Circle of Stone (reprieve)

fire away ! Im going for a roll up, then il be back !

Sounds good (roll up and putting up rest of chapter )

Tain and the Druid found themselves once more in the grainy world of the mysterious and terrifying shroud. For the Baron and Canthiss it was a new experience. Canthiss first instinct in the dimness was to draw his sword and move closer to his master in protection.

With a sense of uselessness Tain drew his bow but the Druid put a restraining hand on him.

“No,” she said then went on urgently, “Listen to me all of you. They cannot harm us.”

“Like hell. We should run now,” Tain insisted, feeling terror awaking in him. He knew what was coming.

“You could not run even if you wanted to,” she pointed out.

“I’ll bloody well run out of here,” Tain insisted vehemently.

“But we cannot flee blind into the marsh in this darkness,” she reasoned, “It is suicide.”

“We did it last time,” Tain pointed out.

“We were lucky and then we were not in the deep marsh and you were not wounded.”

In the distant gloom the first of the pale shades appeared, gliding silently above the waters.

“They are coming,” Canthiss said and his voice trembled despite himself.

“We must stand our ground,” the Druid ordered.

“They will kill us,” Canthiss cried looking out at the frightful figures full of despair.

“No! They cannot harm us,” she assured, “They will use fear to drive you to some madness. But you must not yield to it. Stand firm.”

There was an awful tearing cry that echoed out through the inky grey and shredded at their nerves. The shades had spotted them.

“Hold your ground no matter what. It is a test of willpower. Do not flee,” she instructed as the shades turned on mass towards them.

Closer they drew and as they did so they became more distinct. It was above all else their eyes which were the worst, sunken in their faces yet filled with memories of the wives, husbands and children they were forever sundered from. Full with unfinished ambitions and dreams. All their potential that was lost in the futility of the moment of their ending was held there in the depth of their eyes and it contested with their hatred of all those who still possessed life and hope.

All this seemed to be conveyed at once with a mere glance and the despair and fear it bred in the beholder was awful to endure.

As they approached in greater numbers they cried out, many at once and sometimes in choruses of agonies relived and of rage unspent. They were like a pressure that the body instinctively strove to flee and which each fought to master second to second. With each new forlorn wail the desire to run increased.

The Shades reached out for them with gnarled grasping hands through which the bones showed to seize them.

The Druid dealt with their presence with prayer. As they approached she closed her eyes and let her inner compass tell her in which direction the star Sha lay, from which her powers flowed. Drawing upon Her energies she drew her mind out of the present and placed it beyond the reach of fear or desire. From a place of impartiality and inaction she watched the wretched shapes draw towards her, unable to fear them but also unable to act.

To Canthiss the shades were the embodiment of every haunted nursery rhyme he had ever heard by the fireside as a child, and the sum of every terror that lurked in the dark woods and holes of the landscapes of his youth. They chilled him to the bone. He had fought alongside his master against goblins and Barbarians and once even a great mountain bear that had descended on them in a rampaging madness. On more than one occasion in battle he had thought his end had come but never had he been more certain of it than now.

But in all the previous times he had faced his death by his Barons side he had done so because given the choice he would still have chosen to be by his Barons side. It was where he was meant to be.

Now he was damned if this was going to be any different come what may. If the Baron stood his ground then so too would Canthiss.

He stared in fascinated numb horror at the closest dead face looming up towards him, only feet away now. Long and wretched was that face with a gaping mouth that screamed and screamed as it closed in. Dead hands reached out to seize his throat and Canthiss prepared himself to die.

The Baron puffed out his chest and planted his feet apart; he had one hand on the hilt of his sword but could see there would be little use for it. The strange thing about his reaction compared to the others was that he alone it seemed was not really afraid.

Oddly enough being in this strange shroud reminded him of a night of storm and wind when he was only a child, a momentous night, the night Kellius had taken him to the kennels.

There had been no real fear then even as there was none now before the Shades. The two events, separated by a lifetime seemed akin, they shared a mood. The Dead and the thing in the shed beneath the moonlight were akin, he was akin. He watched the Shades approach and then reach out to seize him with a complete lack of consternation.

Tain wanted to run. Would already have been running in fact if his leg was not throbbing so much and his head did not feel so light. On the other hand both the Druid and the Baron were standing firm and he was certainly not going to be outdone by either of them, a woman and a noble.

Even so the twisted forms now hemming them in on all sides looked hungry for life, for his life in particular he thought.

Up close although they were faintly transparent, it was possible to see still the minute details of their deaths. None of them it seemed had died peacefully in their sleep.

Old wounds and cuts were still open, gashes down faces and tears across chests.

Worst of all to Tains mind were the children among them, similarly mutilated and similarly lamenting in terrible high-pitched voices of wretched pain. There was not a one among them it seemed that had not suffered some brutality.

The closest phantom to him out of the throng was a woman whose face was burnt off down one side, she closed right in on him and the panic caused by her proximity rose up in Tains chest and he fought madly to contain it.

The Shade of the woman howled wildly and reached up to take him, but just at the moment when Tain thought her cold dead touch would stop his heart from beating she passed straight through him like mist.

The same thing was happening to his companions, the phantoms were impotent without their fear and the strange thing about it was that once you had overcome the moment the character of the Shades themselves altered.

As if freed of the horror and the terror of them you were left only with the pity of them. They now seemed poor, wretched things, blown upon an unseen wind of another world. Helpless, sad and alone.

Each of them looked on forms, which a moment before had them fighting their terror, but which now only filled them with a great melancholy.

The beginning of the deep rumbling broke the poignant effect. Much louder and more severe it was this close to the mountains. It caused the pools to vibrate violently, the water surface to dance. The trembling ground sent searing waves of pain up through Tains wounded leg.

A moment later the rumble was followed by the inflow of water, this far north it was over three foot high. It accelerated white toward them out of the dark and swept by leaving them wet to the waist. The phantoms seemed to be swept away with it too for when it had passed by they, and the darkness, where gone.

Once again they found they were back among the night noises of the marsh which continued on as if never interrupted. As one they all sighed and seemed to sag as if they had fought a great battle for many hours.

“It worked,” the Druid remarked with obvious relief.

“You mean you didn’t know it would?” Tain asked through gritted teeth.

“You never do for sure till you try. But we are all here and more importantly we are all still alive,” she pointed out.

“Yes but what do we do now?” Tain asked.

“I must go to Port Futura, that is clear,” the Baron stated, “There to speak with Duke Grande and Prince Mekhal, they must be informed of Erwin’s treachery. The King must be compelled to act,” the Baron said decisively.

“And will you tell the King of Erwin’s transformation?” Tain questioned.

“We will consider the important matters of state and what we know to be hard facts only, not traveller’s tales,” the Baron responded coldly.

“Then we are coming with you,” the Druid said, indicating herself and Tain.

“You will not be required. This is a matter for the nobility; it is not your concern.”

“I was entrusted with the task of discovering why this water is rising and I have failed to do so, yet. But it is clear enough these events are somehow linked, I have an interest in this, besides I will go where I please,” she replied forthrightly.

“And what would be your reason for coming?” Ironfang said turning to Tain.

“Me? I'm with her,” Tain said with a grin pointing his thumb in the Druids direction.

The Baron made a grumbling sound of dissatisfaction somewhere deep in his chest but said only, “Very well. Then we shall go together.”

My idiot son is here with me, sadly. Ive read half of this a dozen times over as he wont bloody shut the f**k up !! I do love him, but, he does pick his moments ! Im gonna crack him one in a minute,

Family!

Bless him, hes a "metal head" & he keeps yapping on about a Cd he wants by "DarkThrone", Hes a "creature of the night", I think the devil mistook me for Rosemary one time !

Send him out on a buckie run or something.

It took them a day and a half to reach the Gnome village. They stayed a further three nights whilst the Baron sent runners north to the stables in the south of his own lands for extra horses and sent sealed messages back to his Keep giving orders for how things were to be conducted in his absence.

Over that time Tain's wound made remarkable progress in healing and when he came to change his bandages each morning he would shake his head in disbelief at the difference.

The Druids administrations had done their work. In a few more days the wound would be no more than a thin white scar and there had been no signs of infection. It was with genuine relief that even he had to admit it was looking healthy.

