-forefathers, who ruled the provinces before them, a long time ago. When a meeting had been held in the Second Province, over who should turn some of their land into farming land for livestock. Mainly cows, to provide the other provinces with food. The throne room had been crammed packed with warriors and the four ruling warlords from the provinces; in all their full glory and might. When one of Strangaurd's ancestors jumped out of his seat and banged the table, in protest at the suggestion that his province was to supply the land. The table had shattered into pieces, sending a piece of wood flying into the face of a fellow warlord. After the initial sound of swords being drawn, and battle cries, it didn't take long before the body count started to mount up. The only person to leave the room still breathing at the end of the frenzy, walked out with, one axe, two swords and a crossbow bolt sticking out of him. Only living long enough to tell the others outside what had happened.

It then took twenty painstaking long years for the provinces to recover. As the next in line had been at the meeting, and the only ones left were still in nappies back at the castles.

So, it was now a written law throughout the lands. That at a meeting, if you wanted to address the speaker. You quietly got up, put your hands on the table, and spoke softly. As the provinces couldn't handle another adolescent period in its history.

During which the provinces went to war with each other, more times than were documented. Mainly when the young rulers were between the ages of six and ten, over all manner of things. Ranging from, who wasn't invited to whose party, who wouldn't share their toys, to who wasn't going to a sleep-over. Then they would all gang up on one another. It was a testing time for their loyal warriors. Especially when halfway through a battle the young warlords would suddenly patch things up, and go off to see if the cook had baked any fresh apple pies. Then you were left apologising to the warrior on the floor for chopping his arm off, just because his six-year-old Master wouldn't let his Master play, on his rocking horse.

Eventually, after countless feuds, the heads of the armies met each other and drew up some plans. In which metal swords on the battlefield were replaced with wooden ones, painted silver. And just before the battles commenced they'd flick a coin out of sight of their Masters, to determine who would win.

At first, the battles were a shambles, fully-grown warriors were falling down before they had even been hit. But after some coaching and practice, they became quite a show, each army putting in a new technique each time they fought. They even took to taking tomatoes on the battlefield for when they were hit, which produced some great effects. Much to the enjoyment of the young warlords. They even did set moves like running clothesline, body slam, and the elbow; the speciality of the Second Province was the Flying Pig. Where two fellow warriors would grab their fattest man by the legs, spin him around, then let him go at the advancing army.

But, to the disappointment of the warriors all the pretend wars stopped when their Masters reached their teens, and the once-famous Flying Pig warrior. The fattest and most admired warrior in all the provinces, was reduced to passing love letters from his Master to young maidens, and back again. Until finally, they all grew up and the provinces returned to normal.

But they still have an annual war day, when all four provinces come together for a fair and carnival which lasts a week. Different teams consisting of a hundred men venture out onto the battlefield, with their wooden swords for friendly combat, and the Flying Pig takes to the air once more.

So, not wanting to start another adolescent period, known in the history books as 'Cow Day' seeing as the whole incident had evolved around land for livestock. Two'Bit who had got the nod of acceptance from the other two warlords, now turned his fat face towards Strangaurd with a slight smile upon it; as he did, his gold tooth which had a diamond stuck on it, twinkled in the torchlight.

"Strangaurd, are you seriously suggesting that we just drop everything, and start mustering are the armies on the say so of this alliance, you've struck up with this elf? And who and what are we going to war for?I have all I need, I'm happy I'm content, and I think I speak for the others," commented Two'Bit. The other two warlords nodded.

Strangaurd arose out of his chair, wanting to strangle the fat Two'Bit who stood before him. As he knew, no matter how much gold Two'Bit had, it would never be enough. Two'Bit was merely toying with him. But he held his temper, as he didn't want a repeat of Cow Day.

Strangaurd got the customary nods from the others, as Two'Bit returned to his seat. "But have you? Have you really got what you deserve? Remember thousands of decades ago we ruled the whole Island and all in it, and look at us now. Reduced to living as equals with the elves and dwarfs. Is this supposed to be our place forever or just until they find the right time to attack us!"

"YOU FORGOT THE SSSORCERERSSS," came a loud commanding voice, filling the whole room.

Every warrior in the room went for their weapon, scanning the room with their eyes as Rathall stepped out from the shadows. Instantly, with lightning reactions, the two bodyguards either side of Strangaurd span round, and with their double-handed swords aloft, headed straight for Rathall. As Rathall slivered towards Strangaurd, he raised his left hand, muttering in tongues. The two warriors vanished just as quickly as they had reacted. Leaving behind a deafening scream of torment that quickly faded.

"ENOUGH!" bellowed out Rathall as he raised both hands, trying to gain control of the situation. It seemed to work. Even the most war-hardened warriors at the back of the room, who were midway through throwing an axe or two, stopped.

Rathall realised he had their full attention, but for how long? He had to move fast. He slithered up alongside the towering Strangaurd and raised his scaly head to speak to the others.

"I am not here to fight you, but I offer you an alliance. You will need me, and I need you if we are to ssstand a chance at all. Now place you're weaponsss back in their sssheathsss, and I will explain."

Everyone in the room stayed exactly where they were, not knowing what to do. Rush the sorcerer and hope someone got lucky, or just do as he said. But most of all they were waiting for Strangaurd's lead, as the tip of his sword was only inches away from Rathall's throat.

"I wouldn't if I wasss you," hissed Rathall, as he turned his gaze towards Strangaurd. "I don't think you'd get very far, and I don't think Velthrone would be too happy."

At the mention of Velthrone, Strangaurd's face changed from horror and loathing to one of intrigue, as he hadn't mentioned Velthrone's name to the others, and had only referred to him as the elf. Strangaurd took a deep stare into Rathall's eyes, and although they repulsed him, he replaced his sword in its sheath. As he did this, the others in the room followed his lead; only some of the old veterans just pretended.

"You seem to have us at a bit of a disadvantage," said Strangaurd, waiting for Rathall to introduce himself.

"RATHALL," echoed out around the room in a loud snake-like tone.

"I'm Strangaurd, and my fellow -"

"I know who you all are" Rathall butted in. "But what I want to know isss are you ready for the ten thousssand elvesss that are mussstering asss we ssspeak?" hissed Rathall, as he raised himself up to his full height, addressing his captive audience.

"And what about the wrath of the sssorcerersss? Can you handle them? And what about the demonsss they bring with them, and let'sss not forget about the dwarfsss. Once they find out, they will be coming too. Dwarfsss are natural born fightersss, you can't expect them to ssstay out of it."

Wykep didn't wait for the customary nods, as he thought the situation had already gone past that. "Stay out of what?" he cried out.

Rathall darted his head straight towards him. "Only the biggessst WAR thisss Isssland hasss ever ssseen."

Rathall could see he was starting to stir some of the blood lusted warriors, as he watched their fists clench, wrapping around the hilts of their swords, as fire began to pump through their veins.

"But why now?" spoke up Zelton.

"Ah, at lassst, the quessstion we have all been waiting for," hissed Rathall. "It ssseemsss that the dwarfsss have ssstumbled upon a preciousss mineral called Amberinth. It hasss a unique quality to repel all know magic, and isss indessstructible to the deadliessst of blowsss. But much deadlier than all, they intend to keep it for themssselvesss. Hissed Rathall.

"That would make them almost invincible if they made it into armour," muttered Wykep.

"What about the elves?" asked Zelton, who wished Strangaurd hadn't wasted their precious time with his stupid speech about ruling the land. But by the look on Strangaurd's face, Zelton suspected even he didn't know about this.

Rathall darted his attention towards Zelton. "The elvesss ssseem to be keeping abreassst of thingsss. They're tracking the dwarfsss to find out the location of the preciousss mineral, but they are taking no chancesss. They have ssstarted to build up their armiesss."

"And what about the sorcerers?" came a domineering voice from one of Wykep's senior heads of war, as he waited interestingly for Rathall's reply.

"They're keeping a watchful eye on the sssituation, but are ready, and have been for the passst week. To ssstrike out at anything that getsss in their way, they cannot let anyone get their handsss on the mineral. It would render them powerlesss."

Now it was Two'Bit's turn to start delivering some killer questions as once again he stood up and re-took the floor. He stepped forward, closer towards Rathall.

"And why are you telling us this, and why do you refer to the sorcerers as they, instead of we. Are you not one of them?"

Now Rathall really did have the full attention of the whole room. He had it before, but this time he could feel their eyes searching him.

"They're all imbecilesss!" hissed Rathall loudly. "Usssing the black artsss for formsss of mockery and persssonal pleasssure. It wasss meant to flow free for dessstruction and hate, not for cheap party tricksss," Rathall hissed, darting his head from side to side as if he was in some sort of personal torment. "And now it'sss time to crusssh them! Crusssh them all!" he hissed, showing his fangs in all their glory.

No one spoke for fear of being impaled on his fangs. Rathall looked around and saw the same look on their faces, as the one Velthrone had when they had first met; then something suddenly clicked within his scaly head.

There he had been, cooped up within The Dark Fortress for as long as he could remember, trying his hardest to reach the next tower; but always failed due to Meltoy. But now he was on the mainland all of a sudden, he was someone. Someone they feared, and through fear, Rathall was rapidly learning he had control. Maybe, once the sorcerers were out of the way, he might just stay on the mainland and try this ruling thing out for himself. But for the time being, he needed an army, and the warlords standing in front of him would do just fine.

Rathall thought he'd better be a bit more tactful until he needed them no more.

"Ssso that'sss why I want to help YOU," he hissed, carrying on with his speech. "And believe me, you need my help. There'sss a whole number of thingsss the sssorcerersss are going to come at you with, if ...." Rathall stopped as he was going to say 'if they intend to ssstrike.' But he changed it to suit his purpose.

"WHEN they intend to ssstrike."

"You mentioned demons. How do we do battle with them?" asked Wykep who was keeping a level head, on the matter at hand.

"That'sss where I come in. We fight demonsss with demonsss."

"And what do you get out of it?" asked Wykep.

"REVENGE!" hissed Rathall, as his head bobbed from side to side. A blank expression appeared on the faces of the warriors.

"Revenge for the countlesss decadesss of mockery and ridicule. They don't appreciate the dark arts, they don't apricate it's the full power!" hissed Rathall as he remembered all the times Meltoy had toyed with him.

"How do we know we can trust you? and how do we know you even have any demons like you promise?" asked Two'Bit.

As being the warlord of a thriving market province. He knew only too well that no one did anything for nothing, and if they did there was always a hidden agenda. Two'Bit wanted to make sure when revenge had been achieved, he wasn't next on the list.

Rathall put a scaly hand up to his chin, deep in thought. Then, after a few seconds of silence he spoke.

"Very well, I'll prove it to you." Rathall spun around and faced the back of the throne room. With his back to the others, he threw out his arms and started to recite some text in ancient tongues. Then, with a flash and the smell of sulphur, the back of the room seemed to get a whole lot smaller, as Threnog appeared, crouching under the large beams of the room. He stood there in all his glory, snarling, with all his teeth showing and smoke pouring from his nostrils.

There was a slight gasp as the warriors took in the sight of the first demon they had ever seen. Because sorcerers didn't live on the mainland, no one ever summoned them there. Rathall spun back around and faced the half-petrified, half-intrigued onlookers.

"Now doesss that anssswer your quessstion?" he hissed, as he directed his question towards Two'Bit. Who seemed to have stepped back a bit and was now standing between his two champion warriors, who themselves had taken a tactful step backwards.

Even though Two'Bit was riddled with fear, he still managed to ask a rather shaky question.

"Is that natural for him to be doing that?" he said, as he stared up at the huge Fire Demon, which was thrashing his head around, seeming to search the room, as if he was looking for something. Rathall swivelled his head to face Threnog, followed by his body and looked up at him.

"What isss it?" Hissed Rathall as he watched Threnog getting more and more erratic.

"There's someone here," grunted Threnog, still scanning the room.

"It'sss a . . ." spoke Threnog, as he sniffed the air, and stared at an open space where one of the throne room's windows was.

"SORCERER!" he roared, stretching to his full glory, smashing some of the beams above him into a thousand pieces with the horns on his head.

Everyone's attention darted towards the huge open window, which had just upset Threnog, but they saw nothing.

"But there's nothing there," called out Wykep.

But Rathall could just about make him out, perched on the windowsill. Now that Threnog showed him where to look, but not with his naked eye. It was the way the dark magic that ran through Holock's veins that gave him away.

"A SSSPY" Hissed Rathall, and he knew exactly who had sent him.

"GET HIM!!" Shouted Rathall, giving Threnog the order he'd been waiting for.

Holock's heart was beating so hard it was nearly coming out of his chest. He knew he only had a split second to decide what to do. He didn't have enough time to do a travel spell back to the safety of The Dark Fortress. That took a matter of seconds, but he didn't even have that, as he saw Threnog breathing in. In readiness to breathe out again and unleash a fireball the size of a small hut in his direction.

Holock looked out of the window and down at the silvery moat. He was three storeys up, and sorcery wasn't an option at the moment, so he opted for the more conventional way, and threw himself out of the window.

He could hear the sound of flames, as he was falling endlessly into the darkness of the night. Then he heard the shattering of stone and marble and the clanging of armour, as bodies dived for cover. As Holock watched the rapidly approaching ripples of the waters of the moat, he closed his eyes and started chanting.

There was a flash of blue light, as he landed smack bang on his Master's chair within his private study; smashing it to pieces.

Meltoy, who had only just got up from his chair to stretch his legs, instantly cast at least four protection spells before the first splinter hit the ground and was now holding a rather large lightning bolt in his right hand. Ready to release his wrath upon the sudden appearance of the unannounced intruder - until his eyes fell upon the now-visible Holock, who was moaning in a heap on the floor.

Meltoy shook his hand, and the lightning bolt disappeared as he ran over to help the bewildered Holock. Meltoy waved his hand, and Holock rose gently up off the floor, and as he did the chair put itself back together again. Meltoy replaced Holock in the chair, which now didn't even have a scratch on it.

Holock was slumped in the chair with an expression of fright on his face, with soaking wet hair. He started to mumble the events that had just occurred, but all Meltoy could work out was the words fireball and Rathall.

"Take some deep breaths and start again. But this time more slowly, you're safe here. Now, is The Dark Fortress in immediate danger?" asked Meltoy.

Holock shook his head from side to side, and as he did, drops of water flew across the room.

"Right, now start from the beginning."

Holock took in a deep breath and looked up towards his Master. "I laid in wait for Rathall, just like you instructed, and he met again with Velthrone. But he soon left and went onto Castle Attin, to meet Strangaurd and the other warlords. I followed again and set myself up on one of the window ledges, observing Rathall delivering a speech about him being their ally and that they needed him. Then he went on to tell them about the dwarfs and the Amberinth."

At the mention of that, blue mist appeared in Meltoy's eyes, as he screwed his face up and thought about all the times he could have killed Rathall but let him live.

"And what about us, did he tell them about us?" asked Meltoy.

"Yes, he says we are doing party tricks with the dark arts, and not appreciating it." This pushed Meltoy over the edge, and he started to glow dark blue.

"Party tricks. I'll give him party tricks. PARTY TRICKS IS ALL HE KNOWS!" bellowed out Meltoy, as sparks began to snap and crackle around him.

Holock began to sink into his chair, trying to find false hope that it might protect him. As Meltoy started to pace up and down the room waving his arms. Meltoy spun around.

"WHERE IS HE NOW?" he shouted, as he sprang forward towards Holock.

Holock, who had suffered enough torture for one day, yelped out. Throwing out his hands to try and protect himself from his maddened Master's onslaught. But to Holock's horror, instead of a protection spell appearing from his own hands. A fireball the size of a demon's fist and a large one at that, shot out. Knocking Meltoy over his own desk and halfway across the room.

Now, this action provoked another high-pitched shriek from the even more petrified Holock, as he waited for what he thought would be his inevitable doom. He sat there clutching the arms of the chair, whilst trying his hardest to keep his eyes tight shut.

But nothing; then Holock could have sworn he heard laughter, but ever so softly. Which he thought was some sort of 'I'm laughing because I'm going to kill you' sort of laugh. But then it continued into full-blown laughter, coming from the other side of the desk. Filling the entire room, until its intoxicating effect hit and penetrated Holock.

Holock, who now thought even his Master wasn't mad enough to laugh like that before he killed him, ventured out by opening his eyes. Then, releasing his grip from the chair, he stood up and very slowly peered over the table, and was confronted with Meltoy still lying on the floor. With his legs up in the air, covered in black ash, holding his stomach from laughing so much. As he lay there still smouldering, he'd bang the floor from time to time, in-between the laughter.

Holock started off with a slight chuckle, then a laugh, until he himself was in fits of laughter, banging and leaning on the upturned table for support. Meltoy got up onto his knees and stood up, still laughing.

"All these years I've been practising and battling with the Masters, and I drop my guard for a second, and you knock me clean over a desk. My desk at that, by a simple but effective first-year fireball spell!" laughed Meltoy, standing there all blackened from the impact as he shook his head. "Now that's funny, it was a good shot and totally unexpected," added Meltoy.

Holock stood leaning on the table, laughing.

"Master," he laughed out, as he tried to catch his breath. "That's not what I'm laughing at," said Holock as he went into another fit of laughter, leaving Meltoy standing there with a smirk on his face. Waiting for the hysterical Holock to finish his sentence and cut him in on the joke.

"Your beards on fire!" Holock shouted.

Then tears appeared in his eyes, as he watched Meltoy jump about two feet in the air. Then run around the room, patting his beard, trying to put it out. By the time he reached the bookcase at the other end of the room, he'd succeeded. And after checking for any more bodily fires, the out of breath Meltoy stood there smiling.

"Well, that's certainly enough exercise for this year; now if you don't mind," said Meltoy waving his hands, ushering Holock to move.

"Oh yes," said Holock as he stepped away from the desk, and the room under Meltoy's guidance started to put itself back to how it was.

"That's better," said Meltoy as the last book that was knocked off his desk replaced itself with its pages open where they had been before.

Holock bowed his head. "I'm sorry, Master."

"Don't be, it should be me apologising to you. I was so blind with rage I was directing my anger at you, instead of that snake of a sorcerer, Rathall," said Meltoy calmly.

"I didn't mean to cast a fire spell. It was a reflex action."

"And a very good one at that," replied Meltoy, praising his student.

"And your robe, Master, I will replace it with a new one, it's the least I can do."

"Oh, don't worry yourself. I have loads of them in my cupboa -"

Meltoy didn't finish the last word of his sentence, realising he was about to drop his guard again.

"Enough of this, you were saying about Rathall telling the warlords about the Amberinth," he said hastily, wanting to change the subject from his private stash of contraband in his private cupboard.

"Yes, and all about us having demons to do battle for us when the time arises and there is one more thing." Holock stopped to take a breath, hoping Meltoy didn't have any more cobwebs he needed shaking out. "He seems to have an army of demons himself."

Meltoy's face seemed to harden, as the image of Rathall in The Mystic Chambers sprang to mind, and he recalled the passages of red text in the book from Rathall's mental extraction of the text and summoning chants; as it all started to click into place.

"So, then Rathall is getting his own army together and thinks he can take us on, does he?We will see about that, I still have a trick or two up my sleeve. He's not the only one who can play dirty," commented Meltoy. "And how did he get to find out you we were on to him?"

"He summoned a demon to prove his strength to the warlords. The demon was onto me the moment it materialised."

"Let me guess, did the demon happen to have two large horns stuck to the side of its head, and a huge scar running down its cheek?"

"Yes, Master."

"Threnog, I might have guessed!" spoke out Meltoy, to himself.

"You were lucky to have got away! How did you manage it?" asked the intrigued Meltoy.

"I jumped out of the third-floor window," said Holock in a way that didn't make him sound mad.

Meltoy shook his head in acknowledgement. "Dangerous but practical," he said. "And the wet hair?" he asked, just out of interest.

"Oh, my hair," repeated Holock, holding his hand up to feel its wetness. "The moat, Master. I was a bit slow in reciting the travel spell as I hurtled towards the ground, and I went up to my neck in the water before it took effect."

"Good job it was water and not rock. But nevertheless, you have done well and got back in one piece. Go and get yourself a well-deserved rest, we'll talk again tomorrow, and you can fill me in on some of the finer details of the warlords."

"Yes, Master." Meltoy nodded his head excusing Holock. The weary-looking Holock walked over to the study door. As it opened for him to pass out into the lecture room, Meltoy called out to him.

"Holock one more question. Why did you choose my private study to appear in?" he asked, as Holock was just about to walk out and leave. Holock turned sideways in the door.

"Forgive me, Master, but I heard the rush of the fireball, then was confronted with the very fast-advancing ground. On top of all that, knowing Rathall and his demon would not be far behind me. I had to think of somewhere safe to go, and all I could think of was you, Master. As soon as I thought of you, I filled my head with your image, and before I knew what I was doing or where I had chanted myself to in sheer panic. I found myself crashing into your private study. I was just pleased it was you standing over me when I regained my focus instead of them. Seeing as my hair was all wet I thought that I hadn't made it for a moment and they'd dragged me out of the moat." Concluded Holock.

"You made the right choice Holock. You can drop in here anytime." Said Meltoy reassuring Holock he had made the right choice.

Holock let out a little gush of air, as he smiled at his Master's little joke.

"And Holock, I don't think anybody needs to know about the fireball incident, do you?"

"What fireball incident?" said Holock, as he turned his now weary body around and walked off to find his room, and get some well-earned rest.

As the door was slowly closing behind him, you could see Meltoy standing there smiling. Rather pleased with himself for producing such a fine student, and just before the door clicked shut, the words.

"Fireball' then the sound of a little chuckle followed by "I'll have to watch out for that one," slipped out from within.

*

Rathall stared down at the ripples on the silver moat through the now much larger window, which was still smoking thanks to Threnog and his oversized fireball. Although Threnog was fire-proof, the rest of them weren't. Smouldering charcoal figures started to appear from behind tables and any other objects they had dived for cover behind, mainly each other.

Rathall turned around to the coughs and spluttering of the fire-damaged warriors. Two'Bit was the most annoyed, as he stood there with half his armour missing; due to melting. Two'Bit looked around and surveyed the damage.

"And you say you're on our side!" he huffed, as he put his hands on his hips and stood staring at Rathall, challenging him on his actions.

Rathall knew he couldn't let Two'Bit get the better of him and had to set an example. Rathall turned to Threnog and pointed towards Two'Bit. It was only Two'Bit's quick cunningness, but most of all his natural instinct to stay alive that saved him. As his instinct took over when he saw Threnog take another deep breath.

"And very glad to have you on board with us," Two'Bit blurted out. As he stepped forward with his slightly shaking outstretched hand towards Rathall. Hoping he'd call his demon off. Or if Rathall didn't, he could dive behind him and use him as cover, just in case he was too late.

Rathall put his hand up to call off Threnog, much to the demon's displeasure. Threnog to show his annoyance, let the built-up air out through his nostrils. Filling the corner of the room he was standing in with smoke.

Rathall pulled his hand down and shook the chubby hand of Two'Bit. Two'Bit flinched as his sweaty hand touched the cold scaly skin of Rathall.

"I'm glad to be here," hissed Rathall, his tongue flicking inches away from Two'Bit's face, as he tasted the fear in Two'Bit's breath. "And the ressst of you, are you all happy to have me on board?" asked Rathall turning his gaze towards the other warlords.

The other three warlords looked at each other, especially Wykep and Zelton, who were both thinking the same thing. Strangaurd had just been replaced by something a thousand times worse. But being diplomatic, and given the fact that Threnog was still standing in his own smoke snarling at them. For now, the only chance they had of leaving the room in one peace instead of a thousand was to accept Rathall's outstretched, scaly hand.

One at a time they stepped forward and shook it, bowing as they did. Rathall liked the bowing of the head bit and hissed in delight at his new-found power of authority.

"And now you, Ssstrangaurd," hissed Rathall as he turned his gaze towards the broad frame of Strangaurd. Who up until now, was trying to take in all the events, and was sure that on the dark secret nights when he used to meet with Velthrone. He had never mentioned anything about a sorcerer.

But that didn't matter to Strangaurd at this precise moment. As his hardened, scared face gave away a slightly upturned line on the edges of his mouth. As he stood there admiring the power that Rathall had over Wykep and Zelton. He had never seen them bow to anybody before. Strangaurd had known for years about their plot to overthrow him, but as long as he gave Two'Bit first pick of his livestock at the markets. Two'Bit never signed up to anything with them, leaving them guessing and Strangaurd playing with them. But he could never take them on, not together, as his army against both of theirs were equally matched, so no one ever made the first move.

Strangaurd walked over to Rathall with his hand outstretched and shook Rathall's. But he wasn't going to bow like his fellow warlords. He saw himself as an equal to Rathall, not a servant. But to Strangaurd's shock and the other warlords, it was Rathall who bowed his head to Strangaurd. At the sight of this, Strangaurd took a deep breath. Filling his lungs and puffing out his chest, as he stood there shadowing Rathall.

But Rathall was quite happy to be in Strangaurd's shadow for the time being, as it would draw the attention away from him. Letting him manipulate things how he wanted, when he wanted. As leaving Strangaurd in charge or at least letting him think he was in charge, wouldn't upset the original arrangement between Strangaurd and Velthrone.

So, for now, Rathall took a diplomatic back seat and finally began to realise it was a lot easier to get things sorted out if someone else's head was on the block. No wonder Velthrone was so behind Strangaurd's ruling, and himself taking on the advisory role. But once Rathall was strong enough and had control of the armies, and the elves and dwarfs had been scattered and crushed, along with every last sorcerer. Then he'd step in and take his rightful place in history, as the one true ruler of Gryphon Island, he thought. As he raised his head, he smiled softly, at the arrogance in Strangaurd's face.

"Warlord Ssstrangaurd," hissed Rathall softly, using Strangaurd's full title.

"Asss you sssee there wasss a ssspy in our midssst, and now my fate isss sssealed and my path hasss been chosssen, I cannot return back to The Dark Fortresss," hissed Rathall, giving Strangaurd a sideways look.

"You have no need for the fortress anymore, sorcerer. From now on you will stay here with me, and together we shall prepare for this coming war." Rathall smiled inside, as he heard the words he had been waiting to hear come out of Strangaurd's mouth.

"You're too kind," replied Rathall.

"I'll get you your own quarters made up for you," continued Strangaurd, but Rathall butted in.

"Oh, that won't be necesssssary, I'll build my own."

With that the room fell quiet again, leaving Strangaurd not knowing what to say, and Rathall didn't want him to either. So, without warning Rathall spun around and positioned himself in the huge hole in the wall where the window once sat. He threw out his arms and started chanting.

At first, the room started to shake softly, then violently, then all of a sudden stone blocks just like the ones the castle was made out of started to appear around the hole in the wall. Forming and changing the once window, into a huge double-door arch. Beyond that, flagstones for steps started to appear and spiral upwards and outwards. More stone blocks began to attach themselves to their outer edges. As Rathall continued to chant a huge tower started to appear. Slowly attaching itself to the outer wall of the castle as it started to hang out over the silvery moat.

As the huge structure built itself in a spiral motion, heading upwards, you could hear the clunking of the blocks as they slotted themselves together. Wykep and Zelton left the room and went up onto one of the battlements, and stood there in the moonlight. Watching the tower unfolding, along with all the other mystified warriors that had now joined them, including Two'Bit. They watched as they saw a large living quarters being built at the very top, then it was encircled with outer blocks. Finally, a circular slate roof appeared, slate by slate which was finished off with large emblem of a snake as it placed itself on top.

As the final piece was placed, Wykep turned to Zelton.

"I don't think Strangaurd's in charge here, do you?"

Rathall lowered his hands and turned around, and was confronted by an empty room, except for Strangaurd and Threnog, who was still snarling and sulking in the corner about being called off from attacking Two'Bit.

What intrigued Threnog the most wasn't the huge tower that was now attached to the castle, it was how exhausted Rathall was. It wasn't visible to Strangaurd, but Threnog could tell the sorcerer was weak, and at the very most only had a fireball or two left in him. Although it was natural for a demon to attack a weak sorcerer, Threnog had to control the urge to kill. As he saw the bigger picture, he wanted an all-out war with the other demons, as promised; especially the water ones. Since the last time Threnog and Rathall had spoken, Threnog had mustered himself up, a rather large group of renegade Fire Demons for such a task.

Rathall didn't care if the room was empty. Just as long as Strangaurd was there to do his bidding, it didn't matter.

"I sssuggessst you sssend the other warlordsss back to their provincesss to get their armiesss ready, asss we have already wasssted enough time," he hissed wearily.

Strangaurd looked at Rathall but to him, Rathall seemed fine and not powerless as Threnog could see him. There was a quiet moment as Strangaurd tried to work out in his head, if he was still calling the shots, and if Rathall was telling him, or asking him. Rathall picked up on the mood of Strangaurd.

"That'sss if it'sss alright with you, I jussst thought that would be your next move, Warlord Ssstrangaurd," he added at the end, whilst elegantly bowing his weary head.

"Yes, yes, it would be my next move. We must act and get ready immediately," said Strangaurd.

"Then I ssshall leave it with you," said Rathall.

Rathall looked over towards Threnog and chanted his return spell with the last remaining power he had, and Threnog disappeared. Leaving only a smouldering whiff of sulphur smoke in the corner of the room.

"And now I ssshall return to my tower. I need to ressst," were Rathall's final words, as he turned and walked through the newly formed stone arch.

As Strangaurd watched him disappearing up the stairs, two solid doors appeared and slammed shut. Sealing the sorcerer into his private domain. All Strangaurd was left with as he stood in his throne room. Was the slight smell of the sulphur and the image a large snakes that was carved into the two large wooden doors. Which now led to Rathall's tower.

*

Torms and the others had been pushing down deeper into the mountain, along the highly decorative and now well-lit tunnel, courtesy of Sacul.

"How much longer?" asked Tennant as they walked along.

"Will you give it a rest." Snapped Sinat, as he stopped and turned around to face Tennant.

"All we've heard from you the last couple of hours is, 'Oh, my foot's beginning to hurt,' or, 'I'm going to ache in the morning!'" said Sinat, mimicking Tennant's voice. "And I'm not counting the endless times you've asked, 'Are we nearly there yet?' And, if I hear you say that one more time, I'm going to shove my boot right up where the sun don't shine. Do I make myself clear!" snapped Sinat as he gave Tennant; who had now taken a deep gulp, a hard stare.

Tennant didn't answer and just looked away, staring at the wall as he had just found something of interest, while trying to avoid Sinat's stare. As Rule 16 in Phobic's rulebook, came into play:

_Rule 16: When faced with an awkward moment, and that awkward moment is right in front of you, remember there 's always something else of interest to look at._

"Oh, Sinat, I don't think he'll be asking any more questions," commented Torms.

"Well, if he knows what's good for him he won't!" snapped Sinat.

"Because we're here!" said Torms, and with that Sinat spun back around, and was confronted with a faint amber glow that was illuminating in the distance.

"The doors," he said, under his breath. As images appeared in each one of their heads once more of what lay beyond. Ranging from vast caverns full of untouched Amberinth, to already mined Amberinth, all stacked up; just sitting there waiting for them.

There was one within the party that wasn't so hasty with the lavish images of untold wealth and that was Tennant. It wasn't that he wasn't optimistic, he was just wondering if someone or somethings had already laid claim to it. And now had it hung up on their walls for decoration, and if these said someone's had rather large teeth and went by the name of tunnel trolls. Because making its way to the front of Tennant's mind and thought process was Rule 64 in Phobic's rulebook, which was:

_Rule 64: Remember fools rush in, advisors stay in the shadows - There 's plenty of fools just don't add to their population._

The rest of the party hurriedly scuttled along the flagstones towards the doors which were getting bigger and brighter as they rapidly approached.

Sacul and the twins were half striding, half running as they proceeded at pace to fill the last remaining gauntlets and set them ablaze. Finally, all twelve of them were standing in front of the magnificent Amberinth doors. Which bore the huge crest of Rancore. Each one of them breathing ever so quietly, and softly. Taking in every detail that had been carved upon the doors.

As Torms was surveying the door, his eyes fell upon the sturdy mechanism that was about four-foot up and stretched across both doors, bringing them together. As his eyes picked out the disc hole that lay in the middle of the lock. His hands scurried around inside his undergarments, trying to locate the little leather pouch hung around his neck.

As Torms pulled it out and held his half of the disc in his hand, Ganga appeared next to him, holding his half. Torms turned his head and looked at Ganga, who in turn did the same. Then without saying a word, Ganga lent forward and placed his half of the disc into the empty slot of the lock in the door. Everyone else was speechless, as they waited in anticipation. Torms stepped forward and with his hand sweating, slotted his piece into the lock; both pieces fitted perfectly.

Torms's quickly withdrew his hand and stepped away from the door, and in doing so, so did the others, as they stood back waiting for the doors to spring to life.

A couple of minutes past and nothing, then Ganga gave Picker the nod. Picker stepped up and started running his hands over the door. Then he put his face up against it whilst he gently tapped in different places. The others stood there watching thinking any minute now door would just spring into life but nothing. After about another five minutes Picker took out the two half discs and gave them a good blow. Then he blow in the lock to get some of the dust out that had accumulated over the years. He replaced the disc back within the lock and turned around to address the others.

"All it needs now is a wobble-knock" Concluded Picker.

It was Tennant that was first to speak, due to the fact that his feet were now aching and pulsating within his boots, and in doing so broke Rule 11 in Phobic's rulebook, which quite clearly states:

_Rule 11: In delicate circumstances, never in any circumstance, be the first one to talk._

"IS THAT IT" Blarted out, Tennant in disbelief. "Your telling me, I've just walked all this way, and put my feet through all that. Just to watch a dwarf rub a door for five minutes, and now you're telling us we need a 'Wobble-Knock' don't tell me. I suppose a Wobble - Knock is a fat miner that wobbles and knocks on doors" grumbled Tennant.

He then crossed his arms in some sort of protest for his poor feet. For all the hours of walking they had just done, as he awaited a response.

But it wasn't too long before he got a response from one of the others. And quite a forceful response at that, and not the one he was expecting. But still a response nevertheless. As he felt the front of Sinat's boot hit him square in his rear, and despite the instant pain. Tennant felt himself once again take to the air, heading straight for the Amberinth disc. Tennant hit the doors with an almighty 'THUD,' then still trying to hold onto some of his dignity, he elegantly slid down them.

Tennant lay in a heap in agonising pain, which was due to the pounding throbbing pulse, from each one of his buttocks. After Tennant hit the floor, the onlooker's gaze turned towards Sinat in astonishment.

"WHAT!" snapped Sinat angrily, as he glared back at them. "He'd been asking for that!"

