Circle of Stone (reprieve)

Looking into a pdf Amarie.

That was end of chapter 10 by the way.
Last chapter of book 1 next - Skinripper!

I dont know how to express how impressed I am by this story ! Its so well written, I enjoy the pace, the flow, the dialogue, The descriptions are so engaging & accurate, I love Tains character, The intrigue, Its just a dam good story !! It feels proffesional, not rushed or hurried, The story unfolds visually in my mind as I read, I dont always get that from some stories I read ! I dont have a printer,as its conked out, but I have every intention of getting it printed out ! I want a copy for me, but I want my friend to read it also, he likes stories like this. Well done Petty !

Amarië wrote:Paperback!!!

yes, and send me a copy.

Well done Petty ! -Azriel

{{sorry, as a Scotshobbit I have no social experience for dealing with praise beyond embaressment!}}}

Tain opened his eyes.

It was dark, pitch dark.

He held perfectly still waiting for his eyes to adjust but they did not; the darkness remained as impenetrable as before.

There were sounds; muffled, but he was sure there were distant cries and screams. Every now and again a tremor ran through the hard floor under his boots, dust rained down upon his face. The air felt thick and syrupy.

Another rumble ran through him and he wondered if he had not died somehow in the journey through the mirror or emerged into some awful place destined to roam lost forever in darkness alone.

For a moment he felt panicky and patted at his own body to make sure it was still there and in doing so he hit upon his tinderbox. He drew it out. As he did so he thought he heard something else breathing in the dark. He paused stock-still.

Yes. He could clearly hear the sound of someone inhaling and exhaling raggedly. Very close to him, within a few feet he guessed. He flicked open the tinder box and struck the flint getting an instant spark that tiny though it was almost blinded him; nevertheless he repeatedly struck it again and again until he could make out in the flashes his immediate surroundings.

He was it appeared still in the cave after all and he was not alone. The Baron was several feet away as if he had simply fallen there; breathing heavily and occasionally twitching. He seemed barely conscious.

Setting to work quickly and wondering both were the others were and how the Baron had got here first Tain made a small fire from his tinder, using strips of cloth that he tore from the spare garments in his backpack. In a short time the cave was revealed in a faint flickering orange.

The most obvious difference to the cave was the lack of an entrance. Where the cave mouth had been there was just impenetrable rock. He hunted the wall opposite the mirror for signs of the entrance from the antechamber but if the secret passage was there it was doing its job well as all he could discern was more solid rock.

It was he felt sure definitely the same cave even if it felt a little bit bigger; he put this down to the absence of the shelves with the small mirrors. Only the full length mirror was here in the past attached to the wall exactly as had been when he had stepped into it in the future. The Baron had not stirred since he had arrived save to groan occasionally which he did again now.

Tain went and knelt by him. He placed a hand on the Barons broad shoulder and a snarling face turned up to him snapping its teeth like a dog. Tain instinctively recoiled for the skin on the Barons face seemed to be creeping over the skull, the muscle beneath was rippling and swelling in slow rises and falls. He realized this was what he had seen before; the Baron was transforming but much slower and, it seemed, much more agonizingly.

“What is wrong with him?” a familiar voice asked Tain from behind.

Tain turned round to find the Druid calmly standing before the mirror.

“He’s changing again, but slowly, I hope,” Tain replied.

“How is he here? I just came through, I followed Canthiss and I left him behind? And where is Canthiss?”

“I’ve been thinking about that. It’s time isn't it? There’s no reason we should come out in the order we went in. Canthiss hasn't arrived yet.”

At that moment there was a huge roar and a distant rumble of collapsing stone. The cave shook. Tain fell backwards landing next to the Baron who clawed at him in an aggressive but weak manner, forcing Tain to hurriedly scramble away on his behind.

The Druid had been knocked sideways by the motion of the floor and fell against the back wall next to the mirror. The wind was knocked from her and she automatically doubled over taking in long whistling breaths.

Tain shakily stood and looked across at her. Fighting for his balance and reeling forwards Tain suddenly cried out, “Move!”

Stretching out his hand and grabbing her by the arm he threw himself backwards dragging her back with him. A second later the roof above where she had been standing collapsed in a swirl of dust which engulfed them both.

“How did you know?” she gasped.

“I thought this place felt bigger,” Tain said standing and dusting himself off, “That rock fall was there when we left but not when I arrived. When the place started shaking I got a hunch.”

“Good hunch,” she said weakly, “I need a smoke,” she sat down by the spluttering fire and took off her pack to find her pipe, “So what do we do now? Wait for the rest of this place to fall in on us?”

“It won't,” Tain retorted, “Remember what Cloewyn said about time? No more of this roof had collapsed when we were here in our own time, so no more of it can have collapsed now,” there were more rumbles from outside and dim cries, “I’d love to know what those noises are. Can you here screams?”

“Yes. I wonder what is happening out there.”

“I wonder how we’re going to get out of here,” Tain mused, looking at the solid walls all around.

They had positioned themselves with their backs to what would become the cave mouth in order to be in sight of the mirror, even though its ever changing surface was uncomfortable to look upon. In this way they could also keep an eye on the Baron.

A moment later they witnessed Canthiss stepping from the mirror with a worried expression. He looked back at the mirror then to them at their small fire and finally he noticed his master slumped on the floor and with a questioning look rushed to the Barons side demanding, “What is wrong with him?”

Tain stood, “I was rather hoping you could tell us.”

“He is changing, but why so slowly?” Canthiss questioned as he examined his master who under Canthiss touch seemed almost docile, the Baron seemed to be sniffing Canthiss hand as it moved over the undulating skin like a hurt pet that holds its master in the highest faith to cure it.

“Has he been injured?” Canthiss asked, “Or enraged?” he added with a glance at Tain.

“He was like this when I got here,” Tain said defensively, “As far as I know he’s not been hurt either.”

“What else can bring this on?” the Druid asked.

“Only the light of the full moon, if he is exposed to it even for a few seconds then he will change and remain changed for the three days of the moons dominion,” Canthiss informed, “But it must fall directly upon his skin.”

“Well the only light in here is fire light and there’s not much of that,” Tain pointed out emphatically, “So what’s causing it?”

“I do not know but it will take hours to be complete at this rate of change, the pain might kill him long before then. We must do something.”

“I thought he’s invulnerable when he’s like that?” Tain said.

“He is not immortal. His father was slain,” Canthiss replied.

“How?” Tain asked, curious as to how any beast like he had witnessed tearing the mercenaries apart could be stopped.

“I do not know. He was killed by raiding Barbarians, my father saw him fall. He said he was killed without ever changing, that he died upon a blade like an ordinary man, as should not have been.”

They heard a noise suddenly from beyond the stone walls, dim at first but growing into a screaming roar.

There seemed to be a moment of perfect stillness then the cave wall behind them exploded.

