Circle of Stone (reprieve)

The sun was three-quarters over the horizon and the whooomph of the sail above them as a gust of wind caught and puffed it out momentarily drowned out the background of creaking and shouting as they made their way to the Captains Cabin.

The ships crew seemed to have settled down into a regular rhythm now they were at sea; every man and boy knowing his duty. But Tain could not help but pick up on a nervousness, it was in peoples eyes, a restlessness.

From below them came the neighing of the horses and the thud, thud that was constant as the beasts moved unhappily on the decking, fretting on the unknown motion of the sea.

Tain too was fretting on the motion of the sea. As the horizon appeared and disappeared before him he felt his stomach flip.

“I hope this is a short trip,” he complained, sweating and looking pale.

“If you can hold off throwing up until after this meeting I should be able to give you something for that,” the Druid offered.

“If man was meant to be at sea he’d have gills,” Tain complained as they were directed by a cabin boy towards the square tower that dominated the rear of the vessel, “and better stomachs,” he added as the deck dipped and rose again on a powerful wave.

Ironfang was awaiting them in the Captains quarters, which were spacious and decked out with brass fittings and a polished wood table. Silver goblets on a tray sat on it. Ironfang was standing on the near side of the table opposite the Captain who sat behind it.

The Captain rose to greet them as they entered. He was a tall thin man in his forties, with a serious looking face and a long drooping moustache. His hair was jet-black and shoulder length and he wore a naval uniform of pale grey with gold edging. A second younger, square faced officer stood to his right, taller and with his fair hair bound in a pony-tail.

“Welcome aboard,” the Captain greeted but without much warmth as they were ushered in, “We were just beginning.”

They drew up a chair each and the Captain poured them both a goblet of ale from a small barrel on a shelf behind himself.

“I will get straight to business,” the Captain began, “In four hours we will be in sight of this accursed isle. You will note only my First Mate is present,” he indicated the officer beside himself and continued, “This is with very good reason. The crew is not yet aware of our destination. But they are not fools,” he warned, “We have armed men and horses aboard where normally we store cargo. We are bearing south, a direction no ship ever sails in. Rumour is already rife among the crew. Very shortly I will have to call a muster and inform them of where it is they sail to,” he paused here to take a drink from his goblet, “I confess, I cannot say with certainty how they will react.”

“You fear they might mutiny rather than land there?” Tain said taken aback.

“They would not dare,” Ironfang said indignantly, “I have fifty of the finest soldiers in the Dukedom at my command.”

“If you mean,” the Captain said in reply to Tain, “will they try to seize control of the ship? Then no, I do not believe so. I have sailed twenty years with some of these men; they are loyal by their own standards. However they will refuse to land I guess, no matter the threat.”

“Order and discipline must and will be maintained, at sword point if necessary. This is a vessel of the Crown,” Ironfang threatened, staring down both the Captain and First Mate.

“And if they still refuse even after your threats? What then?” the Captain retorted fiercely, “Can your men alone sail a vessel of this size? The crew does not need us Baron, but we do need them.”

An awkward silence followed this in which the Baron visibly fumed, glowering across the table at the Captain.

“All we have heard of this Isle,” the Druid said breaking the tension, “is that it has an ill-name. What is it that your men fear?”

“I wish I had a simple answer to give,” the Captain responded, taking his eyes from the Barons and sitting back down in his chair, “As far as I am aware no man has set foot upon that shore in living memory. Legend speaks of some ancient evil. Some even believe that it is the home of a dragon or some such terrible beast. It has been known to sailors as a cursed place for generations uncounted,” he waved his hand dismissively at all this, “However it is not legends that concern me, for I count myself a practical man and I suspect there is more myth than truth to this place. No, what concerns me is the men. They do believe. They believe that even to sail within sight of its shores is to bring misfortune down upon themselves. It is, in my esteem, for that reason that the kidnappers chose it. Though I marvel that they found a crew willing to take them there.”

“And you don't think your crew can be persuaded?” Tain asked.

“You must understand that men who live upon the sea and Her swift changing moods are men who pay heed to omens, signs, and tales,” the Captain explained, “They will follow whatever beliefs they think have kept them alive thus far, and they will not easily abandon them.”

“If they refuse,” Ironfang growled, “then they are guilty of Treason whose punishment is death. What more misfortune could befall them?”

“Treason does not encompass their loved ones or their descendants, as a curse would do,” the First Mate replied sharply, speaking for the first time.

“It could be made to,” Ironfang snarled back fiercely.

“You can’t threaten these men with the lives of their families,” Tain protested with disgust. “You can’t do that.”

“I spoke out of frustration,” Ironfang conceded quickly in words if not in tone,
“But it is an absolute necessity that this ship not turn around,” he insisted, “How else will the Prince and so the kingdom be saved?”

“I warned my superiors before we left Port that there was no ships crew who would land upon that Isle. It will be all I can do to persuade them to anchor in sight of it,” the Captain reiterated emphatically.

“Then we must do without the horses,” Ironfang said grudgingly, “If we can still get the men ashore that must serve.”

“If you had discussed these matters before we set sail they would not have had to endure the journey in such conditions,” the Druid said with more than a hint of anger.

“There was no time,” Ironfang dismissed, “And besides the horses are being well treated.”

“Perhaps you should ask them that,” she suggested coldly.

“Yes,” responded the Baron angrily, “and when I have done I will ask the fish if the wake of our ship is disturbing their swimming and if the water is hurt by being cut by our prow!”

“Let us assume,” Tain interrupted ignoring the Baron and addressing the Captain, “that you can persuade the crew to get close enough to let us ashore, what can we expect?”

“High cliffs protect its coast, it is said,” the Captain replied, “And the interior is a mile-wide open plain; but that is part of legend and rumour, not fact. What is fact is that the waters immediately around it are known to be treacherous; there are many rocks concealed just below the water line, and there is only one known bay at which a ship may land.”

Tain thought about this, “Its unlikely we'll arrive without being spotted long before we get to the bay,” he observed.

“That was assumed from the outset,” the Baron said, “Remember, we come to pay a ransom. Or so we hope they will believe.”

“What’s to stop them killing the Prince before we can save him once they realise we aren't?” Tain queried.

“There will always be a risk,” the Baron replied.

“If I were the commander of this Isle,” Tain said musing, “I would have fires on the cliffs around the bay, and good bowmen, our ship would be ablaze before we could escape even if we did rescue him.”

“What do you suggest then?” the Captain asked.

“Well they are going to see us coming anyway so we can't get the element of surprise, and the crew won't bring the ship in close enough to get the horses off either, and I don't think its worth trying to persuade them, that will only make matters worse. So we would be better off keeping the ship well out of any bow shot from the cliffs, that should keep the crew happy, or happier anyway,” he amended, “and we just take a small number of good experienced men rather than the whole battalion.”

“We do not know how many men Erwin may have on the Isle,” Ironfang protested, “we must ensure we have a force strong enough to crush him.”

“We are supposed to be here to pay a ransom,” Tain pointed out, “aren't we? If you come charging onto the shore at the head of fifty seriously armed men it's not exactly going to look diplomatic is it?”

“What would a commoner know of diplomacy?” the Baron sneered.

“In this realm? A hell of lot more than a Baron it seems,” Tain snapped back.

“Gentlemen,” the Captain interrupted raising his hands in peacemaking gestures, sensing the heat rising between Tain and Ironfang, “the decision is yours Baron.”

“I will consider the options,” Ironfang responded through clenched jaw.

“I am sure you will,” Tain replied flatly with a shake of his head.

Oddly enough debating with the Baron had managed to distract Tain sufficiently that he had not noticed the motion of the ship whilst in the Captains cabin. Once back outdoors however in the biting wind and salt air, with the horizon relentlessly appearing and disappearing before him as the prow smashed through the waves, he suddenly felt ill again.

Very ill, so ill that it was all he could manage to lurch to the port side and, to the encouraging cheers of several sailors nearby, vomit his breakfast overboard.

The Druid led him down into their quarters in the stifling, confined space below deck, which did not help matters. She routed about in her backpack whilst Tain groaned in the corner with a wooden bucket next to him.

She found what she was looking for; a small stopped vial in a velvet pouch. Taking its contents she mixed it with the contents of a second vial; which she detached from a series of pouches on her belt. The combined concoction was about a teaspoonful of orange liquid that steamed slightly. Taking Tains water flask she added her medicine to it and gave the whole a vigourous shake before handing it back to him, saying, “Drink all of it if you can.”

Tain did. It tasted foul, bitter and oily but he managed to drain the flask empty only gagging twice before the bottom. “Ever thought of adding some flavouring to your medicine?” he asked weakly.

“It already has a flavour,” she replied breaking into a rare grin, “Bloody awful flavour.”

Tain laughed weakly, the ship pitched hard to port and he groaned again, “I don’t care if this island is brimming with dragons and patrolled by an entire army, I’m still going to fall to my knees and kiss the solid, beautiful, unmoving ground when we land on it,” the ship rolled again, “And the sooner the better.”

“I have been thinking about that. What we need is a scout.”

“You mean send a small boat ahead? It wouldn’t get there any sooner than we would, could it?”

“I was not thinking of a boat. I was thinking more of myself. I could transform, fly ahead of the ship,” she whispered, they were well concealed and the closest soldiers were more than ten feet away beyond the cabin door playing cards, but she did not want to risk being overheard.

“I thought you said you could only do that for short amounts of time?” Tain whispered back.

“That is true, sort of. I can change my form many times in a day if need be, for short amounts of time. Or I can do it once for much longer.”

“How much longer?” Tain asked, curious despite his nausea.

“Long enough I think. Grande said the Isle was only eighty miles from the coast. We must have covered a third of that already. I would estimate I could scout the entire island and still have time to return to ship before it is even in sight of shore.”

“Then do it if you can, but no unnecessary risks.”

“I must ask that this remain a matter between you and I,” she requested gravely, “I have no desire for a superstitious crew to discover they have someone of my talents aboard.”

“I won’t breathe a word,” Tain promised seriously, not wanting to imagine what the fearful nervy crew might do.

“Very well,” she said, “Rest, that brew will take effect shortly and you will most likely sleep. I will come to you when I return.”

Tain dragged himself up and unslung his hammock once she had left. He felt awful; he hooked the hammock to the wall and crawled up into it with a series of low grumbling noises.

The hammock was the only good thing he had discovered so far on the entire ship. Where a bed would have slid and rocked all over the decking the hammock did a reasonable job of remaining motionless whilst the ship rocked around it. If he lay back and shut his eyes he could almost believe he was perfectly still, but when he opened his eyes again the beams were swinging above his head in a most nauseating manner.

He tried to drift into a light sleep and not think about the antics of his stomach or the throb in his temples. He tried not to hear the constant creaking of wood, the pounding of waves against the other side of the hull near his head or the cries of the sailors at work above. He tried and he failed. He swore to himself that no matter what the future might hold it was not going to hold any more boats after this one.

The Druid choose a spot near the prow of the ship where great loops of rope were stored. They were coiled high enough that if she sat behind them she was entirely concealed from the rest of the ship with the exception of the lookout high above, who she was trusting was looking more ahead rather than downwards.

It was a suitable place to pray. She closed her eyes and used the sounds of her environment to find her internal rhythm; an easy task as the constant and regular crash of the waves against the hull was a natural rhythm to follow. Quickly it drew her into silence and then inexorably into Her presence. She expressed her desire and then like a warmth she felt Her blessing, Elhonna's powers seeping into her flesh, filling her spirit. She snapped open her eyes and they glowed like coals of green fire. She was ready.

High above her, swaying dramatically left to right in an exaggerated parallel with the swell below; at the very top of the mast was the crows’ nest. It was more or less shaped like a large barrel, just big enough to accommodate a single man. In this particular case the single man in question was Ned Stily, and he was worriedly scanning the horizon.

Ned knew they were sailing south though not the exact direction but he was an experienced enough mariner to know that they could not be far from the Isle they did not name.
The motion of the ship he had grown used to over the years but the crows nest itself was something he had never gotten used to because no matter what position he adopted within it, it was always agony after only a short period of time. Muscles stiffened and cramp set in.

It was a twinge of cramp that made him momentarily turn his attention from the sea before him to his right calf. Bending over in the barrel he was for a brief second staring straight down at the decking near the prow.

As he tended his pained leg something extraordinary happened below him that made him stop in mid-rub. He had seen something behind the coils of spare rope; someone in a dark robe? Or perhaps it was just a large black sack.

However just as he tried to make out what, or who it was, everything twisted; the air, the deck, the edge of the ropes, it all went wrong for a second, his eyes watered and his stomach knotted. When he could see clearly again there was only a large white sea gull sitting their awkwardly on the decking.

Even although one thing had quite clearly changed into another before his eyes he also felt strongly that they were the same thing and had not changed at all. His eyes had registered the transformation but his brain refused it.

The gull flapped up off the deck and took to the currents, speeding off ahead of the ship. By the time it had disappeared against the white of the clouds Ned had convinced himself that it must have become entangled in an old sack and freed itself just at the moment he had looked down. And the wind up here was harsh, he probably had tears in his eyes that were misting his vision and when you added the motion of the ship, exaggerated as it was by the height of the mast, well then clearly he had been mistaken. Yes, that was it, he was after all overly anxious. He was certain there was nothing uncanny about it, certain enough at least that he was determined to put it to the back of his mind as quickly as possible and never to look down again.

He turned his attention back to the choppy horizon with a renewed vigour and increased nervousness.

I know that feeling of sea sickness very well ! Im still enjoying this !

Glad you made it through the tricky bit Azriel! Talking and what not, I was worried about that bit, but I felt the reader could do with a more genal overview at that point once they had enough info to fit into the bigger context and its info needed to make sense of the rest. But not to worry- things get a lot more exciting again shortly.