"Wobble-Knock's a small kick, But I suppose an advisor's head will do" Said Ganga somewhat smugly, as he answered the advisor's question.

Then without warning a loud 'CLICK' echoed out into the tunnel, as something in the lock seemed to spring into action, and it wasn't the only thing to spring into life. As the others turned their gaze back towards the doors. Even Tennant momentarily forgot about the pain in his buttocks, as he scrambled across the floor, away from the doors, then turned to watch.

'CLICK' went the lock for the second time, and then a rhythmic tone of small clicks and clunks as things started turning from inside the lock. Then the huge clasps that pinned the door to the rock-face took it in turns to click into action. Now the whole door seemed to be clicking, then nothing but a deadly silence fell over the small dwarfen party. But not for long; slowly and without warning the doors opened inwards, under the held breaths of Torms and the others. As they fully opened, one final 'CLUNK' echoed out, as they were locked into place by some unseen devices.

Torms peered into the darkness beyond the doors, but his eyes couldn't penetrate beyond the entrance. He stood with his heart pounding, not knowing what to do next or what had just happened. It was Odall, with a philosopher's approach, who spoke first.

"I do believe, Tennant, hitting the door with such force must have kicked the mechanisms into action. Seeing as they've been closed for a thousand years or more, I'm surprised they still work!" commented Odall.

And with a burning torch in his hand, which he'd been carrying from the start, he stepped forward into the entrance of the doors.

"Seeing as we have come this far we might as well take a look" he said, hold his troch aloft.

The flames licked out into the chamber. Reaching out to what the doors had been protecting. As the light entered, the others stepped up next to Odall, frantically searching with their eyes, trying to take in everything at once.

The light pierced through the untouched darkness for the first time in millennia, like a hot knife through butter. Objects started to appear, and writing; loads of it backed up by pictures. Torms was turning his head in every direction. There were extravagant vases, shields, chests that were open full of gems, suits of armour.

The doors had opened up into a vast strange cavern. There were huge statues of warriors all in different postures, looking like they were ready for war. Large columns shot up, heading high up into the ceiling, supporting the roof. But the flames couldn't quite reach the middle or back of the room.

Sacul's eagerness made him push forward into the chamber with his torch in his hand. He stepped past Odall, but as he took his second step through the doorway, Sniffer sprang into action. As his survival instincts of a sniffer took over, he ran and dove at Sacul. Sniffer was that quick, even the twins wouldn't have been able to stop him. As Sacul placed his foot down, taking his third step. Sniffer's instinct was right, as he heard the faint sound he had been dreading to hear. An almost silent, very faint 'click,' only heard by sniffers and others alike after years of training.

Sniffer hit Sacul full flight in the side of his body. Sending both of them crashing to the ground, as he did he shouted out.

"DUCK!"

Torms didn't have time to duck himself as everything went dark for him, and he lay on the floor finding it hard to breathe. Due to the great pressure on his chest, he came to the conclusion. That one of the twins had made the decision for him. Bash'm was now lying on top of him. Poor old Odall didn't come off much better either, as he felt the full force of Beat'm taking him off his feet. Pinning him to the ground, and now found himself in the same suffocating position as Torms.

All the others did the same, jumping and diving in every direction. All apart from one, which was Nakie. His response was a tad different to the others. When he had heard Sniffer shout out 'duck,' his natural instinct took over, and his response was.

"Yes please!"

As the words came out of his mouth, a faint swishing noise filled the air, and a faint slicing noise could be heard for a split second. As Sinat looked up from where he was lying. To his horror he saw the huge head of giant axe blade come swinging out of the wall. Attached to some mechanical device that swung horizontally outwards, across the door entrance. Stopping for a second as it reached the middle of the doors as another giant axe head joined it from the other side. Then both of them spun back around and disappeared, from whence they came.

To Sinat's surprise and relief, Nakie was still standing there in one piece. The only thing missing was about a quarter of an inch of steel. From the top of Nakie's helmet, which one of the axe blades had sliced through, without any effort at all.

Seeing as the trap was supposedly set for a human, it would have cut a man in half, just about chest height, making it too late for the victim to duck or jump. Even Torms and the others would have been too late; if they hadn't had Sniffer with them. Nakie only got away with a slight trim of his helmet, because even for a dwarf he wasn't very tall.

Nakie was now looking around at the others, all sprawled out on the floor, oblivious to what had just gone on.

"Have I missed something?" said Nakie, with a baffled look. As he was trying to work out in his head why everyone had thrown themselves onto the floor at the mention of food.

Sinat was the first to make it back up onto his feet and was soon joined by the others. Who were looking at Nakie with a strange look on their faces. As they were trying to work out how Nakie had survived the trap, and more to the point, who was going to tell him.

But it was Odall who came to the rescue. As he remembered he had packed something in his bag in case of an emergency, and thought the current situation fitted the bill. He produced a cloth bundle from out of his leather bag. Which was thrown over his shoulder, and handed it to Nakie.

Before Nakie had a chance to start asking why they were all looking at him funny. The faint whiff of chicken filled his nostrils as he unravelled the bundle. To find two chicken legs and a lightly cooked breast within, accompanied by a small breadstick. Nakie instantly forgot what he was going to say. Instead he took the bundle and walked over to a nice little spot just outside the doors, plonked himself down and started to tuck into the food.

The others gave out a sigh of relief. As none of them wanted to explain to Nakie how close he had come to losing his head, due to the embarrassing interpretation of the word duck.

"Hey, wait a minute," bellowed out Nakie, as he looked up from where he was sitting. With a look on his face of someone who had just realised he was the butt of someone's joke. The others all watched as they waited for Nakie to exploded.

"This isn't duck, its chicken," grunted Nakie, and he then proceeded to devour the drumstick.

Sinat just stood there shaking his head, he couldn't believe his ears. As he watched Nakie return to eating his food. It was Torms who quickly remembered Sacul and turned back around to face the entrance to the doors. He noticed Sacul and Sniffer still on the floor. Fright instantly ran through Torms's body, as he looked down to see if they were alright.

"Nobody steps into the chamber," spoke out Sniffer, in a commanding voice. "One of these stones is booby-trapped and seeing as the axe blades have gone back in, it's probably reset itself."

"What can we do?" asked Torms, anxious to get Sacul back to his side of the doorway.

"Nothing, just leave it to me. Sacul can you hear me?" asked Sniffer.

"Yes," came back a muffled reply, as Sacul lay still, not moving an inch.

"Right, don't move."

"I won't," answered Sacul.

Very slowly, Sniffer raised his right hand and placed a red disc that fitted in the outer rim of the magnifying glasses, and then slowly started to scan the floor. It wasn't long before he found what he was looking for.

"Ah, there you are, my little beauty," he said under his breath.

Sniffer reached around and took a small blade from out of its sheath. Which was attached to his belt, and gently started to prod around the edge of one of the flagstones, just inside the entrance. Loosening the grit around it until he had excavated most of it out.

Torms watched as he saw Sniffer slowly put his blade down between one end of the flagstone and slowly started to lift it up. Torms could see sweat starting to appear and run-down Sniffer's face as he gently lifted up the flagstone. Torms lent over towards Ganga, who was standing next to him, holding his breath at Sniffer's every move.

"How many traps has Sniffer disarmed?" whispered Torms, not wanting to break Sniffer's concentration.

"Including this one?" whispered Ganga.

"Yes," whispered back Torms.

"One," replied Ganga.

"One?" whispered Torms hysterically. "Oh, one hundred," said Torms, thinking he hadn't heard Ganga correctly.

Ganga put his hand on Torms's shoulder. "No, just one," he whispered in Torms's ear.

Ganga watched on with a look of deep concentration on his face, and he was now joined with Torms, as they continued to watch Sniffer. But as well as holding his breath, Ganga was sticking his tongue out. Thinking in some sort of way he was helping Sniffer. Who had now removed the flagstone and was inspecting some sort of pressure pad device that lay underneath.

Sniffer carefully lifted up a cloth pad with the edge of his blade, which was already beginning to crumble. Then he turned his attention to the thin piece of steel that lay underneath. Once removed, Sniffer was now faced with a round hole going into the ground. In the hole was a wide, thick spring, held into place by four metal clasps.

Sniffer carefully held the spring with one hand, exactly where it was. Not putting any pressure on it, and with the other hand slowly undid the floor clasp that held the spring in place, with a funny looking contraption he had produced from his belt. Finally, with a sigh of relief, Sniffer pulled out the spring.

"Is that it?" whispered Torms to Ganga.

But Torms got no answer, and as he turned to see why Ganga hadn't answered him. He was confronted by a purple-faced Ganga. Still with his tongue out, and his cheeks puffed out ready to explode and his eyes beginning to bulge.

"Ganga, snap out of it," shouted Torms, as he smacked him on the back. Which had the desired effect on Ganga, who exhaled all the stored-up air; making a huge whooshing sound in the process.

"Thank you," gasped Ganga.

"Would you, Look at that," spoke out Sniffer, as he held up the spring to his magnifying eye for closer inspection. Then he stood up, brushing himself down.

"Is it safe?" asked Torms, directing his question to Sniffer.

"Oh yes, quite safe, I've removed the cave complex apparatus from the cave itself. Making the apparent danger of compression within the cave non-existent and disabling the workings at the primary source, taking away its function. As there will be no compression, it's quite safe."

Torms didn't know what to say, and it was Odall who summed it up for him as he now appeared next to Torms.

"He doesn't say much, does he. But when he doe's he certainly knows his stuff," commented Odall.

"You mean you understand that?" said Torms, surprised.

"No, not a word of it," said Odall, as he walked off to get a closer look at the spring.

A small smile broke out on Torms's face as he watched Odall walk over to Sniffer, who was still holding the spring up while deep in conversation with Ripper, Picker and Ganga. Then, he noticed Beat'm picking up a shaky Sacul off the floor. Then Ganga turned around and walked over towards Torms.

"We've been talking it over, and it's far too dangerous to enter the chamber until Sniffer has completely checked every nook and cranny for traps or devices," said Ganga.

"How long do you think that will take?" asked Torms.

Ganga shrugged his shoulders. "Until we know how far back the chamber goes, we can't say for sure, but at least a good day."

"A day?" said Torms, half-raising his voice.

As he did, he caught a glimpse of Nakie. Sitting down, leaning against the wall of the tunnel, chewing on a chicken bone and picking his teeth with it. But that wasn't what he was looking at. It was the quarter-inch of the finest hardest steel, which was missing from the top of his helmet that caught his eye. Without knowing it, Torms put his hand up to feel his own throat.

"Take as long as you want," he muttered, giving his throat a reassuring rub.

"Right, I'll send him in," said Ganga, and with that, he strolled off.

Torms looked up and saw the miners were already busy discussing matters. The rest of the small party came and stood around Torms. Even Nakie was now on his feet, as he stood there still chewing on a bone.

"Right, as you can see, we have stumbled into a little problem and it's going to take at least a day before we can proceed. So, I suggest some of us go back for food and blankets and the rest of us wait here. Now then, any volunteers?" asked Torms.

With that, Sinat pushed Tennant forward.

"Oh, Tennant, that's kind of you," commented Torms. "He pushed me!" shrieked Tennant. "That's not fair. I'm an advisor, I shouldn't be..."

Torms stopped him in his tracks, as he couldn't conceal his smirk any longer, due to the fact everyone else was laughing.

"Okay Tennant, you've made your point," laughed Torms. "Nakie, Sacul, will you go back for the food and bedding?" But Torms didn't have to wait for an answer.

"Nakie, not yet!" called Torms, calling Nakie back, who had already set of at a good pace at the mention of food.

"Tennant, Odall, you can stay here," said Torms, much to the relief of Tennant. "Sinat," said Torms, giving his cousin the choice.

"I'll go with the others back to camp for supplies," replied Sinat.

Torms looked at the twins, who were staring down at the floor, as they knew they would have to stay and guard Torms. But they were otherwise distracted, and Torms knew why.

"And you two," said Torms, and as he did they lifted their heads up, "can go and give Sacul a hand."

With that, two beaming smiles appeared on their faces.

"Right, I'll see you back here in about five hours. Don't rush back, we're not going anywhere," were the last orders Torms gave them.

As they set off down the tunnel, Torms could hear Sinat and Nakie chatting away at the front. Whilst Sacul was bringing up the rear, and either side of him were the twins; sticking to him like glue.

"Do you know something, Odall?" said Torms as he watched them walking off into the distance. "If Sacul caught a cold, those two wouldn't rest until they'd found out who had given it to him."

"They've certainly taken a shine to him, that's for sure," said Odall as he watched on, taking his pipe out of his robe and started to fill it.

As they walked off, no one noticed that there were six shadows on the tunnel wall, and even though the sixth one was a bit further back. It could still be seen every now and then, as it followed the party out towards the camp.

It was just before daybreak as Sinat pulled back the heavy curtains, concealing the tunnel's entrance. He stepped out, followed by the others. As Bash'm stepped out being the last one in the party, he let the curtain fall back behind him. But it didn't fall straight back into place, it stopped in mid-air for a couple of seconds. Then fell back into place, concealing the entrance once more.

As the first stream of light started to filter across the landscape, no one noticed as Trantore sneaked away from the entrance and made his way up the rock-face. Blending into his surroundings as he went. He reached a small clearing up on a small ridge, about fifty feet above the tunnel's entrance. He started to chant, and a six-pointed black star appeared in the earth underneath his feet, and with a flash of black faint smoke, he was gone. But his departure wasn't as secret as Trantore thought it was. Gillant who had set up watch in a tall oak, just caught sight of the faint black smoke as it flashed and disappeared.

Trantore reappeared in his tower, back now in his visible form. He looked tired as he walked over to his small desk, waved his hand over the table and a card appeared. Writing started to appear across the parchment, then with a wave of his hand, it was gone. Trantore turned and walked over to his bed and laid himself upon it, chanted a protection spell and closed his eyes.

Meltoy who was fast asleep, sprung upright in his bed as he was rudely awoken by the high-pitched sound of a squawking raven. Before he had even opened his eyes, he had said at least two other protection spells, on top of the ones that he'd already cast the night before. Meltoy was already halfway through a summoning spell. When he finally opened his eyes and was confronted by Trantore's card, which read itself out in the Master's voice.

"Meet me in your private study, in your lecture room at midday."

Then, the card disappeared in its customary style; flying up towards the ceiling and just before it vanished let out a 'squawk.' Meltoy fell back onto his bed and closed his eyes again, and as he did he muttered a sending back to the realm text. Much to the disappointment of the twenty-foot Earth Demon. Which was now leaning over Meltoy with a mouth full of teeth, just about to deprive Meltoy of his own head. But no matter how tired Meltoy was, and although he had summoned him as he was half asleep. A twenty-foot Earth Demon wasn't something you forgot about, or if you did it would be the longest sleep you ever took.

*

Torms was propped up against the wall talking to Odall, and Tennant had his book open. And had been scribbling away non-stop, for the last five or six hours. Bringing the book up to date whilst keeping an accurate record. When Torms suddenly heard familiar voices echoing up the tunnel towards them. There was no doubt whose voice it was, as young Sacul was busily chatting away to the twins, who were quite happy to listen as they carried armfuls of blankets.

Behind them, after much arguing before they had set off, were Sinat and Nakie. The argument was about Nakie carrying the food. They had spun a coin, and Nakie had won, and this sparked off another argument. Which ended up with Sinat having a fat lip and Nakie a black eye. So, they spun again when Sinat made it best out of three, and Nakie won again. So, the displeased Sinat had ended up carrying the water, and a couple of bottles of Miners' Thirst. That were tied with bits of string hanging from around his waist, jangling together as he walked.

As they got closer their faces lit up as they passed the torches, which were still burning strong in the gauntlets. All five of them were carrying heavy loads, apart from Nakie. Whose load seemed to be a bit lighter than the others, with every step he took or bite depending on how you wanted to look at it. Which was now quite a lot lighter from when he set off.

"Ah, blankets," said Tennant, as he stuck his head out from between the pages of his book, and with a 'SNAP,' closed the book; placing it down next to him. Then he stood up to stretch his legs.

"Sitting on a stone floor at my age doesn't do you any favours," said Tennant out loud, as he gave his backside a quick rub.

"Yep," said Odall, as he got up with Torms to greet the others. "And having Sinat's boot stuck in it probably didn't help either," said Odall, as he let out a little chuckle.

"Oh, I'm glad someone found it funny," snapped Tennant.

"Nope, not someone, we all did," replied Odall, still chuckling.

"Oh, fine, I'll remember that. If I was only a couple of years younger I would have shown him!" snapped Tennant again, as he patted his backside. Giving it a sympathy rub as he briefly remembered the agonising pain.

"How's the camp?" said Torms, as the others came into full view.

"Just as we left it," said Sinat, putting the heavy bottles he was carrying onto the floor, and on doing so giving Nakie a be-grumbled stare.

"Sacul, can you and the twins put those blankets over there, and make up some bedding, and Nakie can put the food down here," said Torms.

What's left of it!" grunted Sinat.

"What?" came the muffled voice of Nakie, replying to Sinat's sarcasm with a mouth full of food.

"WHAT? WHAT? All I've heard for the past couple of hours is a chewing noise in my right ear. Mixed with the sound of chicken bones being crunched as you tried to hide the evidence, and don't try and deny it because you still have half of them in your beard!" snapped Sinat.

Nakie just gave Sinat a dirty stare, as he took his heavy-laden rucksack off his back. Which contained the food, the pots and pans, and tinder-wood to make a small cooking fire, and a few wooden spoons which were strapped to the side.

It was part of the deal Sinat had insisted on, if Nakie carried the food he carried the tools to cook with as well. But Nakie didn't mind, he would have carried all of them on his back, just as long as he got to carry the food.

"Oh, I nearly forgot these," said Sinat, as he untied the two bottles of the Miners' Thirst from around his belt.

"Splendid, splendid," said Odall as he stepped forward and took hold of them.

"Ah, Miners' Thirst, one of the finest ales ever to come out of the Feral Mountains. But I can't remember seeing any of this on the wagons," said Odall.

"Oh, it wasn't as such. It was a present off Bucket, he said he didn't need it anymore, as it was mineral water all the way for him now. It was part of a special batch he'd brought along for the trip."

"Well, this will do nicely in a pot, with a good beef stew. Remind me to thank him when I get back," commented Odall.

"How is Bucket?" enquired Torms.

"Just the same. He was running around the woods when we first arrived back at the camp. Then, just before we left, he bought over the bottles of Miners' Thirst and told me to tell you things are still going to plan. Then he gave me a big wink and strolled off. But, I must say even if he is losing his mind, all that exercise he's been doing has taken years off him. He's certainly looking younger." Concluded Sinat.

"Isn't that funny" perked up Odall. "Tennant here, was only just talking about being younger. He said if only he was a couple of years younger he'd..." Odall paused as he took a swift step to the right. As Tennant's foot flew past him with a 'THUD', followed by a scream from Tennant, as his foot hit the tunnel wall. Stubbing his toes in the process. He then proceeded to hop about, cursing under his breath.

"What if he was a couple of years younger. He could kick the wall without hurting himself!" asked Sinat inquisitively. As he scratched his head and watched Tennant hopping about in his oversized robe, while holding his foot with both hands.

"Yes, something like that," smiled Odall.

But he wasn't the only one smiling. Torms had heard Tennant's comments before the others arrived. Torms smiled in admiration for Odall. He had learnt a lot from the old philosopher during the expedition. But it was clear there was still a lot more to learn. Even with all Tennant's advisory knowledge and that book of his. He had still got conned, hurt and embarrassed, without Odall even lifting a finger.

"Right then, let's get this stew on the go," said Odall as he walked off towards Nakie.

Tennant's hopping around finally come to an end. As he hopped across the other side of the tunnel and ended up head first in the blankets. That Sacul and the twins had just laid out, and seeing as they were comfy and soft, he decided to enforce Rule 77 in Phobic's rulebook, which was:

_Rule 77: If you 're warm, if you're safe, stay where you are._

*

The magical hourglass that had twelve different layers of sand, one for each of the hours. Was sat upon Meltoy's desk and had just turned itself over, signalling midday. Before it placed itself back down again, Trantore appeared in the centre of Meltoy's private study. With a faint wisp of black smoke which floated up towards the ceiling, in the form of a small black raven and disappeared.

Meltoy stood up from behind his desk, to his right stood Holock. Who had been with him all morning, going over some final points and ironing out any questions Meltoy wanted answers to.

"Supreme Grand Master," spoke Meltoy as he bowed his head.

Holock followed his Master's lead and bowed his head as well. Trantore nodded and sat down in the high-backed wooden chair, which had just appeared on the other side of Meltoy's desk. Only after Trantore had sat down did Meltoy re-take his seat.

"I have bad news, Supreme Grand Master," said Meltoy, still with his head bowed. "I'm afraid Rathall has left us, and joined forces with the elves and warlords, and at this very moment is raising their armies against us."

Trantore leant forward, putting his elbows on Meltoy's desk and with his forearms up and his fingertips towards each other, placed his chin on his two thumbs.

"And you say this is bad news," commented Trantore.

Meltoy looked up, surprised at Trantore's response. "I suspected nothing less from that snivelling coward. At least he has served a purpose for us," spoke Trantore, in his toneless voice. Meltoy was normally quick at picking things up, but even he couldn't see how Rathall turning traitor helped them. Trantore placed his hands back on the table.

"We have been hidden away for as long as any other race can remember, and now there's talk of war. We want them to be petrified at the very mention of sorcerers, and that is where Rathall comes into all this. I knew once he found out for himself about the elves, he'd sniff out a traitor. Which would eventually lead him to other doors."

"Send a traitor to catch a traitor," said Meltoy under his breath as Trantore continued.

"And once he started to realise he can manipulate them by a show of force, he will have to show more and more power, to keep control. And yes, these warlords you mention will be amazed, fearful and grateful, for his alliance and power. But when judgement day comes, and they are standing proudly on the battlefield with their mighty Rathall leading them. Then all of a sudden. They will be faced with another six hundred sorcerers, just like theirs. Who are they going to be more afraid of, their one sorcerer, or the six hundred standing before them?"

"They will be too scared to even raise their swords!" muttered Meltoy once more, at the sheer brilliance of his Master's plan. He was now grateful he hadn't gone after Rathall, to finish him off once and for all, and in doing so ruin The Supreme Grand Master's plan.

"Come here, Holock," ordered Trantore, as he stood up.

Holock wearily stepped around his Master's desk and stood before The Supreme Grand Master with his head bowed. Trantore raised his hand, placing it on Holock's head. Holock instantly flinched, closing his eyes tightly. Bringing his shoulders up to his head, trying to sink into them.

"Why do you flinch at your Master's touch?" spoke Trantore, still with his hand on Holock's head as he stood there waiting for his answer.

"Sorry, Supreme Grand Master, my mind is your mind," said Holock. Then he took a deep breath and let it out again. As he tried to forget the pain and screams he'd heard as he stood outside Velthrone's door when Rathall extracted the location of Castle Attin out of Velthrone's head.

Although mind control wasn't practised or taught anymore in The Dark Fortress. Due to the fact it had been banned for well over a thousand years. Since it came to the Master's attention that some of the students were using it as a cheap party trick. When one of the other students would pass out; due to excessive ale. That was the cue for the other drunken students to swap his mind over with whatever was available. Which was normally a chicken or a sheep they had dressed up earlier to resemble their Master. It was most confusing when the drunken student from the night before, awoke to find his two legs had been swapped to four and then found he had a mouth full of grass. But not as confusing for the sheep, who normally just sat in the sorcerer's body with its eyes wide open, not making a sound. Because it was only the mind that had been swapped and not the voice. It sometimes took days even weeks, to find out where they had put their fellow sorcerers; after the hangovers had worn off. Usually, they just looked for the sheep who was making the most bleating whilst trying it's hardest to stand up on its two back legs.

But there was one exception, a young sorcerer called Pipnick. When he woke to find himself in a sheep's body grazing out in the meadow under the sun. He took a shine to it and after a couple of days, thought 'this bleats studying' and decided to stay put. When the others came looking for him, he just hid amongst the other sheep, and just acted naturally, or as natural as he could. As for the sheep who was occupying his body, he soon worked out how to walk on two legs, and after a bit of coaching from the other students. As they didn't want to get into trouble. Soon began to talk and pick things up. But it took a while for the sheep to get house-trained. Much to the displeasure of the unlucky students who walked around the corridor not looking where they were going. Only to find they had just stepped in something squishy and smelly.

But, after time the sheep became one of the best students in his class, and eventually took the name Blaaaa, as he said that was what the other sheep used to call him - in fact, he also recalled they were all called Blaaaa as well. He was also a key figure in pressuring the chef of the fortress to leave meat off the menu. Especially mutton, and to try more creative dishes. Which mainly consisted of vegetables and even the odd blade of grass or two. But birds were definitely on the menu. Blaaaa hated them. Even when he was a sheep, he thought they were useless. Just pecking at the ground all day being annoying. Usually, just when he'd found himself a nice patch of grass to get stuck into, one would come flying down and land, perching itself on his back. Then proceed to pull his wool out with its beak, to make a nice lining for its nest. And when Blaaaa tried to wriggle them off, he'd find himself flat on his back, with all four legs pointing skyward. Then he'd spend the next hour or two trying to turn back over while his grass went cold, as the sun went down - and there was nothing worse than cold grass. So Blaaaa ate every variety of bird the chef put in front of him and asked for seconds, even when he was full.

So, mind control was definitely struck off the sorcerer's training. Especially when old Master Ricket stepped in something one night without knowing it, and then spent the next three days, wondering why everyone was avoiding him.

Only Masters were allowed to learn it now, when they took over as the new Master. Even when they did, none of them ever practised it; especially Meltoy. Who was a firm believer in conversation and didn't really fancy greeting and talking to fellow Masters or students. By placing his hand on their head and letting himself in. No, to Meltoy, a good wholesome chat was good for his lungs, and soul.

Trantore and Holock both stood there, not moving, not breathing. Meltoy saw a deep black glow radiating from Trantore's hand, which was on Holock's head. Meltoy stood and watched on for about fifteen minutes until finally, Trantore released Holock from his grip. As he did Holock opened his eyes, and instantly waited for the pain to set in, but nothing.

"Now I see why you flinched under my touch, student. You have nothing to fear from me unless you were hiding something. As for Rathall, when you heard him perform it, he was ill-trained and didn't care where he was probing just as long as he got what he wanted. Now leave us," commanded Trantore.

Holock bowed his head to Trantore, then to Meltoy, and departed the room. Trantore stretched out his hand and gestured Meltoy to be seated again. Then he re-took his seat.

"Holock is a good student, he has done well. He's a credit to you and your faculty."

"Thank you, Supreme Grand Master." Said Meltoy excepting the praise.

"Now, back to Rathall, he has been busy, and with all things considered we have prevailed, and at least now know where he is."

"What should be done now, Supreme Grand Master?"

"Just keep preparing as we are. There have been some developments with the dwarfs. It seems that the mine they were expecting to find isn't exactly a mine." With that Trantore stood up, followed by Meltoy.

"Have we got someone to step into Rathall's place as a new Master?" asked Trantore.

"Hmm, I hadn't thought of that, it would take weeks to sort out a duelling roster and we haven't got time for that," said Meltoy rubbing his chin.

"I will leave it with you. I must get back to the dwarfs," spoke Trantore.

Meltoy bowed his head, and when he raised it, Trantore was gone. He had a quick look around his study, then sat back down behind his desk, deep in concentration.

"Faculty of the Snake," muttered Meltoy, and a thick bound leather book left The Mystic Chambers, and instantly appeared on Meltoy's desk.

"Right, let's have a look then. He's got to be smart," spoke Meltoy out loud, as he carried on muttering to himself, as he read the inventory page of the student's grades. "Quick thinking," Meltoy went on, as he looked at the names and grades. "And most of all, be able to think and act for himself."

As he said this, he let out a little "Ahhhhh" as his finger fell upon and stopped at one of the names. Meltoy immediately twisted his wrist, and the book was gone and was replaced with three parchment cards.

_" Be in the Faculty of the Snake's lecture room at six o'clock this evening."_

spoke Meltoy out loud. Instantly one of the cards wrote out the message.

"All the Snake Faculty's students," continued Meltoy. The card instantly started to multiply itself, as each new one appeared. A different student's name was written on the reverse of the card. Then it would disappear until all the faculty's students had been sent a card. All apart from one which threw itself onto the floor and proceeded to scurry around in a scorpion motion. Then it finally found a crack under the door, and after hitting the door slightly, it readjusted itself a little, before disappearing under it.

With most of the messages the sorcerers sent, they would disappear and then reappear in front of the students. But sometime, just sometimes the cards would actually absorb too much of their Master's powers and take on the characteristics of that said Master. Hence why this one was now scurrying down the corridors like a scorpion. Somehow thinking that it was on a mission to sting the unlucky student. Whose name was now scribbled on its back, when it got there. Well, the card thought it could anyway; over the years there was many a startled student that ended up in the sick bay with a nasty paper cut.

_" Urgent: meet me in The Mystic Chambers in two hours."_

Spoke Meltoy once more, as the second card wrote itself. "All the Masters of the faculties."

Again, the card multiplied itself with each of the master's names on. But this time the final card scurried up Meltoy's own sleeve across his back and back down the other sleeve. Stopping at its final destination Which just happened to be Meltoy's right hand. Meltoy shook his head and tutted as he looked at the card, which had his own name on. He had all the power of the universe at his fingertips, and after all these years he still couldn't get the hang of message sending.

He picked up the third and last card and went to speak out loud, but stopped, tapping the blank card on the desk. I'll do this one the old-fashioned way, he thought to himself. As he strode out of his private chambers, through his lecture room, and headed off towards the student quarters of the Snake Faculty. As he did, he felt the urge to rub his arm as he could have sworn something had sting him.

*

Gillant was still sitting up in a great oak tree on the edge of the woods, overlooking the dwarfs. He hadn't moved since early that morning when he'd spotted the faint black smoke on the ridge above the mountain entrance. Since then he hadn't taken his eyes off the spot all morning, or most of the afternoon. Until finally, he saw what he'd been waiting for. A small faint black glow followed by a very fine wispy smoke, then as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone.

Gillant watched as little bits of grit fell over the ridge of the ledge, landing at the foot of the entrance below. Then he watched rubble and small rocks move slightly as if someone was making their way down the rock-face towards the mountain entrance; but apart from that, he saw nothing. He watched on, and saw the corners of the flaps that led into the mountain open ever so slightly, then fall back down again.

"The sorcerer," spoke Gillant, through gritted teeth.

*

Rathall awoke late in the afternoon to find a small parchment card stuck to his head. He thought he had felt something earlier. But swiped his hand across his face, dismissing it for a fly. He arose from his bed and took the card from off his head.

"Urgent, meet me in The Mystic Chambers in two hours," came the voice of Meltoy. Rathall hissed wildly, as the card read itself out, then gave an even bigger hiss. When he saw the mark of a little blue scorpion etched in the corner of the card.

"Thossse foolsss, can't they sssee itsss too late!" hissed Rathall as he screwed the card up and threw it towards the floor. But before it hit it the floor, it changed into a scorpion, then scurried under his bed and vanished into thin air.

Even though Rathall wasn't part of The Dark fortress anymore, he still got a card as they were sent out to all the Masters. It wasn't The Dark Fortress fault no one had told it, Rathall wasn't part of it anymore. Even if it had of know, it probably would have sent him one anyway just to annoy him, as it never liked Rathall. No matter how many pancakes he used to leave at the end of his bed when he was a student.

*

Strangaurd was sat upon his throne, he had been there most of the morning waiting for his new guest and ally to emerge from the tower. Besides him lay Gypsy, chewing on a bone she had stolen from the kitchen. And when she stole it, it had a lot more meat on it than it had now. There had been no resistance from the cook, who had learnt not to resist a long time ago, after the initial visit. When himself and Gypsy first got acquainted. The cook had put up a struggle over a joint of meat, and when he found himself holding one end and Gypsy the other. He decided he wasn't going to let go as he wanted to prove a point to Gypsy. That she couldn't come into the kitchens whenever she felt like it.

But after being dragged down fifteen corridors, three flights of steps, and eventually ending up in Gypsy's bed. Which was a pile of rags shoved in the corner of an unused cell in the dungeons. The cook came to the conclusion that Gypsy had just proved a point to him, and now they a mutual agreement between them. That was, Gypsy could go into the kitchens whenever she liked, and help herself. This proved satisfactory for Gypsy, and saved the cook going on another unexpected tour of the castle.

Gypsy had the bone between her two front paws and was just about to take another lick, when the doors to the tower open outwards. Allowing Rathall to slither into the main throne room. Instantly, Gypsy dropped her bone and sprang up on all fours; her fur sticking up. Which made a distinctive line from the top of her head and flowed all the way down her back to the tip of her tail.

Gypsy was snarling viciously, showing every tooth in her mouth, with her ears pinned back. She was just about to pounce, but with a wave of Rathall's hand Gypsy was gone. Out of one of the throne room windows, a splash was heard followed by a lot of barking.

"I hope that thing wasssn't meant for me," hissed Rathall, as he slithered over towards Strangaurd, who in turn took a deep gulp.

"No, no, not at all, it's my dog," was all Strangaurd could come out with.

"You mean to tell me that thing wasss a dog!" Rathall hissed, in surprise.

"Never mind," hissed Rathall, dismissing the dog issue. "Now then, back to where I left off." There was a slight pause, "Sssorry, Massster," hissed Rathall, forgetting momentarily that he was taking a back seat until the time was right.

"Back to where you left off," hissed Rathall, correcting himself. "Where do you ssstand at the moment with numbersss in your armiesss, and how about the othersss? How may you count on them?"

Strangaurd cleared his throat and puffed his chest out, to try and make himself worthy of the title of Master that Rathall had bestowed upon him.

"Well, my own personal army reaches two thousand, and once the peasants have been rounded up, and had some basic training, it will become nearly double that. We can shove them at the front. Once the elves or dwarfs have hacked their way through them, tiring themselves out, thinking that's all we have to offer. They will encounter the real Strangaurd warriors, who will be fresh, crushing any invading armies," concluded Strangaurd.

Rathall smiled gently to himself at the idea of sacrificing all those men, just to draw the enemy in. "And the othersss?" he hissed.

"Oh, the others," said Strangaurd who was still daydreaming about the onslaught. "Wykep has the second-best army in all the provinces, second only to mine. His troops number over a thousand, probably half as much again. I don't know precisely, he's always been secretive about the strength of his troops. But they are very skilful with the blade. They don't fight with the normal broadsword of my warriors. They fight with two swords, one in each hand.