Tain ducked, it was what he did when he did not know what was happening. A huge lump of rock whistled over him and embedded itself in the wall behind. There was the crash of falling stone and a sudden red light that swept over them. The muffled screams and cries of a few moments ago were now painfully loud and clear.

Tain coughed and choked, waving his hands before his face to try to clear a sight through the falling dust. The wall before him was gone, the cave had its entrance again but the view out of it was markedly different. He only got an impression; a red sky, a flicker of flames, a tall white building directly in his line of sight collapsing down and outwards and a sizzling, hissing sound that seemed to spark off his very flesh.

But he had only time to get a quick impression because a second later he was thrown aside and smacked to the floor by a strong hairy limb. He just had time to glance up and see the shape of the Baron, in full wolf form against the red skyline, before he disappeared over the lip of the cave entrance.

Canthiss cried out to his master as the Baron swept by but it was of no avail. He was gone.

Rising quickly to his feet Canthiss ran to the cave mouth, Tain followed.

“Not as slow as we were led to believe,” Tain remarked ruefully.

“It is the red light that fell on him,” Canthiss said, approaching cautiously the new cave entrance that was smouldering still.

Below them the streets, which before had been ruinous and empty, were thronged with hundreds of terrified fleeing people. But it was the sky that took the breath, for sailing amidst the piled storm clouds was a full moon, blood red and larger than any moon Tain had ever seen. “No prizes for guessing the cause of the Barons change,” Tain observed dryly.

“I have never seen its like,” Canthiss replied awed, “Even in the dark of the cave it was affecting him.”

Tain glanced up to his left, the city, which had ended quite abruptly at the cliff top last he saw of it two thousand years from now, here sprawled on for what seemed more than a mile. There was a large plateau densely constructed upon with tall white buildings with narrow dark windows, many had suffered recent calamity and from all directions in every street the populace were fleeing.

It was clear too from what they were fleeing, for even as they looked out stunned, a great crackling line of light swirled up from the Golden Dome at the Plazas centre and arced down among the buildings sending stone and people scattering and igniting instant fires.

The Dome itself was throbbing in the air, distorting the space around itself, atop it just above the golden apex, coalescing in the heavy atmosphere was a twisting writhing shape of darkness and flame.

To Tain it seemed to take the form of a ravening wolf with eyes of fire with a head thrown back, screaming out; a cry of the newborn into the world.

Beneath the Dome a figure was manacled to the Altar stone but it was not this which drew Tains eye. For before the dais two figures were engaged in combat.

One wore shining armour, just like that which they bore with them, which reflected all the chaotic light sources around so that the small figure blazed like a star. The other was a form like to the Baron, coated in dark fur with broad head and shoulders. However, unlike the Baron this one was much larger, standing at least twice the height of the armoured figure before it and its movements seemed to Tain to indicate more intelligence and reasoning than the Baron had shown in his similar form.

As to the Baron, there was no sign of him among the thousands that streamed by below. Tain followed with his eye the long ragged, terrible line of refugees abandoning their homes and city. They trailed across the Plazas edge in a long distraught line towards the bay. It was the same bay where in the future they themselves would land though by then only a beach and some ruins would remain not the stone harbour, white and wide that he could see now.

But he saw no hope for those fleeing thither for the ships moored there were ablaze and smoke was beginning to rise over them to join the heavy storm clouds overhead. If the flames did not get them then the violent sea beyond most certainly would.

Tain drew his bow and knelt; he put an arrow to it and looked down at the fighting figures before the Dome, using it just to focus his sight which always seemed keener when it was looking down an arrow shaft.

He eyed up the distant figures below which raised an interesting question, “Which one?” he asked.

“What do you mean which one? You will never hit anything from up here anyway, its impossible” the Druid said coming up behind having finally got the opportunity to light her pipe.

“I know that, but it feels, comforting,” Tain said slightly embarrassed.

“Should I leave you two alone?” the Druid asked with an arched eyebrow and a grin.

“Very funny. But look, Cloewyn said we’re to kill the Skinripper, right?” Tain said.

“Yes, and that is him down there, like to my master,” Canthiss put in pointing at the fighting figures.

“Is it?” Tan queried, “Question is can we trust Cloewyn?” Tain asked, “I’m not saying I don't but I am saying that I do have an unanswered question. If the Baron is descended from that man in armour over there, how come every full moon he looks just like Skinripper?”

“What are you saying?” Canthiss asked.

“I don't know, yet,” Tain frowned.

“First we should go down into the city and find my Master, we can consider Skinripper afterwards,” Canthiss urged.

Tain looked over the edge, the distance was the same as before but somehow when you were looking down on people’s heads it seemed much further, “You lead the way,” he said to Canthiss.

skinripper?

is there any snogging in this story? you need a bit of snogging.

Um, no there is in this book a snogging defecit I have to admit.
There is a strong, if admittedly slightly supsicous, female character however to cover that demograph.

Canthiss clambered over the edge and quickly began his descent; Tain roped the silver armour together in a single bundle and passed it down after him. The people hurrying by did not seem much perturbed by their actions and they merited only hurried glances so great was the fear already upon the populace.
Tain followed the armour down and finally slower than the other two, came the Druid, hindered by and quietly cursing her robe.

They followed with the panicking crowds down the slope to the junction with the courtyard and where in the future they would leave the Prince to recover.

The Courtyard was not as before, it was surrounded on all sides by elegant buildings with slender arches that almost defied belief for the masonry above seemed too heavy for their gracefulness to bear. The odd flashing light from the Dome shot in shafts between the fretted stonework. The overall effect was stunning.

“No-one go near the walls,” Tain warned as they approached.

“Why not?” asked Canthiss as they passed.

“Because that entire building had collapsed when we passed here before, today may just well be the day it happens.”

They hurried by and found themselves approaching the northern perimeter of the Plaza; they could not yet see the Dome itself for buildings that would not survive intact into the future obscured it. Even as they were passing by magic was earthing all around, sometimes it would strike a spot multiple times in a frenzy and entire buildings would be reduced to blackened rubble. Sometimes it would trail up in a long streak into the red sky and explode sending hundreds of smaller trails snarling downwards to strike randomly in a hundred different places. All the time the ground shook, buildings fell and dust clouds swarmed the streets.

On their right was the outer wall of the city, dimly through the smoke they could make out figures hurrying along it, here and there whole sections of wall were missing and the arched entrance had been half destroyed so that only a curved piece of it hung out into empty space.

The Druids eye was drawn to a figure, robed in white, scurrying along the top of the wall. As she watched the figure halted and a moment later a sizzling line of magic scorched the air where the figure would have been had he not just stopped. When the danger had passed the figure continued on until she lost sight of him among the dust clouds.

Ahead of them the Dome dominated everything. It seemed larger, amplified down here, its vibrating hum accompanied by that of the stones of the Circle, it was so loud that every word spoken had to be a shout or it was swept away on the magical winds that tore around the Plaza.

