Table of Contents

A Pair of Nuts on the Throne

Old Kingdom map

Spoiler Warning

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Epilogue

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About the Author

The Hal Spacejock Series

The Secret War series

The Harriet Walsh series

The Robot vs Dragons trilogy

The Hal Junior Series

How to Write a Novel

Short Fiction by Simon Haynes

Copyright

Dedication

Publication Details

A Pair of Nuts on the Throne

Book 3 in the Dragon and Chips Trilogy

Copyright © Simon Haynes 2018

Release v 1.5

Bowman Press

Written and published using yWriter by Spacejock Software

Stock images © depositphotos.com
3D models © cgtrader.com

This novel, like the author, employs British spelling.

Also available in audiobook!

Old Kingdom Map Makers… we point, you go

Warning! Spoilers!

Recap of book two

You know the drill by now. This novel follows directly after book two, A Butt of Heads, and I like to include a very brief recap of where the various characters ended up at the end of that novel. If you've only just finished reading the previous novel, or have an excellent memory, feel free to skip this section.

If you haven't read the first two novels yet, stop now because A Pair of Nuts on the Throne is book three in the trilogy.

At the end of the previous novel...

Pentonville, Islington and the supremely annoying Sur Rhyff have just ridden past the line of watchtowers, and onward into the rocky wastes of the west.

Queen Therstie Mollister and Lord Varnish just finished reviewing their 'mighty army' of roughly twelve people - not one of them armed, armoured, or trained in any way. Lord Varnish was instructed to raise Army 2.0… or else.

Sur Loyne, Sur Pryze, Thonn and the assassin Tiera have just gone to sleep in her modest house. In the morning, they're going to hunt for Tyniwon and Wiltred, who they believe assassinated the King of the Barks.

Wiltred, Tyniwon Mollister and the elf maiden Allyance just set off to the east with a pot of stew, a vial of fyrehose and a completely pointless willow twig.

Hold on, I'm not done yet...

Father M, Hurm, Stonesmasher, Slim, Splodge, Clunk and Millie just agreed on their 'elaborate' plan to capture a baby dragon. (Grab it… then run!)

Spadell just agreed to take a month off. He realised he likes and respects Tiera, and he wants to see more of her. But first, he must find her.

Runt and Berry and midshipman Dallow were captured by Sur Cumfrence, and have just been locked up in the deepest, dankest jail cell in Chatter's Reach.

Gratuitous Plot Twist! Hal Spacejock, a spaceship freighter pilot, was written into the series in the very last sentence of book two, and is currently paddling towards the distant shoreline of the Old Kingdom. If he knew of the dangers awaiting him there, he'd be paddling the other way, back out to sea.

Chapter 1

"Dragon!" hissed Islington.

Pentonville scowled at him. "It wasn't funny the first three times. Now it's just annoying."

"Dragon!" hissed Islington again, jabbing his finger at the sky behind them.

Sur Rhyff, the melodic knight who was providing light entertainment during their trek, turned to look. What he saw must have chilled him to the bone, for he dived under a nearby bush and put his hands over his head. Meanwhile, Islington had also taken refuge, leaving Pentonville standing in the open, totally and completely alone.

"There really is a dragon behind me, isn't there?" he said, his voice heavy and resigned.

Only minutes earlier they'd been traipsing through the harsh, rocky countryside, deep in conversation.

"Have you thought about this mission of ours?" Pentonville had asked Islington. "Really thought about it, I mean?"

"I have thought of little else," replied Islington.

"It's insane! Ridiculous! Impossible! We're to travel deep into dragon-infested country, seeking a man of metal so that we might capture him and bring him to Lord Chylde. A man of metal, I might add, who had no trouble snapping the finest manacles in the city dungeon as though they were made of straw."

"It is going to be a bit of a challenge," admitted Islington.

"A bit of a challenge! This quest will be the death of us, and you know it!"

That conversation had taken place only moments earlier, and now it seemed death was even closer than they thought… especially for Pentonville.

Fortunately, the dragon was flying high, and at that altitude it looked more like a large bat than a fearsome killing machine. Unfortunately, aside from their legendary bad temper, legendary cruelty and legendary sense of hearing, dragons also had pretty good eyesight.

So, Pentonville stood rooted to the spot and tried not to look like a ready-to-eat meal.

"It's all right, I think it's gone," whispered Islington, at least twenty or thirty minutes later. Actually, he suspected the dragon had flown off pretty much straight away, but where instant death was concerned he preferred to err on the side of caution. Plus he wasn't absolutely certain it had gone, because the sunlight left dancing spots in his eyes, although none of those spots appeared to have leathery wings and a long bony tail.

Meanwhile, Sur Rhyff emerged from the bushes, dusting himself down. Then, without warning, he burst into song.

There once was a soldier, all devious and cunning,

whose primary defence was ducking and running.

'Til one day a dragon flew over at night,

and our bold friend the hero didst near die of fright.

"It isn't night, it's mid-afternoon," protested Islington.

"Four lines of insulting lyrics, and that's the part you don't like?" said Pentonville sourly.

"I'm so sorry for my mistake," said Sur Rhyff huffily. "Perhaps this version is more to your liking?"

'Til one day a dragon flew over at noon,

and our cowardly hero didst stammer and swoon.

Pentonville said nothing, but his hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. Then he remembered the weapon's stunted six-inch blade, and the sergeant's laughter as he'd handed it over just before they'd left the barracks. Sur Rhyff, on the other hand, carried a long, sharp sword made out of shiny new steel, and so Pentonville released the hilt and pretended he'd been going for the water bottle all along. "How far have we travelled, do you think?" he asked the others, once he'd slaked his thirst.

"There are yet three hours until sundown. Maybe fifteen leagues?"

"We should have brought the horses."

Islington shook his head. "You know what that archer said at the watchtower. Dragons love the taste of their flesh." He gestured. "That, and the bushes aren't very big. There's barely enough cover for us, let alone a horse's arse."

"They covered him well enough," said Pentonville, with a nod at Sur Rhyff.

The knight was busy composing his next effort, and chose to ignore the slight.

"So, about our quest," continued Pentonville. "It's incredibly dangerous, our chance of success is nil, and we're obviously going to die."

Islington lowered his voice. "Then we'll deal with this quest the same way we dealt with the last one."

Pentonville frowned. "Last time, we were supposed to kill an assassin."

"Yes, and we went back and told the captain we'd completed the task. Even though we hadn't."

"But we can't go back empty-handed this time! How can we tell the captain we found the metal man, unless we show him the metal man we found?"

"Easy. What if the thing was picked up by a dragon and dropped into the ocean depths? What if two dragons fought over it, and tore the thing apart before our very eyes? Who's to say otherwise?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe some poetry-spewing knight?"

They both turned to look at Sur Rhyff, who was standing some distance away writing on a scrap of parchment. "How about we report two fatal accidents?" suggested Pentonville. "The robot, and…" his voice tailed off, and he nodded meaningfully in Sur Rhyff's direction.

"Sounds like a plan to me."

They shook on it. One more day of fruitless searching, then they'd dispose of Sur Rhyff in the dead of night before heading home to Chatter's Reach, where they'd lie through their teeth about finding — and then losing — the robot.

"Captain Spadell's not going to trust us with any more quests," warned Pentonville.

"Good," said Islington, with feeling. "If he loves quests so much, he can take the next one himself."

— ♦ —

The wind-swept hillside was a grim, barren place, with spindly, twiggy bushes struggling to survive in the rocky soil. A dozen goats grazed on the sparse bushes, every one of them listless and near-death.

The goats weren't exactly bursting with good health, either.

An elderly shepherd stood nearby, leaning on a wooden staff as he watched over his flock. He was a man of few words and even fewer baths, which meant he didn't actually need any words at all, for most of the local villagers gave him a very wide berth.

Behind him, an unbroken expanse of ocean stretched all the way to the horizon.

The shepherd never paid much attention to the ocean. His goats couldn't swim, and the giant sea serpents infesting the deep waters couldn't walk on land. Therefore, the sea was not something he troubled himself with. No, he focussed on the sky, in case of dragons, and the land, in case of wolves, hungry bandits, and annoying little brats from the village, who liked to hide in the rocks and call him Stinky.

"Hey up! Chack chack!" The shepherd knocked the end of his staff on a rock, but the goats recognised his call and moved as one, trotting along the hillside towards the next feeding spot. The shepherd followed more slowly, stooping to collect a stone in case any of the goats decided to tarry. He didn't need to hit them with it, but his aim was good after a lifetime of practice, and the sudden clatter of stone on stone was enough to convince the stragglers it was time to move on.

The goats settled at the next patch of bushes, and soon they were busy tearing off branches and chewing the skinny green leaves. The shepherd leaned on his crook and happened to glance out to sea, which led to a massive double-take. His elbow slipped off the crook, and he was so startled he almost fell over.

Sailing towards him was a fleet of three enormous ships, with towering masts and billowing white sails. Sixty years the shepherd had been eking a meagre living out of the hillside, and never had he seen such a thing.

"Fudd me," he murmured. "What devilry is this?"

The goats hadn't noticed anything amiss, and kept chewing on sticks and branches.

Ten minutes later, the ships stowed their sails and came to a graceful halt, and the rattle of their anchor chains echoed around the cove. Then a small boat set off from one of the huge vessels, with several uniformed men pulling on the oars.

The shepherd eyed his goats, wavering between flight and a warm greeting. The flock was all he had in the world, but if the ships were looking for provisions he might make a pretty penny from their sale. On the other hand, the newcomers might take the goats for nothing… and kill him into the bargain.

The boat grounded on the shore, and half a dozen men leapt into the shallow waters and made their way to the beach, where they adjusted their swords and gleaming helms. Then one of them took out a metal tube and peered through it, slowly taking in the surrounding hills.

As the tube came to bear on him, the shepherd slowly raised a hand in greeting. The officer lowered the tube and frowned, then put it to his eye and looked again. He said something to the others, and everyone drew their swords.

"Oh spit," muttered the shepherd, and his blood ran cold. There was nowhere to run to, and if he fled they'd take his goats anyway.

Then the officer raised his hand and waved back, and the party put away their weapons and started the long climb up the hillside.

Relieved, the shepherd watched and waited.

They arrived moments later, out of breath and sweating. Their leader was a portly man in a red uniform, and after he recovered his breath he spoke in an impatient bark with a decidedly foreign accent. "You there. What land is this?"

The shepherd touched a finger to his forehead. "These be Mollister lands, my good Sur."

"Stalyan territory, then?"

Several men reached for their swords.

"Never heard of no Stalya," said the shepherd. "Mollister, that's what it be."

"There is no such place," snapped the officer. "The truth now, or you will suffer for it."

The shepherd turned to look around, but these were definitely the hills of his birth. "Like I be sayin', these are Queen Therstie Mollister's lands."

The officer turned to the rest of the party. "The old fool… his brain is addled. Karl, return to the ship and set up watch parties on the shore. Find fresh water for the casks."

"Aye aye, sir," said the youngest of the sailors, and he turned and jogged down the hill.

"Osvald, fetch a boat pole and a flag."

"What sort of flag, sir?"

"A Methusian standard, of course. Go now, hurry!" The officer glanced at the old shepherd. "These goats. Do you have more?"

"No sir."

"How much for the flock?"

The shepherd thought for a moment. Normally he'd get three shillings each, but the ships were large and the uniforms looked expensive. "They're good animals, none finer," he said, as an opening gambit.

"They are scrawny, ill-fed and covered in fleas."

"I'll take five guineas the lot," said the shepherd.

"What is a guinea?"

The shepherd had never seen one either, but he'd heard tales. "It be a gold coin, Sur."

"Fine. Two gold florins."

"Three."

"This is acceptable."

The officer reached into his coin purse and passed over three large coins, which clinked in the shepherd's outstretched hand. As he felt the weight of the gold, he knew he'd never have to tend goats or walk the windswept hills again. He also knew he ought to walk away while the going was good, but curiosity got the better of him. "Sur, from which kingdom do you hail?"

"I bow to no king," said the officer sharply. Then he relented. "I hail from the all-powerful nation of Methusia, let there be no better."

"Let there be no better," murmured the rest of the party.

At that moment Osvald came running up with a long wooden pole and a folded flag. He handed the flag to the officer, who then indicated a spot with the toe of his shiny leather boot. The sailor rammed the pole into the earth… or at least, he tried to. It struck the flinty soil and bounced, jarring his wrists.

"Poor soil in these parts," remarked the shepherd. "I could sell you a pick," he added hopefully.

"Use your cutlass," said the officer, and the sailor obeyed. After ten minutes he'd made a shallow hole, into which he rested the end of the pole. Then he scraped the loose dirt in and tamped it down.

Meanwhile, the officer had unfolded an elaborate gilt-edged flag adorned with a mighty eagle. He fastened the flag to the pole, and then he and the rest of the party saluted. "I claim this land for Methusia," said the officer.

"Let there be no better," murmured the others.

The shepherd said nothing. He'd never met Queen Therstie, or any other Mollister for that matter, but he was pretty sure she'd not take kindly to strangers showing up to claim her lands. There was going to be trouble, that much was clear, and he decided to take his three gold coins and emigrate as soon as possible.

"Tell me, old man, what strength is the local garrison?"

"Chatter's Reach is two days walk from here. They have dozens and dozens of soldiers."

The officer smiled. "A mere handful, eh? And their cannon?"

"Their what?"

"Guns, sir. Heavy guns. How many?"

"What's a gun?"

The officer stared at him. "Either you're truly soft in the head, or this land is ripe for plucking."

"Queen Therstie ain't going to sit still for none of that nonsense," declared the old man. Then he remembered all the whispers about the queen plucking just about anything on two legs, and he amended his statement. "She might lie down for it, mind."

"Your Queen will beg on her knees when she witnesses our overwhelming force," declared the Methusian. He turned to the bay and signalled to the fleet. Instantly, there was a puff of white smoke from the bows of a ship, followed by a loud boom. A split second later the hillside further round the cove erupted in a violent explosion of shattered rocks and dust.

Seeing the shepherd's expression, the officer smiled and spread his arms wide to encompass the bay. "You'll note my supremely powerful fleet, consisting of three—"

At that moment the calm waters around the nearest vessel erupted, and a big angry sea serpent, disturbed by the cannon fire, wrapped itself around the nearest vessel. There was an ear-splitting crunch as the hull gave way, and seconds later the two halves had vanished under the waves.

"My two heavily armed warships," finished the captain, without missing a beat.

Before the shepherd could respond, a massive shadow flitted across the hillside, and the goats scattered, bleating wildly. The shepherd looked up to see an enormous grey shape rising into the sky, flapping its huge leathery wings until it was a speck against the overwhelming brightness of the afternoon sun. Then it dived on the bay, and there was a terrible roar as a fifty foot jet of dragonfire torched one of the two remaining ships.

Satisfied, the dragon soared high into the sky and vanished to the west.

The captain's face was expressionless as the vessel burned from stem to stern, while the last intact ship hauled up its anchor and threw on just enough sail to get clear of its burning twin. Then, with a boom that knocked the newly-planted flagpole over, the burning ship exploded. Flaming timbers rained down across the still waters of the bay, fortunately missing the third and final ship.

Unfortunately, it was now travelling quite fast, and the wind blew it directly onto the sharp rocks at the far side of the cove.

"This Queen Therstie of yours," said the Methusian officer, as his last remaining ship rolled over and sank. "Would she be amenable to a peace treaty?"

Chapter 2

Hal Spacejock rose and fell with the ocean waves, one arm around a small wooden barrel which was keeping him afloat. He was exhausted after paddling for several hours straight, and just when he thought he'd found a nice, safe cove to take refuge in, he'd seen three large ships destroyed before his very eyes. Burning timbers had splashed down all around him, for the second time in two days, and he was still coming to terms with the sight of the huge grey dragon that had dive-bombed the ship.

He couldn't remember any part of his life before the past couple of days, his mind being a total blank, but he was pretty sure he'd never seen anything as large or as terrifying before.

The dragon wasn't the only danger, because he'd just felt a surge as the giant sea serpent swam beneath him on its way to the open seas. He drew his legs in and prepared himself for being swallowed whole, but fortunately the serpent didn't stick around. It had gobbled down any number of hapless sailors from the waters of the bay, and Hal realised it hadn't attacked him because it already had a mouthful of seamen.

What with the sinking, burning and wrecked ships littering the bay, and the angry, armed men on the beach, and the scared goats running around butting everything in sight, Hal decided the cove wasn't exactly the peaceful haven he'd been looking for.

So, with a sigh of resignation, he started paddling back out to sea, hoping to round the rocky headland and make it to the next bay up the coast.

— ♦ —

Wiltred, Tyniwon and Allyance were finding the marshes tough going. They'd left the woods behind many hours earlier, and already they were missing the cool, leafy glades and the ready supply of firewood. Out here, the only thing they could set fire to was marsh gas, and the subsequent explosion wouldn't just cook their food, it would cook the three of them as well.

It wasn't just the soggy ground and the hot sun, there was also a terrible stench in the air.

"The elves don't need defences," muttered Wiltred, as he stepped into yet another puddle disguised as a firm piece of land. "This smell is a most effective barrier."

Allyance nodded. She was holding the sleeve of her blouse to her nose, and wasn't about to remove it.

Tyniwon's nose was further from the ground, he being a foot taller than the others, and so he wasn't quite as troubled by the stench. He could see over the haze, too, and was therefore the first to spot the white-capped mountains. Leading up to the snowline were verdant forests, no doubt teeming with game, bubbling brooks and wonderful camping spots.

Unfortunately, this paradise lay to the north, and the party was heading east.

"This smell is going to kill me," muttered Wiltred.

"Oh, it's not that bad," said Tyniwon, and he looked hurt as the others shot him angry looks.

Still, all bad things come to an end, and a few hours later they made it to the far side of the marsh, where the ground rose steadily. Wiltred called a halt, and after lighting a fire and heating the pot of stew Allyance had brought along for the trip, the three of them sat around eating and recovering their strength.

Once they were done, Allyance took her mother's cooking pot to the stream, to rinse it out for its next use, while Wiltred turned his attention to Tyniwon. "You've not said much about your heritage. You being the true Mollister king and all."

The big man shrugged. "Don't care. I don't want to rule anyone, I just want to enjoy life."

"Why not enjoy life as king? There are plenty to handle day-to-day matters, leaving you to—"

"I'm not into all that regal stuff," said Tyniwon firmly.

"The man who wouldn't be king, eh? There's a pretty penny in that story." Wiltred lay back and gazed at the bright blue sky. "But think, Tyniwon. As king you could have any woman you wanted."

"I enjoy the company of ordinary working women, not powdered court girls in fancy dresses." Tyniwon hesitated. "In any case, there is only one woman for me now."

Wiltred glanced at Allyance, who was pretending not to listen despite her superior elf hearing. She turned away at Tyniwon's words, scrubbing the pot twice as hard, and Wiltred rolled his eyes as he saw her shoulders slump. "Give me strength," he muttered, for the two young fools were clearly at cross purposes. "This woman you like," he said to Tyniwon. "You should tell her as soon as possible."

"I cannot," said Tyniwon. "It may happen that she finds me unattractive, and unworthy, and then I would be all the worse for revealing my true feelings."

"Tyniwon, trust me on this. Tell her, and tell her soon." Wiltred got up. "I'm going for a short walk in the trees. Take your chance, my young friend, for I would in your place."

