Chapter seven

Kinspit – John Ismay’s Study

 

The meeting with Ridgeway had gnawed gently at John’s mind over dinner and well into the next day. As far as he knew this all meant very little, just a party of scholars lost in the wilderness somewhere.  (They’d find their way home eventually, he was sure). However, he realised that he knew very little about East Visneoria, and that was annoying. He prided himself on covering every angle.  In addition, something was going on, something political that he, and apparently the consul, knew nothing about.  The Visneorians must have some reason for encouraging a party of Ethian scholars, and he wanted to know what it was.  So far there was no gossip worth having on the subject, so it looked like he might have to conduct a deeper search. That meant talking to Stephen, the most knowledgeable in the Council concerning elven things. The only problem with that was that his colleague knew too much and he didn’t have an afternoon to spare. It also meant the twins, which was fine, but they had their own agenda, and Gwyneth had a habit of disapproving of most of his decisions.  Bronwyn’s way was, when she disapproved at all, to do it indirectly, which sometimes hurt even more. He would have to talk to them, though, and soon.

Just after lunch he went down to his study, chalked out the symbols carefully on the floorboards, and waited.  After about ten minutes the chalk outline started to glow dark red, and he began the invocation spell. Five minutes after that, images of two tall, almost identical red haired, middle-aged, women appeared within the circle. One was dressed in green robes and the other in brown ones. Around them he could see the faint images of oak trees, in the fresh green of spring’s new leaf.

‘Is that you John?’ asked Gwyneth[1], the woman in brown robes, squinting to see him.

John stood up and came closer. Now they could all see each other more clearly.

‘Are you in Kinspit, John?’ asked the other woman.

‘Yes, Bronwyn[2], greetings – and love. Gwyneth, to you too’

Gwyneth half-frowned at this.

‘Well, at least we know where you are’

The women exchanged a glance and smiled.

‘How are you, John?’ Bronwyn asked.

‘I’m well, Bron, thank you. How are things in Neman?’

‘Looking lovely – everything is growing!’ 

Gwyneth interrupted this with a wave of her hand. She snapped out her words.

‘Focus, both of you! John, what do you want? You know that we don’t have all day. These always work out as expensive conversations, on way or another…’

‘I had Consul Ridgeway visit me yesterday’

Gwyneth made a sour face.

‘Old fool’

‘Yes, quite true, but he gave me some useful information’

‘What was that?’ asked Bronwyn

‘About an Ethian expedition to Melloreis’

Gwyneth started.

‘What?’

‘Melloreis’ said Bronwyn, slightly dreamily, ‘now that’s a name I haven’t heard for a long time. Very interesting place…’

‘How will that work, John?’ asked Gwyneth, ‘Eth to Melloreis is a long, long, way, over some huge mountains’

‘They’re going through West Visneoria and they have the Emperor’s blessing’

‘Well, that’s odd’

‘Yes’, responded John, tersely, ‘that’s why we’re having this conversation’

Bronwyn tutted.

‘It’s Gwyneth’s job to be impatient with you, John, it surely won’t work if we try it the other way round’

Gwyneth smiled.

‘Well, Melloreis would certainly be worth a look around’ she said.

‘Why’s that?’ asked John.

 ‘It is said that it was made by Quiena[3]’s dwarven engineers, under her direction’ explained Bronwyn

‘What, the whole city was made by her?’

‘Parts of it, undoubtedly. Certainly the parts that might survive’

‘And our evidence for that is?’

Gwyneth snorted.

‘Evidence? John Ismay, you really are an exasperating man’

‘Name one man that you don’t find exasperating’

‘A point well made. I mean that you are more exasperating than most’ 

‘Do I have to take your word on trust then?’

‘Of course’ insisted Gwyneth.

‘Anyway’ said Bronwyn ‘this is probably something that we should look into’

John made a face.

‘Really? That’s not the answer I was looking for’

‘We should definitely send someone’ said Bronwyn. ‘Who’s nearest?’

‘Well no-one’ said John ‘and we’re fully stretched’.