Tain and the Druid saw little of the Baron during these days, he was closeted away in his pavilion with Canthiss whilst various horsemen arrived and left.

On the evening of the third night since they had arrived back the Druid was sitting out on the little reed island smoking her pipe and watching the sun beginning to set over the horizon. In the distance she could just make out the voice of the Shaman chanting lowly for the safe conduct of Hehlann in the Underworld of the night.

The Druid's mind was full of disquiet. She was more and more certain that the root of the problem lay in the bones of the earth; an area she was not personally skilled in. Stone speaking was a long lost art and indeed a skill that was assumed now by many to be no more than myth.

And then there was the strange circle of stones. At home in Motol there more than twenty individual stone circles or avenues and many more single standing stones. They had been raised in the ancient days before the stone speaking art was lost it was said. None however were like the strange dark stones beneath the mountain.

‘Astagoth,’ she muttered round the stem of her pipe.

The name had been floating in her subconscious since she first heard it and it nagged at her. She was vaguely aware she had heard it before but she could not place where. In the hope of remembering she had tried meditation but the knowledge refused to surface. It was something from her childhood of that she was sure, a tale or a children’s rhyme, something trivial just on the edge of her consciousness that remained tantalizingly undefined.

She tried to pray but could find no comfort there, only more trouble, she always came back to the imbalance. She did not feel strong enough within herself to confront it again but always she could sense it. As if what was and what should be were out of synch with one another. It was inexplicable and somehow dark. And it was growing stronger.

Tain was sitting with a now nearly empty flask of the Druid's home-brew on top of one of the low hills on the edge of the village, which coincidentally offered him a clear view of the Barons pavilion and the comings and goings therein. He had been there most of the day but as he took another drink he saw a single rider arrive at the village gate. A long red ribbon trailed out behind him from the saddle.

The man dismounted and was met by Canthiss, the two spoke briefly and urgently but the breeze was blowing away from Tain and their words were lost to him. It was clear enough from their gestures and the hurried brisk movements of the man that he brought urgent news. Tain watched as they disappeared into the pavilion and pondering over what it might signal he wandered back into the village in search of his companion.

He found her on the little island and sat down beside her. She passed him the pipe and he accepted it, although he was already fairly drunk from the brew.
He informed the Druid of the new arrival but she just shrugged her shoulders.

The marsh as evening approached was still save the low sonorous chant of the Shaman, which now ended abruptly. In its absence the wide-open tracts of wetland seemed suddenly lonely. This hour seemed to create a mood of emptiness that always made Tain feel uncomfortable. “We should be going south to the Port soon,” he said, it was small talk but conversation seemed to offset the melancholy of the marsh, “But I’m not convinced it will help us,” he went on.

“What do you mean?” the Druid said as if coming out from some deep mood of her own.

“I mean that this is beginning to look like politics. There’s obviously a bad apple among the nobles; Baron Erwin. I think he’s either looking to take the throne himself or to be the power behind it and all this,” he waved his hand taking in the surroundings to indicate all the strangeness they had encountered, “all of this is just a bizarre part of his power games. It’s politics,” he glanced at the Druid's face, “Weird politics I grant you,” he conceded in response to her less then convinced look, “ but still politics none-the-less. And there’s bad blood there, between Erwin and Ironfang. That’s as clear as day. I’m not sure it’s our business, or at least, I’m not sure it’s my business. I left Stenor largely to avoid politics,” he finished, not entirely truthfully.

“This is not politics,” she replied softly, “It may involve politics because it involves people but those Shades are not politics, neither was that ceremony. Nor was the death of that child. Religion is more than words, more than gods. Tell me Tain, whom do you pray to in the dark moments of your life?”
“To no-one. Truly. I steer my own course and I’m therefore responsible only for my own deeds,” Tain affirmed taking a draw on the pipe and passing it back to her. He was aware he was becoming light headed as the home-brew coursed through him and met with the odd herbal concoction that filled the Druids pipe.
“You know I worship Elhonna, through Sha the dawn star. She is my Goddess,” the Druid said and laid her head back against the reeds and stared upwards through their stalks at the rich dark blue sky and quietly said, “but I know She does not exist.”
“That’s dangerous talk in god-fearing lands,” Tain frowned, “But you’re the most devout person I’ve met in a long time. What you say sounds like a crisis of faith and I find that difficult to believe.”
“Of faith? No. Gods are not a matter of faith. Except to the uninitiated. Elhonna is the name my people give to the source of certain powers we have learned to harness, but She is not real as you or I would consider it, She is but the name we give to that small piece of the great whole which we can identify, by naming Her we shape Her,” she struggled to explain. Religion in practice was so much more complicated than in worship and it was not easy for her to find the words to describe what she felt Tain aught to know.

“I’m not sure I understand you, or what the point you’re trying to make is,” Tain stated still with a frown, “If you know She’s not real then why do you worship Her?”

“I am trying to explain something to you that is so abstract as to be beyond comprehension, and yet it is possible to glimpse the effect if not the act. We cannot interpret the unfathomable whole of creation simply because it is so vast and intricate; we have not the wit to comprehend it as one piece, so we distribute the powers and call them Gods. The effect of our interpretation is to turn those natural forces into beings of individuality; they are the moods of the world named. Gods are real and yet of themselves, without us, they have no substance. We define them and yet they would still exist despite us.”

“If that’s true why worship a deity at all? Why bother?”

“Worship is not about the deity; worship and ceremony are a means to an end. My people manipulate natural forces, we call those forces Elhonna and we call the manipulation of Her gifts our religion. It is not fruitless to worship a deity. Religious ceremonies, they are the tool to operate the power. They are the lever for the bellows. Religion performed without this knowledge is just words and acts played out,” she paused, sure she was not making herself clear, “What I am trying to get you to understand is that all the deities together produce a weight, a sort of pressure that is exerted on the world. Think of creation as being the sum total of all the Gods and the pressure they exert on existence is their pulse, the Pulse of the Gods. It shapes events. It is the momentum in creation. The force behind history and fate,” she was fighting to find the right words, half remembered lectures of her masters in Motol were of little use; those who were born with ability also knew the truth inherent in their skills. It required no words to understand but it was nearly impossible to explain the knowledge to another because of this.

Tain was not sure he was following her point, “So what’s its purpose? This Pulse?” he asked trying to comprehend better.

“Perhaps purpose is not the best word, for by it you mean intent,” she went on, “The Pulse of the Gods has no intent, no agenda, it is a natural rhythm that regulates the flow of everything that is. It makes things flow. You cannot oppose it because there is nothing to oppose. You cannot reject it for by existing you are already a part of it.”

“And this Pulse, this pressure is what’s causing all of this to happen now?” Tain inquired, trying to grasp fully what she was trying to tell him.

“Yes, I think it is, and we are as caught in it as everything else is. More so than some perhaps. But I think something is very wrong. This should not be happening,” she paused to take a drink and pass the pipe back to Tain, it had gone out and Tain had to relight it with a flint as she continued, “Imagine that one of the deities that compromises the whole was somehow made ill, now imagine that it infected the whole, increased the Pulse, or made it erratic,” she was thinking it through even as she spoke, the thoughts coalescing in her mind like sparks, “The body deals with illness with fever, fever is the furnace in which disease is purged. The world I think is doing much the same thing to cure itself and we are caught up in the first flushes. But I fear it will burn much hotter yet. A world shaped by the pulse of that fever will be a cruel and savage one, war will come of it, and sometimes the fever cures the malady and sometimes it destroys the whole being.”

“How can we cure a worlds fever? How does one treat a God?” Tain asked incredulously.

“First one must find out which God is the sick God.”

“Astagoth?” Tain suggested automatically, the piece falling neatly into place.

“Astagoth,” she repeated, “it would seem so. But who is Astagoth? What is He god of? What is His domain?”

“Good questions. I’ve never heard the name before but maybe He is some local deity. We should ask around.”

“Neither the Baron nor Canthiss seemed to know the name when they heard it.”

“I’m not sure we should put to much trust in those two”, Tain commentated, “at least not yet. Baron Ironfang knows more than he is saying,” he went on, “As I suspect does Canthiss, he was most troubled with your description of Erwin; as if he recognized what you described. But he’s keeping tight-lipped about it. I think we need to keep a careful and cautious watch on those two. There’s more to them than meets the eye.”