The form above the golden apex of the Dome was no longer as distinct as it had seemed before and its shape was harder to guess; sometimes it appeared like a lightning stroked cloud, sometimes a pillar of blackest smoke, sometimes it hung before the eye like a fissure in the air in whose depths rivers of fire ran. Only occasionally now did it try to take on the shape of an indistinct wolf. The magic it had been feeding on was sparking free, not drawn to it by ceremony and pain as it should be but escaping out wild across the sky and bringing chaos with it.

The Druid regarded it grimly, “Astagoth, I presume,” she said.

On the far side of the Dome the combatants were circling one another. Tain could see between the pillars the shine of the silver armour; so like to that which they bore with them. He could not see the man’s face as the beaver was worn down but the armour was already heavily scored, matching perfectly the damage apparent on their own suit. The man’s footsteps were weary and faltering as he circled his foe.

Skinripper this close was massive, even more so than he seemed from the cave above and he was clearly in control of his faculties to the point where, although Tain could not catch the sounds, he seemed capable of speech and of taunting his opponent even whilst in this hideous form.

They found some cover behind a section of wall that had been blown here from one of the temples and was now embedded sideways in the plaza ground. Tain drew his bow and Canthiss did likewise.

“Now what do we do?” Canthiss asked, “Attack the SKinripper?”

"I still don't understand the Barons part in all this," Tain replied, "If we kill Skinripper how does Ironfang end up just like him?"

"You think we shoud aid Skinripper?" Canthiss said uncertainly.

"I don't know," Tain replied with honesty.

Someone interrupted their exchange with a gentle cough which despite the cacophony of noise all around immediately got there attention.

They turned to see a man in white robes. He was perhaps in his late forties or early fifties with long thick black hair in braids and the face, though younger, was much the same as last they had seen it two thousand years in the future.

“Perhaps I may be of some assistance,” Cloewyn said.

“Which one do we kill?” Tain asked determined not be phased by the appearance of this younger incarnation of the Cleric.

“I do not understand?” Cloewyn said with a puzzled expression. In the distance behind him a wall exploded as a surge of magic met with the stonework.

“No more games. You sent us here to kill Skinripper,” Tain explained impatiently, “So is that what we have to do or not?”

“Now why would I tell you that,” Cloewyn mused, seemingly to himself, “I am afraid for reasons of which I am not yet aware it is plain to me that I will have cause to lie to you. You cannot kill Skinripper, not now he is in this form. As far as I am aware he is invulnerable.”

“Then why are we here?” Tain demanded angrily and not without some exasperation.

Cloewyn smiled faintly, “You are here to capture him alive.”

“What?” Tain said sharply.

Another ripple of searing light imploded into the temple buildings on their right, already they were beginning to look a little more familiar in their ruin.

“Is there even the smallest possibility,” Tain began slowly and somewhat wearily, “that you might tell us the truth about what’s going on here.”

“You are required,” Cloewyn began slowly as if talking to an idiot, “to capture Skinripper and encase him in that armour, which you have so diligently brought with you, and then return with him to your own time.”

“I was wondering what that armour was for,” Tain conceded.

“How are we supposed to capture him alive?” Canthiss demanded, “If he is like to my master then he is nearly invincible in this form.”

“I do not know your master,” Cloewyn said solemnly, “But Skinripper is unique, and invincible. Astagoth is nearly here,” he waved his hand up at the form above the Dome, “and His power flows into his servant.”

“So how are we supposed to beat him?” Tain asked incredulously.

“I do not know,” came the calm reply.

“What?” Tain exploded.

“You said you saw us defeat him,” the Druid said as patiently as she could muster, “In the future I mean.”

“Well that is encouraging, is it not?" Cloewyn smiled, “But did I not tell you how?”

“No! You bloody well didn’t.” Tain raged. He was beginning to feel much abused.

“Mmm, most likely I did not want to prejudice your natural instincts,” Cloewyn mused half to himself.

“Whereas now we’ve not got the slightest clue what do next. Do we?” Tain demanded.

“It would appear not,” Cloewyn replied.

“How long do we have until Skinripper completes the summoning?” the Druid enquired looking up at the Dome.

“Once he has defeated his enemy, not long, minutes,” Cloewyn looked up the Dome where the shape there was again that of a wolf, it seemed to be tearing with its teeth at some invisible membrane that separated it from the waking world.

“And how long until Skinripper out there tears the Barons great granddaddy to ribbons?” Tain commented peering round the edge of the debris for a look at proceedings, “Not long either by the looks of it,” he said, answering his own question.

Out on the plaza beneath the multicoloured flashes of the Dome the fight was not going well for the armoured figure. Skinripper was battering him from one side to the other without much coming back in response. It was only the silver of the armour which was saving the man, for Skinripper was so pained by contact with it that he could not seize and tear as he would have liked. Even so the man had lost his helm and his dark hair flowed in the wind of the magic. The soft mettle of the breastplate was increasingly buckled now. Skinripper was clearly winning.

“What we need,” Tain mused, “Is a distraction.”

Right at that moment a long tearing howl went up. They all turned in the direction of Skinripper expecting to see him with head thrown back, perhaps in victory or the expectation of it. But Skinripper himself was looking around and slowly backing away from his opponent sniffing the air.

There was a huge magical discharge from the Dome that suddenly arched over their heads lighting everything up in a sickly green glow before it passed and crashed with a magnificent roar into the plateau behind. It was followed by an eruption of earth and stones that showered all around in a rain. This in turn was followed by a huge cloud of grey ash and dirt that slowly began rolling down from the plateau in a thick band until it swept around them on the plaza obscuring their vision and forcing them to cover their mouths until it had lessened. And out of this cloud the Baron came charging towards them at high speed on all fours.

In the red light he looked larger and certainly more fiercesome than ever before. He swept passed them, a blur of hairy limbs and a snarl, leapt over the Altar stone between the pillars and was lost from sight again in the dust cloud.

“How distracted would you like him to be?” Cloewyn said with a smile.

Tain hurriedly unpacking the silver armour pieces, “Here’s what I think we should do," he said, "we each take a piece of this armour and under the cover of this dust cloud we get in there and do our best to strap some of this stuff onto Skinripper. Hopefully he won't see us coming and I am betting this stuff will slow him down if we can even get a single piece on him,” he turned to Cloewyn for reassurance, “Will it?” he asked.

“It will impair him. Contact with silver does not kill but it causes a blinding pain that will blank out his ability to think and act. But that will also make him even more dangerous until he is fully encased. The silver will keep him in constant flux between one state and the other. But I believe your plan is highly risky and fraught with difficulties.”

“Do you’ve a better plan?” Tain demanded angrily.

“I would not wish to interfere,” Cloewyn replied.

“Good. Then don't, unless you’ve something helpful to add just shut up,” Tain said sharply, “Everyone else agree?” he asked grabbing the two leg greaves and the oversized helmet. The Druid reluctantly took the gauntlets and arm greaves and Canthiss hefted up the large chest plate.