Bronwyn looked thoughtful

‘Well, your decision, as always, but there must be someone nearby’

‘What about in Ortia. Do we have an agent there?’ asked Gwyneth

‘In Ortia. Why would we have someone there?’ 

‘Another interesting place’ murmured Bronwyn.

‘Well, send someone there, then,’ said Gwyneth, ‘someone clever, sophisticated and diplomatic. Someone who’s very good with elves’

John shrugged, not wanting to respond to that.

‘John’, said Bronwyn, ‘I’m not sure that we have a choice. It’ll have to be Laurence – you know he’s our most reliable diplomat. At least get him to go there, make contact and see what’s going on’

John frowned.

‘He’s not going to like it’

Bronwyn pursed her lips and shook her head gently.

‘I know that we ask a lot of him, but I think he’ll be fine. He’s used to it. Don’t let him make you feel guilty’

‘I suppose so, but it does seem a little unfair. However, you are right; we have no-one else quite as well qualified’

‘Not for this sort of work’ insisted Bronwyn

‘Well then, he’s your man – Just tell him we need him to go’ said Gwyneth.

‘Fine’ sighed John, ‘I think that we’re agreed’

‘Your decision, of course’ said Bronwyn, ‘we obviously don’t want to push him too far…’

‘But make up your mind quickly’ added Gwyneth, ‘and if not him then you’ll have to find someone else very rapidly’.

There was a pause. John sighed.

‘I’ll tell him tonight. I’ll let him cook me dinner. That always puts him in a good mood’

‘That’s all sorted out then.’ said Gwyneth, ‘no reason to extend the conversation any further’

Bronwyn looked slightly disappointed.

The images in the circle became weaker and vaguer.

‘Goodbye John. Hopefully we can meet in person soon…’ said Bronwyn, ‘tell Laurence that I hope it goes well’. She waved. He waved back, squinting through the gathering mist that was enveloping the circle.

Gwyneth didn’t wave, but she smiled very slightly, and then the image was gone.

John sat at his desk for a while, writing some notes and thinking things through.  Then he summoned up the energy to rise. He bent down and carefully wiped the chalk marks off the floor. ‘One job fewer for Laurence’ he thought.

---

[1] Deputy leader of the Hybitor

[2] A council member of the Hybitor

[3] The Visneorian name for Ophia

Chapter eight

The Great Wall – Quienimon Gate

 

They walked on as two separate parties:  Lucius on one side of the guards, the Ethian scholars on the other. Bitter words had been exchanged and they were taking Lucius’s route only because they had no other choice. Kath and Fred had already decided, between themselves, that once they had got through the Wall, that they would go no further with Lucius. Exactly how that would work, though, neither of them knew.

They had been walking alongside the Wall northwards for about four hours when its shape changed slightly; it began to bend inwards as if to form a mouth.  At the end of that mouth was a huge iron gate, taking up more than half of the height of the wall, but wide enough only to allow at most five elves abreast to march through, it wouldn’t have sufficed for a proper army. There was no keyhole or any other obvious method of opening it. They stopped a few yards in front of it.

Lucius removed the gate key from his pocket with a flourish; Kath saw it for just a second, but she’d have liked to have had a better look. Lucius gestured to Maxilius and the Lieutenant organised his troops into a protective shield around their self-appointed leader. In this rather unwieldy formation, Lucius and the guards shuffled up to the gate. When they were in touching distance of the entrance the guards stood to one side.  Lucius unwrapped the key and held it up to the wall. The scholars looked on with an equal mixture of contempt and fascination. The key was indistinguishable from a small, dark green, pebble.

‘Gather round me, ignorant human scholars’ Lucius shouted, ‘you will finally learn something of real value! I shall make a way for us!’

As he spoke the key began to glow bright red, and then it flashed. A low hum now came from the wall. Lucius’s face was flushed with excitement.

‘Now you will see something of the might of the Empire!’ he declaimed, ‘behold the mysteries of the Wall of Juvian!’

The Gate shimmered and then abruptly disappeared. There was a faint plopping noise, and Lucius was quite suddenly sucked inside, his cloak streaming out behind him. He gave a short loud gasp, and then he was gone. The others briefly saw a floating dark green globe behind the gate and then the gate surface reformed. On the ground lay the gate key, where Lucius had dropped it.