I like the flow of this story just as it is, like life, things go up & down all the time, In fact, I get bored with a film if its all crash bang wallop. Take away the flash action & whats left? A good story line is the backbone, no argument, you gotta have it !

Tain turned on his left side and tried to let his mind wander off into sleep......

....he turned onto his back, the hammock swinging slightly with his movement, and again tried to let his mind wander off into sleep ………….......

......images of home drifted through his minds eye..........

.... he tried his left side again but it felt indefinably wrong somehow so he turned over completely onto his stomach letting one arm drape over the side, it was comfortable, he felt his mind wander off into sleep……………………….

……………His arm, the one hanging over the side, was numb. The edge of the hammock had cut down the blood supply to it; he came out of his semi-sleep state and drew it back in close to his body. It tingled at him..........

.........he tried to drift back into sleep.............again, images of home, of Stenor. He tried to think of something else but it was always the same when he could not sleep; he thought of home.

As he tossed and turned he tried to focus at least on the pleasant things which he missed; the overgrown and expansive orchard that sat behind the ancestral home, where he would laze away summers shooting apples from the stalks, or the Faerie River that wound slowly down the low hills forming deep dark pools and short falls overshadowed by green trees in which he had swam away many an afternoon, whilst around him the insects buzzed lazily over the warm waters.

It occurred to him that in all his fondest memories he was always alone-save for the ones involving Gwendolyn, the Orchard Keepers daughter, but she was a part of the reason he did not think of home. She was one of those things he fought hard not to remember. Better to remember the times when he was alone and the whole world seemed to be before him.

He thought of his two older brothers, although not warmly, not that they were cruel or mean to him but they were grown men when he was born and so, and through no fault on anyone’s side, distant in time from him.

His mother had died when he was very young and though he tried often to think of her he had in truth no memory of her at all. He knew her face only from her portrait that hung above the mantelpiece of the Great Fire in the front hall. He had studied that picture for hours when he was a child, standing before it for so long his legs had been blotched red in the heat of the fire in the hearth, trying to remember or evoke some image or emotion associated with her, feeling it was his duty to remember her. But he never had.

When his father had figured at all in his young life it was usually as a figure of discipline. Tain developed a nervousness that gnawed at him whenever he knew his father was going to be around. Always expecting and fearing the harsh word, the quick hand. And yet for all that he wanted to please the old man.

It was not that Tain had ever doubted that is father loved him; his fathers’ attitude to love was such that he took it as implicit in their relationship and therefore did not see any need for an outward show or expression of it. His father employed with Tain the same technique of rearing that had worked so successfully on his brothers- he put him down at every opportunity.
From the first childhood carving Tain made to his success on the archery field his fathers response was always of the same flavour; “Why do you waste your time in this?” or “Why do you persist, when you’re no good at anything, everything you do fails and turns to so much dust,” and over the years he reduced the remarks till he could convey there meaning with a scornful sneer.

This harsh method had worked with his brothers; they had taken each prick of scorn as a spur and set out to prove their father wrong. The more he had goaded them the more they grew angry with him and the greater their success if not their love.

Tain on the other hand had a different reaction. He took every word of scorn as truth and in time he even became in part to believe it himself so that he often gave tasks up before completing them and he drifted from idea to idea as to what his life should be.

His father’s reaction to this lack of direction in his son, indeed the only answer his father knew, was to heap more scorn upon him.

It was odd, but it was only now, lying here in this stinking hold with the creak of wood and the constant drip of water and the pounding of the sea close by, that he realized that his brothers had externalized their feelings for their father whilst he had done the opposite and internalized them. This realization caused a surprisingly strong reaction in Tain, he suddenly felt a whole area of his mind that he had for years closed off open up out of the dark before him.

Long locked childhood feelings for his father, his loneliness, his longing for his lost mother and for his own desire to prove himself overwhelmed him. He was shocked to find tears welling up and his shoulders suddenly began shaking involuntarily in rhythmic heaves.

He felt foolish and then angry and with the anger the tears began to subside into blankness then into a warm darkness and forgetfulness…..

……He awoke with a start. He had no idea how long he had been asleep; his cheeks were sticky where his tears had dried. He wiped his sleeve across his face chastising himself for hs own emotion, and with a sigh he swung himself out of the hammock and onto the deck, steadying himself with one hand against the hull.

At least the Druids potion seemed to be working- he no longer felt sick.

He picked up the water jug and splashed some water on his face and hair, smoothing it down with his hand and cursing the lack of a mirror on board- the sailors considered them bad luck. An unattended mirror left in sunlight on a vessel made of wood and pitch could be a recipe for disaster but it also had the practical down side that he could not check his hair.

He could hear the movement of the horses on the other side of the partition but the regular accompanying sound of bored soldiers complaining about their lot was missing. He pulled on his boots and went out to investigate.

The horses were tethered to the interior of the hull in what was normally just open cargo space. The stench of horse in here was overwhelming. It had occurred to Tain, given the amount of waste these beasts provided, that the ship could be easily tracked by just following the unpleasant green-brown wake that it must be leaving behind it as it sailed. It was odd that the horses were unattended however.

From above him, severely muffled by the deck overhead he could just make out the sounds of voices, lots of voices, possibly being raised in anger. He rightly guessed the Captain had called the muster. He quickly found his way to a ladder leading to the upper deck and went to see for himself.

The first thing the Druid did was to fly as high as she could to get her bearings; catching the rising currents wherever instinct found them. It was not long before the clouds was trailing about her aerodynamic body and leaving glistening droplets of water on her feathers.

Below her the horizon curved away, the island was clear enough being the only visible land in the wide stretch of grey-blue ocean.

The south was hazy and she could see no end to the water in that direction. Their ship was just a dot behind her now but she could see that it was not so far from the Isle, it would not be long till it sighted land. However their ship was not the only vessel on this sea.

Far beyond the island her bird’s eye picked out a tiny red sail on the edge of her vision. It was struggling north against the wind towards them.

She began a steady descent in the direction of the Isle and as she drew nearer she could discern its shape in better detail. It was like to a horseshoe, ringed with cliffs on all but one side where it was open to the sea in a bay.

Erwin’s ship was not anchored there as she had expected, instead the vessel was off shore on the opposite side of the island where the cliffs reared up black and jagged. Which was odd.

The centre of the island, as far as she could tell as she swooped ever lower, was a wide plaza of overgrown flagstones and at its centre a circle of stones and a Dome which glinted golden, supported by pillars.

She choose first to fly in low, skimming the sea at the bay end of the island. The water beneath her grew lighter as the shore approached and she could see the many sharp barnacle encrusted rocks that lurked just beneath the water. Ahead many more broke the surface and the waves foamed around them. Perhaps it was this which had deterred the kidnappers from landing here. Yet she guessed it was navigable with care in a small boat and surely safer than climbing. So what other reason could Erwin have for daring the obviously perilous ascent of the cliffs?

She rose a little above the sea as the bay loomed up, hoping to spy an answer. Rising up above the beach she passed over the white sand and shot between the cliffs either side, penetrating the islands heart.

Before her a ruined city was unveiled rising up in tiers before her and upon either side. As she entered it a large dark shadow glided overhead.

There is such a lot of depth in this, like the feeling Tain has to remember his mother, as if its a god given right that you should, but then admitting he couldnt. I want to print this out also, as I said Id like to with Mrs Figgs "freaky bean", Hers is funny & fluffy, & well written. But this is also well written but serious & has depth. Ive got a friend who would love to read this !

Thanks Azriel- if you want to print a copy out for your friend go ahead. Afterall no point writing stuff if no one ever get to read it!

Tain emerged from the lower deck beside the upper tower. The crew was mostly assembled on the main deck below with a few exceptions that were still maintaining essential nautical jobs that Tain could only guess at, although he was happy to see someone was still paying attention to actually sailing this thing.

The Captain and his top three officers along with Baron Ironfang were speaking from a balcony that went around the base of the tower. The Barons men were dotted around close by, they all had crossbows at the ready, fitted with bolts, but for the moment they held them point down.

The debate was clearly not going well, the men were angry and rumbles of protest burst from them at regular intervals as the Captain attempted to placate them.

“I give my word,” the Captain was saying in a reassuring voice, raising his hand to settle the hubbub, “No member of this crew will have to set a foot on the shore of that Isle.”

“You've got that right,” one of the sailors shouted back to general cheers of approval.

“We shall set out small boats only,” the Captain went on, “The ship herself will remain safely at anchor some distance from the shore.”

“An' who’ll man these boats, eh?” one of the crew demanded to know.

“My men will,” Ironfang said with a growl that rose above their voices. He stepped forward to the edge of the balcony and stared down at the crew. Many of them had put on amulets and charms from the moment they learned the ship was going south. Ignorant fools Ironfang thought. If only they knew. If only he could show them.

“I would not ask those who are cowards to aid us,” Ironfang roared, “For being cowards you would only increase the risk to the lives of my men.”

“Cowards is it?” a bald headed, burly fellow yelled, charging forward to the railing to confront the Baron, “Cowards? Aye, we'll see who's the coward, when the curse of that Isle falls upon thee an' thine for seven generations.”

Ironfang bent down over the rail and fixed the other man's eye and was satisfied to see him quail, “The blood of the Ironfangs is strong enough to bear the weight of any curse,” he said quietly and with unexpected force.

At that moment a commotion erupted out among the men. A scuffle had broken out at the back where the sailors were pressed in tightly near the wooden railing that ran behind the main mast. Someone was being dragged up the steps there onto the top deck. A voice cried out, “A stowaway, a stowaway,” and many more took up the call as the man was brought forward.

Tain, who had remained where he was beside the hatch, now moved down the side of the ship to get a better look. He could see between the throng of sailors a large man, hooded and cloaked, being thrown to the ground before the Captain and the Baron. The man was offering no resistance to his captives and indeed seemed meek as he knelt upon the deck, head bowed awaiting his fate.

The Captain strode forward and snatched back the hood revealing a head of thick hair turning to grey. Tain had a poor view of the man but a perfect one of Ironfang and he saw the Barons face flush red with rage and shock, barely able to spit out the name, “Canthiss!”

The Druid was flapping now for all she was worth, building up as much airspeed as her wing muscles would allow for. Suddenly she tucked her wings in close to her body and shot back out from the islands centre as straight as an arrow shot from a bow firing herself out over the sea.

She knew now why Erwin had not tried to land at the bay. It was barred. She knew now why they would rather risk the perilous climb up the outer cliffs.

She had to get back to the ship to warn them and quickly.

Canthiss was led away by a furious Ironfang and the Captain partly won over the dissenting voices of the crew with the promise of half a years pay to every man as a bonus. It did not stop the men complaining or bemoaning their lot as they set to their tasks.

Tain slunk his way around the tower and found much to his delight that the porthole of the Barons cabin was slightly ajar and that there was a heap of sacks containing coarse wool on which he could sit comfortably whilst eves-dropping; not that he had to strain much to hear the Barons voice.

Inside the cabin the Baron was pacing furiously. Canthiss stood stock-still but his head was raised and he met every look of his master with an equally strong one.

“How is it that you could betray my service?” the Baron began in angry questioning.

“You know that I have not,” Canthiss replied quietly, too quietly in fact for Tain, straining to hear from without, to catch.

“I gave you orders to return to Northolt,” the Baron raged, “Where even now the Barbarians may be sacking our lands.”

“You gave me orders to neglect my primary duty,” Canthiss countered, “You must have known I would not do so, could not do so.”

“I sent you for the good of Northolt, no other reason,” Ironfang said sharply his dark brows knotting above his steely eyes.

“You sent me because you know I will hinder any move you make to seize power,” Canthiss retorted candidly.

“How dare you!” Ironfang exploded and stepped aggressively forwards but Canthiss never flinched, “You go far beyond the bounds of your duty. I am not your servant.”

“In this you are, as you should know full well,” Canthiss spoke the words softly and without any sense of laying a claim on the Baron, it was said in the way of reminding a friend of something they had forgotten.

The Baron did not respond to this but paced the carpeted decking with further vigour in silence for a few moments. Canthiss waited unmoving but watching his master’s face keenly.

“This is a misplaced fear in your family line,” the Baron eventually said, trying a different tact, “Have we not succeeded in proving over the generations that it can be mastered? Managed? Think of it Canthiss, we can finally prosper. Both our families. And the Kingdom with us. Together we will forge Futura anew and restore her former glory, as it should be.”

“You know that is not how your forefathers saw it, nor mine. Your sires knew the consequences, for others and not least for themselves.”

“And maybe for their own days they were right. But what was true for them is not so for me!” Ironfang flared, the anger returning in a flash but he quickly controlled it and again went on in softer tones of persuasion, “There is no real danger only a perceived danger as fleeting as moonlight, our forefathers turned their backs on their place in history but why should we continue to do so just because of the ignorant?”

“It is their self imposed isolation which has saved your family through centuries when others have fallen by the wayside in their struggles for power.,” Canthiss countered, “that is why they have succeeded.”

“Succeeded? In what Canthiss? A few thousand acres of land, a crumbling Keep and an ageing mine? The Ironfangs should be Kings of Futura by now. Are we not the oldest family in the Kingdom? Is our line not unbroken even back into the dark dawn of the kingdom? Yet we do nothing, even when lands were stripped from our name we stood meekly by. Why should my family name still be little better than that of the peasants who live upon my back?”

“Your very nature bars you from ever being King. It is not to be trusted,” Canthiss replied forcibly, “As all your line have known deep within them, as you know deep within yourself, if you have the courage to look there,” Canthiss tone softened and he went on, “I would see you married with an heir, with the name of Ironfang passed on to another generation with my son as his guide, and friend, as I am yours. Not have you consumed by this lust.”

“Those are the desires of our ancestors; you speak as my father would if he were here. But I say it is time for the Ironfangs to rise.”