The tussling figures of Ironfang and Skinripper were lost to sight in the grey blanket that was settling over the plaza but every few seconds it was lit up from within by another discharge from the Dome and the fighting figures could be seen as silhouettes against the grey. They charged into the haze. Cloewyn watched them go.

Tain and Canthiss were to the forefront of their attack so they were first to begin making out the shapes in the murk. Immediately before them was the dais with the altar stone black upon it. Even in the half-light it seemed to disrupt the very air around itself. The wretched figure spread-eagled upon it was a terrible sight. Little coils of light seemed to be rising up from the ruined body.

Tain and Canthiss, trying not to think of the sacrifice, edged round the outside of the dais avoiding it. The Druid followed some way behind.

The air was clearing a little now, the dust settling. The Skinripper was on the far side of the Altar standing on the top step of the dais with his back to them. He had Ironfang to the ground and was towering over him.

The Baron clearly enraged growled deeply as he leapt claws extended for his foes throat. Skinripper ducked under the striking arm and leapt aside tearing a long gash along Ironfangs hairy flank and sending a dark spray of blood out onto the stones.

Almost immediately, even before the Baron fell howling to the ground in a rolling ball, the wound had congealed and closed. The scraping sound of the Barons sharp claws on the flagstones rung out as he tried to gain his purchase and spin round to face Skinripper again, who had now moved towards the slumped form of Ironfangs ancestor.

Tain glanced across at Canthiss and the other man nodded, they charged.

Tain reached Skinripper first. The huge hairy back of the beast was before him bending down over his semiconscious prey. Tain threw himself into a skid figuring that speed and surprise were his only useful tools. He planned to simply get close, snap on a leg greave, two if possible, and then get the hell out of there. He was not sure exactly what effect the silver would have but he was fairly certain it would not be good to stay around to find out.

His skid brought him up right behind Skinripper and he tried to grab one of the heavily muscled legs of the beast. The Skinripper in response tried to spin round but Tain was gripping onto his leg grimly with one arm whilst desperately trying to clasp the leg greave on with the other. He dared a glance upwards and looked into the face of Skinripper staring down at his impudent struggle.

Skinrippers focused eyes and wide maw seemed far away he was so tall, it was grinning its sharpest smile down at Tain; the Barons blood dripped from them.

As Tain stared upwards frozen in Skinrippers stare the beast raised a long shaggy paw and four glistening claws extended out from its end. The huge strong hairy arm swept back for a killer swing and then Canthiss smacked into them at full speed and all three went over backwards. There was a fury of confused limbs as they all struggled together.

Canthiss wrestled, trying to avoid the clawed hands and the snapping mouth of Skinripper who was flat on his back and howling, snarling every time the silver came close. Tain meanwhile was being tossed about at the end of one flaying Skinripper leg, shouting optimistically, “We’ve got him now. I think we’ve got him.”

He managed to bring the greave up onto the beasts’ lower leg and as he pressed it against the hairy flesh, fighting to tie the straps, he felt rather than saw the skin and muscle beneath warping, contracting in reaction as if the flesh itself was trying to crawl away from the silver.

Skinripper howled and with one immense sweep of his arm he knocked Canthiss flying upwards and backwards. Canthiss landed some ten or fifteen feet away, the breastplate clattered to the flagstones beside him. Skinripper sprung up, dragging Tain with him and the motion caused the other silver greave in Tains hand to fly from his grasp and clatter to the ground.

Tain let go, the Skinripper bent over him, mouth opened ready to strike. Tain winced but just then there was a sudden rush of air and a large hairy blur bowled Skinripper away a second time. The Baron had barrelled in at full speed into even as Skinripper pored gloating over Tain.

In an instant Tain found he was in an empty space, the two bodies of Skinripper and the Baron were ten feet away locked in a violent embrace of snarling and tearing. He let out a long relieved breath.

Counting his blessings he grabbed the greaves and scampered away to join Canthiss and the Druid who had regrouped beyond the Dome.

“What a great idea!” Tain moaned loudly above the magic discharges, blood was running down the side of his face, “Worked really well,” he added sarcastically.

“It was your idea,” the Druid pointed out.

“I know,” Tain shouted back “That’s why I'm so bloody annoyed. Where were you anyway?” he demanded of her.

“I was waiting to see how you got on,” she replied with a shrug.

“And how did we do?” Tain asked wryly.

“What shall we do now?” Canthiss interputted.

“We try again,” Tain replied firmly, “We know we succeed somehow so we keep trying until we bloody well do.”

“Have you considered that we might know we succeed but we do not know we survive,” the Druid pointed out bluntly.

“I was trying not to think about that thank you,” Tain replied grimly.

A sudden cry brought their attention back to the ongoing fight. It had come from the Barons ancestor who had succeeded in staggering to his feet. He appeared to take in the sight of two beasts clawing at one another and opted, in what Tain considered was the genuine Ironfang fashion, to scream at the top of his lungs and charge at them both waving his sword.

Unfortunately his first blow struck not the Skinripper but the Baron.

Reacting purely to the pain and with little more than instinct the Barons' great shaggy head seemed to stretch out from the melee and in one swift and simple movement he bit deeply at the side of his ancestors neck just above the silver neck-collar.

A great spurt of blood welled up and poured out down the silver breastplate and the man staggered backwards, his sword clattering uselessly to the ground. He fell over landing on his rump as if just sitting down for a rest. He had his hands clasped to his neck. blood poured through his fingers.

“Damn it!” Tain cursed then turning quickly to the Druid he demanded, “Can you reach him?”

“Only if you can keep them occupied,” she retorted.

Tain nodded, collected up his silver greaves once more and said to Canthiss, “You ready and willing?”

“You really do not have a better plan than this?” Canthiss asked pleadingly.

“No. Do you?” Tain asked. Canthiss did not respond, “Well then.”

Canthiss nodded and they crept forward again. Tain signalled to Canthiss for him to go around the dais of the Dome and come at their enemy from the far side, opposite where the Druid was going. Tain himself choose to creep up towards the Altar, keeping himself low so as the great hunk of rock with its victim atop concealed him from view. He could hear the vicious snarls and growls of the fight coming from the other side of it.

He stepped up the three shallow steps of the dais but stopped at the edge of the pillars. Within them he could see coils of light rising up from the sacrifice to the underside of the Dome which glowed from beneath a dull red.

Oddly it was quieter here than anywhere else, the magic, which he could see sparking out from the curve of the Dome overhead and causing chaos and ruin wherever it earthed was almost a silent tableau from down here; even the sounds of collapsing stonework and screaming refugees was so muted as to be almost inaudible.

It was this eerie silence that had made him pause where he was. He glanced through the haze and lights to where Canthiss had taken up position near one of the standing stones of the Circle. He could see no sign of the Druid; however a small bird was fluttering to the ground next to the Barons ancestor.

“Help me,” a weak croaking voice suddenly said. It was faint in that there was little strength left in the words but it was clearly audible in this odd stillness. It came from the direction of the Altar Stone.