 

***

No-one moved for a long time. The first to approach the key was Kath, as curiosity was stronger in her than fear. She took a wooden spoon out her backpack and prodded the key. It did nothing. She did nothing. It was a stand-off. She stared at the key for several minutes and then considered the end of the spoon.

Maxilius came up behind her and picked the key up.

‘What on earth was that?’ he asked, ‘what happened?’ He looked stony faced. Sweat glistened on his brow.  

Kath went up to examine the gate. She shook her head.

‘I have no idea what happened – some sort of force pulled him in, I think’ she said, her voice full of awe, ‘this gate is very strange indeed. It seems to be made of some astonishingly thin metal’

‘We need to get inside as quickly as possible’ said Maxilius, ‘Lucius may be in grave danger’

No-one moved very fast.

‘Probably a goner’ muttered Fred.

‘Well, perhaps that’s meant to happen? Perhaps that’s how you get inside?’ suggested Potentilla. ‘I don’t mind having a go’. Her eyes were bright with excitement.

Kath considered this for no more than a second and then shook her head.

‘It didn’t look like that should have happened. Lucius’s trajectory looked worryingly like something being dragged into the cogs of a machine…’

‘Too much talk’ said Maxilius ‘I have to rescue Lucius, and we know how to get in…’

He held the key up and carried it to the gate. It began to glow again.

‘No!’ shouted Kath. Fred, and most of the guards, descended rapidly upon Maxilius, trying to pull him backwards. As they formed a scrum the gate began to melt again. There was another plop, and a force, which felt like a huge hand plucking up a small bird, dragged them in towards the Wall.

‘Hold on! shouted Kath, and those at the back of the chain, whose feet were still on the ground, dug their heels in. For a moment the forces were balanced, and as if in response to their immobility, a green sphere floated out from the wall towards them. It was about ten feet in diameter and was clearly the origin of the strange pulling force. The sphere was entirely featureless, but Kath still thought that it looked rather angry. 

The sphere hovered a few feet away from them, and began to rotate slowly. It started to emit a hum, just as they had heard before. The force pulling them in became stronger. As a group they began to rise into the air, as if suspended on an invisible rope extending from the sphere.

Potentilla, some way back and not part of the struggling group, picked up her bow. She readied it and then sent an arrow flying into the centre of the sphere. This seemed to distract it momentarily and for a split second the force stopped. Everyone in the big pile dropped to the floor. They scattered and ran as fast as they could in all directions away from the wall. Potentilla ducked and ran too. No-one looked back for several seconds. When they did, the sphere was gone and the gate was closed again.

Kath forced herself to stop running. She turned, panting very hard, and stared despondently at the gate.

‘I think we need another plan’ she said.

Chapter nine

Kinspit – Hardacre’s room

                

Hardacre was packing and John was hovering.

‘Sir, I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you’re very distracting’

John smiled vaguely.

‘Sorry – I thought I was being helpful’

Hardacre considered this.

‘How exactly, sir? Or is this an “informal briefing”?’

Hardacre was packing clothes into a small bag. This had been going on for about twenty minutes, but the bag still didn’t appear to be full.

‘I’m just checking that you’re happy… ‘ John shook his head, ‘…no, I mean, confident… about what you need to do’

Hardacre picked some formal black shoes from his shoe rack. The shoes on the rack were of all possible styles, and they were all neatly arranged, but only some of them were expertly polished.  He dropped the chosen shoes into the bag.  It produced a small, neat, magical click.

‘It’s a diplomatic mission, sir.  I have done them before’.

John nodded and smiled.

‘Yes, of course. It’s just that…’

Hardacre peered up at John.

‘What sir?’

‘Well…’ John’s voice trailed off.

‘That… you promised me no more missions for the foreseeable future. Is that it, sir?’

John stared at a point in the wall, and frowned.

‘I did. But this is different’.

‘It always is, sir’.

Hardacre walked over to an elegant wooden desk and began to sort through papers. He picked up a big red book and placed it on the desk. The conversation was lapsing.