At that moment they heard the voice of Canthiss calling to them from the shore.

“Talking of the Baron and Canthiss,” Tain muttered and stood a little unsteadily, he was learning that combining the Druids drink with the herbal contents of her pipe was not always wise.

He waved at Canthiss and nudged the Druid with his foot. She stood easier than Tain had, acknowledged Canthiss and began wading back to shore. Tain followed concentrating hard on how his legs worked.

“The Baron requests your attendance in the pavilion,” Canthiss informed them curtly, his face was very grim and unmoving, “Immediately,” he pressed catching sight of Tains stagger, “The news is urgent. Follow me.”

He lead them up the slope to the paddock, there were five horses grazing in it, the original three and two new ones of the Northolt stock. The rider Tain had seen arriving had it seemed already departed, as his horse with the long red ribbon was gone. Lamplight poured from the pavilion and the Barons large frame could be seen silhouetted in it. Canthiss held open the hide sash and permitted them entry.

The Baron was standing behind a wooden table on which lay various scrolls, their broken seals scattered over the tabletop. There were casks, probably of wine, stacked at the rear of the pavilion along with a hammock strung between poles. The Barons armour lay against a pile of locked boxes with cleaning oils in bottles next to it; there was also a pile of oily rags. Ironfang himself was standing beneath the lamp, which hung from a central pole; a brass mirror was hanging before him and he was shaving with a knife, he was also frowning as if annoyed by something.

“Much news has reached me in the last few days,” the Baron began briskly, “Most of which you have no buisness to know, but I feel for your own safety it is necessary to reveal some of it, if you are to accompany me to Port Futura,” he put down the knife and towelled his face with a cloth, “Firstly and most importantly, King Mefron is dead. It has been reported through the Court and Prince Kell that he passed away peacefully in his sleep as he took his customary afternoon nap. In this I suspect there is little truth, save for the truth that he is dead. The young Prince has called a month of state mourning, as is the custom, at the end of which Prince Mekhal shall be crowned King. But it is my belief that unprotected, Prince Mekhal will not see out this month.” He paused and unrolled one of the scrolls on the tabletop, it was a map.

“This is Northolt,” he said pointing to the top left of the map where there was a small kingdoms borders marked in red, the Norath River was at its left-hand side and the mountains beside it, “My scouts in Northolt patrol the northern border of Futura far east of my own lands borders,” here he indicated what Tain estimated must be an area some seventy or eighty miles east of Northolt where a forest was marked on the map, a second small area was marked as a border in red just beneath it, “These are the borders of the lands of Baron Hiltok, he has reported an organized build up of Barbarian forces in the woods, here,” he indicated the forest marked on the map, “If the estimates are correct it is an army large enough to be a serious threat to the sovereignty of Futura. I have sent men to strengthen the patrol of the northern border. It is my belief that this is part of an organized attempt to seize the throne, conducted by Baron Erwin possibly in alliance with Prince Kell and in allegiance with the Barbarian tribes.”

“So what are you going to do about it?” Tain asked.

The Baron shot Tain a dark look from under his heavy brows and continued,

“Prince Mekhal is currently residing in the Port. He is the elder son and must be protected at all costs, that is the first priority. Duke Grande commands the second largest standing army in the Kingdom; I propose to persuade him to use it in our defence if the Barbarians should dare cross our northern border. Grande has called a summit in the Port of all the kingdoms Barons and Dukes. We will leave for it at first light, and we must ride at great speed for the way is long from here to the coast and we must arrive no later than three days time.”

“What about the Kings army? Whom will the commanders side with?” Tain interjected.

“This is not yet a matter of choosing sides. If the Prince survives until his coronation there will be no dissent.”

“And if he doesn't?” Tain persisted.

“It is our task to see he does. I asked you here to inform you as to the state of affairs and to give you our plans for departure, not to be questioned by you. I have told you all you require to know. You are dismissed,” the Baron ordered and pointedly turned to the mirror and took up his shaving knife.

Tain was inclined to argue as it was exactly this kind of aristocratic attitude that really made his temper flare and the home-brew was burning like a fire in his head but the Druid put a restraining hand on his shoulder and led him from the pavilion.

“Arrogant, self-important, noble swine,” Tain slurred as she guided him out of the paddock. The drink was rising quickly now to his head and he had half a mind to go charging back and confront the Baron on the matter of equality, but decided just to rant about him instead as it was safer, “He probably wouldn't even still be alive if it wasn't for our help. We could be of use, but does his highness even think of it? No, of course not, not the Baron, he reckons us not noble enough, what’s a noble anyway but a bloody expense?”

“Come on,” the Druid cagouled, noticing for the first time just how drunk Tain actually was, “We ought to get a good nights sleep if we are to leave at dawn. You especially.”

With more than the occasional sway and stagger from Tain they made their way back to the guest hut and slumped down onto their reed mat beds. Tain fell asleep almost instantly with one arm thrown awkwardly across his own back. The Druid sat awake in the dark listening to the night noises and wondering what shape the world was being drawn into and privately hoping that the little piece of it she called Elhonna was so ordering some things that she would have a chance of succeeding.

A plan was dimly forming in her mind. A plan with aims but completely lacking in details and means. Somehow she had to find out who Astagoth was and what malady afflicted Him. If she could do that then there was always the hope of a cure and a restoring of the balance that instinctively she knew should prevail.

She almost laughed out loud as she thought about it. It was an absurd mission she had to admit. As Tain had so rightly asked, “How do you treat a God?”

She suspected with a grim grin in the dark that the answer was, “With great care.”

this is how I see Tain.

And the druid lady.

Yeah that seems about right- only Id make the Druid a bit more grungier- most of the time anyway- when she is out and about in the wilds she doesnt give two figgs for her appearance (or even 1 Mrs Figg!)

thats exactly what I thought, I see her with olive skin & dark,raggy clothes. Couldnt find a pic of what was in my imagination ! bloody laptop is playing me up tonight ! B*****d F*****g thing !

When dawn came grey and damp they were awoken once more by Canthiss. Shortly afterwards they all set off trotting along through a thin blanket of drizzle.

The Baron and Canthiss were again leading with Tain and the Druid in the rear, though this time they had been given a steed each. They travelled light, each carrying the minimal of gear as the Baron had assured them that all they would need could be found at his Townhouse in the Port, and anything else could easily be purchased in the marketplaces or back streets.

The Baron had even dispensed with his large shield though he still wore the armour and Canthiss now bore the purple and yellow pendant of Northolt on the end of the pike that he held.

For most of the first day they followed the road straight south along the edge of the marsh keeping up a brisk trot the whole way. By the afternoon the road had curved away in a wide loop where it met the eastward road to the capital.

They followed the south road and over the course of the first day they passed nothing more than the occasional cart drawn by oxen, bearing produce for the Port; wood, livestock and hay. Some they overtook as they went south and others passed them as they came north. Nevertheless it occurred to Tain that if this was the main highway between Port and capital it was too quiet for a healthy kingdom.

They camped the first night by the roadside. The land here was flat all around. To their right, in the west it was open grassland that faded eventually into the brown of the southern edge of the marsh. To their left the grasslands swept away towards Mendelhal, it was some thirty or so miles north-east of them and was still concealed from view by the green slopes of its surrounding hills. Between their campsite and the capital the Norath River swept by southwards winding through the plain in large loops. Ahead and south the river curved back towards the road and seemed to run straight to the coast with the highway to the right, following on beside it. In the distant south could just be discerned a dark rocky outcrop. Beside it was an indistinct grey smudge from which the smoke of civilization rose.

The second day was a miserable one and it rained steadily and the road rejoined the course of the river, which was once again gathering speed, fed as it was by the many small streams of the plain. It was here some seventy foot across. It was swift and noisy and its roar accompanied them south for the remainder of their journey.

In the afternoon of the third day the Port came into view. The rocky outcrop was now directly before them, rising up on the right and at its foot, nestling in a natural bay, the Port itself. It was entirely encircled by a wall of grey stone. There were square stone towers built at intervals along its length and at each corner. The wall was not overly high and rising taller behind it could be seen the tops of a multitude of buildings over which hung the reek of many fires.