Five minutes later he'd gone about fifty yards into the forest, where he relieved himself against a tree. Then, with time to spare, he continued into the woods, pausing only to pluck a handful of berries to share with the others. He found an honest-to-goodness bubbling brook, and after drinking his fill he rinsed the berries, removing all the crawly little bugs and splashes of bird spit.

Eventually he sat down, for his legs still ached from the difficult marsh crossing. He wondered whether Tyniwon had managed to summon up his courage yet, for it was clear the young man was smitten with Allyance. Fortunately, the reverse also seemed to be the case.

Wiltred sighed. As a younger man he'd been notoriously shy, and there were half a dozen young women he'd fancied at one time or another. He'd kept his mouth shut and feigned indifference, and of course they'd never approached him. Never noticed him, most like.

All that changed when he was living out of his workshop in the wilds of the Bark kingdom. He'd been hiding from the king's men, learning the secrets of metalworking deep in the woods, and the girl from the local farm had been his only contact with civilisation. Tallie, for that was her name, came to trade food from her parents' farm for objects of the purest metal, which she then sold at eye-watering profit to others in the village. Over the long months they formed a strong friendship, which had blossomed into love with the coming of spring.

Unfortunately, a patrol spotted a farmer using one of Wiltred's metal ploughs in the fields, and when Tallie came to his workshop to warn him, breathless from running, he'd barely had time to gather few treasured tools and sketches before fleeing for his life.

There hadn't even been time for goodbyes.

A few years later, when things had calmed down, Wiltred returned to the village and enquired after his long-lost love. To his dismay, but no great surprise, he discovered she was now married with a daughter of her own. He left the village without a backward glance, and never returned.

Wiltred gazed upon the tranquil woodland scene, wondering what might have been. Then he sighed, and got up to return to the others.

He found them sitting on either side of the fire, a stony silence dividing them like the walls of a forbidding fortress. Clearly, Tyniwon had said nothing of his feelings, and Allyance, having overheard his earlier declaration of love for a special woman, was now under the impression that he cared for another.

A word from Wiltred would have cleared the air, but it wasn't his business to intrude. He'd already given Tyniwon his advice, and if the young man chose to ignore it, that was his fault. So, Wiltred distributed the berries he'd picked, and while they ate them he kicked dirt on the campfire to smother it. Then the trio set off once more.

"I expect I'll meet a great many eligible bachelors once we cross into elven lands," said Allyance pointedly, after half an hour of excruciating silence. "My parents would be so pleased if I were to return with a suitor."

If she was trying to goad Tyniwon, she failed, for he looked miserable and said nothing. There was hurt in his eyes, because he didn't understand why the friendly, charming elf maiden had suddenly frosted over.

That was the last thing anyone said all afternoon, and the sun was setting when they came to a wooden signpost. There was no writing they could see, but Allyance studied the sign as though she were reading it. Then she turned to Wiltred. "This marks the beginning of elven lands. From this point on, we are guests and must behave with good manners and grace." Allyance lowered her hood and shook her hair free, before tucking the loose strands behind her pointed ears. "I will take the lead, for they will not shoot one of their own."

"What about us?" asked Tyniwon.

"You should walk with your head bowed, like a worthless slave," said Allyance coldly. She turned away from them and raised her voice, speaking to the shadows under the trees in a curious flowing language.

There was an answering call, and moments later the party was surrounded by half a dozen elves in woodland green, with bows at the ready and arrows nocked. The tallest was a dark-haired elf with a garland of spider silk holding the hair back from his eyes. He spared Tyniwon and Wiltred the briefest of glances before turning all his charm on Allyance. "Who is this heavenly creature that graces our woods with her beauty?"

"I am Allyance, of the river people."

He looked surprised. "You are the daughter of Willowmere and Treeborne, the Banished?"

"Indeed."

"Then you are brave returning to elf lands, for this crime is punishable by death."

"My parents were Banished, but I was not yet born."

"You make a fair point. I only hope the Queen shares your interpretation, for it will be a shame to execute one so fine." The elf bowed. "I am Longroot, of the earth people."

"Well met, Longroot."

The elf glanced at Tyniwon and Wiltred, then returned his attention to Allyance. "Tell me, why do you travel with these meatbags?"

"Tyniwon is half-brother to Queen Therstie Mollister, and Master Wiltred has the secret of metalworking."

"No ordinary meatbags, then." Longroot nodded to his archers. "Whitesap. Firbranch. Secure them."

Two women sprang forward, and both Tyniwon and Wiltred were tied at the wrists and then gagged. Wiltred was surprised they weren't blindfolded too, but he supposed one lot of trees looked much like another.

"Now let us proceed," said Longroot, "for the queen will have plenty to ask you."

— ♦ —

Rugbeard the dwarf stared up at the sky, thoroughly confused. The last thing he remembered, he'd been toasting his son's coming-of-age with a jug of ale. Things got a bit hazy after that, and then he'd blacked out. To be fair, that was pretty much the result whenever dwarves gathered for a celebration, but there had been something different this time. He'd only downed eight jugs of ale, and the transition to unconsciousness had been too swift.

Rugbeard rubbed his eyes, scratched his bearded chin, then sat up. The first thing he saw was a jug of ale on its side nearby, and he stretched out his hand to grab it. There was still a bit left, but as he put the jug to his mouth he noticed an unusual smell.

"Who's been putting herbs in my beer?" he growled. Rugbeard looked around for the culprit, only to discover the hillside was strewn with unconscious dwarves. Again, this wasn't unusual after a big party, but there was usually one designated non-drinker for every gathering… otherwise, who would cook breakfast?

"Up!" shouted Rugbeard. "Get up!"

Nobody obeyed, although he did hear a few groans.

"Your king commands you!" shouted Rugbeard.

One or two dwarves struggled to sit up, then fell over again.

"Stonesmasher," muttered Rugbeard, as everything came back with a rush. His son had refused the symbolic chopping down of a tree, and had instead left his own coming-of-age ceremony with an elf.

Now thoroughly awake, if not quite fully alert, Rugbeard staggered to his feet and started kicking other dwarves. There were cries of 'ouch' and 'let me sleep' and 'fudd off and die', but when the torpid dwarves realised who was doing the kicking they finally stirred.

Ten minutes later, Rugbeard stood atop a huge tree stump while a couple of hundred sorry-looking dwarves faced him. Now and then one of them fell over, but their fellows propped them up again swiftly. If they had to listen to another rant disguised as a rousing speech, they figured, everyone else deserved to suffer as well.

"My fellow dwarves!" shouted Rugbeard, then winced as his bellow almost took the top off his skull. "We have been wronged," he continued, in a much quieter voice. "My son, Stonesmasher, betrayed me. He betrayed us. He betrayed our very dwarfish… our dwarfen… our people!" Rugbeard looked around the crowd earnestly. "Worse, he ran off with an elf."

There was a chorus of boos, quickly shushed by those with even worse headaches.

"They drugged our beer."

"Boo!"

"Shhh!"

"He refused to cut down the ceremonial tree, and he refused to share his ceremonial wood with our maidens."

"Boo!" shrieked a group of female dwarves.

"For the love of Zephyr," groaned a stocky warrior with someone else's underpants on his head. "Please keep it down!"

"BOO!" shouted a female dwarf, twice as loud this time.

Rugbeard winced as the piercing cry threatened to shatter his brain. "These slights cannot be ignored, and they will be avenged. This very afternoon we march on the kingdom of the elves."

Someone raised a hand. "What about the humans? Their lands lie across our path."

"We march on the humans, and then the elves. I say we march on everyone!"

There was a loud cheer, followed by a round of dwarven battlecries, and not even the thundering hangovers could dull the chanting.

What do we want?

War!

When do we want it?

Now!

What is it great for?

GOLD! GOLD! GOLD!

"Right, that's settled," said Rugbeard, in satisfaction. "Now, who's making breakfast?"

Chapter 3

"I cannot stay here a moment longer. I have to get back to my ship!" muttered the Stalyan midshipman, Berry, who was getting more and more agitated by the minute. He'd been locked up with Runt and Dallow for a whole day now, in the cells far below the city of Chatter's Reach, and as the temporary captain of the Intrepid he was desperate to resume his command. The last he'd seen of the ship, she was being repaired in a nearby cove, and by now he expected the repairs would be almost complete.

Then, without warning, Berry came to a halt in the middle of the grotty cell, sending dirty straw flying. "Why haven't the crew sent a party to break us out?" he demanded.

Runt shrugged. His own loyal companions usually abandoned him at the drop of a hat, and he didn't see why Berry's crew should put themselves out to rescue the man.

Dallow, to his credit, tried to reassure his superior. "Perhaps they don't know where we are? Or maybe they're planning an assault to rescue us?"

"Planning a rescue, my big hairy bells," said Berry sourly. "They've broken out the grog, and now they're having a gigantic piff-up on the beach." He crossed to the door, grabbed the bars and rattled them for all he was worth. "I swear, when I get out of this cell…"

What he would have done, should this miracle have occurred, was never revealed, for at that moment Runt heard footsteps. It sounded like quite a party, and he quickly took cover behind the much taller humans. Halflings were known for their cowardice as much as for their animal cunning, and Runt wasn't one to stand tall and face down an enemy. Indeed, most looked down on him.

"Stand away from the door!" shouted a guard, giving the timbers a hefty kick to drive home the point.

Berry and Dallow obeyed, reluctantly, and Runt was pushed ever-closer to the overflowing slops bucket.

A face appeared in the barred window, and, once satisfied, the guard used his keys in the lock. The door swung open, and Runt heard Berry mutter an oath as five men poured in. The human still had a pistol tucked into his boot, but it had only a single shot and was useless against so many.

Then Runt noticed something different about the newcomers. Two were typical guards, with scruffy uniforms and five-o'clock shadows, but the other three wore long black robes, leather gloves and scarlet face masks with curved slits for eye-holes. He'd never seen the like, and he couldn't help noticing the two guards looked extremely nervous.

Normally Runt would have lightened the mood with a jolly quip about the strange figures and their fancy dress, but this time he stayed quiet and hidden.

"These are they?" demanded one of the figures. The voice was muffled, but clearly female.

"Y-yes, monitor."

"Prepare them for transportation. Shackles and leg irons, and chain the two of them together."

"Begging your pardon, monitor, but there are three."

One of the robed figures slid to the right, almost floating over the filthy straw littering the stone floor. Their feet barely moved, and before Runt could duck out of sight he was transfixed by a pair of eyes, gleaming at him through the holes in the scarlet mask. "Not three," said the monitor. "I make it two and a half."

"A-as you say," murmured the guard, and he offered a shaky salute. "If you don't mind, though —"

"Yes?"

"Lord Chylde wants us to interrogate the prisoners. He won't be happy if you—"

Like lightning, one of the monitor's gloved hands shot out, fingers extended. The jab caught the guard completely unawares, hitting him in the throat and knocking him back against the wall. He slid to the floor, gagging and clasping at his throat, his face rapidly turning red.

"Do you object as well?" asked the monitor calmly, turning to the second guard.

"No, do whatever you want with them," said the guard quickly. "They're all yours, trust me."

"Has anyone spoken to these prisoners? Quickly now!"

"Only Sur Cumfrence."

The masked figures exchanged a glance. "Better send a message," said the female one.

Another reached into his robes and took out a small tube. He passed it to the third monitor, then took out a tiny square of parchment and wrote a few lines on it with painstaking care. Runt expected them to attach the message to a squirrel, but instead the third monitor unrolled the tube, revealing a small bat with folded wings. He held the creature steady while the second monitor attached the tiny message, and then released it with a gentle throw.

The bat collided with the guard, briefly tangling in his hair while the man hopped around waving his arms wildly. It finally got free, bounced off Berry's chest, flitted over Runt's head and slammed into the wall. It fluttered once or twice, then fell into the slops bucket with a resounding splash.

There was a lengthy silence. "We'll send another message later," said the female monitor, and the others nodded in agreement.

Then they all stood by silently while the one remaining guard chained the prisoners together. Runt's small wrists and ankles proved a problem, until the guard hit upon the idea of using a set of shackles designed for wayward children. When he was done, the lead monitor beckoned at the prisoners, and they fell into line silently, following their new captors out of the dungeons. They saw no other guards on the way out, and Runt wondered whether the whole lot had been murdered, for he wouldn't put anything past these cloaked terrors.

Soon afterwards, they were all seated in a horse-drawn carriage with blacked-out shutters on the outside, shutters that effectively hid the occupants from view. They also left the occupants in total darkness, since they were extremely well-fitted.

"Where are you taking us?" asked Runt, throwing his voice so it appeared Dallow had spoken.

"There will be no talking," said the monitor. She knocked on the roof of the carriage, which lurched into motion, and Runt had no choice but to sit in the pitch darkness, biding his time.

— ♦ —

It was now forty-eight hours since Queen Therstie had given the order to raise her armies, and twenty-four hours since she'd been carried to the top of a watch tower from which to inspect her massed troops.

Unfortunately, the result had been bitterly disappointing. There hadn't been time to gather an actual mass of troops, and so she'd been presented with twelve men… most unarmed, and none of them trained in the art of swordplay, defensive manoeuvres, or even strenuous debating.

At the top of the tower she'd given Lord Varnish, the spymaster, an ultimatum. Gather a proper army by the very next day, or face the consequences. And now, as two soldiers made a chair for her with their arms and prepared to carry her to the top of the tower, she was hoping army 2.0 would be a significant upgrade on the pathetic effort of the previous day.

The men struggled up flight after flight of stairs, before eventually bending low so their queen might alight. She stepped down, straightened her dress, gave the larger and stronger of the two guards a warm smile, then turned to face Lord Varnish.

The spymaster was a portly man, bald of head, soft of speech and really bloody dangerous. He was feared by all who knew him, and many believed him to be the true power behind the throne. However, he was content to operate in the shadows, so Queen Therstie felt safe enough as she approached the open window cut into the wall of the tower. One push from Lord Varnish and she'd be done for, but she knew he could have her killed privately any time, so there was little point worrying about standing directly in front of him, at an open window, ten stories up. "Well, Varnish? How went the recruiting?"

"It went well indeed, Your Majesty," said Lord Varnish smoothly. He was wearing the tailored Coat of his office, crafted from satin with a purple epaulette at the shoulder, and he was near-invisible in the shadows.

Therstie glanced out the window, and smiled. "Now that's a proper army," she muttered, as she saw the neat rows of men and woman standing patiently below. Each carried a sword and shield, and sported metal helms with raised visors. It was an impressive sight, and she turned to Varnish with soaring spirits. "Well done, that man!" she enthused. "With an army such as this, the kingdom of the Barks is already in our grasp."

"Ah yes, the Barks." Varnish paused. "I have news from that quarter, Your Majesty."

"Does it concern my dear brother, Tyniwon? Has Sur Loyne found him already?"

"No, Your Highness, this news does not concern your half-brother. Instead, it seems the Barks have lost their ruler, King Larch."

"Well that's pretty careless of them," said Queen Therstie. "Whenever I lose something I check down the back of the sofa. Have they done that, do you think?"

"I'm sure they have, Your Majesty."

"Oh well. Time for another King I suppose."

"Indeed, my queen. They have appointed King Kah in his absence."

"Kah?" Therstie frowned. "Don't I have a knight of that name? A boring little man, always going around spouting famous dates and other such nonsense."

"Sur Kah. Yes, it is he who has been crowned king, due to some accident of genealogy. And, as I'm sure you've already realised, this alters our relationship with the Barks."

"Oh yes, it changes everything." The queen paused. "Elaborate, will you?"

"With one of our own knights ruling the kingdom, it's as though we have already annexed their lands."

Therstie gazed down at her army. "Couldn't you have told me this before I paid for that lot?"

"I could, but you will need the army for a more pressing matter." Varnish looked serious. "I've had reports of incursions along the coast. Large ships have put ashore, Your Majesty."

"Ships from where?"

"I don't yet know. I await further reports."

"And you learned this just now?"

"Indeed."

Therstie frowned. Varnish seemed to gather news so quickly! Everyone else relied on messenger squirrels or horseback riders, but he seemed to have a secret method of communication which outstripped them all, giving him a huge advantage. Still, at least he was on her side… for now at least. "So what do you advise?"

"Send the army to Chatter's Reach, and from there to the mouth of the river Otirian. Find these ships, capture or destroy them, and take their crews for interrogation."

"Are you sure they're ships? I mean, I've heard legends, but—"

"An eyewitness reports ships with masts as tall as a bell tower, and hulls the size of three houses laid end-to-end. It seems they're armed with cannon… that is, huge guns which can hurl iron balls a league or more, smashing through rock and flesh alike."

Therstie looked down at her army. Against such might, their swords and shields seemed a little… underwhelming. But still, they had Zephyr the wind god on their side, and they fought under the Mollister banner. How could they possibly lose? "All right, tell them to march to Chatter's Reach, and from there to the coast. And if they lose the battle, tell them I'll have the survivors executed in public."

Varnish bowed low. "Losing is not an option, Your Majesty."

"Tell me, who will lead the army to victory?"

"Sur Wendah and Sur Rysis, ma'am."

"The coward and the leper?" Therstie frowned. "Are you trying to lose?"

"Sur Rysis is an able commander, Your Majesty, and he assures me it's just a rash. As for Sur Wendah, he does what he's told. They will bring us a noble victory, I'm sure of it."

"If your confidence was a weapon, we'd have won already." Therstie snapped her fingers. "You two. Ground floor, if you please."

The guards approached, and soon after they began the long and arduous trek downstairs, carrying the queen between them.

— ♦ —

After the queen left, Varnish remained in the tower a little longer. Messages from the coast told him that two or three officers from one of the invading ships had been captured, but he hadn't felt it necessary to reveal such to the queen. Even now, the men were on their way to the palace, and he was planning on having a private session with them the minute they arrived.

He was excited at the prospect.

The huge warships told him there was a new power in play, for the vessels must have travelled from a hitherto unsuspected land beyond the horizon. All of a sudden, his machinations in the Old Kingdom seemed like the fumbles of an inexperienced lover, and Varnish felt a hunger deep within as he thought of the vast new horizon which had just opened its arms and legs to him. Why, just think of all the nations just waiting to be misled, lied to, and controlled from the shadows!

And who better to control them than he, Lord Varnish, the Mollister spymaster?

Chapter 4

Exhausted from all the paddling, red with sunburn and very, very thirsty, Hal Spacejock finally made it around the headland to the next cove. He was beginning to think he should have braved the exploding warships, the marauding dragon and the angry goats in the cove he'd just left, but he was convinced the next bay would be uninhabited.

Wrong!

This cove also contained a warship, just one this time, but instead of Methusian flags this ship bore the Stalyan ensign at the masthead. As soon as he saw it, Hal stopped paddling and weighed up his options.

The previous day, during his brief stint aboard a Methusian vessel, Hal had been told plenty about the vicious, underhanded Stalyans. He'd enjoyed a pleasant dinner with the Methusian captain, and he learned that the two nations had been at war for decades, with the peace-loving Methusians forced to defend themselves against the aggressive Stalyans.

During a particularly pleasant dessert, a Stalyan ship had been sighted, and not long after it sailed up and opened fire. The first broadside had blown Hal into the water, and subsequent cannon fire had destroyed the peace-loving Methusians… and sunk their ship.

It was the Stalyans who'd sailed away and left Hal floating around the vast ocean. And now… oh, look at my good fortune, thought Hal. It's the exact same ship.