‘Well…’ said John, ‘this wasn’t what I intended’.

Hardacre opened the book and slipped a sheet of white, almost pristine, paper on to the front page. He leant over and picked up a small bottle of green ink. Unscrewing it, he peered inside it and sniffed at it.  Satisfied, he took a quill pen and dipped the tip in it. Only then did he look up again at John.

‘Have I complained, sir?’

John leant against the bedroom wall and sighed.

‘Of course you haven’t Laurence. But, as usual, I’m resorting to mind reading’

‘Literal or metaphorical, sir?’

‘The harder of the two, of course – whichever that is’

Hardacre took the pen and began to write on the loose page in his book. His handwriting was compact, elegant and economical. As always, John was very impressed.

‘Can I speak openly, sir?’ asked Hardacre.

John’s brow furrowed.

‘Laurence, please stop asking that question. What do you think?’

‘I think that the answer is not a straightforward as you pretend to yourself that it is, sir’

John was sensible enough to abandon this line of conversation.

‘Yes, speak openly,’ he commanded.

‘I’m not too concerned about my mission, sir. It’s unusual, but not unprecedented. I’m more concerned about what might happen here’

‘Why?’

‘Because I don’t trust Ridgeway, and because Captain Eistedd may become a distraction’

‘Who – Glynn?’

‘Yes, as I said – Captain Eistedd of the Ethian secret service’

Hardacre paused for a beat.

‘I’m guessing, sir, that the Captain is already a member of the Old Ethian Club, yes?’

‘Of course. Ridegway vouched for him. He’ll crave the company, of his compatriots, I’d imagine’

‘And that you have already agreed to have dinner with him, sometime this week?’

John grinned.

‘I have no idea what could be wrong with that. He is the liaison officer…’

‘And he is charming, very beautiful and has deep blue eyes’

‘Has he? I must look a bit more closely next time I’m with him’

Hardacre frowned deeply.

‘If you can’t see that you’re being set up, then there’s not much more that I can say, sir’

John bristled.

‘You’re so cynical – such a typical diplomat.’

‘I’m only saying, sir – with all due respect, that you’re not always good at keeping secrets to yourself. A few nights drinking with the lovely captain and you may well have fed Ridgeway some extremely useful information.’

Hardacre paused and dipped his pen in the ink again.  John assumed an expression of hurt pride.

‘I suggest that, however sceptical you feel now, sir, you know that what I say is true’

‘If you’re so certain then perhaps we should have a little bet …’

‘A bet, sir?’

Hardacre arched  his eyebrows very slightly.

‘A wager. If you can ever prove that I’ve told Glynn something that I shouldn’t then… umm… you can have my best morning jacket – you’ve always coveted it avariciously’.

Hardacre waited for a moment and made the familiar face that indicated to John that he was being very vulgar.

‘If that is your wish, sir…’

John scowled.

‘It is a little loose on me, of course’ Hardacre added, as an afterthought, glancing up at John.

‘I’ll have it altered for you’ promised John wearily.

‘Thank you, sir. I very much look forward to wearing it at the winter ball’

‘You have so little faith in me. I’d find it worrying, if you knew what you were talking about’.

‘Whatever you say, sir’ murmured Hardacre, turning back to his writing.

‘It’s a deal, then’ said John.

‘That’s not a deal, sir’ said Hardacre, ‘it’s a gift’ 

Hardacre looked up, but John had gone. He sat there, immersed in his thoughts for a few moments, and then bent down to write on the magic paper in his steady, utterly reliable, hand.

Chapter ten

Ortia – The Proconsul’s Palace.

 

It was a very sunny day and Marthian had had the windows and doors of the palace thrown open. In the walled garden the peacocks strutted and called, and each huge hibiscus flower was periodically visited by large orange bees and blue humming birds; the birds were only slightly larger than the bees. Most of the flowers in the garden were exotics – collected from across the wider Empire in more peaceful times. The gardeners now struggled to keep all the plants alive – the winters in Ortia were mild, but frosts could come from nowhere and envelop the city for days. In the winter the garden was everywhere wrapped in cloth and paper.