“Your father was taken too soon from you. It is his guidance we lack here. My own father warned me of this restless malady, to guard against it. The name of King rarely lasts beyond a few generations,” Canthiss insisted, “It is a fleeting thing. I beg of you, as your friend, do not bring on a day which makes me chose which of my duties is the greater, for we both know the choice I would have to make.”

Unfortunately for Tain he never got to hear any more as he was suddenly disturbed by the screech of a large seagull that had alighted on a rope that swung above his head. As he looked up the bird stretched out its wings and hopped down onto the deck before him. He tried to shoo it away.

It hopped indiginantly a little way out of his reach and then peered around itself as if checking they were alone and then in an instant of confusing space it expanded and convulsed until the Druid was sitting on the bare decking before him.

“Did I not ask you to never do that right in front of me again?” Tain grumbled, “You’ll make me ill again twisting the world about like that,” he added queasily, his eyes streaming and brain protesting.

“By Elhonna I need a smoke,” she replied distractedly, patting at her robe.

“Did you find the Isle?” Tain asked when he had recovered sufficiently.

She stood up, still hunting for her pipe and pouch, “We need to talk,” she said urgently, “In private, quickly,” she hurried passed Tain and checking to see who was about and seeing that they were fairly close to several sailors she headed off down towards the prow digging out her pipe and trying to light it, Tain followed behind.

“You will never guess who just turned up,” he said to her as they made their way between the stacks of coiled rope that festooned the deck at the front of the vessel.

“What? Where?” she replied in what Tain thought was a very distracted manner.

“What do you mean where? Here of course. Why, who were you expecting?”

“Nothing,” she replied shaking her head and looking up at the sky, “I will explain in a moment. So who was it?”

“A stowaway.”

“One of Baron Erwin’s men?” she hazarded finding the secluded spot near the prow where she had earlier transformed and sitting down on the coiled ropes.

“No,” Tain replied also sitting down with his back to one of the rope stacks and his legs stretched out before himself on the deck, “It was Canthiss.”

“Canthiss? I thought he had been sent back to his homeland?” she remarked in surprise finally finding her pipe.

“Seems he had other ideas and disobeyed his master. You should have seen the Barons face, he was furious.”

“I wish I had,” she laughed.

“You know, I’m not to sure who’s really in charge between those two. But what of your news? Did you find the Isle? Did you see Erwin’s ship?”

“Yes, he is there, but not anchored in the bay as we had presumed. They are on the western side and are climbing the sheer cliffs there.”

“Why? What’s wrong with the bay?” Tain asked with a puzzled frown.

“That is exactly what I wondered so I flew in low over the sea but saw nothing out of the ordinary. The waters there are full of sharp rocks but I am certain we can land small boats there. They seemed to me poor cause to have put off Erwin so I went further inland to see what else might have deterred them; I flew in between an opening in the cliffs,” she paused to draw on her pipe.

“And what did you see?” Tain prompted impatiently as she puffed industriously till the bowl of the pipe glowed white hot.

“There must have been a mighty city there once,” she went on talking round the stem, “Its ruins cover the interior and the sloping cliffs. There is a Stone Circle there too, like the one under the mountain, only much larger.”

“So why did Erwin not land in the bay? Why risk a dangerous climb?”

“Because the island is not uninhabited,” she said ominously.

“Why? What did you see?”

“I saw a dragon,” she replied simply with a shrug.

There was a moments silence before Tain said, “A dragon? You're pulling my leg?”

“I saw a dragon,” she repeated firmly, “And it was no sailor’s tale.”

“You’re sure it was a dragon?”

“It was a hundred foot of flying lizard with copper scales, sharp talons and razor teeth, what would you call it?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

“That's a fair point,” Tain conceded, “So why would Erwin be so desperate to bring the Prince there?”

“I do not know, maybe he did not know about the dragon. If I had to take a guess as to why here then I would think it has something to do with that stone circle. I am no expert but I thought the ruins very like to those in the marsh and below the mountain. I would make a guess that they are of the same workmanship and from the same time.”

“How will we land now? With a dragon on patrol?” Tain said half to himself as he revaluated the options in his head, “And what do we tell the Baron and the Captain?” he added as an afterthought, “certainly we can’t let the crew become aware that there really is a dragon waiting for them, they’ll mutiny for sure.”

“No, indeed, they would not sail within a hundred leagues of it if they did not simply turn about and steer a course straight for home.”

“Then I propose we say nothing. They’ll see for themselves Erwin’s ship is not at the bay soon enough.”

“And do we tell the Baron that there is a dragon to contend with?”

“Yes, I think we should, and I should be the one to tell him” said Tain, “When we are about halfway to the shore would be the perfect time,” he added with a grim smile.

A shout went out from the crows nest above. Ned on lookout was waving his arms in the air and crying out at the top of his voice, “Scillian! Dead ahead! Scillian! Dead ahead.”

Tain and the Druid hurried the short distance to the very prow of the vessel where the spray whistled up over the planking and soaked their faces and hair. They were soon joined by some of the less superstitious members of the crew who wanted for themselves to see this Isle of ill-repute but many more men turned there faces away and would not, for all the gold in the world, have placed so much as one eye upon its accursed shore.

From the angle they were sailing in at the far side of the island and Erwin's ship was obscured by the dark cliffs but the bay on the eastern side could easily be discerned; a pale strip of white in an otherwise rocky landscape. They could see no sign of any dragon.

With a few brisk orders shouted from the tower the men dispersed, going to the tricky task of bringing the vessel in close enough to anchor and far enough away so as not to bring a curse down upon themselves. There was much technical debating over precisely how far away that was.

Eventually the ship anchored some half an hour later a long way from shore, but the Captain was certain he could not persuade the crew to take her in any closer despite the Barons angry insistence they should do so.

They decided to immediately lower three small boats. Each boat could take fourteen men tightly packed, save the Barons which could only take ten once the Barons extra stature was figured in, leaving eight behind including the Sergeant whose task, as given to him by the Baron, was to ensure the loyalty of the crew and that the ship remain until their return. This did not please the Captain who felt the Baron was overstepping his jurisdiction but Ironfang was in no mood to be argued with.

Each boat was deposited with a white splash onto the heaving sea and the Barons men scrambled down the ropes and boarded them, quickly gaining the mastery of them.

The last boat to be filled was the Barons. Tain went down first, finding the knotted ropes easy to navigate despite the boat beneath him rising and tilting as he descended. The Druid followed a little slower in her robes but no less surely and next came Canthiss; he had a large pack on his back and a coil of rope over one shoulder. His large frame caused the boat to tip worryingly as he landed in it. The Baron came next; he had changed into full armour and bore his sword across his back along with his shield.

“What’re you wearing?” Tain demanded as the boat lurched violently as Ironfang entered it, “If you fall in there’ll be no getting you back out, you do know that?”

“I can hardly arrive as the Ambassador for the Throne of Futura dressed like a peasant, or like you, now can I?” the Baron retorted. Tain looked offended.

The Barons boat took the lead and the soldiers took the oars. Canthiss sat right up at the front, craning out over the waves as the boat struck forwards, on the lookout for treacherous rocks. Many could easily be spotted, for they jutted above the surface and the waves broke over them in obvious sprays but it was those below the surface that were the real danger and their going was slow because of them.

However before long the white sand of the bay was looming into clear view in the late afternoon sun.

Tain scrutinized the cliff tops as they approached but saw nothing but the multitude of seabirds that crammed every ledge, wheeling and circling in the sky above. Now as they approached the shore and the promise of solid ground he turned his eyes to the bay itself. It was oval and wider across than he had thought from the ship. There had once clearly been large structures here as many of the rocks that emerged from the water closer to shore were obviously cut stone and not natural rock.

The bay was littered with old debris and masonry. Here and there some massive foundation slabs showed grey through the white sand, part odf some ancient harbour wall.

As Canthiss guided the boat into land Tains eyes now turned beyond the bay to where between the cliffs on either side he got his first view of the islands interior. A high white crumbled wall ran right to left as far as he could see and behind it ruined buildings, white walled with dark slit windows, their roofs collapsed with trees and bushes sprouting from them, mounting up terrace upon terrace on all sides, sloping to the very tops of the cliffs.

A gleam caught his attention: the golden Dome standing in the centre of the plaza. The remains of the wall and a line of trees prevented him from seeing more than little glinting glimpses of it.

The hiss of sand under the hull told him they had made land. Tain was first to leap out into the shallow water and hurriedly splashed up to the shore, blessing solid ground with every grateful step he took. The Druid followed curiously and cautiously behind him.

The soldiers only disembarked when the Baron ordered them to do so. The Baron himself followed by Canthiss disembarked last of all. He strode up the beach to where Tain stood looking up between the wide gap between the cliffs.

“I have been wondering,” the Baron said slowly, “Why did not Erwin land his ship here? It is not so difficult.”

“Actually,” Tain began carefully, “There’s something about this island we may have found out that perhaps you ought to know about.”

Just as he spoke these words an almighty roar went up from somewhere in the interior. It was a bellow, a growl and challenge all in one immense explosion of sound that rang back and forth between the cliffs.

“What in Futura was that?” the Baron demanded to know. The faces of the soldiers dragging their boats up the sand were of pure fear. They had heard the sailor’s tales.

“This island may be somewhat inhabited,” Tain confirmed needlessly.

“Inhabited by what?” Ironfang demanded to know.

Tain's attempt at a reply was drowned out by a second roar and then the source of the sound appeared flying down at them at speed through the gap in the cliffs ahead.

The body was copper in colour, of overlapping scales. It was long and sinous. Its eyes were large, round and completely black. They were set either side of a head which sported various protrusions of what looked like horn, or bone. Its mouth was opening as it approached in a hideous parody of a grin, for nothing with so many sharp teeth could have any other sort of grin but hideous. Its talons were stretched out before it and were curved, four to each great scaled claw.

“It’s a dragon!” the Baron said in wonder, standing before it in awe.

“Well spotted,” Tain cried as he dived for cover behind one of the broken pieces of masonry, “Get behind a rock you idiot!” he screamed at the Baron who seemed mesmerized by the magnificent beast.

Canthiss grabbed his master and threw both himself and the Baron down beside Tain.

The soldiers quickly found themselves similar hidey-holes along the shoreline. The Druid was already in a nearby ditch concealed behind a wall of brambles taking a swig from her flask and looking out with considerable naturalist interest.

The Dragon swooped down over the spot where they had been standing only seconds before and swung up over them. Tain had expected a torrent of wind to accompany its huge beating wings and for the sand to fly up around it but it seemed as light and graceful on the air as a butterfly as it arched up above them and looped back down, coming eventually to a stop on the sandy scrub between the cliffs. It was blocking their way.

“I think I see now why Erwin choose an alternative route,” the Baron said over the loud rhythmic beating of the beasts wings so close by, “And you knew of this?” he said to Tain with a slight flash of anger.

“I couldn’t say anything and risk the sailors finding out or we wouldn’t have got this far,” Tain explained hurriedly, “But does it really matter now? How’re we going to deal with it?”

“Maybe it is a large but stupid beast, like the oxen,” the Baron suggested, “We may be able to outmanoeuvre or outwit it. What is it doing now?”

Tain peered cautiously around the rock edge. “Nothing,” he reported, “It’s just standing there. Waiting.”

“For what?” Canthiss asked, “For us?”

“Why does it not simply attack? These rocks are poor defence against such an impressive creature. How grand its head would look upon the wall of my Keep,” the Baron enthused.

“You’ll have to claim it first,” Tain commented, “That will be no easy task. Look at the size of it!”

“I thought dragons breathed fire?” Canthiss observed, “Why does it not burn us out?”

“Don’t go giving it ideas!” Tain replied aghast.

Whilst they debated the Druid had been observing the beast closely. She was always interested in new life but this was a truly wonderous animal and she could not resist trying to communicate with it. She failed spectacularly. Not only could she not establish contact with the beast but it was as if the creature had no mind to contact. It was both infuriating and puzzling. She was just about to have another go when a white robed figure stepped out from the shadows of the cliff and strode unconcerned out passed the very fore claws of the Dragon.

The Druid whistled shrilly to her companions behind the rock in warning.

Tain squinted round his side of the rock and Canthiss peered round the other side.

“It’s him,” Tain said immediately recognizing the Cleric.

“Who?” the Baron demanded to know.

“Cloewyn. Duke Grande’s Cleric. The traitor. Look how that beast just ignores him,” Tain marvelled.

And indeed the Dragon seemed not to have noticed Cloewyn striding nonchalantly out before it. He came to a halt and then in a friendly level voice said, “It is perfectly safe, at least for the moment. You may come out Baron. I have been awaiting you.”

Tain looked to the Baron who shouted haughtily back, “I do not deal with traitors.”

“If they have some straight answers, I do,” Tain said. He took several steps out from the rock towards Cloewyn his eyes never leaving the looming sight of the Dragon towering above him.

A moment later the Druid emerged from her ditch and stood beside Tain saying quietly as she did so, “There is something not right here.”

“You’re not wrong about that,” Tain whispered back taking in the impressive gleam of the Dragons teeth high above and massive talons resting on the soft sand before him.

Cloewyn took several steps closer towards them covering perhaps half the distance between them.

“You too Baron,” he encouraged, "Do not be shy. We cannot begin without you.”

The Baron emerged from behind the rock, drawing his sword and shield as he did so and Canthiss rose beside him likewise armed. With a slight gesture with his hand the Baron motioned to the closest of his soldiers, who still lay concealed, to hold their position. Most had taken up their crossbows but the hands holding them were shaking.

“Yes, leave your soldiers here. A very good idea. I do not foresee much of a future for them. Now come forward,” Cloewyn went on, “I have been awaiting your for some considerable time. You are late. Again.”