The south road ran hemmed between eastern wall and river to the Main Gate. There was a wide white bridge that spanned the Norath opposite the Main Gate and on the far bank was the Keep of Duke Grande, his ship banner flying from every elaborate turret.

It was clear to the eye of Tain that Grande’s residence would be hopeless to defend. It was like many he had seen at home - though the architecture here was different. It was a show home, clearly built and maintained in times of sustained peace. The Grande’s had not built this place to defend themselves but to show off their wealth. It had impractical turrets and buttresses, the outer wall was elaborately carved and motified with anchors, ships and creatures of the sea and would, Tain considered, last only minutes beneath a battering ram.

The Ports outer wall by contrast was clearly designed very much with defence in mind and it was obvious from the stonework that it was by far the older of the two structures; being constructed of massive rectangular cut blocks. Presumably it was from a more violent time in Futuras history when strong walls had been needed. Tain was more than a little surprised to note that the ramparts and turrets seemed well patrolled and manned; the walls too were all in good repair with only minor construction going on some way down its length where scaffolding had been erected at the base of one of the towers. Based on the rural and quiet nature of what he had seen so far of Futura he had expected the place to be undermanned and poorly defended, Duke Grande was obviously nobody’s fool.

They were some mile out yet from the north wall but they could clearly observe the bustle of activity that surrounded the Port; carts and people were coming and going through the gate in a constant stream, shouts and voices drifted to them over the salt tinged sea breeze. The road across the bridge, which continued on passed Grande’s residence and disappeared into the east, was far busier than the north road. People and goods were coming and going the entire time they approached.

Tain drew his horse up close to Canthiss and indicating the busy traffic asked, “Where does that road lead?”

“To the lands of Baron Verence. And eventually, some hundred miles distant, it will lead you out across our eastern border and into Harquill our neighbour. But the lands of Baron Verence that it passes through are the breadbasket of Futura. There dwells the main bulk off the kingdoms peasantry. There are the farmers and the tenders of the harvests. There are the grain stores and granaries of Futura. The hall of Baron Verence is the liveliest court in the kingdom for he has a great love of music and Bards travel from countries all around to play there and to meet others skilled in the musical arts. It is a place of feasts and festivals and Baron Verence is loved by his people for it but he does not take much of an interest in the wider world.”

“Will he be at Duke Grande’s summit?” Tain enquired, thinking he quite liked the sound of this Verence and would like to meet him.

“I will be surprised if he attends in person even though his lands lie closest.”

The Baron glanced back from his horse at Canthiss and that ended their conversation as Canthiss fell silent and shortly afterwards spurred his horse forward to be alongside the Barons.

As they drew nearer to the north wall they caught beyond the Port the glimmer of the sun on water. The wide sea was before them. The white specs of gulls hovered on the currents above the blue expanse. Several fishing ships were bobbing on the tide their sails filled full with a strong breeze. The masts of several more ships could be seen swaying above the buildings of the Port; ships in harbour.

As they neared the northern wall with its corner tower frowning down upon them the Baron reigned up his horse. A well paved road led away from the main road here following the line of the north wall. Turning his steed to face Tain and the Druid, the Baron said, “Here we must temporarily part company. Duke Grande has called the summit for this evening and we shall lodge till then at my Townhouse. We will reconvene there for we cannot enter the Port together.”

“Why not?” Tain demanded to know, suspecting the answer would be some infuriating piece of noble etiquette.

“Because the nobility enter through the north gate where we have private stables and carriages, as commoners you must enter by the main gate to the south.”

“Wouldn’t it be simpler just to enter with you?” Tain reasoned, “Neither of us knows this place.”

“That would not be appropriate and would set the wrong example,” Ironfang replied firmly with a set look in his eye.

That considered Tain was an even more annoying answer than the previous one, he was certain the Baron was doing this deliberately and he felt his temper beginning to fray, “Just tell me where to meet you, because the more you keep talking, the more infuriating you become.”

“Simply make towards the cliff?” Ironfang said stiffly, pointing to the dark stone that towered over the Port and which they could see was crowned by a wall and ramparts, “The Townhouses of the nobility are beneath it. When you enter the Port you will find yourself on Long Street which runs from the east to the west, simply follow it passed Harrilson Road, Market Street and Guild Street and continue on it to its end, you will find yourself on Gold Street upon which my residence is located. It is the third on your left from the corner of Long and Gold. Understand?”

“I’m sure we’ll find it,” Tain said dismissively, planning to spend as much time out of the Barons company as he could manage. Taking up his reigns he urged his horse forwards, the Druid followed.

The main gate had a guard house built above it and one erected just within its high, deep archway. Here they were given only a cursory glance by the guards as they entered between a cart bearing fresh vegetables- mainly carrots and potatoes- and an old man leading a docile, fat cow. They passed beneath the shadow of the archway emerging in a bustling courtyard; there was another wall opposite them across the road with a second smaller archway in it. Most of the courtyard in-between was taken up with expansive stables. Many of the stalls were already full with horses, donkeys and even oxen.

Various young lads were hurrying to and fro with buckets, brooms and bundles of hay; the whole enterprise was watched over by four guards, not that much older looking than the stable boys themselves. A young boy of about fourteen with sandy coloured hair came running out towards them as they entered and took the bridle of Tains horse.

“Stables f’r you sir, madam?” he asked.

“No thank you,” Tain said down to him, “We’ll be riding them in.”

“Can't. Not allowed,” the boy said with a frown, “You ‘ave to leave 'em 'ere. There’s carriages and coaches for 'ire inside,” he added.

Tain dismounted and the Druid did the same. The boy seemed to note as they did so the pouches on the Druids belt and the quality of the cloth of their clothes, which was considerably better than the rough, itchy ill-fitting garments the boy wore.

“Do you want me t’ stable 'em f’r you then?” he asked eagerly.

“How much for two nights?” the Druid asked him.

“For both 'orses madam, f’r two nights, including the Dukes stan’ard stabling tax? Only six copper pieces t’ a lady,” he calculated with a friendly smile which he felt he needed because he was trying to charge them twice the official rate he was supposed to, “An' that includes me mucking 'em out,” he added.

“Here is five,” the Druid said firmly, reluctantly counting out five small coins into the boys’ hand. Her current finances were not good.

Tain shook his head and took out another coin, “And there’s your sixth,” he said flicking the coin at the stable lad.

“Thank you sir,” the boy enthused, he took three small square blocks of clay from his pocket and using a flat headed stylus made a series of impressions on them before giving one to Tain and attaching the other two onto the horses bridles, “You ‘and this in when you come back, t’ claim your 'orses,” he explained taking up the reigns of the two horses and then seeming to look at them properly for the first time he exclaimed, “These are Northolt 'orses!”

“Yes,” confirmed the Druid, “They belong to the Baron Ironfang with whom we were travelling. See they are well looked after. I will know if you have mistreated them,” she added with an air of menace.

At the Barons name the boys face had gone almost pure white, “I'll look after 'em alright, I promise you that,” he said leading the horses away with an almost reverential air.

“Wait a moment,” Tain said, “What is it about the Baron Ironfang? Why’s everyone so afraid of him?”

“Well, ‘e's odd, isn't ‘e?” the boy said with a shrug.

“Odd how?” Tain pressed.

“Just odd, odd. He has those huge hounds they say, like great wolves that hunt people down that cross his border unwanted. An they say 'e's huge, over eight foot tall, and that 'e has the evil eye that can read your thoughts right out o' your mind. I’ve never seen 'im m’self, but that's what I've heard. It's what everyone says."

“Here,” Tain said flicking another coin at him, “Catch. Thanks. Take care of them.”

“I will,” the boy nodded and led the horses away leaving Tain and the Druid free to pass through the smaller archway and into Port Futura proper.

On the other side they found themselves on a busy thoroughfare. There were carriages parked here in a row, their horses with their heads in nosebags waiting to be hired but Tain decided they would go on foot to get a better feel for the place. The Druid would rather have camped outside the Port altogether, already she longed for air that hundreds of other people were not breathing and for the feel of the wind moving in wide open spaces, but she had to be here or she might never find the answers she sought. So she walked beside Tain resigned.