Marthian was restless – she wanted to sit out in the garden and read, or walk around the well manicured flower beds examining what was newly come into bloom. However, her position made this impossible, and so, instead, she had had to endure a series of meetings about the city sewers, agricultural disputes, and proposed changes in the victualing laws. This was all essential stuff, she supposed, but not as compelling as the sights and sounds of a beautiful spring day.

Halfway through the day, however, she did have a visitor with something very interesting. It was Viola, whose main job was to keep her ear to the ground within the city and act as Marthian’s sounding board. This wasn’t an onerous task, but she did it well. She was reliable and sensible –a rare and valuable quality as far as Marthian was concerned.  Viola was a useful information gather – she could slip into parts of the city unseen and was happy to talk to anyone. She had also been in Marthian’s family coterie all her life, as she was an orphan, brought up in the temple, and had been working for the proconsul, father and daughter, ever since she was a very young woman. She had extraordinarily acute sight and hearing, which were very useful characteristics in a domestic spy.  

She was, however, unusually flustered and excited as she ran into Marthian’s room. She spluttered as she spoke.

‘Proconsul, I have received an unexpected letter’

 Marthian, rather alarmed, gestured for her to sit.

‘Viola, calm down – we can’t have you choking, can we. What is this letter?’

Viola seemed very worried.

‘I’m not sure, ma’am, it’s from some human organisation’

‘From Amansk?’ Marthian asked. Her interest was sparked.

Viola shook her head.

‘It says it’s from an Ethian merchant’s guild! How can that be?’

Marthian laughed.

‘What? Are you teasing me?’

Viola handed over the letter.

Marthian looked down at it. It was written in a flowing, but clearly human hand, and it was in perfect Visneorian. She read it aloud.

‘To the Imperial Leader, province of Ortia, East Visneoria, greetings!’

‘Please let me introduce myself and my organisation. My name is John Ismay, and I am an Ethian wool merchant, based in Kinspit, South Paror.’

Marthian’s eyes opened wide. ‘Extraordinary’, she whispered.

‘I am president of a diverse group of merchants from Rhylan, in western Eth, known as the Hybitor. The purpose of our organisation is to explore and develop mercantile links with friendly and like-minded political entities. We like to think that these links will be mutually beneficial to both parties, and foster not only commercial ties, but also the ties of friendship and mutual understanding.’

‘See…’ said Viola, ‘it’s mad…’

Marthian read on.

‘Our records suggest that there are no commercial or cultural links between the peoples of Ortia or the peoples of Rhylan. Given the rich history and considerable accomplishments of your noble city, we feel that it would be greatly to our mutual advantage to develop such links. We can offer only our simple Ethian goods – wool, `timber and beer, but they are of a high quality and we can hope that they may find approval with your citizens. With this all in mind, we are proposing, with your permission, to send a trusted member of our commercial team, Mr Laurence Hardacre, on a trade mission to your city, to talk with you and your officials. The meeting will last just a few hours and the burden on you will be no more than a few minutes of your time.’

Marthian glanced up at Viola.

‘Utterly mad’, Marthian agreed.

‘To reply to this letter, just append a note in the space at the end of the letter, sign it, and add any official seal that you trust. Then tap on the sealed letter three times. The letter will then return to us automatically. This method of communication is safe and secure and I hope you will forgive us for the necessity of using such an odd way of making contact with you.’

‘I hope to become, and remain, your obedient servant.’

‘John Ismay, wool merchant and president of the Hybitor.’

Marthian carefully placed the letter on her desk.

‘I have a number of questions’ she said, choosing her words carefully.  ‘First – how did you get this letter’?

‘It was on my kitchen table this morning’ replied Viola. She was calming down now, pleased to have passed on her burden.

‘How did it get there?’

‘I have no idea. I went to slice some bread and then I saw a flutter out of the corner of my eye. When I turned round I’m fairly certain that I saw it drop gently on to the table...’

‘Had anyone come to the house that morning? Could it have been thrown through an open window?’

