Chapter thirty-nine

Somewhere Else

 

John found himself flat on his back looking upwards. Above him were tall trees and above that a blue sky with cotton wool clouds. He was pleased to see that the sky was a perfectly ordinary blue and the clouds changed shape at a perfectly normal rate. It might even rain later.

John had been pretty certain that he would die when he teleported. He had assumed that death would come instantly and so he had had no time to worry about it. A jump from such a distant place meant a massive risk that the jumper would materialise inside something solid and then it would all be over very quickly. Normally, in the ordinary physical world, that disaster happened very rarely due to the ‘jump ahead’ mechanism. The mechanism sends  a set of small ‘jump ahead’ objects, usually just a few specks of dust, designed to map out the shape of the object being teleported, and  then measures the energy produced at each of the jump ahead landmarks. Any bit of solid matter materialising within another bit of solid matter would cause a very large localised energy spike. If any such spike were detected by the jump ahead then the spell would abort. However, there was no reason to believe that the mechanism would work when trying to teleport home from the strange blue world. But it had. But that was the only bit of the spell that had worked according to plan. Clearly the other important bit, the getting home bit, had been much less successful.  He wasn’t enormously surprised, but at least he was still alive.

He stood up dizzily and took stock. The scroll was still there, he was still dressed and no bits of him were missing. He did, however, have something that he didn’t recognise clenched in his left fist. He uncurled his fingers. In the palm of his hand lay a small twig with a single crescent-shaped leaf on it – all that was left of the Zymena tree. He smiled to himself – maybe the tree could be regenerated. He hoped so – it had been a good guard.  Also, a successful regeneration would save him several thousand elfrounds or a lot of searching time in the tropical rain forests of south Visneoria.

John took the twig and placed it carefully in a green lined pocket in his cloak. He knew that in that particular pocket it might remain viable for several weeks. He’d come back to it.

John had been waiting for the exhaustion to hit him – it always did after an emergency jump. The planned ones, like the ones used to jump Hardacre to Ortia, where others could provide pooled magical energy, were nothing like as bad. But this one – such a gargantuan jump – would knock him out for hours. Was this a safe place to sleep, he wondered.

He looked around properly for the first time – he was in a cathedral-like woodland full of exceptionally tall coniferous trees that stretched far above him. He’d never seen any trees as tall or wide. Where was this? It could be northern Paror, he supposed, but the trees seemed too big and the surrounding vegetation too dense.

Maybe someone had tried to reach him, that might at least tell him that he was somewhere within mail range. He scrambled around where he had fallen, hoping to find a letter from Laurence, but there was nothing there. He knew that there wouldn’t be – he was almost certain that he was in an unreachable place.

He tried to take a few steps forward, but then realised that it would be impossible. That was it then – he would have to lie down. He knew what was coming. He yawned and then the Great Wall of Magical Debt overcame him and he had to sleep to pay back some of it. He lay down exactly where he had blinked in and involuntarily closed his eyes.

***

He slept dreamlessly and really quite comfortably on his bed of soft fir leaves. Then someone poked him with a stick. He awoke suddenly, confused and alarmed. He tried to struggle to his feet.

‘Who be?’ said the elf at the end of the stick, ‘thiz my geos is’

He appeared to be speaking some dialect of Old Elven that John hadn’t heard before. The elf continued to poke him with the sharper end of a broom. He was in late middle age, dressed in hardy waxed outdoor clothes, and looked frightened.

‘I’m sorry’ said John, in his best archaic elven ‘I had a fall’

‘Fellent?’ said the elf, ‘kenam no. Whare are from?’

‘I’m from Kinspit’ said John hopefully 

‘Where?’ asked the elf, ‘of hearam not that’

They stared at each other. John wondered what would happen next.

‘Lost’ said John, giving up any attempt at more complex conversation.

‘Hungry’ he continued along the same lines.  

‘Are dirty alse’ said the elf.

John nodded. He looked down at himself; he looked very grubby indeed and slightly torn. Where was Laurence when you needed him? At the moment the sight of him with a darning needle would be the most welcome in the world.  He corrected himself – any world.

‘Comshould’ said the elf, ‘now goam thou feed, ya?’ 

 John nodded again. That made sense at least.

The elf beckoned him to follow and they walked silently together through the huge trees to the elf’s cottage. He was clearly a forester and it seemed that he lived alone.  The cottage was small and made from long planks that had clearly come from the very tall conifers.  Around the cottage was a little vegetable garden growing bilberries and gooseberries on canes, as well as various root vegetables that he didn’t recognise. The place was very neatly kept.

At the threshold of the cottage the elf turned to talk to John.

‘Kalledam Eoothon, what kalledare?’

‘John’ said John. He went to shake Eoothon’s hand but the elf shied away. That obviously wasn’t a normal custom here. Eoothon didn’t seem at all perturbed, fortunately, and he stepped aside to allow John to enter the cottage and sit down. 

By now the clouds had gathered fully and it had begun to rain – the sort of rain that starts mid-afternoon and ends sometime in mid-November. Looking out of the window John realised that everything was green, the dripping green of massed mosses and ferns. Eoothon lit a fire and began to boil a kettle.

‘Karpon?’ he asked

‘Tea?’ suggested John hopefully, but Eoothon just looked puzzled.

‘Yes, Karpon –  is it good?’ said John, his heart sinking in anticipation.

Eoothon nodded uncertainly. 

A few minutes later Eoothon handed him a mug of slightly greenish, very slightly slimy hot liquid. It looked nothing like tea.  He sipped at it. It tasted like the weakest soup in the universe, but it wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever supped. 