"Serves you right," he muttered, as he eyed the damaged hull and the tattered sails. "That'll teach you to go around shooting at innocent people."

Then he realised something. The friendly Methusians in the next bay had just been wiped out by sea serpents, dragons and sharp rocks. So, if he wanted help, Hal was going to have to ask the Stalyans. What luck, then, that they had no idea who he was! It wasn't like he was wearing a Methusian uniform, or speaking in their thick, guttural accent.

So, he resumed paddling, making his way towards the damaged ship and the crew who were busy repairing her.

— ♦ —

There was quite a crowd in the cave, with all the members of the party seated around a blazing campfire while Hurm, the big barbarian, roasted enough freshly-killed rabbits to feed an army. He was flanked by Millie, the young woman whose parents had been killed in a bandit raid, and Father M, the elderly wizard and occasional purveyor of potions, dodgy etchings and illegal herbs and spices.

Beside them sat Clunk, the robot, and Splodge, the little green gorblin whose people inhabited the tunnels far below the cave.

Finally, an elf and a dwarf sat together, making a curious pair as they shared their food with each other. Now and then the dwarf, Stonesmasher, drank deeply from an earthenware jug, which he'd picked up from the gorblin lair. Splodge had already told him it was floor cleaner, but to Stonesmasher it was still better than anything the dwarves could brew up on their own. He offered it around, and was secretly pleased that nobody else would touch the stuff.

As for the elf, Slimbough, he was inspecting his few remaining arrows. He'd already given the broken ones to Hurm, and the fighter was using them as skewers to cook the rabbits.

There was a momentary lull in the conversation, and Slimbough glanced at Millie. She was young, maybe sixteen or seventeen, and he'd noticed she rarely spoke. Determined to draw her out a little, he gave her an encouraging smile. "You keep your council well, human. Tell me, from where do you hail?"

"Far Kew."

"Fine," said the elf, looking miffed. "Excuse me for asking."

"No, I come from Far Kew, by way of Little Kew and Upper Duff."

"Curious names indeed. Would I be right in saying you hail from Bark lands?"

"Indeed," said Millie. "Do you know them?"

Slim nodded. "Thanks to their love of wood, Bark natives were once friends to my people."

"As soon as Hurm's quest is complete, I will return to my village." Millie eyed the roasting rabbits, and her face was serious in the flickering firelight. "I don't know whether my parents lived through the bandit attack, for it was dark and they ordered me to run for safety, but if either of them survived they will be waiting there for me."

"That's a long journey to make alone."

"Clunk promised to accompany me. He wishes to track down a metalworker who once lived in the woods near my village. Wiltred of Tharn was his name, and he was truly remarkable. My mother told me he could fashion complicated implements using nothing but heavy red soils."

"Ore," said Slim.

Millie stared at him, scarcely able to believe her ears. "What did you just call me?"

"No, no! The heavy red soil… that would be iron ore."

Clunk glanced at the elf, suddenly curious. "What do you know about iron?"

"My people have some skill with the metal," said Slim modestly.

"Do you have forges? Alloys? Advanced metallurgy?"

Slim raised his hands to ward off the rapid-fire questions. "Hold up there, Clunk. I am a woodland elf, and I do not trouble myself with such matters."

"May I see one of your arrows?" Clunk put his hand out, and when Slim passed him a fletched shaft he put the barbed point in his mouth and bit down on it. His jaw motors whirred, and when he removed the arrow the head was as flat as a coin and three times its original size. "Not strong enough," he murmured, and handed the arrow back.

Slim tried to place it in his quiver, but with the huge flattened point it was like trying to push a shovel down a drainpipe. In the end he gave up and stuck it point-first in the dirt floor, where it looked like a child's seaside toy.

By now, the rest of the rabbits were ready, and after a hearty feast Father M gathered his robes and stood up. "Treasured comrades. Valued companions." He nodded at the gorblin. "And Splodge. We are faced with a dangerous, if not deadly, quest, but one which will bring untold riches should we prevail. I hereby bless our endeavour—"

"I thought he was a wizard, not a priest?" hissed Splodge.

"He's a multi-class character," murmured Millie. "He tries to do both, but he's not very good at either."

"—and raise a toast to our success!"

The rest of the party stood up, and the moment would have been truly moving if they'd had drinks to toast with. However, Stonesmasher made up for it by draining the jug of floor cleaner, belching loudly, then tossing the empty over his shoulder in the dwarven tradition. Which explained why they always wore those rounded metal helms, even indoors.

"What's the first move?" asked Splodge.

Father M frowned. The question was inconvenient, since he had no idea. "We must find the dragon's nest," he said at last.

"How?"

"We'll watch for dragons and deduce from which point they travel. By triangulating their course, we will narrow down the location of their nest."

"If there is a nest," said Splodge. "It might be thirty years before they mate again."

"Or," said Father M, rounding on him, "we could stake you to the hillside and see where they fly off to with your broken, shredded corpse."

"Triangulation it is," said the gorblin quickly.

They all went outside, where the afternoon sun was just beginning its descent towards the horizon. There was a chill in the air, not to mention the smell of dried gorblin blood. Earlier, a huge dragon had snacked on a dozen corpses right outside the cave, and nobody wanted to look too closely at the patches of green blood splashed across the sand.

"So we just stand here?" said Splodge. He glanced at the sky. "I don't see any dragons yet."

Father M was still hovering near the cave entrance, in case anyone did see a dragon. "Maybe you could dance around a bit," he called out. "You know, to get their attention."

"Dragon!" said Hurm. "Dragon!"

"Calling them won't do it," said Father M. "You've got to dance around a bit and wave your arms."

Hurm danced around a bit and waved his arms. "Dragon!" he said again, and this time he pointed to the deadly creature as well.

Everyone ran for the cave, briefly getting stuck in the entrance before sprawling all over the sandy floor. Only Hurm and Clunk remained outside, the former pointing at the sky. "Dragon!" he said again.

"Get inside, you musclebound moron!" hissed Father M, from the cave.

There was a whoosh, and a shadow flashed past the cave entrance. Everyone ran outside and looked up, and there was a collective gasp as they saw Hurm being carried off in the talons of a huge dragon. Clunk scooped up a stone and drew his arm back, ready to hit the dragon and distract it, but he realised it was far too late.

"Hurm!" cried Millie, and she would have shouted again except Father M clamped a hand over her mouth.

"Are you insane?" he hissed. "You want that thing to come back for seconds?"

The dragon was already high up, and Hurm looked like a tiny action figure grasped in its claws. They saw a flash of steel, and they realised the fighter had drawn his two-handed sword and was busy trying to stab the dragon's legs. Since he was several hundred feet above ground, this seemed like a particularly daft thing to do, but then again, thought Father M, one didn't hire a muscle-bound barbarian to solve complex puzzles.

The dragon vanished into the distance, and Father M swung into action. He held three fingers to the sun, scratched a series of parallel lines on the ground with his staff, then pointed after the vanished dragon. "According to my calculations, the nest lies in that direction."

"No kidding," said Slimbough drily. "You must teach me some of your tricks one day."

"Hurry, for there is no time to lose in idle chatter. We must locate the nest before the dragon's young have finished eating Hurm, because that way they will still be distracted by their feast."

"Started eating Hurm, you mean," said Millie.

"Yes, yes, of course. That's what I meant. Now hurry up, please!"

And with that they all set off after the dragon.

Chapter 5

Lonta Spadell, until recently the Captain of the guard at Chatter's Reach, rode into the Bark capital at dawn, sitting atop a chestnut mare. It was his first day of freedom since taking a leave of absence from his position, and somehow the sun seemed brighter, the bushes lining the road seemed greener and more alive than he remembered, and the day itself was bursting with promise.

It was months since he'd felt so alive, and he hadn't realised just how jaded and worn down he'd become in the service of Lord Chylde.

Spadell was still surprised Chylde had let him go, but he suspected the man had some distant relative he wanted to promote to Captain, and it was cheaper to allow Spadell some time off than to have him killed. Spadell doubted he'd be welcomed back with open arms, but if his personal quest worked out, that wouldn't matter in the least.

For Lonta Spadell was following his heart. An assassin called Tiera had come to his city, killed off a pair of nobles, then escaped capture by the thinnest of margins… helped by Spadell himself.

He'd been unable to shake her from his mind ever since. A lifelong bachelor, Spadell was not comfortable around women, and Tiera made him more uncomfortable than most. He was convinced he was acting like a fool, and he was almost certain he was misreading her friendship as something more.

And yet, he'd set off to find her anyway.

Now Spadell was sporting a brown, hooded cloak, and with his wooden staff and sandals he looked more like an itinerant druid than a highly-trained captain of the guard. He hadn't bothered shaving, not after seeing the quality of the wooden cutthroat razors at a roadside stall, and his five o'clock shadow lent him a seedy air.

Now he approached the city of Branche, capital of Bark lands, and he observed the waiting guards with professional interest. All metal was prohibited in Bark lands, something Spadell was well aware of, and so he had no concerns as the guards at the city entrance searched his pack. "What is your business?" one of them asked.

"I seek a woman."

The guards exchanged a glance, and then one of them winked. "For the right price I can tell you where to find one."

"I seek a specific woman."

"Choosy, eh? Well, for a slightly higher price—"

"I do not seek a companion of the night," said Spadell. "This is a woman I know already. I believe she travelled to Bark lands, possibly to this very city, and I must speak with her."

The guard rubbed his chin. "Well, for the right price I'm sure we can track her down."

Spadell hesitated. It would be easy to give them Tiera's name, but if she was hiding in the city she would no doubt be using another. Then he thought of a different way to track her down. "Have there been any murders in the city these past few days? Stabbings, say, with a fine metal blade?"

"What do you know about those?" demanded the guard.

Bullseye. "I heard rumours, that's all. Travellers on the road said the city was becoming too dangerous."

"Not for ordinary folk," said the guard, his suspicion allayed. "It's the crooked types who want to watch out. Some moneylender lost two of his heavies in a bar fight."

"Any suspects?"

"Yes, a young woman with a very sharp knife," said the guard.

"That's supposed to be secret," said the second guard. "You'll compromise the investigation, you will."

"Too late. It's all over the city. And… what investigation? Who cares about a crook and his hired muscle?"

Spadell reached under his robes and took out a couple of steelwood coins. "I'll pay for his name."

"Ashtag Marnay." The guard took the coins, and tossed one to his companion. "For another, I'll tell you where he drinks."

Spadell paid him, and a few moments later he dismounted and led his horse to a nearby stables. After seeing to his mare, he was about to leave when he saw three fine stallions in the neighbouring stalls. They were beautiful beasts, and he was certain they didn't belong to commoners. "You there!" he said, calling to the stable lad. "These horses… what can you tell me?"

"Belong to a trio of Mollister knights," said the boy, and he spat on the floor. "Two days now, and they've not paid a farthing for the upkeep."

"Which knights are these?"

"Sur Loyne, Sur Pryze and Sur Kah." The boy spat again. "Now King Kah, by all accounts. Fudding Mollisters, thinking they own the place."

"Are the animals fed?"

"Of course! Pay or no, I ain't lettin' them starve."

Spadell gave him a wooden shilling. "That's for your trouble. And thanks."

The stable boy looked at him in surprise, then smiled and knuckled his forehead. "Thank you, sir. Very kind, I'm sure."

"Tell me, do you know of Ashtag Marnay, the money lender?"

"Know of 'im, sure." The boy looked Spadell up and down. "You look like you can take care of yourself, mister, but if you have business with Marnay I'd count me fingers before an' after."

"Noted." Spadell hesitated. "Have you seen a new face around these parts? A young woman with dark hair, and a gaze that seems to run you through? She travels with a young man, also of dark hair."

The stable boy nodded. "I seed 'em. They bought Annie's old place, down Splint Lane." He pointed down a side street. "You can't miss it, it used to have a bright red door."

"And what colour is it now?"

The stable boy hesitated. "Wooden, I guess."

Spadell paid him another shilling, patted his mare on the hindquarters, then shouldered his pack and strode down the indicated street. It occurred to him that Tiera hadn't done a particularly good job of hiding her tracks, and he wondered whether the three knights had already found and killed her. His stride lengthened at the thought, and a dark shadow seemed to dim the early morning sunshine.

Then he remembered that Sur Loyne wasn't the brightest knight around, and that Sur Kah had since been made king of the Barks. With all that going on, chasing down Tiera was probably the last thing on their minds.

So, he was somewhat surprised when he knocked on the door to Tiera's new home, only to find himself face-to-face with the Queen's Champion, Sur Loyne of Mollister.

— ♦ —

"I should kill them where they sleep!"

Tiera opened her eyes, drew her dagger and was on her feet before she was even aware that she'd woken up. The voice had been little more than a whisper, and she was just about to cut the speaker's throat when she realised it was Thonn she'd heard. The farm boy was sitting up in bed, glaring at the wall dividing their room from the next.

"Don't do that," hissed Tiera, for her heart was still racing as she put her stiletto away.

"For a singer, you sure have good reactions," remarked Thonn.

Tiera said nothing. Thonn had no idea she was an assassin, and her cover story was that she sung in bars for money. Unfortunately, he'd heard her singing, and ever since that awkward moment he'd been trying to find out the truth. "What about breakfast?" she asked him.

"Those two ate it last night," muttered Thonn, with another scowl at the wall.

'Those two' were Sur Loyne and Sur Pryze, two Mollister knights who were investigating the death of King Larch of the Barks. Their companion, Sur Kah, had been crowned king the day before, and Sur Loyne was keen to have him un-crowned as soon as possible, for if any Mollister knight was going to sit on the wooden throne, he felt he deserved the honour.

"Are they awake?" asked Tiera.

"Of course not," said Thonn with contempt. "It's not yet midday."

Tiera lay back on the rough wooden bed, with its straw mattress and scratchy blankets. Back in Chatter's Reach, Sur Loyne had beaten Thonn to within an inch of his life, and the young man was itching to get his revenge. The only reason he stayed his hand was because Tiera had asked him to, for she'd only just bought the house they were sleeping in, and she didn't want to run from yet another city.

She was still lying there, listening to the noises from the street outside, when there was a knock at the front door. There was a muttered curse, the sound of footsteps, and then…

"What in Zephyr's name are you doing here?"

The reply was inaudible, and Tiera was torn between curiosity and laziness. Laziness won, and so she was still lying on her rough bed when Captain Lonta Spadell of the Chatter's Reach city guard walked in. Tiera gaped at him in astonishment, because of all the people who might have knocked on her door, she would never have picked him in a million years. "W-what are you doing here, Captain?"

Spadell nodded at Thonn, who gave him a friendly grin in return. Then he studied Tiera, as though trying to gauge her mood. "I'm no longer a captain," he said at last.

"Did you get in trouble for letting us go?"

Spadell shook his head. "I told Lord Chylde I needed a break, and he gave me a month." He shrugged. "When I get back, I'm certain my position will be held by another."

Tiera felt a quickening of her pulse. She liked what she'd seen of the captain - or rather, Spadell - but there'd been little chance of taking things further while they were each on opposite sides of the law. Now, however…

"Any idea what we're having for breakfast?" demanded Sur Loyne, looking over Spadell's shoulder.

"How is that my concern?" said Tiera, with a frown. "I let you use the room, but said nothing about feeding you as well."

"But we don't have any money!" protested Sur Loyne.

"So go and chop wood or something. I'm sure a day's honest work will earn enough to fill your belly."

Sur Loyne groaned, and Tiera took pity on him. She dug in her cloak, which was lying on the floor near her bed, and handed him a few coins. "Get breakfast for all of us."

Sur Loyne looked like he was going to object at being ordered around, but hunger won out and he left without a murmur.

Meanwhile, Tiera rolled her eyes at Spadell. "He's like a child."

"Yes, I don't mean to pry, but —"

"It's a long story," said Tiera. "In brief, the bold knights came to fetch the queen's brother, Tyniwon Mollister, from Branche, but they lost their money and most of their equipment on the way. Last night they discovered Tyniwon may have been involved in King Larch's death, and so their new quest is to get him out of Bark lands before war breaks out."

"It might be too late for that," said Spadell gravely. "Queen Therstie is assembling an army. Last I heard, she means to invade the Bark kingdom."

"Just my luck," muttered Tiera. She gestured around the room. "I just bought this place. If the Mollister army torches the city—"

"I doubt they'll go that far. The Barks will surrender in no time."

Tiera gave him a grateful smile. Then she realised something. "So… if you're taking a break from the city guard… what are you doing in Branche?"

"It's obvious to me," said Thonn, who was still sitting in his bed.

Spadell opened his mouth, then closed it again. His face had turned an odd shade of red, and he looked nervous.

"He's spying for Lord Chylde," declared Thonn. "Don't worry," he said to Spadell. "We won't tell anyone."

"Er, yes, spying. That's what I'm doing." Spadell looked relieved.

"So you are still a captain?" Tiera asked him, with a stab of disappointment.

"No, that part was true."

Unlike the spying, thought Tiera, but she said nothing. She now had a pretty good idea why the tongue-tied Spadell had followed her to Branche, and it had nothing to do with politics or intrigue. "Would you care to wait in the next room, I need to get dressed."

Spadell bowed and left.

"And you," said Tiera, after Thonn sat up and waited expectantly.

She joined them moments later, and soon after that Sur Loyne and Sur Pryze returned in a jolly mood. "I have news on Wiltred and Tyniwon!" exclaimed Sur Loyne, loud enough for half the neighborhood to hear. He and Sur Pryze were carrying loaves of warm bread, a big hunk of ham, a dozen hard boiled eggs and a meat pie between them. It was obvious they'd had a mug or two of ale as well, given their flushed faces.

Everyone sat down to eat, and Sur Loyne recounted his findings through mouthfuls of food. "We met a beggar outside the tavern, all battered and bruised. He told a sorry tale of an assault in the woods. This girl lured the wretch into the forest, where he was set upon by none other than Tyniwon Mollister!"

"Are you sure?"

"He knows Tyniwon by sight." Sur Loyne pointed at the ceiling beams. "Said he's taller than that, and built like an ox."

"Who was the girl?" demanded Spadell.

"Her parents run a farm outside the city. She was bringing produce to sell."

"And she organised to be attacked? Why?"

"To entrap Tyniwon, of course. She hires this rogue to rough her up, Tyniwon comes to her aid, she falls into his big strong arms, and they live happily ever after." Sur Loyne belched. "Some romantic nonsense like that, anyway."

Tiera happened to glance at Spadell just as he glanced at her. Their eyes met, and he reddened and looked away again.

"It sounds a bit… elaborate," said Tiera. "Why didn't this girl take Tyniwon aside and tell him how she felt?"

Sur Loyne shrugged. "Tyniwon's been bedding wives and daughters all over the city these past few months. Maybe she didn't feel like competing for his attention." Then he laughed. "'Course, she didn't plan on Wiltred being there too. Bet that put a crimp in her plans."

Tiera leaned forwards. "So you're telling us that Wiltred and Tyniwon might be at this girl's farm?"

"S'pose so," said Sur Loyne, as he chewed on a hunk of fresh bread.

"Then… shouldn't you go and look?"

"No rush. We can set off after breakfast."

"We?" Tiera shook her head. "You've got a lead now. You don't need the rest of us."

Sur Loyne stopped chewing. "But… we must prevent the war!"