Then there's Zelton, his number about the same, about a thousand. His warriors have always been keen with the longbow. Mainly picking off their enemy before they can get to them, and even then, they're pretty good with the sword. Against the unlucky few that get through.

But Two'Bit has the most, his army numbers around three thousand. But that's mainly for show. He scatters them around his province, in groups of about twenty. To stop any trouble and to keep things running smoothly. But they mainly surround the main trading town of Prockvist, which is where his castle is situated. He likes to look out over the bustling market. His warriors are mainly cutthroats, thieves and murderers who join up with Two'Bit to seek sanctuary from the other warlords. That's why things run so smoothly in Prockvist, and the term, 'A cutthroat business' originated there."

"And how was it left with them, about preparing for war?" asked Rathall.

"I told them to go back and get their armies ready, and I would send word for them when the time arrived." Concluded Strangaurd.

"Sssplendid," hissed Rathall. "How long would it take for them to get here?"

Strangaurd paused and with one arm resting on the arm of his throne, he scratched his chin as he tried to work it out in his head.

"With all of those troops marching, plus having to bring all their supply's. Probably two days for Two'Bit, and the others probably around three. But their horse divisions could be here in a matter of days, once they got word," replied Strangaurd. "Where do you think all this will take place?" he asked inquisitively.

"That isss a very good quessstion, and one we will jussst have to wait and sssee," hissed Rathall, a bit sharply, as he hated not knowing.

He couldn't risk going near the dwarfen party just in case he ran into Trantore. But there was one person who might know, and with that thought in his mind, Rathall turned around and walked back through the oak doors to his tower.

As they shut behind him, sealing themselves. Strangaurd sat upon his throne not knowing whether to call back the sorcerer for not asking permission to leave. But an image of Threnog the Fire Demon appeared in his head and he instantly dismissed the idea. Putting Rathall's rude exit down to the way sorcerers must do things.

But Strangaurd's thinking was interrupted as the doors to the throne room came bursting open, and a very wet Gypsy came thundering into the room. Fur still standing up, and in addition to the ferocious teeth she was foaming at the mouth too, as she swung her head about. Looking for the sorcerer who had just dropped her into the moat. Bits of foamy slobber flew everywhere; sticking to and hanging off wherever it landed.

Gypsy stuck her nose in the air after she realised that the sorcerer was no longer in the room. After two big sniffs, her attention focused on the two doors that blocked off the tower. But that wasn't going to put Gypsy off, and with a scraping of her paws on the castle floor, she turned and brought the doors into full view. She began to run as fast as she could. There wasn't a door in the whole castle that couldn't keep her out.

But what she didn't realise was, these weren't man made doors these were sorcerer made doors, and with an almighty 'THUD,' Gypsy soon learnt the difference. As she lay in a heap at the foot of the doors. With her tongue hanging out, wondering why the door hadn't turned into a thousand pieces like all the others.

Strangaurd, who had watched the whole thing from the safety of his throne. Just shook his head at the stupidity of his dog. Then got up, and walked out the throne room. To go and inspect the first batch of peasant warriors that had been rounded up. And were now in training, for what good it would do them. They weren't even being given proper swords, just rusty ones. But no corners had been cut on their armour. It was three times as thick as regular armour and three times as heavy. It would take even a trained swordsman at least twice the time and double the energy to cut through it, and that was all Strangaurd was after.

He stepped out into the corridor and headed off for his inspection. Leaving Gypsy, who had made it back up onto all fours, barking at the doors. Under the delusion that if she barked long enough. They would open, letting her in to carry on with her search for Rathall.

*

It had just turned six when Meltoy stepped out of the private study of the now banished Rathall, and he was glad of it. He had made good use of his time in there, looking through all of Rathall's things; and very disturbing it was.

Meltoy walked out into the lecture room, followed by the other three Masters, Penta, Wubuck, and last but not least Rickety. The door closed itself behind Rickety as he walked through, making a clicking sound that echoed out and around the lecture room. Usually, with the lecture room packed to the brim with students, the muttering would have drowned it out. But this time the room was deadly silent; you could hear a pin drop. As they all stood up, their were eyes fixed upon the four Masters that now stood before them. All wondering why a roster of The Faculty of the Snake had been called, and more to the point why Meltoy had made it, and not their Master Rathall.

The rumours this time that were doing the rounds were, Meltoy had finally beaten Rathall in a duel. Which, in turn, had several stories floating about. One being that Meltoy turned himself into a giant sixty-foot mongoose, then ate their Master. The other was Meltoy had blasted Rathall into a thousand pieces and now has his head stuffed, and hanging on his wall within his private study as a trophy.

Meltoy had got wind off this rumour, and he quite liked it, in fact, it was rumoured that he started it.

And lastly, there was a rumour that Rathall accidentally bit himself whilst sleeping and he never woke up. But now they would get their answer, which they had been waiting for all day. The suspense had been too much for one of the students, so he decided to freeze himself and got his fellow students to unfreeze him five minutes before the meeting was due. He was now at the back in a pool of water, with tainted breath shivering with a chill, but to him it was worth it.

Meltoy moved to Rathall's snake-carved pulpit and stepped up into it, as the other three Masters sat down on three chairs next to it. Which had suddenly appeared behind them. They knew what Meltoy was about to say. Because they had just spent the last four hours with him in The Mystic Chambers. Being brought up to date on the latest events, and they weren't surprised at all to find out about Rathall turning traitor; they all knew he always had it in him.

The meeting needn't have taken four hours, it was over within two. But Rickety needed everything explaining twice, even three times on some of the points. Especially the bit about why Rathall had turned himself into a hater. Then Rickety wanted to know what Rathall hated so much. And whilst they were on the subject of hate, he wanted to bring up the small matter about having cauliflower soup. Which had been changed by the chef from a Monday evening to Friday, because he hated it as well. As it always left a funny taste in his mouth. As Friday was fish day, and "the two don't mix", complained Rickety at the meeting. Then put his vote in, and agreed with Rathall and decided he was a hater too.

It had took all of Meltoy's patience and great willpower, not to throttle Rickety. But instead explain that Rathall was not a hater, but a traitor. And finally, when Rickety had clasped what Meltoy was saying, the meeting came to a close after agreeing on two things. Who was to succeed in Rathall's place as the new Master. And who was going to have a word with the chef about the cauliflower soup? Which had brought a smile to Rickety's face, as he now had some worthwhile news to go back and tell his students; all three of them. Then Meltoy had quickly finished the meeting, just in case, Rickety needed anything else explaining or changing.

Meltoy now stood in the pulpit, which seemed to hiss ever so slightly in outrage. But Meltoy chose to ignore it, as this wasn't the time or the place to be arguing with a block of wood. He looked out into the rows of students that stood before him. "Be seated," he ordered, and with that the students sat down quickly, not taking their eyes off Meltoy. Just in case they missed something.

"I'm not going to beat around the spell book, I'm here to tell you today about the banishment of your Master." With that, there was a collective intake of air, as all the students took a deep breath. "And," continued Meltoy, "of his successor and replacement, who I will announce shortly, but firstly, two points. ONE," bellowed out Meltoy. "Is that Rathall shall never again be allowed to step foot upon The Island of Black Rock or within The Dark Fortress, nor shall anybody speak to or aid him in any way. If sighted anywhere, the banishment rule is to be enforced, which, for those of you who have forgotten, it is this. Any number of students from any faculty will come together, including the Masters. And hail down with full force every spell they can muster onto the banished party until he exists no more."

There were a lot of blank faces coming back out of the crowd, at Meltoy's last comment. As most of the students were thinking the same thing, and that was. What if they bumped into Rathall in a dark corridor one night when everyone else was asleep.

"The other faculties are to be notified by means of banishment posters that are putting themselves up around the fortress as we speak. Along with the other posters informing them of the new Master of The Faculty of the Snake. Which brings me onto the second point I wanted to make, and that is about your new Master. The other Masters and I have agreed and picked a new Master for The Faculty of the Snake, and you will be meeting him very shortly."

At the mention of this, there was a lot of huffing and puffing coming from the students, as some of the more powerful and older ones tried to show their distress at not being consulted or elected.

"I know a lot of you might feel angry," said Meltoy, and with that, he gave the wind-blowers in the crowd a hard but effective stare, and they stopped huffing immediately; as he caught their eye.

"But considering what's happened, we have no choice but to skip around the normal chain of events involving ritual duelling. But when this whole matter with the other races is over, you can challenge your new Master in the traditional way. And opt for a one on one, outright duel, winner takes all." commented Meltoy. Which brought a smile back on to the faces of the more senior students.

"And I must add, that any of the old Masters sat next to me, can challenge you as well to gain a higher tower." With that, the smiles soon disappeared as they saw Penta and Wubuck rubbing their hands together and smiling back at them. As they had been waiting centuries to get a better view out of their window of fortress. Rickety was also rubbing his hand; but that was for circulation purposes only.

"So, without delay, I would like all of you to welcome your new Master."

With that, the students stood up. Meltoy turned and with his arms outstretched towards the private study, the door opened. As it did a finely clad figure stepped out, with the hood of his robe pulled down concealing the face. The figure made its way across the floor in a strutting kind of motion. As the figure moved, his finely stitched shoes hardly made a sound upon the stone floor. The room fell deadly silent as the students waited to see who their new Master was.

The figure walked around the pulpit and stood in front of it, facing the students. The figure's hands moved up, taking hold of the hood either side and quickly and silently pulled it back. There was another intake of air. But this time it was much bigger and deeper than the previous one. As astonished looks sprang up, and fanned out over the students' faces; as if the first row was triggering the next, and so on.

But the best look came from the unmasked figure itself. As Kellet stood up in front of the class with a big smile on his face and looked over his fellow students. He was now their new Master. He was glad he had remembered the protection spell Meltoy had said when they were dealing with the demons. He'd rehearsed it while he was waiting for his grand entrance, and was glad he had. As he noticed some of the students begging to twitch and looking rather annoyed at the sight of their new Master.

Kellet wasn't the only one to notice, Meltoy had picked up on it as well. He took a deep breath in, raising himself to almost double his size. With wispy blue sparks flying off all around him, addressed the situation the only way he knew how.

"DO YOU DARE DEFY MY DECISION AND THAT OF YOUR FELLOW MASTERS!" bellowed Meltoy.

Pushing all the students back with the sheer force of his voice, and in the process, sent them all back into their seats. Instantly stopping the renegade students and their malice towards their new Master. As their attention was diverted to the overwhelming, overpowering, and over threatening figure of Meltoy.

"WELL, ANSWER ME, DO YOU TAKE US FOR FOOLS!"

The students were all too scared to voice their opinion, but in harmony, they all shook their heads from side to side.

"SO WHY DO SOME OF YOU JUDGE OUR CHOICE?"

Meltoy took a much-needed breath, and as he did his voice softened again. "Can't you wait until the conflict is over, and then challenge in the normal manner via a duel? OR,"

Meltoy raised his voice once more and this time it was even louder, which had the effect of a small hurricane. Spanning out over the students, pulling at their robes, beards and faces, pulling their skin tight, stretching it over their faces as it went,

"DO THE ONES WHO CANNOT WAIT WANT TO TAKE ME ON, RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW!

This time there was no response from the students, as they were too busy hanging onto the arms of the seats. Trying to keep themselves from flying out the far end window. Finally, the hurricane died down, and the room returned back to normal. But Meltoy was still looming over them, waiting and watching to catch any more insubordination; all the students now had their heads bowed in shame.

"Good, now stand and welcome your new Master, and show him the rightful RESPECT," said Meltoy, still in a commanding voice. All the students quickly jumped to their feet and lifted their heads up.

"WE WELCOME YOU, MASTER KELLET," came a chorus of voices.

"Now that's better." With that, Meltoy stepped down and with a wave of his hand the other Masters stood and followed him. As he went to leave the room the students bowed their heads in respect, as the Masters walked towards the door. The door to the lecture room opened, but Meltoy didn't walk through it but turned instead.

"Where do you think you're going?" asked Meltoy, directing his question to Kellet, who had joined the back of the queue.

Kellet looked up all confused, thinking that this was kind of test.

"With you, Master," replied Kellet, hoping that Meltoy hadn't just given him a trick question. Meltoy moved closer to Kellet and spoke ever so softly. So, the students who still had their heads bowed didn't hear him.

"Don't you think a bit of time with your students wouldn't go amiss, get acquainted and all that?"

"But I already know them," replied Kellet. Having one last desperate stab at getting out of being alone in the same room with them.

Meltoy gave him one of his stares. Kellet took a look at the students, then back at Meltoy, and decided the students were a safer bet. He nodded to Meltoy, and with that Meltoy turned and walked out the door. There was a faint thud as the door shut itself, leaving Kellet to address the now two hundred-plus students. Who were beginning to lift their heads.

Kellet looked at them and recalled that only that very morning, they had been his fellow sorcerers and friends, and some he recalled had been his enemies. So, keeping his back to the door. But still close to it, just in case he had to turn and run, Kellet took a deep gulp and stepped towards the pulpit very cautiously.

*

Torms and the others had awoken from their sleep. They hadn't a clue what time it was, or what day, due to the false flickering light of the tunnel. Ganga and Ripper had kept waking Torms up during his sleep as they shouted out to Sniffer and Picker. Giving out vital commands from the safety of the entrance - things like 'WATCH OUT,' 'BEHIND YOU,' and most frequently used was 'DUCK!' But for the past couple of hours it had been quiet, all apart from Nakie's snoring.

As Sacul was handing out the hot herbs that Odall had just took off the boil. Sniffer emerged from out of the chamber, covered in dust from head to toe. He looked exhausted. Then out stepped Picker with a sack full of mechanisms slung over his shoulder and a note book in his hand.

Picker had been sent in as well, he had been closely following Sniffer. But not to close; not after the initial incident of the fly sword. After Sniffer had found something and disabled it. It was then down to Picker to do a detailed drawing of how it was put together. Then collect all the bits and put it in a sack he was carrying.

It had been a last-minute idea from Ganga; he had even given Picker the sack. He had explained to the others it would be of great interest, to learn some of the secrets of making Booby Traps. When he had first mentioned it, Tennant who had been drinking at the time. Spat the whole contents of his mouth out uncontrollably. As he thought that the royal mining party would soon have a Booby within its ranks, or worse still; a pair of Booby's.

Although what Ganga was saying was true about leaning the knowledge, he had a hidden agenda. He wasn't thinking about how he could use the new-found wisdom to set traps within the royal mines. Making them some of the most protected mines on the Island. No, he was thinking about setting up a few traps in and around his dwelling; so, he could sleep better at night. Therefore, avoiding any more unwanted pony's making an appearance, as he still wasn't sure how he stood with the traders.

Torms gave Sniffer a quick once over with his eyes, just to check he was still all there. Apart from a couple of small cuts and bruises here and there, he looked fine.

"Sacul, get them a cup of hot herbs each," ordered Torms, as he got up onto his feet and walked over towards Sniffer. Who was now getting two big hearty pats on the back, one from Ripper and the other from Ganga.

Then Ganga turned around and gave Picker a sly wink. As he did, Picker returned the wink and handed Ganga the notebook he was carrying. In return Ganga secretly handed him a small bag of diamonds. Picker gratefully took the bag and secretly weighed it in his hand, and with the weight feeling right, he walked off to find himself a makeshift bed and some much needed rest. And with the unspoken transaction complete, Ganga turned back around and gave Sniffer another hearty slap on the back. Whilst secretly stowing his newly acquired book within his tunic.

"That last one nearly got you!" bellowed out Ganga jokingly.

"Yeah, and where did that ten-foot spear come from?" added Ripper.

"Yep, there isn't a dwarf in the whole of Feral Mountains that's better than you at disarming traps," said Ganga, putting his arm around Sniffer's shoulders. "In fact, you're the only one. Talk about on the job training, twenty-four hours of intense de-trapping. Now that's what I call true miner's grit. From now on you'll not be known as Sniffer, you'll have a new title. One to separate you from all the other sniffers, one to give you the status and stature you deserve." Ganga rubbed his chin. "Ha, I've got it," he said, as he slapped his thigh with his other hand, "from now on you'll be known as Top Trap Sniffer."

Ganga looked all pleased with himself at bestowing Sniffer with his new title.

"And when we get back I'll make it official."

Tennant let out a little snigger and had to turn away, as he did Odall leant over to Ganga and whispered in his ear.

"I'm sorry to tell you, Ganga. But a trap to most people in the Feral Mountains, is slang for a toilet. So, if Sniffer walks about saying he's the new Top Trap Sniffer, he'll be the laughing stock of the whole kingdom." Concluded Odall, trying to put it as delicately as he could.

"Good point," commented Ganga, "I'm glad you brought that up. What about -" Ganga paused. "What about Top Trapper?" he whispered, as he leant back whispering to Odall still with his arm around Sniffer.

"I'd stay away from the trap theme altogether," replied Odall in a hushed voice, not wanting Sniffer to hear. Whilst giving a more philosophical approach to the whole name process. But Sniffer couldn't have cared less, as he stood there sipping on a cup of hot herbs Sacul had just given him.

"How about Top Dodging Sniffer?" spoke Ganga. Odall shook his head in rejection.

"Watch out, Sniffer?" said Ganga with a smile, as this time he thought he'd cracked it; Odall just rolled his eyes.

"Well, what then?" snapped Ganga in anger, as he was in a hurry to bestow a great title on Sniffer.

"What about just Grand Sniffer, that's simple and to the point?" said Odall.

Ganga paused and thought about it and decided having a Grand Sniffer in his outfit made him and the rest of the royal miner's sound more important.

"Right, Grand Sniffer it is then," announced Ganga, just as Torms approached.

"And a grand title it is too," commented Torms, walking in on the conversation. "And the chamber, is it all secure and safe?" asked Torms.

Ten pairs of eyes now fell upon the newly appointed Grand Sniffer, as the others had now gathered around. Eager to take a look at the hidden secret that lay deep within the mountain, undisturbed for a thousand years.

Sniffer looked up from his steaming mug of hot herbs. With his magnifying-glasses all misted over from the steam, and his one remaining eye looking weary and tired. He gave them his answer. "Yep."

But the others weren't happy with that, especially Tennant. Who had come to know Sniffer's interpretation of things and lack of detail, left a lot to be desired, so he butted in.

"Is that 'yep, it's safe for you because you know where you're stepping', or is that 'yep it's safe for us to go in and take a look around. Without us accidentally losing one of our heads or finding ourselves suddenly impaled on a sharp stake of some kind'?" asked Tennant. Wanting some more clarification from the now very weary Sniffer.

"It's safe to go looking around," replied Sniffer.

But before the final word had left his mouth, he found himself standing alone. Just him and his mug of hot herbs, and that was just how he liked it. He looked across towards the pile of blankets that were laid down for bedding and thought. Seeing as he was now the Grand Sniffer, it was time for the Grand Sniffer to have a grand sleep. As he walked, he emptied the last drops from the bottom of the mug into his mouth. Then laid himself on the first makeshift bed he came to and was asleep before his head hit the blankets.

By the time Torms and the others had made it to the entrance, Ganga and Ripper were already inside; they had gone running in. As they'd been staring at the chamber piece by piece for past twenty-four hours. As they stood in the doorway, watching Sniffer, step by step, and very cautious steps at that. As he'd made his way around the chamber, prodding this, pulling that, and disarming anything that looked like a trap.

He had spent thirty minutes alone on a small gold statue of a horse. Until he decided that it was just a statue, and not a high-explosive hair-trigger device. Which, when moved, would explode open. Throwing out shreds of gold into anyone close enough to receive the blast. But he found out it wasn't a threat after about twenty minutes, then spent the other ten minutes admiring the craftsmanship.

As he'd made his way around, he came across other gauntlets spaced around the chamber. Which, after checking for traps, he lit them as he went. And he was glad he did check them first. As one of them contained a pleasant little surprise for any unsuspecting person who placed a torch into the gauntlet hand. The surprise took the form of a giant hole appearing as the flagstone directly beneath the gauntlet disappeared, and would have sent the victim down a twenty-foot drop before they made the acquaintance of the steel spikes waiting below.

Sniffer got around the problem by laying two giant spears which had shot out at him earlier across the two neighbouring flagstones. So, when he tampered with the gauntlet to disarm the trap, he found himself nicely balanced over the hole, on the shafts of the spears.

Torms, Odall, Tennant and Sinat were speechless as they stood in the entrance to the chamber, now seeing it for the first time, lit up in all its glory. Even Nakie stopped chewing what he was eating. While Sacul stood with the twins either side of him, all three with their mouths wide open.

There were steps that lead down into the chamber. The chamber went back about a hundred feet-deep into the mountain and was at least a hundred feet across. Its walls were covered in plated manuscripts, carved in gold, and hung upon the walls lining the entire chamber from top to bottom. With text and pictures with all types of depictions on them. Some with battle scenes, others with trees, horses, and anything else associated with the outside world.

Odall was starting to go dizzy; his head started to spin as he tried to take it all in. On top of all the gold text that ran around the entire room. There were gold statues of various animals and warriors, all placed in some kind of order around the chamber. All facing towards the middle. There were a few out of place, due to the odd spear, courtesy of Sniffer. That had gone flying out of its trap, knocking the odd statues head off; as it flew past. But apart from that, there was a definite pattern.

Torms's eyes fell upon the centre of the room. Where there were four huge pillars, that had been part of the original mountain. Which had been left and excavated around, leaving them pinning up the roof for support. They had been magnificently carved and chiselled into the form of four large warriors, holding the hilts of their swords. They were perfectly aligned in a rectangle, and in the space between them lay a huge slab of gold, highly decorated. The slab of gold was supported and mounted upon a huge step, which completely surrounded and led up to the centrepiece of the room.

As Torms looked around the room again, he noticed things he had missed on his initial inspection. There were rows of armour in one of the corners, some carrying shields and swords, others with long pikes. But what caught his attention the most was that they were all made out of gold, even the swords and shields.

There was a faint thud beside Torms, momentarily distracting him. Torms looked around and saw Odall flat on his back, staring up the ceiling. As Odall lay there he noticed for the first time that the whole ceiling was carved and sculpted. With very fine stars made out of gems, some of them big, some of them small. And then, as he scanned the ceiling he saw the moon, but only briefly. As the next thing he saw was Torms's head come into view, as Torms stood over him.

"Are you okay?" asked Torms, worryingly as he bent down to see if Odall was ok.

"Fine," said Odall as he lay there with a huge smile on his face, not wanting anyone to make a fuss.

"What happened?" asked Tennant, as he walked over to where the sudden outbreak of noise had come from.

"Odall seemed to have passed out for a moment," commented Torms.

Tennant's head came into view next to Torms's, as he now stared down at the philosopher.

"Do people who have just passed out normally grin like that or is there something wrong with him?" asked Tennant, as he leant down further to get a closer look.

"ARE YOU OKAY, ARE YOU SEEING STARS?" said Tennant in a loud voice, thinking somehow Odall had miraculously gone deaf.

"Yes, thank you, and lots of them," replied Odall with a smile, as he carried on staring up at the ceiling.

Tennant stood upright again, as his back was beginning to ache with the sudden burst of exercise, the leaning over had caused.

Torms stood up and looked at Tennant for some sort of guidance in the passing-out department. But all he got from Tennant was a rolling around of his index finger in circles around his own head. While he tried to make the noise of a cuckoo while rolling his eyes. The impression sounded more like a cockerel, but Torms knew what Tennant meant.

"Oh, that's fine that is, it wasn't so long ago you were seeing stars when you head hit the main doors," snapped Torms. At the mockery Tennant was showing towards Odall.

"And that can soon be repeated," said Sinat as he stepped up behind Tennant.

Tennant stopped the cockerel impressions at once, and his face changed from sarcastic to concern as a cold chill ran down his spine.

"Thank you, Sinat," said Torms, as he bent back down to assess the situation that Odall was in, once again.

"Exactly how big are the stars your seeing?"asked Torms worriedly.

"Oh, some big, some small. Take a look for yourself." With that, Odall pointed up to the ceiling.

Torms stood and turned his gaze upwards, and as he did, a smile the same as Odall's appeared on his face. As he too looked and admired. At the impressive display of a clear night's sky, elegantly detailed upon the chamber ceiling. Lit up by the light of the flickering torches, which seemed to make the stars twinkle. The others on the steps were soon to follow Torms's lead.

"This place is marvellous," said Torms in awe. He followed the pattern of the stars until he reached the moon. Which was positioned directly above the huge slab of gold. Situated between the four huge columns, and Torms once again found himself staring at the golden centrepiece.

"What is this place?" asked Sacul. But before Sacul had got an answer to his first question he was asking another. "What's that?" he asked, pointing to the middle of the room.

"Hugh-huh." Tennant cleared his throat, as he stepped forward to take a grip on proceedings. "That looks like a grand treasure chest if I'm not mistaken, and a mighty fine one at that," answered Tennant. But as he stood there, feeling rather pleased with himself.

The sound of pages rustling came from behind the group as they stood gazing at the masterpiece. Then was replaced with a shuffling one, as Odall got back up to a vertical position and appeared next to Torms. Holding a large leather-bound book, which was now open.

"You're right about the treasure bit, Tennant, but it's not a treasure chest," said Odall as he joined the others in staring. "And the treasure inside may not be what you're expecting."

"What are you talking about?" snapped Tennant, at Odall's riddle. "Everyone can see that's a treasure chest."

"Nope, that my good friend, is what I'd call a tomb, a crypt, a casket, a final resting place, and because it bears sculpture upon its surface. Its actual name is a sarcophagus," commented Odall.

Sacul's face looked bewildered at Odall's remarks, and so did the twins.

"He means it's a coffin," said Sinat softly to Sacul and the twins, whose faces changed as they realised what Odall was going on about. But as soon as they did, the bewildered look fell upon their faces once more, as they realised what they were looking at.

"And how, may I ask, did you come to such a ridiculous conclusion?" asked Tennant, annoyed at being out-done once more by Odall.

"It says so in my book. At first, I missed it, due to some candle wax that had stuck some of the pages together."

"Oh, your book again, the very one that told us those skeletons back at the entrance were monks. Oh, that's fine then, why didn't you say? I suppose that the book just happens to have written somewhere, about a ruddy great slab of gold that looks like a treasure chest!" protested Tennant as he lost his temper. Not wanting to acknowledged that the whole expedition so far had been predicted by a book.

"No, it doesn't," said Odall softly in response to Tennant's outburst.

"Oh, thank you, at last, we can agree on something, instead of turning to that kids' book of _Myths & Legends_, so if there's no text about it. How do you know it's a coffin?" said Tennant smugly, waiting to see Odall fall.

Odall looked up and manoeuvred the opened book towards Tennant, his finger pointing at a drawing on the left-hand page.

"There isn't much written about it, but there's rather a nicely drawn picture of it," said Odall. As he moved his glasses on the bridge of his nose, making a slight adjustment, getting a clearer image of the picture.

"The object which now stands before us is under the heading, 'Final resting place of Rancore, the Mighty Warlord', see for yourself." Said Odall, ushering the book towards the advisor.

Tennant's face became expressionless as he looked down at the drawing, Odall had his finger on. Then he turned and stared at the golden object that sat in the centre of the room. Then back to the book again, and then once more, just to check a few of the finer details.

He didn't say a word he didn't need to, as his face said it all, as he stood there thinking about all the knowledge he had stored in his head.

But he was now faced with the grim reality. That all he would have had to of done, was look at the book called _Myths & Legends_. Which was probably the only book in the entire kingdom he hadn't read, and it would have given him all the answers he'd ever needed. He thought about all the books he had read, about the countless generations of the dwarfen kings, and even their family ties. His knowledge even extended to the ancestors of the elves and warlords. He had spent years locking himself away in a corner somewhere within the kingdom's library, studying. All those years of his life, he had wasted. When he could have spent them on his favourite hobby, which was cloud watching.

Tennant slumped to the floor and sat on the steps that led down into the chamber, still holding the book Odall had handed him, shaking his head.

"Right, who's up for a closer look," said Odall, as he slapped his hands together and set off down the remaining steps, across the chamber floor towards the coffin. Closely followed by the others.

Torms was the only one left, apart from the confused advisor. "Aren't you coming?" asked Torms.

Tennant lifted his head out of the book. "No, I think I'll just sit here and read for a while," he responded in a sunken voice. "I'm supposed to be an advisor, and the king's one at that. How can I advise if I don't know what I'm advising about?" With that, Tennant buried his head back into the book.

As Torms approached the golden coffin, the others were all giving it the once over. Sacul was running his hands over it while Odall was checking it out with a small magnifying eyepiece he had brought with him. Even Ganga and Ripper, who up until now had been checking out the craftsmanship of the four huge warrior figured pillars that held up the ceiling. Had now diverted their attention to the centrepiece.

"What do we do now?" asked Torms. "King Crackzull was expecting Amberinth, and apart from the doors, I can't see any more. He's given me guards, miners, drivers, wagons, and he'll be expecting enough Amberinth to supply his whole army. The doors would probably only make thirty to forty suits at a push. The gold plates on the walls, plus the other golden ornaments, won't impress him much either. He's probably got more gold out of the Feral Mountains than he knows what to do with, and on top of all that he's..."

"Shhhhh," said Odall, as he placed his hand on Torms's arm to try and calm him down. "Let's just get the lid of the coffin off, and then we shall see if we have to panic or not."

Torms stopped panicking instantly and gave Odall a strange look. Not one of panic or calm but of intrigue. Now If it had been Tennant who had just said that to him, he would have still been panicking. But this was Odall, who seemed quietly confident in the way he spoke.

But Torms didn't have time to question him. At the mention of getting the lid off, the others hadn't wasted any time. The twins had now positioned themselves either end of the coffin. Whilst Sacul, Nakie and Sinat were down one side, and Ganga and Ripper down the other; they were already taking a firm grip on the lid.

"WAIT!" shouted Tennant. His voice boomed out, as the chamber amplified it. Everyone froze what they were doing, as they saw Tennant gather up his oversized robe. And with what looked like a half-hearted attempt at a sprint, ran down the steps towards them. Struggling as he went, with the leather-bound book under his arm.

"DON'T OPEN IT!" Shouted Tennant in a wheezy breath. As he approached the coffin, looking like he had just run twenty miles or more. He slammed down the open leather-bound book on top of the coffin.

"There, look for yourself, The Breath of Death." And, with that, Tennant put his hands on his knees and took in some deep breaths.

Sinat nudged Nakie. "Breath of Death? I don't know what he's referring to, the book or himself," said Sinat, as he burst out laughing.

Tennant had heard the comment but didn't give his usual sarcastic reply, Due to the fact he didn't have enough oxygen in him, and even if he had, it was Sinat he'd be talking to. He'd probably find himself back across the chamber whence he'd come. But this time with another throbbing rear end, and he didn't fancy walking all the way back over to the coffin again. As his last gallant effort had nearly killed him. Plus, he'd already broken Rule 37 in Phobic's Rulebook, which was about message sending:

_Rule 37: Shot the massagers it 's an old wives' tale, ITS REAL..._

In Phobic's day it was very clear that any messenger bringing bad news never returned, or if he did it was in two halves. His head in a basket would arrive back first, and the rest of him normally followed on a day or two later; that's if he was lucky. That's why the messengers' guild never really took off when it was introduced in the Dwarfen Kingdom. There were always the odd cocky ones. Who thought they could talk their way out of any situation, but they soon realised they couldn't, and by then it was too late.

"He's right, you know," said Odall, as he read the book, "I must have missed it. "The Breath of Death. ' _For whoever opens the coffin of the great Rancore, warrior of all the lands, The Breath of Death will fall upon them. '_ That's what it says," commented Odall.

All at once and without being told, the others slowly released their grip from around the lid.

"What now?" asked Torms.

"Well, seeing as the book refers to The Breath of Death, and this is only my presumption," warned Odall, "I'd say that the inside has been filled with some sort of poison. Not in liquid form but in powder form, and when the lid is removed. Tiny particles no bigger than dust will fill the air and we'll breathe it in, hence, 'The Breath of Death'."

There were blank expressions on everybody's faces except one, Ganga's. He turned and walked off towards a huge golden vase, standing in one of the corners. The others watched him as he leant over the vase and reached in. Taking his legs off the ground and nearly disappearing into it altogether. Then, one by one, bits of cloth wrapped around Amberinth frames came flying out, as Ganga tossed them over his shoulder. He finally emerged with a huge glass bottle, holding it by one of its handles next to the spout. The bottle seemed to contain some sort of liquid. Ganga gathered up all the frames, and with his arms full and holding the bottle. He walked back and plonked the frames down on the coffin, next to the book.

"Do you think these might have something to do with it?" he asked, placing the strange bottle full of liquid with a 'clonk' onto the coffin lid. Torms picked up one of the Amberinth frames. "What are they?"

"Beats me," said Sinat as he picked one up and turned it around in his hand. Torms took a closer look at his. It had a perfect rectangular piece of Amberinth, and a small peg shape, about one inch long sticking out from each corner. On top of that was a sturdy white linen cloth wrapped around it in two layers. In a very unique technique that Torms had never seen before. Then there were the three long strands of cloth that were plaited. Which ran away from the main Amberinth rectangle frame. And right in the middle of the frame itself was some sort of Amberinth grating plate, that had loads of holes in it.

Sacul was also having a look at one; but was skylarking about.

"Oh well, even if we have come this far for nothing, at least I've got a hat out of it!" He said jokingly. As he took off his helmet and put the Amberinth square on his head, and tied two of plaited pieces of cloth under his chin. Leaving the third dangling down the back of his head. Beat'm started giggling, and so did Bash'm, as Sacul stuck his nose up in the air, pretending he was important.

"That's it!" shouted Odall as he quickly turned the contraption around in his hands with the four-inch prongs facing him. "Sacul, you are a gleaming diamond."

"I am?" asked the shocked Sacul. But before he could say anything else. Odall had shot over towards him and untied the plaited cloth from under his chin. Before Sacul knew what was going on. Odall had taken the Amberinth rectangle covered in the thick cloth off his head and placed it over Sacul's mouth and nose. With the four prongs holding it away from his face. Then without warning, Odall pulled the two pieces of cloth running from the Amberinth plate one either side, passed them over his ears, and tied them firmly at the back of his head. Then he leaned around and grabbed the third cloth strand attached to the Amberinth plate just above the top of his nose, and ran it up across his forehead. Then over the top of his head, down the back, then tied it to the other two.

"There, how does that feel?" asked Odall as he walked around in front of Sacul to get a closer look at his handiwork.

"Oum-ummm," said Sacul, his voice muffled by the contraption around his mouth. Torms and the others and even Tennant, who had to have a say in just about anything and everything was now stuck for words. As they looked at Odall for an explanation to the sudden decision to gag young Sacul. The hat joke might not have been funny, but there was no need to gag the poor lad, thought Tennant.