Eoothon brought some bread and thinly cut meat, presumably venison.  John ate it eagerly. Eoothon sat and chewed thoughtfully. He seemed to have accepted that John was no threat, but he didn’t seem particularly interested in him after that. John looked at him – he appeared just like any other elf. Where on earth was he?

‘What do you call this place?’ asked John.

Eoothon screwed up his face.

‘Talkar strange. Askar name place?’

John nodded wearily.

‘Wyldwood Cronia yon Belenor Westeros’ Eoothon said

‘I don’t know where that is. Where is your nearest city?’

‘”what meanar city?”, questioned Eoothon,  “meanar  “polis”?’

‘yes’ said John, recognising the archaic Elven word.

‘ Aristarios’ said Eoothon after a brief thought

‘How far are we from Aristarios?’

‘far? Walkar? Hexadays, thinkam. Go not aei’

John had no idea where any of the places that Eoothon had mentioned were – none of those names meant anything to him. All he knew was that he was a long way away from the nearest city and he was with someone who had never been to it. Home seemed far away and in no certain direction.

 They sat in silence. As the minutes passed John’s mind began to slow, as fatigue made him fade. He really hoped that he was going to be offered a bed – the rain outside was still torrential and he had no idea where to go from here.

Eoothon looked at him quizzically. John wondered if he’d ever seen a human before.  

‘Tirare?’ asked Eoothon.

‘Ya’ said John experimentally. It seemed to work.

Eoothon nodded. He gestured for John to get up and led him to a little backroom. There was a mattress on the floor. Eoothon shooed a large shaggy wolf-like dog from it and then brushed the mattress down.

‘Sharmust witt pooch. No other place.  Am sorri…’

 John was too tired to care. He took off his boots and lay down slowly. The mattress was a long way down but comfortable enough. The dog barked at him briefly, but all he could manage to do was to wave it away ineffectively with his hands. After a few seconds of fretting the dog padded over and settled down next to him, greeting him with a little wet-nosed snuffle.

‘Dog – don’t wake me up by licking my face’ grumbled John, his mind already half-asleep, ‘I really hate that’

John rolled on to his side with his back to the dog. He lay for a short while listening to the incessant patter of rain on the wooden roof and wondered briefly if it was raining everywhere and forever. The last thought that came into his head before he plummeted into sleep was that probably, right now, he was as lost as he would ever be.

Chapter forty

The Bell Tower at Melloreis

 

Viola’s shame began to dissipate as she picked her way through the rubble and it was replaced with a sense of trepidation. She’d heard so many rumours about what the Tlaxacans might have left in the old city that she really didn’t know what to believe.  The rumours had revolved around blood and death, the use of powerful necromancy – the stuff of unquiet dreams.  On this day, however, in the bright early summer sunshine, this all seemed very unlikely. The city just looked old, abandoned and harmless. She’d have a quick, but reasonably thorough, look around and then report what she’d found. It was just walking round a ruin, after all.

After about ten minutes of careful movement, following the trace of the old west road, she could clearly see the shattered remains of the old east gate. It had been a massive four-door portal, with a defensive space between the two sets of two doors. The iron doors were now lying broken on the floor – they looked as if they had been torn off their hinges. Above the gate the city wall had gaps in it, so that in some places the wall was only about three feet high.  She could have scaled the walls just as easily as walked through the main gate.

Once she had reached the gate she peered through the wide entrance. Beyond was a sea of rubble – no building had been left more than a few bricks high and everywhere was covered in a thin layer of white stucco and plaster dust. She was also astonished by the amount of twisted metal, of all possible shapes and sizes, that was scattered about the ruins. The Tlaxacans had clearly wanted to destroy this place completely – she wondered why.

She gingerly made her way through the entrance, checking for movement as she did. There was no sign of anything living except for a few bushes of a shrubby purple flowered plant that seemed to have established sole control of the site. She looked down and realised that there was no soil, and this seemed to be the only plant that could survive.  This was more than a wasteland, it was a dead land. She shivered, even though the sun was strong.

She wondered what she should be looking for – this didn’t seem like the kind of place where anything useful could be found. Maybe for a scholar, though, it was a treasure trove. She wondered whether Kath would be disappointed when she finally saw the extent of the destruction.

She looked up at the distant bell tower – it was about a quarter of a mile away but was easy to locate, its elegant cream stone a stark contrast to the grey-white debris below it. It looked like an orthodox tower, of the sort that was illustrated in drawings of West Visneorian cities and towns. Here, however, it looked completely out of place. As she strained to see the top of it she felt slightly giddy, as if the space at the top were spinning. Maybe it was – she’d have to get a little closer, even if she really didn’t want to. 

As she moved carefully between the blocks of masonry she wondered at how silent it all was. Where were the birds, she wondered. There were no pigeons or rooks, or little sparrowy birds pecking away at scraps. And most strikingly, to her mind, there were no giant red kites. In Ortia they were everywhere, soaring overhead in search of carrion. How could it be that nothing lived here, after 900 summers? The hairs on the back of her neck started to prick up, and a strange sickness filled her stomach. For a brief moment she thought she might vomit. She felt panic creeping up on her – what on earth had caused that? She smelled the air and touched the dust on the ground. She forced the panic back. Then she closed her eyes and concentrated on her feelings. Although no-one was looking, she nodded. This was a magic effect – something had cursed this ground. Nothing would come near because nothing could tolerate the curse. It was now quite clear why no Ortian patrols ever came inside the ruins. She knew that this would only get worse the longer she stayed inside the city. She’d better hurry; she wouldn’t be able to resist forever the growing urge to flee.  

In a few places there appeared to be lower areas that might once have been chambers or tunnels. She crouched down next to one of these areas; there were old steps leading down into darkness. Perhaps these were the places that they needed to explore. She walked down the steps, each slow footfall an exaggerated experiment, only to find that there was a blank wall and yet more rubble.