“Is this a friend of yours?” Tain asked nervously nodding towards the Dragon, which still had not moved.

“In a manner of speaking,” Cloewyn replied softly and then raised both his arms. The Dragon leapt into the air with shocking speed so that Tain barely had time to draw his bow let alone set an arrow to it. With another roar the Dragon landed right before them, no more than six feet away its immense bulk impressing upon their minds.

“Do not worry,” Cloewyn amicable voice said from beyond the creature, “He is only going to try and kill you.”

With those words the Dragon reared on its hind legs spread out its wings and slashed right across the space where they were standing. Instinctively Tain threw himself backwards. He saw in a flash out of the corner of his eye the Baron crouching behind his diamond shield and Canthiss trying to leap in between his master and the sweeping talons.

Tain knew as he fell backwards and saw the claws inches from him tearing passed that it must have caught him yet he felt nothing as he hit the soft sandy ground.

From behind them the crossbows of the soldiers sang out and the bolts flashed through the beast ineffectually and clattered harmlessly off the cliffs behind. From the ground Tain panted, recovering from his terror, “It's not real,” he said with wonder.

“Not exactly,” Cloewyn said approaching him and offering a hand up, “Dragons do not exist, generally speaking. Except at dawn and dusk. But it keeps the unwanted from these shores. There is an unusual amount of residual power left here on this island. It has created some rare and unusual circumstances unique to this place alone. It is why my people built the Circle here though it was Morwin who drew it first to our attention.”

The Baron had got a hold of himself again and approached now, sword held point outwards before himself in a threatening manner. “You, are a traitor,” he said simply.

“Am I?” Cloewyn said seeming genuinely surprised, “I may be, or I may have been or I may yet have cause to be, who knows? What have I done to so offend you Baron?”

“You betrayed your Duke.”

“I have never betrayed Duke Grande, if that is to whom you refer, but tended to him and his families needs with due care and tact for two generations.”

“Wait a moment," Tain put in, “I saw you kidnap the Prince. And it was you who sent me to Futura. Why?”

“Yes, I did do both those things I must confess. As to why you? Why all of you in fact? That is simple, I saw you here once before and therefore I had to ensure you came here again now. You Tain were already en route, that was not my doing but your own, all that I did was to encourage, to ensure you were in the right place at the right time. As to you Baron. The Ironfangs have been close to much that I have done over the long years, I know you better than you know yourself, you too are needed here,” he paused before the Druid, “You however I did not summon nor intervene in your life to bring you hither. And if I did not bring you here, then someone else has, but your purpose is hidden from me. I am tempted therefore to kill you now, if I did not already know it would be pointless,” Cloewyn said quietly, “Do not bother to reach for your poisons, Druid, they will not harm me. I am no threat to you until I discern the purpose for which you were sent. But come, we do not have time for further explanations. Erwin has gained entry to the city in numbers; he will be here very soon.”

“Wait. Why did you kidnap the Prince? On whose order? Where is he?” the Baron demanded all at once, still without lowering his sword.

“My only real purpose was to bring you here,” Cloewyn answered, “There is little time and much to do. I will explain as best I can as we go. For now the Dragon will distract them a little longer perhaps.”

He raised his arms and muttered some words they did not catch and the apparition of a Dragon took to the air and swept in over the plaza towards the western side of the city.

The Baron still had not lowered his sword; Cloewyn looked ruefully at him, “Would you strike down an unarmed man Baron, before I can lead you to your Prince?”

Ironfang grunted in response but slowly lowered his sword.

Cloewyn turned and moved swiftly back through the gap in the cliffs towards the interior signalling for them to follow.

“I do not trust him,” Ironfang said grimly.

“Who would? He talks completely in riddles,” Tain agreed, “But we don’t have any other option but to follow him.”

As they moved off the Baron gave his men the signal to follow at a distance and then set off himself with Canthiss close behind. They were led through the gap up what was once a wide flagstone avenue lined with huge, sprawling oak trees, old beyond counting, but many more were reduced to ancient stumps. The avenue led to a high arched gateway in the outer wall of the city, it had collapsed long ago and only half of it remained hanging defiantly out in the air.

Much of the wall either side of it had collapsed but further along its length stretches of it seemed fairly intact, only the encroaching plant life showing its true age.

Cloewyn led them through the archway and into a wide road with collapsed buildings either side with flights of stone steps that led now to nowhere. The road in turn led to the eastern edge of the plaza, the scale of which was clearer now that they were standing on its perimeter. It seemed easily a mile across; elaborate buildings bound all four sides of it, structures that though now half dilapidated and ruined they guessed must once have been skilfully crafted temples.

The circle of stones was maybe a quarter of a mile before them at the exact centre of the plaza and the golden Dome was in its centre. It was upheld by a circle of pillars and they could see that beneath its canopy a great black altar stone sat. The altar seemed to draw the eye and sit like a weight on the landscape surrounding it so that its importance seemed all out of proportion to its scale.

“Who built this place?” the Druid asked with some awe as Cloewyn led them northwards along the very edge of the plaza.

“They called him Skinripper,” Cloewyn responded.

“Nice name, friendly,” Tain quipped.

“Sadly it was also accurate,” Cloewyn replied, “He was a madman. Uncontrollable. He dies on this very island. It is Skinripper whom Erwin is here to aid.”

“I thought you just said Skinripper built this place? He must be dead by now, surely?” Tain asked as Cloewyn turned aside from the plaza and passed down a narrow street over half of which was strewn with rubble.

“He is, or will be. It depends on your point of view really,” Cloewyn replied confusingly, then stopped short so suddenly that Tain very nearly bumped right into him, “We are running out of time, you must listen very carefully. There is so much more you do not know than that which you do know.”

“I‘ve noticed that too lately,” Tain said dryly.

“Two thousand years ago Skinripper discovered a way to break the Circle of the World, to bring his God, Astagoth, through the Great Circle and physically into the world. Do you understand? He performed a ceremony, right there, in that Circle,” he pointed between the ruined buildings to the standing stones, “He channelled huge amounts of Divine magic, gathered through a very special sacrifice, into that Dome. But the Skinripper did not begin the ceremony. It did not begin in Skinrippers time but here in ours. Erwin will begin it, if all goes well. At sunset this very day. By doing this Erwin believes Skinripper will succeed in bringing their God here, manifest. History will be altered. But he is a fool, time is not like that, what has happened has always happened and will continue to happen, it cannot be changed. But still we must stop him. That is the task. Come we must hurry now,” Cloewyn set off again at his brisk pace before they could respond, leading them further down the street.

“I did not understand any of that” Irongfang grumbled, “where is the Prince?” he demanded wanting a simple answer.

Cloewyn ignored him but just pressed on anxiously.

Ahead Tain could see the road joined a crossroads with a smashed fountain at its centre.

“So Erwin has not begun the ceremony then?” the Druid enquired of Cloewyn, catching him up.

“No, he cannot. He does not yet have all he needs.”

“Then would it not be easier to stop him now?” she went on with a puzzled frown.

“It would not work,” Cloewyn replied simply.

“Why not?” she asked.

“Because I was there, two thousand years ago. I witnessed Skinripper summoning his God. The ceremony you see had already begun, so no matter what we try to do to stop it here we will fail. I have seen it in the past.”

“If we can’t stop it from starting,” Tain said slowly as he navigated the debris of the road and Cloewyn's conversation, “Then can we stop him from completing it?”

“No,” Cloewyn said as they entered the wide crossroads, “but he can be stopped.”

“You know that for certain?” the Baron demanded.

“Oh yes, I saw you do it, two thousand years ago and you will do it again. You began this when you choose to come here and here you will end it, soon,” he crossed over to the ruined fountain, half of its wide basin still survived and he pulled himself up onto it and perched there.

Tain approached him the others close behind, “You’re aware, aren’t you, that you’re not making a lot of sense? How do we begin it?”

Cloewyn laughed, “Why, it starts when you are captured.”

“And how does that happen?” Ironfang growled at him.

“Like this,” Cloewyn said standing up on the precarious fountain, “I tell you that you have followed me into a trap and then I raise my arms thus,” here he raised both arms above his head, “and from the shadow of these buildings Baron Erwin’s men pour forth and surround you.”

All four glanced suddenly around and just as Cloewyn had said from every shadowy doorway and from behind each tumbledown wall a man seemed to appear; armoured and with a crossbow at the ready aimed at their hearts.

“I would not overly resist,” Cloewyn said mildly, “You will not be successful, take it from someone who knows,” he stepped down onto the street and before the men closed in whispered to them, “There will be a chance to escape. When it comes make for the cave on the eastern cliff face above the city. See it,” he pointed out a cave face above the level of the streets with an idication of his eyes, “It is filled with the stored wealth of this city; a mighty hoard accumulated over centuries and there you will find answers to some of your questions. It is the only place on this island you will be safe.”

“We do not deal with traitors,” Ironfang bellowed into his face as the ring of men closed in about them.

Tain considered the odds, realized they were at least a million to one against surviving a point-blank hail of crossbow bolts and angrily sheathed his sword.

The Druid beside him likewise made no rash movement. Tain fully expected the Baron to try something incredibly stupid at any moment, such as cutting his way out, he was pleasantly surprised when Ironfang choose not to react, but then he noticed the restraining hand of Canthiss on his masters arm and realized dejectedly that the Baron alone really was that hot-headed and suicidal. Either he was stupefyingly heroic or just plain stupid. Tain could not decide.

A second ring of men appeared behind the crossbow men. There were at least forty mercenaries around them now with at least twenty more pouring into the crossroads from all sides, these new ones were armed with long pike staffs.

The Barons men who were following them were not enough for a direct head to head fight and they made no move to attack or rescue them- wisely Tain thought. Better to stay hidden and await a chance, at least that was what he hoped they would do. It was, he considered, just as likely they would simply turn and run for the ship.

The mercenaries closed in and pressed the barbed tips of their pikes right up into their chests before several of the larger burlier men moved in with ropes. One bore chains especially for the Baron.

Very quickly they were all four tied; bound hand and foot. Their weapons were confiscated and in the Barons and Canthiss case their armour stripped from them.

They had been well and truly captured.






End of another chapter.
Next up - chapter 10 Mirror, mirror.

ps- there are only 11 chapters in book 1 so almost there although 11 is a pretty long chapter, should probably be 2 chapters really.

Ive done it ! Im still here ! still enjoying this story to ! loving it actually.

You will be glad to know there is a book 2 then! (Although i think a suitable break will be required at the end of book 1!)

Paperback!!!

il look forward to it Petty !

Kellius unlocked the padlock and the chain fell back allowing the door to swing freely inward. At first all beyond was darkness. Then a pale silver light began streaming in and the young Ironfang saw that it was moonlight. It was coming in from high above, through a massive window in the roof, he could see through it the clouds being driven across the face of the full moon by the strength of the wind.

The sparkling light fell in glimmering shafts onto the straw covered floor and it was beautiful, the shadows of the hurrying clouds seemed to make it alive and Ironfang was entranced by it.

And then he noticed that the light also fell onto something massive and heaving lying upon the floor.

A thrill of fear and of something else, something unknown shook his young body, he turned to look to Kellius and saw that Canthiss now stood at Kellius side and his youthful eyes were wide with fear. This more than anything else caused a small tremor of panic to finally swell in Ironfang's stomach.
He turned back to look into the pool of silvery light, deep with hidden meaning. It seemed in its glimmering shafts to contain the sensation of something terrifying, forbidden and unknown and yet so familiar. He stared in shock at what was before him. Destiny and his future stared back.


Tain was not happy. He had not enjoyed the voyage here by boat. He had not enjoyed being ill. He had particularly not enjoyed the melancholy that had followed the Druids potion. And he was defiantly not enjoying himself right now.

He took in his captors. Mercenaries and pirates if he was any judge of a man. They had no common uniform or even race as far as he could tell. Some were dark haired and swarthy whilst others were more sophisticated in their appearance and were better equipped. It seemed that Erwin had simply rounded up anyone he could find in the Port, put a pouch around their necks, and brought them along.

Cloewyn had disappeared as they were being bound and there had not been a sign of him since.

Tain was not surprised by this. Cloewyn it seemed came and went as he pleased. He writhed on the hard ground with his bonds cutting into his wrists and ankles.

Thinking about his bonds reminded him of the special treatment Ironfang had received. Why had the Baron alone been put in chains? Was he guilty of some worse crime in their eyes? Or did they like so many others simply fear him more?

He glanced sideways at Ironfang's wide face which was currently cast down at the ground. What thoughts were passing behind those dark eyes was hard to fathom but Ironfang was staring at the dirt as if he desired to pound it into nothingness.

The Baron was in fact reasoning between enduring further this humiliating captivity and risking all by ending it. He did not dare lift his head for fear his eyes should meet those of Canthiss who he knew even now was watching him closely, searching for signs. He could hear, fresh as if old Kellius were standing before him those strict instructions, “To survive you must be secret. Fear what you are and fear more what you yet may become.”

Ironfang regarded that memory a moment, ‘Fear more what you yet may become.’ Did he still fear it? Had he ever feared it? It was the mantra of his fore-fathers. But no more if he had his way. He felt his face flush red with anger and knew Canthiss would have marked it and maybe guessed the general direction of his thought.

He turned instead to his immediate purpose here, the Prince and wondered if he might still live and what good that might yield his cause. If Prince Mekhal were to be rescued then he would be in Ironfangs debt and the Keep of Erwin, Southolt, would lie empty after this business was concluded.

And if they failed and the Prince died then there was still Grande, backing his claim on the throne would also ensure Southolt returning to Ironfang rule. Yet for the Baron it was not enough, it was a beginning to be sure, but in his own mind he should be supporting neither Prince nor Duke but only his own cause. But he could see no way to achieve it. Generations of self-imposed withdrawal had left the Ironfangs without the financial or military strength his dreams and desires demanded.