Tiera gestured at Spadell. "According to the captain, it's already too late. Therstie's army could be here any minute."

"Ex-captain," said Sur Loyne. "What would he know?"

"I saw the army with my own eyes," said Spadell sharply. "They were assembled near the north-east tower. Two hundred souls, with helms and swords and shields."

Everyone was silent. Two hundred soldiers could wreak havoc on Branche, terrorising the inhabitants in their quest to take the city.

"You could stop them," Tiera said to Sur Loyne. "The three of us will get Tyniwon to safety, and you two knights can do your best to stop the war."

Sur Loyne stared at her. "I know I'm good with the sword, but against two hundred —"

"No! I mean, you're the queen's champion. No matter who leads the army, you outrank them. Am I right?"

"Well, yes, but Queen Therstie—"

"She would never venture from the palace," said Spadell firmly.

"What about Lord Varnish?" demanded Sur Loyne. "He's behind this thirst for war, you can bet your bells on it. I don't fancy going against his wishes."

Varnish was indeed a genuine threat, and so they all fell silent as they contemplated the problem. All except Thonn. "Who's Lord Varnish?"

"He's the queen's spymaster," said Spadell. "That's his title, but in reality he all but runs the Mollister kingdom." He glanced at Tiera. "It's a shame you didn't stick him too, while you were busy ending nobles in Chatter's Reach."

Everyone turned to look at Tiera, who was busy choking on a piece of ham. "He's… kidding," she managed, waving one hand. "He knows I sing."

"Badly," added Thonn. Then he laughed. "Oh, I see. He meant your singing ended the nobles. Ha ha ha!"

"Yes, ha ha," added Tiera sarcastically, and she gave Spadell a glare.

"Well, Lord Varnish or no," said Spadell quickly, covering his gaffe. "Sur Loyne and Sur Pryze must ride to meet the army and dissuade them from attacking Branche."

"We can't," said Sur Pryze.

"He's right. It's impossible," added Sur Loyne.

"Why?"

"Our horses are being held in a nearby stable, and we lack the funds to pay for their release. Without horses… well, you can see how the idea is completely out of the question."

"Don't worry about the money," said Spadell. "I paid the upkeep on your horses when I left my own mare in the same stables."

"Thanks a bunch," said Sur Pryze flatly.

"Yes. That's truly wonderful," added Sur Loyne through gritted teeth. "Now we can meet the oncoming army, and countermand orders given to them by the queen herself."

"What could possibly go wrong?" muttered Sur Pryze.

"It's either that," said Spadell, "or stay here and defend the city while they're trying to burn it to the ground."

Sur Loyne promptly got up. "Well, we mustn't delay, for we must go and meet the army. It was a pleasure, all of you, and good luck with Tyniwon."

Seconds later he'd left, taking the rest of the food with him.

"I'm sorry," muttered Spadell. "I thought they knew you were an assassin."

"They didn't," said Tiera, as she saw Thonn's jaw drop. She indicated the farm boy. "And neither did he, until you chose to reveal my secret."

"An assassin?" breathed Thonn, looking at her as though she'd turned to solid gold. "That explains everything!"

"You mean, the ease with which I killed people who threatened us?"

"No, I couldn't figure out how you made so much money with such terrible singing."

Spadell laughed, and turned it into a cough. "I shall fetch my horse from the stables, and then we'd better find some supplies for our journey. It seems we're responsible for the queen's brother, and the sooner we get Tyniwon out of Bark lands, the better."

Chapter 6

While Spadell, Tiera and Thonn were preparing to set off for Allyance's farm to the west of Branche, Allyance herself was being escorted through the elven forest by her new best friend, Longroot. Wiltred and Tyniwon trailed behind, gagged and tied at the wrists, and were surrounded by several more elves who were far less friendly.

On their way through the forest, Longroot gave Allyance a running commentary. "A lot has changed since your parents left," he said. "They probably wouldn't recognise the place."

"The trees have grown taller, you mean?" said Allyance, with a girlish laugh.

Longroot gave her a warm smile, and Wiltred saw the anger in Tyniwon's eyes. The two elves were getting along like old friends, and it didn't bode well for Tyniwon's romantic aspirations. Plus Wiltred suspected Allyance was laying it on a bit thick, in order to needle Tyniwon and show him what he was missing.

They continued through the trees for a hundred yards, before the woods just… stopped. There was a huge, open expanse of stumps where the trees had been clear-felled, and in the middle Wiltred saw something which had him gaping in astonishment. For there, in the centre of the gigantic clearing, stood several rows of stone bungalows, with tile roofs, real glass windows, floral curtains, and tendrils of wood smoke rising from their chimneys.

Allyance looked as surprised as Wiltred, if not more so. "Where is the majestic forest?"

"The queen grew tired of living in draughty trees," said Longroot, with a shrug. "She considers this so much better, and cheap too. We got a terrific deal on the building materials."

"But what do you think?" demanded Allyance.

"I do as the Her Majesty wishes," said Longroot carefully.

Elves in cottages? thought Wiltred, stunned. What next, halflings flitting around the oceans in sailing ships?

At first glance the bungalows looked neat and tidy, but as the party got closer Wiltred could see the walls weren't quite square, and the windows were loose in their frames. There were gaps in the roofs, too, and quite a few tiles were cracked and broken. In addition, lumps of plaster had fallen from the painted walls, exposing uneven brickwork.

Longroot led them down the main street, before knocking on a bright green door. It opened, and a tall, elderly elf looked out. "You back already?" she said. "Did you find anything for supper?"

"Mother, I bring visitors."

"Dammit, how many times have I told you to call ahead? Here's me in my dressing gown, and nothing for high tea but leftovers. All you had to do was raise your voice, you thoughtless boy!"

"I'm sorry, mother. But look, this is Allyance of the river people, daughter of Willowmere and Treeborne!"

"Great. You know I hate public executions. Hours of sitting around, reading endless charges, and then it's over in a second."

"But she was not Banished, mother. Only her parents were."

"Good point." The elderly elf turned to Allyance, her violet eyes shrewd and sharp. "How are your parents?"

"Very happy, ma'am." Allyance hesitated. "But what do I call you?"

"Queen Almiandra."

Allyance dropped to her knees, head bowed. "Your Majesty, my apologies. I didn't realise!"

"Get up, child. We don't bother with ceremony around here." The elven queen studied Tyniwon and Wiltred. "What's with the meatbags?" she asked her son.

Longroot explained, and the queen looked thoughtful. "We can always use a metalworker, but what use is the other great lump? Looks like he'll eat his own weight in a week, and for what?"

"He is the half-brother of Therstie Mollister."

"A hostage? Why bother, when we're not at war?" The queen shook her head. "I despair of you, Longroot, I really do. While your brother Slimbough trades with the dwarves for the secret of bricks and roof tiles and kitchen fittings, you bring me a useless prisoner, the daughter of renegades and…" here, she glanced at Wiltred, who was indicating his gag with his bound hands. "Yes? What is it?"

Longroot tore off the gag, none too gently, and Wiltred cleared his throat. "Your Majesty, Tyniwon Mollister is not a hostage."

"He sure looks like one, with his wrists tied like that." The queen glanced at her son, who cut their bonds. "All right, so what is he then?"

"Why, he's…" Wiltred paused for dramatic effect. "This man is responsible for the assassination of King Larch of the Barks!"

"You jest."

"I witnessed it with my own eyes."

"So Larch is a goner, is he? Well, that puts a different complexion on things." The queen tied her dressing gown more firmly, then turned to Longroot. "Put the word out. I want the army on standby, ready to march at a moment's notice."

"But mother… why?"

"The dwarves will advance on Bark as soon as they hear of King Larch's demise, hoping to strip the kingdom of its resources. And that young fool Therstie will no doubt do the same."

"So why not sit back and let them fight each other?"

"If either kingdom takes Bark lands, my son, it will tip the delicate balance of power in their favour. More troops, more resources, and a central location from which to launch an attack on all of us. No, we must get there first, to shore up the Bark defences so they might withstand the coming onslaught. Now, will you get the army ready, or must I ask a third time?"

Longroot nodded to two of his hunting party, who left at a run.

Meanwhile, Wiltred was puzzling over something. "I thought you were trading with the dwarves?" he asked. "Are you now going to fight them?"

"Those loathsome, ill-educated vermin take us for every penny, and their building materials are of the poorest quality. Twice now they shipped us second-rate materials, and our houses are the poorer for it. No, we must eradicate them from the western reaches, so this land can breathe freely once more." The queen paused. "I'm sorry, did I say western reaches? Why, I meant eradicate those western wretches, of course!"

There was a polite smattering of laughter, but the queen noticed Wiltred was looking thoughtful. "Yes? What is on your mind, human?"

"The dwarves are exceptional stonemasons, Your Majesty, and I can't help noticing your walls are somewhat… wonky. And prone to falling down. Instead of trying to learn their skills, why not employ some of them to build your homes?"

"I'm not letting dwarves into my kingdom, and that's a fact," said the queen. She jumped as a roof tile slipped from the roof and smashed on the road not five feet away, leaving a substantial pothole. "We will have the secret of false ceilings and effective insulation before too long, and nobody will be able to stop us then. Now be about your business, for my tea grows cold!"

She closed the door, and Longroot led them to an empty cottage. "You can stay here," he said, showing them around the damp, draughty rooms.

Wiltred eyed the roof nervously, for it bowed down in a most alarming fashion, and he wasn't entirely sure it would last the night. First the Barks and now the elves… was nobody capable of proper craftsmanship?

"My mother fell in with a progressive faction," said Longroot suddenly. His superior manner was gone, and he looked broken as he sat on a wooden chair and put his head in his hands. "It's been a complete disaster, but she's too stubborn to admit it. They talked her into modernising the kingdom, and instead we ended up with this mess. We have dwarven techniques and dwarven materials, but we have none of the dwarven skill."

Wiltred patted him on the shoulder. "Many great civilisations take a wrong turn from time to time. It's never too late to reverse course."

"I wish you'd tell her that." Longroot looked up at him. "She hasn't been the same since father died. He was her sounding board, not afraid to point out a silly plan when he heard one. Nobody else dares to raise objections." He noticed Tyniwon pointing at his gag, and removed it. "You must both give me your word you won't leave this cottage."

Wiltred glanced at the bowed ceiling. "I'll do my best, unless that comes down."

Longroot turned to Allyance. "Come, I want to show you where your parents once lived."

"How? You've cut all the trees down."

"They were further out, near the river. It's not that far, and we can get there and back before nightfall."

Allyance looked doubtful, but eventually she nodded. The two of them departed, leaving Tyniwon and Wiltred in gloomy silence.

"Well, isn't this nice?" said Wiltred, trying to cheer the young man up.

"I'm going to sleep," muttered Tyniwon. "Wake me when she comes back. If she comes back," he added, his voice hollow.

— ♦ —

"Oh, it's beautiful."

Longroot smiled at Allyance's reaction. They'd just emerged from the trees, right near a waterfall, and the river was splashing into a tranquil pool. Birds twittered in the bushes, some chasing each other from tree to tree, and there were dozens of multicoloured butterflies flitting above the water.

Allyance knelt on the bank and studied her reflection in the crystal-clear water. She scooped up a handful and tasted it, closing her eyes as the rich water filled her mouth. "That's amazing," she said. "I've never tasted anything like it." Another reflection appeared beside hers in the still water, and she felt Longroot's warmth as he leaned over her shoulder.

Then he helped her up, and they went to look at a tree nearby. It was huge, and there were evenly-spaced branches protruding around the trunk, circling it from the very base. These branches were worn smooth with age, and they ran all the way up into the canopy. "Come on," said Longroot. "Follow me!" Without waiting, he grabbed the first branch and started to climb, moving quickly and gracefully.

Allyance followed him up, and after pushing through overgrown branches they emerged on a platform. It led to a large wooden house, nestled between the leafy boughs, and Longroot opened the door and stepped back to let Allyance enter. "Welcome home," he murmured.

As she stepped into the cosy room, with its woven hangings, miniature wood stove, and comfortable furniture, she realised this might have been her parents' house. Had they lived here together, in safety and tranquillity, before they were cast out of the elven kingdom? She drew back a curtain and glanced through the window at the other trees nearby, wondering how many others contained abandoned homes.

Longroot stood close, and when she turned from the window she met his eyes. "Thank you for bringing me," she said.

"We don't have to leave right away."

"I should get back to my companions."

A shadow crossed Longroot's face. "Those… humans. Why do you travel with them? What are they to you?"

She knew he meant Tyniwon, and she wasn't sure how to reply. Tyniwon had caught her eye, and she enjoyed his company, but this was her true home and these were her people. If she wished to live amongst the elves one day, perhaps after her parents were seated by the gods, she could never take a human as a partner, for such a thing would close the door for good. Then again, she'd heard Tyniwon declaring his love for another with her own extremely effective ears, and so it might not be an issue.

Longroot took her hand between his. "I have never met one so fair, and—"

"I'm sorry, but we only just met." Allyance freed her hand. "My life is difficult. I live in human lands with my parents, and I could never leave them. Even now, I worry about them."

"I cannot compete with family," said Longroot, and he turned away. "Perhaps, when you are free of your obligations, we shall discuss this again. After all, I shall be king one day, and my first official act could be to pardon your parents."

Allyance felt a surge of hope, but it was tempered by his use of the word 'could'. If Longroot thought he could buy her hand in marriage, he had a lot to learn about her. "We should get back," was all she said.

They left the small house, closing the door behind them, then descended the natural ladder to the ground. The waterfall was still splashing into the pool, and Allyance took a last look around before setting off through the forest. As they strode beneath the trees, she decided to question Tyniwon about this perfect woman he was pining for. Only then could she plan her own future.

"That's how elves should live," said Longroot, with a last look back at the trees. "These brick houses the dwarves sell us, they are nothing but warts on the land."

"Have you told the queen so?"

"It's a forbidden subject." He glanced at her. "You climb well, for someone who lived amongst humans."

"We live in a forest. I grew up climbing trees."

Longroot sighed. "That's how it should be."

"Well, if the queen will listen to me, I promise I'll try and change her mind."

"She must see reason one day," muttered Longroot. "How can she not, when our houses are falling down around our ears?"

— ♦ —

Tinch, the Stalyan sailing master, had been left in charge while Berry, Dallow and the halfling had gone to scout the area. He was aboard the Intrepid, the damaged warship, which had been deliberately run aground on the gently sloping beach of the sheltered cove. The ship was leaning over, exposing the side of the hull which had taken the most damage from their recent sea-battle with the Methusians, and members of the crew swarmed all over the planking as they worked feverishly to plug holes.

"Hurry it along there!" bellowed Tinch. "Don't tarry or I'll have you stripped and flogged!"

The crew were already working at top speed, for everyone knew the Methusians had many ships in these waters. If one cornered them in the bay while they were helpless, they'd be slaughtered.

Tinch paced the quarterdeck, leaning against the unnatural angle. He wasn't just concerned about the repairs, he was also fretting over Berry's long absence. There'd also been a distant explosion, which had echoed around the bay like a peal of thunder. He wasn't an imaginative man, but he sincerely hoped the two events weren't related. Torn between sending people to investigate, and keeping them working on the ship, he'd chosen the latter, but he hadn't stopped questioning the decision ever since. Already, he had a dozen crew sitting idly at their oars in the ship's cutter, which was sheltering from the hot sun under the Intrepid's stern. They'd run out a line, and at a signal from Tinch they were ready to haul the big warship off the beach and out into the bay. He didn't like wasting the manpower, but he knew it was prudent all the same.

"Oh, damn and blast it," Tinch muttered under his breath, having come to a decision. Looking around, a nearby sailor caught his eye. The man was lashing up a broken section of railing, and Tinch decided he would do. "Findlay!"

The man looked up, then saluted. "Yessir?"

"Take a weapon and a spyglass to yonder hilltop," said Tinch, pointing it out. "I want to know if Berry is in sight, and while you're up there you can take a look into the next bay."

"Aye aye, sir." Findlay moved off smartly, gathering a pistol, a sword and a spyglass before making his way to the bows. Here, he clambered down the netting to the shallow waters, where he waded ashore and began to make his way around the bay.

Tinch frowned, and put two fingers to his mouth, blowing a shrill whistle. Work ceased as everyone turned to look, but he gestured impatiently for them to continue, then made a frantic hurry-up motion to Findlay. The sailor bowed his head and began jogging along the beach, making heavy work of it. After watching him for a few moments, Tinch turned his attention to the repairs. "Not that way round, you dunderhead!" he shouted. "Who taught you to fit a plug, you son of a feeble-minded landlubber?"

Chapter 7

Midshipman Berry fretted in silence as the horse-drawn carriage bumped and swayed along the road to… where, exactly? He had no idea, for the interior was almost totally dark. He could barely make out his own hands, let alone the three creepy-looking figures seated opposite, with their black cloaks and red face masks.

He couldn't help thinking that events had taken a turn for the worse immediately after his fellow sailors had rescued Runt from the ocean. Then the sea battle, and his own capture by the larger-than-life knight, Sur Cumfrence.

Was the halfling cursed after all?

Berry didn't believe in myths and fairy tales, but then again he was sitting in a carriage with three pantomime villains and a creature who was barely half his height. Not for the first time, he longed for the open seas, with a stiff breeze at his back and an empty horizon ahead of him.

It was another hour before the carriage came to a halt, and when the door opened Berry was forced to shield his eyes from the bright sunlight. Before he knew what was happening, he was shepherded out of the carriage and into a paved courtyard. His eyes were still recovering, but he made out a line of armed guards and a bald, portly man wearing a truly impressive coat.

"Greetings," said the man, in a smooth, silky voice. "I am Lord Varnish, and this is the palace of Queen Therstie Mollister. I have a few questions for you, and if you answer promptly and accurately you will soon be on your way."

Berry eyed the man doubtfully. His words said one thing, but his quietly menacing manner — and the armed guards — said the opposite. "We're happy to speak with you, sir."

"You will address me as 'My Lord', or 'Lord Varnish'."

"Then you should address me as Captain Berry… my Lord."

There was a flash of anger in Varnish's eyes, and his lips thinned.

"You can call me Runt, or just 'you there'," said the halfling, trying to defuse things.

"I'm Midshipman Dallow," said the youngest member of the party.

Varnish nodded to the three monitors and whirled around, striding towards the far end of the courtyard. The prisoners were invited to follow in no uncertain terms.

They passed through a large room with wooden tables and benches, and judging by the weapons and armour hanging from the walls Berry guessed it was a meeting hall with an impressive display of ancient artifacts… or the palace barracks, with state-of-the-art weaponry ready to use at the drop of a hat. With the general backwardness of the Old Kingdom, he found it hard to tell.

They were led through a pair of doors at the rear, into a smaller room. Here they were seated at a table, all three of them in a row, and a chain was looped through their bonds and fastened to the bench they were sitting on.

Once they were secure, Lord Varnish took a seat opposite, flanked by the red-masked monitors. "We'll start with you," he said, indicating Runt. "You're obviously not one of them, so what are you doing with these intruders?"

Runt swallowed. Here was his chance to be noble, to show solidarity with his new friends and to spit in Lord Varnish's face. Instead, he cleared his throat nervously. "If you please, your Lordship," he said. "I was spying on them."

Berry didn't move, but Dallow gave him an incredulous look.

"Spying?" said Varnish softly. "For whom?"

"For you, of course!"

"I don't think so. I've never seen you before in my life."