‘No, I don’t think it could. But…’ Viola hesitated. ‘There was a slight smell of brimstone – when I picked up the letter ‘

‘Well, that looks like magic to me…’ said Marthian

‘…smells like it…’ murmured Viola, with a hint of a smile.

Marthian gave her a sharp look.

‘If we can concentrate…’

‘Did you get Cicerian to have a look at it?’ continued Marthian. Mage Cicerian was her advisor on anything vaguely magical. He wasn’t very effective, in Marthian’s opinion, but he was all she had.

‘Yes. He said it had a “residual dwimmer”…’

‘Right; very helpful… Could he find out anything else?’

Viola searched for something useful to say.

‘Umm, he said that it would probably work if you wrote something on it. You know – to send back…’

‘Did he? Right. What is your view of that?’

‘It’s someone trying to make contact with us, but presumably not actually for commercial reasons.’

Marthian nodded.

‘I know nothing about Eth. Where is Rhylan?’

Viola shrugged. ‘Somewhere in the west. It’s in children’s stories. Do you remember that?’

‘Yes – the Land of the Witches. I never liked those stories very much’

‘I didn’t either. Too scary!’

They laughed conspiratorially.  The tension that had hung in the air was dispelled.

‘But – just stories’ said Viola, pulling herself together.

‘Presumably…’, said Marthian. 

She walked to the window and looked out over the garden. Three tall tree ferns framed her view. A bluebird was perched in the fronds of one of them.

‘Have you walked in the garden today, Viola?’ she asked, reluctant to get to the point.

‘Not yet, Proconsul – I came straight here with the letter’

‘Well, try to find the time. The spring blossoms are wonderful’

Marthian forced herself to focus.  

‘I think that we have to invite this Mr Hardacre here. I can’t see how anyone can get any political advantage from us. We have nothing to lose.’

Viola nodded; she was so relieved to have passed on the message.

‘True enough. I think you should certainly answer the letter…’

‘Anyway – it will take him ages to get here from Kinspit…’

Viola looked puzzled.

‘Can’t witches blink… or something like that?’ she said

‘In fairy stories, yes, of course. In real life – it seems unlikely… well, we’ll see, won’t we…’

Marthian sat down at her desk and wrote a reply at the bottom of the letter. She signed it, folded it and then sealed it with the Great Imperial Seal.  Then, rather self-consciously, she tapped it three times. The letter lay on the table for a few seconds more, and then disappeared. The room was briefly filled with the unmistakable smell of sulphur, but then a gust of wind blew in the fragrance of cherry blossom, which immediately obliterated it.

 

Chapter eleven

Outside the Great Wall

 

They huddled in a copse a few hundred yards from the Wall. Night had fallen and they were at a loss. None of them wanted to sleep, but none of them wanted to act either. So they talked, mostly round and round in circles. A number of plans were proposed that involved ‘distracting the green sphere’, but they could never fix on exactly who would do the distracting. They also considered a direct assault, but that idea failed for a similar reason. Eventually they fell asleep, one by one, collectively hoping that the morning would bring some better ideas.

Kath lay under the sky listening to her companions sleeping. She had started to feel guilty about Lucius: he was an exceptionally annoying person, but she didn’t wish him dead. In addition, she was meant to be the Dwarven Magic expert and this, the first opportunity she had had to investigate the art, had left her hiding, helpless, behind some scraggy trees.

She got up quietly and rummaged around in her backpack. She had a number of useful tools in there, but she was looking for something else, something that she’d hoped to use under less dangerous circumstances. After a few seconds she pulled out a rod, about the length of a man’s arm, made of a very dense dark wood. It was on loan from the tiny collection of Dwarven Magic artefacts in the Eth City University Museum. There had been some debate about its purpose, but she had thought that she recognised it from a dwarven technical manual that she had once studied – it was a control rod. The engineers appeared to have used such rods to stop, or affect the behaviour, of Dwarven Magic objects. However, she had no idea if it still held any power and she also had no idea how to control it. But, she felt, now was the time to try it, and if it didn’t work, at least she would be the only one in danger.