His mind turned inexorably to the words of the traitorous Cloewyn and to the cave he had mentioned. The Baron considered for the first time just what sort of treasures might lie hidden there. Certainly this island must once have been a rich and opulent place. The craftsmanship and quantity of the stonework was testament to that. He knew from his own experience of maintaining the walls of his relatively small Keep just how expensive that could be; if it were not for the plentiful supply of rock that strewed the hills around Northolt and wiry labour of the Gnomes the family residence would long ago have fallen into disrepair. Here then maybe in this cave was a solution to one of his problems.

He tested his strength against the chain binding him and found that although it was thick and well forged and Erwin’s men had bound it round several times he had the strength to break it. It was then just a matter of timing. He awaited his opportunity, studiously avoiding catching the eye of his friend and servant.

The Druid was also considering options. Escape from rope was not of course a real obstacle to someone capable of altering their form so she was not overly concerned at being so encumbered. She did not however want to simply run and leave her companions. Besides she could not think of what use she would be to them on her own.

It would be no use going to the ship- whilst she could muster the few Barons men left on board it was unlikely a single sailor would volunteer for a rescue mission. There were the thirty-two soldiers that had been following somewhere discreetly behind; presumably they were somewhere close by, waiting their chance. She doubted they would be enough against so many.

She was just considering this when two Barbarians appeared, emerging from a tumbledown two-storey building. They were so alike they could have been twins except one was slightly taller than the other. Their attire was simple; hide jerkins and trousers with thick boots on their feet. They carried short, leaf shaped swords. They also bore small round shields upon their backs. Of the two the taller was attired in slightly more splendour than the shorter; he bore a golden torc about his throat. It glinted as it caught the evening sun. Unlike the mercenaries they wore no pouches.

Ironfang spat at the ground before them from his prostrate position. They showed a great deal of pleasure at the sight of the captive Baron and laughed, exchanging jovial words in their own northern dialect. Canthiss tried to placate his master with pleading looks, as if to say that to strike now would be futile.

“Untie their legs,” ordered one of them.

A thick-necked man with a round face, long dark hair and large hooped gold earrings undid their leg cords whilst a second man with a pike stood behind him holding the weapons point to the chest of whomever was being released. When it came to the Barons turn the taller Barbarian ordered another two pike men into place as an extra precaution.

They had been on the ground for maybe only an hour but it had felt longer. Standing was initially painful, Tain hopped from foot to foot with cramp.

“Link them,” the Barbarian ordered and two other men came forward bearing a long length of thick chain that they passed through metal hoops on the cords binding their hands, thus joining them together in a row.

The Baron was at the head, the Druid behind him and then Tain and at the rear Canthiss, looking angry at being separated from his master in this way.

The Barbarians made their way to the head of the procession and half-turning the taller said civilly to Ironfang, “I am named Cuthwelyn. Baron Erwin awaits you beneath the Dome.”

Ironfang's mouth involuntarily turned up in a sneer, “The Nobility of Futura has stripped that title from him,” he hissed at them.

Cuthwelyn did not respond but turned away smiling and began walking off down the wrecked street. Behind them the mercenaries followed in a large unorganized group with the captives in the middle.

It was at this moment just as the whole group began moving that Ironfang's soldiers chose to make their assault.

The first Tain knew about it was a whistling sound, unmistakably crossbow bolts, that went whizzing by him, followed an instant later by several of the mercenaries near him crumpling over in the street, some silently some not so.

There were perhaps twenty or so shots in the first volley but the mercenaries closest to the rear peeled off immediately, swords drawn, and the second volley when it came only had half as many bolts in it. Still, many found a deadly mark in the throng of men.

There was a multitude of cries from behind them as the soldiers and the mercenaries clashed in the ruined buildings and the chained companions were momentarily left almost unattended.

With a bellow of effort from Ironfang the chains binding his wrists clattered to the cracked paving stone beneath him in two pieces.

Tain looked at him in amazement, he had considered the Baron strong but that was unnaturally strong.

The Barons cry had gained him the attention of two mercenaries who had not yet gone to join their companions in the skirmish. They glanced at one another and then charged at the Baron.

One was armed with a pike which before Ironfang could respond struck just below the left shoulder. The pike staff snapped in half upon impact, the head and lower shaft protruding still from the Baron.

Immediately red blood flowed from the wound and stained his jerkin. He cried out in rage as the second man raced towards him sword drawn for the blow.

Clutching his shoulder the Baron spun to one side and tripped his hapless attacker as the man passed by. But the Baron had missed his chance for escape. More mercenaries were returning. They saw the Baron free and charged.

A second pike struck Ironfang in the back as he turned and the Baron sank to his knees. Two voices suddenly cried out at the same time. One came from Cuthwelyn screaming at his men, “No! Restrain him. Restrain him!” The second was that of Canthiss shouting in a commanding voice, “Control it my Baron. Control it.”

The Baron spun round and slumped onto his side, dimly he was aware of the cries of Canthiss and a part of him laughed at how ludicrous the words seemed, words soon he would not comprehend and he would in truth be glad of that.

“Control it?" How could he control this rage, this drive that the stench of his own blood and the feel of his own pain were triggering in him? Why would he even want to control it? He desired the oblivion, craved the freedom that conscience denied him. The freedom to act directly without thought or care. Why not succumb, why not deal out justice as it should be given; with purity, with clarity, with swift death? With joy? The true Ironfang way.

Blood pounded from his wounds and he fell prostrate onto the hard flagstones whilst two of the guards set about kicking him in the ribs despite the increasingly shrill protest of Cuthwelyn.

Ironfang felt his thoughts fading away replaced with memory.

A great shape rose up from the ground before the entranced young Ironfang until it was standing eight foot tall, bathed in the silver light of the moon. It was coated in thick black hair that shone and gleamed. Outside the wind drummed against the kennel walls and he heard Kellius saying behind him, “Do not be afraid.” And he had not been afraid. Not until Canthiss had added in a whisper, “It is your father.”

Memory dimmed now and painful reality intruded. The screaming face of Cuthwelyn his mouth clearly forming the word "No!" was almost mute to him. Yet through the agony, the nausea and memory Canthiss' voice came, as clear as if he were standing by his ear.

“No, Baron,” it pleaded.

He laughed till he began choking and coughing up blood. The last sound he remembered floating through his head was his own voice defiantly roaring out, “Yes!”

His body convulsed.

Cuthwelyn rushed forward desperately clawing back the ring of men that surrounded Ironfang and who were still raining heavy kicks on the spasming Barons body.

From where they stood still chained together Tain and the others could not see the Baron, obscured as he was by the ring of men, but just as Cuthwelyn fought his way through, pulling men back, there began a horrible tearing sound.

Suddenly the mercenaries were backing away in a widening ring. All eyes fixed on the form of Ironfang lying in a pool of his own blood.

The Barons skin was beginning to rip apart in long dark gashes, black hair sprouted from within them. The flows of blood suddenly ceased.

Canthiss pushed forward dragging the others with him, Tain reluctantly. But immediately at a wave of the hand from Cuthwelyn four men stepped warily out and he was restrained.

“You must let me tend to him,” Canthiss begged as they hauled him back, “Please, hear me, if you men do not wish to die let me go to him.”

No one responded and they were dragged back, Canthiss still crying, “He will spare none, I warn you.”

The Barons whole body was violently twisting, his limbs thrashed madly, slapping against the hard stone. His shoulders and chest were barrelling out, stretching and his head was being elongated in wretched tearing sounds through which the Baron began screaming, sometimes in a voice that sounded human and sometimes it seemed to snap and tear into a deeper pitch that sounded more like the guttural howl of some wild beast.

All the time his back contorted, vibrated and the shoots of long black hair sprouted agonizingly from it.

It all in fact took only a minute or so to occur but it seemed an eternity of visual torture as the painful alteration unfolded before their stunned eyes and held them horrified, rooted to the spot, weapons forgotten in limp hands.

The Barbarians alone seemed to still possess their faculties, as their men stared dumbfounded Cuthwelyn gave the order to move the captives out.

Tain was staring in a mixture of horror and fascination. The Druids changes were disturbing because space, both inside and outside of your head, seemed to be retched around in an unhealthily way. This though was by far much worse. This was slow by comparison and infinitely more agonizing looking. The accompanying sound of the Barons alteration would stay with him forever on dark nights; the sound of bone and muscles pulled and stretched, tearing and reknitting.

The end product of the Barons convulsions was no less palatable on the eye. He, or it, arose from the ground in a single fluid movement. He still stood on two legs but hunched over so that he was very nearly on all fours and Tain was quite sure he could move just as well, if not much faster, on four limbs as easily as he stood now on two. There was even a tail hanging between his legs Tain noted and a kind of mad mood of humour borne out of terror and witnessing the seemingly impossible came over him and he snorted a laugh nervously.

The upper half of the Baron was no laughing matter however; the torso was sleek and furred but the definition of the musculature was obvious even through the long black hair.

The face, if it still could be called such, was like a wolf bred to a mastiff. It was wide with a deep forehead and he had the long pricked ears of the wolf. The snout however was blunt and dog-like and the jaw was wide and firm set and when it opened filled with razor sharp teeth that dripped with saliva. The tongue was long and a deep red. The eyes above it were however still the dark eyes of the Baron of Northolt and to Tain's mind there was still some spark of malicious intelligence deep within them.

If the mercenaries had backed off before then they backed off even further now as the Baron rose up. Canthiss again tried to surge forward but at an order from Cuthwelyn the guards beside them jerked all three of them on their linked chain in the direction of the plaza.

The Druid was watching the Baron with more professional eyes than the others. She had seen this transformation once before; in the chamber under the mountain. This was the same sort of beast Erwin had transformed into. Although the Baron was a more terrifying apparition than Erwin had become. She wondered if the Barbarians knew about Erwin. She wondered if the Baron knew.

A few of the braver mercenaries seemed to get a hold of themselves and as one charged forward with a yell with pikes raised for attack. This act of courage was swiftly backed up by men who suddenly realized there best, if not only chance, was to attack all at once and from all sides.

Ironfang moved easily, going into an all fours posture from which he effortlessly bounded from ground to walls and back to ground again. His attacks could and did come from almost any direction. As he leapt around the street the scything of his claws through flesh and bone echoed from the walls. Screams of pain and terror were soon the accompaniments. It took only a few minutes to fill the road with bodies.

The Baron, having no more to kill close at hand, turned towards the captives being led hurriedly away up the ruined street. He threw back his head, howled with pleasure and bounded down the street.

The Barbarians saw him coming and cried out redoubling the effort to escape but Ironfang was swiftly gaining.

Rapidly he pounded behind them and using the half collapsed wall of a house as a springboard he launched into the closest of the mercenaries who was bringing up the rear. The man went down with a horrified squeal.

Canthiss dragged backwards on his chain eager to halt. Tain pulled just as eagerly in the opposite direction.

In a second the Baron had dispatched the rear guard and pausing only to tear the throat out of the deceased he swept on towards them.

Racing to a gallop he leapt up onto a half collapsed wall that ran parallel with the road and tore along its top until he was matching pace with the captives below. He howled a second time and leapt at them.

He landed almost on top of Tain, jaws wide. It was only Canthiss yanking hard on the chain that linked them that saved Tain from death. As it was, as he was dragged sideways, he heard the loud click of the Barons sharp teeth snapping together in the air where his head had been.

Tain hit the ground hard cursing the Baron's name, but wasted no time in scrambling backwards from the monstrosity the Baron had become. The huge hairy body had a strong earthy odour to it and a visible steam rose from the black coat. The Baron spun round on all fours, turning the broad snarling face upon Tain.

The eyes that fixed Tain seemed to show no glint of recognition, there was no friendliness in them or warmth.

The hot breath of the Baron snorted from his nostrils across Tain's face. Neither of them moved. Tain held his breath.

Then the Baron lunged and Tain, not for the first time, thought that he was dead.

No death came however. Canthiss had intervened, moving swiftly into the narrow ground between Tain and his master. He put out his right hand, straight before Ironfang's fell face and wafted it back and forth several times. The wide nostrils of the Baron sniffed deeply and the head turned, tilting to one side, and focused on Canthiss.

Canthiss slowly raised his arm till it was straight upwards then he brought it down in a swift motion and the Baron fell back, moving slowly on his haunches like a scolded dog and circled away.

There were sudden shouts and cries from the general direction of the plaza. Twenty men or more having despatched Ironfang's soldiery were flooding in from a side-street. They saw the beast and quickly formed ranks.

A row of pike men advanced up the street with crossbow men behind. With an almost joyous bound the Baron shot away to meet them.

Quickly now the prisoners were dragged at speed towards the Dome. Tain could not clearly see what was going on behind them because of the ring of screaming men that formed and because he had to crane over his own shoulder as he stumbled forward to see anything at all. But what was clear was that the mercenaries were being torn apart as soon as they entered Ironfang's reach. Their carefully prepared ranks were soon in disarray and men were fleeing and regrouping in random fashion as the Baron swept through them.

If his speed of movement was phenomenonal so also to Tain's distaste was his barbarity. It was not enough that this beast form of Ironfang killed his enemy, which he did with great efficiency, but he also tore at their corpses after they had fallen so that entrails and blood quickly mingled freely around him and pieces of twisted guts hung from his red maw and claws. It was as though he was revelling in each death, glorying in the awfulness of each kill. And sword blows and pike thrusts, even arrows seemed to simply crack off his hide as if striking stone.

As they were taken round the corner of the street and about to lose sight of the Baron entirely it was clear to Tain that Ironfang was quickly going to decimate the mercenary numbers. No wonder he was so cocky and keen to charge headlong into battle. He seemed indestructible.