"Can't you see?" asked the excited philosopher.

Everybody looked at each other, hoping someone else would explain. As they too didn't want to get gagged.

Odall could see nobody knew what he had discovered, so he decided to put them out of their misery.

"It's a mask, but not any old mask. It's a filter mask and a very clever one at that!" said Odall still very excited. He turned towards Ganga, "What do you and your fellow dwarfs do when it gets too dusty down the mines, and you find it hard to breathe?"

Being put on the spot, and not wanting to get gagged. Ganga began to sweat, as he tried his hardest to remember the answer to a simple question.

"We tie a hankie around our faces," gasped Ganga as he looked up at Odall, hoping it was the right answer; even though he knew it was.

"Correct," replied Odall, and as he did, the now-sweating Ganga let out a sigh of relief.

"And this, my fellow dwarfs, is a more advanced version." And with that, he waved his hand towards Sacul as if he was some travelling sales-dwarf, introducing a revolutionary new product, and Sacul had been picked out of the crowd at random to try it out.

Torms turned the mask over with the prongs facing him and held it tightly to his face. Instantly he found it slightly harder to breathe as he had to draw air through the Amberinth rectangular grating on the front and the two layers of thick cloth. He could feel the thick woven cloth on the side of the Amberinth plate push tightly against his face as he drew in air. It made a perfect seal around his nose and mouth, not letting any air in apart from the air coming in through the filter device at the front.

"These things are marvellous," said Ganga.

Having taken the contraption from his face. He had followed Torms and tried it out for himself, as had all the others, who were now nodding their heads in agreement. All apart from the twins that were still considering putting them on their heads as they though Sacul's idea was the best and a lot funnier.

"How did you know about these things?" asked Odall of Ganga.

"Oh, Sniffer told me about them. The vase is full of them," said Ganga.

"Would you say about fifty of them?" asked Odall.

"Yeah about that many," replied Ganga.

"Well, that proves it then. I do believe these belonged to the dead monks back at the entrance, and although they seemed to be far more advanced than us. They clearly encountered the same problems as we have about interpretation and delegation. As once they had finished with them after the ceremony. They probably delegated some junior monk to dispose of them, thinking he would destroy them. So, no one could reuse them to open the coffin.

But the delegated monk, being the elected-stroke general dogsbody. Probably did what delegated people do. And that was dump them in a vase in the corner of the room, hoping nobody would find out," said Odall.

As Odall said that, Tennant felt a strange feeling run through his body. As he thought about all the times he had delegated people. Which had been almost every day back in the kingdom. As Tennant thought more about this, he did recollect there did seem to be a lot more vases that had popped up over the kingdom in that last few years.

"But if these things are over a thousand years old, how come the cloth hasn't decomposed and fallen to pieces?" asked Torms.

"I was thinking about that myself," said Odall in response to Torms's question. "And I can only come to one conclusion, and that is, it has something to do with this." As he spoke, he held up the strange-looking bottle. Which was a light brown colour and had a weird, intricate pattern pressed onto the glass. Odall pulled the cork stopper out of the spout, and a loud 'POP' noise filled the room, making Tennant jump.

Odall sniffed the rim of the bottle, Oblivious to Tennant who was now shaking his head in Odall's direction.

"It smells of almonds," he said holding it out towards Ganga, who took a big sniff as his nostrils expanded.

"Yep, almonds," replied Ganga.

Odall sniffed the cloth on the mask. "Nope, nothing, the smell must have evaporated over time," he said to himself.

"What are you doing?" asked Torms inquisitively.

"Well, seeing as the cloth hasn't deteriorated, and still looks as new as the day it was made. I've to come to the conclusion that it was drenched in some sort of liquid. Which I reckon acted as a preservative, preserving the cloth all this time."

"But why preserve the cloth?" asked Torms.

"Good question," said Odall. "I'd say that soaking the cloth to keep it as new wasn't the main purpose of the liquid, that just happened by accident. I'd say the main reason was to act as a filtering agent when the air passed through, the two layers of cloth on the mask. When soaked in a certain liquid, would act as a neutraliser, and make the air being breathed in clean. That is where this liquid comes in, seeing as it was with the masks. I'd say we have the right liquid for whatever is in the coffin."

"And we all die if you're wrong," interrupted Tennant. Just trying to add the small minor detail in. That Odall had missed out, as Rule 48 in Phobic's rulebook was quite specific when it came to death:

_Rule 48: If DEATH is looming be sure to speak up, as it will be a lot harder to do so when your DEAD._

"There is always that of course," said Odall, "but looking at this cork from the bottle, it doesn't seem to have aged at all. The fumes from inside the bottle must have stopped it from rotting."

"Oh, well, that's alright then," snapped Tennant sarcastically.

Torms looked concerned, as he knew what the answer to his next question would be, but he asked it anyway.

"What do we now?"

"Take a vote, I suppose," replied Odall.

The room fell into a deathly silence as each member of the group ran through different scenarios in their minds. Ranging from finding Rancore's skeleton inside the coffin, to rolling around on the floor screaming, courtesy of The Breath of Death. But the fact still remained, and it was the same in all their minds. The journey and the whole expedition would be a waste of time if they didn't open the coffin. All apart from Tennant, that was, who was sticking to Rule 66 in Phobic's rulebook which was:

_Rule 66: Never put yourself in danger, if it 's your own doing._

"So, all in favour of soaking the masks in the liquid and opening the coffin?" asked Torms raising his own hand and resuming his role as leader by casting the first vote.

Sinat and Nakie were the next to follow. As soon as Sacul put his arm up, the twins shot theirs up as well, and so did Odall. Ganga and Ripper followed, and now all eyes fell on Tennant. Although the verdict had already been reached, they still wanted to see where he stood.

Tennant huffed in disgust as he put his arm up, breaking the sacred 66th rule of Phobic. He knew he had little choice in the matter by the way Sinat was looking at him. He knew by the grin on his face. That if he didn't agree he'd probably find himself being picked up and his head being used as some sort of lever by Sinat, to get the lid off the coffin. And Sinat probably wouldn't even give him a mask. So at least by putting his arm up, he'd be granted one.

"Right, that's unanimous. We take a look at what's inside," said Torms. "Odall, you seemed to have got the hang of these filter masks. Can you see to it that everybody gets theirs soaked in the liquid?"

"I'm already on it," said Odall as he looked around. "Ah, they should do the job. Sacul, go and get me one of those small gold-covered shields from over there please." Sacul looked at Odall strangely, concerned.

"Your soon see why, that one should do," said Odall.

He pointed to a decorated shield that hung from one of the arms, on the suits of armour positioned around the room. Sacul deprived the suit of its shield and came running back up to the coffin, holding it aloft. As if he had just beaten a mighty warrior and was returning with his prize, and with a clanking sound set it down on the coffin.

"Other way," ordered Odall.

Sacul turned it over, so the shield was resting on its front.

"There, now we have a bowl," said Odall. He poured some of the liquid into the shield, filling it to within an inch from the rim. "Fellow dwarfs, get yourself a mask and form a queue. And I'll commence proceedings," announced Odall.

Sacul was first in line as he still had his on. Odall spun him around, took off his mask and soaked it in the solution. He pulled it out, gave it a shake and placed it back on Sacul's face and re-tied it.

"Next!" called out Odall.

Nakie stepped forward and took off his helmet. Odall dipped Nakie's mask into the solution, and as he did, he noticed Nakie sniffing the air and licking his lips. Odall shook his head and paused before putting the mask on Nakie.

"Just because it smells of almonds, it doesn't mean you can eat it," he warned the hungry-eyed Nakie. Who seemed to huff under his breath at the disappointing news.

"It's there to save your life," said Odall, giving Nakie a second warning as he pulled and tied the plaits together at the back of Nakie's head. Just in case the first warning had fallen on deaf ears.

Torms was standing behind Ganga as he waited in line. Behind him was Tennant, who was last in the queue. Although he had nearly broken every rule in Phobic's rulebook since they had set out on the expedition. He wasn't going to with Rule 59 which clearly stated:

_Rule 59:Always be last in the queue because circumstances can always change._

This rule went back to an incident a hundred years ago. When a wealthy merchant was standing on a cart in the middle of a busy kingdom, handing out gold coins to whoever joined the queue. There was an unemployed street juggler called Yopie, who quickly joined it.

However, he found he kept getting pushed to the back as people pushed in. Eventually, when he got to the front, being the last in the queue. The merchant had given all the coins away, and at that precise moment the king turned up and got his guards to arrest the merchant.

The king climbed up onto the cart and announced. That whoever had received a gold coin from the merchant would receive two more in exchange for the one they had. The other street performers, beggars, and just about everybody else queued up again and handed their coin to the king. One by one the king took the gold coins and put them back into the huge wooden chest on the cart. Then told the person who had just handed back their gold coin to go and wait over by the wall for their bounty. Yopie, the unemployed juggler, sat down on an old potato sack and kicked at the floor. Cursing his misfortune, as he watched the queue proceeded up to the cart.

Eventually, the huge chest on the cart was full again, and the last coin handed in. The king shut the lid and turned to the horde of people now standing by the wall, eager and awaiting their bounty of two gold coins. The king waved his hand, and the palace guards appeared out of nowhere and surrounded the horde. The king then announced that the wealthy merchant wasn't a merchant at all, and he certainly wasn't wealthy. The king then proceeded to tell them, that the merchant was in fact the court jester. Being totally stupid, he came up with the idea that the king would find it funny. If he gave one of the king's gold-filled chests away, posing as a wealthy merchant. However, the jester soon found out he had failed, when the executioner appeared in the square, with his gleaming axe. The chopping block was placed before the king and it was documented that he did actually have the last laugh, and the jester never laughed again.

Because the king never wanted anything like this to happen again. He ordered that all those who took a gold coin from the jester would be punished and made an example of. One by one the executioner relieved them of their right hand. So that they would remember the warning. Yopie couldn't believe his luck and went on to be the only two-handed juggler in the kingdom. He retired at a grand old age and a very wealthy man - most of all, a two-handed one at that.

But as Tennant reached Odall and handed him his mask, he soon realised that the circumstances in his case weren't going to change. He now looked to Rule 4, one of the most basic and rules in Phobic's book. Which should only be used in times of great distress and trouble. The rule simply said:

_Rule 4: Get on your knees and pray._

Tennant wasn't on his knees, but he was definitely praying inside his head as he felt Odall pulling the plaited cords tightly around his head. He was praying and hoping that Odall was right, and the liquid now filling the inside of the mask with its strong almond vapour, would stop whatever was inside the coffin.

"Now then," said Odall as he dipped his own mask into the liquid, "will you do the honours, Torms?"

Odall placed his mask firmly over his face and turned his back towards Torms so that he could tie the plaits. Odall breathed a little apprehensively as he felt the mask tighten and hoped his was right. He removed the shield and bottle off the coffin's lid, and the extra masks and placed them on the floor. Then he held out the palm of his hand in a pushing motion towards one side of the coffin. The others knew what he meant and re-took their positions on the lid, where they had been before.

Torms took a place next to Ganga and Ripper, whilst Tennant tried to sneak off. But soon felt a hand grab the hood on his robe, and with a forceful jerk found himself right next to Sinat. With great reluctance, Tennant took a hold of the lid.

The chamber fell quiet again, as Odall who was standing on the step taking charge of the proceedings, took a deep breath, and Shouting through his mask so the others could hear him, he gave out the orders.

"ONE, TWO, LIFT!"

There was a chorus of grunts as each of them lifted the lid in the direction Odall had instructed, except Tennant. Who was just pretending to lift, and was saving his energy just in case Rule 35 in Phobic's rulebook had be acted out which was:

_Rule 35: Run!_

There was a slight grinding noise as the lid started to move. It was heavier than it looked. The twins, who were at each end had gone bright red in the face. As they held their breath, putting all their energy into it. Their muscles were trying to burst out of their skin as their veins pumped away on their forearms. Everybody was feeling the strain as the lid began to move towards Torms.

"THAT'S IT!" came the muffled shouting of Odall, as he shouted out encouragement. The lid started to move a little quicker, as Sinat's side pushed and Torms's pulled. Whilst the twins took most of the weight. Then Odall spotted that the lid was going to topple.

"MOVE!" he shouted at Torms and the two miners.

As they jumped out of the way, the heavy slab tilted over onto Torms's side of the coffin and fell over. Half-crashing, half-sliding down the side of the coffin. Hitting the stone slabs and making a funny soft thudding sound as gold hit stone.

But Torms and the others weren't bothered about that, as they quickly re-took their positions around the coffin, this time joined by Odall. As Torms leant over and looked in, he subconsciously held his breath. The first thing that struck him was the soft Amberinth glow, that shone out the coffin, through the flickering torchlight that invaded the coffin. As it did, tiny small dust particles could be seen gently floating up into the air.

As Torms looked further into the coffin, he saw the Amberinth glow coming from a magnificent suit of armour, entirely made of Amberinth. Which filled the whole coffin from top to bottom, and that wasn't the only thing lying there. A glowing sword lay upon the chest plate that ran down along the length of the suit. This was also made of Amberinth but glowed much stronger.

The sword immediately drew Torms's attention. It was the most mesmerizing thing he had ever seen in his life. He took a huge deep breath as its beauty over powered him; the reliability of the mask never crossed his mind.

The sword was over six feet long from the hilt to the tip of the blade. Now and then wisps off amber smoke would wrap itself around the blade and disappear as some sort of magic was trying to escape.

The handle was carved in very fine detail with intricate patterns running all around it. As Torms took a closer look, he could see it was in the shape of a spiralling horn, and the baluster part, which was the very butt of the hilt, was in the shape of a ram's head. The handle was over a foot long.

Then came two smaller crossed blades that stuck out from the base of the handle. The main blade was etched with elegant writing in a foreign tongue. Once you thought you had adjusted your eyes to the writing, the sword seemed to change it slightly. This ran all the way down to the tip of the sword. Which rested along the length of the suit of armour, the hilt resting just under the helmet.

The helmet was also magnificent and was shaped in the style of a ram's head with two large coiled horns wrapped around the sides. The detail was second to none. The flap of the helmet was in the shape of a ram's muzzle. Each muscle and groove of the ram's face was marked upon the helmet, and the rest of the armour was of the same craftsmanship. The arms of the suit were crossed over the sword on top of the chest plate. With the gauntlets resting on the hilt of the sword.

Torms didn't need to be told by Odall. Just by looking at the way the suit's arms were crossed he knew that Rancore had been put to rest in the coffin and this was the suit in which he was buried; meaning Rancore's skeleton was inside. Nobody said a word as they each stared at the impressive sight. They must have been there for nearly three very long minutes until one of them moved. It was Odall.

He walked around to the other side of the coffin and picked up the strange bottle containing the neutraliser. Without warning he started pouring it into the coffin, splashing it all over the suit and sword. At first, the others couldn't see the very fine particles of poisonous dust. But then very small globules of dust started to form in the liquid as it attracted the poison.

The others watched Odall empty what was left in the bottle into the coffin. Then without warning and with a slight noise of two flints striking together. Odall tossed a small piece of smouldering wool into the coffin, which he had produced from within his robe.

Instantly, the liquid inside the coffin ignited. The inside of the coffin exploded in an almighty ball of flames that flew up high, way up into the ceiling. First in bright orange, then bright blue, as it spread out.

Some of the others were knocked back by the blast, which sent one or two of the lighter ones, such as Sacul and Tennant across the platform; tumbling down the step. The twins, being the twins, just stood there and took the full force, and Nakie, being the height, he was. The blast went clean over his head. The rest of them remained where they were but were stunned by the sudden explosion.

It was Odall who made the first move, and as he did the others automatically flinched, not knowing what to expect next. The philosopher brushed himself down and patted his now smouldering beard. Putting out the small fire that was trying to get started, and with his mind at rest, that his beard wasn't going to suddenly burst into flames.

Odall stretched out his arms, causing another nervous reaction from the others. As he untied the plaits from around his head, and with a final tug, pulled off the mask. Odall took a deep breath, then blew the air out. Much to the horror of the others, as they looked on, awaiting the result.

"Ah, that's better, never really did like the smell of almonds much," he said as he tossed his mask over his shoulder.

It was Torms who started to untie his mask next, as the others kept vigil over Odall. Making sure the first breath he had taken hadn't been a lucky one. They were waiting to see if the poison took a bit of time to work.

Torms took his mask off and took a deep breath, giving his head a bit of a shake just to make sure nothing was broken from the blast. He looked around at the others, they were all blackened by the blast and had white patches around their eyes where they had instinctively closed them when the coffin exploded.

Torms looked at the smouldering figures, then at Odall. He noticed there was a clear white rectangle and three lines imprinted into Odall's face, where his mask had protected his skin from the blast. Torms let out a little chuckle at the funny sight of Odall. But was also laughing at Odall, as he never stopped surprising him.

"Well, my good friend, I suppose you had a good reason for doing what you did," said Torms as he stuck his head back over the coffin and checked to see the damage caused. He couldn't believe his eyes. The armour and sword were untouched, still gleaming as they were before; with not so much as a scratch, or black mark. The inside of the golden coffin was blackened, but the suit and sword still lay there in their full glory.

Torms's inspection was rudely interrupted by Tennant's outburst, as he'd just managed to get his mask off.

"WHAT, FOR THE LOVE OF RULEBOOKS, DID YOU DO THAT FOR?" shouted the now smouldering advisor. As he shook his arm at Odall, showing his rage at being knocked off his feet and blasted down the step.

"WELL, I'M WAITING!" shouted the impatient Tennant as he stamped his foot, demanding an answer.

Odall was just about to answer, but Ganga stepped in, having taken off his own mask.

"I think you'll find that Odall has done us a favour," he said.

"A FAVOUR! A FAVOUR! I'll give him a favour," said the outraged advisor. Holding up his fist once more and in doing this, he had just broken Rule 6 in Phobic's rulebook which was:

_Rule 6: Never start a fight you cannot win, advisors don 't win fights, they win arguments._

"Just look at me!" snapped Tennant, remarking on his blackened figure.

"Yes, just look at you," said Torms as he joined in the somewhat heated debate of questions and answers. "And haven't you noticed something important in the midst of all your ranting and raving, some minor detail that wasn't an option before?"

"What do you mean, getting blown up?" snapped Tennant.

"No, you're breathing without the mask. I think what Ganga was trying to tell you is, that by Odall's quick thinking he neutralised the poison by combustion," said Torms.

Sacul and the twins looked confused, and once again it was Sinat who had to lean over and put them straight. "Set it on fire," he whispered, not wanting to spoil Torms's flow, particularly as it was Tennant on the receiving end.

"Yep, you can't beat a bit of combustion for clearing unwanted gases or obstacles down tunnels, can you, Ripper?" said Ganga, Ripper gave a reassuring nod.

"I don't know personally what poison was in the coffin, and I doubt we will know. But one thing's for sure. In our haste to get the lid off we forgot about what happens afterwards, and the poison had already started to rise and fill the chamber. However, the fire leapt up into the air and spread out, engulfing the poison specks, and I guess that's why the flames turned blue. It must have been the colour of the burning poison, and by Odall acting as quickly as he did, it wasn't a moment too soon. He must have gotten all of the particles, otherwise, we wouldn't be standing talking here now," concluded Ganga, adding his expert opinion on the matter.

He then looked towards Odall for some reassurance that he hadn't just talked a load of rubbish, Odall nodded.

"See, all's well that ends well," said Torms.

"ALL'S WELL, THAT ENDS WELL!" shouted Tennant. "I nearly broke my neck falling down that step!"

"And I'll give you a hand to try it again if you don't stop your whining," snapped Sinat as he gave Tennant a hard stare.

This had the desired effect on the advisor. Who came to the quick conclusion that he was alright after all, and the little fall down the steps had done him more good than bad. Let's say no more on the subject, he thought. And lowered his head slightly to avoid Sinat's gaze, and hoped somebody else would speak.

"It's magnificent," were the words that came flooding out of Sacul's mouth as he leant into the coffin; almost falling in. He would have if Bash'm hadn't grabbed hold of his thick leather belt. Sacul stretched his hand out to touch the sword, as he did, he could feel a strange energy run up his hand and fill his body, making him feel alive. Every muscle in his body tingled and twitched with untold energy. Without thinking, and with no warning to the others, Sacul clasped his hand around the horn-covered hilt. Then without any effort pulled the sword away from the suit of armour with a swooshing sound.

The arms and gauntlets on the suit fell to the side, giving up their prize which they had held onto for a thousand years. Sacul emerged from the coffin, his right hand still clasping the sword and placing his feet firmly on the ground; he thrust the huge heavy weapon straight up into the air. The sword was bigger than he was, the others gasped with shocked looks on their faces. As they wondered how Sacul had the strength to wield such a mighty sword above his head, and with one hand at that.

Sacul stood proudly in front of the others, his face aglow. Torms looked at Odall, then back to Sacul, then back to Odall, waiting for the philosopher to say something and hoping for an explanation. The sword was glowing magnificently, and even stronger, now that Sacul had it in his grasp; and he appeared to be larger in stature as well.

Odall slowly and warily approached Sacul. "Can you put it down for a moment," was all he said, in a very softly spoken voice.

After a long couple of seconds, and with lightning action. Sacul reversed the sword in his hand with a swinging motion. Then without any effort and with the utmost of ease, pushed the tip of the sword at least three feet into the huge flagstone they were standing on. Not splitting or shattering it, but with a delicate and precise blow. Cutting through the stone like a hot knife through butter.

As the sword came to rest, Sacul removed his hand from the hilt. Sacul tried to focus on Odall in front of him but couldn't. Then the room began to spin; then it all went dark. It was Beat'm who caught him as he passed out and fell backwards.

Sinat and Nakie ran to his aid, and were now standing over him.

"IS HE STILL BREATHING," shouted Torms as he approached Sacul from the other side of the Coffin.

"Is it serious? Is he harmed?" asked the panicky Torms as he grabbed hold of Odall, shaking him, demanding an answer.

"Calm down," said Odall. "He's drained, that's all. He'll be alright in a couple of minutes, he wasn't holding it for that long."

Torms sighed as he heard the comforting words, and he stopped shaking Odall. "Sorry," he said, brushing down Odall's robe, trying to brush the crease marks out of it, which he had made by grabbing him.

"Interesting though, don't you think?" asked Odall as he looked at the sword. As he did, he slowly walked around it for a closer inspection.

"What just happened with Sacul and the sword?" asked Torms, wanting to know more.

"Sword . . . sword . . . that's a good word to describe this, but this isn't any old sword," said Odall as he looked up from inspecting it. For the first time in Odall's company, Torms felt uneasy, as Odall gave him a firm and serious look. Something Torms hadn't seen from the happy-go-lucky philosopher. He knew whatever Odall said was good advice, but somehow, he knew what Odall was about to tell him was serious, very serious.

"This, my good friend, is not just a sword," Odall paused, adjusting his posture as he was just about to make a big announcement.

"It's The Sword of Oblivion," said Odall in a mystical tone.

As Odall mentioned the sword's name, it seemed to glow ever so slightly, as if living off the vibrations, at the mention of its name.

Odall now had the full attention of the others, as well as the now-awakening Sacul. Who lay in Beat'm's arms. Nobody said anything, they waited. Breathing ever so softly, not wanting to miss anything Odall was about to say.

"There isn't much in the book about it, apart from a crude drawing that doesn't do it any justice at all," said Odall. As he said this he gave the sword a quick glance. "But what it does say, is that, it was the sword of the great warlord Rancore. And the sword itself had magical powers, and through that power, Rancore ruled for one hundred years and a day.

"What kind of magical powers?" asked the eager Torms.

"That, my friend, I can't tell you. In the book there are some sketchy translation of symbols and text which I don't understand. However, looking around this tomb, at the golden plates that line the walls, with all manner of symbols and text upon them. I dare say that is where the answers lie," replied Odall.

"Do you think you will be able to read them?" asked Torms.

"With the aid of the book and a bit of help from Tennant and his expertise. As he's probably read a lot more cultural books than I have on foreign tongues and text, and with a bit of luck, we might find common ground between them."

Tennant breathed in, sticking out his chest at the mention of expertise and his name in the same sentence. At last, for the first time on the trip, he was needed. Not in the sense that he had to stand guard or keep a record of things. This time it was different, he really was needed.

"Of course, I shall," replied Tennant, addressing Odall's comments as he stood on the step next to the coffin, looking down on the others; feeling all important.

"What about him?" asked Sinat as he looked into the coffin.

"Well, he can stay where he is for the moment, he's not going anywhere," replied Torms.

"My main concern is the sword. We need to protect it."

"Protect us from it, more like," said Sinat worryingly.

"No, what I mean is, let's just say that those elves are still out there watching us, and deciding whether or not to attack or mountain trolls for that matter. It's bad enough that the mine we were expecting to find has turned out to be a tomb. But if we lost the sword to them, before even realising its potential, it would be disastrous," said Torms, really throwing out a question to anybody who wanted to comment on their situation.

"He's got a point," commented Ganga. "We would look a bit stupid if we returned home with a few trinkets, some gold and a pair of Amberinth doors."

"But what to do?" said Odall as he stroked his beard, pondering on the matter.

"This is a job for the Captain. I'm sure that rare and powerful swords should fall

under his job description. It doesn't fall under mine, even if it is a rare mineral or metal," finished Odall

"Do we bring him to the sword, weakening our defence at the main entrance, or the sword to him?" asked Torms.

"Well, the sooner it's in his company, the better, I'd say," said Sinat. "He's the head of The Blood Born Guards. If anybody's capable of looking after it, it's him."

Nobody said anything, as they were all thinking over Sinat's last remark, but it was Tennant that broke the silence as.

"Well, I think it should stay here," said Tennant. "It's been safe down here for the past thousand years and nothing's happened to it." He said voicing his concerns.

"Oh, and you don't think the heavy steel doors at the mountain entrance covered by half the Brocken Mountains had anything to do with that? And I'm not counting the locked Amberinth doors we came through. And let's not forget the arsenal of arrows and axes that lay in wait for us, nearly knocking Nakie's head clean off his shoulders. Or did you forget all that?" snapped Sinat sarcastically.

"He's right, I think it should be in safe hands, and that's with the Captain," said Ganga giving his final opinion on the matter.

"Odall, how about you?" asked Torms.

"Well, Tennant and Sinat both have good points, but at the end of the day the final decision is yours," replied Odall.

Torms turned to Nakie for his views but saw that he was a little bit preoccupied. He was looking at his helmet and was shoving his finger through the hole in the top. Which he knew hadn't been there before and with his other hand, he was feeling top of his head and noticed he had a very small bald patch. He looked confused as if he'd missed something important but couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Nakie looked over to the Amberinth doors, and then at the others, who all at once suddenly looked away.

Torms quickly directed his glance at Odall. Then took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a second as he tried to clear his thoughts. He blew out some air as he reached his decision.

"Right, the sword goes with the twins, to be taken to the Captain," he said as he opened his eyes. Sacul instantly shot his head up with his eyes wide open. "Yes, you can go as well," said Torms. A smile appeared on Sacul's face as Torms continued.

"Normally I wouldn't put you near so much potential danger but seeing as you are the only one who's touched it and you're still breathing, we haven't much choice. We need you to pull it out and wrap it in one of the blankets. So that we can tie it to one of the golden pikes. Then the twins can put the pike on their shoulders, one either end and, carry it out. Sinat, Nakie and I will accompany you three. Odall, you stay behind and get to work on those walls with Tennant. Ganga, Ripper, Sniffer and Picker can stay with you, and help if you need it. I'm sure you'd rather stay down here wouldn't you Ganga?" asked Torms.

"Definitely, that's like asking a miner if he takes coal in his hot herbs," replied Ganga.

Torms took that as a yes and went to turn away but stopped and turned back towards Ganga.

"Is that true, you miners really like coal in your hot herbs? I thought it was just a myth." Without saying a word, Ganga and Ripper gave Torms a big wide smile. Exposing their blackened teeth and even blacker gums. Torms made a mental note, not to sit down at a miner's fire and have a cup of hot herbs with them.

"Right, Sacul, can you go and get me a blanket," said Torms, but stopped and looked around. He couldn't see Sacul, but then he heard footsteps come running down the main entrance steps.

As Sacul ran down with a blanket trailing behind him, Torms went to issue another order to the twins, but as he did, he stopped and took a good look at them.

Bash'm was standing tall, proud and slightly out of breath, holding one of the large golden pikes. He had just nicked from one of the decorative suits in the corner. It still had one of the golden gauntlets attached to it, which had refused to let go.

"Very good, I'm impressed," said Torms. "I can see Sacul's starting to rub off on you." Sacul came flying up the stairs with Blanket in tow, and laid it out on the floor.

"Right do you think you're up to it?" asked Torms, concerned for his younger cousin. Sacul nodded his head, eager to grab hold of the sword again. To feel its power and energy run through his veins once more.

"Now don't hold onto to it for too long, we don't know what damage it might do to you. Just pull it out and place it on the blanket," said Torms.

With that, Sacul couldn't wait any longer he stepped forward to the sword and with both hands clasped the ram hilt. The sword instantly glowed, and Sacul's nostrils flared as he took in a deep breath of air, which seemed to stay in his body. Making it expand, as he found a new lease of power.

Torms noticed a flicker of Amberinth sparkle in the centre of Sacul's eyes; standing out against his black pupils. With the slightest of ease, Sacul pulled out the mighty sword, holding it at arm's length, and without any difficulty placed it down onto the blanket. With a rush of air, he let go. Instantly he fell against the coffin, but this time he didn't pass out and even if he had, the twins were there to catch him.

"Are you okay?" asked Torms.

"Yep," came the shaky reply. "It wasn't as bad this time as it was the first, but I think it was because I knew what to expect."

"Or the sword might be accepting you" Spoke Odall, in a philosophical way. As Sacul's last comment had interested him. He thought it might prove useful in revealing how the sword works. And if a said person used it more, does the sword start to connect with that said person, and did it have different powers depending on who is wielding it.

However, instead of asking Sacul what he'd experienced, he thought he'd go for the more direct, hands-on approach. He knelt down and before anybody could stop him he touched the sword.

It glowed, but this time in a different shade of Amberinth, but only slightly. Odall's face looked transfixed, as if he was studying his own mind for the answers he was looking for. Within his eyes he was surging with untold power, as Amberinth specks flicked and darted within them. As the astonished Torms looked on, he could have sworn Odall looked ten years younger. Then, with a faint rush of air, the sword stopped glowing as Odall released his grip and fell backwards onto his rear.

"WHOO-EE, now that's what I call power!" Shouted Odall, as he sat upright shaking his head.

"Help him up somebody," ordered Torms. Nakie and Sinat leant down and grabbed an arm each and pulled Odall to his feet.

"Now I know what we're up against. We definitely have to find out precisely how much power, The Sword of Oblivion has," said Odall. The sword glowed softly again on the blanket at the mention of its name. "And the sooner, the better. If this sword was to get into the wrong hands, there's no telling what might happen."

"Well then, let's not waste any more time, let's get it wrapped and on its way. Nakie, Sinat," said Torms.

Very carefully and inquisitively the two of them wrapped the blanket around the sword. As they did, Bash'm and Beat'm appeared at the side of them, with the golden pike on their shoulders. With one of the twins at each end, Sinat and Nakie strained as they picked up the sword in the blanket, not touching it, as they tied their ends to either end of the pike. As they finished off tying and securing the sword to its makeshift carriage. They both wondered how Sacul had managed to hold such a mighty sword above his head, and with one hand.

"Odall, Tennant, I'll leave you two to get on with deciphering these wall plates. If there's anything on them, I'm sure you won't miss it. I'll leave you the blankets and all the food as well."

At the mention of the word 'food' and the word 'leaving', Nakie looked up with a wild and distressed look in his eyes, as Torms continued: "and the water. Once we have talked with the Captain, I'll come back."

"Safe journey," said Odall, as he waved his hand up, scuttling off towards the golden wall plates with his leather-bound book of _Myths & Legends_. Tennant was hot on his heels, also with his book in tow; the one Torms had given him. Which he'd been keeping their progress reports in. Tennant had now opened it at a brand-new page and pulling his flint out from behind his ear. He started to write down some of the text etched onto the walls under the heading _text of Rancore_.

As Torms and the others walked up the stone steps and left the tomb. Slight echoes of footsteps still ran out around the walls, as if somebody else was walking with them towards the entrance. Odall lowered his book for a second and looked over towards the steps, but he saw nothing, and then the sound had gone. He shook his head, he thought he was hearing things and put it down to his recent outburst of energy from the sword. He pulled his book back up to easy-reading height and carried on with the job at hand.

*

Velthrone lay in his bed, still half asleep. Listening to the sound of the forest flooding through his window as the first rays of sun touched the branches of The Great Tree. As he lay there with his eyes closed, picking out the sound of the wood pigeons, he stretched, and for a moment everything was calm and peaceful. He didn't have a care in the world, it was his favourite part of the day, that thirty-second gap between sleep and wakefulness, where no problems existed, and everything was fine. However, everything was far from fine, on account of the snake-like figure sitting in a chair in the corner of his room; in the shadows of the wardrobe.

As Velthrone opened his eyes, he was still in his peaceful world. But was about to get a rude awakening. If he had known what laid in wait for him, he would have remained asleep.

"Good morning, Velthrone," hissed Rathall at the unsuspecting advisor.

"HAAA!" screamed Velthrone as he pulled the sheets up for protection, although little good they would have been. However, this made the now shaking Velthrone feel a little safer. Any barrier between him and Rathall, no matter how thin or pathetic, was still a barrier.

"Did you sssleep well?" asked Rathall in a mocking hiss.

"How . . . how long have you been here?" stuttered Velthrone.

"Oh, most of the night. In fact, jussst asss you had fallen asssleep. I was going to wake you, but you looked ssso peaceful, ssso I let you sssleep. All advisssorsss need their sssleep if they are to advissse - which bringsss me to my next quessstion."

Rathall leant forward in the chair, bringing his head out of the shadows. As his reptile face with its flicking tongue emerged, Velthrone sank his head into his shoulders, trying to get under the sheets a little further.

"I need advisssing on the current sssituation with regardsss to the dwarfsss and where a likely battle would take place." Rathall slithered up out of the chair. As he did all sorts of things ran through Velthrone's mind as the sorcerer slithered over to the end of his bed.

"Get yourssself dressssed, and I'll meet you in your ssstudy," ordered Rathall, slithering out the door and shutting it behind him.

Velthrone let out a gasp of air and fell back into his bed and pulled the sheets over his head. However, he quickly pulled them off again, as a sickly feeling came over him, at the thought. That Rathall might still be in the room; as he sprang out of bed.

Rathall was looking at the array of books that lined Velthrone's study, and had just turned his attention to the map, that lay upon the desk. When the door to the Velthrone's private chambers opened.