“Help me,” the voice said again.

Tain crept forward and stepped between the pillars upholding the Dome. The air seemed to thicken as he passed through and his skin goose-bumped and tingled all over.

Before him a ruined figure of what must once have been a large man was lying spread-eagled on the dark altar stone. One of his eyes hung obscenely down his cheek and half of his face was devoid of skin, what remained hung in a loose flap over the side of his neck, red and raw; still attached just beneath the mans jaw line.

His body was covered in tiny insertions, cuts no more than an inch long but seeming darkly deep, the little coils of light that trailed up to join the red throng high above were exiting from him with a soft hiss, like sand passed between the fingers.

Yet destroyed and bloodied though the face was it had a familiarity about it, Tain almost felt like he knew him.

“Help,” the man repeated, his one remaining eye never opening, his mouth barely able to move to form the single repeated word.

Tain leant over him and took in the heavy iron manacles that were attached directly into the Altar stone itself. “How?” he said frustrated, “I don’t think I can break these.”

“Kill me,” the man said and there was desperation in his voice.

Tain went cold, “I can't do that,” he said quietly, “I'll get you out of this, somehow.”

“No!” the man said, with a groan he managed to pries open his eye and then with difficulty he fixed it on Tain, “Extinguish the Flame it is the only way. Before he draws out the Light. Kill me I beg of you.”

“Why?”

“To stop Skinripper,” the man choked and coughed, the manacles rattled against the altar, “Kill me, for my sons, so they may live without fear.”

“There must be another way,” Tain replied and taking his sword he brought it down hard against the closest manacle. There was a flash of sparks and the blade glanced off the chain which was left undamaged, unfortunately Tain's sword was not and he noticed a small notch two-thirds up its length, he cursed under his breath.

“Do it. Kill me,” the man insisted prising his eye open to reveal a glint of blue, “Before it is too late.”

Tain stared distressed down at the man, at his obvious suffering. Slowly he drew his dagger from its sheath, all the time staring fixedly down into the man’s one eye, unable or unwilling to break the living contact.

Tain had of course killed before, but this was different; this man was no threat to him. Besides he was asking to be killed which somehow made it more difficult rather than less. He could not escape the feeling that this was murder.

Nevertheless he raised his dagger as if in a trance over the exposed tattered chest and the man nodded at him, ready.

Tain wavered, could he do this? Plunge his dagger into a man’s heart? A man whom he did not even know? He looked up towards Canthiss through the wisps of rising magic and saw that Canthiss was looking back at him with a quizzical expression.

Tain looked dreamlike from Canthiss to the damaged face below and back again. Saw why the man was so familiar, and he realized, yes, he could do it after all.

“For your sons and for their sons,” Tain said with a new understanding and plunged the dagger down piercing the heart neatly and with such force the dagger only came to a halt when the tip struck the altar stone beneath.

Tain did not have time to ponder his actions as a moment later he was hurtled backwards through the air out of the ring of pillars in a burst of angry magic.

Sound flooded back round him; the roars and snarls of the fighting, screams of inhabitants still fleeing, the roar of magic as it exploded from the peak of the Dome.

The increasingly vague form of Astagoth high above was engulfed in a blaze of white light that billowed out from the dead sacrifice. A mighty howl went up that caused both the Baron and the Skinripper to throw themselves to the ground and howl back in response. Then Astagoth was gone and there was utter silence.

Tain stood shakily and brushed himself down. A second blast again knocked him backwards to the ground and he cursed loudly.

A stream of white sparkling light was streaking from the top of the Dome; straight up it went into the storm wracked sky and disappeared into the black clouds.

Slowly the light began to change, the red moon, hanging full and bloated above them seemed to shrink, falling away from the full as the ghostly red light was taken from it. In a few moments it was as it should be; a small silver crescent swimming among the speeding stormy clouds.

Tain stood more cautiously for a third time but he need not have bothered for immediately the ground began to shake and tremble and he was thrown to the hard flagstones once more, cursing loudly.

A deep throb beginning far below the Dome seemed to spread out under the earth, growing in power as it did so. As it reached the edge of the plaza the temple buildings began shaking, many to pieces, roofs and walls collapsed. It spread out to the city itself and devastated the dwellings there; the cliff faces became a fury of small landslides and tumbling rocks, dust rose all around.

But the worst was saved to last. The wave of tremors, grown very strong now, had reached the plateau above the cave where the densest of the dwellings were and where the palace of the Skinripper stood proudly above all else. Now the mile wide swath of buildings were collapsing and the very ground they stood upon was tearing itself apart in great crevices that opened with wrenching sounds all over the plateau consuming buildings and inhabitants alike.

In a matter of minutes the ground seemed to cave-in entirely and houses, shops, stables, farriers, sword smiths, beurocrats, soldiers, servants, slaves and jailers all went down together in a great rumble into the sea. For ten minutes the crashing sounds and terrifying trembling continued deafeningly as the entire eastern side of the island crumbled into a watery grave. Down in the plaza those remaining could do nothing as the ground swayed and rocked save cling on and hope.

When it was all over the surroundings looked much like they would in the future save that the plant life was yet to reclaim its domain.

There were some survivors, clustered here and there in crying, wailing groups.

Tain stood shakily and looked for his companions. The Druid who had transformed back to her familiar appearance hurried to tend to the wounds of the Barons ancestor. Canthiss was getting to his feet slowly, looking not a little stunned.

The Skinripper and the Baron were lying side by side, both were writhing violently, their wolf forms receding rapidly. Tain regained his senses. “Quickly!” he cried, “The armour.”

He hunted about for where the greaves had fallen and recovering them ran to the two bodies just as Canthiss and the Druid arrived, each bearing their pieces of silver armour. The transformation of the two men on the ground was almost complete.

“I’m very tempted to put this on the Baron,” Tain remarked as they knelt and restraining the Skinripper clasped the armour onto him, “I still haven’t forgiven him for running out on us.”

Strapping the armour on caused Skinrippers’ eyes to snap open and he cried out in agony but whatever disrupting the ceremony had done it seemed to have incapacitated both shapechangers.

By the time they were ready to place the helmet upon Skinripper his skin was crawling spasmodicly, one moment seeming wolf like, the next almost human. Hairs sprouted and dropped out in quick succession and he was passing in and out of consciousness.

“You’re sure this won't kill him?” Tain said to Canthiss looking at the writhing figure.

“We have only Cloewyn’s word for it. Painful but no more he said,” Canthiss replied.

“Good,” Tain replied and with a satisfied snap he clamped the helmet down. Skinripper howled from within.

The Baron was coming too now also, he sat up slowly. Tain left Canthiss with him whilst he and the Druid went over to the fallen figure of the Barons ancestor who, still groggy, was staring with fascinated horror at the proceedings.

“How is he?” Tain said as they approached.