Kath tiptoed over to Maxilius, carefully removed the gate key from his pack, tiptoed out of the copse and crept towards the Wall. It was nearly dawn and there was just enough light to stumble along by. It was cool, but the clear sky above promised a hot day later.

As she approached the gate Kath stopped to look again at the rod. It was smooth except for a faint archaic elven inscription, which read   ‘theonumos, anthroponumos’. That seemed to translate as ‘god name, elf name’.  Those words must be a clue to the trigger phrase, but she had no idea what that phrase could be and she had had no reason to try and work it out before. Now she wished that at some point she’d found a reason.  

‘Maybe it will become obvious when I try to use it’ she thought, unconvinced.  However, there was no way that she could go back now without admitting defeat. She continued to walk forward, very slowly and increasingly scared. Her heart began to beat loud in her head and she could hardly move. She was now shuffling towards the gate, eyes half closed.

The metal surface of the gate was about ten feet in front of her. She pulled the key out of her pocket and held it up in her left hand. With her right hand she grasped the rod. The key glowed again, and the answering hum started up inside the wall. She slipped the key into her pocket and brought the rod up to her nose and held it there, in both hands, uncertain as to what to do next. The gate evaporated again.  The green sphere was there just in the gateway, buzzing and humming.  Kath raised the rod towards it and waited. The globe floated towards her, apparently unaffected by her actions, but this time not attempting to pull her in. She pointed the rod at it again, this time with a desperate flourish, but still nothing happened.  Terrified, she threw herself to the ground, her eyes shut tight.

‘Kath!’ shouted a voice. She opened her eyes to see a stone fly past her forehead. There was a whir of green ahead of her and then the sphere moved away from her and towards whoever had shouted. Looking back she was unsurprised to see Potentilla, poised to throw another stone. The sphere was now between Kath and the elf.

Kath stood up and shouted back.

‘Tillie! Why did you do that? Stupid fool! You’ll get yourself killed!’

Potentilla threw another stone. This one hit the sphere bang in the middle and there was a strange splintering sound as it penetrated the green mass. Kath gulped.

‘Run away, quickly, please’  

‘Not yet – you still need to get inside’, shouted Potentilla.

Potentilla waved Kath forward with her hands. Then she took aim again.  

Kath looked behind her. The gate was still open and she could see a wide metallic tunnel leading back from the entrance.  That was the way through, but how would they ever get there?   She wasn’t planning to go on her own.

Kath’s mind raced. Perhaps the rod could be useful. The trigger phrase must be something that would be known to a dwarf. What names could there be? The names of a maker, perhaps, but then how would she know that? What were the names of the eleven engineer dwarves? Her mind was filled with their names, but how should decide which one?  The only name that came clearly into her head was Quiena, who was behind the whole thing. Maybe that was it? After all, she did have two names.

Potentilla had been sucked into the air and was careering towards the sphere. She let out a yelp of surprise. Kath would have to try something.

 ‘Ophia!  Quiena!’ she shouted out, her hands trembling.

Instantly, a pure dark green light began to grow out of the rod, like the rapidly dividing branches of a slender tree. It grew against the sphere, caressed it and halted it abruptly. It stopped rotating.

Potentilla was suspended briefly in mid-air, still throwing stones. Kath wondered if she were entirely sane. By now the tips of the light branches were spread evenly over the surface of the sphere. Kath pulled the rod back a little way. The sphere was pulled back an equal amount. Potentilla fell, quite softly, to the ground. She cheered and waved at Kath.

‘That’s fantastic!’ she said. Kath stared at her.

‘Go away Tillie! You’re making things worse!’

The elf took no notice at all – she was too busy staring at the sphere. It now looked like a huge children’s ball trapped in the branches of a great green tree.

Kath felt the sphere trying to escape from the pull of the rod. She moved steadily closer to it, so that the branches holding the ball became broad and strong.  She then took a small experimental step backwards. The web of light holding the sphere flexed and the sphere jerked a few inches towards her. She sighed with relief. At least this would give them some time. But, what should she do next?

Potentilla ran up to greet her. She squeezed her shoulder, laughing.

‘That’s so good! How are you doing it?’