They were led round a junction passed a white stone building with large pillared fronting and a cracked roof when Canthiss, with a sudden surge, surprised their guards and charged back down the street towards his master.

Tain had barely time to register what was happening as Canthiss shot away from him before he felt the tug on the chain and found himself involuntarily running. The Druid was dragged along after them and the end of the chain bounced behind sending up occasional sparks on the stone paving. The guards sprang after them with a yell.

“What the hell are you doing?” Tain screamed to Canthiss, trying to keep up but feeling the weight of the Druid (who was a slower runner) drawing him up short so that he was trying to run with his hands being pulled first forwards by Canthiss and then backwards by the Druid.

Looking ahead as he stumbled he could see that there were only a handful of the mercenaries remaining; Ironfang had one of them now in one long hairy arm. He had pinned the man to the wall and seemed to be staring into the terrified face, scrutinizing it, he ran a long extended claw up the side of the man's cheek trailing a line of red behind it then with a sudden lunge of his head the Baron struck. He let the limp body fall to the ground. The throat hanging still in his grizzly maw.

“I don't want to go back there!” Tain shouted horrified, “We’re running the wrong way. I make it a point to never run the wrong way!”

“Do you not understand?” Canthiss shouted fiercely back over his shoulder, “I have to stop him. It is my duty.”

The Druid was trying her best to keep up but unlike the other two she was wearing a robe, which though she had found it had many uses running was not one of them. Also she was not overly convinced of the wisdom of their chosen direction or of the guards she could hear closing up behind her. She hoisted up her robes as best she could with her tied and linked hands but as she did so she felt the chain being yanked from behind so hard that it spun her completely around. She fell in an undignified tumbling heap to the hard flagstone street, robe billowing around her. She looked up; one of the guards was holding the trailing end of the chain with a smug grin.

Tain felt the sudden pull backwards and his hands involuntarily shot out behind himself. He gave a shout of warning to Canthiss but it was too late. He could do nothing to stop himself being dragged to a halt by the combined weight of the guard and the Druid; he was jerked heavily to the ground the wind knocked out of him. Quickly they were surrounded and the guards dragged them back at pike point to the waiting Barbarians. “If he does that again, kill those two,” Cuthwelyn said and indicated Tain and the Druid. Tain looked indignant. They were waved onwards.

The last Tain saw of the Baron as they were marched away was of a small circle of six men and a fountain of blood that went up and splashed the white wall behind a brilliant red. Very quickly the view was entirely obscured by a half fallen building as they were marched out into the open of the plaza. But the occasional scream of a dying man followed them.

Behind them as they marched, out beyond the bay and the silhouette small and far off that was their ship at anchor, the sun was beginning its journey down towards the horizon, throwing long shadows from the jagged broken masonry out across the flagstones before them. Ahead the Golden Dome gleamed in the light. Discernable below it was a small group of people and a banner waving in the breeze. The banner of the Kings of Futura.

Oh I did enjoy this ! I felt as tho I was being dragged with them, & the werewolf like change in the Baron ! great stuff ! loved it !

There was a guard post which was little more than a single half collapsed room with a wide cracked basin in it positioned about a hundred feet from the edge of the plaza. Cuthwelyn asked of the mercenary stationed on duty there, “Has the dragon returned?”

The man nodded back towards the city, where it mounted up onto the cliff face, there was a distant black cave in the rock above, “It resides yonder,” the mercenary said, “and has not flown some hour since. But there is its lair.”

“So I see,” Cuthwelyn replied staring up at the distant opening, “If you should see a creature approach on our heels, like to a great wolf, let it pass unchallenged. Do you understand?”

“A wolf?” the mercenary queried with a glance to his compatriots, the looks they returned told him this was not a joke.

“You will not mistake it if you see it, I assure you. If it comes hide yourself and pray to Astagoth it does not catch your scent. Understood?”

“Aye,” the mercenary replied somewhat nervously. Once the company had all passed him by and were making there way out across the plaza the guard found his eye now strayed more often back the way they had come rather than to the cave as before.

Erwin was awaiting them at the foot of three shallow steps that led up to the Dome. Tain could clearly make him out as they approached, recognizing his broad forehead and flowing grey hair instantly as they were led around the perimeter of the stone Circle.

The stones of the Circle were exactly like those Tain had seen before; the same odd dark substance. Here though they were much taller and the sparkle in their heart seemed more alive and to react not just with any light that fell upon the surface but also with the eye which beheld them.

To glance at one even for a moment was to risk staring at it for eternity such seemed the allure of its shine.

The effect however seemed to be lost on the mercenaries who never gave the stones a second glance but seemed to regard them merely as objects which they had to walk around. Though this was perhaps accounted for by the fact that, as Tain had noted since their captivity, all the mercenaries wore the magical leather pouches around their necks.

Had Tain not been linked to the others and dragged along by the constant prodding of their captors he could easily have drawn to a slow halt and stood by the stones whilst the seasons changed around him, lost in their intricate inner life. But he was being dragged along and his eyes were never given the opportunity of staying long on any of the stones they passed and so instead he found himself concentrating on his general surroundings for some hint of a possible escape. This did not take long.

There wasn't any.

There could be no direct assault that was obvious, despite Ironfangs killing spree there were still at least twenty mercenaries dotted around the Circle area. Escape was made more difficult because the Dome was in the exact centre of the plaza in a large wide open space whose only cover was a few large rocks cast off from the city in some distant tumulus.

It would take him at least a few minutes he reckoned to run at his top speed from his present location to the relative safety of the nearest ruined building- one of the crumbled temples that lined the perimeter on either side under the cliffs. They were minutes during which he would be subjected to a hail of bolts. The only cover he therefore had readily available to him was the Dome itself, the circle of stones and the lumps of cast-off masonry.

He did not trust the Circle stones so that ruled them out as a place of safety and he could not see what use the Dome could be to him. He glanced ahead to it, now closer as they approached.

The pillars that upheld it were, he could now see, intricately carved. They were not yet close enough for him to make out any detail but the general impression was of writhing and coiling images; hard, dark and unpleasant. He had no real desire to see them closer.

Each pillar was six or seven foot round and the entire width side to side of the dais beneath the Dome some twenty to twenty-five feet. In the centre, directly beneath the apex of the Dome was a large black stone, the Altar Stone.

Even as his eye beheld it Tain felt its presence enter his head like a weight on his mind. It seemed to make the air throb in his ears when he looked upon it. It was roughly twice the length of a man, constructed it seemed of the dark stone of the Circle but here, if there was a sparkle, then it must have been hidden deep. This stone was more akin to looking down into a pit. Its blackness was nearly absolute and hanging off it were ancient, yet still whole, manacles, two on either side.

As they drew nearer, though his view was partially blocked by Erwin and his companions upon the steps, he could see that the flagstones were stained black with ancient blood. As the guards dragged them forward Tain briefly wondered where the Baron was and how his transformation had certainly answered a lot of questions about the man.

A thought occurred to him about Canthiss odd role in the Barons life but he had not time to think it through, they had reached the end of their forced march just as the afternoon was beginning to fade towards evening.

The Baron had fled the scene of his bloody butchery; there had been nothing left to kill. The stench of the warm flesh had briefly drawn him into a frenzy during which he had torn and shredded the remains until there was almost nothing recognizably human left and that had felt good, but he had eventually gained some control of himself.

Thoughts of the normal human kind were no longer available to him, now there was only instinct, desire and rage.

Yet the Baron had learnt over the years that whilst he could not carry complicated plans or ideas through the transformation he could retain a single aim that would otherwise direct his primal urges.

The aim he had formulated was to seek out the cave and its wealth. To this end he went down onto all fours and tore through the streets. But even as he ran, going ever upwards, often clambering over collapsed houses or bounding from fallen masonry to fallen masonry, he knew the power was slipping away from him. He could feel the tingling in his muscles that meant he would not hold this shape. He itched under his skin.

It required, though he did not know why, no one did, the light of the full moon to make his form have a semblance of permanency. When induced by injury or rage it was short-lived and soon withered as if lacking in sustenance without the silver light. His tiredness of limb was growing with each step.

He found a low building just beneath the cave entrance that once had a second storey (that now lay in shattered pieces on the plazas edge far below) and crawled below an overhang formed from an out jut of what remained of the first floor. In the relative dark and coolness it offered his body began to convulse.

“Your timing could not have been better,” Erwin said to them by way of an opening, “We were just about to begin.”

He was flanked on one side by Cloewyn and on the other by the two Barbarians. The banner of the King fluttered in the breeze above them and at its foot a body lay slumped.

“We have come only to pay the ransom,” Canthiss replied “And to see the safe return of Prince Mekhal.”

“To pay ransom on this?” Erwin said waving a hand at the slumped body.

“What have you done to him?” Canthiss demanded.

“Oh, do not worry, he is not dead. Yet. But there will be no ransom. There never was going to be one.”

“Then why keep him alive at all?” Tain asked.

“I do not know you,” Erwin said stepping closer to Tain and then glancing at the Druid he said, “Nor you," he paused and looked again at the Druid, "and yet you are both somehow familiar to me.” He scrutinised the Druid for a second with a furrowed brow, “especially you dear lady.”

He turned back to Canthiss, “You of course Canthiss, I do know. I know you to be a man of loyalty and honour. For have you and your family not kept the secret of your masters for generations? Even from the Kings you profess to serve? Do not be surprised. I know what lurks in Northolt. But have no fear, I shall keep the family secret as well as you, for it is after all my family secret also. Or did you not know that I too am family?” Erwin smiled broadly at Canthiss' failed attempts to keep a look of shocked surprise off his face, “You didn't know, did you?” he laughed, “To many secrets in Northolt dear Canthiss. Some even for you. Just think, had the Barons father not cast my mother adrift then I would be your master now and she, she might yet still live,” a pained look passed over his face but it quickly turned to anger, “But know this, I will have my revenge before this day is out. Where is your master, my half-brother?” he demanded.

“I know not,” Canthiss replied truthfully staring straight ahead and hoping his face was not betraying any more of the shock and surprise he felt at Erwins revelations.

“Well it is of no matter where he is now but where he will be. We are brothers, your master and I. I know what is in his heart well enough. I know his mind. He will not miss the opportunity I present him with. I know what he wants, the secret desire of the Ironfangs, that which his family have sworn to never take and which your family have sworn to stop them ever taking; power.”

“You’re not wrong there,” Tain muttered to himself.

“If you know so much of my master then what have I to tell you?” Canthiss stated, “And if you have no intention of accepting our ransom then our business with you is concluded. Release us.”

“Our business Canthiss is just beginning. Your master will not resist the chance to engage me; he knows not we are kin and in his arrogance he believes his condition makes him invulnerable.”

“It does,” Canthiss retorted dryly, “If you strike him down he will transform to that which man cannot harm.”

“I can harm him,” Erwin said coldly, “I will show him,” he turned to Tain and the Druid, asking them “Do you know how the last Baron Ironfang died? I do,” he smiled an evil grin and looked at Canthiss, “Do you? And as with the father so it shall be with the son. I will be last of that bloodline and the first with the courage to rule.”

“When he comes it is you who shall all die,” Canthiss retorted, but he no longer sounded confident.

Erwin laughed loudly, “It is his coming to your rescue that I am now counting upon,” he said simply and then turned his gaze suddenly upon the horizon. The sun was dipping now towards it. “It would have been so much easier, and less bloody, had he just been brought here unmolested. But he will still come, for you,” he turned to Cloewyn “Now however we must begin.”

Cloewyn nodded in consent and with great ceremony proceeded out alone to the stones. One by one he addressed them, giving a short, mumbled incantation to each. It seemed to the ears of Tain that the pitch and tone of each incantation was dimly taken up with a low resonance by each stone in turn.

Cloewyn nodded to two of the guards and pointed at the Princes slumped body. The guards lifted him from under his armpits and from the way his head lolled on his neck it was clear he was heavily drugged. Cloewyn drew a long sharp dagger.

“How much will you require?” Erwin enquired.

“Not much. A drop from the rightful King on each stone it is said, no more,” Cloewyn informed him.

“Good. Once we have disposed of Baron Ironfang we will put this rightful King upon the altar as the first fresh offering to Astagoth. His brother must be King, for now. Until the Watcher arrives.”

Cloewyn ordered the Prince be dragged out into the Circle. He then proceeded to draw blood from the recumbent Royal, draining it into a small goblet. He stepped reverentially out before the stones and with the tip of his dagger applied a drop of royal blood to each.

In turn each stone began a discernible buzzing upon contact until by the time the Circle was complete it was a deep throbbing in the air.

Light sparked from within the stones. It seemed random to begin with, first in one stone then in another but soon it was clear there were patterns in it as stones lit up in repeated sequences. Cloewyn began a deep chanting sound and Tain and the others looked on mesmerized as the sparkles deep within the stones rose to the surface and glittered in a symphony of light. Then in a rush of dancing movements the lights broke free from their confines and streamed in a glowing, spiralling twisting streak towards the Dome.

It flowed passed them, filling the air and the Dome received the light with a deep golden flash of its own. The lights hung about it and swam about its surface. Sparks discharged every now and again in rainbow colours.

Overhead the gold of the Dome crackled. Something like a shockwave of sound and brightness exploded out from it and the ground trembled.

“It has begun,” Cloewyn shouted, “Past and present now run together. Time is tied.”

Cloewyn caught Tains eye, and Tain heard his voice inside his head, it said simply, “Get ready.”

At that moment a group of four mercenaries hurried towards them from the ruined Temple beneath the cliff. They approached Erwin and the Barbarians who withdrew to hear them; the Druid curious, altered herself subtly, changing her ears to those of an owl and used them to eavesdrop. One of the men was reporting news in an earnest fashion.

“We caught a clear sight of him climbing the street leading to the beasts’ lair.”