"Ah, Velthrone, nice of you to join me," hissed Rathall, as the now-dressed advisor stepped out of his private chambers into his main study room.

"I was jussst looking at the map. I sssee you have already marked off sssome areasss with a sssmall sssymbol of a sssword, an axe, a bow, and what looksss like a fireball. I take thessse to be the sssymbols of the opposssing sssidesss, the warriorsss, dwarfsss, elvesss and sssorcerersss?"

Velthrone nodded his head. "And here, where they all meet together, isss thisss where you sssuppose the battle for the Amberinth will take place?"

"Yes," replied Velthrone as he stepped up to the table, rather reluctantly. "There are three possible areas in all. The Brocken Mountains, the Ferral Mountains, or on the marshlands of the First Province."

"Ah, Warlord Ssstrangaurd'sss territory, he will be pleasssed," hissed Rathall in delight. "Have you any more newsss on the location of the Amberinth mine, or itsss quantity?"

"None since that last report. However, one thing's for sure, it's in the Brocken Mountains," replied Velthrone.

"Right, well, keep me posssted. I'll be at my cassstle if you have any newsss," hissed Rathall.

Velthrone looked up at Rathall. "Your castle?" He was just about to ask where it was when Rathall changed his wording.

"A ssslip of the tongue," he hissed. "I'll be at Cassstle Attin. Ssstrangaurd hasss kindly agreed to let me ssstay there asss hisss advisssor."

Now Velthrone was truly shocked, but Rathall continued. "Oh, only until you get there, I couldn't fill your ssshoesss."

As he turned away he spoke again just out of ear's reach. "I have greater plansss for myssself than being a mere advisssor." He said as he slithered over toward the place where his symbol on the floor lay. Then quickly darted back again towards Velthrone.

"Oh, I nearly forgot." And without another word Rathall started muttering, and with a wave of his hand, Velthrone felt a chain around his neck. Expecting the worst, Velthrone quickly grabbed it and pulled it out from beneath his clothes. In his hand laid a talisman, and not just any talisman. This one was in the shape of a six-pointed star and had the emblem of Rathall snakes upon it. Which was hung on a thick gold chain around his neck.

Velthrone hurriedly tried to pull the talisman from around his neck, and instantly felt a burning sensation in his fingers. He let go in agonising pain, and the talisman fell back onto his chest. The panicky and confused Velthrone looked up.

"Don't be alarmed, it'sss for your own protection, ssso that no one can take it from you," hissed Rathall.

Velthrone carried on staring, as he knew that wasn't true. It was so he couldn't take it off.

"It's a meansss to contact me if you have any new information. Just ssstand where I am now, close your eyesss and think of me, and you'll be transported to my exact location," hissed Rathall. As the words left Rathall's mouth, Velthrone felt sick at such a horrible thought. Rathall muttered in an ancient tongue, stepped onto the symbols that were beginning to emerge from the floor, and with a faint puff of dark red smoke, was gone.

Velthrone walked over to his favourite leather armchair in the corner of the room, and slumped down into it. He sat there trying to work out what had just happened. In the last ten minutes he had gone from peaceful sleep to sheer panic and now anxiety. As he stared down at the floor, he noticed that his shoes were on the wrong feet. He hadn't felt a thing when he was in the company of Rathall, he must have had other maters on his mind. But now he started to feel a slight throbbing in his toes, and sense of pain.

Velthrone leant forward in his chair. As he started to swap his shoes over he suddenly had a terrible thought, one he'd had a couple of days before. But now for the first time it just suddenly hit him, and hit him hard. He knew he wasn't in control anymore. What started off with him controlling a dim-witted warlord, who did everything he suggested, had ended up with Rathall doing exactly the same to him. Velthrone stopped what he was doing and slumped back in his chair and left the shoes on the wrong feet. Throbbing feet were the least of his worries, he thought, as he sat pondering on is fate.

*

Torms pulled back the main makeshift canvas door that hung over the entrance and stepped out. As he did, he shielded his eyes from the sun. He had forgotten all concept of time, whilst down the tomb, or even what day it was. The miners referred it to as 'Blind Haze,' the moment you step out of a tunnel into sunlight.

For some unknown reason, Torms had been expecting it to be dark. But the sun was defiantly shining, and the smell of sausage and bacon filled the air; along with the faint crackle of wood. His senses soon told him it was early morning, and breakfast time at that. I couldn't have timed it better, he thought to himself as walked out into the sunlight.

That was Nakie's thoughts precisely, as he pushed his way past Torms and headed for the nearest fire. However, Torms didn't have time to eat, that would have to wait till later. He had to find the Captain. As he stepped into the camp, he noticed a sturdy figure waving to him over by one of the fires. His eyes, still slightly blinded by the sun, soon focused in on the figure, then he realised it was the Captain.

Torms set off across the camp with Sacul and the twins closely behind him with the sword. Sinat strolled off and had sat down and joined Nakie. The Captain met Torms halfway, with open arms.

"Ah, you're back. Now, what news of the chamber?" whispered the Captain. "Did it lead into a mine? Did you find the Amberinth?" asked the Captain as he led Torms and the others over to his fire. "Sergeant, get these dwarfs some food and some hot herbs," he ordered a nearby soldier.

"Sit, sit," said the Captain, as he waved his arm, ushering them down.

Torms sat down, whilst the twins took the pike which had the blanket containing the sword of their shoulders, and placed it down by the fire. Then sat down along with Sacul by the fire. A mug of hot herbs was shoved into Torms's hand by the sergeant, then he thrust out a plate full to the brim with sausages, bacon and mushrooms. Although Torms was famished, he turned the food down.

"No, thank you, I'll eat it later," he said as he took a sip from the mug. "What I'm about to tell you Captain cannot wait," said Torms. The Captain waved his hand at the sergeant and the other soldiers around the fire.

"Leave us," he ordered, as he pulled up a makeshift stool. Which was an old tree stump, and sat down opposite Torms.

Torms looked at Sacul and the twins, who were just to the side of him, holding their mugs and staring at the plate of hot food that sat in their laps.

"Well, eat up, don't let me stop you. I'll be joining you in a minute. Don't you worry."

With the sound of Sacul and the twins chewing their breakfast, Torms turned back towards the awaiting Captain.

"We didn't exactly find what we were looking for, but our mine has turned out to be a tomb. And it looks as though we have uncovered the ancient resting place of the warrior Rancore, who up until now was known only as a myth. As you know we had the Amberinth disc with his emblem on, and expected to unearth one of his Amberinth mines. Which was the whole point of all this. But now we have a whole different matter on our hands, and one in which you are going to play a great part in." Torms paused for breath, before continuing.

"When we eventually opened the coffin of Rancore, he was in a magnificent suit of armour made entirely out of Amberinth. But the main item was a sword, and not just any old sword this one seems to hold some hidden power, even magical. Odall put a name to it, The Sword of Oblivion. As Torms said that, no one noticed, but there was a slight glow from beneath the blanket.

"It holds great power, which we've seen for ourselves. Odall, Tennant, and Ganga and his crew, are still down there trying to decipher the ancient text that lines the walls, for something that will give us a greater understanding of the sword."

Torms paused, and as he did he studied the Captain's face, which was stern and assertive.

"I think I had better get down there and take a closer look. If word of this sword gets out then we might have a problem," said the Captain.

"That's why we have brought the problem to you," said Torms with a nod, and a tilting of his head in the direction of the golden pike still with the blanket attached.

"You mean it's in there?" asked the Captain in a hushed whisper, realising he was going to get a closer look a lot sooner than he'd expected.

"We thought it would be safer with you, and the sooner the better. Until we know precisely what it is and what to do with it." Torms paused briefly before continuing. As he had given the next bit some thought. Whilst on the long walk back, through the tunnel.

"Let's just say the elves are watching, and let's just say they know we are up to something and, lets for the moment suggest that they might know about the Amberinth.

Also, as the Emerald Forest is a lot closer than the Ferral Mountains, they could have sent for extra troops, when we......" Torms stopped what he was saying to correct himself. "Sorry when I stumbled upon them. If they decided to storm our position with much greater numbers. Thinking that we have an Amberinth mine we wouldn't stand a chance. They could enter the tunnel and take whatever they wanted." Torms paused for a few seconds to let the Captain think before he concluded his little speech.

"But, if they did that at least we have the sword." Concluded Torms. The Captain just sat staring at Torms, then he shook his head and smiled.

"You certainly have come a long way in a short space of time, from that very nervous leader who stood before us in Ironclad. You have thought and done well. But first, we must untie it from that golden pike, and store the sword in with the other blankets on the wagons, so it's safe. I'll put guards around it, without it looking to obvious they are guarding something. As we don't want to draw any unnecessary attention. You don't know how much I'd like to take a look at that sword, being a soldier, but it can wait. We'll have to do something with that pike as well."

The Captain paused before asking, "What about Odall? How long before he can decipher the text?"

"Don't know. He's working on it now. I'll go back after I've had something to eat," replied Torms.

The Captain put his hand on Torms's arm. "And after some rest you look tired - and that's an order, otherwise I will tie you to a makeshift bed until you do," he said, not allowing Torms to respond.

Torms smiled. "If you put it like that, I suppose a quick hour or two wouldn't go amiss." The Captain stood up and waved two of his soldiers over.

"Uhm-uhm, Captain, if you don't mind I think it best if the twins carry it. It won't look too obvious if they do it, as it's quite heavy. But seeing two other dwarfs struggling with a blanket might," said Torms.

"You'll be after my job next," smiled the Captain. Before he could ask the twins, they had already put down their plates; which were now completely empty. And with the aid of Sacul, untied the blanket from the pike. Bash'm and Beat'm were now standing at either end of the blanket, and Sacul standing alongside.

"Where to, Captain?" asked Sacul with a serious look on his face. He took his guarding role seriously: seeing as he was the only one who had touched the sword. Apart from the brief touch of Odall, he felt in some way entrusted with its safety.

"Put it in the third wagon over there," replied the Captain.

They walked off with the blanket swinging very slowly from side to side.

The Captain then started briefing the two sergeants he had called over, about their special assignment, which had just come up. With a wave of his hand, they shot off, gathering their own dwarfs for the task. Then two other soldiers, who had just been collared by one of the sergeants, came running over to the fire, and without saying a word picked up the golden pike and ran off again.

It was only a short stroll to the wagon, as they got there Sacul climbed up the side and onto the top. He pulled himself up by holding onto the stack of blankets that mainly filled the back of the wagon. All apart from a few sacks which contained Ganga's torches. As he did, two other soldiers ran up to the wagon with crossbows, and climbed halfway up, then disappeared into the stacked blankets.

Sacul, who was standing on top of the blankets, blinked and rubbed his eyes, then spun around jerkily in all directions. He then stuck his head back over the side towards the twins.

"Am I seeing things, or did two soldiers just run up to the wagon and disappear?"

"Yes, they did," came two muffled voices.

"I'm hearing things as well now," said the surprised Sacul, as he stared down at the twins, who had just answered him without opening their mouths.

"No, you're not, we have orders to blend in and keep watch."

Sacul leant over even more and stared at the side of the stacked blankets on which he was now lying on. He could just about see the tips of two arrowheads sticking out from the soldiers' crossbows.

"Oh, sorry am I blowing your cover?" Asked Sacul.

"It will be ok just as long as you stop talking to us" came a rather annoyed voice from within.

"Sorry" whispered Sacul.

Then trying to make amends, he quickly pulled himself back up, picked up the nearest blanket and started to talk to it. Then he put it down and did the same with another. Then, when he thought he had done enough, he leant back over the side.

"Right, that should have done it."

Two loud "HUFFS" came from within the blanket's, followed by a muffled "Unbelievable," then it all went quite again.

The twins stood there looking bewildered, as they watched and heard Sacul picking up more blankets and talking to them, as he made his way towards them. Sacul decided to put the twins out of their misery.

"Psssst, I'm talking to the blankets just in case the elves are watching. I don't want to blow the soldiers' position. So, I'm pretending I'm mad and I talk to blankets. Now, follow me to the back of the wagon, and we'll hide the sword there, in between the blankets." When Sacul said 'follow me,' the twins took this literally.

They walked around to the back of the wagon, still holding an end of the blanket each. While with their free hand they started patting the blankets as they walked.

"Hello, Mr Blankie," said Beat'm, "how are you today?" Bash'm's attempt wasn't much better. His lines consisted of, "I haven't seen you here before" and "do you come here often?" When they did finally get around to the back of the wagon, it was Sacul's turn to look bewildered. To top it all off, they just stood there smiling up at him, feeling quite proud at a job well-done.

By the look on Bash'm's face, he had been dying to try out those chat-up lines for ages and seized the opportunity when it arose. He was actually quite pleased with himself, as he had asked fourteen blankets out, and had not a single knockback.

"Oh well," thought Sacul as he leant over the back, parting the blankets ready for the twins to hide the sword. Bash'm lifted his end up, and rested it between the blankets, while Beat'm started to push his end in. He had got halfway when he suddenly stopped and looked very serious, his face changed. As Sacul looked down, he noticed the look on Beat'm's face. A look he had only seen once before, and that was in the clearing when they stumbled across the elves.

Bash'm too was alert and had already drawn his Double-handed War hammer from the attachment on his back. Beat'm wasn't far behind as he equipped himself with his Double-handed Battle axe.

"What is it?" whispered Sacul. But the twins gave no answer as they turned their heads, slowly scouting the area. Sacul didn't have to wait long for his answer, as a ten-foot mountain troll came flying out of nowhere swinging a huge spiked club around its head. Whilst running full pelt, straight towards Bash'm. Bash'm ducked as the heavy spiked club went over his head and smashed into the back of the wagon, leaving the troll exposed for a few seconds.

Beat'm wasted no time in seizing the opportunity, and with both hands swung his axe up, over his head and brought it down with full force. Cutting the troll's arm in two, as it sliced through the extended arm, the troll let out a deafening scream. If the rest of the camp hadn't known they were under attack, they certainly did now.

The scream acted as some kind of call to attack. As mountain trolls began to appear all over the camp. Three more headed straight for the wagon, but that wasn't Sacul's only problem. His problem got a whole lot bigger, as a troll jumped down from a high ridge and landed smack bang in the middle of the wagon. Sacul was knocked clean off his feet from the impact. The reinforced steel rims upon the huge wooden wheels started to crack, and splinter. Under the force and now the weight of the troll. The troll swung its club over its head and went to bring it down upon Sacul. As Sacul fumbled around trying to unleash his throwing axes.

"THRRUD," "THRRUD" two crossbow bolts struck it square in the back, making it rear up in pain, causing the troll to fling its arms out. Knocking Sacul clean off the back of the wagon.

As Sacul was falling, he threw out his arm to try and stop his fall. He caught hold of something with his outstretched fingers and held on tight. His body began to tingle, and his muscles started to pump. He looked at his hand and saw the object he had just grabbed. It was the hilt of the sword. Which had been unwrapped by the force of the club swung by the first troll when it smashed into the wagon.

As Sacul continued to fall, he accidentally drew the sword out of the blanket. Sacul hit the floor standing upright, the earth beneath his feet pounded as he landed. The troll that had just had his arm chopped off, had already been dealt with by the skilful blows of the twins. But as Sacul looked up, he set his sights on three very fast-approaching trolls.

He wrapped his other hand around the hilt, Sacul could feel the power of the sword running through his veins. With the sword slightly tilted forward, he waited for the leading troll to reach striking distance. The twins didn't get a chance to attack, as Sacul shot past them in a blur; with the Amberinth sword aglow. There was a strange swooshing sound, then and a troll's head landed at the feet of Bash'm. Sacul was moving and spinning so fast the other two trolls didn't even see him coming. The twins could only just make out the blurred figure of Sacul as he moved his arms around. Making precise devastating strikes against the enemy. One by one the troll's bodies slumped to the floor some with limbs missing others their heads.

Toms was by the fire, standing back-to-back with the Captain. Along with ten of the Captain's finest guards. They were being attacked by what seemed to be the main force of the trolls. There were five in all, but they were more cautious than the other trolls. There was a much bigger one in the middle with a set of giant teeth, almost tusks around its neck on some rope. This troll seemed to be in charge, holding back and giving out direct orders, by ways of grunts and a waving of his club.

"AHHHHHH!" Came a deafening war cry that sprang out across the camp. As Torms looked up, he could see a blurred figure running right at them in a glow of Amberinth.

"Sacul!" said Torms to himself.

A very fast-approaching Sacul came into view and back out again as he shot past. Taking out two of the nearest trolls. Who were now lying motionless on the floor, as he continued on, heading straight for the troll Chieftain. But as he passed Torms a strange blackish glow appeared next to him.

Torms stared as the glow emerged into a figure. First of all, a blurred one, and then into a more solid form. Everything fell silent as Torms blocked out the slashing and cries of the attack that were ringing out all around the camp. As he was now standing face to face with Trantore, who looked more shocked than Torms. Torms stood there speechless, staring at the sorcerer.

However, Torms was only going to get a brief look. Trantore spun around, sensing danger, and he was right. A troll had thrown a huge boulder, from higher up on the mountain ridge and it was now heading in his direction. Trantore shot out his arm, and a fireball flew up to meet the oncoming boulder, hitting it and deflecting it towards the woods.

The fireball hit a great oak tree on the rim of the woods; shattering into pieces and lighting up the dawn sky. It wasn't the only thing that it lit up, it also exposed the elves, which were lying in wait, watching and observing the attack on the dwarfs. You could just make out the faint thuds and snapping of twigs, as if something or someone was falling from the trees.

Seeing as they had just been exposed, the fallen elves were now waiting and wondering if they were going to be drawn into the battle, and furthermore. Who they would be fighting, the trolls or a dwarf with a huge glowing sword. But they didn't have to wait long.

Bucket and his fellow drivers were now racing back, from their morning jog-stroke-secret patrol, dressed in their long-johns, thinking the elves were attacking. They were inside the woods when Trantore's fireball hit, illuminating the elves. As they half-fell, half-jumped out of the way of the fireball.

"COME ON, THIS IS WHAT WE'VE BEEN TRAINING FOR," shouted Bucket, and with a very dodgy war cry from the now out of breath driver. He led a charge on the elves' position. Which was by now more of a hearty stroll, as they had just run at least a hundred metres, when they'd first heard the alarm.

But, gritting their teeth and through sheer determination, they stumbled on. Only to find when they eventually arrived at the spot where the elves were, that there weren't any. All that remained was a smouldering oak tree stump, and the rest of it scattered around the woodland floor.

Bucket had to lean on a nearby tree and take in as much air as his lungs could possibly hold. And just hoped his brain didn't think he was having a heart attack and shut down. One by one his fellow drivers arrived behind him, first of all with a dissatisfied look on their faces, just as Bucket had on his arrival. But then, as they gasped, coughed and wheezed for air they were grateful the elves had scarpered, as spluttering and coughing wouldn't have been much protection from an elf arrow-tip. Even if one of the drivers had made it to their position in time. The most he would have been able to do was have a heart attack from running so fast. And if he was lucky, on his way down he'd land on one of the elves, crushing him to death. However, an army with those kinds of tactics wouldn't last very long.

Most of the war cries, which had sprung up all over the camp, began to die down as the last of the remaining trolls were slain.

Torms had forgotten all about Sacul. His mind was still on the sorcerer he'd seen, as he searched the camp with his eyes, trying to get a glimpse of him once more. The last thing he remembered was the sorcerer shooting a fireball into the sky and hitting the boulder, then it deflected off into the woods. By the time Torms looked back, the sorcerer was gone. His search for the sorcerer was put on hold when he heard the Captain's voice.

"When does that thing stop?" he asked.

Torms turned around and saw what the Captain was referring to. Sacul was standing proudly upright with The Sword of Oblivion stretched out in front of him. He wasn't moving, just standing there quiet and alert, as if he was listening for the next attack. Torms looked down at what Sacul was standing on. He noticed it was the body of the slain Chieftain troll. Torms surveyed the arear Sacul was in. There were bits and pieces of dead trolls scattered all around him. He walked slowly over to Sacul.

"Sacul, we've won, you can put the sword down now."

Sacul didn't seem to acknowledge Torms. But then, without any warning, he let go of the sword. As it was falling it lost its bright Amberinth glow. When the sword hit the floor so did Sacul, as he fell with a thud and collapsed in a heap next to it.

The twins rushed over and bent down to prop him up, he was out cold in some sort of deep sleep. Bash'm picked up the exhausted Sacul and laid him down on some nearby blankets. Torms checked on him, and only when he was sure Sacul was still in one piece did he return to the now worried-looking Captain. As he did Nakie and Sinat came trudging into view, through the carnage, still with their bloodied axes drawn.

"Are you okay?" asked Sinat in a protective manner as he looked around.

"Oh, no problems here, Sacul saw to that," said Torms, and with that, he pointed over to the now sleeping Sacul.

"Is he hurt?" flared up Nakie, as he started to fill with red mist, catching sight of Sacul on the floor. Fire began to burn in his eyes and veins, as he feared the worst.

"No, no, he's okay," replied Torms, quickly reassuring Nakie before he went berserk.

"He touched the sword, again didn't he?" questioned Sinat.

"Yes, but this time I think he held on for a bit too long. You should have seen him. I've never seen such devastation before," commented Torms

"ELVES, elves!" came a wheezy kind of cry as Bucket ran up to the others, with bits of twig and moss hanging from his long-johns.

"Calm down," said the Captain, grabbing ahold of Bucket as his legs began to buckle.

"Elves in the woods.......... loads of them!" blurted out

Bucket between deep breaths. The Captain nodded, and six of the nearest guards shot off in the direction of the woods.

"Here, sit down," suggested Torms as he brought over a tree stump for Bucket to sit on.

"Oh, thank you," he said sitting down.

Sinat handed Bucket the nearest mug that contained liquid, which miraculously hadn't been broken in the fight. Bucket gulped it down, not even knowing what it was, or caring.

"Ahhh," gasped Bucket, as the liquid quenched his thirst, then continued with his story.

"They were watching from the trees when a huge fireball sent them in every direction. We tried to catch them, but they disappeared. All that was left, was a great smouldering stump where the tree once stood."

"Fireball?" questioned the Captain, thinking Bucket was still a bit delirious and dehydrated from all the running.

"He's right, the sorcerer cast it." commented Torms, filling in the missing part to Buckets story.

The Captain directed his attention towards Torms and silently waited for him to continue, as did the others. It then became clear to Torms, by the looks on their faces. That he must have been the only one to have seen the sorcerer, amongst the fighting and chaos.

"It was when Sacul ran past that he appeared, blurry at first, even misty would be a better word," said Torms as he tried to remember. "Then I was face to face with him. I could see him right as rain, but not for long. A boulder was heading our way, and in a flash, he threw up a fireball and the boulder was diverted. When I looked back he was gone," related Torms.

The Captain shook his head, and for the first time looked really worried.

"I don't like this at all," he said out loud and yet to himself. He began to pace up and down, deep in thought, speaking loudly, trying to help himself think.

"First the elves in the woods, then the trolls, then elves appear again, probably the same ones as before. Now sorcerers . . . somehow, I don't think our little expedition is a secret anymore. And to put the icing on the cake, we seem to have discovered a mysterious sword with outstanding and overwhelming powers. However, after the tremendous and spectacular display we have just put on. Every other race on the Island will now know about it as well. It won't be too long before they realise what we have, regroup, and I'd say hit us with everything they've got. Just to get their hands on it, seeing as we are so far away from our kingdom and without back-up. Think . . . think . . ." the Captain said to himself, searching frantically and logically for an answer.

"First we must get a message to our king. Secondly, it will take too long for all of us to try and make it back. Thirdly, we cannot send the sword back to the kingdom, just in case, the scouts were attacked. They'd be defenceless against a surprise attack, even with the sword. Said the Captain, still deep in thought.

"Right, I've got it," said the Captain, snapping out of some sort of trance. He looked towards Torms.

"Somebody must go back to Ironclad and get help, and that somebody must be me," said the Captain.

"You?" asked Torms, surprised at the Captain's choice.

"Yes, I'm the only one apart from the advisor who the king will believe and trust, and seeing as the advisor is halfway inside the mountain, it must be me, and quickly. I've got to get through the Emerald Forest before the elves try and seal the main track off. If I go now, I'll make it. They won't do anything until they have consulted with their king, and by that time I should be safely through the Emerald Forest and halfway through the Ferral Mountains. But first, we must get the sword safe. I say let's put it back into the heart of the mountain, back in the tomb. We must do that now, and quickly." Ordered the Captain.

Torms knew what he had to do, and although he was worried, he knew it was down to him.

"I'll do it. I'll take it, if I use the swords powers I should be able to get there in a quarter of the time than if it was carried. As I'm in charge, I'll take the responsibility. Sinat, can you take over once the Captain has gone." Asked Torms, as he looked at Sinat. Sinat nodded his head.

Then without another word, Torms walked over to the sword with a small glint of fear in his eyes, bent down, and gripped the ram-carved handle. Instantly the power of the sword shot up his arm and into the rest of his body. He felt every beat of his heart, which was strong and proud, pumping his muscles full of blood. He felt tremendous and invincible. Then, without warning, he shot off in the direction of the tunnel entrance. The flaps that covered the entrance moved slightly as a blur of Amberinth cut through it, then closed as Torms's figure disappeared into the tunnel.

"Right, we have no time to lose, Packrell," called out the Captain, and before the last syllable lef this mouth, a stout, stocky soldier appeared next to him. Sinat noticed he was covered in blood, but not his, a troll's. He only had one eye, but where the second should have been there was a diamond, glistening and catching the morning rays.

Apart from the huge diamond, Packrell had scars covering his face from top to bottom. His face was like a map, but a map of scars. There was a main thick one that ran from the top of his head through his diamond eye and finished at his jawline.

"This is Packrell, a master of disguise. He's my best sergeant, he does exactly as you tell him. I'll leave him under your control, Sinat," said the Captain.

"How come I've never seen him before?" asked the surprised Sinat.

"Because he's had strict instructions to stay out of sight and blend in," replied the Captain.

"Blend in, Blend in, Look at him," said Sinat, trying to make the point that Packrell wouldn't even blend in at a scars convention. Even his scars had scars.

"Well, you didn't see him, did you?" said the Captain.

Sinat looked at Packrell, then at the Captain, and shrugged his shoulders; as the Captain had a point.

"Packrell, get the soldiers to pair up with the miners and issue them with crossbows. At least if there's an attack, the miners can give the soldiers support. Get that canvas down, move all the wagons inside the mountain, take them a quarter of the way in. Bucket, you can take charge of that, will they fit?"

Bucket looked at the tunnel's entrance and held up his thumb, then turned it sideways.

"Yep, we'll have ten feet clearance from the top and three feet either side."

"Packrell set up a main defence at the entrance barricade yourself in, use whatever you want. Keep three-quarters of the dwarfs at the entrance as a show of strength, but no outside patrols, just in case the trolls attack again." The Captain looked around, and judging by how many dead trolls there were, he guessed none of the tribe had got out alive. But he knew there could be further tribes; and that they were probably watching them already.

"The other quarter will fall back further into the tunnel and set up a second defensive wall for the main soldiers to fall back on if the main defence is breached. Set up the second defence with crossbows. They can give the retreating soldiers cover. Make sure every soldier on the main and second defences has at least three loaded crossbows ready to fire, with a dwarf loading fresh bolts and reloading as they do," issued the Captain. Packrell nodded.

"Bucket, you and the wagon drivers stay quarter way down the tunnel. Keep the soldiers and miners supplied with food at both defences. Plus, Torms and the others that are back in the tomb. If all else fails, retreat to the main tomb, and I don't need to say this but defend that sword with your lives. If I can have two of your sturdiest ponies, Bucket, I'll be on my way. I'll ride one and tie the other on a long lead to the back of my saddle. When the first is tired, I'll swap and let the other take my weight. If I don't stop, I should reach the Ferral Mountains tonight, and the kingdom the following night." Concluded the Captain.

Bucket hurried off, and after some expert unfastening and refastening, and the odd pony rearing up. He returned with two very fine, rather large looking ponies.

"Bash'm, Beat'm," called the Captain, "give me a hand."

The twins got either side of him and lifted the Captain onto the first pony and into the makeshift saddle Bucket had made. The Captain looked down at the twins.

"Now then, you two have something very special to do. Take that very brave dwarf over there," the Captain nodded towards Sacul, "and get him to the tomb where he'll be safe. Then don't let the sword out of your sight."

The twins nodded, puffing out their chests excepting their duty.

The Captain sat up on the pony. "Sinat, I now release my command over to you." And with a "YAHHH" the Captain dug his heels into the pony and rode off, with the second pony trailing behind him.

The camp fell momentarily quiet, as they watched the Captain ride off out of the camp; towards the main track. When they had watched him disappear, all eyes fell upon Sinat who was now standing in the middle of them, feeling all alone. For the first time on the trip, he realised just what Torms was going through.

"Uhm-uhm," coughed Sinat as he cleared his throat. "Well, you've all got your jobs to do, so let's get going," he said. He nodded towards Bucket and Packrell, and they started shouting orders. Sinat watched as overturned wagons were turned the right way up, and Packrell took charge of the miners, pairing them up with the soldiers.

Nakie came up and stood next to Sinat, with a smirk on his face.

"Let's get going?" he said sarcastically. "Is that it? You've been left in charge of some of the king's finest, and that's the best you can come up with? You made it sound as if you were on a picnic," continued Nakie, trying to keep a straight face.

"I was put on the spot. It's the first thing that came into my head," replied Sinat. Then he turned his head to face Nakie. "Anyway, I don't have to explain myself to you," he snapped, as he saw the mocking smirk on Nakie's face.

"Well, let's just hope we don't get attacked again. What will you shout then? 'Quick, quick everybody'?"

"Well, you little.......," snapped Sinat as he raised his fist at Nakie. Nakie just stood there laughing, with tears in his eyes, at the frustrated Sinat.

Sinat shook his head, and instead of hitting Nakie, he slapped his arm around him and joined in the laughter, as he saw the funny side.

"Well, my dear friend, if that happens, so long as I've got you by my side I won't care what I shout." With that, Sinat walked off towards the tunnel entrance with Nakie. Still with his arm around his dear cousin's shoulder.

*

Gillant, Cluzac and the other Elven Elite soldiers that had scattered, were now regrouping one by one as they arrived at a huge split oak, some distance in from the tree line. Which was their prearranged meeting point if anything were to happen. Elves were coming in one by one. Some scorched by the flames of the fireball, others unharmed. Cluzac was ticking them off as they arrived.

Gillant was leaning against a tree in deep concentration and Cluzac checking his list, there were still two elves unaccounted for. As he started to fear the worst, two smouldering figures emerged through the dense undergrowth. A couple of elves grabbed their bows, ready to challenge the approaching figures, but Cluzac put his arm up for them to be lowered. These were the two missing elves on his list, and although the figures walking towards the camp were completely blackened from head to toe. Cluzac could still make out their now blackened pointed ears, common to the elf.

As the two figures reached him, he crossed off the last two names on his list. "Flennat and Banthrone, I presume," he said, still finding it difficult to recognise the burnt scouts. Banthrone nodded without saying a word, and just carried on walking past, still in a state of shock from being blasted out a tree. As for Flennat, he just walked past ignoring Cluzac altogether, as he hadn't even heard the Captain.

The blast from the explosion had been so close to him, he was suffering from temporary impaired hearing. He was now all alone, in his own quiet little world. Whilst had been walking through the woods, he had tried to reflect and work out the odds of being hit by a sorcerer's fireball. The odds were quite high, but for it to happen twice went against any reasonable or unthinkable calculation Flennat could come up with. Flennat started to think that the sorcerers had it in for him. Nobody had seen one in a thousand years, and now one had appeared, he's ended up burnt to a crisp on every sighting.

So, it must be him, was the conclusion he arrived at as he snapped out of his burnt trance and realised they had made it back to the rendezvous point. He just wished the sorcerers would tell him what he'd done, or at the very least just get it over with and finish him off. He was getting fed up with the smell of burning hair, and the lack of it. He didn't dare look in a mirror. He could just tell, by the way the breeze cooled his head, that it was lacking in the hair department. Then there was a visual reminder as well, as he looked over at Banthrone, and saw smouldering black tufts of hair where golden locks used to be.

Cluzac went over to Gillant. "Right, that's the lot. All present and correct."

"Any casualties?" asked Gillant.

"Only a few burns and bruises, nothing too bad. It was the two nearest scouts who took the initial impact, and they've just checked in," said Cluzac.

"I need to talk to them, send them over," ordered Gillant.

Cluzac nodded his head and shot off to get Flennat and Banthrone. He soon returned with the two smouldering figures.

"Here you are, Flennat and Banthrone," announced Cluzac, as he shoved them forward in front of Gillant.

It was the first time Gillant had shown any kind of emotion on his face, as he stared inquisitively at the two scouts, which now stood before him. He had met them once before, but he was finding it hard to believe that the two half-smouldering figures in front of him were the same elves.

"Right," said Gillant, as he put the charcoal figures to one side in his head. "Let's deal with the matter at hand. I was within the woods when the attack happened, and by the time I had run up, I had missed the start of it. I only caught the bit when that young dwarf went berserk and cut up half the troll population on his own. But the bit I missed that I need filling in on is, how did he get a hold of that sword?" Gillant paused. "And most of all, where did he get it?"

Banthrone went to answer as Flennat was staring blankly at Gillant, and had been slowly opening and closing his mouth in time with his. Trying to mimic Gillant and understand what the flaming arrow he was going on about, as it all sounded muffled to him.

"Well, myself and my fellow scout here," said Banthrone as he held his hand up at the burnt excuse for a scout that stood next to him. He then quickly put it back down again, not wanting to be associated with Flennat.

"We were sitting high up on the outer ridge of the tree line, doing the dawn watch when we noticed six dwarfs come out of the tunnel entrance. Four walking normally, and two bigger than average dwarfs carrying what looked like a pike. The strange thing was the way the early morning light hit it, it looked like it was made out of gold." Banthrone paused for breath, much to the delight of Flennat, who was finding his lip-reading skills were a bit rusty.

"Attached to the pike was a long thick blanket which looked like something was wrapped inside it. Two of the dwarfs set off from the entrance of the tunnel and sat down to eat. The rest carried the pike over to the middle of the camp and set it down. Then, after a couple of minutes, the two big ones got up, and untied the blanket with another dwarf, one of the ones from the tunnel. Then one of the dwarfs in uniform, who looked like he was in charge, was ordering soldiers about. Then two more removed the golden pike. Then, the other three dwarfs carried the blanket to the wagons. Then the smaller one jumped up and started talking to the blankets."

"Talking to the blankets?" interrupted Gillant.