"Of course not. I'm undercover," said Runt quickly.

"Who, pray, is your handler?"

For a moment he was lost for words, but at the mention of praying Runt had a brainwave. Soon after arriving in Chatter's Reach, he'd learned that a noble had recently been killed in a random meteorite strike. He racked his brains frantically, then remembered the man's name. "High Priest Arbumen, may he rest in pieces. I mean… in peace."

Varnish frowned. "You worked for Arbumen?"

"Oh yes. Through intermediaries, of course."

"Of course," said Varnish softly. "And you can name them?"

"I could, but I'm sworn to secrecy."

"Very well, leaving aside your claims for a moment… what can you tell me about these two foreigners?"

"They've got a big boat."

"It's a ship," muttered Berry.

"Silence," snapped Varnish, without taking his eyes off Runt. "Describe it."

"Huge. Enormous. Gigantic. And heavily-armed."

"From whence did it come?"

"A nation called Stalya, or so they told me. They're at war with another nation called Methusia. We met a Methusian ship on the high seas, and after a battle… it blew up."

Varnish leaned forward. "They've mastered explosive powder?"

"Personally, I'd say the powder mastered them."

"We've mastered long-range cannon as well," said Berry, with a smile. "And pistols, and muskets, and—"

"Something tells me your advanced weaponry is no defence against a sharp knife," growled Varnish. "If you speak again, I'll prove it by ordering your tongue cut out."

Berry glanced around the room. There were two guards at the door, some distance away, plus Varnish and the three black-robed monitors seated across the table. He still had the pistol concealed in his boot, but what to do with it? If he pointed it at Varnish, threatening the man, the others wouldn't know what it was, and the guards would probably charge him and kill him. On the other hand, if he drew the gun and shot Varnish dead without warning, he'd have no more bullets to defend himself with, and then… the guards would charge him and kill him. Either way, the outcome wasn't exactly promising, and so he was forced to hold his tongue — while he still had one — and bide his time.

Varnish, meanwhile, hadn't finished with Runt. "This ship. Where is it now?"

"Near the mouth of the river Otirian, just along the coast from Chatter's Reach."

"That agrees with my own reports," said Varnish, and he eyed the halfling thoughtfully.

"Traitor," hissed Dallow.

Varnish signalled to one of the guards. "Do you have a dagger?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Stand behind the two human prisoners, and if either speaks, I want you to cut their tongue out."

"Yes, Lord Varnish."

The guard moved into position, standing so close Berry could feel the woman's breath on the back of his neck. Berry glanced at Dallow and shook his head quickly, ordering him to stay silent. From the look on Dallow's face, the order wasn't necessary.

"Near Chatter's Reach, you say?" Varnish smiled at them, and it wasn't a pleasant sight. "Well, Runt, you'll be glad to hear an overwhelming force is marching to the bay in question even as we speak. Soon, we will capture this warship, and once we've learned its secrets we will build more of them. The oceans will be ours!"

"What about the sea serpents?" said Runt.

"Pah. They may bother fishermen in their rowing boats, but our mighty ships will be more than a match."

Runt recalled the giant serpent which he'd encountered a day or two earlier, but he decided not to spoil Varnish's party. Upset the man, and he might do something foolish or unfair… like blaming Runt when his plans for world domination ended with a bunch of splintered planks.

Now, at last, Varnish turned his attention to Berry. After nodding to the guard, who sheathed her dagger, he smiled and clasped his hands in front of his chest. "Now, tell me about the nation of Stalya. Everything you know, mind, for if you hold back I'll have it whipped out of you. How many ships does she have? What is the strength of her army? Who is her ruler?"

"We're a democratic republic," said Berry quietly. "Twelve citizens chosen from the population uphold the laws and regulations, while a second body acts as a brake on any excesses. Their positions are re-filled via popular elections after fixed terms of four years, staggered so that we have general elections for each of the houses every two years."

Varnish gaped at him. He'd had no trouble with the concept of large warships, cannon and hand-held pistols, but… democracy? Voting? "What… what madness is this?"

"It works," said Berry, with a shrug. "If it wasn't for the Methusians, life would be idyllic."

"And your ships? How many?"

"Three or four hundred. Of those, eighty are ships of the line, vessels so large they make the Intrepid look like one of those rowing boats you mentioned."

Varnish swallowed. "And… and your army?"

"Two hundred thousand men and woman, all told."

There was a deathly silence, and Berry tried not to laugh as he saw a bead of sweat trickle down Varnish's pasty round face. In truth the Intrepid was one of a dozen such ships, the largest in the fleet, and the rest of Stalya's navy consisted of thirty or forty small, single-masted vessels. As for the army… a couple of thousand troops was more like it, but how was Varnish to know?

Now the spymaster was caught in a bind. It was obvious he wanted to torture Berry, to determine whether the man was lying, but at the same time he was terrified Berry was telling the truth. If the Stalyans really were that powerful, and they discovered he'd harmed one of their officers, the potential for retribution was terrifying.

"Let me do you a big favour," said Berry, and he held out his manacled wrists. "Release us now, and we'll call this a misunderstanding. Our two nations can discuss a peace treaty, perhaps even an exchange of ideas and technology. It could mean a golden age for your people."

Varnish considered it. "On the other hand, I could make you disappear, capture your ship and enslave the crew. With their help I could build many more ships."

"They're common sailors. They wouldn't know the first thing about shipbuilding, or forging weapons, or the composition of gunpowder." Berry shook his wrists, making the chains jangle. "I beg you to consider your actions very carefully."

"I have. You will be detained for twenty-four hours, a house arrest, if you like. In the meantime, my army approaches your ship even as we speak. During the parlay, we will question them about Stalya's military might, and if their replies agree with yours, broadly speaking, you will be released." Varnish's eyes narrowed. "On the other hand, if you're lying through your teeth you will never see daylight again."

Varnish stood up, and the monitors rose with him. "Take them to the guest quarters on the second floor. Two guards at the door, two archers covering the windows. If they try to escape, kill them."

"Yes sir," said the guard smartly.

Varnish eyed Berry. "Be sure Queen Therstie doesn't learn of their presence. The last thing we need is yet another alliance forged in her bedchamber."

The guard nodded.

"Hey, what about me?" demanded Runt. "I'm on your side!"

"Oh, we'll ask the Stalyan crew about you as well. Let's see if your own story holds up too, shall we?"

Runt swallowed.

"I trust you'll find your quarters satisfactory. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have matters of state to deal with."

With that, Varnish left, taking the three monitors with him.

— ♦ —

"Do you have any idea where we are?" murmured Sur Rysis.

"None at all," confided Sur Wendah.

They were both wearing full plate armour, and their horses were making heavy work of the road to Chatter's Reach. At least, the two knights hoped it was the road to Chatter's Reach, because if it wasn't, Lord Varnish would be very cross indeed.

Sur Wendah risked a glance over his shoulder, where roughly two hundred troops were trudging along in his wake. Not for these men and women the comfy saddles, the easy riding, or the wine skins the knights had picked up from a tavern before setting off. No, the regular troops had their clothes, their weapons, and — if they were lucky — footwear.

Unfortunately, far from approaching the bays containing the Stalyan and Methusian ships — or what was left of them — Queen Therstie's army was having a little bit of trouble finding any part of the coast at all. They were currently crossing a sun-baked plain, and the only salt water in evidence was the army's copious amounts of sweat.

"Should we ask someone?" whispered Sur Wendah.

"Who?"

"Some of the soldiers might know."

"We can't ask them!" protested Sur Rysis. "They'll think we're incompetent!"

"If we end up in Branche, or Last Hope, or some elven village on the eastern coast, they'll have proof."

Sur Rysis looked up at the sky. "I think we're heading the right way."

"Which side does the sun rise again?"

Sur Rysis scratched his chin. "It shines right into my window in the mornings. But… I don't know which way the window faces."

Sur Wendah's face bore a worried expression as they followed the rough path across the vast, empty plain. His orders mentioned a road, or at least he thought they did, but he'd accidentally left the paperwork at the tavern whilst selecting a suitable wine for the journey. The dolt of a barkeep had insisted on a chilled white, even though a refined, selective Knight only drank red on horseback. Then it came down to varieties, and after selecting a particularly nice drop of red, quantity and price. Sur Wendah shook his head. With so much on his mind, how was he supposed to remember his stupid orders?

"We should call a halt," said Sur Rysis, interrupting his train of thought. "Some of the men are looking restless."

"That'd be the fleas."

"The women keep glaring at me."

"I'm not surprised. You gave half of them male breastplates, and the rest don't have any shoes."

They rode in silence for a while, and then Sur Wendah saw one of the soldiers walking fast in order to draw level with him. "Can I have a word, sir?"

"What is your name?"

"Sergeant Willis, sir."

"Well, Willis, speak up man. What is it?"

"The troops and I… we were wondering if we can pillage a town or two on the march."

"No, of course not. These are Mollister lands, and you're sworn to defend them."

"How about a village or a settlement? Word won't get out, not if we kill everyone before we take their stuff."

"There will be no pillaging on Mollister lands! Is that clear?"

"Yessir," said the soldier, keeping his gaze on the horizon.

Sur Wendah thought that was the end of it, but the soldier hadn't finished yet.

"Only, we're not gettin' paid for this march… and, well, the troops have given up honest jobs for this. There might be grumbling in the ranks, that's all I'm sayin'"

Sur Wendah knew there'd be a lot more than grumbling if the troops discovered they were halfway to the back of beyond. "I'll tell you what, Willis. If we leave Mollister lands, you can collect all the loot you can carry. Do we have a deal?"

The soldier frowned. "Is that why we're marching towards Branche?"

"Are we?" said Sur Wendah, with a sinking feeling. "I mean, yes. Of course we're marching on Branche. And you shall have your share of the spoils when we get there."

The sergeant looked much happier, and he slowed his pace to let the rest of the army catch up with him. "We're invading Bark lands!" he said. "Pass it on!"

By the time word reached the back of the column, spirits had been lifted and morale was sky high. Instead of trudging across the plains, heads bowed, soldiers strode forward, singing violent war songs and keeping time by slapping their swords on their shields.

"Three cheers for Sur Wendah!" shouted the sergeant.

"Sur Wendah! Sur Wendah! Sur Wendah!" yelled the troops.

"I do wish they wouldn't do that," muttered the knight. "Last time they gave me a rousing cheer, half my troops ran away and the rest threw down their weapons."

"Oh, I heard about that," said Sur Rysis.

Then, as the army began to sing their lungs out, Sur Wendah and Sur Rysis exchanged a glance.

"You've got to tell them we're going the wrong way!" hissed Sur Rysis.

"Fat chance," said Sur Wendah stoutly. "It'll break their hearts… and then they'll break our necks and run away."

"So we're leading them to the Bark kingdom?" demanded Sur Rysis. "We're actually going to invade Branche?"

"Do you have a better idea?" asked Sur Wendah.

Sur Rysis looked back at the happy, cheerful mob. The mood had turned in a matter of minutes, and it could turn back again just as easily. "Not really, no."

"Onwards to glory, then."

"Onwards to glory," repeated Sur Rysis.

"Fancy some wine? It's rather nice."

"Don't mind if I do."

And, as the knights slaked their thirst with a cheeky little red, the soldiers sang lustily, the war party advanced on their new, and completely unexpected, target, and their song rang out across the plains.

This is my shield and this is my sword

I'll do your bidding, just give me the word.

My arm is strong… Strong!

And my weapon is sharp… Sharp!

And I'll chase down your enemies and run 'em right through.

For we are the army, damn near invincible

Our aim is true, our arrows unmissable

We'll cut down your troops and steal all your gold

It's just what we do, and it never gets old.

Our loyalty is unbreakable

Our victories… aphrodisiacal!

Our losses are unforgivable

Our defeat… incomprehensible!

"Sing it lads!" shouted the sergeant.

Our defeat… incomprehensible! roared the soldiers, as one.

Chapter 8

It wasn't hard to find the dragons' nest. First, because it was perched on top of a hill, the sides of which were strewn with bones. And second, because the party was approaching from downwind, and as they got closer they were assaulted by an unholy stench.

"Smells like those foul gorblin tunnels," remarked Slimbough.

Splodge frowned but said nothing.

As they got closer to the huge pile of bones and rotting carcasses, Clunk was the only one amongst them who wasn't feeling queasy.

"Does anyone see any dragons?" asked Father M, who was noticeably further back than the others.

"Never mind the dragons," hissed Millie, shielding her eyes from the sun. "Where's Hurm?"

"Most of him is probably in the nest," said Father M, nodding towards the peak of the hill.

Everyone waited for some other idiot to start climbing the hill. "We might as well go up," said Clunk. "We're just as exposed down here, so it really makes no difference."

"After you," said Stonesmasher, shouldering his axe.

"Don't look at me, I'm almost out of arrows," said Slimbough.

"My staff only works on level surfaces," said Father M. "I know it's inconvenient in this hour of need, but there you go."

Splodge was still smarting from the stinky gorblin passages comment, and wasn't about to volunteer for anything until someone apologised.

"Oh, you lot are hopeless," growled Millie. Unarmed, and with the hem of her peasant garb clutched to her nose, she strode towards the hill and began to climb, avoiding the more recent fly-blown carcasses. Some of the remains were humanoid, and she kept her eyes averted in case they turned out to be Hurm.

Clunk went with her, and the two of them slowly made their way up the hillside, keeping their heads down and placing their feet carefully. As they got higher the number of skeletons increased, until brittle white bones were cracking and splintering with every step.

"Hurm's dead, isn't he?" said Millie quietly.

Clunk shook his head. "There's always hope."

"I want you to look first. If they've started eating him—"

"Of course." Privately, Clunk wasn't too keen on the idea. Deaths of any kind, especially those of humans, had a detrimental effect on his circuits. However, if he told himself the Old Kingdom and her inhabitants were nothing but some kind of elaborate simulation playing out in his head, he decided he ought to be able to cope.

As they neared the summit, Clunk scanned the sky, keeping a lookout for any returning dragons. The huge creatures seemed to make frequent sorties across the land, presumably because of their enormous appetites. So far, the party had only encountered the smaller male, itself pretty impressive, and idly he wondered just how much bigger the female might be.

They reached the summit at last, where they encountered a crude wall of piled-up bones. Millie gave Clunk a worried look, entreating him to go on and discover Hurm's fate alone. Clunk gave her a reassuring smile, then set about the wall, using the many hand- and foot-holds to climb it.

The pile of bones shifted several times, but eventually he made it to the top. Slowly, he raised his head to peer into the nest, and what he saw made him blink several times in surprise.

There were three baby dragons in the nest, about six feet long with pinkish skin and tiny, immature wings. They looked like roly-poly pink lizards, but that wasn't the reason for Clunk's rapid blinking. No, he was surprised because the mighty Hurm was crouched before the dragons, tickling two of them under the chins while the third ran to fetch a bone the fighter had just thrown for it. Hurm was completely unharmed, aside from a few scratches, and he appeared to be oblivious to the danger he was in. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying himself, and he laughed with delight as the dragon came back and dropped the bone, flicking its tail as it waited impatiently for another go.

Hurm stopped tickling one of the dragons and reached for the bone, tossing it casually the length of the nest. The energetic dragon darted after it, raising a cloud of dust, while the first dragon nudged Hurm to let him know it wanted more attention.

"Patience," said Hurm, and the dragon lowered its head and squeaked.

"Hurm!" whispered Clunk. "Are you all right?"

The fighter looked this way and that before spotting Clunk, and then he waved. "Hurm good."

"Where are the big dragons?"

"Not here," said the fighter.

Clunk twisted atop the wall, so that he could gesture to Millie below. "Hurm's fine. He's playing with the dragonlings."

"Playing with them?"

"Indeed. They seem quite smitten with him, and clearly they're not yet hungry."

"What happens when they are?"

Clunk hesitated. "When they get hungry, they will eat."

"You have to get Hurm out of there!"

"Yes, but how?" murmured Clunk, for the sides of the nest were steep, and he wasn't sure the dragonlings would allow Hurm to leave. Still, at least the big fighter was alive and unharmed… for the time being. Then he had an idea, and he began to remove bones from the wall, throwing them down the hillside where they clattered on others, causing mini cascades. As he worked, Clunk saw the rest of the party peering up at him from the foot of the hill, and when they saw him looking they all gave him a cheery wave with both hands. Clunk smiled and waved back, then frowned as the party scattered and hid behind rocks, small bushes and, failing anything bigger, clumps of grass.

A shadow flitted over the hillside, and Clunk froze, one hand still raised. There was an almighty thump behind him, and the wall of bones shook and trembled as though the entire thing was about to tumble down the hillside. Then Clunk heard a snort, and he could feel the dragon's jaws right behind him. It sniffed repeatedly, but Clunk was frozen to the spot and didn't move a millimetre.

He felt a gentle nudge as the dragon pushed him with its snout, then another loud sniff. Fortunately, Clunk didn't have an animal scent, and so the dragon decided to ignore him.

Without moving his body, Clunk rotated his head a degree at a time, slowly, oh-so-slowly, until he was looking into the nest.

The dragon had landed with its feet either side of Hurm and the plump, pink dragonlings, its legs straddling them like a huge pair of tree trunks. Clunk realised the creature must bring live food to the babies often, leaving it to the dragonlings to kill and eat when they were ready. Therefore, it was careful not to crush Hurm, lest it spoiled their sport.

Hurm, meanwhile, was crouched on the gory floor of the nest, still tickling the two dragons. The third was headbutting the big dragon's leg, trying to make it leave so that Hurm could continue throwing bones for it. When that failed, the little dragonling tried to roar at its parent, making a pathetic wheezy noise. And then, as a last resort, it snapped at the huge dragon's ankle, fastening its jaw around the armoured scales and applying the strongest bite it could manage.

The big dragon casually raised one leg, dragonling still attached, shaking it gently until the baby fell off and landed with a thud in the dirt. Then it nosed at the pink creature, righting it before giving it a quick lick of the tongue.

Clunk watched the byplay in growing concern. There was genuine affection between the big dragon and its babies, and he could only imagine the distress if the party managed to lure the dragonlings away from the nest. Worse, the parents wouldn't just shrug and go on with their lives… they'd scour the Old Kingdom from end to end as they sought their young, causing untold damage in the process.

There and then, he decided the quest to snatch the dragonlings was over. He could no more take one of these helpless creatures than he could kill someone in cold blood. Hurm wouldn't be taking a baby dragon to the queen, and he, Clunk, wouldn't be training one to fly him around the Old Kingdom, looking for ore deposits. That meant his plans for leaving the Old Kingdom, such as they were, had come to naught. He would be stuck in this strange land forever.

There was a leathery clap of wings as the huge dragon took off, one claw coming so close it almost knocked Clunk from the wall. Then the big dragon was gone, and when Clunk looked into the nest he saw Hurm surrounded by three dragonlings, all clamouring for attention. "Hurm, we must leave!" he called down.

Hurm glanced up at him, then at the dragonlings. "Hurm like."

"Yes, but when they get hungry, the dragons will like you. They will like you very much." Clunk beckoned. "Reach up to me, and I'll lift you out. Quick now, before the parent returns."

"Hurm stay," said the barbarian stubbornly. "Hurm tickle and throw and feed."

This was the longest sentence Clunk had ever heard the barbarian utter, but this was not the time for an in-depth discussion. "Hurm die!" he said firmly. "Hurm bitten, then chewed and swallowed." Clunk pointed at the baby dragons. "Hurm killed and eaten by them!"