“He will live,” the Druid said, “I have treated the wound and stopped the blood loss but I cannot cure the disease, the Baron is proof of that. That bite has infected him for sure.”

The man was slowly standing up but looked very unfocused, he seemed to have difficulty concentrating on them and when he spoke his words were slightly slurred, “Who art thou?” he asked finally.

“I had to give him something for the pain,” the Druid explained, “It will make him a bit groggy for a while.”

Tain put a hand on his shoulder to steady him, “We’re friends,” he said, “what's your name?”

“I am named Aterwen the Ironfang, what hast become of Skinripper?” Atrwen managed, looking at the suit of armour which was vibrating violently on the flagstones.

“You won't have to worry about him again,” Tain said reassuringly.

Aterwen waved to Tain to come closer and when Tain leant in he said, “And the other?”

“That,” Tain said slowly, “is a little more complicated.”

“So this is my forefather,” the Baron announced approaching them, “I am honoured to meet you,” he said addressing Aterwen, “Your bravery is the founding of our line.”

“Your forefather?” Aterwen replied weakly and backed away.

“I don't think it’s wise we say too much,” Tain said pointedly to the Baron.

“Nonsense,” the Baron dismissed, “on the contrary, this is of the utmost import. I am your descendant,” he said again addressing Aterwen, “It is complicated but we have come from the future and it is important you do as I instruct.”

“From the future?” Aterwen said obviously having some difficulty in keeping pace with all of this, “Thou art my descendant?” he said horrified, the Barons words beginning to sink in.

“Yes, I am your descendant, have you grasped that?” the Baron said impatiently, “What is the matter with him?” he snapped to the Druid then turning back to Aterwen said slowly, “It is not important where I am from or even who I am,” the Baron seized Atrwen by his shoulders, “But this is important. Listen to me. The people will offer you the Kingship for ridding them of Skinripper this day, you must accept it. Do you understand?”

Aterwen backed away again from the Baron and looked him up and down with a terrified look, “T’was you was it not?” he said, “You!” He clutched at his neck wound in horror.

“That is not important,” the Baron said angrily, “It is not as you fear; we have learnt to control it, to live with it over the centuries. We can and must take the Kingship, it is ours, yours, by right of conquest,” the Baron said forcibly.

“Nay,” Aterwen replied sternly, he reached up and touched his wound, “Thou didst this to me.”

“What?” the Baron questioned caught out by this.

“It’s true Baron,” Tain said stepping between the two men, “We all saw you do it, you’re the cause of your own family’s curse it seems. It never was Skinripper.”

“How can that be possible!” the Baron roared stunned.

“And now I am accursed,” Aterwen said, “and all my descendants, yeah, even down unto thee. I have seen the beast within us, felt its bite. Thou call’st that control? Mark my words, for I hereby swear it as an oath before all; above all else I shall ensure we never become Kings, verily, by Amrods’ Fire we are not fit to govern. For we are not clean.”

“No!” the Baron shouted, “No, you stupid fool!” he charged forward, brushing aside Tain, “I command you to do as I desire. Do you hear me? You condemn us to mediocrity, to idle gossip and casual slander for generations to come when we should be Kings. Is that what you desire for your descendants?”

Canthiss put a restraining hand on his masters arm, “Enough Baron, our task here is done. We must leave.”

“Let me be, I will not harm him,” the Baron said breaking Canthiss hold, “I can hardly kill the source of my own blood, even if he is a coward to weak to take what should be his and mine. I shall seek my own means.”

The Baron turned and stalked away, going back towards the prostrate figure of Skinripper and lashing out a kick at him that rung off the armour, Canthiss followed glumly.

“I’m sorry about him,” Tain said.

“So am I,” Aterwen replied, “But the other, his companion, I feel like I durst know his face, canst this be?”

“It canst,” Tain replied and the Druid looked at him quizzically, “It’s catchy,” Tain shrugged in response to the look.

Atrwen turned his eye to the altar and the corpse upon it, “Helniss. Is he..?”

“Yes, I’m very sorry. He saved the day by his self-sacrifice,” Tain said quietly, “There’s an honourable streak there that survives through time.”

“He was my friend and he was the Fire which burns in men’s hearts,” Atrwen replied simply, “I shall return him to his sons,” he went on sadly, “I will see they are well taken care of.”

“I know you will,” Tain said with certainty and a glance towards Canthiss standing by his master, “And they will take care of you in their turn.”

“And we should think of returning too,” the Druid said, “Look, right on time, here is our friend the Cleric.”

Cloewyn was indeed striding across the plaza towards the fallen body of the Skinripper. Tain and the Druid went and met him.

“Splendid,” Cloewyn beamed, “now you must go. You must take him back to your own time.”

“What exactly are we supposed to do with him when we get there?” Tain asked.

“I am sure you will think of something,” Cloewyn replied.

They slung ropes under the Skinrippers arms and dragged him behind them, occasionally he woke up and cried out and sometimes it was more a howl. Behind them the survivors were edging out from the rubble and were approaching Aterwen.

“Someone’s about to become a hero,” Tain commented as they exited the plaza, the Baron said nothing and he did not look back.

The climb up the wall to the cave proved a problem with the Skinripper who was both large and heavy. In the end they tied several ropes to him and hauled him up, he swung quite violently back and forth, bashing several times against the wall before they got him to the top. The armour was looking decidedly more dented when finally they got him into the cave.

The Baron, though he assisted in the lifting and hauling did not speak a word. Eventually they were all assembled once more before the mirror.

“Good luck,” Cloewyn said to them, “I will manage everything here but you must now complete the opening ceremony in your own time so all this can be.”

“How do we get him through the mirror,” Tain asked pointing at Skinripper jerking on the floor.

“Just push him, the mirror will do the rest,” Cloewyn replied.

So between them they lifted up the Skinripper and stood him before the warped reflecting glass. With a good push they shoved him into the pane and he vanished from their sight. Tain followed and then the Druid and then the Baron, last of all was Canthiss. Soon Cloewyn was standing alone in the cave.

In the end he considered he must find the right ones, it had worked. Skinripper was gone and the way for a different rule and a new future was open before him, or at least before the future him. Of course he thought with a sinking feeling, he now had a two thousand year long task before him to make sure things would play out this way. Life and especially life in relation to time could be very complicated.

you know what, this is embarrasing but i scrolled really fast all this and I saw "cumber" on the other page and I was like WHAAAT *ctrl+f+cum..* omg.. embarrasing... one word! one bloody word! "encumbered" was the word (whatever that means )

root word cumber = hinder or hold back, as in cumbersome.

batch = quantity of things

cumberbatch = holding back a lot of things. I think he needs therapy.

encumbered means- Restrict or burden (someone or something) in such a way that free action or movement is difficult.