She looked at a few more of these areas with steps but none of them seemed to lead anywhere. She stopped for a while. She was panting, partly out of fatigue and partly out of fear. The desire to run away began to grow in her again. There was nothing here, she told herself – she’d just go back to the others and tell them that the place was a useless ruin.

She looked up at the bell tower again. Was that the bell? She squinted, trying to see the top of the tower more clearly. She found herself imagining the bell ringing. In her head it sounded wonderful, a sound so clear and pure that it drove away her panic. She hesitated and the sense of terror returned. That was really odd. How could thinking about the sound of a bell she’d neither seen nor heard make her feel better? She forced herself to look away from the tower. She still felt slightly better – perhaps she’d search around for just a little longer.

After a few more minutes poking around she noticed a dark hole just under a huge wall, which must have once belonged to a mansion of some kind. There were still the vague outlines of figures and animals on the walls. In this case there were no obvious stairs, just a round pool of darkness. Maybe she could lower herself down. She hesitated, there was something odd about the hole - it was in direct sunlight, but no light seemed to be entering it. In fact, the darkness inside the hole seemed vaguely reddish. 

She reached down and picked up a handful of dust, of a kind that could easily be whipped naturally into the hole by the wind, and sprinkled it over the entrance. The dust sizzled, with a red glow, and then disappeared. That was odd. She tried it again, with the same result.  That was very odd. She bent down so that her face was parallel to the surface of the void. It was as if the hole had a thin red skin over it, which seemed to prevent light from leaving it. She blew as gently as she could over the taut membrane – it fluttered a little, like the surface of a flat still pond, and made a tiny ‘phewww’ sound. She put her ear to the ground as close to the hole as she felt safe. There was a distant roaring, like flames on a vast bonfire. Where did that come from? She moved a few yards away, lay flat, and then put her ear to the ground again. There was no sound at all. By now her mouth was very dry – should she go back? Now, she really wanted to leave again, but had she done enough to justify her mission?

Someone had stoppered up the entrance with a magical seal, but why? 

The growing sickness in her stomach and the weirdness of the dark space made her hurry on. They’d have to come back, if they really must, to see if there were any more of those things. She’d make her way to the bell tower and then retreat.  Just the thought of getting closer to the bell made the virtual ringing re-sound in her head. Again the sickness and fear retreated a little. She rubbed her clammy hands on her tunic and headed on.  

The way was relatively clear now leading to the tower. This area must once have been a plaza, certainly some kind of open space. It was easy to walk over the white crumbly remnant of whatever the floor had been covered with; tiles perhaps. She stopped, looked down, and peered. What was this surface? It seemed to be made of rods and spheres. What were they? Then she realised – these were not rods and spheres, these were bones and skulls. Stretching from here to the tower were the remains of an incalculable number of creatures, apparently humanoid, but all too broken up by the wind and rain to be recognisable. So many things had died in front of this tower. She stood stock still for a moment, feeling so very cold. She trembled and heaved. What had it done to them?

Her mind was slightly calmer than her reflexes.  It realised that she was at least ten feet into the sea of bones, so if she was going to be pulverised it would probably have happened by now. Anyway – it was all so long ago. She took a few more tiny steps – and then a few more.  She finally found herself at the bottom of the tower.

The tower at its base was completely free of bones and rubble. The cream marble of the structure was smooth; there was a single door at its base. It had no handle or keyhole. The door was iron banded with dark wood and looked immensely solid. Above the door, in archaic elven, was clearly engraved:

 

Οφία μου έκανε: κανένας θα με καταστρέψει

 

This was hard to read, Viola had only a smattering of this most ancient of all elven languages. She mouthed the text phonetically to herself:  ‘Ophia moy ekane: kanenas tha me katastrophsei’. What did that mean? She thought very hard for a second, dredging up her old schoolgirl lessons: ‘Ophia… made… me…none… shall…mar…me’.

She relaxed just a little – this was an Imperial construction, however strange and it had been built by Ophia, who was known to the western world as Quiena. Quiena had helped save her people before, and maybe this would help them again.  Also, she was now sure that at least one bit of Dwarven magic survived, so at the very least Kath would want to have a good look at it. She tried to push door open but it was either locked or too stiff to move. Staring up she could clearly make out the shape of a giant bronze bell in the top storey of the building. She had a strong desire to climb up and ring it, so that she could see whether it made the same wonderful sound in reality that it was still making in her head.  No, that really would have to wait.  With an effort she shut off the mental tolling and turned tail and ran, allowing the tide of panic finally to overwhelm her. She didn’t look back until she was well through the gate and could see grass and trees again.

Chapter forty-one

A forest west of Aristarios

 

John was woken up by the dog licking his face. He briefly considered casting a small stinger on its nose, but then he thought better of it. You shouldn’t irritate your host’s dog with recreational magic. That was the first rule of being a good guest.

He lay for a moment protecting his face from the dog and considering what had happened. His teleport had gone seriously wrong and he appeared to have jumped somewhere off the map. If Aristarios were of any reasonable size and in either of the northern continents then he would know about it. Could he be in the Far South? Well, if he were then surely he would receive a mail from Laurence very soon. In fact, maybe he had some mail paper with him; maybe he could try to contact Laurence straight away. 

John got up and searched through the many pockets in his cloak. There was a lot of junk, he realised. He piled it up on a table by the mattress:  some coins, the Quiena scroll, some orange peel, bits of ordinary paper with scribbled notes, and, finally, an old bit of mail-paper. It was a message from Laurence when he’d been in Ortia. Almost all of it was filled with writing and therefore unusable, but the very bottom of the paper was blank. Of course, he didn’t have any ink yet, but he was halfway there.