"Oh, they're so cute!"

Clunk turned at the sound of Millie's voice, and he discovered she'd climbed up beside him while he'd been dealing with Hurm's bone-headed stubbornness. "Cute but deadly," he said.

But the dragonlings had heard Millie too, and they were scrambling across the nest towards the wall, raising their stubby snouts to sniff her scent, and mewling to gain her attention.

"Do not climb down into the nest," said Clunk. "I am certain one of the parents will be back any minute, and we don't have time for—"

Millie ignored him and climbed down into the nest, eager to get close to the dragonlings.

"What is it with humans and their complete insensibility to danger?" muttered Clunk.

Meanwhile, Millie had reached the dragonlings, and was busy scratching one gently behind the ear. It had its eyes closed, and there was a blissful look on its face as she tended to it. Meanwhile, the other two were badgering Hurm for a game of throw.

Clunk scanned the skies, but the horizon was empty apart from a few gathering clouds. He knew they wouldn't remain so, and so he employed a tactic which could be considered borderline untruthful. "Dragon!" he shouted.

The effect was electric. Millie grabbed Hurm and dragged him towards Clunk, her feet scrabbling in the dirt as she tried to get him out of the nest. "Come on, come on, come on!" she cried.

"Dragon," said Clunk again, slightly louder. It had worked so well the first time he felt it was worth repeating. "Dragon!"

He consoled himself with the thought that there were three little ones in the nest, and so his warning cry was technically true.

By now Hurm and Millie were frantically climbing the wall, hand over hand, and Clunk was highly relieved. Even better, nobody had stopped to ask him where the supposed dragon was.

They reached the top, where Hurm paused to take one last look at the dragonlings. Clunk could see the thoughts on his face, plain as day. Could they take one with them, to present to the queen? Could he complete his quest and become a knight of the Old Kingdom? Then Clunk saw the big fighter give a quick shake of his head, and moments later they'd climbed down the outside of the nest, and were on their way down the hill.

Along the way they could hear the dragonlings mewling behind them, from behind the wall. The soft pink creatures couldn't follow, fortunately, and Clunk was happy that particular problem had been dealt with. The next problem would be telling the rest of the party that their quest was over… their dreams of riches finished.

They reached the foot of the hill, where they were quickly surrounded by Father M, Splodge, Stonesmasher and Slimbough. "Where's the baby dragon?" asked Slimbough.

"Hurm is safe," said Clunk. "Isn't that good news?"

"Yes, yes. But where's the dragonling?"

"There isn't going to be one."

Father M leaned on his staff. "Were they too heavy?"

Clunk was about to explain when there was a crash of splintering bone from the top of the hill. Everyone looked up, and they gaped in shock as they saw the three baby dragonlings smashing their way through the wall of the nest. All three creatures stopped to look around, then spotted the party and made a beeline for them, shouldering aside rotting corpses as they came straight down the hill.

"Ah," said Clunk. "This is somewhat unexpected."

"Quick, run!" said Father M.

"No, relax," said Millie. "They're just looking for Hurm."

"Because he tastes better than us?"

"No, they like him."

Hurm picked up a bone and threw it fifty yards away, and the dragonlings charged after it. They scrapped over the bone, then came hurrying back with it before one of them dropped it at Hurm's feet.

"What happens when they get bored with bones?" asked Splodge.

"We'll throw you," muttered Father M.

"What happens when they get hungry? What happens when the parents find out they're missing?"

"With any luck they'll think you did it," said Father M. "They'll hunt you down, and while you're fleeing towards the horizon, screaming your lungs out, we'll slip away to safety."

Hurm was busy feeding the rest of their food to the dragonlings. They ate noisily, snapping their jaws and swallowing the roast rabbits in single bites, and when he was done they looked around licking their lips.

"We need to leave. Take them back to the nest," said Millie.

"They'll just follow us again," Clunk pointed out.

"I've got an idea!" exclaimed Father M. "What if they followed us all the way to the royal palace? We can hand all three to Queen Therstie, and we'll be rich beyond measure!"

"I can think of one or two problems with that idea," said Clunk, glancing at the sky. He was getting nervous at the delays, and he couldn't understand why the party wasn't running away from the dragon nest at top speed. "We need to get away from this place, and quickly. If we go now, the dragonlings will get bored, and I'm sure they'll return to their nest on their own account."

Everyone nodded at the wise words, except Hurm, who threw another bone for the dragonlings.

"You have to stop doing that," said Father M.

"Make me," said Hurm, with a glint in his eyes.

"You know," said Father M, "it probably won't hurt if the dragonlings follow us some of the way."

The party set off towards the big lake and the cave, where they hoped to rest and spend the night before embarking on the much longer journey to the city of Last Hope. They walked along for an hour or more, accompanied by thuds as Hurm threw bones for the dragons, and on the way Clunk thought of another problem. There was a line of watchtowers stretching across the narrowest point of the peninsula, towers designed to stop adventurers entering the rocky wastes, where the dragons lived. The guards and archers in those towers would be just as effective at stopping them from passing back into occupied lands, especially with three dragonlings in tow.

Clunk frowned as he thought of the impenetrable barrier blocking their way. Last time, they'd crossed right over the top using a hot air balloon, but this time more direct measures would be called for. But that was tomorrow. Today they just had to get back to the cave without being fried or snatched up by huge angry dragons.

It was at that moment he heard the sound he'd been fearing: a terrible, anguished roar from the hilltop far behind them, as one or both dragons discovered their brood was missing. Everyone turned to look, and in the distance they saw the male dragon taking to the skies, wings flapping as he climbed high in the sky to get a view to the horizon. Then they saw something which left them absolutely stunned. The entire hill shifted, scattering bones and carcasses, and as the soil and detritus slid to the ground in cascades they realised the hill itself wasn't part of the countryside… it was the female dragon! She was at least five times bigger than the male, and as she rose and stretched, she lifted her massive head and roared. The sound made the ground shake, and everyone covered their ears.

"I-I climbed that," whispered Millie. "How did we not realise?"

"She's probably been there forty years or more," said Splodge. "It was an easy mistake to make."

"Never mind the mistakes," growled Father M. "We must hide before she spots us!"

They saw the enormous dragon stretching her wings, and then she took to the sky with a downdraft that sent up thick clouds of dust. The male dragon flew beside her, looking tiny and insignificant, and then both dragons stopped circling and turned straight for the party.

"Take cover!" shouted Clunk. "Take cover now!"

Chapter 9

Wiltred was getting fed up with Tyniwon's gusty sighs and abandoned-puppy looks. The young man was lying on a mattress on the uneven stone floor, the bed having collapsed beneath him five seconds after he laid his head on the pillow. Every few minutes he would turn restlessly under the covers, sighing loudly at the unfair hand life had dealt him.

They were confined to a small stone cottage, and, in order to kill time, Wiltred went on another tour of the house. He figured he might as well keep himself busy until the elves decided to execute him.

Soon after, he came across a kitchen cupboard with a loose door. Wiltred went to his pack for a small screwdriver, and upon his return he adjusted the hinges until the door opened and closed smoothly.

At first Tyniwon paid him no notice, but when Wiltred started greasing drawer runners, the big Mollister lad opened one eye and watched with growing interest. Then, when Wiltred turned the wobbly kitchen table over, in order to shorten one of the legs, he discovered Tyniwon had already fetched his saw and a measuring tape.

The two of them worked in silence, and Wiltred hoped the elves wouldn't take the sawing noises to be some kind of tunnelling effort. "We'll just shorten this leg," he said loudly, certain they'd be able to hear him, "and then the table won't be quite as wobbly."

When they turned the table back onto its legs, it was as steady as a rock. Saw in hand, Wiltred looked around for more odd jobs, for the work kept him busy and took his mind off his captivity. That's when he spotted a window frame with a substantial gap in the corner. He measured the gap, then cut a couple of wooden wedges from a piece of scrap, which Tyniwon gently hammered into place. While the big man was working, Wiltred ran his fingertips over the pane of glass. He'd never seen its like, and he marvelled at the smooth surface.

Tyniwon finished filling the gap, and Wiltred smiled at him. "Good job, lad. What's next?"

"That curtain rod isn't level."

"Fetch my auger and a few pieces of dowel."

A few minutes later the curtain bracket was in a new position, the rod was re-hung, and the drapes no longer dragged on the floor. By now, Wiltred was eyeing the drooping ceiling, and he went to the front door to get a better look from the outside.

As he reached for the door handle, Tyniwon grabbed his arm. "You can't go outside. They'll shoot you!"

"I'm just fixing the place up. Who's going to mind?" Wiltred opened the front door and went outside, and after a moment's hesitation, Tyniwon followed him. "Give me a leg up," said Wiltred, and then he was on the roof, trying not to slip off the tiles. He crawled up to the ridge capping, then selected a clay tile at random and slid it underneath the one above it, leaving a small square opening. He put his head in and peered at the roof beams, tutting as he saw the shoddy work. "There's half the battens there ought to be," he called out, his voice echoing in the space under the roof. He slid several more tiles out of the way, and was just about to take some measurements when he heard an angry voice from below.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Wiltred measured a beam, and noted down the length.

"You there! Human!"

Annoyed, Wiltred glanced over his shoulder. There were three elves below flanking Tyniwon, and they didn't look happy. "This place is a mess," said Wiltred sharply. "I don't know who built it, but I'm surprised it's still standing. You need double the battens, more bracing, stronger fixings… and these tiles aren't fixed down properly either."

The elves stared at him in silence. "Do you know the secrets of construction?" one asked him at last.

"Not everything, but enough."

"You can… improve this?"

"Of course I can improve this. A rabid monkey with a sledgehammer could improve this." Wiltred saw their faces, and realised he wasn't being very diplomatic. "A properly trained monkey, of course, with the applicable construction permits."

The elves looked at each other.

"Look," said Wiltred. "I've got nothing on. Why don't you gather a few materials, and my assistant and I will get to work while you're deciding whether to execute us. Does that work for you?"

"Indeed," said one of the elves. "And after you've repaired this house, would you take a look at mine?"

"And mine," said another. "My roof leaks something terrible."

"You have a roof?" said the third wistfully.

"One at a time," said Wiltred. "And if any of you are interested, I can show you a few maintenance techniques. You won't have to live with draughts, or missing roof tiles, or —"

By now there were a dozen elves below, with more arriving all the time. Wiltred had an audience, and he stood up and paced the roof, stumbling now and then as a tile came loose. "Your people deserve to live in comfort!" he cried, warming to his speech. "With my saw, and my measuring tape—"

"And my mallet!" cried Tyniwon.

"And my skill, and his hard work, the elves will live in comfort for all time."

There was a loud cheer, and Wiltred stood there beaming down at the crowd. By making himself useful, he felt he'd almost certainly saved his life.

Ten minutes later, the elves had all gone to fetch raw materials, and Wiltred and Tyniwon were alone at the nice, stable kitchen table. "There's no chance they'll execute us now," he murmured.

"No, they'll just work us to death instead," grumbled Tyniwon.

"Is that so bad? Eventually they might let us build a workshop, and I can start researching new alloys, and advance my study of engineering, and —"

He never finished the sentence, for at that moment the front door opened and Allyance entered. She ignored Tyniwon and advanced on Wiltred with a look of pure thunder. "You! How dare you?"

"Wh-what did I do?" asked Wiltred, backing away.

"I was to convince the queen that elves should never be forced to live in miserable dwellings such as these. In the meantime, you undermine me by convincing my people the defects can be remedied, the flaws rectified."

"Well, they can," said Wiltred mildly.

"Elves should live amongst the trees!" snapped Allyance. She turned on Tyniwon. "You're involved too, aren't you? Mend all the cottages, make yourself useful to my people, and plead for your freedom. Then you can run back to this woman of yours, while the elves are forced to live in rows of shoddy rabbit hutches."

"Don't look at me," said Tyniwon, jerking a thumb at Wiltred. "It was all his idea."

"You had a tool in your hand. Don't try and deny it!"

Tyniwon looked angry. "So what if I did? What was I supposed to do while you were running all over the forest with Prince Taproot?"

By now, Wiltred realised the argument had shifted onto a whole new front, and he decided to make his escape before the two of them came to blows. Anyway, there was a roof to fix and the daylight wasn't going to last forever.

"Where do you think you're going?" snapped Allyance, as she noticed Wiltred slinking away.

"This, er, seems like a private matter."

"How can it be private? This dolt has no time for me, not with some wanton wench waiting at home for him."

"A what?" said Tyniwon, puzzled.

"Your special woman! The one you're mooning over, like a lovesick teenager. Don't try and deny it, I heard you and this old fool discussing it in the marshes."

"I told you to clear the air with her," muttered Wiltred.

Tyniwon was struck dumb, and could say nothing at all. Instead, he looked at Wiltred with a pathetic, pleading expression.

Wiltred sighed and turned to Allyance. "What my young assistant is trying to tell you is—"

"There's nobody else, I swear!" gasped Tyniwon. "I spoke only of my love for you!"

Allyance blinked in surprise. "But if that's the case, why did you not tell me?"

"If only I'd been smart enough to give him that advice," muttered Wiltred. But by now he was the unwanted extra, and as Allyance and Tyniwon fell into each others' arms he beat a hasty retreat, closing the front door behind himself.

"Do you need any more timber?" asked an elf, who was carrying two long planks over one shoulder.

"There's wood aplenty at this address," said Wiltred, and he gathered his tools and went to see a man about a wonky front door.

— ♦ —

Captain Borosin stood on the hillside, surveying the wreckage of his fleet. He'd just watched a sea serpent and a dragon destroy two of his mighty warships, and the third vessel had broken up on the rocks whilst fleeing the carnage. Several survivors were swimming for shore, but there were pitifully few left.

"A peace treaty?" said the elderly shepherd, who was standing beside the captain, leaning on his staff. "What's that?"

Borosin tore his gaze from the scenes of destruction. "My nation will not attack yours, provided your nation does not attack mine."

"All right. Agreed."

"It's not that simple. A treaty must be ratified between representatives at the highest level, and for that I must speak with your queen." Then Borosin turned to something which had been bubbling just below the surface of his mind. "Also, you have giant sea serpents here, and huge, fire-breathing dragons?"

The shepherd nodded. "Keep to themselves, they do, but you people been making a lot of noise. Must have attracted their attention."

Borosin frowned. He was a decorated officer with many years of service, and his ordered military life had little room for mythical creatures. With difficulty he shut out the memories of flaming vessels and big, silvery scales, and turned to more practical matters. "I require lodgings for my people. The survivors will need dry clothes and food, and some of them will have injuries."

"I'll go to the village," said the shepherd. "We don't have much, but it is yours to share."

"That's good of you. Thank you."

The shepherd didn't move.

"What is it?" demanded Borosin.

"My people… they don't have much. If you could see your way clear to—"

"Of course, of course," said the captain heavily. He dug out several coins and handed them over.

"So you just want the single room, then? It may be cramped."

Borosin handed over more coins.

"And your crew… they will supply their own food, and bedding, and—?"

With an angry snort, Borosin snatched the money back. "We will look after ourselves, you parasite."

"As you wish," said the shepherd, with a shrug.

"Now get lost, old man, or I'll take back the gold I gave you for the goats." With that, Borosin turned on his heel and marched down the hill to the beach, where the first survivors were just reaching the shore. He and his fellow officers organised them, sending the fitter ones to collect driftwood, and before long they were huddled around a blazing fire, while an entire goat roasted on a makeshift spit.

"Men and woman of Methusia," said Borosin, standing before them with his thumbs tucked into his belt. "We have suffered a terrible tragedy today, but I stand here telling you we shall overcome these challenges. Already, great warships will be looking for our missing ships, and when they sail into this cove a day or two hence, we will be treated like heroes."

Several of the crew exchanged glances.

"This, because we have discovered a whole new land, and one which will serve as the perfect base for operations against the treacherous, devious, Stalyans."

Someone raised a hand. "What about t-the sea serpent?" she asked, her teeth chattering with cold.

"And the dragon?" called out someone else.

"Those creatures caught us unawares," said Borosin, with a dismissive gesture. "Next time they will be met with a broadside, and then this entire land will be ripe for the taking. Just think of the bounty! The prize money you will all receive!"

The speech was encouraging, and the survivors looked a bit more hopeful.

"But first we must work to build a shelter, and send scouts to spy out the lay of the land." He indicated one of the surviving officers. "You will each report to Yakov, who will take names and allocate tasks. I know things look grim right now, but believe me, we have truly landed on our feet."

There were a few nods, but Borosin's words didn't have the rousing effect he'd been hoping for. Privately, he wasn't that surprised, since he didn't believe a Methusian fleet would find them, and he definitely didn't believe a few cannonballs would see off the giant sea serpents and fire-breathing dragons. In fact, he thought the survivors would be lucky to last a week in this deadly place, but he decided not to tack that onto the end of his speech.

Ten minutes later, a pair of scouts set off for the headland at either end of the cove, a vantage point from which they could survey the surroundings before returning with reports. The rest of the survivors went off to collect timbers and planks washed up on the shore, the only visible remains of the proud Methusian fleet, for they had to build shelter before nightfall, or freeze on the beach.

They'd only got a basic frame up when Borosin raised his hand for silence. He glanced to his left, along the beach, because he'd just heard a pistol shot in the distance. What had his scout encountered?

Then he looked the other way, towards the opposite headland, where he saw a second scout running down the hill, shouting indistinctly and waving her arms. She was trying to warn them about something, and moments later Borosin felt the ground trembling underfoot. There was a low rumble, too, as though something very large was on the move. "What new devilry is this?" he muttered. "Can we not rest for one night?"

The men and women around him dropped the planks they'd been tying together, and as one they backed away. Then, as they all saw what was coming over the distant hillside, they turned and ran for it.

Chapter 10

Sailing master Tinch opened his mouth to yell at a group of laggardly sailors, but before the words came he heard the distant bang of a pistol shot. Wheeling around, he scanned the hillsides, then raised his glass and trained it on a puff of white smoke.

What he saw made his blood run cold.

His scout, Findlay, was standing over a body, and from the uniform it appeared to be one of their hated enemy, the Methusians. What were they doing here? thought Tinch. And more importantly, how big was their force? He lowered the glass, lost in thought, then came to a decision. Captain Berry and Dallow had yet to return, but the ship was a sitting duck heeled over on the shore, and his first priority was to retreat to safety. "'Ware enemy!" he yelled, and was instantly the centre of attention. "Put to sea, put to sea!"

The crew swung into action with practiced ease, abandoning tools and materials as they ran for the Intrepid. Men and women dangling over the side, fixing shot holes, were pulled unceremoniously up onto the deck, while dozens of others swarmed up the ratlines and netting.

Tinch signalled to a rating who'd been waiting at the stern, overlooking a boat which rode the waves with a dozen oarsmen at the ready. The gesture was repeated, and there was a shout of 'Heave, heave!' as the men and women in the boat applied themselves.

Tinch felt the deck move, ever so slightly, and he raised his glass to see what was happening with the scout. He managed to focus on the man, who was running full-tilt down the hillside, trying to reach the Intrepid before she put to sea. Then Tinch raised the glass, until he saw the crest of the hill. Two dozen men and women were charging over the brow of the hill, some of them in Methusian uniform, and Tinch smiled to himself as he saw the pitifully small force. "Belay that order!" he yelled, lowering the glass to address the crew. "Cease hauling, and break out the weapons. We've got company, but they're not going to trouble us any."