“Then he is going away from us and not toward. Without the blood of a Skinripper the ceremony cannot be completed,” Cuthwelyn cursed.

“He goes after the treasure in the cave,” Cloewyn said.

“I underestimated his greed and ambitions. He has abandoned his friends and his Prince, I did not foresee that,” Erwin said angrily.

“And what now?” the second Barbarian asked fiercely, “We have less than an hour at our disposal to retrieve him. You have failed us, Erwin.”

“That accusation comes too oft to your lips Hevlor. I have not failed yet. The day is not yet spent.”

Tain noted the strained look on the Druids face and leaning towards her he noticed between the curl of her hair the oddness of her ears and guessed that she was somehow listening in.

“What are they saying?” he whispered.

“That the Baron has gone to the cave.”

“To the cave? What for?”

“Some sort of treasure apparently.”

“The Baron has sold us out for bounty?” Tain asked incredulously, “The bastard!”

“So it would seem. It would also seem that he is descended from Skinripper, the tyrant that used to rule here, and that they plan to sacrifice him for their ceremony before this day is out.”

“So it’s not all bad news then," Tain observed sourly. A sudden thought occurred to him, “Trust me,” he said to the Druid in a low voice and then in a louder angry voice he cried out, “The Baron has gone where? I'll kill him myself.”

Immediately Erwin turned towards him and Cloewyn looked on with a curious eye.

“You should speak softer,” Tain went on addressing Erwin, “My friend here has very good hearing.”

Erwin came over to them and eyed the Druid up and down suspiciously. “Maybe I should have her ears cut off then,” he said menacingly and she threw Tain a black look.

“She heard that the Baron has betrayed us. That he’s abandoned us to your mercy in favour of his own coffers. Did she hear true?”

“She did. He is a coward who would rather hide from us than risk his own foul skin. What say you to that?”

“That you lie!” Canthiss said vehemently.

“We will see when I skin you and your master still does not come to your aid wither I lie or no.”

“You need Ironfang” Tain said, “After all we’re but the bait, aren’t we? It’s the Baron you want. His blood. I'm right, am I not?”

“You know too much and have spoken more than is wise,” Erwin said drawing a long dagger from his belt.

“Look I’ve no love for the Baron,” Tain insisted hurriedly, “This isn't the first time he has put my life in danger. And he’s left me here to die, again. I’ve skill in tracking and I know my quarry. I’ll bring you Ironfang. We can cut a deal.”

“In return for what?” Erwin asked doubtfully.

“In return for free passage from this accursed place and for my companions with me. I never did like religion.”

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“How do I know I can trust you?” Tain retorted, “After all I’ll have to give up Ironfang before you set me free. It seems the risk is mine. What’ve you to lose? We’re not needed for what you’re about to do and where can we go, to our ship?- we might be back by tomorrow night with reinforcements if we are lucky, by which time you will be long done here. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain. I give you my word. I will bring you that cowardly bastard Ironfang with pleasure.”

“Very well. But my men will accompany you.”

“I shall go with them also,” Cloewyn said stepping forward, “They will need the silver armour. I will not let that armour out of my sight; it is too precious and so many died in the expedition to Morwin's Tomb to recover it.”

“Good, you shall be my eyes upon them,” Erwin said with a curt nod, “At the first sign of deceit have them killed,” he added.

They were untied and then led before Cloewyn with two men bearing the silver armour and another four as escort behind them. They headed towards the ruined Temples whose cracked arches opened in the wall of rock before them. Above the temples the mouth of the cave gaped.

A cry went up from the guards out on the parameter ahead of them where little flickers of yellow flame marked the guard posts on the perimeter.

Cloewyn was striding ahead of them, the sky before him was darkening and a breeze began blowing so that his white robes suddenly billowed out around him. Smoke was rising from the area of city immediately behind the Temples. It rolled out towards them blown on the breeze which grew until it became a strong wind. From somewhere on the edge of the plaza another cry went up. This one a dying cry.

Cloewyn turned and looked back over his shoulder and Tain heard his voice again plainly in his head, this time it said, “Now!”

The young Ironfang had not felt afraid as his father had risen up before him. And he had stared in fascinated wonder at the glint of the teeth, the saliva that ran freely from them and dropped in growing pools among the straw. It was only when Canthiss told him who this was and he looked into its eyes, into his fathers eyes, that he was suddenly afraid. No, not even afraid. Scared. Terrified. Petrified. Rooted to the spot.

His father threw back his shaggy beast head and howled to the moon and as the terrifying sound faded he suddenly lunged, teeth snapping for his son’s throat.
Kellius moved swiftly, coming into the space between father and son. With various gestures he subdued the beast and it slunk back from him into the dark shadows at the far end of the kennel.

Kellius turned to the young Ironfang and said gravely, “If I were not here your father would not have known you. He would have torn you apart. You would be dead right now, your throat ripped from you and as to your remains; even now he would be dining upon them. Never forget this night. His fate is your fate. This is the curse your family bears and which my family protects. You must learn this truth, and learn it well, the beast cannot be trusted. Cannot be controlled. It is never safe. Not even with its own kin.”

The memory faded as Irongfang surfaced to full awareness. The words 'I will trust in the beast,' formed on his lips as he came to.

Naked, he crawled out from beneath the collapsed building.

From up here he could clearly see everything on the plaza below. The sun would set over the sea within the hour with night fast on its heels. He wondered about Prince Mekhal, if he still lived, if so he would not do so for much longer. He knew also that whatever Erwin had planned for this night it may well involve the death of his companions. He felt little concern at this thought for Tain and the Druid but he was filled with a sense of loss over the thought of Canthiss dying down there.

He knew what he should do. He should go down to him. He should do his duty and tear Erwin into pieces and free his friend from bondage and rescue the Prince.

But the cave was now so temptingly close. It was almost directly above him, a short climb away up the cliff face. Were its treasures worth sacrificing not only his duty but possibly also his friend for? Was his dream of reviving his family from their centuries of self-imposed dearth worth that?

He stopped thinking about it and instead began to climb.

It was not a long way up and the rock was cracked, providing plentiful hand and foot holds. The Baron was at any rate a good climber despite his bulk and he quickly made it up to the lip of the cave.

A strong breeze was blowing out from the cave entrance as he raised his head above the edge. It was he noticed a warm breeze and his sense of smell, that always remained heightened for several hours after a change, detected an organic odour in it. He paused, trying to make out shapes in the darkness before him. Here and there things glinted at him, gold he suspected, a lot of it too, all down one wall.

The source of the warm breeze was lost in a huge impenetrable dark shadow. Ironfang glanced back down towards the Plaza; a small group had detached from the main group by the Dome and was coming across the Plaza in his direction. The white robe of the figure in the lead betrayed him as the Cleric, Cloewyn. The Baron cursed under his breath and then he suddenly realized that the breeze from the cave was no longer blowing outwards but was now going in the opposite direction, drawing his hair out in long strands back towards the caves interior.

He turned his head slowly round and there, illuminated by the ethereal light of the Dome was the head of the Dragon. It had two large horns and he noticed as his eye followed them downwards, a row of smaller horns that led all the way to the end of its snout and its glistening rows of teeth. It seemed to be smiling at him, a wide scaly smile.

It suddenly charged outwards and momentarily forgetting it was not real the Baron panicked and let go of the cave edge. He dropped several feet before managing to grasp back on, sending down a hail of stones to rattle onto the empty street below.

The Dragon shot out of the cave entrance above him, unfolding its wings as it exited into the evening air. Its underside glistened in the swirling light as it roared out over him and then it was gone, sweeping down upon the plaza. Soon afterwards a new light danced in reflection on the cliff face around the Baron, it was the flickering red light of fire.

The thought of Canthiss down there flashed through his mind but he did not allow himself to dwell on it, not now he had seen the shine of gold. He hauled himself back up to the cave edge and pulled himself in.

Cloewyn strode ahead of them robe billowing, he raised both his arms and out of the growing darkness above his head the Dragon swooped down, wings beating, sending wave after wave of wind down upon the ground, blowing up dust and small stones from the flagstones. It flew straight over Cloewyn’s head and rose up into the light of the Dome, its bronze scaling was a fitting match to the gold and for a brief moment to Tain it ceased to look like a terror and was a thing of magnificent beauty. He could have almost forgotten it was mere illusion. All around the men scattered beneath it.

Cloewyn turned to him as the mercenaries panicked. “Now,” he cried, “Seize the armour.”

Tain did not need to be told twice. In an instant he had swung a punch at the closest guard who doubled up clasping his face. With one smooth gesture Tain slipped the man’s sword from his sheath and with a thrust finished him. He brought the sword upwards, blade flat, just in time to deflect a sword blow from a second guard. He flicked his sword back across the front of his own chest, knocking his enemy’s blade aside and with his left hand punched the man full in the face. The man went over backwards and Tain leaned in with a downward blow to end him.

The remaining guards ran back towards the Dome where the Dragon was swooping back and forth bringing up billows of dust and sending men diving for cover wherever it came.

“Watch my back,” Tain said and ran after the fleeing guards.

He was in fact not interested in the men. Instead he overtook them, giving them a wide berth and made for where his and the other’s packs were lying on the flagstones. He heard quick heavy footsteps behind him and turned to see that Canthiss was catching him up.

“I thought you might need some help,” Canthiss shouted above the roaring and cries.

“You’re more helpful than your master then,” Tain replied collecting his belongings and the Druids. He caressed the wood of his bow and then slung it across his back.

“He has not been himself of late,” Canthiss excused, “This, malady, this thirst for power, can infect his line in such a fashion and has before. You must forgive his actions,” Canthiss said, likewise taking up his possessions.

“Must I?” Tain said with an arched eyebrow.

The Dragon swept overhead the air roaring under it and pulling at their clothes. Instinctively they ducked.

Tain watched the huge creature as it banked round for another pass. Erwin and the Barbarians were cowering by the Altar Stone under the Dome and many more mercenaries had made their way there but a lot where trapped by the dragons’ flight. They were confined to darting for safety amongst the stones.

Tain watched them with a certain amount of smugness, the sort of smugness that only comes from knowing something crucial the other person does not. But he had a nagging feeling something was wrong. And suddenly he realised what it was, the last time he had seen the Dragon there had been no wind from its wings. It was therefore first with surprise, then with horror and finally with a deeply worrying understanding that he witnessed the beast gracefully swoop low, flick its neck and release a long trail of flame from its mouth that ignited everything it touched.

Tain suddenly noticed the body of Prince Mekhal, lying still at the foot of the Domes steps; it was a miracle he had not been set on fire. “The Prince! We can’t leave him here. He’ll be cooked,” he said to Canthiss.

“He is too close to that beast,” Canthiss protested, “It is too dangerous.”

“I’ll not leave him here to be a sacrifice for some mad God or roasted by a partially real dragon,” Tain replied vehemently.

“No,” Canthiss replied with a nodding of his head, “I do not suppose we can.”

Tain took up his bow, feeling immediate succour in the familiar feel of the grain of the wood. “You grab the Prince,” he said, “And I’ll give you cover.”

They dashed across to the Domes edge and two mercenaries ran out from the Altar to greet them. Tain fired and took down one immediately but Canthiss got in his line of sight before he could deal with the second. In the few moments he had to wait for a clear shot he felt the air move behind him. The Dragon was coming. Tain had his back to it but he could see from the face of the man ahead that it was close.

He heard a loud 'whuuuump' sound behind him and the ground trembled and he swayed. Canthiss dispatched his distracted opponent and as Tain watched the man fall to the ground he could not help but notice that although dying, the man’s eyes never left the sight that stood behind Tain.

Canthiss slung the Prince over his shoulder and turned to hurry back; he glanced up at Tain and stopped stock-still staring.

Tain could feel the heat of the Dragons breath on his neck. Very slowly he lowered his bow and then turned even more slowly around, extending his arms out at either side in a universal gesture of no resistance.

He turned to stare into a large unblinking black eye. It was surrounded by tiny scales, tinged yellow, shaped like crescent moons the intricacy of which, even as fear welled up inside him, seemed beautiful and yet efficient.

The Dragon seemed to be scrutinizing him. First it turned one enormous eye on him then the other and every time it turned its head Tain got a blast of sulphurous breath that despite his terror made him cough and choke.

The beast seemed to reach a decision and raised its head high above Tain's so he was looking at its scale packed neck. He saw its throat muscles convulse and then there was a flash of yellow light with a white core and a soaring heat that made Tain throw himself immediately to the ground. A second later the Dragon extended out its wings and took to the air again.

Tain stood shakily, heat and smoke emanating from his clothing. He looked back over his shoulder. Canthiss had flung himself aside taking the Prince with him and was only now regaining his feet. Erwin and the Barbarians and a few others still cowered behind the Altar but many more had been extinguished by the Dragons fiery breath. The circumference of the dais was strewn with blackened smoking stumps that had a few moments before been men. Some of them were still writhing.

“Let’s get out of here, fast,” Tain called gripping the Druids bulky pack and with all the speed they could muster they fled across the plaza dragging the recumbent Prince between them.

Cloewyn and the Druid were awaiting them near the edge of the plaza.

“I thought you said that Dragon wasn't real?” Tain screamed at him as he ran up out of breath, his hair was singed and his cloak smoking gently.

“It is not, in full daylight at least but in the light of the setting sun things are somewhat different, it is the same at dawn,” explained Cloewyn, “I did mention it before, on the beach I believe, you should really pay more attention,” he admonished.

“Hey!” Tain protested, “Its been a busy few days.”

“And now we must go,” Cloewyn said turning and walking off.

“We?” Tain asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, we,” Cloewyn replied firmly, “You will be safe in the cave and I want to ensure you get there with all haste. Collect up the armour, you will need it. It is very important. Everything has gone well so far but I cannot count on that continuing.”

“You call this going well?” Tain said incredulously, looking around for pieces of the silver suit.