So if you go camping Norc and you have put way to much stuff in your backpack and its so heavyyou can barely walk- you are encumbered.

oh okay ^^ thanx

I am actually quite amazed that I saw that word.. when I scrolled pass it.. O__O

Tain was crouched near the entrance to the cave looking out. Below him on the plaza Erwin and his cohorts were anxiously awaiting their return with a captured Baron. The Dragon had withdrawn it seemed to the cliff tops, its wings silhouetted against the setting sun.

It seemed almost no time had passed here between their leaving and return.
Small fires still burned here and there down upon the plaza, smoke hung above everything. The sun was three quarters over the horizon.
Behind him the others gathered and also peered out.

“Now what?” Canthiss asked.

Cloewyn, who had been awaiting their return indicated Skinripper who was lying before the mirror, “We take him to Erwin and quickly. The time is almost lost.”

“To Erwin?” the Baron said surprised, “Why?”

Tain laughed, seeing what Cloewyn had in mind “It’s a good idea. Erwin’s expecting us to turn up with you inside that armour Baron; you’re supposed to be sacrificed so this whole thing can begin.”

“Am I now,” the Baron growled.

“With the silver making Skinrippers flesh warp like that they’ll never know the difference,” Tain pointed out, “Besides your blood won't work anyway will it? It doesn't come from Skinripper.”

“That is right,” the Druid put in, “Erwin thought you had it but you do not and that means nor does he,” she pointed at the Skinripper who was writhing slightly in his armour and groaning, “He is unique. It has to be him. Very neat, this whole affair is like a circle. We are back at the beginning.”

“How do we get him down?” Canthiss said peering over the edge and then up at the fading sun, “We do not have long left.”

“He can’t be killed while he’s changing like that, can he?” Tain asked Cloewyn.

“No, just hurt, unless the silver were to pierce his heart,” Cloewyn confirmed.

“Good,” Tain said and with a good kick he knocked the body over the edge of the cave. It clattered and battered its way down the cliff face eventually rolling to a halt on the broken street below. Tain peered out over the edge, “Then that’s one problem sorted,” he said. The others stared at him then down at the body.

“What?” Tain said with a shrug, grinned mischievously and clambered down after him.

Erwin crept cautiously out from behind the shelter of the Domes pillars. The Dragon was swooping away with long leisurely strokes of its leathery wings back towards the cliff face. The air was tinged with the strong odour of sulphur. He cast his eye about; patches of the plazas large flagstones had been blackened and cracked and they were still smouldering. Among them were twisted forms, darkened by flame, flesh burnt off to the bone; the bodies of many of his men. Even as he looked the survivors were appearing, carefully edging out from the stones of the Circle. Some were partially burnt and all were afraid.

Erwin estimated at a glance that there were less than ten of them left alive, fewer than seven unharmed.

He turned, trying to catch sight of his Barbarian accomplices; the sun was only a sliver beyond the bay setting the sea dancing with a white sparkling light, there was little time left to them.

He found Hevlor standing near an ancient lump of masonry, part of a wall now standing on its end and half collapsed- he was staring blankly down with an air of resignation.

As Erwin neared he could see for himself what lay before Hevlors’ feet, it was the blackened, smoking remains of Cuthwelyn.

“I am sorry,” Erwin offered as he approached.

Hevlor did not immediately respond and when he spoke it was without turning his head, “He must not be left here,” he said simply.

“Of course,” Erwin replied.

“He must be placed in the stone houses of his ancestors, in the green hills of his home. I want you to know,” he said turning to look Erwin directly in the eye, “I do not blame you for this, he chose to come here, to serve Astagoth in this manner,” Hevlor turned to face Erwin and his face was set hard, “but his death will be heedless if we fail, as it seems ever more likely that we shall. And for that the Watchers will hold you responsible.”

Erwin glanced passed Hevlor, something moving had caught his eye, “Maybe we are not lost yet,” he said, “Look!”

He pointed out towards the plaza wall where the temple buildings clustered beneath the ruined cliffs. A group was approaching led by the distinct white robes of Cloewyn and among them was a figure that shone in the fading sunlight, a figure in silver armour.

“They have done it, they have captured the Baron,” Erwin said gleefully and with a voice full of relief. He glanced at the disappearing sun and willed them to make haste.

As the companions neared the plazas centre the devastation reaped by the Dragon was clear all around them. They passed more than one corpse. They hurried on, Skinripper being half dragged and half held upright by Tain and Canthiss. The Druid followed behind, she was muttering to herself and when Tain took the odd glance back over his shoulder he saw she was mixing various herbs from her pouches as she walked. Tain enquired as to their purpose but she just smiled and said, “Something special.”

Erwin came out to meet them with, Tain noted, only one of his Barbarian companions. Of the other Tain could see no sign.

“What have you done with the Prince?” Erwin demanded.

“What we came here to do. We rescued him,” Tain replied smugly, “But we’ve the Baron to trade. It would seem you have nothing. What can you offer us for him?”

Erwin laughed loudly, “You are bold. I offer only your lives.”

Tain glanced to the horizon, “I can debate this all night. You I understand don’t have that luxury.”

“What is it you want?” Erwin replied coldly.

“First pick from any treasure this island might yet hold and let us say a finder’s fee for the Baron of one thousand Futurian crowns.”

Erwin laughed again, “You think the Baron is worth so much?”

“To you? Right now? Yes,” Tain replied. He had to make sure this was not too easy.

“I do not travel with a treasury,” Erwin replied.

“Then for now I’ll take your word as your oath. I trust that when you’ve achieved your goals here this night finances will no longer be a concern to you?”

“That is certainly true but only if you leave the Prince to me also,” Erwin countered.

Now it was Tain's turn to laugh, “That’s a kingdoms ransom-can you pay such a price?”

“If you give me the Baron now.”

Tain nodded and with a thrust he shoved Skinripper forward. He fell to the ground before Erwin who recoiled as if struck from the silver armour. Collecting himself he ordered two of his men to pick up the armoured figure and draw back the helmets visor.

The face beneath was covered in dark hair and the muscle was in spasms, the mouth was twisted and sharp teeth cut out from it, saliva dribbled from the corners. It was impossible to identify anything beyond the fact the armours occupant was a large shapeshifter.

Erwin nodded satisfied and ordered Skinripper taken to the altar stone where he was manacled. With great care the chest plate was removed revealing Skinrippers barrel chest which had sprouted black hair from long gashes.

Cloewyn moved out into the centre of the Circle and took up a chant addressed at the failing sun.

All eyes now where upon that sliver of light. Already behind them the sky was dark and stars had sprung up in great abundance but before them the sun was not quite gone and a pale line of light still lingered over the sea.

Erwin had taken in his hand a long curved dagger whose pommel was encrusted in jewels. Down the centre of the blade there was embedded a layer of magically impregnated silver. Erwin had spent a lifetime hunting for anything which might just shed some light on his families unique past, and in his searching a name had appeared, the name of Skinrippers ally and possibly his creator, the name of the sorceror Morwin.

Morwin had been no fool and had devised for himself the means to end Skinripper if need should demand it. The dagger was that means.
Erwin had made use of it only once before but on that occasion he did not have the pleasure of being the one to wield it.