Still smiling, he raised the glass to watch the Methusians. They were running fast, but something in their manner was wrong. They weren't brandishing weapons as they chased the lone scout down the hill. In fact, they didn't seem to have any weapons, and none of them appeared to be looking down the hill at all. Most were looking over their shoulders, apart from a quick glance ahead now and then to make sure they weren't about to run into a rock or a bush.

They were halfway down the hill now, and Tinch heard the crack of pistol shots as his crew opened fire. The range was extreme, and they were more likely to hit their own scout than the enemy, but Tinch had more on his mind than friendly fire. The Methusians were behaving like a flock of sheep with a dozen wolves snapping at their heels, and he was trying to spot the wolves.

Then, as he surveyed the brow of the hill once more, he saw exactly what they were running from. There was a flash of silvery light as a huge army broke over the hilltop in a flowing wave. There were hundreds of them, squat, sturdy-looking fighters with metal helms, bushy beards, broad shields and big double-headed axes. They came down the hill like a hairy, chainmail-clad steamroller, flattening bushes and leaving a churned-up swathe of vegetation in their wake.

"Belay the last order!" shouted Tinch desperately. "Put to sea, put to sea!"

By now the rest of his crew had spotted the vast force streaming down the hillside, and they needed no extra bidding. There was another cry of 'heave, heave!' as the crew in the cutter pulled on their oars, and everyone still on the beach came scrambling over the ship's rails.

"Load and run out!" shouted Tinch. "Gun captains, to your weapons. Gun crews, work those cannon like you've never worked them before!" He raised his glass to see Findlay, the scout, practically flying over the sand. Right behind him were the Methusians, looking terrified and exhausted, and behind them came the squat bearded warriors, hundreds of them. He had no idea where they'd come from, or why they were attacking, and he was tempted to cut swathes right through them with the Intrepid's guns. Instead, he decided to err on the side of caution. If this fierce army was intent on attacking Methusians, then they might turn out to be allies of Stalya, and so he decided to keep them at arms length until he could sort everything out.

"Sight on the hillside!" he bellowed at the gun captains. "Aim high, do not fire directly at them! And wait for my word!"

Meanwhile, the ship was still stuck on the beach, despite the frantic efforts of the rowers, and the gun crews were busy hammering wedges under the wheels of their cannon to get the elevation.

"Fire!" shouted Tinch, the second they were ready, and there was a moment of chaos and madness as the guns went off. Smoke swirled across the deck, and a ripple of rapid-fire booms echoed around the cove. When the smoke cleared, the rampaging army had stopped dead, and were staring at the ship in surprise and astonishment. Just behind them, a broad swathe of hillside looked like a ploughed field where the broadside had torn up the ground. Many of the stocky troops were eying the damage, then turned and brandished their axes at the ship, yelling and cursing at the top of their voices.

So, they're probably not allies then, thought Tinch.

Meanwhile, Findlay made the beach, threw himself into the waves and waded towards the netting someone lowered for him. Ten paces behind were the Methusians, and as his crew took up arms to repel them, Tinch cupped his hands to his mouth. "Let them board. In this, they are our allies!"

Instead of fighting the Methusians off, the Stalyan crew helped them on board the Intrepid, where the group of two dozen crew and officers stood bent double, hands on knees, panting hard to recover their breath.

Meanwhile, the big army was advancing once more, but slower this time. They were getting close, and as Tinch studied them through his spyglass he noticed they were barely five feet tall, but almost the same in width. Their beards came down to their belts, if not longer, and with a shock he remembered a picture from a book of fairy tales his nanny used to read to him. "Dwarves?" he murmured. "Can they really be dwarves?" Then he snapped out of the memory, and gestured to the gun captains. "A second broadside. Over their heads, if you please!"

The cannons roared, and shot howled over the massed ranks of dwarves before slamming into the hillside. The dwarven army faltered, then proceeded with their slow, steady march.

Then, just as Tinch was about to order the next broadside, he felt the deck levelling off. The Intrepid had been shaken loose by the cannon fire! The ship began to move, slipping backwards into the bay, and when the dwarves realised what was happening they let out an angry roar and charged.

"Hold your fire!" shouted Tinch, as he saw several of the crew raising pistols.

The gap between ship and shore widened, and the dwarves could only stand on the beach, shaking their weapons, as the Intrepid headed for the very middle of the bay. Once there, Tinch ordered the anchor be dropped, and then he took a deep breath. "Bring the Methusian leader to the captain's quarters," he told the bosun. "I will get to the bottom of this, one way or the other."

"What about the enemy army? They might swim out to us."

"Not in that armour." Tinch thought for a moment. "If they make the attempt, fire the bow chaser over their heads. They'll get the message. But whatever you do, don't fire into them."

"But… who are they? I mean… what are they?"

"That's what I'm about to find out," said Tinch grimly, and he left for the captain's cabin.

— ♦ —

Tiera and Spadell strode side by side through the woods, while Thonn walked some distance ahead of them. They were all following a narrow path through the trees, barely more than a track, and it was overgrown with bushes and low-hanging branches.

"We should have brought a machete," muttered Tiera.

"Sure. A wooden machete for wooden branches," said Spadell. "Perfect." He glanced at her. "Why did you come to Bark lands? I thought you'd be lying low in the sticks somewhere."

"This place is the sticks. D'you know they don't have so much as a metal pin in the whole place? It's madness!"

"A lot of inhabitants died in the great lightning storm," said Spadell mildly. "They felt it was divine retribution, so it sort of make sense not having metal around."

"But that was centuries ago! Anyway, the high priest of Chatter's Reach died when a meteorite smashed into his tower, and you don't see the Mollisters going around banning bricks and stones. Or meteorites, for that matter."

"You might as well ban the sun, or the moon."

"Don't suggest that to the locals. By all accounts, the Bark King is mad enough to try it."

They walked in silence for a while, before Tiera broached a delicate subject. "So… why did you come to the Bark Kingdom?"

"I took leave of my job."

"Yes, you told me. But why come here?"

Spadell kept his gaze on the path. "I was looking for something."

"Have you found it?" asked Tiera lightly.

"I don't know yet."

"Well, it's good to see you."

"You too," said Spadell, and a smile transformed his rugged face.

Half an hour later they emerged from the woods, where Thonn was waiting for them to catch up. When they reached him, the three of them started walking across a field of wheat. Ahead was a small neat cottage, and Tiera saw a tall, willowy woman watching them from the front door. The woman had a longbow in one hand, while the other hand rested on her hip, just near the quiver full of arrows at her belt. "That's far enough," the woman called out. "Who are you, and what is your business?"

Tiera raised her hands. "We mean no harm. We seek a young man called Tyniwon."

The woman lowered her bow a fraction. "Why?"

"He's been implicated in the death of King Larch."

"Are you bounty hunters?" demanded the woman coldly.

"No! Tyniwon is a Mollister, and a half-brother to Queen Therstie. We've been charged with getting Tyniwon to safety." Tiera gestured at the neat cottage. "If he's hiding in there, and the people of Branche learn about it, a mob will descend on your farm and raze it to the ground."

"I'd like to see them try," said a male voice, and Tiera turned to see a second person nearby. He was wearing a hooded cloak, and his hands were gripping the handle of a long, sharp scythe. The tool looked more like a weapon than a farm implement, and he looked ready to use it.

Also, Tiera couldn't help noticing the shiny metal blade. "Sir, if we take Tyniwon back to Mollister lands now, we can avoid bloodshed."

"You're too late," said the man, shrugging. "He left yesterday with Wiltred and my daughter."

"South, to the royal palace?" asked Tiera hopefully.

"East, to the land of the elves."

The three travellers gaped at him. "Of all places, why there?" demanded Tiera. "The elves will execute him for sure!"

"Does this answer your question?" Slowly, the man drew his hood back, revealing long blonde hair and pointed ears. "I am Treeborne, of the river people, and my daughter Allyance travels with the humans. With her, they should be safe."

"Should be?"

"The elves will not harm Allyance, and she will vouch for Tyniwon and Wiltred." He smiled. "My daughter usually gets her own way."

Tiera looked at Spadell. "Should we follow them, do you think?"

"I wouldn't," said the elf. "You'll be cut down by elven archers before you get within a hundred yards of the border."

"If we hurry, could we catch them up?"

Treeborne shook his head. "Not a chance, I'm afraid. They're long gone."

"Then we return to Branche," said Tiera, "for it seems our quest is already complete."

"Can we offer you food before your return journey?"

Tiera smiled. "That's very kind of you, and much appreciated."

"Come then. Willowmere and I will make you welcome."

— ♦ —

As he sat on his rough wooden throne in his draughty wooden throne room, King Kah was beginning to realise that being crowned ruler of the Barks wasn't all it was cracked up to be. He'd expected a bit of pomp and ceremony and a lot of feasting, but unfortunately the lifestyle of a Bark royal seemed to be the other way round. So far he'd greeted dozens of nobles and lesser lords, shaking hands until his wrist ached, and he'd barely eaten a cracker all day.

Now, instead of lunch, he was supposed to oversee three cases. No, he corrected himself, the Three Cases, with capitals suitably emphasised. According to Starlow, the chief courtier, he was supposed to sit in judgement on these things every day. However, thanks to the previous king's unexpected disappearance, the Three Cases hadn't been heard for some days now, and instead of pushing them all back, some genius had decided to clear the backlog by holding all the outstanding Cases on the same day.

"I can't deal with this lot unless I get some food," complained Sur Kah, as he riffled through the thick stack of parchment.

"The Three Cases are heard from midday," said Starlow. "That is the custom."

"They haven't been heard at all recently."

"Nevertheless, the defendants await your pleasure."

"Can't they await a bit longer, while I get a sandwich?"

"That would not be proper," intoned Starlow.

"But I'm the king! You don't want me to starve, do you? I mean, just imagine the stain on your character if you lost two regents in a week."

Starlow looked down his nose. "Being king involves certain sacrifices."

"Really?" Kah gave him a look. "Can I start by offering you to the great god Zephyr?"

Starlow ignored the barb, and he turned to the guards at the far end of the throne room. At his signal, they opened the big double doors.

"Don't I even get a piece of fruit?" asked King Kah plaintively. "I could murder a banana."

It was too late, though, because the court recorders filed in with their parchment, quills and writing boards. They formed two lines, and then the first petitioner entered. It was an elderly man, and he shuffled along with the help of a cane. Slowly, he made his way to the foot of the throne, where he bowed deeply, his bones creaking as he did so. "Your Majesty."

King Kah glanced at his paperwork. "I see here you've applied to get married."

"Yes, sir."

"Aren't you leaving things a bit late?"

"I applied forty years ago, Sire. I been queuing for a license ever since."

"Why?"

"Because that's how long it takes," said the old man. "The town hall… they're understaffed, and their procedures are inefficient, and—"

"Yes, yes, I get the idea." King Kah read the next bit of the parchment. "Says here you're suing them."

"That is so, Your Majesty."

"But you finally got your marriage license. Isn't that what you were waiting for?"

"Indeed, but when I told my beloved, she said she'd changed her mind."

"Well, I don't see a problem," said Kah, with an airy wave. "Go ahead and sue them, and I hope you win."

Starlow leaned over and whispered in his ear. "If he wins, everyone will sue us and the kingdom will be ruined."

King Kah pursed his lips. "You may sue them," he said at last. "But first you need a court license."

"What's a court license?" demanded the old man.

"It's a license to go to court. You can pick one up at the town hall on your way out. Next!"

"But Your Majesty—"

"Next, I said!"

Two guards bundled the old man out, and the next Case was presented.

"You did what with a what?" demanded Sur Kah, as he read the charges. "Is that even possible?"

"Oh yes, Your Majesty," said the accused. "See, what you do is you take a handful of—"

"Guilty! Next!"

A heavy, balding man was ushered in. "Ashtag Marnay, Your Majesty," announced a courtier.

"Ah. The moneylender."

"Yes, Your Highness," said the man, with a bow.

King Kah frowned at the paperwork. "Says here you were caught in possession of gold."

There were several gasps, but King Kah was unmoved. He'd handled plenty of gold in his previous life as a knight, and he couldn't see what all the fuss was about. Still, the law was the law. "Is is true?"

"Yes Sire, but I was set up. The gold was planted on me."

"That's a new one." Despite the hunger gnawing at his insides, the king was curious. "How did it happen?"

"This young woman, an assassin she was, she came to see me wanting to exchange this filthy, unclean gold for real money. She were armed with a steel dagger, too."

There was another round of gasps. "Lightning is coming!" muttered someone.

"She killed my two best friends, she did, right in front of me. And after she left, I found the gold in my pocket. She must have left it there."

"So she murdered two people, then paid you in gold… without you realising?"

Ashtag thought for a bit. "Yes, that's it."

"Were there any witnesses?"

"Annie was there. She'll vouch for me."

"And this young woman? The assassin?"

"Said her name was Tara. Dunno if that was real."

King Kah turned to Starlow. "Why isn't the young woman here? She ought to be tried for murder."

"We couldn't find her, Your Majesty."

"You realise what this means?" demanded Kah.

"Yes," said Starlow patiently. "It means we were unable to locate her."

"Not that, you fool! There's a foreign assassin loose in the city, with a steel dagger and gold coins. And can anyone think of an important person who vanished recently? Someone who may have been… assassinated?" King Kah tapped his wooden crown. "Your previous king, say?"

Starlow's jaw dropped. "You mean this young woman might have been responsible for King Larch's disappearance?"

"Might have been?" demanded Kah. "How much evidence do you need?"

"We will find her immediately," declared Starlow, and he gestured to one of the guards. "You there. Send men to seal the city gates, then have every building in the city turned upside-down. This woman must be found!"

"Yessir!" cried the guard, and he dashed off to pass the order.

"Sire… what about me?" said Ashtag hesitantly.

"Oh yes." King Kah gestured. "I hereby confiscate your gold. You are free to go."

"Thank you, Your Majesty!" said Ashtag, so grateful he bowed until his nose touched the floor. Then he hurried out before his luck changed.

Starlow cleared his throat. "Your Majesty, handling metal is sure to anger the gods."

"I'll take the risk."

"You're putting your subjects in danger, Sire."

"It's only gold, man."

"It's metal," said Starlow obstinately. "For centuries we have avoided the cursed material, and there has not been a single lightning strike in all that time."

"What, none?" said King Kah, in surprise.

"None, Sire. But if you handle this gold…"

The crowd chanted in unison. "Lightning is coming!"

"Very well," said King Kah heavily, for he knew when he was defeated. "Dispose of the gold, then."

"Thank you, Your Majesty. We will throw it into the sea, as is our custom."

The King made a mental note to have the location marked on a map, then gestured to the remaining guards. "Show's over for the day. Clear the throne room, dismiss all the other Cases and raise the alarm."

The guards obeyed with gusto, using wooden staves to round everyone up and push them outside.

"Right," said King Kah, when the chamber had been cleared. "While they're all busy, I'm having a break." He got up, setting aside the rest of the Cases, and before Starlow could object he made a beeline for a small door at the rear of the throne room. He had a pretty good idea where the kitchens were, and he intended to find some lunch if it was the last thing he ever did.

Chapter 11

Wiltred was busy pounding a nail into a wooden beam, and he was feeling a lot happier than he had been when the elves first captured him. The repair work was going well, with eager elves inviting him into their homes to mend cupboard doors, fix draughty windows, and replace bowed floorboards. Now that he was proving his worth, he was pretty sure they'd stage a revolt if the queen ordered his execution, but it wasn't just his own situation that had cheered him up. No, he was pleased Tyniwon and Allyance had cleared the air, for the young man had been driving him crazy with his hollow groans and wistful sighing.

Of course, that meant Longroot was now the scorned party, and the elven prince kept finding excuses to come and talk with Wiltred. Each time he passed the cottage where Tyniwon and Allyance were, presumably, stress-testing the one remaining bed, the elf had an expression like thunder.

"I know what you're doing," said Longroot, during one of his visits.

Wiltred paused, the hammer raised and ready to strike. "Do tell."

"You're making yourself indispensable so my mother won't chop your head off."

"Maybe I'm just keeping myself busy until she decides what to do with us."

"If it was up to me, you'd both be dead already," muttered Longroot.

"That won't win her affections," said Wiltred calmly. "If you had us killed, Allyance would only hate you for it."

"Elves live a long time, old man. I'd have her forgiveness eventually."

"If that's the case, why not make your move on the young lady after Tyniwon dies of old age?"

Longroot muttered a curse, turned on his heel, and strode away.

Unmoved, Wiltred brought the hammer down with a solid thump, driving the nail home. Then he ran his hand carefully over the result, nodding to himself as he admired his work. He stretched to ease his aching muscles, then eyed the rest of the floor, which looked like it had been assembled from long slices of damp bread. The parts that were flat weren't supported properly, and the lengths of timber that weren't flat were so badly curled he could have strung them with rope and used them to shoot arrows clear across the settlement. Slowly, he turned to look at the rest of the houses. So much for avoiding his own execution… if they were all like this one, he'd be working himself to death anyway.

Wiltred straightened a couple more planks, then paused as Longroot returned once more. "The queen demands your presence," said the elf, before going and hammering on Tyniwon's door. He repeated the message, shouting it extra loud before giving the door a swift kick and stalking off.

Wiltred shook his head slowly. There was trouble brewing, and he was convinced it wouldn't end well. Slowly, he stood, and then he gathered his tools up before heading off to the queen's cottage. Tyniwon met him on the way, still tucking his shirt into his breeches. "Don't be so obvious about it," murmured Wiltred. "Longroot is after your blood." Then he remembered elves had supernatural hearing, and that everyone within half a league would already be aware of the goings-on. "Oh. Never mind."

They were ushered into the queen's presence, the audience being held in her lounge room. Wiltred and Tyniwon looked around for chairs, but in the end they were forced to stand, since the only alternative was to ask the queen to budge up so they could share the sofa.

"My subjects tell me you've been mending their houses," said the queen.

"Indeed, Your Majesty."

"Are you good with your hands?"

"I have some little skill," said Wiltred.

"Me too," added Tyniwon.

The queen glanced at him. "I know you do," she said coldly. "We heard your efforts all over the settlement."

Tyniwon reddened, but the queen ignored him and turned to Wiltred. "Amongst your belongings there were drawings and diagrams. My people tell me they represent machinery."

"That's right," said Wiltred. "I've yet to build anything truly ground-breaking, but given a workshop and the right resources—"

"I'm not interested in your ground-breaking machinery. I want to know if you can build a specific item."

The queen held out a scroll, and Wiltred studied it closely. It was one of his most ingenious designs, with a base on wheels, a counter-weight, and a long arm with a shallow bucket on one end. "You wish me to build a trebuchet?"

"I don't know that word. I believe the item is called a catapult."

"They are one and the same." Though large and complicated, Wiltred knew he could turn his plans into a working model, given access to the right materials. "Yes, Your Majesty. I can build one of these for you."

"I don't want one, I want a dozen."

"With enough raw materials and helping hands, I can build a hundred," declared Wiltred.

"Good. You can start right away."

"I, er… I'm going to need a workshop."

"You can use the house you're staying in."

Wiltred hesitated. "It would probably be best if Tyniwon had that one. I need something a bit bigger, and I feel I would not get much sleep sharing with him, and, er, Allyance."