The road before them was as the Baron had said, 'Long Street'. It was clearly signposted on the brickwork of the corner building and it ran straight on ahead as far as they could see. The houses that bordered Long Street were all large, constructed of stone with thatched roofs, many were two storeys and each had a small garden in some of which there were private wells.

After several hundred yards they passed a road crossing north south, this was Harrilson Road, looking south down it they could see it opened out into a large square thronged with stalls and people. The cries of the sellers enticing customers in for their wares floated down the street to them drowned out only by the occasional clatter of hooves on cobblestones as a carriage sped by.

They decided to completely ignore the Barons directions but instead headed into the market square. At its centre was a statue of a man leading a laden donkey. The stalls around the statue were set out around the perimeter of the square but there was a chaotic, haphazard area between statue and stalls in which entertainers, musicians and food sellers (with their goods on trays around their necks) shouted and harangued the public for their trade.

Tain was looking for arrows, he always felt uncomfortable without the reassuring weight of a full quiver strapped across his back. Unfortunately the few stalls he found which sold them had poor quality merchandise with ham-fisted fletching and he found none he was happy to purchase.

The Druid was keeping an eye on the herb and medicine stalls, of which there were many but none of them stocked anything she did not recognize and most were selling cures that were at best inappropriate and at worst potentially lethal. She noted ruefully that they seemed to be selling well none the less. The stalls were all thronged with customers and their ailments.

After squeezing between the crowds and been deafened by the traders cries for an hour, finding nothing they either required nor needed, they decided to find somewhere quiet to have a quick drink before the evenings meeting.

They both agreed that they would rather not spend the next couple of hours in the company of Ironfang.

There were several similar looking inns, white walls with black trim, lining the market square. Tain and the Druid approached the nearest which was called 'The Dukes Rest', white walled and clean, with seats and benches set at tables in a courtyard at the front. Several well dressed patrons were already enjoying their drinks whilst a quartet of penny-whistlers played intrusively in the corner.

“This place is for tourists and toffs,” Tain grumbled, looking at the inn and its patrons, “Let’s find out where the real people go for a drink. I want to get a feel for the soul of this place.”

He waved at a passing empty carriage and its driver brought it round to a halt by the side of the road. The driver was a young man in a long black frock-coat- which seemed to be the dress of the hired carriage men- he nodded to them in a dignified way as they approached. Tain swung himself up into the carriage and asked the driver in a friendly tone, “May I ask whereabouts in the Port you live?”

The driver seemed a bit taken back by this but he muttered in response, “Gibbon Street, off Broad Street. Why?”

“Bear with me,” Tain smiled amicably, “When you have finished a hard days driving where do you like to go for a drink and to unwind?”

“That i'd be the Queen, sir,” the Driver replied barely audibly above the constant cries of the marketers.

“The Queen?”

“The Ocean Queen Inn it should be called, sir, by rights, but we all calls it the Queen.”

“Then takes us to the Queen,” Tain said with a satisfied smile as the Druid clambered in alongside him.

“Sorry sir, can't do’t,” the driver said apologetically and seeing Tains face added, “But I can take you as far as the gate at Broad Street. No carriages or 'orses are allowed in the South Quarter save for wagons on the dock road,” the Driver explained.

“Fine,” Tain said slightly deflated that he could not simply just arrive at the inn with no further fuss, “Then take us to the gate.”

The carriage took them south down Market Road, which despite the name ran parallel to the actual market and not through it. Instead it was lined with large buildings set back in their own expansive grounds. No two were of the same shape or design, there were tall narrow ones like towers and circular ones so that pointed roofs fought for space alongside domes and spires. Many displayed symbols somewhere in or on their structure; sheaths of golden corn, stars, swords, axes, fruit and abstract patterns of colours and shapes.

“These must be the Port Temples,” the Druid said pointing in example to the golden corn which was perched atop a round domed structure, “That is for Olfulor, a Goddess of the fields. That one there, the raised fist, that is Gragler the lightning God. By the looks of it just about every God is here somewhere.”

A bell began softly ringing from the building they were passing by, which had a triangular entrance set in a tower like structure. Purple robed figures emerged from it chanting a hymn.

Tain laughed, “No wonder they call this Market Street, you can shop for your God here.”

The carriage rattled on over the cobblestones to where Market Street ended at a high wall that ran from the dark cliff in the west to the outer wall of the Port in the east. The road passed through a narrow, high archway not wide enough to permit a carriage and as further deterrent stone bollards had been set within it. The wall was very thick so that the road passed through a short tunnel before emerging on the other side. Through it could be glimpsed Broad Street.

They disembarked the carriage and Tain paid for their journey. It rattled off leaving them before the gate. The arch was not manned but two large rusty portcullis hung above it, one either side. Its interior smelt of urine, graffiti covered its walls.

When they emerged on the other side they found themselves on a busy wide cobbled road that ran east west along the Port. The houses that lined it were two storeys and packed tightly together. There were no wells in gardens here, indeed there were no gardens. There were however poles with rope strung between them which bowed under the weight of wet washing, similar washing lines were strung everywhere between buildings, crisscrossing the street.

Near where they entered children were playing in the road with a small hard leather ball, throwing it to one another and bouncing it from the walls. A small pack of dogs chased and barked at them. A cat was prowling the low crumbling stone walls that marked the boundaries between groupings of houses. The air was thick with odours, many unpleasant and unidentifiable but mainly it was of fires, cooking and lots of people packed tightly together.

The carriage driver had given them instructions to finding the Ocean Queen Inn, following them took them to Marquis Way which ran south along the eastern perimeter of the Port.

“Would you look at these dwellings,” Tain commented distastefully as they passed along a row of dark narrow houses out of which dust filled faces peered in either curiosity or open hostility, “I knew it, as soon as I saw all those expensive houses and big gardens around the market that it couldn't all be like that. Somewhere there’s always the little people doing all the bloody work and living in dingy rat holes like these.”

“Is it any different in Stenor?” the Druid asked.

“No,” Tain said sadly, “but I keep hoping that if I travel far enough I’ll find somewhere where it is. Just think, to have one Baron Ironfang you have to force a hundred people to live like this. I ask you, does that seem like a fair deal?”

Ahead of them now the docks began in earnest. The houses of the poor quarter were here backed up against the high warehouses and workshops that clustered before the quays. The smell of the sea was much more noticeable here; seaweed, salt, fish and underpinning it all the unpleasant reek of pitch being boiled.

The sounds of hammering, sawing and yelling seemed to be a constant of the dock area. Shouts and shrill whistles came to their ears as a tall ship, sails billowing full in the wind, passed into their view in a gap between two warehouses. Figures clambered about the rigging; skilfully taking them in with a forest of ropes that hung down from her mast to her sides. It crested a wave and disappeared from their view behind a large high shed.

The Ocean Queen Inn when they found it was a two storey building on the corner of Marquis Way and Small Street- which presumably got its name for the very good reason that it was very small, being so narrow it was only possible to go two abreast along it. The Queen itself was a white and black building with its second level overhanging the first. There was a narrow alley behind it with a closed wooden gate blocking access. Another similar looking building backed onto it with a red light hanging outside, which despite it not yet being evening was nevertheless lit.

The Druid tried to peer in the windows of the Queen but the glass was thick, dirty and warped so that it was impossible to make out anything definitive from within.

Tain wandered from the front around to examine the alley at the back and went a little further down the street to the second building with the red light. The Druid watched him curiously at first and then impatiently from in front of the Queen.

“Where are you going?” she called eventually, “I thought you wanted to go in here?”

Tain came wandering back, grinning, a group of carpenters bearing planks of wood between them passed him in the road.

“Guess what the place next door is called?” Tain asked when he got to the Druid, “Go on, guess?”

“I have no idea,” she replied with a sigh.

“’The Mariners Relief,’” Tain said still grinning.

“Is it an inn?” she asked blankly.

Tain laughed, “It’s a whore house you idiot. Fully licensed by the Port Authorities if you believe the little brass plaque beside the door, it’s very discreet. That alley connects the two, look, nice business arrangement really. You have to admire it.”

“No I do not,” the Druid said po-faced, “Should we still go in?” she peered in the doorway of the Queen as if it might be a den of dragons.

“Do you know,” Tain said, still grinning, “It hadn't even occurred to me that it might be a reason not to.”

“Prostitution is not permitted among my people,” she said firmly.