"Yes, they were patting them as well."

Gillant looked at Cluzac in a way that suggested he thought the scouts had been drinking. Cluzac knew why Gillant was looking at him funnily but quickly shook his head to dismiss the idea.

It wasn't uncommon for scouts to have a quiet tipple when nothing much was happening. But that was regular scouts, these two were from the Elven High Elite, the kingdom's finest. There was no way they would touch a drop, Cluzac just put the talking to the blankets bit down to some sort of shock. From being blasted out of the tree at such a great height.

"Carry on," ordered Gillant, after being reassured by Cluzac that the scouts weren't drunk.

"Where was I?" asked Banthrone.

"The blankets," prompted Cluzac quickly, wanting to change the subject.

"Oh yes, as they were talking to the blankets, they pushed the one they were carrying in between the ones on the wagon, and that's when the attack happened. Mountain trolls appeared from everywhere. As the fighting broke out, the smallest dwarf, who was on top of the wagon. The one who was helping the others, got knocked off by a troll, that had come crashing down from the mountains and landed on top of the wagon."

As he fell, he seemed to grab something, and when he landed, he miraculously had a six-foot sword in his hands. It was bigger than he was, he then he set to work depriving three approaching trolls of their heads, before running through the camp leaving a trail of dead trolls behind him."

"It was in the blanket," said Gillant softly to himself.

"YES, IT WAS!" shouted Flennat, as he had lip-read Gillant. Trying to join in the conversation, not knowing Gillant had been quietly speaking to himself.

"YES, THE SWORD WAS HIDDEN IN THE BLANKET!" Flennat continued to shout out, pleased with himself at being able to help. But all he got for his help was a blackened hand slapped across his mouth as Banthrone tried to shut him up. While the words he had just spoken boomed out into the woods.

Flennat looked around, wondering what he had done wrong, and by the looks he was getting back, came to the quick decision that silence was golden. Then Banthrone's face appeared in front of his.

Gillant and Cluzac watched as Banthrone open and closed his mouth slowly, not making a sound. They saw Flennat's face change colour, turning from black to a whiter shade of black as he read Banthrone's lips.

Banthrone removed his hand. Flennat took a deep gulp and decided to look down at the floor and put his lip-reading skills on hold, permanently. He had known Banthrone for as long as he could remember. They had grown up together, gone to the same school, even joined the elven army together. They had fallen out with each other, and then made up, so many times over the years it was countless. But in all that time and with all their differences he had never heard Banthrone use language like that before. And he was glad, that he hadn't heard it, lip-reading it was distressing enough. As he stared at the floor avoiding the gaze of the others; he did wonder, where Banthrone had learnt such bad language. Banthrone went to continue after Flennat's outburst, but Gillant put up his hand.

"It's okay. I saw the rest for myself. I've got to tell the king," said Gillant, half talking to himself again, and half to Cluzac.

"The sword is it important?" asked Cluzac, trying to help the troubled-looking Gillant.

"It just took out a whole tribe of trolls including their Chieftain, and virtually all by itself. Could we have done that if we were the ones attacked? We might have won, but we would have sustained heavy casualties." Replied Gillant.

"But the dwarf, he was just one -" Cluzac went to carry on, but Gillant cut in.

"The dwarf had nothing to do with it, he was merely . . ." Gillant stopped himself from saying any more and looked up at the worried faces of Cluzac and Banthrone and then at the other elves that were within ear shot.

"Anyhow, enough of this, I have to get to report to the king. Set up reconnaissance patrols once the dwarfs have settled back down."

"What about the sword?" asked Cluzac.

"Don't worry. After all the confusion I stayed behind and kept watching. Those dwarfen drivers didn't see me, nor did the scouting party their Captain sent out. The sword was taken back into the mountain. Just keep watch, stay in the woods and I'll be back as soon as I can."

"You can count on me," said Cluzac.

Gillant ran off into a thick set of trees, which had been concealing the elves' horses. He jumped up onto the one the king had given him, at their last meeting. He leant forward, whispering into its ear. Its eyes flared up, and in a blink of an eye; it shot off in the direction of the Elven Kingdom.

*

Odall and Tennant were making progress and had successfully interpreted one of the many golden plates that lined the tomb walls. They had just started on another one when they were interrupted; by a small flurry of air, then a blur. As they turned around from facing the wall, Torms stood before them, with The Sword of Oblivion slung over his shoulder. He wasn't even out of breath.

Odall and Tennant didn't know what to make of the slightly glowing Torms. The last thing they knew was that the Captain was to be in charge of the sword. But now Torms stood proudly before them, sporting the magnificent sword slung over his shoulder like it was nothing. Odall opened his mouth to ask Torms what had happened, and why was the sword back within then tomb. But without even speaking the words, Torms answered.

"We were attacked by mountain trolls, just after we arrived back at the camp. There was a furious fight, mainly due to Sacul and the sword. The elves now know we have it, and so do the sorcerers. The Captain's gone back to the kingdom for help, and the others are setting defences up at the main entrance of the tunnel until help arrives," said Torms in a somewhat overpowering and commanding voice.

Although Torms was full of power and vigour, he knew he had to let go of the sword, and he also knew he'd fall into a deep sleep, exhausted by its powers. He gave Odall and Tennant one last look, knowing they knew enough to be getting on with, until others arrived to retell the news. Torms laid himself on the floor, so he wouldn't fall from passing out. As he did, he laid the sword down alongside him, releasing his grip from around the hilt. Then his world started to go dark, as his eyelids shut, and sleep engulfed his body.

*

Meltoy had arisen late and had just had a very late breakfast. He was now sitting in his study brushing some crumbs out of his beard, when Trantore's card arrived on his desk and read itself out.

_" Full council of all the Masters tonight in the Mystic Chambers. Ten o'clock."_

It then flew up and disappeared with the customary raven and a squawk.

The rest of the Masters got the same message, even the newly elected Kellet. At first, he didn't know what it was, when it suddenly appeared in front of him; as he was sitting on the toilet. He panicked, flinging his arms up, sending the old textbook, which was being used as toilet paper, up into the air. He tried his hardest to recite every protection spell he knew and seeing as he only knew one, it didn't take long. He thought it was his old Master, Rathall, returning to punish him for taking over - what better way for total humiliation than to dispose of his young apprentice while he was sitting on the bog with his pants around his ankles.

But what made Kellet jump, even more, was hearing The Supreme Grand Master's voice talking to him. While he sat there, in the embarrassing circumstances nature had put him in. As The Supreme Grand Master's voice boomed out, Kellet went bright red with embarrassment, not knowing if Trantore could see him or not.

Kellet flinched once more as the card turned into a small black raven and flew up towards the ceiling, squawked and disappeared, making him jump for the last time. Which in turn made him do one final big flinch. But he was just happy that he was on the toilet for that one, or things could have got a bit messy.

Kellet sat deadly silent on his toilet, holding his breath just in case there was another little surprise in store for him. He waited another five more minutes before coming to the conclusion everything was back to normal. Well, as normal as it could be in The Dark Fortress, without The Supreme Grand Master inviting you to a meeting whilst doing his business.

And with getting back to business, Kellet bent down and picked up a piece of parchment off the floor, which read; _The Complete Works of Window Dressing for Sorcerers Volume Two._

"That will do nicely," said Kellet as he continued with the job at hand and knuckled down to the paperwork.

*

It was now quite late and the moon was shining down upon the Brocken Mountains, and its surrounding landscape. Sinat had been busy listening to Packrell all day getting regular updates from him, as dwarfs scurried around carrying all manner of weapons and supplies. He had watched all the wagons enter the mountain, they had been slowly reversed in backwards, under the experienced eye and supervision of Bucket, including Sinat's own trusty cart.

Sinat and Nakie had watched as the miners, under the instruction of Packrell, dug a series of trenches around the perimeter of the tunnel entrance. They went down at least ten feet and were four-feet wide. The miners, once they had finished, had to be hoisted out. But not until they had rigged the bottom with four-foot wooden spikes, which they had made out of the nearby trees. There were four trenches in all, in front of the tunnel entrance, and if an intruder made it past the first three. They would soon find out that the fourth didn't contain wooden spikes but was filled with the dwarf acid, which had been left over. Packrell called this his grand finale. The fourth and final trench wasn't as deep as the others because it didn't need to be. Anybody falling or stepping into it wouldn't get the chance to sink down, as they would find to their horror. But this was the widest of the trenches, as it was ten-foot-wide and half a foot deep, and lined with a thin layer of lead. Which had lined the barrels, as lead, was the only neutral substances the acid didn't attack. But any approaching troll or elf would have to deal with the first three trenches before, they even got to the acid trench. Whilst under crossbow fire from two overturned wagons that now blocked the entrance as a makeshift barricade.

This is where Sinat and Nakie now sat within the mountain behind the barricades. Sinat was looking out over the entrance; as Nakie tucked into cold chicken leg. Packrell and his soldiers had covered the trenches so well, Sinat couldn't tell where the trenches started or finished. They just blended in with the surrounding area. There were no signs either, of any remains of a camp whatsoever, or even that there used to be one just outside the entrance.

"All present and correct, everybody's where they should be, and they each have their orders," said Packrell as he appeared from nowhere at the side of Sinat.

Sinat jumped slightly. "Oh, thank you, Packrell," he replied, as he wondered where Packrell had emerged from. He thought Packrell was wasted as a soldier and should have been an advisor. But soon changed his mind back again as he looked at Packrell's one-eyed scarred face, and thought that Packrell probably wouldn't make the right impression at the royal court. Plus, it was probably a bit late now for Packrell to start changing his profession anyway.

Packrell nodded his head and went to walk off.

"Uhm-uhm, excuse me, Packrell," Sinat said, in a low tone, not wanting to attract the attention of anybody else's ear.

Packrell turned back and stood up close to Sinat, although he was a master of disguise, he also knew when someone wanted a quiet word.

"Uhm, what exactly are their orders?" asked the inquisitive Sinat.

Packrell leant forward so his mouth was next to Sinat's ear.

"Shoot anything and everything that moves," he whispered. Sinat paused for a moment, and then, with Packrell's ear still level with his own mouth, dismissed him.

"Thank you, that will be all," he whispered back, and as he blinked, Packrell was gone.

*

The moon shone brightly down on The Dark Fortress. Not even its pure light seemed to penetrate its cold structure, and within its walls, a meeting was taking place and had been for the last hour. Trantore had explained to the other Masters about previous events. About the finding of the tomb, and had just finished telling the others, about the whole tribe of trolls that were slain by the sword found within the coffin, and about how the sword had revealed him, stripping him of his magic monetarily as Sacul ran past.

Trantore had all the Masters' ears; as he talked. Even Rickety stayed awake and understood most of what was going on. But Kellet didn't know what to make of it all. He was just happy to be there, just nodding his head, copying the others when important bits were being said.

"And now you know what has been going on. This brings us to a more serious matter, and what I tell you now, we will have to act on, and act fast. I have been in here for most of the day and studied the books of the chamber. What I couldn't find in the books, I searched out elsewhere. Amongst other realms, other demons, and anything else that might hold the key."

"The key to what?" blurted out Kellet, momentarily forgetting where he was, as the suspense was killing him. Then he quickly remembered that you only spoke when spoken to or told to do so, by the way, the other Masters all looked at him - not in a way that would suggest they wanted to punish him. But more of a sorrowful or sympathetic look, especially in their eyes. As if they were trying to tell him something - trying to pluck up the courage to say a sad farewell.

The room fell silent; all that could be heard was a gulping sound from Kellet, as he waited for his inevitable doom. Trantore placed his hands outstretched on the table and gave Kellet his full and undivided attention. As Trantore went to open his mouth, Kellet gripped the arms of his chair, and he sank down into it.

"At last a question. If we are to come out of this victorious, we need Masters who aren't afraid to speak out." Trantore turned his gaze towards Meltoy. "You chose well, Meltoy, bringing some fresh young blood into the circle of Masters."

Meltoy nodded his head at Trantore, accepting his approval. Then flung a look in Kellet's direction, which Kellet couldn't interpret in any other way than to suggest that he was lucky this time.

"Young Master Kellet, the key to deciphering the inscription on the blade." As Trantore spoke the last word he waved his arms, and a full life-size image of the sword appeared, standing on its point in the middle of the table.

"This, Masters, is The Sword of Oblivion," spoke Trantore grandly, or as grandly as he could in his toneless voice. Giving the sword's image the respect, it deserved.

"Its power is second to none. 'Quton, Exquium, Kolomia, Trirall, Zolus' - What You Want You'll Get. That's what the inscription says that runs down the length of the blade."

As Trantore had spoken out the inscription, it glowed a bright Amberinth colour, down the length of the blade.

"But Supreme Grand Master, it's in a text I've never seen or even heard before," said Meltoy.

"Indeed, it is, and it wasn't easy to find. Like I said, I went to endless realms in search of its origin, and my quest led me to a distant realm only open to demons. One that went by the name of Ozard. After some gentle persuasion, they decided to let me in. I spoke with huge, hideous, twisted creatures, much more powerful than myself, that had long ago left our realms. But a few of the older ones were willing to reveal secrets to me. Not to be helpful, but in a more mocking way, as they saw my fate as meaningless. It had been so long since they had encountered a sorcerer, they decided to humour and humiliate me instead of killing me. In between their ridicule and riddles, I learnt a lot, and what I learnt I shall now tell you." Trantore's stature seemed to grow bigger as he stood up.

"It seems that the sword has immense power, but can only channel its power through the body of the user. As the two combine they become one, the user has complete guidance and control. But it seems that Rancore knew this, and also started to find out that over the centuries he wasn't ageing and had to rely on the sword more and more for his strength. The sword also takes on the characteristics of the user. If the user was pure of heart like Rancore was, then it would stay pure. But after time, Rancore's heart grew old, even if his body didn't, and sensing the end was near, and being afraid that the sword would fall into evil hands. He buried himself and the sword deep within the Brocken Mountains. The tomb was blocked off and forgotten about up until now."

"The sword, Supreme Grand Master, if we had the sword," spoke out Wubuck.

Trantore put up his hand to quieten Wubuck.

"I know, Wubuck, but I also learnt that the more power the user has, the more the sword will take, and that is where we have a problem. All sorcerers, no matter how low or high, have direct access to the black arts and magic. If the sword is channelled into that type of pure source, there is no telling what might happen. The user might not survive, and if he did, there's no telling what damage he might cause. The ripple through the realms, including this one, could be devastating."

"But it might give us complete control over other realms and all within them as well," said Penta, joining in with his eyes all aglow - but they were soon extinguished by Trantore.

"I don't think so, otherwise those hideousness creatures in the other realm wouldn't have let me go. I think in their own sick way they wanted me to touch the sword bringing untold destruction to our realm. Guiding me with their knowledge to make me curious as to what might happen. But luckily they weren't dealing with a rogue sorcerer out for his own glory."

Meltoy felt a sudden sense of dread run through his body as an image of a rogue sorcerer filled his head; and it wasn't any old rogue sorcerer, it was Rathall. Without realising it, Meltoy spoke out Rathall's name.

"Rathall!"

"Exactly," said Trantore.

"And now we have some decisions to make. Do we hunt the sword down ourselves, and try to destroy it? Do we tell the dwarfs what they really have? And what about the elves, do they need telling the truth? And what about the warlords now under Rathall's control? Do they need crushing before they find out? If we attack one, the others might form and fight against us, and that would push us to our limits. We'd be fighting for survival. These are the questions which need answering... AND NONE OF US LEAVE HERE UNTIL THEY ARE." Boomed out the commanding voice of Trantore, as he re-took his seat.

*

Dawn had just broken, and the Ferral Mountains stood proud, rising out of the ground in front of the Captain as he drove the ponies on. He was still on the main track in the Emerald Forest, but as the sight of the mountains filled his eyes and heart, he pushed the ponies on even more. As he dug his heels in, he thought about his fellow dwarfs whom he had left behind; but not for long, he thought, as he'd soon be returning with an army.

*

Tennant awoke to the smell of a fry-up being made, then he heard a familiar voice.

"Ah, Tennant, care for breakfast?" asked the perky philosopher. No matter where Odall was, or what situation he found himself in. Put a frying pan in his hand, and all the troubles of the world wouldn't stir him. Before Tennant could wipe the sleep from his eyes. Sacul appeared, all bright-eyed with a huge smile on his face, and shoved a plate of sausages and mushrooms in his lap.

"But I thought you were sleeping," said Tennant, as he took a good look at Sacul, recalling in his mind previous events. When the twins had come bursting into the tomb, Bash'm carrying Sacul over his shoulder, and laid him down next to Torms.

"Yes, I was, but now I feel wide awake," said Sacul, answering Tennant's question.

"What time is it? Come to think of it, what day is it?" asked the very confused Tennant.

"And how do you know its breakfast time?"

Now it was Ganga's turn to answer. "I haven't been digging ruddy big holes in mountains all my life without learning a thing or two. I've got my own private hourglass up here." As Ganga said that he tapped his own head.

Tennant started to calm down and accept that another day had passed. He remembered putting his head on a blanket the previous night, but that only seemed an hour ago.

"Morning," came another voice Tennant recognised.

"Torms," said Tennant as he spun around to see him.

"Steady on, Tennant. Anybody would think you've missed me."

Tennant quickly changed his facial expression, not wanting to break Rule 55 in Phobic's rulebook, which was:

_Rule 55: Never show them what you 're thinking._

"Oh, no, I was surprised, that's all," said Tennant quickly. "Yes, just surprised to see you up and about so soon."

"I haven't been up long. Odall's filled me in on the progress you two have made," said Torms as he sat down on a blanket next to Tennant.

"Yes, it wasn't until we worked out what this symbol meant." And with that Tennant took the plate off his lap, and frantically flung his arms about, trying to find his leather book, which contained his notes.

"It's okay Tennant. I believe you, eat your breakfast," Torms said as he handed Tennant his plate back. "I know all about each plate containing different scenes, punctuated with text and carvings about Rancore's life."

"As I understand it, you've found the beginning plate, where it mentions Rancore's birth?" said Torms

"Yes" said Odall, as he walked over and picked up on the conversation.

"And we have Tennant to thank for that. He was the one who deciphered the text for 'birth', otherwise we would have known where to start," said Odall.

"Oh, no, you're too kind. It was all down to you and the finding of the word for 'sword'," replied Tennant.

"Oh, no, if you hadn't..."

Torms interrupted. "Do my ears deceive me, or are you two paying each other compliments? See what happens when I leave you two alone?" said Torms with a stern look on his face.

Then he burst out laughing and so did Odall, even Tennant had a bit of a chuckle. Which soon changed into a life-threatening situation, as Tennant started to choke on a bit of sausage he'd just bitten off. Torms had to step in quickly and deliver a hearty blow in between the shoulder blades, which did the trick. As the chewed off lump of sausage flew out of the advisor's mouth, shot across the room, and hit Ripper clean on the back of the head.

All three of them immediately stopped laughing, as Ripper gave them a quick glance; all at once all three of them pretended to be talking. Ripper bent down and picked up the chewed-up bit of sausage and gave it a sniff. He looked up at the vast ceiling, and gave the surrounding area a quick glance; then looked back towards Torms and the others. Just to check he wasn't the butt of someone's joke. Then, satisfied there wasn't an explanatory answer as to why a piece of cooked sausage had just struck him on the head, he shrugged his shoulders and popped it into his mouth.

Tennant and Odall shuddered. "That's disgusting," said Tennant.

"If you think that disgusting, try living with Nakie. That's nothing compared to some of the things I've seen him put in his mouth over the years. It took us years to wean him off dung beetles, and even now if he's hungry, we'll catch him around the back of the pony stables."

Tennant put his breakfast down by his side and his hand over his mouth.

"I don't know why, but suddenly I've lost my appetite," he said sarcastically as he looked up at Torms.

"Right then, you two," said Torms clapping his hands together, ignoring Tennant's comment. "Seeing as Sinat, Nakie and Packrell are guarding the main entrance, I think it's in capable hands. So, if it's okay with you two, I'll help out down here," said Torms.

"Splendid, splendid," said Odall as he put his arm around Torms's shoulder, always happy to have another scholar on board. And, with Torms in one arm and a pile of notes tucked under the other, Odall led Torms off to a spot where they had stopped, the night before.

Tennant's belly rumbled, as he sat there still pondering on the fact that it was morning, and he'd had a whole night's sleep. His belly rumbled again. He looked down at the breakfast plate at his side and was just about to pick up a sausage when he caught sight of the mushrooms. As the torch light flickered over them, his mind played tricks on him, and the mushrooms momentarily looked like moving dung beetles.

Tennant felt another chill run down his spine, and quickly jumped to his feet and walked off after the others, with his leather book in hand. His stomach gave out one last effort of a rumble, but Tennant sent a message through to his brain, which relayed it to his stomach, which was interpreted as, 'you can wait.'

Odall was pointing out to Torms one of the pictures and inscriptions, on one of the golden plates that lined the walls. It was of a monk surrounded by other monks, the one in the middle looked more nobler than the others in the picture. He was holding up two halves of a disc and holding them together. Torms instantly recognised that it as the one he had found, well at least half of it, and the other half was the piece he had given to Ganga.

"It's the disc" spoke out Torms.

"Yes, it certainly is" Replied Odall.

"But what does it mean, who is he, and what do the symbols and text next to the picture say." Asked Torms.

"Well its says it's actually a key, or shall I say the inscription refers to it as the Cursed Key, or it could be the Doomed Key. We can't work out the symbol on the text. But we have worked out its a symbol for destruction, doom, or a curse. Apparently, it was a key, to lock in a curse or some sort of unseen power."

"My backsides certainly been cursed with Sinat's boot. If it gets anymore kicks, I'll be putting one of the guards on it, to guard if for me." Grumbled Tennant.

Who had now walked over and joined them. Tennant gave his rear end a slight rub as he membered Sinat's boot, then rubbed his head. Where he still had a bump, due to hitting his head on the door. He then opened up his leather book, removed his trusty flint from behind his ear and started scribbling away, with his head stuck in the book. Only looking up to get another glimpse of the text on the walls; before returning to his book.

"THAT'S IT, I think I've got it" Shouted out Odall, as he slapped his hands together

"Tennant you're a genius"

"I am said the advisor," as he stopped scribbling momentarily and looked up. And wondered why genius had suddenly been bestowed upon him as Rule 69 in Phobic's rulebook, sprung to mind:

_Rule 69: If someone bestows a title on you, you didn 't want or didn't ask for 'GIVE IT BACK' remember, nothings for free._

"And why may I ask, Sinat booting me in the rear, then being concussed by a door, makes me a genius," Snapped Tennant.

"You said guard... to guard your rear, well that got me thinking"

"Odall what you think about in your own time is up to you, but I can assure you that me talking about my rear wasn't some sort of job application.........." Tennant was cut short as Odall spoke out.

"GUARDIAN, Its Guardian, it's not doom, or curse, it's a Gradian Key. Look if you use that word instead of the others, the texts starts to make sense"

There was a flurry of scribbling from Tennant then he looked up "yes your quite right it does." Concluded Tennant.

Odall cleared his throat as he was going to have a go at translating the inscription upon the golden plate on the wall.

"We the secret sect of The Gradians of Potatoes." Odall paused and looked at Tennant for clarification.

"I think that says The Gradians Of Death, if you look closely, that symbols a skull not a potato"

"Is it" said Odall as he readjusted his glasses and took a closer look. "Oh so, it is" Said Odall as he gave out a little chuckle. As he thought it was a bit odd to have gone to all that trouble over some potatoes, then cleared his throat once more.

"Huhumm, We The Gradians of Death, shall bury the secret of the sword. So non-shall rule in the absence of Rancore, the one true ruler that was sent from the gods. The 'Chosen One' will go forth and along with him the Guardian Key and split it into the world." Concluded Odall.

Torms waited patiently for more to follow but there wasn't anymore

"Is that it" asked Torms.

"Yes, the ancient world was a bit primitive with their speech or lack of it" Snubbed Tennant.

"Does this text help us in anyway, to find out more about the sword." Torms asked Odall.

He knew if he asked Tennant he would only get a sarcastic answer. As to why, ancient civilisations just didn't put it all in a book and leave a note by the tomb entrance that read something like. _Please read before going in I hope you enjoy your stay. P.s watch out for the spears._

"Well I don't think it tells us much about the sword. But I do believe it answers the questions, as to why there's all those dead monks lying around in the tunnel, and why one of them was on the outside." Odall paused as he took another look at the inscription, then briefly at another one. Which just had some monks sealing off a door.

"I do believe that the Chosen One, they refer to was just that, the chosen one. Along with the other plates we looked at, it looks as if the monks buried Rancore and filled his coffin with poison, 'The Breath of Death' hence why they are called The Guardians of Death. Then they must have set all the traps, and shut the main doors to the tomb sealing everything inside, which only the Guardian Key could open.

"Last one out shut the doors, sort of thing." Muttered Torms.

"Then they must have all walked down the tunnel, sealing the main doors from the inside. That's why Ganga didn't find a lock on the outside, as there wasn't one." Said Odall

"But why would they do that for. They would all die" asked Torms.

"The Guardians of Death.... Yeah their own" said Tennant giving his sarcastic wit and tone on the history lesson.

"But what about the key to tomb being on the outside, The Guardian Key" asked Torms, ignoring Tennant's mockery of the dead.

"Good point Torms" remarked Odall. "That is where the Chosen One comes in, he was the only one who was allowed to leave with the key, before they sealed up the entrance. It looks like his role was to leave the Island and travel to faraway lands, and hide the two halves of the key separately, so no one could ever enter the tomb." With that Odall pointed to another plate on the wall, predicting The Chosen one on a boat holding The Guardian Key, before continuing. "So even if anyone did get past the main doors in the mountain they would have never been able to get into the tomb" Concluded Odall.

"But why was the key outside the main doors" Asked Torms

"Well it looks like the Chosen One, wasn't the best choice" Butted in Tennant. "It looks like he had another job to do apart from galivanting around the continents, trying to burry two halves of a key. I would say his first job as the newly elected Chosen One was to cover the main entrance."

"Cover it with what." Asked Torms

Tennant opened his book, as he had remembered scribbling something down about it the day before. He shuffled through a few pages then stopped, then run his finger down until it feel upon a rather cured drawing of a mountain.

"He was supposed to cover the entrance with the mountain, so no one knew it was there. It refers to it on one of the plates as ' _cast the shadow of the mountain. '"_ Tennant tutted as he didn't understand why they went to all the bother to write all that. When they could have just put 'landslide.'

"And upon trying to cast the shadow of the mountain." Tennant stopped what he was saying and muttered something under his breath, about being feeble mined. As he was not only starting to think like them, he was now starting to talk like them as well.

"Upon causing a LANDSLIDE" Spoke Tennant as he tried to regain control of his mind and put all thoughts of a primitive mind evasion to one side.

"He somehow ended up with a very unhealthy occupational hazard." said Tennant, happy that his mind was his own again, and the invasion was over.

"What was that" asked Torms.

"He died" Butted in Odall.

"Yes, it looks like the Chosen One failed before he had even started. He didn't just bring the mountain down over the doors, it seems, he brought the mountain down upon himself as well." Concluded Tennant.

"But at least he did cover the doors you have to give him credit for that," added Odall, giving credit where credit was due.

"Yes, thank you Odall" Said Tennant somewhat scratchily "I'm sure The Guardians of Death, saw it that way as well. As they listened to the Chosen One screaming, as the mountain came down on him. I bet they were over the moon knowing they were all locked inside, and the Chosen One instead of making it to faraway lands had only made it a few feet."

Odall choose to ignore Tennant, because in a philosopher's way of thinking. For the Chosen One to have hidden the Key in faraway lands; wouldn't have been as easy as it seemed. The monk would have had to of got a boat, then a horse, plus would have had to of carried all the money he needed with him to survive. So, he probably would have been robbed or killed. But if he survived that, he would have still had to have travelled to the far ends of existence, to find a safe place to hid one half. That in itself, would have brought of manner of troubles along the way. Then he would have had to of gone back in the direction had come from. Again, fraught with peril and danger, only then to go as far as he could in the opposite direction to bury the other half.

Odall would have given him a year before he was dead or had finally gave up and ended up in a tavern somewhere in faraway land, with all his money spent on horses and shoes. On Odall's reckoning he would have either sold the other half of the disc he had, and then drew a map to where the other half was buried and sold that as well. Or he would have gone back to retrieved the other half. Then Put together a small mercenary team, with the promise of untold wealth. Then go back, opened up the tomb and rob it. Knowing full well everyone within the tunnel was now dead.

So, with everything considered the mountain coming down on him was probably the best outcome. Odall had also considered one more fact and that was. He probably would have robbed the tomb himself in that situation. And because he was one of the most respected philosophers within the kingdom; in fact, he was the only one in the kingdom. It made his findings on the matter, a forgone conclusion.

So Odall just smiled at Tennant and let his sarcastic comments go over his head. As Odall knew philosophy had a silent victory over advisory on this one The key had actually been buried for a thousand years instead of one and in a philosopher's book that wasn't bad going.

Odall turned his attention back to Torms and Tennant, as he did, he had a sort of smug look about him.

"And over time I suppose it just looked like any other part of the mountain." Commented Torms.

"However, with a thousand years of wind and rain hammer away at it. It started to reveal its secrets, and one very big one, the Guardian key, which didn't even make it off of the MOUNTAIN." Said Tennant. As he said mountain he had given Odall a quick glance. But soon wished he hadn't as the look on Odall's face wasn't natural; somewhat unnerving.

"That explains a lot" Said Odall. "It explains why, when I uncovered the half disc within my study. It still had some skeleton fingers attached to it. Just before the dwarf acid dissolved them, and why Ripper found a skeleton by the doors with the other half of the disc with missing fingers...."

"Because when I found the Amberinth and chipped it away I must have broken the brittle bones of the hand, as it gave up half of the disc, leaving the other half behind" said Torms finishing of Odal's sentence.

But Odall didn't mind he was somewhat distracted as he thought about the Chosen One's skeleton and the missing fingers, and thought that it wasn't the only thing missing. There would have been a big bag of gold with it as well; enterprising lot those miner. Thought Odall.

The morning had passed and Sinat hadn't moved from his lookout position, and neither had Nakie. Only his position was with his back up against the wagon, sitting on the floor, chewing and eating anything and everything he could get his hands on. And that wasn't hard, seeing as he'd appointed himself as chief food rationer, and was sitting quite comfortably next to four large food hampers filled to the brim. There was a large pile of chicken bones around him, as he had appointed himself chief taster as well. None of the others complained, not even The Blood Born Guards. As they had to listen to the little snapping and cracking sounds that echoed down the tunnel; and had been all morning. They still remembered how savage Nakie had been on their first night together when their customary bonding session took place, in the form of a good old-fashioned punch-up. Since then, some of them still hadn't slept properly.

Sinat himself was starting to feel a bit peckish, and even though he was in charge, and no matter how many starving looks and bits of dribble he saw from the soldiers' faces, he certainly wasn't going to say anything. He knew better; now Nakie had settled himself in. The trick was not to let him near the food in the first place, and not to take it away once he had it. That was plain stupid, almost suicidal, as the afternoon went on, the soldiers learnt to blank out the sound of Nakie eating, and after the first couple of hours became oblivious to it, as everyone settled into a routine.

The guards were guarding, the miners were sat about talking and smoking on their pipes, Sinat was watching, and Nakie was eating, everyone was doing what they were best at.

As afternoon turned into evening and dusk set in. Nakie got up onto his feet, and after making sure that the food was now safe to eat; after some vigorous testing. He lifted open one of the hamper lids, and in the fading-light called out, "Grub's up."

*

The moon beamed down for the second night upon The Mystic Chambers, with the Masters still inside. After much deliberation and tactful thinking, they had come up and put together a plan that would return things to order and get back to the way things were before.

Every possible scenario had been talked over through and through, even up to the point where there was a small-scale illusion of a battlefield landscape in the middle of the table. Whereupon the Masters had put in small replica lifelike figures of the different races. Which acted out the battle and fought on their own, acting as each race would during the battle. But the outcome always remained the same; whichever race had the sword, won.

They even changed the scenery to woods to suit the elves, and the mountains for the dwarfs, and the flatlands for the warlords, but still the same outcome.

"So, then, everyone is clear about what to do? Meltoy, you're talking to the dwarfs as we talked about. I think it's best with a more direct approach with them. Wubuck, Pentra, you've got the warlords, missing out Strangaurd. Two'Bit, is your best bet for the initial contact. It's best if two of you go, seeing as they have a sorcerer of their own, in the form of the traitor Rathall. Seeing two sorcerers might just shake them up a bit. Rickety, Kellet, you stay here and protect the fortress."

Meltoy looked over and thought he could see a tear forming in the sorrowful face of Kellet, at being left out of the action. Although Trantore had been speaking freely with them and had dropped his guard a bit. He was still The Supreme Grand Master of The Sorcerers' Code of The Black Arts, and if he caught sight of the naive young Master showing self-pity, it could be the end of him.

"Forgive me, Supreme Grand Master," spoke Meltoy, bowing his head low, showing respect. "I'm not in any way, nor would I in any way, want to challenge or change your orders, but may I have young Master Kellet with me when I face the dwarfs, seeing as they are a stubborn race? A show of force might also be needed."

The room fell silent before Trantore answered. "Very well. Kellet, you go with Meltoy," ordered Trantore.

"Thank you, Supreme Grand Master," came Meltoy's voice from his bowed head. Meltoy tilted his head to the side ever so slightly and could see the now smiling face of Kellet. Which soon changed as he caught a glimpse of Meltoy's bowed head frowning at him.

A worried look appeared on Kellet's face as knew he had forgotten to bow his head in acknowledgement. Monetarily forgetting to follow Meltoy's lead in showing respect. He then bowed his head that fast and that low, he smacked it on the table, nearly knocking himself out. But he could just about put up with the pain, as he spoke out his words. "Thank you, Supreme Grand Master."

"Right, now go, and speak to your designated races. Only tell them what we've discussed. Approach them when you think the time is right. Once you have sourced out an answer or deal, come back to the fortress and wait for me here, in The Mystic Chambers," said Trantore in a commanding voice; but yet still a toneless one.

Trantore stood up, and his chair pulled itself backwards; as the others stood up, so did theirs. They all nodded their heads in the direction of their Master. Rickety then led the way out towards the door, with the other Masters behind him in order of rank. Kellet let out a sigh of relief. He had got through his first meeting as a Master with Trantore and had come out of it in one piece. But he had sighed to soon, as his Master's voice now boomed out around the circular room, stopping the small procession of sorcerer's dead in their tracks.

"KELLET, stay behind!"