He put all of his possessions back in his cloak and went in search of somewhere to wash. 

It seemed to be morning, although outside it was still grey and drizzling. There was no sign of Eoothon – John wondered exactly what he did all on his own here.  He headed to the door and stuck his head out. It was still very wet. John looked around for somewhere to freshen up. There was a bowl on a table filled with water. Perhaps here you just left the bowl outside and there was always water in it. Perhaps, in fact, one never needed to wash – ten minutes outside would do. He splashed himself as best that he could.  It was too cold and wet to wash properly. Shivering he went back inside to look for food.

There was a hunk of bread on the table and cold meat. This was essentially what he’d had the previous day, but he was still hungry. He sat on a rough wooden stool and began to worry. The CRS were clearly after the scroll and had found new and exotic ways to try to destroy it. They had learned to control that strange blue space and the things within it. That had definitely been Kratos that he had seen, but how had he been able to see him? Was it him controlling the disc and the ray?   What on earth was the blue spce anyway? There were too many questions and no easy way of answering them, particularly here. What was clear, however, that the scroll was important and had something to do with Melloreis. And it was important enough for the Enemies to go to extraordinary lengths to obliterate it, He had to find a way to get home to sort it all out.

As he finished eating, Eoothon returned from the forest. He was dressed from head to toe in waxed leather clothing. He was well prepared for the weather. He looked at John with curious interest.

‘Wakar at lasting. Gud. Eatar also, gud also’

John nodded.

‘You have been very kind – but I need to get to Aristarios’ he said

‘What sayar?’

John stood up and pointed vaguely outside.

‘Aristarios’ he repeated.

‘Goar polis?’ asked Eoothon.

‘Yes. As soon as possible’ said John

Eoothon considered this.

‘Down track – there findar Kolios micropolis. Walkar hexahour to Kolios. Aristarios more’

‘hexa?’ asked John

Eoothon counted out five on the fingers of one hand and one finger more.

‘Six – ah yes – hexa – six, of course’ John said

‘Ombro still. Getilwil wet, well wet’

John looked outside again – the rain had settled down to a moderate patter, but he would still get very wet after six hours outside in it. Oh well.

‘I have to go.’

Eoothon frowned.

‘hold’ he said

John waited, but now he was keen to leave.

Eoothon went into the room where he had slept and pulled out something from the cupboards at the far end. It was an old set of waterproof clothes. John accepted them eagerly.

‘Let me pay you for them’ he said, handing over all the coins he had. Eoothon stared at them.

‘These nomismas ungood. Usecan not them.’ Eoothon handed the money back. 

‘Takar it. Giver Euphonia in Kolios. Returncan me laterly’ he said

John nodded and indicated that he definitely would return them. He tried again to shake Eoothon’s hand and this time the elf allowed him too, with a half-smile on his face. John put on the, very tight, waterproofs and waved goodbye to Eoothon with words of gratitude that Eoothon didn’t really understand.

John left the cottage and followed the one and only path down the road.  His host had given him the final bits of bread and venison and now he carried them in a paper bag. The rain was light but continuous and he walked through a completely uniform environment, with extremely tall trees hemming him in on the left and right. The path was very narrow and dark. He wondered when even Eoothon had walked down this road last. He plodded on, both anxious and daunted. He just had to keep walking. The strong impression was forming in his mind that something dreadful was going to happen, or more likely, had already happened, and while he was here he could do nothing to avert or ameliorate it. This was going to be a long walk.

 

***

The day wore on and on. Nothing changed to the left or right of him, or, for that matter, in front and behind. Twice it stopped raining for about ten minutes, which was a pleasant change, but that didn’t last long and so he just carried on, down the narrow path. Every now and then he saw a large bird of prey overhead and twice a startled deer ran from the path into the forest.  He’d eaten his bread and meat about an hour into the journey and so by the fourth hour of plodding he was hungry and tired. At least he wasn’t thirsty.

He sat down by the side of the path and yawned.  He was still exceptionally worn out from the big jump – it might take a week before he’d feel fully well. Certainly all but the simplest magic would be beyond him for quite a while. He leant against a tree just off the path and looked up into its crown. How high was it, he wondered, and how far would one have to go up until, looking down, one could see something that he would recognise. Maybe never – maybe he was under a different sky.

Weariness overcame him and his head nodded forward.  He dozed, and his dreaming mind rushed out over a vast landscape of endless trees, never finding anything that he recognised, never seeing anything new.

 

***

 

Somebody was poking him with a stick, again. He groaned and awoke, pushing the stick away. There’s was a sharp pain in his hand and then he woke up completely. A small group of elves dressed in some sort of uniform were surrounding him. Their leader had poked him with a sword and now he had a badly cut hand.  He staggered up.

‘Stop’ he shouted. The elves took a step back and the leader withdrew his sword slightly. Their wide eyes stared intently at him.

‘Who are?’ asked the leader

John heard a whisper of ‘What are?’ from one of the other elves and a buzz of excitement went through the group.

‘John Ismay, from Eth’

‘What?’ said the leader, frowning.

John realised that they were never going to understand what he meant.

‘Human’ he said, pointing to himself, ‘friend of elves’

He thought briefly about using the little magical energy he had to scare them off, but then immediately realised that at some point he was going to need to have someone close by to ask the way.

‘Friend?’ asked the leader, lifting up his sword again.

A thought occurred to John.

‘Eoothon is my friend’ he said, pointing to the waxen jacket. Another murmur went through the group

‘I’m a traveller’ he said, ‘I was staying with Eoothon. He has a dog – sorry, pooch. He was very kind’

The group went into a little huddle. They looked more frightened than aggressive. That didn’t stop John’s hand form hurting, of course, but it made them seem a lot less of a threat. The leader approached him again.