“Mine neither, never stops it happening though. I remember in my youth one lady who frequented the courts of Stenor, she seemed to excel at it,” Tain said slightly wistfully, “Eventually she married an eighty-two year old nobleman with no heirs and spent the last thirty years of her life living to the full off of his fortune.”

“There is a difference between those who choose to perform an act and those who are compelled to it by circumstance,” she argued.

“Either way let’s just go in and take a look,” Tain cajouled, “Just one drink and no women, I promise. If there any loose woman in there I’ll handle them personally,” he said with a smirk amused by the Druid's discomfort and entered the inn.

The interior was quite sparse; it was simply a wide-open room with a low ceiling upheld by dark pillars of black wood and thick heavy beams of ancient oak. There was a wooden bar along one of the long walls with barrels and bottles stacked behind it on shelves. Seats were laid out at tables around the open space but the tables at the rear had screens that could be pulled out from the wall to give the customer privacy. There was one such screen drawn across that Tain noticed as he entered, it was at the far end of the room. A staircase led upstairs from behind it and there was an open doorway across from it, beside the bar, that led through to a corridor painted red.

The Queen was not busy, there were two men standing at the bar who seemed to be celebrating, one short with a weasel face and the other taller but with a gaunt thin face and a body like a gnarled twig. Many empty flagons sat before them on the bar top. There was also a table under the window at which three old men sat sipping their ale and smoking, they were deep in conversation.

Tain reached the bar and turned is attention to the drinks on offer. The Druid was peering around herself as if she expected to be robbed at any moment or possibly just accosted by loose women. Either way she did not look comfortable. There were in fact no women in the bar at all much to Tains disappointment, unless they were hidden behind the screen of course.

“Two ales if you please,” Tain said to the man behind the bar whose face was almost entirely hidden behind a thick black beard and moustache. The man drew off two mugs of ale from the barrel.

“Two pence sir,” he said setting them down.

Tain paid him and offered a third copper piece saying, “And one for yourself.”

“Thanking you sir, if you need anything arranged, privacy, company, just ask,” the barman said.

“I will,” Tain replied with a smile at the look on the Druids face and took his mug over to a corner table near the old men. There was a bench there against the wall beneath one of the grimy windows. The Druid trailed after him looking suspiciously into her mug with the air of someone determined to hate every minute of her time here.

They took their seats and tasted their drinks, which were not as bad as they looked; they were certainly thick, rich and possibly full of life.

“See,” Tain said leaning back against the window frame, “I told you this place would be fine.”

“I think one of those men at the bar might be a pickpocket,” the Druid grumbled quietly, taking out her pipe and beginning to fill it.

“Quite possibly,” Tain agreed, “Unfortunately thieving is not confined solely to the upper classes, they just get away with it on a much bigger scale.”

“Speaking of upper classes we cannot stay long, one drink remember, I am willing to bet there is no hangover cure in this stuff and we do not want to be late for the Baron,” she reminded.

“No, we wouldn't want that,” Tain agreed straight-faced. He took another drink of his ale and glanced around. Besides the two at the bar and the table of old men they were otherwise alone, with the exception of course of whoever was behind the screen. He tried to peer round it but was predictably unsuccessful as this was obviously precisely what they had been designed to stop people from doing.

However there was a row of bottles on a shelf behind the bar that if he altered his position a little- he shuffled right slightly along the bench towards the Druid - yes, he could see round the screen in the reflection in the glass of the bottles. Unfortunately the curvature of them made it impossible to make anything out, all that caught his eye was something white. It could have been anything.

At that moment the barman was called over by the invisible patron behind the partition. Opening up a flap in the bars top he came out from behind it and disappeared behind the screen. A moment later he reappeared, this time with a shorter lad following behind and a taller man in a white robe.

They were in sight only a brief moment as they came out from behind the partition and immediately exited through the doorway leading into the red corridor. It was not long enough for Tain to get a good look at them but for the briefest fraction of time Tain thought the robed man's face was familiar.

“It can’t be,” he muttered to himself. He lifted his glass and said, “Drink up. We’re leaving. Now.”

Once outside Tain hurried to the edge of the building next to the alley and halted, the street was empty. He pressed up against the wall, the Druid joined him.

“What are we doing?” she whispered to Tain.

“Whoever that was in there did not want to be seen so I want to see him,” Tain responded simply then hushed her with a gesture. Someone was coming out of the back of the inn and going into the rear of the whorehouse. Tain waited until he was certain they had gone by, he thought he had heard two sets of footsteps, and then he walked calmly and nonchantly passed the alleyway and onto the corner of the ‘Mariners Relief.’

The Druid followed him. “We don't have time for this,” she pointed out when she caught up. The sky was beginning to darken a little; evening was not far away.

“Look!” Tain instructed, “Look at the one in the robe.”

Two men had emerged from the front of the whorehouse and were walking quickly away from them down the road. One was short and stocky built; he was young, only a teenager, with a mop of ginger hair. The other man was much older, taller with long dark hair and he had a powerful stride; he was robed in white. As the two figures reached the junction at the end of the road they turned left and Tain and the Druid beheld the older man’s face clearly in profile. They had both seen it before.

“It's him. The man who was with Erwin,” Tain exclaimed, scrutinizing the face of the man and realizing with shock where else he had seen it before, “I don’t believe it! He was the old man from the inn at Domina. The one I told you about. He had grey hair then but it’s definitely him. He’s the one who told me about the lost city. I wouldn’t be here at all if it wasn’t for him. We have to follow him!” he insisted and without waiting for the Druid to offer an arguement he hurried off after his quarry.

The Druid followed close behind wondering at the fortune that had led to this crossing of paths and suspecting it. She wondered if it were Elhonna directing them or just a part of the fever of the world.

She guessed she would soon know.

When they reached the junction and rounded the corner they found themselves on a busy thoroughfare leading up from one of the main docks.

Warehouses lined the dock front surrounded by a jumble of shed roofs. A tall ship was preparing to sail from the dock at the south end of the street. Several gangplanks ran up from the dock to the shipside and teams of men were hauling goods up them. Ropes and gantries swung provisions over onto the deck where the men aboard guided it down with shouts into the hold.

The robed man and his young companion were nearing the south end of the road, near the last of the warehouses; fortunately the white of the robe was obvious among the carpenters, sailors, and shipwrights who they passed by.
Tain noticed that people made way for the man and many gave him a low bow of the head, as if the robes denoted either reverence or that the man were well known to them.

Their quarry had passed out beyond the end of the street now and was on the wide dockside passing through the bustle that surrounded the ship. Tain and the Druid halted at the corner of the last warehouse, sitting on its wide wooden steps and watching.

Before them, among the comings and goings of the ships preparations, there was a group of armed men clustered protectively round a single figure. The figure was tall, fair-haired and quite handsome, attired in a fine silken robe and wearing boots of leather. He had a long sword at his side in an impressive black scabbard. He was chatting to another man, this second man was shorter, fatter and bald and clearly believed himself to be inferior to the first man, as he looked downwards as he spoke and bowed his head so often it was rarely ever looking upwards.

The livery of the armed men Tain noted was different from those of the Port soldiers they had seen so far; this armour was sable in colour. They were clearly there to guard the tall man, whoever he was.

The two men they had pursued this far now parted company, the younger of them running off down the docks into the maze of alleyways behind the warehouses.

“Should I follow him?” the Druid asked.

“No,” Tain replied, nodding at the white robed man, “He’s the quarry. He has the answers I want to hear.”


The robed man now approached the ring of armed men with his arms open in a gesture of greeting. The tall man seemed to recognize him and welcomed him warmly and the guards parted to let him through. The two men embraced.

Tain had been taking in the surroundings while this was going on and he had noticed a subtle change in the rhythm of activity. There was an upping in the tempo; ropes were being hurriedly untied from the ship. The hoist was being pulled away, its task now complete, and men who had been on board but who were not actually sailing, were making there way quickly down the gangplanks onto the dockside. Tain could not help but noticing that they did so in such a way as to be on both sides of the armed men and very quickly they had encircled them in a casual, non-threatening sort of way.