‘It’s an old Dwarven Magic construction tool. I didn’t know what it did before just now’.

‘Now you’ve got the hang of it, though’ grinned Potentilla. She reached across. ‘Now – hand it over and you can nip inside the gate’

‘What?’ How would that help?’

‘I’ll sort things out here – and we’ll catch up with you later’

Kath yanked the rod away from Potentilla’s grasp. The sphere wobbled.

‘That’s about the most stupid idea I’ve ever heard,’ Kath said, sweat breaking out on her brow.

Potentilla thought about this for a moment.

‘No it’s not. You should go now – it’ll be fine!’ 

Kath groaned. This was rather a dilemma: a deadly sphere on the one hand and a lunatic elf on the other.

She began to ease the sphere back inside the gate. As she walked towards the entrance she could throw the sphere forward a few feet. Three big steps later and the sphere was nearly inside. As she manoeuvred the sphere it became clear to Kath that they couldn’t get any further this way – it was all just too dangerous. And now she didn’t trust Potentilla not to do something stupid. They would have to find another way.  Or give up.

Potentilla surged forward and grabbed the rod. There was a brief tussle, which sent the sphere flying backwards and forwards across the sky. Then the elf, by far the more agile of the two, yanked the rod away from the human, in triumph.

‘Go!’ she shouted, with blazing eyes. ‘Go!’ She yanked the sphere back, inexpertly, so that it loomed out in front of Kath, blocking her way back to camp.

‘Why are you doing this?’ shouted Kath, terrified.

‘I’m trying to help!’ replied Potentilla. ‘Really – I am…’

Potentilla was struggling to control the sphere; it began to rotate ominously.

Kath ran. At first she thought it was in no particular direction, but she soon realised that there had been only one way left to run, and that she was now inside the metal tunnel. She glanced back, but all she could see was coruscating light and green haze. Angry and terrified, she ran down the tunnel blind. The gate closed behind her.  She threw her hands out in front of herself and staggered along in the pitch black.

 

She crouched and listened. There was no noise and no light. It was slightly warmer than the air outside, and the feel of it inside was greasy. She couldn’t make progress except through feeling her way, step by step. Kath had no idea what to do, but she knew that she couldn’t go back unless she wanted to find out, first-hand, exactly what had happened to Lucius.

She stumbled on slowly. At every step she groped with her hands and listened. All she could hear now was a double hum, one from behind and one from in front. For a moment she was too terrified to continue, her heartbeat roaring in her ears. But then she convinced herself that the hums were getting louder – she’d have to move. She struggled on, whimpering in the darkness.

The tunnel carried straight on for about two minutes and then she forced herself to stop and listen. The hum in the direction she was heading was definitely getting louder. What on earth was in front of her now?

 She leant forward and felt around in a delirium of terror.  Eventually, her fingers brushed against something. It was strangely fluffy. She put her hands up to touch it properly; it felt like an enormous woollen ball. She knew exactly what it was, but why wasn’t it attacking her?

She shrunk back. There was a glow, lighting up the tunnel. At first she had no idea what was producing it and she peered around in the darkness. Then she realised – the light was coming from her jacket pocket. It was the gate key.

It was an agonising struggle, in the strange half-light, to remove the key from her pocket.  As her fingers finally closed on the key she heard a hum behind her, and almost instantaneously there was an answering call – much louder and just in front of her. She held her breath and pulled out the key; it was pulsating slowly.  In the slightly brighter light that it now cast she could see that the two spheres were so close to each other that they were almost crushing her.  She held the key up and prayed that the gate would open.

A second or so later, and to her huge relief, the gate disappeared. She ducked down, and crawled, sprawling, under the sphere right in front of her. Out from under the sphere she sprinted, running with the blood hammering in her ears, over stones and logs and through puddles and streams, with the deathly hsum still in her ears.

Eventually she had to stop. She turned around, but all she could see was the Wall, looking just as it had before; except that she knew that this was now the other side, the east side. She sat on a boulder and looked back. She had succeeded in the first part of her quest, but now she had no possessions, food or companions. Cursing her luck and her choice of friends, she forced herself to rise, turn, and look eastwards.