‘Dropar xiphos, xenos-elffriend’ he said. John struggled to understand. He opened his waterproofs up and showed that he had no weapon inside his cloak. This seemed to satisfy the leader at least partially.  The group surrounded him and they escorted him on into the settlement. John realised that he’d fallen asleep about fifty yards from the village, within one bend of the guard post – no wonder that they had found him so easily.

The village was hacked out of the impenetrable forest but it had proper houses and, most enticingly, a wide made-up road leading out of it. In addition, for the time being, there was a break in the clouds and the rain had stopped.

Chapter forty-two

The Bell Tower at Melloreis

 

After Viola had returned, out of breath and thoroughly spooked, the group had had a brief discussion. They decided, inevitably given the things that had been uncovered, that they would have to go back as a group and look for themselves. So, after a short rest they’d followed a very reluctant Viola back in. 

When they entered the ruins they all had the same response: they felt physically sick and emotionally disturbed. The worst affected was Rem, who seemed to feel the curse even more acutely than the others.

‘City needs healing’ he said, as soon as they passed through the entrance. After that he kept his eyes averted from the rest of the group and stared intently, as he walked, at every example of destruction.  Kath suspected that he didn’t want anyone to see the pain on his face.

Hardacre spent a few minutes examining the purple-flowered bushes. He knew exactly what they were.

‘Buddleja horribilis’ he said, matter-of-factly.  Viola and Kath looked up at him, questioningly.

‘The plant is a type of buddleia’ he repeated, ‘nasty weed, it’ll grow almost anywhere’

‘Nasty is right’ said Rem, ‘grows where evil is’.

Hardacre and Rem nodded at each other meaningfully. Kath shot a look at Viola but she was too distracted by fear to even glance in her direction.   

‘Harvest flowers here, make strong poison’ continued Rem, shaking his head, ‘plants will have to burn before rebuilding’

‘Yes, Master Healer’ said Hardacre, nodding, ‘that’s very true – but I think they’d regenerate even after a fire treatment… ’

Kath shot both Rem and Hardacre withering glances but they were too preoccupied to notice.

‘Can we get on?’ she asked. She had just been scared, now she was scared and exasperated.

They hurried on. They had already decided that they would examine the bell tower first and make a second expedition to look at the hollows in the ground.  The hope was that if the bell tower was really Dwarven Magic then Kath might be able to work out what it did. 

Viola had warned them about the sea of bones and so they weren’t as shocked as she had been by the revelation. Hardacre insisted on examining the remains carefully, but they were so fragmented that it was impossible to say whether they had been Visneorian or Tlaxacan. Viola and Rem refused to go anywhere near the fragments and just waited reasonably patiently while Hardacre poked about. Kath, however, wanted to get on and she hovered behind Hardacre, hating the crunch that her shoes made with every movement and desperate to get to the tower.  Hardacre was preoccupied and so didn’t really notice the impatient woman behind him.

‘Laurence…’ said Kath

‘Yes?’ said Hardacre looking up.

‘We don’t want to stay here too long do we?’

‘Well, I’m just wondering whether the tower did this’ said Hardacre

‘How can you tell from here?’ she asked

‘I can’t, apparently’ he replied, ‘but it would have been good if we could have established how dangerous the tower is before we try to get into it’

Kath didn’t say anything more. Hardacre finished his sift of the skeletal debris and got up with a rather grim expression.

‘This place is full of secrets, and I have this feeling that most of them are probably best left undiscovered’

Kath nodded.

‘Except… That’s my job… to winkle them out,’ she said in a soft voice.

They made their way with exaggerated care across the bone field. At every other step Viola looked up to the top of the tower, half-expecting that fire or lightning would rain down upon them. Each time that she glanced upwards, however, she heard the virtual bell ring once more.  And, again, it seemed somehow to calm her.  She shook herself several times, involuntarily, feeling foolish and weird.

No-one said anything until they had reached the (apparent) safety of the bottom of the tower.

‘Well, Dr Fielding – it’s finally your turn.’ said Hardacre, smiling infinitesimally. 

Kath placed her bag on the ground and carefully pulled out the tools of her trade. They were a mixture of the familiar (a plumb line, a protractor, a compass etc.) and a number of devices of uncertain function; most of them resembling the sort of nautical instruments used in navigation.

Over the next hour she examined the tower intently, using a number of the instruments that she had extracted from the bag. She tapped, banged, and scraped, while the others stood around, becoming increasingly restless and distressed. Hardacre was watching Kath closely, but at no point did her expression suggest that she was making much progress. She ended up at the door, where she tried several ways to shift it, apparently involving all possible combinations of all possible tools and commands, but nothing worked.  

‘So, Dr Fielding,’ said Hardacre, ‘do you think that there’s any chance at all that you can get us in there?’

Kath stood up and leaned against the tower door, staring up at it, temporarily defeated. She wanted either to get in it now or to leave immediately. She craved some respite from the curse.

‘I don’t know’ she said, ‘it seems to be strongly secured by magical structures which are way beyond me, I’m afraid’ 

‘Have you found out anything at all?’ asked Viola.

‘It’s definitely Dwarven Magic’ replied Kath, ‘and it’s clearly an Imperial construction. Maybe it was made by Quiena.’

‘Yes, it was’ Viola said, pointing to the inscription above the door, ‘look…’.