It was difficult to say what happened next. The robed figure raised his arms and threw something to the ground. There was a blinding flash of light. By the time Tains eyes had readjusted enough to see what was going on the man in white was nowhere to be seen and men from the ship had drawn weapons and were attacking the soldiers, who, nearer the epicentre had been largely stunned by the light. One of them, their captain possibly, cried out as he was cut down stumbling blind, “Look to the Prince!”

“The Prince!” the Druid started, “Is that not who we are supposed to be here protecting?”

“Damn,” Tain cursed, he reached for his bow and went to draw an arrow but then remembered he had none. “Damn!” he said again but with more feeling.

“We have to help him,” the Druid persisted.

Tain looked out as the last soldiers fought on around the Prince who had himself drawn his sword. Bowmen were appearing along the deck of the ship but they focused only on the defending soldiers not the young royal. The attackers outnumbered the defenders more than ten to one. It was only a matter of time.

“We can’t just go charging out there, it’s suicide,” Tain pointed out, racking his brain for an alternative course of action.

“The Baron would if he were here,” the Druid commented.

“Yes, he would, it’s how he’s going die one day,” Tain agreed looking around for inspiration, “The best thing we can do is raise the alarm, make some noise,” he looked desperately around and spotted a fire bell, hanging from the front of a nearby warehouse. Taking a deep breath he broke cover and darted towards the bell but someone on the ship spotted him and the cry went up. A hail of arrows came his way and cracked off the ground around him. He scampered back into cover beside the Druid panting, “Well that didn’t work!”

“I really did not want to have to do this,” the Druid replied and kneeling down she placed both her hands, palms down onto the wooden planks of the harbour and closed her eyes.

Tain left the Druid to her mysterious activity and peered cautiously out, the Prince was still fighting bravely on, a pile of bodies surrounded him but he was clearly flagging now. There were few of his men left alive. Tain became aware of a creaking sound beneath his feet and looking down he saw, and felt, the wood beneath him straining and warping in odd ripples. The Druids face was grim and focused, her teeth gritted and her breathing was deep and harsh.

The rippling effect continued on outwards along the harbour then suddenly shoots sprang from the planking, coiling upwards and forming a thicket that shielded the Prince from those on the ship. Tain took his chance and charged, sword drawn out towards them.

He found he quickly had no shortage of opponents as two men broke away from the Prince to engage him. More men were hacking their way through the Druids thicket as quickly as it could sprout anew.

Tain dispatched his nearest foe and tried to get closer to the Prince but he was engaged again and it took several parries before a final thrust dispatched the second man, by which time the Prince was seized. Tain surged towards him cutting his way passed two more men but it was to no avail. The Prince was hauled up the gangplank which was quickly withdrawn.

The ships sails unfurled and filled in the wind. It pulled away releasing a final hail of arrows and surged out onto the sea. Tain ran at full sprint, through the gap cut in the thicket and along the harbour-side as the ship hauled away on the tide. He reached the end of the harbour and without thinking leapt.

He managed to grab onto a rope that hung over the side at the rear of the withdrawing vessel and slapped hard against the side, the air knocked from him. Managing to grasp on he hauled himself up towards the decking thinking to himself as he went, “What am I doing?”

The Druid hurried out onto the harbour. She could see Tain clambering up the ship as it turned south towards the open sea but there was nothing she could do to reach him. It was far too public to change, guards and soldiers were beginning to pour along the harbour towards her, explaining the thicket growing out of the harbour was going to be trouble enough.

Baron Ironfang paced the room. Canthiss stood close by watching him. Canthiss never sat in the Barons presence except when they were alone, which technically they were now but the Townhouse bristled with staff; footmen, coachmen, cooks, cleaners, serving girls and any one of them could have some cause to enter the room. Therefore Canthiss stood.

Outside the window late afternoon was fading and carriages bearing the wealthy home passed by on the road. The Baron drew back the drape and stared out impatiently for the twentieth time.

“Where are they?” he growled, “I will not ask Grande to delay on their behalf. They are mistaken if they believe I shall.”

“They are free agents my lord,” Canthiss said, “but I believe, despite their excesses, that they will honour their word. They will come.”

The Baron continued to pace, he was fuming, those two had obviously no idea how hard it had been to get a special dispensation for them to attend at all. Commoners were excluded from meetings of the ruling class in case they heard things which might upset them. Women especially were forbidden. Yet he had persuaded Grande that they were witnesses to the events and must be heard as such. Now they did not even bother to show up. “We will await them no longer,” he announced, “They must follow on and make their own apologizes. Inform the driver to prepare the carriage.”

Canthiss nodded and left the room to do his masters bidding.

A few minutes later the Baron and Canthiss were stepping into the Ironfang family carriage, which was over a hundred years old and make from black iron.
Oddly it had no windows but solid oak doors, also painted black. Its interior though was comfortable and very roomy and it was taller than most carriages to accommodate the traditional, large Ironfang stature. With a thump on the underside of the roof from the Baron it moved out onto the road.

Tain had almost climbed the rope to the deck. The rear of the ship was just above him the foam of the sea pounded below him. Just a hands grasp away was the base of a wooden balcony and then he would be on the deck.

Suddenly a face appeared at it peering down at him. It was the face of the man in the inn in Domina, the face of the man beneath the mountain.

The face smiled at him and said, “Too soon. You are not due yet,” and then drawing a knife and still smiling the man cut the rope Tain was clinging to and sent him plunging down into the sea.

By the time he had swam back to the harbour it was filled with guards and soldiers, bells were ringing shrilly.

The response of the most senior officer present was to cordon off the area and arrest everyone in the immediate vicinity.

Grande was holding the meeting in his Keep which meant the Barons coach had to traverse the entire length of the Port to reach the bridge across the Norath.

They had not been travelling long and the light was just beginning to bleed away from the sky when a bell began ringing distantly. Neither the Baron nor Canthiss paid it much heed at first; there were a variety of bells in the Port, from hour bells to religious ones. However it quickly became apparent as more bells joined the first, all ringing wildly, that this was an emergency of some kind. The Baron hammered the underside of the carriage roof and the driver brought them to a halt. Ironfang swung open the carriage door.

Without the horses hooves on the cobbles and the creaking and rattling of the carriage wheels the bells were much louder and distinct. They were clearly centred on the dockside. The Baron strained above the rooftops and between the houses to see the flicker of flame or the smudge of smoke; fire was a big risk among the hemp sails and pitch of the warehouses but he could see neither. He called up to the driver, “To the docks, with all speed.”

The driver flicked the reigns over the horse and they lurched off.

When they arrived at the outskirts of the dock, having taken the goods road on the east edge of the Port that allowed for wagons and carriages to enter and exit the dockside, they found that the Port Guard had cordoned off the area. A line of wagons and carts were blocking the road ahead but the Baron forced his carriage through to the front, making others move aside out of his way.

A barricade constructed of two upturned carts, several barrels and some planks of wood had been erected across the road. Two guards detached themselves from the group of guards lurking behind it. The older and more senior of the two approached the carriage door and knocked hard against it.

“Could you open the door please, sir?” the guard said in a tone that implied an order.

The door swung open and the Baron emerged, making sure he fixed the guards eye the whole time.

“Do you not recognize my carriage?” he said looking down at the guards upturned face.

The guard paled taking in the sheer scale of the Baron whilst his younger partner stepped back behind him as if for protection.

The guard stared at the carriage. The Baron of Northolt rarely visited the Port, but how could he be so foolish as to not have noticed the carriage? He gulped and said, “Baron Ironfang, I did not realize.”

“What has happened here?” the Baron asked bluntly.

“I am not sure your Lordship,” the guard blurted out, “We were instructed to let no one in and no one out, we were not informed why.”

“Is it a fire?”

“No, your Lordship, well at least there are no bucket lines set up and I haven’t seen no smoke.”

“Then I will proceed,” the Baron concluded and got back into the carriage slamming the door shut behind himself in the guards stammering face.

Resigned to having to at least try and perform his duty and with a pleading look at his younger companion the guard knocked again on the carriage door, it reopened.

“What is it now man?” the Baron snapped.

“I am sorry your Lordship but my orders were to let no-one in or out,” the guard gulped, his face flushed.

“Fool. Obviously your superior did not mean me,” the Baron responded, “You could easily find yourself guarding a border outpost you know,” the Baron continued leaning closer to the man in a threatening manner, “Or worse. Now, let me through and then resume your duties. That is my order.”