Kellet nervously took a step to his left, removing himself from the now stopped line, and as he did, the other Masters continued on out the door. Kellet turned around, still with his head bowed, and faced the direction of The Supreme Grand Master. He could feel his legs beginning to shake under his heavy robe and tried not to think why The Supreme Grand Master had called him back. But he couldn't stop thoughts racing through his head in all directions. Was it because he'd spoken out? Was this some sort of initiation ceremony, where all of a sudden, he'd get jumped by the other Masters. Who would come running back through the door any moment now, and give him a wedgie?

But that idea soon came and went, as he quickly came to the conclusion that The Supreme Grand Master of The Sorcerers' Code of The Black Arts wasn't into wedgie's. So, was it because he smacked his head on the table without asking? Kellet could feel a single strand of sweat run from his neck, down his back.

The Supreme Grand Master opened his mouth to speak, and as he did Kellet's heart began to race.

"Next time you get a message from me," spoke Trantore, and paused to let the first bit of the message sink into the now slightly shaking Kellet who stood before him. Even though his robe was shaking only slightly, underneath his legs were banging together ten to a dozen as blind fear began to take over.

"Pull your pants up," concluded Trantore.

With that, Trantore waved his right hand, giving Kellet an order to leave.

"Yes, Supreme Grand Master, thank you, Supreme Grand Master," said the now somewhat embarrassed Kellet, as he walked out of the door. With his bright red face and his emotions still running riot.

First of all, fear, then fear turned into relief, then back into fear, at the thought of The Supreme Grand Master seeing him on the bog, and then to embarrassment. Then, as he trudged down the corridor towards Meltoy's private study, he just felt plain stupid.

"You would have thought the first words from The Supreme Grand Master to a newly fledged Master would be ones of intellect, code, honour and conduct." Kellet thought to himself. "Not 'pull your pants up'!"

*

The morning had arrived and gone in the hustling busy market streets of the Second Province's main market town of Prockvist. While Two'Bit's so-called guards policed the streets. Two'Bit himself was tucked up in bed, in his lavish bedroom within his castle. Which overlooked the busy market and all its streets. He slept in a tall tower with a window facing the noise. Most people would be disturbed by the commotion of the market traders, with all their calls as they plied their wares, but not Two'Bit. It had the reverse effect on him. The more he could hear the market, the more he could sleep soundly in the knowledge that he was making money. Seeing as he imposed a twenty percent tax on every trader and everything sold, which they had to pay or take their trade elsewhere. And the guards who enforced the rules pointed out one minor detail which the traders might consider before doing so, and that was. It was pretty hard to move your cart with two broken legs and especially if it was on fire. So, taxes were always settled on time, at the end of the working day, but that never came in Prockvist. The market never stopped, nor did the traders coming and going. When a trader was tired and had had enough for one day, he'd usually hand over to his wife, who carried on trading while the other one slept. That's where the motto of the city came from, which was carved on a plaque above the huge wooden gates to the city that were never shut. It simply read: 'Time Is Money'.

At the end of each shift, each trader would make his way to the nearest taxing post, which consisted of a fat guard of some description or another. In a wooden booth with the words 'Paying Post' painted crudely above it. Two'Bit had used the words 'Paying Post' as he thought his city modern, and 'taxes' was an out-dated term for Prockvist. Then the trader would settle up his twenty percent, and go off to bed wherever that may be, which was normally under the cart with a blanket pulled up over his head, while the other half carried on trading.

It was very rare in Prockvist for the traders to have sons, as the market never stopped and it was even rarer to get married, but a few did. So, after the trader's marriage was over which generally took five minutes. After that they only ever saw each other when they did the changeover. Sometimes the marriages would be put on hold if they couldn't get anybody to mind the cart for five minutes.

They didn't even take breaks for festive times such as Cow Day. when everyone in the kingdom and all the four provinces, even servants, had the day off. Even some of the kinder kingdoms let their prisoners out of their cells for the day, as long as they were back by nightfall. They all returned, as they didn't have a home to run off to. At least in the dungeons, they got one cold meal a day and a chance to have a quick natter with the guards for fifteen minutes, as they gave them their daily flogging. But for the market traders, especially in Prockvist, it was the busiest time of the year. They were quite happy to depart all the visitors from their money. In exchange for sacks stuffed with straw, with two buttons sewn on for eyes; which didn't even resemble a cow at all. But nevertheless, that's what they were sold as.

As Two'Bit slept soundly, as trading carried on. There was one market traders that was just about to get two new customers dropping in, literally. One minute the trader was the owner of some of the province's finest china vases, and then he wasn't. As Penta and Wubuck appeared above the canopy of his stall, and without warning came crashing down through the canvases, with arms and legs flapping everywhere. Cracking and smashing as they went, until finally, they landed with a crashing 'THUD' as their descent finally stopped.

Wubuck shook his head and pulled a piece of china out of his hair and looked around to see where Penta was. He didn't see all of him, just his feet sticking up towards the sky. The rest of him was still under what used to be a stall. Wubuck examined the piece of china in his hand; it was poorly made and coarse.

Now, if they had just smashed up a market trader's stall in any other market, they would by now be hearing swearing and cursing from the stallholder. But this was Prockvist, and instead, Wubuck heard the sound of beads very quickly banging against each other. As he turned his head to see where the noise was coming from. His eye fell upon a chubby fat man, with chubby fingers all covered in gold rings and gems. Who was frantically adding things up on an abacus as he ran around the stall.

Then, as quick as a flash, he appeared in front of Wubuck with a huge smile, and a mouthful of gold teeth. Then scribbled something on a little notebook, tore out the page and handed it to Wubuck.

"Your bill, sir," he said with a golden smile.

The stunned Wubuck didn't know what to make of it all, as he put his hand up and took the paper. Then there was the sound of more shattering china, as Penta pulled himself out of the pile of broken vases and joined him, whilst rubbing his head. He gave the surrounding area a quick viewing, just to get his bearings.

"That's the last time I use the map at the fortress for teleportation," said Penta, still rubbing his head. "Next time I'll fly. It might take longer, but at least when I get there I'll still be in one piece."

"Ah, it's not too bad, we're not that far away from the castle," said Wubuck, as he was trying to judge the distance by holding his thumb up at the castle. Seeing how far the map was out, back at the fortress. He had just worked it out to be around two hundred metres, as he stared at the castle walls in the foreground. When the forgotten stallholder reminded them, he was there.

"Uhm-uhm," went the stallholder, as he leant forward and tapped the piece of paper in Wubuck's hand.

"Oh yes, I forgot about you," said Wubuck, as he looked at the piece of paper he had been given.

"seven hundred and nine gold pieces?" cried out Wubuck in shock.

And before he could say any more, the stallholder recited the famous Prockvist market traders' rules to him and was happy to do so.

"You break, you buy," said the trader in a hollow voice. "You crack, you buy, you drop, you buy." The trader paused as he led up to his grand finale. "You look, you . . ."

"Buy!" butted in Wubuck sarcastically, but it was wasted on the trader, and he raised his arms up happily because Wubuck understood the rules.

"You've been here before, yes?" said the over-dramatic trader, answering his own question.

"No, I haven't been here before. Let's just say it was a lucky guess," snapped Wubuck.

"Oh, then I guess you will be paying me now, Yes. This china is the best made, by the finest potteries," came the words of the market trader as he shoved out his chubby hand.

"Paying you? Paying you for what? This load of rubbish? I wouldn't even give this as a present to my worst enemy," shouted Wubuck as he held up the piece he still had in his hand.

"Look at it, if you rub it too hard it starts to powder."

"That's because you fell on it," said the trader as he stuck his hand out further and gave it a gentle shake, which made his hand rattle. Wubuck was starting to get mad as the trader continued to rattle his hand in his face.

"Do you know who I am?" snapped Wubuck as his blood began to boil.

"Yes, sir, you are the man who's owing me money, and if you don't pay quickly I shall call for the guards, and have you flogged," said the trader, still smiling and waiting for his money.

"Have me flogged? Me? One of the Dark Fort -"

Penta put his hand over Wubuck's mouth then Penta waved his other hand over Wubuck's left hand and made the fireball that it was holding disappear before anybody saw it.

"Now, now, Wubuck, let's not be hasty," said Penta. As he said that, he pulled his colleague to his feet and stepped out from the rubble of the stall, pulling Wubuck with him.

"Now then, before we pay up, is that your gold coin on the floor or is it one of ours?" asked Penta.

With a wave of his hand a gold coin appeared at the trader's feet, with the swiftness of a snake the trader bent down to pick it up, and on the way down shouted.

"It's mine!" as he scooped the coin up in his chubby hand.

Although the trader was quick bending down, he was not as quick as Penta. As the trader stood up with his fist held tight, his permanent smile dropped from his face. Which was a rare and uncommon sight for a trader in Prockvist. He looked at his stall and saw it was all in one piece, with every vase, pot, and ornament as they were before. The trader picked up a vase and gave it a rub, and a little bit of powder came off on his thumb.

They're just as they were, but they can't be, thought the trader as he spun around to confront the two robed figures that had crashed in on him. But they were gone, and all that was in their place was the hustle and bustle of people walking by.

The trader slumped down, leaning on the front of his stall, trying to work out what had just happened, and if it did happen, what had actually happened. The stallholder quickly opened up his tightly clenched hand and it was empty. And with a blank expression on his face, he just sat there, trying to work out if he was going mad, or even worse, if he needed a holiday.

Just a few steps in the distance, two robed figures were moving with the flow of the market, heading towards the castle. One of them was tossing a coin in the air, and catching it as he walked, whilst whistling an accompanying tune, feeling quite pleased with himself.

*

It had just gone midday when Gillant emerged from the forest and into the clearing, his horse running full pelt with its nostrils flaring. By the time the guards had heard him he was already at the main entrance. He jumped down from his horse, and although it was tired it still looked as if it could carry on going.

This time Gillant didn't dismiss the guards, and although very weary himself, he stood before them with great vigour.

"Let me in, I have urgent news for King Pholanthion, and it cannot wait."

The two guards recognised Gillant from before and moved their pikes out of the way to let him pass. He ran up the spiral stairs and off towards the landing, towards the throne room doors. He called out to the guards

"Open the doors!"

The guards were King Pholanthion's own personal guards and also recognised Gillant, knowing him to be one of the king's trusted servants. They opened the doors for the approaching Gillant, who ran into the throne room and flung himself onto his knees before King Pholanthion and Queen Lynthia, who were deep in conversation with the elders of the court.

"Forgive me, Your Highness, but what news I have cannot wait and although I speak out of turn, the council must be assembled immediately. I have urgent news that has to be shared," spoke Gillant as he bowed his head.

King Pholanthion stood up. "CALL THE COUNCIL," he shouted, and as he did, guards ran out of the room to carry out his orders.

Velthrone stood out from behind the throne and gave Gillant an intriguing stare.

"Velthrone, Gillant, come with me," ordered Pholanthion, as he bowed to his queen, strolling off towards The Great Hall with Velthrone in tow. Gillant arose from his kneeling position, bowed his head to the queen, and walked off in great haste after the others.

Pholanthion didn't need to question Gillant's outburst, or for calling the council. He had known Gillant for far too long, and if Gillant thought it necessary to bring it upon himself to call the council, then there must be something serious afoot.

It didn't take the council long to muster, and in a short matter of time. The Great Hall was full, with each one of the council members seated quietly, and anxiously looking towards the head of the table where Pholanthion sat. Next to him sat Gillant, tired-looking but alert. Standing just to the left of Pholanthion's chair was Velthrone with the sun behind him, which shone brightly through open windows, and onto the table.

"You have been summoned here for the news we have been waiting for, and now I'll pass you over to Gillant," announced Pholanthion. Then nodded to Gillant, giving him the table.

"Thank you, Your Highness," said Gillant as he stood up. "I have good news and bad news. Since we last spoke, Cluzac, the Captain of the Elven High Elite, with his elves and myself have been keeping a vigil on the dwarfs. We followed them into the Bracken Mountains. Where they uncovered a set of old steel doors, which had been blocked and hidden by the mountain and weather over time. They set up camp and managed to gain access past the doors. They set off into the mountain in a small group and were coming and going for two days or more. But they weren't mining it, as the mining equipment remained on the wagons. Then, on the third day, they emerged out of the tunnel carrying a long sword, which they concealed in a blanket, carried on a long pole, which I believe was a golden pike. Then they were ambushed and attacked by a tribe of mountain trolls. I believe they killed one of their clan some time ago. We found a troll's skull by the side of the woods when we were scouting. It had an axe split straight down the middle of its skull, that could have only been made by a war axe customary to the dwarfs. I think the attack on them by the troll tribe was a revenge attack. But the good news is, I don't think the dwarfs have found an Amberinth mine."

There was a sigh of relief from the council.

"Wait, you haven't heard the bad news," said Gillant cautiously. "When the camp was attacked, one of the dwarfs used the sword they had retrieved from the mountain, to slay almost the entire tribe single handily."

Flextric, one of the councillors nearest to Gillant, threw in a question.

"The dwarfs are well known for their ferocity in the midst of a battle. Maybe he went berserk?"

"No, not this one. He didn't even look like a regular dwarfen soldier, and the sword he was wielding was nearly twice his size, and the way he moved," said Gillant as he stared into space, recalling the lightning reactions of the dwarf.

"No, it wasn't the dwarf, it was the sword, by the way it glowed in the dawn light, it looked as if it was made out of pure Amberinth."

The council, including the king, looked concerned at the mention of the Amberinth, but they were going to look even more concerned, thought Gillant as he looked at their faces when they heard what he had to say next.

"I know the sword was made out of Amberinth, because when the dwarf moved over to the other side of the camp and engaged in battle with the leader of the trolls. He ran past a group of his own dwarfs, including the one who I believe to be in charge. As he did, a sorcerer appeared. Not straight away, but after a few seconds, he was standing in the middle of the battlefield as clear as day. And by the look on his face, he didn't want to be there or be seen. I presume the sword had somehow unmasked him exposing him to the elements for everyone to see.

"I don't think it was Amberinth itself, as it's written that it absorbs any magic thrown at it. It wouldn't and couldn't go looking for it. But the sword, as it glowed in all its glory, seemed to have some other power, and the dwarf wielding it gave off a slight glow as well. The same colour as the sword, as if they were in tune with each other, somehow drawing off each other's power."

"CLAP, ....... CLAP, ....... CLAP."

Came the loud, slow handclaps from the back of the room, behind Pholanthion. As the tall, dark hooded figure of Trantore stepped out of nowhere.

"Very good elf, that was indeed a very accurate account of events, and you were right, it was the sword that unmasked me." Spoke Trantore as he carried on walking towards them. Gillant had spun around and already had his sword drawn. As Pholanthion stood up, Gillant stood in front of his king, guarding him with his own life. Velthrone, on the other hand, cowered as he heard the sorcerer's voice. As he spun around catching the long dark hooded robe; for a split second, he thought it was Rathall. But to his relief saw that it wasn't, then horror set in again. As he didn't know if the sorcerer was here for him. Seeing as Rathall had removed himself from their order, or if the sorcerer was here on another matter.

Velthrone had mixed feelings, whether to stay where he was or run. If it was about Rathall, there was nothing to tie him to the sorcerer. Then Velthrone felt the talisman under his tunic gently bang against his chest. As he swayed, slightly uneasy, from foot to foot, and all of a sudden, he felt like crawling under the table. But he half pinned his hopes on the elven archers killing the sorcerer that stood before him as the doors flew open and elite archers flooded into the room. They packed every possible space with bows poised and aimed at Trantore.

Pholanthion hadn't even called for the guards, but elves have a keen sense of hearing, and the guards outside the room hearing Gillant draw his sword from its sheath was enough to raise the alarm.

"I pose no threat to you," said Trantore in his toneless voice. With his arms outstretched and palms facing upwards. "So, let's dismiss the display of power, shall we. Your arrows would not harm me."

With a quick flick of his right wrist, every arrow in the bows of the elven archers sprang out, as if fired by the archers, and headed straight for Trantore. As they got within an inch of him, they hit an unseen barrier and fell to the ground. Landing with a clanking of wood as they piled up under his feet in front of him.

"There, you see. Now, shall we stop this and get on with the matter at hand, and answer the question you're all asking, which is why I'm here?"

Pholanthion put his hand on Gillant's shoulder and gently pushed him to one side. Gillant was a bit reluctant to let the king and his good friend be directly exposed but had no choice but to step aside. Pholanthion stood before Trantore; as he stood there, he held himself proud and without fear. Trantore put his hands up towards his hood and pulled it back, revealing his face. Pholanthion noticed it was a hardened face with deep lines and curves, yet somewhat deceptive looking, as the sorcerer looked mature and yet young. Trantore's jet-black hair shone in the daylight, and then Pholanthion looked into his eyes. They were jet-black as if you were looking at an empty body, with no soul of its own. But still Pholanthion did not falter, and instead felt sorry for the sorcerer who now stood before him.

"You say, sorcerer, you pose no threat to us, but you've entered our Great Hall without being invited. You've been keeping an eye on our activities and movement. You seem to be able to move as you please, and freely, and we're not to conclude you're a threat? Forgive me, sorcerer. But I don't think if you had elves running around in your fortress you'd be too happy about it. And now as you stand here, in one of our most sacred places, we don't even know your name," spoke Pholanthion like a true king, sternly but softly.

"Trantore is my name. I'm The Supreme Grand Master of The Sorcerers' Code of The Black Arts, and I have no wish to intrude upon you or your race. But certain events have led us to cross paths, that is why I'm here. To share with you knowledge, and to tell you what you do not know, and to save time. I have no interest in you, or your race, or any other race for that matter. My interests don't concern you and lie within other realms - realms you'll never see. The Island of Black Rock and The Dark Fortress is merely a resting place for me, somewhere to come back to out of reach from other realms. So, you can see, if anything happens in this realm that puts Black Rock in danger, then it does concern me. Now, are you going to clear your guards and resume with the council and hear what I have to say. Or are you going to go on blindly, until your elves get the answers out of your books? By the time that happens, it could be too late."

Pholanthion gave Trantore a look, which told him he wasn't happy at all about his sudden appearance. But Pholanthion ruled the kingdom with his head and not his heart, and no matter how much he despised Trantore for inviting himself to the council and entering his kingdom, nevertheless while he was here he might as well listen to what he had to say.

"Leave us," ordered Pholanthion as he turned and looked at the guards, who, although they knew their arrows were ineffective against Trantore. Had dismissed their bows and had now armed themselves with the elven long dagger common to elven archers. They stood there poised, still standing their ground, each one of them willing to lay down their life for their king. One by one they left the room, not taking their eyes off Trantore for one second. As the last two walked out of The Great Hall backwards, they shut the doors behind them.

"There, now if you are to be part of this meeting, even though you weren't invited, and if you still state you have news for us. To ratify your reason for your insult on our kingdom, then you should take your place at the other end of the table, and state your news for all the council to hear." Spoke Pholanthion.

Trantore bowed his head slightly in acceptance of the offer. As he made his way down the length of the table, he felt uneasy. Not because he knew he would have his back to the doors, which by now probably had half the elven army standing behind it. It was because he was following an order, even though it was said in a way to be taken as a request. The blackness within him stirred. To show the elves his true power, not a mere party trick display like stopping a few arrows, but one they wouldn't forget.

But Trantore managed to suppress his urges; like he said, he wasn't concerned with the elves. He had no interest in being the ruler of realm and all within it. All he wanted was to return things to how they were. Nobody bothering anybody, and that meant everybody staying away from The Island of Black Rock.

If you had put the question to Trantore a few weeks ago, about being the overall ruler of the realm, he would have considered it and maybe enjoyed it, as far as a Supreme Dark Master could enjoy himself. But something was stirring within. It started when he visited the old forgotten realm of Ozard, where the hideous creatures mocked him. For once in his darkened life, he wasn't in control. There were forces out there, forgotten ones far stronger and more powerful than him. That's where he wanted to be, not as their equal but their Master. And for that, he needed to study ancient arts, texts, and learn from other realms before he made his challenge.

Although he was the most powerful Supreme Grand Master the fortress had ever seen, it wasn't nearly enough. He needed more, and that is why he needed somewhere safe to learn and study, out of the way of prying eyes of other realms. So, they didn't come after him before he was all-powerful. If he did take over the realm he was in, and the other races, it would certainly draw unwanted attention from other realms, and finally maybe trickle back to Ozard. So, on the surface, things had to remain as normal as possible.

He finally reached the end of the table and turned to address the king and council. He thought, for now, he'd try and sort out the problem of the sword. Because if the races did start to use it, and especially if the elves became its master, they might become a serious threat. Especially if they managed to control all the other races with it. The Dark Fortress could not withstand such an onslaught. Even though Trantore was powerful, he wasn't that powerful, even with all the other Masters and students behind him.

As he stood there at the end of the table, he had the council's full attention; especially Gillant's. Who still had his sword out, but lowered. As long as the sorcerer and the king were in the same room, his sword wasn't going anywhere.

Gillant watched as Trantore waved his right hand and a map of the Island in the three-dimensional form of a hologram appeared in the centre of the council table, every detail exact and precise.

"RIGHT," boomed out the commanding voice of Trantore as he began. "As it stands, the dwarfs have The Sword of Oblivion, and although they know it's powerful, they do not know its full potential. I followed them from their kingdom until they split into two groups."

The three-dimensional map on the table had a blue line glowing, where the dwarfs had started out from the Dwarfen Kingdom to the bottom of the Ferral Mountains. As Trantore carried on, so did the line, in two directions, where they split.

"They split up around here and met again at the foot of the Brocken Mountains." Trantore looked up at Gillant. "I'm sure your faithful ranger can confirm my findings, as they had a somewhat brief encounter with them, I'm sure you know all this already. They then continued up along the track, winding up into the mountains, finally stopping and uncovering the entrance to the mountain."

The map now changed into a small but accurate scale of the mountain, into which the entrance was burrowed.

"I followed them in undetected, and even I was surprised to see what they found. Our interest was to stop anyone from mining the Amberinth because as you well know, our magic would have no effect."

This comment brought a smile to Gillant's face, and it didn't go unnoticed by Trantore.

"What they actually found was a tomb and not just any old tomb. This was Rancore's tomb, the mighty warlord."

The holographic mountain now changed on the table into a three-dimensional projection of the tomb itself. The council peered at the image with great interest.

"After they discovered the sword and realised it had powers, they moved it. Back to the camp hidden in a blanket, for the Captain of the Blood Born to decide its fate. I followed them to learn what their intentions were concerning the sword. When the mountain trolls took the wrong decision and attacked the dwarfs.

"Once I was discovered, I returned high up onto a ridge above the door, and before I returned back to The Dark Fortress, I saw their Captain ride off towards the Ferral Mountains. Once he reaches King Crackzull with the news, it's not going to take them long to send every possible fighting dwarf to the aid of their comrades. Who up until now have been followed, watched, spied upon by YOU, their common enemy. And what do you think they will do with the sword when they get there - just turn around and go home, after marching all that way with their blood boiling at being spied upon? A dwarfen army is not just going to forget. Even with all your skilled bowmen and swordsmanship, you couldn't stop such an onslaught from them, if they had the sword."

With that last comment, Trantore was hoping that he had now got their full undivided attention, before he continued with his own laid out his plan.

"And this is where I can help. We can attack the small party of dwarfs that are now holding the sword and retrieve it. Once we do that we will destroy it forever, bringing back harmony and peace throughout the realm once more," spoke Trantore as he stood at the end of the table, as if he was doing the elves a favour. As he stood up a loud, slow "clap, clap, clap" emerged from the other end of the table this time towards him.

"Very good," spoke out Pholanthion.

As it was now his turn to steal the show and to show why he was king.

"Thank you for your speech and how you are to be our saviour. I'm sorry, but a darkened soul such as yourself doesn't do any favours for anybody for nothing. So, I can only conclude we would be doing you one if we just let you walk into the tomb and retrieve the sword for yourself. I mean, why ask us in the first place if you're so powerful? Why don't you just do it on your own? Or are you not as powerful as you make out to be? Once you retrieved the sword, the dwarfs would then turn on you, and turn their attention to The Dark Fortress. And us elves as you put it, wouldn't be too far behind in discovering that the sword has great power. Maybe even greater power in the hands of the sorcerers, so we might make an alliance with the dwarfs to overthrow you. With the dwarf and elven armies combined, we would be a formidable force, even with all your sorcery," concluded Pholanthion.

As he waited for an answer, Trantore seemed to grow slightly, as if showing his displeasure but still refrained himself from blasting everyone in the room to different realms.

"Indeed, I can see you that live up to your reputation for being a great thinker and scholar. But you couldn't be further from the truth. Even if we did get the sword, it would be totally useless to us. If one of us touched it, it would tap into our dark force and have an endless supply of power, and you and everyone else in this realm would cease to exist. And I doubt that the realm would either."

"Now we're getting somewhere," said Pholanthion, on the attack. "What you're really saying is if you can't have it no one else can. But you're forgetting one thing, if we had the sword, we could give it to our mages, The Brotherhood of the White Elders. Who I'm sure you're acquainted with. They draw their power from the white magic, the pure essence of good. They keep themselves out of the way, deep in the Emerald Forest, deep in meditation. I already sent word to them about the matters at hand, and of the initial sightings of sorcerers in our unmarked boundaries. A message was returned, do you want to know what they said?"

Pholanthion didn't give him a chance to answer before continuing.

"They simply said, 'We are here, so we serve.' So, if what you say is true, and the sword taps into whoever or whatever touches it, then if they were to have it . . . The realm would be awash with goodness, and I dare say you and your black sorcery would be wiped out in a blink of an eye. Did you just happen to forget to mention that, or did you think we wouldn't, or couldn't, have worked it out for ourselves? Or that even if we did, it would be too late, the sword would have been destroyed? Pholanthion paused a little before continuing.

"So, speaking as a king for his race and I don't even have to consult my council, as I know where their loyalties lie. I'm afraid that your kind offer of saving us from the onslaught of the dwarfen armies, we must decline. We can muster our armies and get to the tomb before the dwarfs can even get out of the Ferral Mountains. So, you see the question you now want answering is, can you beat us to the sword? And if you can, can you secure it for yourself? And if you did, you could set the cogs working towards your inevitable downfall while we made an alliance with the dwarfs and came after you? The way I see it, is you lose in every scenario, and when you entered unannounced into our kingdom, you forgot one thing. We are all pure of heart, and there's not a single one of us here that wouldn't lay down his life to wipe out the dark forces in this realm. So, if you've quite finished, leave our kingdom, and we'll see you on the battlefield," said Pholanthion as he finished off his speech.

Trantore, who now looked twice the size he had when he first appeared, stared darkly at Pholanthion with a chilling look.

"Very well elf, I shall look forward to it." Spoke Trantore. Insulting the king by calling him a mere elf and not using his title. Pholanthion had picked up on it, but quietly smiled to himself, as he knew what he had just said, had displeased the sorcerer.

But before Trantore went to make his exit he had a few more choice words for the king, to ponder on.

"If your race is so pure, how come one amongst you has sided against you?"

And with that, and a small chant in a foreign tongue Trantore vanished, leaving a slight black mist which quickly disappeared.

"Velthrone," called out Pholanthion. Velthrone appeared by his side.

"Get a message urgently to The Brotherhood of the White Elders. Ask them to send us one of their finest and most powerful. We need them to serve, and take their place amongst us on the battlefield. But first and foremost, and once their representative gets here, he can riddle out our bad seed. Now go get the message to them."

Pholanthion waved his hand, and Velthrone scurried off out of The Great Hall, through the doors, and past the legions of elves that had gathered outside. He didn't head for the scouts' quarters or even the stables. He headed straight for his own chambers, and as the door slammed behind him. There was a slight noise of something 'jangling' as if something was being pulled out. Then a faint whooshing noise came from within, and the room was empty.

Castle Attin had its first ever advisor, as Velthrone appeared in Rathall's tower. As he began to focus, he started to make out the swaying shape of a large snake's head that sat behind a desk before him in the round tower.

"Ah, Velthrone, how nice to sssee you," hissed Rathall. "I hope for your sssake you have good newsss.

*

It was just after sunrise when the Captain finally arrived at the kingdom's outer gates, covered in dust. Which had been thrown up along his travels. The gates to the mountain kingdom where open as usual. Posted just outside were two dwarfen guards who gave the Captain a quick glance as he rode through, and headed off towards the palace. Which was set further back, past the huge city which the Captain was now galloping through, still with a pony in tow.

The two guards hadn't recognised the Captain, or they would have given him the proper salute. If they didn't, they'd be guarding the laundry room for the rest of their lives. But because he was so dusty, his red tunic looked a light grey colour. All the guards checked for on the main entrance, was if you fitted the main criteria. For that you had to be at least four and a half feet small, rather plump, smell of either dirt, coal or ale, and be carrying at least two visible weapons; having a sizeable long beard was optional. But if you were not sporting one, you might get a second glance from the guards just to make sure you were of dwarfen origin. They'd leave the kicking you'd get for not having one, and disgracing the dwarfen race, to the city dwellers that live within. That usually happened the moment your foot stepped through the door.

The Captain leapt from his pony as he approached the main steps that led up to the palace. As he raced up the steps, the guards lowered their pikes and issued a challenge to the wild-eyed mad-looking dwarf who was now running full pelt at them.

"Halt, state your name and business," one of the guards shouted somewhat shakily, as this wasn't a normal way for dwarfs to approach the palace. They normally came crawling on their bellies, then took half an hour to get their words out. Whilst the guards took it upon themselves to go into mocking mode. Making the dwarf standing in front of them even more nervous than they had been, when they took their first step up to the palace.

But as the Captain drew nearer, he seemed to grow bigger and bigger, as he took in great lungful's of air as he cleared the steps. Mocking mode never entered the guards' heads. Retreat mode and panic were on standby, as the Captain now stood before them, knocking their pikes out of the way.

"GET OUT OF MY, YOU FOOLS," he shouted.

Then opened the main doors to the palace himself, as he ran into them putting his back into it; barging the golden doors open.

As he ran off down the passageway, the two bewildered guards had the tips of their pikes resting on the ground. They held them with one hand, while, with the other, they scratched their heads. Wondering if to tell anyone of the intruder and raise the alarm, or just leave it up to the king's personal bodyguards to deal with him, and just deny any knowledge of ever setting eyes on him.

The guards who were standing outside the throne room weren't fazed by the dusted figure running towards them, as he approached their door. Because the Captain had just sprinted through the entire kingdom, the sweat which was now running down his face, had cleaned the dust away.

The guards on the main throne room doors. Had the symbol of a skull with two crossed war hammers sewn onto their tunics, which meant they knew and recognised their own Captain instantly. Without order or threat, they opened the doors quickly. Then took up their positions either side and stood with their pikes facing upwards. With their right hand posed above their right eye and saluted the Captain as he ran by.

As he did, one of the guards announced him to King Crackzull who was sat upon his throne.

"CAPTAIN OF THE BLOOD BORN GUARDS."

Were the words that bellowed out around the room, as the Captain finally stopped and stood before the king. The Captain bowed his head briefly, as he paid his respects but soon held it up again to inform the king of the sudden events.

"Forgive me, King Crackzull, but I have urgent news about the dwarfen party you sent out under my protection. I fear I have failed you. We have been followed from the start by elves and sorcerers. Now the rest of the party and my dwarfs are pinned down in the Brocken Mountains. I would have stayed with them, but I knew you might not have believed a scout, with what I'm now about to tell you, and that is . . ." the Captain paused briefly before continuing. "I think we might have just started a war."

As the Captain spoke his last word, he looked at the king's face for his reaction. But although the king's face changed slightly. It seemed to the Captain the king wasn't at all surprised. Even somewhat relieved, with a certain mad glint in his eye, even happy-looking. Then the Captain noticed the extra bodyguards the king had around him and not any old guards, these were some of the best. Bone Crusher Boris, No Pain Baine, Hammer Hands Ham . . . and they were just the mild ones.

Then he noticed some of the furniture including the throne, had some added extras in the form of throwing axes, sticking out of it. Some of the tables were overturned as well, and one was smouldering in tiny pieces all over the place.

"That might explain a few things," spoke Crackzull as he sat on his throne stroking his beard with a free hand, while in the other was a jewel-encrusted war axe. "Like the sudden appearance of our two visitors, who decided to leave in a bit of a hurry," he said jokingly, which got a rowdy laugh from his fellow dwarfs. Then he stood up to address his court.

"WELL, IF IT'S A WAR THEY WANT, THEY HAVE COME TO THE RIGHT PLACE.... DWARFS TO THE WAR ROOM, WE'RE HAVING A WAR COUNCIL," he shouted. Shoving his jewel-encrusted war axe up into the air. To the roars and cheers of his fellow dwarfs that sprang out, filling and lifting the entire room.

*

Three days had come and gone since Strangaurd had set eyes on Rathall, and on each day Strangaurd had got up with the sun, and gone to bed with it. Each and every day he had, sat upon his throne. Waiting for the snake-encrusted doors to open and Rathall to emerge. So, he could discuss exactly what Rathall would be bringing to the table. When the moment was right, for him to take his rightful place in history as the natural born leader and overall warlord of Gryphon Island and all within it.

But so far, all Rathall had brought was words about overthrowing the other races especially the sorcerers. Which Strangaurd was already planning to attempt such a marvel, with the aid of Velthrone. But now he had a renegade sorcerer, who had somehow attached himself to his castle, and only appeared when he felt like it. Strangaurd was annoyed and wanted to know how Rathall was going to fit all this. If all he was going to do was stay in his tower. Not appearing when he was summoned to do so, by thumping and kicking at the tower doors. Which Strangaurd had done on the second day of waiting impatiently at being left in the dark. Also, Strangaurd was starting to worry about Velthrone; why he hadn't heard anything? At the least, he thought Velthrone would have sent word by way of a falcon, but nothing. All Strangaurd could do was sit and wait, and that's exactly what he had been doing. He'd even turned his chair slightly, so it faced towards the tower doors.

Even Gypsy had given up at barking at the doors after forty-eight hours of constant barking, which started off at a full-blown deafening Woof and died down to a mere half-hearted grunt, much to the delight of the guards and everybody else who was trying to get some sleep. Then after taking a long and much-needed drink from the castle moat. She had visited the kitchens, and helped herself to a half-roasted cow. Which she then proceeded to drag down the steps leading to the dungeons, and finally, after devouring her feast. She was now lying fast asleep with her belly full on her makeshift bed of clothes and rags.

Some of which had been put there for her when she was a puppy, but mostly stuff she put there herself. What she had picked up on her travels, like half-chewed hay mattresses from the guards' quarters, blankets from the stables. She even had an old expensive tapestries which she had pulled down from one of the walls, which kept her head nice and warm in winter. But did nothing for the poor guard's head who was accused of stealing it. As it ended up on a spike, and was placed outside the guards' quarters as a warning to any other would-be tapestry thieves.