They are stared up at the space, but to them it just seemed to be hazy worn symbols. Even Hardacre, who could read Archaic Elven very well, could make nothing of it. For a moment they all glanced at Viola as if she were a little mad. Viola said no more in the way of explanation – she was just baffled that they couldn’t see anything – and for some reason that she couldn’t quite identify, she didn’t feel like pressing the point. She stepped back, mildly disturbed.  

 ‘I’m not sure what else I can do’ Kath said, ignoring her, ‘It won’t open using any normal Dwarven Magic commands.’

‘So we won’t be able to get in?’ asked Hardacre

‘I think maybe not.  I did have something that might have worked, but one of the Visneorian soldiers, an elf called Potentilla, took it.’

‘What was it?’ asked Viola

‘A rod’ said Kath, ‘we used it to control a Dwarven Magic sphere at the West Wall, but it ended up with Potentilla on the wrong side of the wall’

This stirred a memory in Hardacre.

‘Mr Ismay told me a little about the control rods. I think that our Enemies destroyed one that was in the University in Kinspit, just before I left the city’ 

‘Really?’ said Kath, ‘Why?’

‘I think because they knew that an expedition was coming here and they didn’t want anyone poking around with anything that might reveal something’ said Hardacre.

‘It looks like they’ve got their wish then’ said Kath.

There was a sort of collective sigh, and then silence.

‘Perhaps we should go back to Ortia and regroup’ suggested Viola, quietly. She felt torn. On the one hand there was the bell that rang without sound, and which bid her to stay, and on the other was her growing, if still muted, fear that commanded her to go home, and go quickly.   At the moment her desire to leave was growing fast.

‘Where is Potentilla now, Dr Fielding?’ asked Hardacre, choosing not to hear Viola.

‘I have no idea’ said Kath, ‘back in Visnea, I suppose’

‘Well, we may be able to track her down. At the very least we should warn her how dangerous it may be for her to be in possession of the rod’ said Hardacre.

Rem and Viola looked hopefully at Hardacre. He knew that they really wanted to leave the ruins.

‘I could try something’ suggested Hardacre, ‘a last resort. But perhaps Master Healer and Captain Viola should go back to the camp before I do it’

‘No, no’ they both said simultaneously and reluctantly, shaking their heads unconvincingly. Kath walked over to Hardacre and looked expectantly at him.

‘What do you plan to do?’ asked Kath

‘I could try an opening spell’ said Hardacre.

Kath was surprised to hear him say anything about magic. He seemed reluctant to admit that he had any magical powers at all, but she knew that he must have. There was no way that he could have captured Rem on the way to Ortia without using some witchcraft.  

‘Are you sure?’ she said, ‘won’t it be dangerous?

‘It will probably be fine. It’s not a noisy spell’ said Hardacre

Viola looked over at him sharply.

‘Noisy?’

‘Liable to cause collateral damage’ he said, as if explaining something very obvious. He scanned around the group for signs of opposition. He found none. 

 ‘Anyway – I think it’s worth trying’.

He stood up and walked round to the door. He studied it carefully. Then he raised one hand and said ‘agor’ in a perfectly ordinary voice.

Light formed a ball in his hand, coloured as if it were being illuminated through a green leaf. The ball floated out from his grasp and slowly made its way to the door. When it arrived there it flowed into every crack and crevice, around the sides and through the oak wood of the bands. It seemed like the light was probing, in the gentlest possible way, searching for some catch or lock or trigger to ease the door open.

The little group waited, watching as the door seemed to shiver slightly, to bend where no door would normally bend. For a second or two they seemed to imagine that it would swing open, happy to yield to the spell. Kath even took an eager step forward. But the door resisted and slowly the green light was pushed back and reformed into a ball. The door was now as inviolable as ever and with a strange spasm it drove the light ball back to where it had come. It struck Hardacre full in the face. His mouth was forced open and the buttons on his tunic pinged off all at once. A look of massive shock came over his face. The others began to run towards him, but he raised his hands to stop them. He turned his shock into an intense concentration and slowly compelled his mouth to shut.

  ‘Oh dear’ he said, testing out a wan smile ‘that really didn’t work too well, did it. I think it’s time to regroup’

No-one needed to be persuaded of the truth of that and so they trudged back to camp with heavy steps, for the time being defeated.

Chapter forty-three

The Effaron Desert, travelling north-east

 

It turned out that Al-Ham had been right about the sand storms. They spent their time skirting their way around the swirling, chaotic winds. He seemed to have an uncanny ability to find the path that ran just away from a storm or, as he had managed on at least two occasions, right through the middle of two adjacent ones. This made Fred look a little more favourably on him, but didn’t in any way lessen their need for haste. Still, they were on their way now, so Fred was much happier.

Al-Ham had said that the best way to get clear of the storms would be to go north as quickly as possible, but this would mean cutting across the storms’ path. So, instead he adopted a mixed strategy – going north when they could but tracking east if necessary. That way he had avoided any problems for the last three days.

Fred had tried to avoid talking to either of his companions, as they were so clearly ‘together’ and because he really didn’t much like Al-Ham. However, he couldn’t really avoid talking to Potentilla and Al-Ham had suddenly become very much more garrulous – he seemed to have accepted that Fred really was a scholar rather than a servant. On one long boring stretch on their second day out Al-Ham had manoeuvred his camel alongside him and then engaged him in conversation.

‘You are from Eth, yes, scholar?’ he said, as an opening gambit.

Fred did nothing more than nod.

‘I would like to go to Eth one day’

Fred grunted.

‘Oh?’  

‘Yes. I would like to see a really big city’ Al-Ham said, staring into space. Fred imagined him conjuring up an image of a large metropolis.

‘Not much to it’ said Fred, ‘nothing to get worked up about’

Potentilla smiled and called over.

‘Darling – wouldn’t you rather go to Visnea?’