The guard very briefly considered pointing out that the Baron could in fact not give direct orders to one of the Dukes men but on reflection he decided instead it was simpler to just move the barrier and get the Baron Ironfang as far from himself as he possibly could, before the dreadful man asked for his name. He ordered his men to disassemble the barricade with haste.

When the carriage finally drew to a stop the quay was buzzing with soldiers and stretchers bearing the wounded. Cloaks had been thrown over the bodies of the dead who lay still where they had fallen. Puzzlingly to Ironfang there seemed to be a large hedge growing out of part of the harbour.

An officer met the carriage. He had a silver feather pinned to his cap that denoted a sergeant.

Ironfang greeted him. Behind the man there was a large crowd of soldiers and civilians who were all giving varying versions of what they had seen, all at once and in loud voices.

“Sergeant,” Ironfang said above the squabble, “What in the name of Futura has happened here?”

“Baron, am I glad you are here,” the officer replied, bowing.

There was a sudden surge in the crowd of soldiers as someone tried to break through them, it was Tain, soaking wet, his head briefly emerged among the soldiers calling, “Canthiss!”

The soldiers finally got a hold of him and were about to pacify him with a few sturdy blows and kicks when Ironfang interjected.

“Wait,” the Baron ordered, “let him through.”

Reluctantly the soldiers took their hands from Tain who stared at them triumphantly, the Druid emerged behind him saying hastily to the soldiers, “I am with him,” and pointing at Tain. The soldiers looked to their sergeant who in turn looked to the Baron who nodded his consent. They were both allowed to proceed.

“I should have known,” the Baron said as they approached, “that I would find you both in the thick of it. What has happened here and what have you to do with it?”

“We’re in trouble,” Tain said, water dripping from him in a steady stream, “Someone’s just kidnapped the Prince.”

Sorry there a lot to read there! I had forgotten that that particular chapter is rather a long one!

Yes, it was (said the actress to the bishop) But, I admire the dedication to detail you put in. All the details of places,homes & people really create another world! Its worth the extra hard work if it sets someones imagination going. & I have been imagining how people look & the landscapes, even noises ! So thats gotta say something ?

Thanks, I didnt bother posting anything last night as I thought you had more than enough to read with what was there, but I will put more up for you ready for tonight. (If I can get it right The next chapter is in technical writing terms- a bit of a bugger)

Ok brace yourself Azriel- its the tricky chapter 8!



The meeting of the nobility was postponed until the next day in light of the Princes’ kidnapping and they spent the night in the Barons Townhouse.

The following afternoon they received word that they were to join the Duke for a late afternoon meal prior to the summit in the evening. Dutifully they went along to attend.

However almost immediately upon being granted entry Tain and the Druid were skilfully separated from the Baron and Canthiss by the Dukes household staff into a side dining room.

Two hours later and the Baron had not yet returned and the only people they had spoken to were the servants who came in and out from time to time with food and drink but little information.

They were at the point now where they had stuffed themselves beyond good health with the array of foods; lamb, calf, pig, beetle, sweet honey cakes and breads.

The Druid was filling her pipe as a deterrent to consuming any more.

Tain leant back in his chair; he could feel his stomach fighting against his belt for more space. He stared blankly up, doing (and wanting to do) nothing more than digest. The ceiling above him was high and ornately carved with rose designs around its border and a sun emblem in its centre, beneath which a small golden chandelier hung. There was a wide fireplace in one wall next to where Tain sat with a brisk fire crackling in the grate which the servants tended, the heat of which was in danger of sending him to sleep.

Various portraits adorned the walls alongside paintings of ships at sea. It reminded Tain of home; expensive and impractical, but very comfortable.
If a person was not careful they could easily get used to it.


In another comfortable room on the floor above them Ironfang, Canthiss and Grande had also just finished their meal, the remains of which were still upon the table.

The Baron was seated by the side of the fire. Duke Grande stood opposite him, a large elbow propped on the corner of the mantelpiece; he was drinking from a crystal goblet with the other hand. Canthiss had taken a seat beside the Baron, as he was here as an invited guest of the Dukes and not as a servant.

Grande was older than Ironfang by nearly thirty years, he was a wide man, very broad across the shoulders and with age also now across his expanding stomach. He was of average height with long thick hair that had once been fair but now was pure white. He had a thick moustache, also white, and a neatly trimmed goatee. The red of the blazing fire was reflected in a warm glow on his generous face.

He was a man most often described by others as robust, in every way. He was attired only in the most expensive of cloths, many layered, favouring deep reds and yellows and wore several golden chains of varying thickness around his neck, many rings adorned his hands.

“Have I not always said,” he was saying between gulps of his drink, “It is tradition which is the bedrock of Futura. When we stray from it, we falter. Is that not so?”

“If we had stayed within tradition an outsider like Erwin would never have become a Baron in the first place,” Ironfang agreed.

“That was Prince Kells doing, the modern thinker,” Grande remarked with a noticeable distaste that pleased Ironfang to hear, “Bringing new ideas in from without. As if those things learnt over countless centuries here, by our own people, were not good enough for him. Is it not said, ‘More than wisdom can come from afar’? With new ideas comes new uncertainties, new dangers.”

Irongfang nodded in agreement and Canthiss shifted uneasily in his chair. “In these times of unrest mark you it is to the older families the others will now look for guidance,” Grande continued.

Ironfang leant forward in his chair, “What do you propose be done?”

“We must convince the other Noble Families that Prince Kell, should he make a direct claim for the crown, be barred. I know there is little love lost between you. Your father was a good man and an even better friend and he faithfully maintained the Toll Road in service to his Kingdom. It should never have been given over to any, least of all an outsider like Erwin.”

“Nor would it have been,” Irongfang growled, “had my father lived.”

“A new King would surely see the error of that, and if he were just reinstate the Keep and its lands to your family. Prince Kell has been trouble enough; King Kell would be a disaster for us all.”

Ironfang considered Grande’s words a moment, mulling over the offer, “In the absence of Prince Mekhal there would be no other claimant,” he finally said, Canthiss was watching him closely which he found irritating.
He weighed up the complex weave of Futuras politics in his head, “Many would be tempted to follow Duke Ela-Gor and the elves,” he said after a moments thought, “if he were to show an interest in a vacant throne. He is popular among many of the lesser families. If the vote were in his favour should we oppose him?” he drank from his goblet, warning, “We can ill afford a civil war.”

“Ela-Gor,” Grande spat the name out derisively, “Futura was founded by our fathers, before any Elf set foot in this land. Would you have our children grow up with elvish ways? No. We must petition strongly for someone whose blood is pure Futurian stock, purely man.”

There was a knock at the door and the Duke called, “Enter.”

A servant opened it and entered, he gave a curt bow to both men and said, “The Barons and Dukes are arriving Duke Grande.”

“Very well, have them directed into the Long Hall,” Grande ordered.

The man bowed again and turned to leave.

“Oh, one more thing, send also for Baron Ironfang's companions,” he added.

“Yes, my Duke,” the servant said bowing and exited.

oh my god, so much text, how many pages is your word document on now, Petty ? it must be like a book or somethign?

The last bit I posted is page 249 in my doc.

... omg... care ti give it out as an e-book?

Paperback edition here, please!

I read your "bit of a bugger" ! Amarie's idea of a paper back isnt so daft ?!

I can dream. (and hopefully it wont read to much like it was a bit of a bugger- it was just complex- a big meeting and lots of stuff of importance plot wise -council elrond style- is all very well in theory or with the writing skills of Tolkien, or in the original game for that matter, but its a bit of a bugger to to try to pull off in straight prose.
I can almost sympathize with PJ and why he just have any large discussion descending into everyone shouting every five minutes! But Ive tried to keep the characters to the fore in it so the info dumping part seems less, well info dumpy).

As to an ebook Norc- I have no idea how to make one- at the moment its an open office doc.

Why dream Petty ? this life is not a rehearsal, Pack your life with as many things as you can, like filling a suitcase with all your stuff before you go on holiday! Some of it,you'll need & some you wont, but so what ?! The stuff you've used or done, will stay with you forever & be remembered. Even with failure comes a sense of "at least I tried",
" A man of words & not of deeds, Is like a garden full of weeds" = Life.