“It goes well for me,” Cloewyn responded with a shrug.

Canthiss put the Prince down on the hard ground, the young nobles breathing was shallow and his eyes rolled in their sockets.

The Druid searched through her newly regained belongings and administered a paste to the Princes tongue that she assured them would bring him round more quickly, it seemed to be making little immediate difference.

“How about some straight answers for once? What exactly is happening here?” Tain asked of Cloewyn as he stuffed the leg grieves of the armour into his backpack.

“You have witnessed the beginning of the ceremony you are destined to complete and in doing so bring to an end.”

“Was that straight?” Tain said with puzzlement.

“Why did it have to start here, now?” the Druid asked.

Tain stuffed the silver grieves into his backpack and Canthiss strapped the silver breastplate across his back, it was badly battered and there were four large scores across its front.

“Be careful with that armour, it is very ancient,” Cloewyn admonished, “This was the last refuge of the Adamantli," he went on replying to the Druid, "of which I am one of the few surviving members. It was here the Skinripper finally caught up with us, it was here we were betrayed and defeated. He made our island haven his vile home. He it was who erected the Dome and Altar, all so that this very ceremony could be performed here tonight. The blood of a Skinripper must be spilt for this to be.”

“Why?” Tain asked slinging his bulging pack over his shoulders and helping Canthiss lift up the still unconscious Prince.

“Because only the blood of the line of a High Priest of Astagoth will suffice. And Skinripper was the last High Priest. What will be done here tonight will have an effect backwards in time. It begins here but it ends in the past. A god shall be dragged forth into the world.”

“Astagoth,” the Druid put in. She was carrying the silver arm greaves in her hands and had to scurry to keep up with the Clerics long stride as the man turned and lead them up a winding street.

“Yes,” Cloewyn confirmed, speaking back over his shoulder, “He is the heat in the ground and the light which transforms. When the Skinripper summons Him the act will drive Astagoth insane for the Gods can no longer reside within the Circle of the World.”

“So that is how the fever started” The Druid exclaimed.

“And where does my Master fit it into all this?” Canthiss put in.

“History records an Ironfang slew the Skinripper,” Cloewyn replied leading them now towards one of the ruined Temples clustering above the plazas edge, “What history does not record is your assistance. To prevent the ceremony being completed the Skinripper must die before it is complete. You must ensure that.”

“Wait, the Baron can’t be descended from some guy that killed Skinripper,” Tain said stopping walking to make his point, “It’s obvious the Baron must be descended from Skinripper. I mean Skinripper didn’t get his name because he was nice to old ladies. He was a shapeshifter like the Baron, yes?”

“All will become clear in time.”

“Will it? Oh good,” Tain retorted dryly.

“Why are you doing all this?” the Druid asked.

Cloewyn stopped short at this question and turned to face them, “Why? My people began it. The Circle building I mean, before there ever was a Futura, Harquill, Domina,” he glanced at the Druid, “Motol”, and at Tain, “or even Stenor. When those you term the Barbarians roamed the entire continent free and alone. I am atoning for an ancient sin. For my people. Could a man have a greater or higher purpose than to seek to redeem his entire race?” He set off again at his quick pace and they hurried after him as he spoke, “We must be quick for time now passes in parallel with events of the past and the longer we delay here the longer the Skinripper will have to complete the rite then.”

They were approaching the parts of the city that must once have been homes and the ruined remains of an archway hanging still intact across the street loomed before them. The Cleric led them under its shadow and they followed in silence. Below them the plaza burned but the Dome and the Circle the Dragon seemed to leave alone now and they were not touched or harmed further by the flames or smoke. The lights from the stones still glittered and swam over the Domes golden surface.

Prince Mekhalwas slowly coming round. That at least was what Tain assumed as the man occasionally mumbled something as they went along. He was not yet conscious enough to assist in walking and Tain and Canthiss were simply dragging him, legs trailing, between them through the dusty streets that wound upwards towards the cave.

They had already passed a sure sign they were on the Barons trail when they had turned a corner only to find the remains of an unfortunate mercenary sprayed across the walls. They hurried passed this and entered what must have once been a sizeable courtyard. All the buildings along two sides of it had completely collapsed and now covered half the ground space in rubble.

At that moment the Prince choked, coughed and thick saliva dribbled from the corner of his mouth onto Tain, much to Tains displeasure and disgust.

The Druid quickly came over to them and drew back the Princes' eyelids, “I fear he has been slow poisoned. A last malicious trick of Erwin’s no doubt.”

“Can you cure him?” Canthiss asked anxiously.

“If I can determine the sort of poison used, then maybe,” the Druid replied giving the royal a quick but thorough analysis in which she checked the pulse, eyes and the tongue of the man and then listened to his heart. Lastly she placed both her palms on the Princes face and closing her eyes mumbled words the others did not catch.

She delved into her pouches and began uncorking several vials that she mixed in a third empty vial. When she had finished she poured the entire concoction into the Princes left ear. After a few moments the Prince began to jerk and his limbs thrashed violently and she restraine dhim and chanted softly. Soon however his breathing became regular again then weakly his eyes prized themselves partly open.

“It would be safer to leave him here for now I think, dragging him through the streets will not aid his condition, he needs rest, just leave him plenty of water,” she said putting away with great care her medicines, “He is in no longer in any immediate danger,” she informed them, “Probably,” she added with a shrug.

Canthiss and Tain found a secluded spot among the ruins where the Prince could safely be stowed and set him down with some water to drink. Canthiss turned away and Tain was standing to follow when the Prince reached out a hand and grabbed his arm.

“Wait,” Prince Mekhal said faintly. With his right hand he tried to groggily draw out his sword, Tain helped him take it from its sheath, “This is the sword of the Kings of Futura, whoever rules must have it. It is the symbol of office. Return it in my place if I come not home,” he winced as if talking pained him and his eyes closed briefly before he struggled on, “It is more important than I.”

Tain took the sword and its scabbard as offered and attached it to his belt so that it was concealed beneath his cloak; it was at any rate to ostentatious, to showy for Tain's tastes and he would not have borne such a weapon openly even were it his own.

“I look forward to the day of returning it to you,” he said and meant it, “Rest here. Remain hidden. We will come back for you I promise,” and turning away he rejoined the others.

They continued on at a brisk pace until they were standing on the street beneath the cave where the Baron had stood only a short while before. Beyond the bay the sun had more than half disappeared beyond the sea.

PDF?

Ironfang had found a length of leather that was stiff to the point of being board-like but which never the less he had managed to crack and bend around himself sufficiently to cover his nakedness. It was about all he had found that was of any use and his temper was fraying rapidly.

The glittering he had taken for gold was not so, what he had seen was the reflected glitter of the golden Dome below in a series of mirrors that took up the right-hand side of the cave wall. He had examined them anyway. There were several of polished bronze that were not worth much and were simply old-fashioned hand mirrors and there were three more, which were square and several foot across. At the rear of the cave near where a part of the ceiling had long ago fallen in forming a mound of strewn rubble there stood a full-length mirror.

It was made not of bronze but of glass. Remarkably it had survived intact.
However it seemed to be poorly constructed for it badly distorted the image reflected in it so that the Baron's eye had quickly turned from it.

Apart from a row of old broken jars and some rusted weaponry, that was so ancient and green parts of them had fused and become one with the stone floor, the cave was barren.

The only thing of interest his rooting about had turned up was a small antechamber with a comfortable reed bed in it and a stone basin with an accompanying water jug; several barrels of good quality ale and stacked supplies of dried and cured meats lay against the far wall. There was also two small barrels which when he pried them open turned out to contain nothing but red apples. He kicked them over in fury at the worthlessness of the place.

There appeared to be no way into or out of this room except through the cave entrance, which meant whoever used it must have to climb up every time.

He left the anteroom and went back into the main cave. He cursed himself loudly. For this empty hole he had abandoned his friend to his fate. Was there a part of him he wondered who wanted Canthiss out of the way? Was he another obstacle on the road? The very thought should be unthinkable, (for as long as there had been Ironfangs there had been Canthiss' family by their side, from the very beginning) yet he had thought it.

He dismissed the notion as misplaced feelings of guilt and decided he would go to the cave entrance and see what he could see of his companions, preparing himself for the worst.

Cloewyn led them along the street until they reached a small doorway that was still intact. Going inside he led them down a short flight of steps and along a passage that had torches in brackets along the walls. He lit one of them and holding it aloft led them to what appeared to be a dead-end. He pressed his hand on a few particular spots on the seemingly solid rock and a segment ground inwards and back, revealing beyond a steeply sloping passage that here and there had steps cut into it. They ascended this to a second wall and this time Cloewyn activated a segment in the side wall on their right and a second doorway appeared out of the seemingly impenetrable stone.

“Impressive workmanship,” Tain noted as they passed through.

“We used to be very good at this sort of thing,” Cloewyn commented as he led them into the anteroom of the cave, “You should see the Water Labyrinth. I believe we will find the Baron in the main cave.” He stopped short suddenly and cursed under his breath, “Now why would he do that?” he said crossly and bending down picked up a glistening red apple, “And they were so difficult to acquire,” he added with a sad shake of his head, “No matter, let us go in.”

Tain picked up an apple and its sweet aroma sparked mixed memories of Gwendolyn and the apple loft back home. He took a bite and followed Cloewyn.

The Baron was indeed there, standing in nothing but his leather cloth silhouetted in the glow of the Dome at the cave mouth.

“You should wear that to the next Court Ball,” Tain commented between bites of his apple, “It suits your inner beast.”

The Baron visibly jumped in surprise. He spun round his face furious and even more so when he saw Cloewyn.

“Traitor,” he snarled immediately.

“Still on that?” retorted Cloewyn, “I am not a subject of your kingdom Baron. Nor have I betrayed you or your companions otherwise you would not still be alive to accuse me of it. You have a task to perform before the sun sets. And that will not be long.”

“I will perform no task for you,” Ironfang fumed striding angrily forward.

Canthiss removed his pack, and quickly intercepting his master he deposited it before the Baron and took some clothing from it. The Baron halted and began to dress, saying as he did so, “Why should I aid you? You are a liar.”

“You mean the treasure I spoke of here in this cave? Why,” he said indicating the row of mirrors, “there it is.”

Ironfang snatched up one of the brass hand mirrors in his large hand, “These are worthless.” He was going to say more but a tingling sensation made him look at his hand clasping the mirror; his thumb which should have been pressed against the surface had disappeared into it.

He threw the thing to the ground and checked his hand fretfully but he was not mutilated, much to his relief.

Cloewyn retrieved the mirror that was clattering to a halt as it spun on the rocky ground. “These are not ordinary mirrors, they are impregnated with the same stone as the circle stones, ground down incredibly fine,” he placed the bronze mirror back in its place and turned to the full length mirror, “This one is very special indeed. Unique in construction and in history. This mirror has two faces, one on either side.”

Tain examined the mirror which was flat against the cave wall, “It’s attached to the rock, what’s the point of it having two faces?”

“Because the other side exists at a different point in time.”

“And you propose to send us back to stop Skinripper completing his ceremony. Right?” Tain asked with a derisory laugh.

“You must be mad if you think we would trust you?” Ironfang put in, “or your magic mirror.”

“I wonder what would it take Baron to persuade you?” Cloewyn replied softy, turning and facing Ironfang, “What do you value? The family name perhaps? The man who will be credited with slaying Skinripper is your ancestor. If he fails, and he will without our aid, then he dies and the Ironfangs will be wiped clean from history, clean from existence, your line will never have been Baron. But if he succeeds the people will be so grateful they will offer him the Throne. He turned it down before, but this time you will be there to ensure a different path. And I promise you truthfully Baron, upon my life, the possibility of lifting your families curse from history lies solely in your hands. To have your deepest desires granted you have no choice but to go.”

Tain thought this through and quickly realized it contradicted everything else Cloewyn had indicated about changing history, which was that you couldn't do it.

The Baron did not seem have noticed however and it was obvious that Cloewyn had him hooked and was drawing him in; he was full of ulterior motives this Cleric. A trait Tain automatically distrusted but on the other hand they would all be dead by now without him. Even so he had a few questions of his own, “How do we get back to the present time if we do agree to go?” he began, asking the most pressing first.

“You need only step back into the other side of the mirror, it will automatically bring you back to where you left, more or less. But there is little time left to argue, you are late already. You must go now.”

“How?” Tain said staring at his distorted reflection in the glass.

“It is very simple. You just step into the mirror as if you were crossing the threshold of a door. Let me first check the inscriptions,” he approached the mirror and ran his hands over the markings etched along the top of the frame, muttering as he did so. “It is ready,” he said after a moment or two of adjustments. “Who will enter first?”

There was a long silence then finally Tain said, “I will. I just have to know if this will really work.”

“And I will follow you,” the Druid said, “I still have questions I desire answers too. And as it seems I cannot find them here then maybe I will find them in the past.”

“I have it seems little choice,” the Baron grumbled but there was a new keenness in his eye, “I have no liking for kidnappers and blackmailers but if my families very existence depends upon it then go I must. Lead on.”

“And do not forget the armour. You will need it,” Cloewyn said.

“And I take it you’re not coming?” Tain asked with a raised suspicious eyebrow.

“I am already there,” Cloewyn replied cryptically.

“I’m not even going to bother trying to work out what that means,” Tain replied with a weary shake of his head, “Let’s get on with it.”

He stepped before the distorted image of himself in the mirror. The distortion was not constant but seemed to shift around as you looked so that at one moment it was your head being made bulbous and your legs elongated to a point, then in a glance it all changed and suddenly your arms seemed to stretch out for miles or your shoulders to hang to the floor. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and took a large step forward.

He winced as his brain told him he should be smashing his forehead into the glass but instead of glass there was only a brief darkness and a sound as of gurgling water.