Al-Ham gave Fred a conspiratorial look.

‘I would be too daunted to visit the Imperial capital, my lady’ he said

Fred sighed. Then he realised that there was something that he wanted to ask the Algharian.

 ‘So, you don’t have any wives?’ he asked bluntly.

Al-Ham smiled again, but this time Fred was surprised to see that his expression was completely straight.

‘Wives – no – no wives.  Anyway, it is not permitted to have more than one wife. We have adopted Imperial ways, we only marry one woman.’

‘Oh really? Yes, that’s the same in Eth…’ said Fred

Al-Ham smiled again.

‘It is always hard to find the right one when only one is allowed!’ said Al-Ham with a very deep laugh. Somehow or other Al-Ham had managed to guide his camel so he was able to slap Fred manfully on the back as he spoke. Fred tottered but just about managed to stay on his mount. He glared at Al-Ham, but the Algharian seemed miles away.

‘So, do you have anyone in mind?’asked Fred.

Al-Ham’s voice quietened considerably so that Potentilla couldn’t hope to hear his words over the noise of the wind.

‘Until a few days ago I would have said no’ he said, barely concealing a sigh, ‘but now suddenly I have my hopes and desires all focused on one person. But such things are often thwarted – particularly if the ripest fig is hanging the furthest out of reach’

‘Really?’ said Fred, wide eyed. Al-Ham nodded at him gravely.

‘Of course, I cannot even hope to cleave to one so far above my station’

Al-Ham stared at Potentilla, as she rode on purposefully. Fred had to admit that she was a very fine camel-rider – and who knows, maybe that was one of the main things Al-Ham was looking for.  Fred was genuinely taken aback, however. Al-Ham didn’t seem to have worked out that there was nothing the slightest bit aristocratic about Potentilla.  But what was worrying him as much was the possibility that he’d got it wrong – that this man was actually head-over-heels in love with his irritating elven companion. In some ways this seemed worse than the idea that he was trying to trick her, although for different reasons. If Potentilla got hurt then he knew she’d get over it quickly, but Al-Ham? Who knew?

They travelled onwards, Al-Ham riding close to Fred and still smiling.

Fred couldn’t think of anything else to say, except ‘you’ve only known her for twenty minutes’, but he decided that wouldn’t really be helpful. He kept his mouth shut. 

 

***

As the journey continued it seemed to Fred that they never made any progress at all, but this didn’t seem to dampen either Potentilla’s or Al-Ham’s spirits. They pressed on, their camels as close each other as they could be persuaded to trot. Fred increasingly lagged behind, happy to be excluded. It was all he could do, in any case, to keep up with them.

 Slowly the desert became a little less barren and a touch of green enlivened the dunes. Eventually, on the morning of the fourth day, they came to another oasis where they could refill their water skins and pick some fruit. Potentilla and Al-Ham insisted on bathing nude together. At the first sight of this Fred headed to the far side of the oasis and found a large palm tree to hide under. He could still hear them from where he was though, unfortunately. Eventually they stopped splashing and giggling and Fred was able to creep back and wash rapidly in the shallows of the oasis pool. 

‘Where were you?’ laughed Potentilla, innocently. Fred said nothing

‘The water was fantastic – you really should have had a dip’

Fred grunted, shook his head, and picked up his pack. He then stood and waited while the other two loaded up their camels and finally mounted.  They lumbered off again into the heat and dust.

‘How much longer?’ asked Fred to no-one in particular as they started off.

‘Out of the desert? About a day’ said Al-Ham, ‘I expect to see the east-west road by the end of tomorrow’

‘That’s good’ said Fred, ‘I wonder how Kath is?’ His question hung in the air.

While they had been so far away and so distracted by events, Fred and Potentilla hadn’t given Kath much thought. But now Fred, at least, had to face the fact that she was probably dead, and when they got to their destination there would be nothing to greet them but the ruins of the city.  Then what would they do? He had no idea.

‘I’m sure that we’ll find her’ said Potentilla brightly, ‘Al’s a great tracker – you’ve seen that for yourself – he’ll find her’

Fred thought that that was very unlikely, but he said no more.

 

‘You’ve only known him for a few days’ said Fred, as they travelled on. Al-Ham had gone ahead to scout their route.

‘Where did that come from, Fred?’ asked Potentilla

‘I’m just saying’ he murmured

‘We’re just having a fling. He’s just a big, sexy, romantic tease’

‘You think so?’

‘Oh, you are silly Fred! You are so gloomy and judgmental about everything. Is that what all middle aged men are like in Eth?’

She laughed as they rode. His face was grim.

‘I think he’s got a serious crush on you, which is the last thing we need’

‘Well, so what if he has? He’ll snap out of it’

Fred fixed his gaze on her.

‘He thinks you’re his elven princess and that you’ll be willing to marry him. Did you know that?’

Potentilla stuck her tongue out at him

‘Stop it Fred! You’ll ruin everything. Of course he doesn’t think that’

‘Tell him you’re not a sodding princess’ demanded Fred.

‘He’s knows I’m not’ said Potentilla, undeterred, ‘he’s no fool’

Fred laughed hollowly.

‘Anyway – if you don’t tell him I will. Tell him tonight or I’ll tell him tomorrow morning at breakfast’

 Potentilla made an odd non-committal movement with her head, which could have been a nod and could have been a shake, and then rode off rapidly before Fred could say anything more.

 

The day wore on and Al-Ham started to look for a place to sleep. This was preferably a few scattered shrubs or a hollow, but these seemed rare in this part of the desert. As time passed, he became more anxious, because a sand storm was pushing them south and further away from the possible encampment areas that he knew.