But her favourite place was the laundry room, due to the fact she found the laundry had all manners of smells and items. Which she frequented on a regular basis and helped herself, especially the guards' socks, which was her favourite. She could smell them a mile away. Every Monday morning without fail she was always by the sacks. As they were emptied onto the floor, before they were put into the hot tubs of soapy water. The laundry had learnt the hard way at first, just like the kitchens. But now they just let her help herself and washed whatever Gypsy didn't chew or walk off with in her mouth, bulging to the brim as she wagged her tail.

But as she laid with half her body on her bed and the other half-hanging over the edge, with her head resting on the left over carcass of the cow. Way above her, Strangaurd had to wait no more. The doors to the tower slowly opened and out slithered Rathall, who was looking rather pleased with himself, with the corners of his snake-like face turned up ever so slightly.

Strangaurd sprang to his feet and stood in a dominating way, puffing out his chest to show that he wasn't happy.

"I've been waiting here for the past three days, and nothing. On the second I was summoning you, and still NOTHING!" shouted out the fuming Strangaurd.

At the mention of the word summoning. Rathall's eyes narrowed, and the look upon his face was replaced with a much sterner one. He clenched his fists and thought about ending Strangaurd's speech with one giant fireball in his general direction.

But he fought back his eagerness as he could see the bigger picture. Although Rathall hated to admit, the jumped-up ranting warlord that stood before him now played an even bigger part in it. Especially now that the magical sword of Amberinth, which everyone was calling The Sword of Oblivion, had turned up and changed matters. In Rathall's case for the worse. As he had learnt from Velthrone he couldn't use it, and he now needed Strangaurd even more, to use the sword and his armies against the sorcerers and the other races. Once he had done that, all Rathall would have to do was relieve the sword from Strangaurd. Preferably when he was not holding it, and banish it to another realm. Then there would be nobody left to challenge him. He'd kill Strangaurd, take control of his army and take over as ruler of Gryphon Island along with The Island of Black Rock.

So, for now, Rathall unclenched his fists and listened to Strangaurd as he continued to verbally lash out at his now unwanted guest.

"All you have done since you got here is show us some fancy tricks, and that's it. My men are ready and willing to fight. They are getting restless, asking questions which I haven't got answers to. And I've assembled all my warriors on your say so, and yet you say you've been sent here by Velthrone. So why haven't I heard from him? Nothing, not even a message," blurted out Strangaurd, as he raised up a clenched fist in anger, feeling braver and braver with each word spoken. As he witnessed Rathall just standing there, taking the harsh words.

"But Massster," hissed Rathall sternly, stopping Strangaurd from saying anything else, which might just push him too far and make him turn the warlord into a pile of ashes.

"I have not been sssitting idly in my tower asss you think, doing nothing. I have been busssy finding out thingsss. Which will lead inevitably to you governing, and controlling not only thisss Isssland, but all the other Isssland'sss and continentsss asss well, and the entire realm. Asss for your good friend Velthrone, he isss here in my tower, and hasss been here for the passst nightfall."

"I must speak with him at once," commanded Strangaurd, as he strolled off towards the open doors, which led up into Rathall's tower. But the moment he took his first step, Rathall waved his hand, and they slammed shut in a blink of an eye, with a loud 'BANG,' which echoed out around the room.

"A sssorcerer'sss tower isss hisss own domain," hissed Rathall, who was now beginning to lose his patience with the warlord.

But Strangaurd, still with a false sense of security, turned towards Rathall.

"YOU! ......... Do you dare deny me from entering something which now belongs to me and is part of my kingdom?" shouted Strangaurd.

But before Strangaurd could say any more, he felt a scaly hand wrap around his throat, and now found himself ten feet in the air. With his legs dangling clean off the floor, fighting and trying to release the vice-like grip around his neck. His last remaining breath was running out and the room starting to spin and go dark.

Rathall had elevated himself up by his tail and now had his face right up in front of Strangaurd's. As his tongue flickered, in front of his mouth, he felt Strangaurd give up the struggle, and his body go limp. He could taste that Strangaurd was about to depart from the realm permanently.

Rathall tightened his grip to the point of snapping the warlord's neck. The dark force flowed strongly through Rathall's body, awaiting its next command. But out of nowhere, an image flashed through his head of the bigger picture. One in which he was in the tallest tower within The Dark Fortress, looking down on all the other towers below him. Which was just enough to make Rathall release his grip, which sent Strangaurd crashing to the ground.

As his lifeless body hit the floor, a gasp of air kicked Strangaurd's frame back into life. Then he slowly moved one of his hands up around his throat as he lay on his side, coughing and spluttering, his eyes all puffy and red.

After about three minutes he finally sat up, relieved and belittled, but grateful he was still in his kingdom; even if he was on the floor. Rathall moved closer towards Strangaurd and shot out a hand to help him up. Strangaurd flinched, awaiting the next torture of his punishment.

"Forgive me, Massster," hissed Rathall as he bowed his head, "but a sssorcerer'sss tower isss sssacred." As he hissed out the words, he extended his hand further towards Strangaurd. Who reluctantly accepted it, and was pulled to his feet by Rathall.

Strangaurd stood there slightly shaken by the advent that had just happened, and was wondering what to do next. All his anger and hatred over the last three days had just been throttled out of him; literally, and he was just grateful it had stopped there.

"I know you mussst be concerned about Velthrone. He'sss perfectly sssafe up in my tower. He'sss got a bit of a headache, and he jussst needsss a bit of a ressst," hissed Rathall.

What Rathall said was true, but what he didn't tell Strangaurd was that he had been reading his mind all night and had extracted every detail, which lay within. Everything from the power of the sword to its whereabouts, to Trantore trying to make a deal with the elves. Plus, every possible manoeuvre and outcome, and numbers of arms the elves possessed. Rathall had been extricating information so fast that when he put it back in, it wasn't in order. Now Velthrone lay high up in the tower, on a bed, screaming and muttering as his brain tried to put itself back together.

As for the safe part Velthrone was very safe, as Rathall had left Threnog the Fire Demon with him. Just in case Velthrone managed to sort his head out and tried to go for a wander, or even worse. Try and return back to his own study within The Great Tree.

"Now we have sssorted that bit of confusssion out," hissed Rathall, "it'sss time we went and got a sssword."

Strangaurd looked confused, and he placed his hand on the butt of his own sword, already in its sheath. "But I already have one," spoke Strangaurd as he looked across at Rathall.

"Not one like thisss you haven't. Now go and mussster a ssselection of your finessst warriorsss, fifteen ssshould be sssufficient. Then meet me back here to go over the plansss, asss tonight we will make hissstory and the beginning of the end will be set in motion."

*

Zelton and Wykep had arrived at Castle Prockvist on the request of Two'Bit, who had dispatched two messengers to ride in great haste to each of their castles. And on the parchment, they had carried was a message, which simply read:

Come at once, a matter of great interest and urgency has developed.

Two'Bit

Normally, they would have left it for a couple of days before sending back a message stating they were too busy. But normal events had suddenly taken a turn for the worse, and both of the warlords, instead of fishing, riding, or just relaxing in their castles. Now found themselves constantly inspecting and preparing their warriors for battle on the say so of Strangaurd and a sorcerer snake. That liked to be accompanied by an even bigger fire-breathing demon. Who has a tendency to throw huge fireballs around the place, and didn't care who got caught in the middle.

On receiving the message, Wykep rode over to Zelton, and they both came to the quick decision. That if anybody knew any back-handed way of avoiding the war and settling things back to the way they were, it would be Two'Bit. And if Strangaurd just happened to be killed in the process, then that wouldn't be a bad thing, when all things were said and done.

They both now hoped that Two'Bit had finally come to his senses, and decided to join them, thus giving them the upper hand to overthrow Strangaurd once and for all. But what they couldn't work out was why now, after all this time. Plus, Strangaurd was now stronger than he ever was, with the new arrival of the sorcerer.

But, as they sat impatiently on the elegant jewel-encrusted hand-crafted chairs outside Two'Bit's business room-stroke-new war room, they didn't say a word. They just sat there with their bodyguards either side of them. Who had cautioned their masters at being in such a shady, and literally cutthroat excuse for a market city. They glared hard and long at anything which got within ten feet of their warlords.

Even a fat idly passing cat, which had been walking the same route for years to the same kitchen for its milk stopped midway in its tracks. As its sixth sense kicked in and put the cat in reverse mode, as it stealthily and slowly retreated backwards up the passageway. Not taking its eyes off the bodyguards, not even for a second. Until it was safely out of dagger-throwing range, upon which it turned tail and took the long way around. Much to its displeasure, knowing it had just used up some of its lives. But still, it had three left, on account of the fact that it had probably just used up six of them all in one go, just by the way it was looked at.

The doors finally opened, and the sudden appearance of a chubby character with an oversized eyepatch on. With a huge diamond in the middle, caused the bodyguards to grab for their concealed weapons.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," spoke the usher.

As he did, he gave the bodyguards a snobbish look of distaste. Looking them up and down with his one good eye, while they stood there brandishing every possible weapon in the book of concealed weapons.

"Uhm-uhm, need I remind you that weapons aren't allowed in my master's private residence? I thought you had been searched and had handed in your weapons at the main doors. But clearly one or two . . ." The usher glanced at the weapons and quickly added them up in his head, "or even TWENTY-FOUR must have been missed. I'll have to have words with my door staff."

Both Zelton and Wykep waved their hands, signalling for their bodyguards to lower their weapons.

"That's better, now my master will see you."

As Zelton and Wykep went to walk through the door, the usher put up his hands to stop the bodyguards from entering. But because of his sudden movement, he now found himself pinned to the outer door. With at least six daggers pressing at his throat, not to mention where the others were.

"It's okay, we will go alone, rules are rules," spoke Zelton and Wykep.

Their reluctant bodyguards withdrew their weapons and left a now shaky, heavily sweating usher up against the wall. As he tried his hardest to regain his composure as the bodyguards retreated.

"Now then, as you were saying, your master will see us." Said Zelton, as he held out his hand, ushering the usher to lead the way. The still shaky usher turned and walked off towards another set of doors that led into where Two'Bit was sitting.

Zelton and Wykep straightened themselves, putting their hands behind their backs, and went to walk off gracefully. As they did, each of the warlords' bodyguards placed a weapon in the hands of their master. Zelton received a long sharp dagger. Which he concealed up his sleeve, as he walked, still with his hands behind his back and Wykep got a throwing star. Which sat neatly concealed within his palm.

Two'Bit would be signing his own death warrant if he attacked either of them. Their loyal armies would obliterate and smash Two'Bit's into the ground, and him along with it. But even with this in mind, this was Two'Bit they were dealing with. The notorious warlord that sold his own grandmother once for two bit's, and not because he needed the money. Because he thought it was too much of a bargain not to at the time.

The chubby usher opened up the inner set of doors and walked in. Zelton and Wykep followed him. As they entered the inner room they were greeted by another fat figure sat before them, this one they did know. The figure was sat behind a fine golden carved table, with the crest of Two'Bit upon it.

This crest was a pair of tilted scales, which was tipped heavily in his favour, which the two warlords now found to their surprise. As the usher shut the doors behind them. Penta and Wubuck stepped out from behind Two'Bit's huge chair, unveiling their faces from underneath their hoods as they stepped out.

Zelton let the concealed dagger slip into his hands while keeping his same composure. While Wykep moved the throwing star up to his fingertips, into a throwing position, and still, the two of them stood calmly with their hands behind their backs. As they had instantly recognised the two figures to be sorcerers.

"You never told us there would be company," said Zelton in a soft-spoken voice, as he gave the sorcerers a closer inspection.

"I know what you're thinking, dear friends," said Two'Bit, clasping his hands together as he talked. "But before you jump to the wrong conclusion, let me tell you that these are the good guys, and what Strangaurd has within his walls . . ." Two'Bit paused as he thought what to say next. "Well, let's just say, he's one of the bad ones. Now then, fellow warlords, if you will take a seat," Two'Bit stretched out the palm of his right hand, pointing out two high-backed seats that were positioned in front of the table.

"Then we shall begin."

*

It was late afternoon, King Pholanthion was sat at the head of the table, in his usual place. Discussing in fine detail the events of the previous day, and what course of action was to be taken. Gillant was by his side leaning over a map, discussing possible defence and attack procedures with councillor Odrell. Who was a tall fine slender elf, who in his earlier years had worked his way up through the ranks, and had now earned himself a place amongst the council. In charge of the deployment of every single elven soldier, including Cluzac and his Elven Elite. Both of them had risen up through the ranks together, and Odrell considered Cluzac to be a close personal friend.

The councillors were all busy talking to one another when the doors opened to The Great Hall. In walked a tall figure with a pointy hat, all in a white. With a long white beard and hair to match. As he walked, his long white pointy beard that was nearly touching the ground swayed from side to side. He was wearing an immaculate white robe, which completely covered his slender figure. With each step he took you could see his white pointy boots peeking out from underneath his robe.

The king and all the councillors stopped talking, as the figure that stood before them didn't need any introduction. Although it was always a great honour to have one of The Brotherhood of the White Elders amongst them, it was an even greater one this time. This wasn't just any one of the elders, it was Elderoo, their mentor and Master. Who hadn't been seen for centuries. It was rumoured that he only ventured out of The Ring of Stones, which was the elven temple four times a year; for the changing of the seasons. Not giving mother nature a hand, but simply becoming one with the passing of the old and the rebirth of the new.

This was a sacred ceremony, which only a few select elders were allowed to attend. With each new appearance of each season came the new appearance of Elderoo. In winter he appeared older, with harder features, and in the passing of the spring, much younger and more youthful. No one knew how old Elderoo was, though his existence could be traced back through generation upon generation of Pholanthion's ancestors. Elderoo's name would pop up in bits of text from time to time, and in the earlier years in picture form.

But now he was standing at the other end of the table, opposite Pholanthion. In his right hand, he held a twisted wooden staff with a rounded knotted end, made of a wood Pholanthion didn't recognise.

"Grand Elderoo, you do us much honour, blessing us with your presence. But when I sent word to ask for one of the order, I didn't expect that you would come personally," said Pholanthion.

"Thank you for accepting me into your kingdom. But please let's dispense with the grand gestures. I'm merely as you are, a pure white life force entwined with an elven body. And I'm here because The Great Oak has been calling out to me," said Elderoo in a softly spoken, humble voice.

"But I dispatched Velthrone my trusted advisor to send for you, and he's been gone now for over a day. I thought because of his absence he had taken it upon himself to deliver the message personally," said Pholanthion.

"I have not seen nor felt anyone upon my passage to The Great Oak."

Pholanthion looked puzzled and concerned, thinking the worst had happened to Velthrone. Maybe the sorcerer had been waiting for him when he left the kingdom? Thought Pholanthion, worried about one of his subjects.

"I come because The Great Oak asked me. Somehow it seems to have been poisoned," continued Elderoo.

"Trantore," spoke Gillant aloud, as he remembered the dark and evil figure that once stood where Elderoo was standing now.

"Trantore," spoke Elderoo, not out loud, and not in disgust, but as if remembering an old and ancient name he hadn't heard spoken for a while.

"Yes, Trantore," said Pholanthion, "that's why we sent word to you. One of the Masters of The Dark Fortress entered our kingdom unannounced and offered us a deal. We turned him down, and before he left, he let it be known that there was a traitor amongst us. So that's why I dispatched Velthrone to The Ring of Stones. So, you might send us a mage to weed out the perpetrator amongst us, and to warn you that war now looks inevitable. To ask for your assistance, and take your place beside us on the battlefield."

"I know of The Supreme Grand Master called Trantore. He has been busy in our forests for years, spying and watching, but that's all. And that's how it will always be, where there is good, you will always have evil and vice versa. The forces will always balance out in the end," spoke Elderoo philosophically. "Now let's deal with the matter I was summoned here for, then we shall sit down and attend to other matters, including Trantore." And with that Elderoo closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then slowly released it; standing motionless for a few minutes.

The others didn't say a word and watched, and as they did, a calm and very tranquil atmosphere seemed to fall upon the room. Then, without warning, Elderoo appeared to grow a couple of inches taller, ever so slowly. Still, with his eyes closed, he slowly turned and started to move out towards the doors. The guards quickly opened them, Pholanthion and Gillant followed on after Elderoo, and behind them so did the rest of the council. The fine whitened figure of Elderoo slowly drifted up the corridor, as if he was gliding. Gillant noticed the effortless way the elder moved and could swear he was actually floating, as the elder's robe gently brushed along the floor; all the while still in deep meditation.

Elderoo moved along passageways and stairs until he finally arrived outside the door to Velthrone's private chambers. As he reached the door, Elderoo started to mutter in weird and mystical tones, which Gillant had never heard before. A six-pointed star appeared, just by the side of the door, glowing a bluish colour.

Still chanting and deep in thought, Elderoo bent down and touched the centre of the star, which instantly burst into a brilliant white light and disappeared. Elderoo stood up, still with eyes still tightly shut, and turned to face the door, which opened, inviting him in.

Elderoo floated in, still muttering but this time it grew louder as he drew nearer to the brightly glowing red star that had appeared on the floor. Which seemed to be making a hissing sound as Elderoo bent down, and, just like the other one, it burst into a brilliant white light and vanished.

Elderoo seemed to grow a couple of inches smaller as his feet made contact with the ground once more. He stopped muttering, opened his eyes, bowed his head, then knelt on the floor, placing his staff down by his side. Then placing his head onto the floor with his hand either side of his head he quietly spoke into the floor.

Gillant couldn't quite make out what he was saying. But it sounded like he was muttering a little chant. Then Elderoo got up, brushed himself down, and looked over at the others with a soft and peaceful smile on his face.

"There, The Great Oak is healed. Now then, shall we deal with the other matters?" asked Elderoo solemnly.

The council stood in the doorway, and didn't know what to make of what they had just witnessed, even the king was curious. But he learnt a long time ago, Elderoo will tell you all in his own time. But there was one question he did want answering.

"Grand Elderoo, do we know what has become of Velthrone my advisor?" asked Pholanthion, trying to fill in bits of the puzzle. Elderoo looked towards Pholanthion.

"Well, let's just say, you don't have to look anymore for your traitor."

Elderoo walked towards the door, the councillors that had made it inside parted, as he made his way out and headed back towards The Great Hall. Pholanthion followed with Gillant, whilst the other councillors fell silently in behind them, as they headed back down the passage, Pholanthion leaned his head to one side, to quietly speak to Gillant.

"Gillant, my trusted friend, I feel we may already be too late. Take two hundred of my finest elven cavalry, which are encamped just outside the kingdom, in the dark wood clearing half a mile away to the south."

Gillant nodded his head in acknowledgement of the clearing.

"And ride at great speed towards the tomb and retrieve that sword if you can. You will easily outnumber the dwarfs, as their reinforcements wouldn't have set off yet. I'll stay here and hold council."

Pholanthion stopped, and so did the two lines of councillors that walked behind him. He put his hand on Gillant's shoulders. He looked into his dear friend's face.

"Go with strength and courage, my friend."

With a bowing of his head, Gillant turned and strode off. Pholanthion returned his posture to the front and continued to walk, following the Grand Elderoo to The Great Hall.

*

Night had fallen, and the moon was high in the night sky, underneath lay Castle Attin. Within the castle, the wall-mounted torches in their rough iron holders burnt brightly. Casting out their light into the centre of the room. Where it flickered upon the dark figure of Rathall and Strangaurd, who was standing next to him in his full battle armour. With a heavily spiked war hammer slung over his shoulder. Rathall was busy hissing orders out at the fifteen warriors Strangaurd had selected as his finest. They were all shapes and sizes, and the ones that had the front of their helmets raised had deep and menacing stares to match their battle-hardened faces, with their scars darting out at various angles across their faces.

Rathall had moved all the tables and furniture to the side of the room, and in the middle had scratched a large hexagonal star on the flagstones they were all standing upon.

"Right, nobody move," hissed Rathall, "and when we get there, don't touch anything, just protect me and your Massster." There was a clanging of nods and a slamming shut of visors, as the warriors took a firm grip on their weapons and prepared themselves for what lay ahead.

Rathall had briefed them only on the basics, as he explained that they were going to be transported into a tomb, upon which they all looked mystified. But as soon as he mentioned they could kill anyone or anything that tried to break through the ring of defence. Which they were to make around himself and Strangaurd, they had raised their weapons and cheered.

Rathall just hoped they did understand about the defensive ring, as he'd only have enough power to protect himself. He wouldn't be able to join in the fight, as he'd have to save his energy so that he could transport them back again. But what needed more precise explaining was Strangaurd grabbing the sword, and what it looked like. As Rathall didn't even know himself. So Strangaurd was under strict instructions to go for any sword, which looked like it was being guarded, while Rathall stood back and assisted.

Now everybody was as ready as they were going to be. Rathall could hear them snarling and grunting restlessly as they psyched themselves up.

Rathall shut his eyes and searched his own mind, trying to find the image Velthrone had witnessed on the table. The one Trantore had shown the elves, of the tomb and its location, his mind locked onto it. Velthrone, who was high up in the tower, still in a fearful state, screamed out in pain. As he still had some kind of connection to it, that Rathall had forgotten to sever.

Rathall started to chant, as he did wind blew through the room in which they were standing. Filling it with total darkness, as it blew out the torches that lined the room. Then the darkness was replaced with a piercing dark red light, that shot out of the hexagon and engulfed the whole room.

But it didn't stop there, it continued out through the walls, engulfing them as it went. Until all around the small party, even beneath them, there was nothing, only the red light. Then, far away in the distance, the red light attached itself to an image of a tomb, then the small party started headed towards the tomb slowly at first, then faster and faster. Until the retracing light hit itself, sending out a horrific sound of thunder, which now echoed around their new surroundings.

*

Torms, who was busy with Odall and Tennant deciphering one of the texts on the walls, spun around, putting his hands up to his ears as the deafening sound rang out. So, did Odall, dropping his heavy leather book. While Tennant flung himself onto the floor, covering his head, thinking the tomb was collapsing around him.

As Torms shook the ringing out of his head, he noticed the new arrivals, who were now standing smack bang in the centre of the tomb, with a ring of heavily armoured warriors encircling the coffin.

He wasn't the only one to notice them, as a chorus of war cries sprang up from the twins and Sacul. Who had been sitting on the main entrance steps talking when Rathall had made his entrance. They were now running at full speed, with Sacul at the front, with both his throwing axes drawn. Screaming and running full pelt at the ring of warriors, with Bash'm, and Beat'm close on his heels. Ganga, Ripper and Picker, only armed with pickaxes, weren't far behind, followed by Sniffer who was trying load his big cross bow as he ran.

As Sacul drew near the first warrior, he unleashed one of the throwing axes. Which would have made a clean kill if it wasn't for the experiences of the veteran warrior. Who just managed to side-step the axe as it flew past. As Sacul went to bring down the other one, which was now raised above his head with both hands. The warrior swung out his heavy war hammer, catching Sacul clean on his chest, and as fast as Sacul had got there, he was now flying back through the air from whence he came.

The moment the twins saw Sacul's feet leave the ground, red mist filled their eyes and bubbled in their blood, pumping through their veins. They let out an even more deafening cry than before. Which was even louder than the thunder as the twins went berserk. Bits of rubble and dust fell down from the ceiling as hairline cracks appeared in its structure.

Foam started to appear out their mouths, their eyes grew bigger, and their faces turned darker red, as their veins stood out on their temples and necks. Then, for a split second, there was silence, like the calm before the storm. Then the twins seemed to explode, their arms and legs moving in every direction, as Bash'm thrashed his Double-handed War hammer around, and Beat'm his Double-handed Battle axe. Smashing, ripping, cutting and completely obliterating anything in their paths.

The warriors who were Strangaurd's finest didn't stand a chance, one by one they fell. Their weapons shattering into pieces as they tried to block and parry, the onslaught of blows that were brought down on them.

Through all the chaos and screams, Torms noticed a black-robed figure standing next to the coffin. Next, to him, he noticed another heavily armoured and much bigger figure than the other warriors. Which was now leaning over into the coffin half concealed as he lent in.

Torms heart dropped. His fears were coming true, as the figure emerged out of the coffin. Slightly glowing a dark Amberinth colour, then the figure held the sword high up into the air, thrusting and cutting the air as it went.

"YOU TWO," came a deep booming voice from within Strangaurd's helmet, as he commanded two of the remaining seven warriors left; the others were now laying slain on the floor.

"GET ME THAT ARMOUR," he said as he pointed into the coffin.

"AND I'LL DEAL WITH THESE MERE MORTALS," boomed out the voice of Strangaurd. As he felt the power of the sword fill his whole body. Experiencing the sheer power, it had to offer, just like Rathall had promised.

Bash'm, who was oblivious to his surroundings and still going berserk, wasn't aware of the threat that stood beside him. As Strangaurd went to bring the sword down upon him. But to Torms's horror, he saw the now recovered Sacul heading straight towards the warrior. Armed with a golden pike he had just taken from a nearby suit of armour.

"SACUL!" Cried out Torms, as he tried to warn his brave but foolish cousin. But the shout was in vain. As the sword was just about to strike the unsuspecting Bash'm, Sacul threw himself in the way, knocking the giant frame of Bash'm to one side.

Torms shut his eyes, trying to shield himself from what he was about to see, and as he did, the room flashed bright red. When he re-opened them, Sacul was gone - not in the sense of being dead, but he was gone, and so were the intruders. The robed figure, the one with the sword, and some of the other warriors.

The only ones left lay motionless on the floor beneath the exhausted twins. Who were looking around, still maddened and breathing heavily as they looked for something to smash or stand in their way. Whilst Ganga, Ripper and Picker were trying to remove their stuck fast pickaxes out of a fallen warrior's armour. That all three of them had attacked, and ambushed at the same time. While Sniffer was standing on the armoured chest plate of another, that had a huge cross bow bolt sticking out of him; admiring his handy work.

Torms ran across the room and started frantically searching the bodies on the floor, moving and looking underneath them. Then he run around the coffin, checking inside it, then all around it.

"WHERE IS HE?" shouted the frantic Torms, as he carried on searching.

"Who?" asked the concerned Ganga, as he stood watching Torms. He produced a hankie and started wiping the blood of his pickaxe, that he had finally pulled from the warrior. Torms stopped for a brief moment and looked up from where he was searching.

"SACUL, WHERE'S SACUL?"

*

When the bright red flash subsided once more, Strangaurd found himself standing back in his throne room, still with the sword. The sword wasn't affected by Rathall's magic and had only reappeared with Strangaurd because he was holding onto it, whilst he was holding it they were as one.

Strangaurd lowered his newly acquired sword, its energy still flooding through his body; which was awash with power. There were only four of his Warriors left, two of them were holding the pure suit of Amberinth armour. That they had been lifting it out of the coffin when Rathall had returned them. Strangaurd's attention now focused on the smallish figure that lay motionless on the floor before him, but still breathing.

The sword was about to cut Sacul in half and was pressing against his skin when they were returned. The sword had made a connection between Sacul and Strangaurd, and briefly, they became one. When Sacul had reappeared, he was suspended in the air from knocking Bash'm out of the way, and had landed in the throne room with a thud. Banging his head and knocked himself clean out.

Strangaurd prodded the now motionless dwarf that lay before him, with the end of his sword.

"WHAT DO WE DO WITH HIM?" boomed out the commanding voice of Strangaurd.

"Let'sss keep him for now, he might prove ussseful," hissed Rathall.

*

Dawn broke, and as it did a dazzling flash of light gleamed off the armour of the dwarfen army that had mustered. It was now in ranks and files of ten, outside the main gates of Ferral Mountains in all its glory. With a full range of menacing weapons, which most of the dwarfs had stayed up all night sharpening.

Once the word had got around about the war, it had spread throughout the kingdom like wildfire. When the words elf and war were mentioned in the same sentence, the whole kingdom came to a standstill. Even barbers had stopped trimming beards halfway through, and ran off to sharpen their best scissors and dig out their old helmets.

Even the Pickaxe Pony had emptied, which was a first. The occupants had gone off in every direction trying to remember where they lived, and sober up on the way; but only a handful managed it.

The rest had burst into the nearest house that resembled their own, picked up the nearest set of armour and a weapon, which every house in the kingdom had somewhere lying around. Normally above the fireplace mounted on the wall, and when they had put the armour on, often the wrong way around and back to front. They then made a brief comment to the bewildered housewife standing there in her pinnie. This came in various forms, ranging from.

"I didn't know I was married", to "How long have you been living here" and there only reply, was to stand there shocked, with their mouth wide open. Wondering why their front doors had just been kicked in, due to the fact the intruder's key didn't seem to fit.

Then the drunken intruder had ran out, swinging the newly acquired weapon over his head, and slurring out what could only be described as a war cry, as he stumbled off down the streets. Making his way towards the main gate, which was the muster and signing-on point for the militia. Leaving the bewildered housewife to explain to her husband why the front door was hanging off its hinges, and why his grandfather's best armour, a family heirloom passed down from generation to generation. Was now on the back of an insane dwarf who, on his way out had given her a peck on the cheek and told her not to wait up.

It had only taken the dwarfen war council an hour to come to decision for war, and for The Blood Born Guards and regular army to take up arms. Just long enough for the Captain to tell his version of events. Then the king spoke briefly about the two sorcerers that had made their very brief entrance, and that was it. The king and war council didn't need anymore to go on. There were three major factors that Crackzull had considered. One was he hated elves, two, elves had been spying on them, and three, they now had a weapon with which to defeat the elves. All those points added together brought a quick and decisive decision. 'War!'

There was another point, which the king made a very strong case for, and that was. He hated the way elves had pointy ears, he stated 'it just wasn't natural.' But seeing as the council's points were recorded by way of writers. Who wrote down every word spoken keeping account of everything that was said. The council took a vote and the king was out voted. On the grounds that they didn't want it recorded in the history books. That they were going to war because someone had pointed ears. Which wasn't really a viable argument for war; a debate maybe, not a war.

Crackzull walked up and down, doing one last inspection of his troops. Which started from his finest, The Blood Born Guards at the front of the column, about a thousand in total. To the regulars behind them, whose numbers were around four thousand. Then onto the other two thousand behind them. Who were made up of the city's militia that had signed up the night before and some of the still more drunken ones, twice, just to make sure. Behind them were streams of wagons laden with supplies.

Normally an army took weeks or even months to assemble, but not if you had dwarfen blood in your veins. All you needed was a weapon, told which way the enemy was, and that was good enough. King Crackzull had pulled out all the stops on this one. He had only left a small handful of dwarfs behind to guard the kingdom. These consisted of the more elderly dwarfs, who had arthritis or a bad hip. But even in their condition some of them still managed to slip through the main gates, and stow aboard on one of the wagons. Before King Crackzull had ordered the gates to be shut and bolted from within until his return.

There was an odd shortage of women in the kingdom as well, as the costume and novelty-beard shops had entirely sold out of stock. But Crackzull wasn't stupid, he'd noticed the hordes of women with their heads down in the middle of militia, trying to blend in. He turned a blind eye, due to the fact that anyone who wanted to kill elves was fine by him, and the other fact, which was the main one. He wasn't about to tell at least five hundred wild-eyed, blood-hungry women, and dwarfen women at that, to go home. He'd rather stand on the battlefield alone and take on the whole onslaught of the elven army than confront them. That's why Crackzull never took a queen; because he liked to rule, and not be ruled.

Finally, Crackzull stood at the front of his army, which would take him down the track to glory. His newly elected personal bodyguards were either side of him, with the rest of The Undesirables. The Captain had taken his place alongside The Blood Born Guards and was walking up and down, instilling courage and valour into their blood. He whispered as he walked, just loud enough for them to hear, talking about their fellow Blood Born brothers, pinned down in the Brocken Mountains, and how it was their job to rescue them and join in the fight.

The muttering of the dwarfen armies stopped row by row, as the ones behind realised the ones in front had stopped muttering and fell silent. Crackzull raised his jewel-encrusted war axe high into the air. The sergeants that were alongside every ten rows straightened themselves and faced the front, issuing the command

"Get ready!" Then the axe came down, and Crackzull marched off, and as he did, the loud cry of "MARCH!" bellowed out from the sergeants, and everyone stepped off on their right foot, accompanied by shouts of "LEFT, RIGHT, LEFT," keeping the processions in a timely order.

That was until you got to the militia, half of whom had stepped off on their left foot, and the other half on someone else's. But the sergeants who had been put in charge of them just shook their heads and let them get on with it. They were just happy that they all understood the word "March!" and had all stepped off together and were now on the move.

But there was one other who was out of step and taking a lot more of them, and in the wrong direction. One of the regular soldier's broke rank and was now in full flight, heading back towards the kingdom's gates. The shocked sergeants were too stunned to say anything as they saw the soldier run past. As he did, he had a piece of rather large parchment rolled up in his hand.

It wasn't until he got to the back end of the procession that the jeering started, and the words "COWARD" and "TRAITOR" were shouted out at him, as he ran passed the militia. And it just wasn't insults that were being thrown at him, as the odd axe or two flew past his head, narrowly missing him.

As he finally got to the door, he thrust his free hand into his tunic, under his armour, and emerged with four rather large flat-headed nails. He placed the tips in his mouth, and placed one in the corner of the parchment, pinning it to the door at head height. Then taking his war hammer from his belt, with one huge swipe hit the nail into the door, pinning the corner of the notice to it. He then proceeded to take the other nails from his mouth, and nailed up the remaining corners. He continued until the whole notice was securely pinned to the outer doors of the kingdom, and then, with his war hammer in hand. Set off back up the main track to rejoin his regiment.

Much to the delight of the militia, who now cheered him on as he once more ran back past them, this time in the right direction. But this time they weren't throwing axes, but words of encouragement like. "GO ON MY SON, I KNEW YOU HAD IT IN YA!" to "LEAVE SOME FOR US!"

The out of breath soldier found his place and fell back into line, and as he did, his fellow soldiers didn't really take much notice, as they knew he'd be back. They knew he'd forgotten something or another. Because that's how the now sweaty and out of breath comrade had got his nickname, Frondon, 'Frondon the Forgetful.'

The war procession marched off, stamping up a dust cloud behind them. As they marched off into the distance, a slight breeze blew up and across the main doors, which rustled at the notice now pinned to it. Which 'Frondon the Forgetful' had forgotten to put up that morning at roll call. The notice was for any dwarf to read who hadn't heard about the war. Who had just come down from the mountains, or a mine somewhere and was looking for a nice hot bath, a comfy bed, and a tankard of ale or two. The notice was written and signed by King Crackzull himself; it simply read:

_Gone To War, Back Whenever._