Now he held it firmly in both hands above the writhing chest and waited blissfully for the moment when the Clerics chanting would end, for that was his cue.

For more than a minute maybe they all stood hypnotized by the disappearing sun Abruptly Cloewyn's chanting ended and the sun vanished.

“For you mother,” Erwin cried and plunged the dagger downward revelling in this, his moment of absolute triumph, the culmination of his life and of his very existence. He thought of his wife and how great her pride in him would be. Ironfang, the hated Ironfang was about to die by his hand and by Astagoth that felt good.

The dagger, its silver long ago enchanted for just this purpose, pierced that otherwise impregnable skin and plunged deep into the black heart of Skinripper driving its fatal silver core far into him. The beast howled a final desperate cry that tore at the air and then a stream of light and fire shot up from him into the Golden Dome above.

The Dome exploded.

Pieces of masonry; of Dome and of pillars flew outwards and upwards in every direction. It was all anyone could do to cast themselves to the ground and pray a piece did not crash down upon them.

When the chaos had seemed to calm down somewhat Tain risked peering up from his position lying prone on the ground. The loud thump he had heard and the trembling he had felt in the ground, but had been too afraid to look up to see what it had been, had as he suspected been a sizeable lump of one of the pillars landing right next to him.

By some miracle it seemed that they had all been spared crushing or even any injury, they were however coated in a thin layer of dust that was still settling through the air.

Some of Erwin’s remaining men had not been so lucky and one was screaming wildly, his legs crushed beneath stonework. Some of the Circle stones, those close to the Dome, had been blown over in the explosion and lay shattered on the flagstones. The Cloewyn was nowhere to be seen.

Tain stood shakily, offering a hand to the Druid who was brushing herself down as she arose.

Across from them Erwin stood awkwardly, he had blood on his forehead and wore a dazed, yet still joyous, expression. The dagger he had bore was still stuck in what remained of the Skinrippers chest.

“It is done,” he said in awed voice, “I have succeeded! Astagoth, I am your servant!” he cried upwards to the night sky and then fell forwards onto his knees, “I await your coming.”

“You will wait a long time then,” a deep voice growled and the Baron stepped out from the shadow of the collapsed Dome.

Erwin stared at him stunned then looked back to the figure lying spread-eagled upon the cracked altar.

“Baron Ironfang!” he finally managed.

“Alive and well, which is more than I can say for your Master, Skinripper.”

“What? How can this be?” Erwin cried out in a howl.

The Baron stepped up to the Altar and before Erwin could react drew the knife from the wound. He held it up carefully by the hilt, avoiding the silver in the blade and examined it.

“This is the weapon which murdered my father? Is it not?” he demanded of Erwin.

“You expect me to tell you that?” Erwin laughed at him.

“No,” the Baron replied and with a sudden jerk forward he stabbed Erwin through the heart, “I expect you to prove a theory.”

Erwin coughed and choked falling to his knees spinning as he did so until he was facing the Altar where all his dreams had been stored. He reached out a grasping hand towards it and collapsed face down on the flagstones and died with a long sigh.

Tain had been wondering how Erwin’s few remaining men would react, how loyal were they? He had noted again the pouches and somehow he knew their loyalty was of the unquestioning variety. He was not disappointed. Almost immediately upon Erwin demise Hevlor reappeared, striding out from the ruin of the Circle screaming to the men that still stood and were capable of fighting.

Something whistled over Tain's head and landed right before the advancing enemy, it was a flask thrown by the Druid.

For a moment nothing happened and the mercenaries stopped puzzled before continuing on. But then in an instant there sprung up from the flagstones a thick coiling grass. Quick and tall it grew, twisting and writhing, ensnaring Hevlor and his followers in its fronds and strands, there were many large barbs growing amongst it. It did not stop sprouting until it was some twenty-foot high. Muffled sounds from within indicated that the men were firmly entrapped but alive. It had taken only seconds to sprout.

“Very nice,” Tain congratulated approvingly, turning to her.

“Accelerated growth, but with a few little tricks of my own thrown in, such as the thorns, all with the blessing of Elhonna of course,” she added piously.

“What do we do with them now?” Tain asked.

“We could set fire to it,” the Baron chipped in darkly.

“I think that might be a little harsh,” Tain replied.

“Leave them here, the effect will wear off in a day or so and they will be able to cut their way out,” the Druid said, “They can take their chances after that.”

“And what do we do now?” Canthiss said, looking round at the ruin.

“We go home my old friend,” the Baron said.

“Home?” Tain queried.

“Futura. We have a Prince to make a King and a border to defend.”

“You’re going to support the throne then?” Tain asked with a smirk as they walked off.

“As was always my intention,” Ironfang replied gruffly, “Sometimes there is more power in being the Kingmaker.”

“I still haven’t forgiven you for abandoning us, don’t think I have,” Tain complained at the Baron, “In fact, you’re lucky I am even still talking to you.”

“Odd,” the Baron responded, “I do not feel lucky.”

They set off back towards the ruined temples where the Prince was lying concealed.

“I would still like to know why that marshland was flooding you know,” the Druid said as they went, “That is all I wanted to know really, at the start, and I still have no answer.”

“I doubt it is important,” the Baron replied dismissively.

“Do you know what’s annoying me?” Tain asked, turning to the Druid, “I still don't know your name. I can’t just keep calling you Druid; it could get confusing if we ever meet another one.”

“Oh I don't know, I kind of like it,” the Druid replied flicking her hood up which shaded her face hiding the mischievous smirk it bore.

They walked on.

“I hope our ship’s still there,” Tain grumbled, the very thought of sailing again bothering him, “It wouldn’t surprise me if that last bang made our superstitious crew set sail for home.”

“They better not have or I shall have them all flogged,” the Baron warned.

“Ah. Nice to know they have incentives,” Tain remarked ironically.

They collected Prince Mekhal who was still very groggy and made their way around the plaza, passing out between the frowning cliffs out towards the bay where the sea pounded against the ruins of the ancient harbour. Above them the sky was filling with stars. Elhonna sparkled brightly among them.

still say you need snogging.

what?

Snogging would not be appropriate -too early on, the characters barely know each other. But you never know as things develop...

you've written a whole book and the characters haven't developed enoguh to snog?

do I have to send you johnlock fanfic where they go from friends on a train til violent lovers in less than a page?

No they havent got to know you one another well enough- and not everyone likes everyone and theres a lot of stuff sort of happened to them without much time for them to think about such things- it just wouldnt have fitted the story or anything.

I am aspiring to perhaps something more meaty than fan fic and less sexually focused.

Petty,

I am joking

You better be young Norc!

Glad you enjoyed it Azriel.

I have some questions- most can wait- but one I would like your thoughts on- this is either the end of the first novel- or only the end of the first book in the first novel-I cant decide.
Does it seem complete enough to stand as a book on its own?