They travelled on for at least an hour longer than they would normally, with the whirling sand storm on their northern flank. Al-Ham was considering striking even further south to make absolutely sure that they were safe when Potentilla stopped her camel and looked surprised.

‘What was that?’ she said

‘I hear nothing, my lady’ said Al-Ham, ‘what is it?’

‘Just a second’ said Potentilla, as she delved into her bag. She pulled out Kath’s rod, which they could now see was making a strange high pitch sound and vibrating slightly. Potentilla leapt off her camel and placed it on the ground, where it twitched on the sand and made an imprint, a little like the trail left by a rattlesnake.

‘What the gods is it doing?’ asked Fred, climbing down from his camel to look at the rod.

‘I’ve no idea’ said Potentilla, grinning, ‘interesting isn’t it!’

‘That’s not the word I would use’ said Fred, ‘shove it in your pocket or something’

Potentilla picked it up again and held it up to look at it.  As they examined it closely they could see that a pulse of faintly blue light kept striking the rod, making it vibrate, and then bounced off it and flew off into the distance, far more slowly than a normal light pulse. They all watched it for a few pulses. Fred counted the time between vibrations, twelve seconds… ten seconds… nine seconds. Fred’s heart missed a beat.

‘Something’s coming after the bloody rod’ he shouted, scrambling to get on his camel.

They all looked up in the direction of the outward pulse. There was something looming up in front of them in the sky, drifting in from the east. It looked, at first glance, like a very large grey-blue children’s kite, in the rough shape of a bird, which had been torn away from its owner’s hands and blown across the sky by the violent winds.  However, as they stared at it the shape began to look less and less like a kite and more and more like a strangely shapeless living bird, the size of a sea eagle, flapping its wings agonisingly slowly. It appeared to have a grey translucent skin under which glowed the most intense blue they had ever seen.

‘What is that, my lady?’ asked Al-Ham, shielding his eyes.

‘I have no idea’ said Potentilla breathlessly, ‘but let’s try to outrun it’

Potentilla and Al-Ham were up on their mounts before Fred could regain his balance. They set off at breakneck speed with Fred struggling behind them. The strange bird with its slow wings began to gain on them. It was now about a hundred yards away.

‘Change of plan…’ yelled Potentilla ’Let’s try to stand our ground – it’s only a bird!’

Fred looked closely at it. That was no bird. He’d never seen a bird whose wings changed shape as it flew. And no bird could flap its wings so slowly and still stay aloft.  He ignored Potentilla, and galloped on as best he could, too terrified to stop.

Potentilla jumped down from her camel and notched an arrow in her bow. She took careful aim and fired. The arrow struck the creature on its breast and bounced off. Potentilla looked deeply perplexed, paused very briefly, and then fired another shot straight into the head of the creature. Again, the shot simply bounced off.  She was about to try again when Al-Ham rode up alongside her and gestured wildly to her to re-mount.

‘You know – I don’t think that’s a proper bird’ she exclaimed.

‘It must be some sort of Tlaxacan monster!’ Al-Ham shouted, ‘If it catches us it will surely destroy us. We must get away!’ 

Potentilla took one more look at the rapidly approaching creature. She could see now that a swirling blue vapour was beginning to pour out of its mouth. She really didn’t want to feel that breath on her. It was now travelling so fast that she knew there was no chance of outpacing it. Moving at double speed she jumped as rapidly as she could back onto her camel. Potentilla followed Al-Ham as fast as she could as he sped north, towards the sand storm, with Fred, who was now some way to their left, turning slowly to follow them.

 ‘Where are you going?’ shouted Fred, ‘that’s the wrong way!’

‘No!’ yelled Al-Ham, ‘We cannot escape it. I have an idea’

They sped on to the edge of the storm. Al-Ham turned to Potentilla as the creature dived towards her.

‘Get the rod!’ bellowed Al-Ham, ‘quickly!’

Potentilla reached inside her bag as rapidly as she could and pulled out the rod.  She paused for a moment, uncertain of what to do next.

‘Give it to me!’ Al-Ham commanded. She opened her mouth to question him, but he was already alongside her and had snatched the rod out of her hands. He surged forward and then waited expectantly at the edge of the swirling sand. Potentilla was horrified.  She galloped straight towards him with her short sword drawn.

‘Al – no!’ she shouted

The mercurial bird-creature fell on the rod with its mouth roaring. Al-Ham stuck out his left hand and grasped its neck just before it could cover the rod with its blue cloud breathe. There was a brief struggle. The creature flexed its head to bear down on the rod but it was too late.  Al-Ham had plunged into the whirlwind of sand. At exactly the same time he threw the rod high into the air towards Potentilla. It twisted and pulsed as she struggled to catch it but then it was in safely in her hands.

‘Go, my lady!’ screamed Al-Ham wildly, ‘go!’

Potentilla watched helpless as the sand engulfed Al-Ham and the half-bird, which still had Al-Ham’s hand gripped around its neck. As the sand buried them, the bird-creature’s skin began to rupture and a blue fluid came cascading out, like monstrous blood.  As the fluid hit the air, sparks of blue formed on Al-Ham’s clothes, and he screamed. Then they both disappeared in a maelstrom of blue and yellow. A second later there was a vast explosion, which ripped through the storm and carried Potentilla and Fred, their camels half-flying, half-running, far away. 

‘Al!’ Potentilla sobbed, ‘you stupid man!’

The storm shifted again and they had to gallop on just to avoid it. By the time it had abated they had no way of finding their way back to Al-Ham and both of them knew that to return would be pointless folly.

Fred stared at Potentilla, whose face was a picture of misery.

‘What now?’ asked Potentilla, tears streaking her cheeks.

‘I don’t know’ said Fred, so they just rode on and on until the night engulfed them.