"Very well. There's a hall near the river, which my people have been using as a workshop. The roof leaks, but you'll just have to put up with that."

Wiltred bowed deeply. "Your Majesty, I am honoured."

"You can be whatever you want, just get my catapults ready."

Wiltred knew better than to ask what they were for. The clouds of war were rolling in, the queen obviously had a target in mind, and his job was to help her hit it. With luck the elves would overrun the Bark kingdom, and then he'd be able to go home.

"You," said the queen, turning to Tyniwon. "What is the strength of your army?"

"I have no army, Your Majesty."

"Don't play me for a fool. You know what I'm asking, and you will answer or it'll go poorly for the girl Allyance."

Tyniwon looked shocked. "She's one of your own!"

"No, she's the daughter of traitors, and I will not hesitate to execute her."

"Therstie Mollister calls on two hundred men," said Tyniwon quickly, stumbling over the words in his haste. "They're mostly farmhands and goat herders, and if you include the guards at Last Hope, Chatter's Reach and the palace, she has perhaps two-fifty in total."

The queen turned to Wiltred. "And the Barks? What is their force?"

"I don't rightly know, Your Majesty. Half that of the Mollisters perhaps, and armed with nothing but wooden sticks and staves."

"Then I will crush them all," said the queen calmly. "Go now to your workshop, for time is short and I am not a patient woman."

Dismissed, Wiltred and Tyniwon left. Outside, Tyniwon gave him an embarrassed smile and hurried off to resume activities with Allyance, leaving Wiltred to himself. As he was standing there, an elf came out of the queen's house and took his elbow. He was elderly, with long silver hair, and he looked at Wiltred anxiously. "Sir, the queen instructed me to show you the workshop. Will you come with me?"

"Indeed I will," said Wiltred, for he was eager to get started.

They walked along the row of houses, and on the way Wiltred eyed his guide. "What should I call you?"

"Oakwander, sir."

"And what is your position?"

"Perilous," said Oakwander drily.

"Why?"

"If you fail in your task, the queen will punish me."

They left the houses and crossed a clearing, heading for a larger building with a big pair of double doors at the front. It had been built near a stand of trees, and as they approached, Wiltred realised it was bigger than he thought. He pushed the doors open and felt a sudden thrill. The hall was well-lit, albeit damp, and it was crammed with lengths of timber, coils of rope, hand tools and workbenches.

"Is it suitable?" asked the elf.

Wiltred smiled at him, for Oakwander seemed eager to please. "It's perfect."

"I am glad to hear it, for the queen is most impatient. Indeed, if you do not finish in time, I am to join you on the funeral pyre."

"What pyre is that?"

"Yours," said Oakwander, and a shadow seemed to cross the hall.

"Well, er, we'd better get started then." Wiltred took out a parchment and wrote a list, crossing some items out, adding others, until the page was almost full. "If you can find these materials, the construction will proceed so quickly the queen will be amazed."

Oakwander glanced at the list. As he studied it, Wiltred realised the elf was itching to speak.

"Say what you will," murmured Wiltred. "We are far from the other houses, and even your fellow elves cannot hear your words out here."

"Sir, I am greatly troubled. These war machines the queen wishes you to build… they will be used to rain destruction down on innocents."

"Probably," said Wiltred. "Such is the way in war."

Oakwander gave him a sidelong glance. "A noble man would seek death rather than be responsible for such a thing."

"Are you telling me to refuse the queen? Because you'll soon learn that I'm not very noble."

"Flee, then. Escape with your life, but do not build these machines. I foresee bloodshed, and death, and—"

"Well, they are weapons," said Wiltred mildly. "That's sort of the point." He noticed Oakwander's look of despair, and patted the elf on the shoulder. "Trust me, it'll work out. The queen will get her weapons, all big and dangerous-looking, and you and I will avoid the funeral pyre."

Oakwander could barely conceal his distaste. "Very well," he said coldly, and then he left.

Afterwards, Wiltred took a tour of his new workshop, checking the timber and the hand tools. Then, before long, he was squatting on the wooden floor, drawing diagrams on the smooth planks with a piece of chalky stone.

— ♦ —

"Got another one, sir!" shouted a Stalyan sailor. Helped by two others, he hauled a drenched figure over the rail, stepping back as puddles of seawater spread across the Intrepid's deck.

"Stick 'im with the rest."

"Should we dry him out first?"

"Nah, don't bother. Tinch'll probably hang the lot anyway."

The sailor shepherded the soaking wet figure to the middle of the deck, where two dozen bedraggled-looking Methusians were sitting around in pairs, all of them tied together. Moments later, the figure was trussed up with them.

"Are you okay?" asked one of the Methusians.

The man nodded.

"What's your name?"

"Spacejock. Hal Spacejock."

"Well that's a weird one, and no joke."

The rest of the captives introduced themselves, but after the first three names Hal lost track. They were all wet and bedraggled, and it was hard enough telling male from female, let alone distinguishing individual faces.

"We must plot our escape," muttered a figure sitting nearby. From the voice Hal determined she was a woman, and she had an angry, determined look about her. "We must fight back and take the ship, or die in the attempt. Better to fall as heroes than swing as cowards."

"We've been over this," said one of the men patiently. "We're prisoners of war. They won't mistreat us."

"They'll hang us and cut our bellies open. You want your guts fed to the fish?"

The man nodded towards the shore. "You see that army over there? They're the enemy, believe me. That lot would have slaughtered us soon as look at us twice, all my back pay on it."

"You already owe me your back pay, and don't you forget it."

"You cheated at cards."

"And you're a fool who doesn't know when to quit," snapped the woman.

"If I can just interject," said a calmer voice. "We ought to have a vote on this. Everyone who thinks we should leap up and fight two hundred armed sailors, raise your hand now."

The woman struggled with her bonds, then cursed.

"Right, so that's a no then," said the calm voice. "Now please can we sit quietly and wait this out?"

"Don't blame me if they hang you first," growled the woman.

The prisoners lapsed into shivering silence.

"Which ship was yours?" someone asked Hal.

"I don't know," said Hal truthfully. "We had a sea battle, and it blew up, and I spent a whole day swimming towards the coast."

Someone whistled.

"So you're not one of us, then?" demanded the woman. "Should have known from the accent. A Stalyan spy, that's what he is. Don't say anything important!"

"Like you have to worry about that," said the man who'd lost at cards.

"If he was a spy, he wouldn't have told us his story," said the calmer voice.

"Story. That's right," snapped the woman. "A story!"

Hal was getting tired of the firebrand, plus he was cold and he wasn't feeling particularly charitable. "Believe whatever you like. I don't care. I haven't eaten for a day and a half, I'm freezing cold and I don't remember who I am or what I'm doing on this miserable planet."

"This what?" demanded the woman. "Did you say… planet?"

"Yes, I did," said Hal, with a frown. Where had that come from? His brain was filled with fog, but it had parted to reveal that one tiny piece of information. He tried to get through the fog again, to reveal more of his past, but it rebuffed his efforts and closed up completely. "I don't know why I said it, though."

"Great. He's not a spy, he's a madman."

At that moment a couple of sailors came towards them, carrying a large cauldron and a ladle. "Is anyone thirsty? There's fresh water for all."

"Don't, it'll be poisoned," said the woman.

"Over here," said Hal, and he drank deeply from the ladle.

"That's it. The madman's dead."

Hal looked the woman in the eye. "I'd rather be dead than sitting here listening to your drivel," he said, and then he turned his back on her.

Everyone else took a drink, and one of the sailors paused to reassure them. "Our master is talking with your captain. I'm sure they'll figure something out, and then we'll bring you something to eat."

Hal nodded his thanks.

"Bet the food's cold by the time it gets here," muttered the woman, and several people told her to shut up.

Chapter 12

Sur Loyne called a halt as soon as he and Sur Pryze crossed the border into Mollister territory. The last time they'd crossed the border, in the opposite direction, the knights had been forced to disguise all their metal objects under a layer of mud. Now, Sur Loyne wasn't going to ride another yard without getting rid of it again.

So, he led his horse to a stream and used a handful of wet leaves to clean the dried mud from his sword and scabbard. While he was busy, the horse drank its fill, and Sur Loyne was almost finished when he noticed Sur Pryze hadn't even dismounted. "Aren't you going to clean your gear?"

Sur Pryze shook his head. "Ten to one we'll be heading back into Bark lands before the day is out, and then we'll have to cover it all up again."

"No chance," muttered Sur Loyne. "The only way I'm returning to the wooden kingdom is at the head of a mighty army, and if that's the case I won't have to worry about carrying a few bits of metal, will I?" He finished cleaning the horse's tack, then mounted up and headed back to the road. "Who do you think they'll send with the queen's army?"

Sur Pryze thought on this, then shook his head. "It's been so long since the last war I can't really say. None of our knights are versed in sieges, or tactics."

"Or fighting," muttered Sur Loyne.

An hour later, after riding past several roadside stalls doing a brisk trade in overpriced cloaks, they saw a rising column of dust further down the road. "Here they come," said Sur Loyne. "Leave all the talking to me, will you? I am the queen's champion, and none would question my word."

"If you say so."

Sur Loyne guided his horse under a large tree, where he dismounted and sat on a boulder.

"Are we just going to wait for them?" asked Sur Pryze.

"Of course. Let them come to us."

"But that means they'll have to march even further to get home again."

"Not my problem," said Sur Loyne, and he took out his sword to give it another lick of polish.

About thirty minutes later two knights rode into view, with a couple of hundred tired, hungry-looking troops behind them. Sur Loyne rose from his boulder, stretched, and then cursed. "It's Sur Wendah, and he's got Sur Rysis with him! Is the queen completely mad?"

"Why? Apparently it's only a rash."

"Not Sur Rysis… the other one!" Sur Loyne pointed at Sur Wendah. "That buffoon has never won a battle in his life."

"Good. We don't want him to win a battle, we want him to turn round and go home again."

"Oh yes, that's right." For a moment, Sur Loyne had forgotten they weren't actually attacking Branche. "Well, we won't have any trouble telling these two what to do. They have all the backbone of a diced jellyfish."

As the knights got closer, leading their army, Sur Loyne moved to the middle of the road and raised his hand. "Halt, in the name of the queen."

"Sur Loyne?" said Sur Wendah, with a frown.

"Sur Pryze!" said Sur Rysis.

"Sur Wendah," said Sur Loyne.

"Sur Rysis and Sur Wendah," said Sur Pryze, with a nod to each of them.

"Sur Loyne, well met," said Sur Rysis.

With the all-important greetings out of the way, Sur Loyne got down to business. He'd planned a lengthy speech, intending to cut an impressive figure as he strutted before the men and women of the queen's army, thanking them for their duty before letting them know, regretfully, that it was no longer required. However, he was a bit fed up with all the waiting, and he could tell the army was getting impatient. So, he faced their general direction and raised his voice so they could all hear him. "Sorry, the war's off."

"What?" said Sur Wendah.

"The war with the Barks is over. High-level treaties, you know the deal. Sorry for your wasted effort, but you can leave now." To ensure their cooperation, he raised both hands and pointed back down the way they'd come.

Sur Wendah and Sur Rysis exchanged a look of relief, and Sur Loyne assumed the cowardly knights were just glad to be avoiding battle. The soldiers, however, were much less accepting of the situation.

"Now just a minute," said a tall, well-built man. He pushed past the mounted knights and strode towards Sur Loyne. "Who says the war's over? We just marched all the way from the palace, and we ain't going home without no fuddin' spoils o' war!"

"Sergeant Willis, please rejoin the column!" called Sur Wendah.

"I ain't turning for home, and nor are my men and women. We were promised gold, and loot, and by Zephyr's hairy bells, we're getting it."

Sur Loyne scratched his chin, debating whether to cut the man down where he stood. Then he had a better idea, for the sergeant looked like a tough opponent. "Look, there are many traders on the highway ahead. Why don't you raid them and take all their cash?"

"How much cash?" demanded the soldier.

"Hey, you can't do that!" protested Sur Wendah. "Those cloak sellers are on Mollister lands!"

Sur Loyne walked to the side of the road and scratched a line in the dirt with his heel. "By order of the queen, this line represents the temporary border between Mollister and Bark lands. Now have at it," he told the sergeant. "Go and raid the cloak sellers, but don't tarry because I'll be erasing this mark in half an hour."

"Cloak sellers?" snapped the sergeant. "Do you take us for fools, to be satisfied with pennies and shillings and peasant clothing?"

"Some of their gear was really well made," said Sur Loyne mildly. "The stitching those little kids do… it's really professional."

The sergeant spat in the road. "That's what I think of your offer. It's the Bark capital of Branche we want!"

"Yes, but you can't have it."

"Says who?"

Sur Loyne eyed the belligerent sergeant, and he realised armed troops were beginning to fan out behind Sur Wendah. He could see things turning nasty, and so he took an executive decision. "Very well, let's sack Branche."

"Eh?" said Sur Wendah.

"We're doing what now?" said Sur Pryze, never more aptly named.

"Good choice," said the sergeant, and he gave his troops a double thumbs-up. There was a rousing cheer, and the army formed up in a double column once more.

As Sur Loyne mounted his horse, Sur Pryze rode up to him. "You know there's going to be trouble over this, right?" he said, his voice low. "That woman with the knife…Tiera. She's going to have your bells."

Sur Loyne looked worried for a moment, then shrugged it off. "We did our best to stop them."

Then Sur Wendah joined their hurried, hushed conversation. "We're not supposed to be going to Branche at all!" he hissed. "We're supposed to be taking some sailing vessel in a cove south of Chatter's Reach!"

"Really?" Sur Loyne gaped at him. "So how did you end up here?"

"We went the wrong way, and by the time I found out, it was too late. I'd already promised the troops gold and plunder, and…" Sur Wendah gestured hopelessly at the marching army. "Well, there are rather a lot of them, and that sergeant is an angry fellow."

Sur Loyne hesitated. Now there were four Mollister knights who wanted to prevent an attack on Branche. On the other hand, there were two hundred soldiers who were very keen indeed. "Don't worry," said Sur Loyne, patting Sur Wendah on the shoulder. "I'll explain to the queen, and I'm sure it'll be fine."

Sur Wendah gave him a grateful look, then rode off to lead his army.

"Will it be all right?" Sur Pryze asked Sur Loyne.

"No, of course not. The queen will hang him for sure, but at least we're in the clear. I mean, we didn't know what his real orders were, did we?"

"He just told us."

"Then it will be a shame when he falls in battle."

"How do you know that's going to happen?"

Sur Loyne patted the pommel of his sword. "I just have a feeling."

He wheeled his horse around to follow the rest of the army.

"Are we not riding back to the palace?" demanded Sur Pryze.

"No, of course not. Gold and plunder, man. Gold and plunder!" And with that, Sur Loyne spurred his horse onward, until he was riding at the head of the column beside Sur Wendah and Sur Rysis, singing war songs as loudly as the enthusiastic troops.

— ♦ —

As the party fled the oncoming dragons, the pink dragonlings scampered beside them, enjoying this new game immensely. They gambolled along with their exciting new friends, mewling with joy and uttering breathless little barks of delight.

Clunk knew he could save himself by outrunning everyone, leaving them gasping in his wake. However, his duty was to protect humans from harm, although he was less clear on the elf, the dwarf and the gorblin. Did his Three Laws encompass such beings? He could put it to the test by attempting to punch one of them in the face, but instead he decided to update his laws to include all intelligent beings.

"Why did Clunk just stop?" shouted Millie, as the entire party ran ahead.

Father M couldn't care less. He just hoped the dragons broke all their teeth chewing on the robot.

Clunk, meanwhile, was looking down at the ground. He was surrounded by ants, and his freshly-updated laws meant he couldn't tread on any of them, for they were clearly intelligent in their own way. "I meant sentient beings," he murmured, and the distinction was apparently enough, because he was able to run once more.

They reached the big circular lake and the protection of the cave just in time, with the huge dragons bearing down on them from above. Clunk was certain the dragons would have attacked already, were it not for the defenceless dragonlings running alongside the party.

"Quick, the door!" shouted Father M, as everyone poured into the big stone cavern.

"There is no door," said the robot. "It's a cave."

"No, the secret door!" Father M ran to the back wall and started pushing on a huge, door-shaped boulder. "Come! Everyone join me! By working together we will move it."

"Nah, you won't," said Splodge.

"Yes we will!" snapped Father M.

"Oh no you won't," said everyone else.

"Why the hell not?" demanded Father M, now thoroughly annoyed.

"Because that ain't the secret door," said Splodge. "It's over here, mate." So saying, he touched a special place on a different door-shaped boulder, and it promptly slid open. Everyone ran inside, and as the dragonlings followed, they charged blindly towards a big hole in the floor… and promptly vanished.

"Do you think they can fly?" asked Father M, peering down the hole.

After a lengthy delay there was a distant THUD-THUD-THUD.

"I guess not," he remarked, still peering over the edge. "Do you think they survived?"

"I don't know," said Slim tartly. "Why don't you chuck a huge burning log down after them and find out?"

"Hurm rescue!" shouted the big barbarian, and he charged off down the tunnel, on his way to the eighth level and the bottom of the not-quite-bottomless hole, where he hoped to rejoin his precious dragonlings.

"We must close the secret door!" said Millie urgently. "The dragons are circling, and—"

"I don't think they're circling," said Father M, who was still looking down the hole. "In fact, I don't think they're moving very much at all." Then he brightened. They only needed one live dragonling to claim their reward, and two of them might have broken the fall for the third.

"I don't mean the fudding dragonlings," shouted Millie. "Their parents are just outside! One puff of fire and we're all dead!"

Everyone turned to Splodge.

"We must close the secret door!" said Stonesmasher.

"Quickly!" urged Slimbough. "Touch your special gorblin place!"

"Touch your own damned…" Splodge's curt reply tailed off as he realised what the elf meant. "The hidden button only works to open it. To close it, we gotta push together."

Everyone crowded around the door, but before they could shift the huge boulder, a shadow fell across the cave entrance.

"Too late!" groaned Father M. "We're doomed!"

— ♦ —

But it wasn't the dragons at the mouth of the cave.

Instead, two men dressed in city guard armour darted in, running through the entrance as though their lives depended on it. Which, given the big fire-breathing dragons circling the skies above, was pretty much the case. Then a third man entered the cave, a man with blond curls, shiny armour and very nice boots.

"Quick, in here!" shouted Millie.

The guards didn't hesitate… they took one look at the secret passage and dived in. The knight in shiny armour had other ideas, though, and he paused in the centre of the cave, adopting a heroic stance.

"He's going to fight them?" said Slimbough, in disbelief.

"No, it's much worse than that," groaned one of the newcomers.

With his audience on tenterhooks, the heroic knight began.

'Ware the tunnels where the gorblins live,

For their favourite weapon is the poisoned shiv.

They'll stab you in the back, before you realise it

Then marinade your corpse in a big vat of spit.

Oh! 'Ware the tunnels where the gorblins live,

for they'll—

The rest was cut off as the party put their shoulders to the big rock, sealing the entrance. More importantly, they didn't have to endure the rest of the song. Moments later. there was a thunderous roar as the outer cave was blasted with flaming dragon breath, and everyone backed away hurriedly as the big rock slash secret door glowed with heat.

"I fear your comrade has fallen," said Father M, in the sudden silence.

"Yep. Shame about that," said one of the guards.

Father M clasped his shoulder, offering his heartfelt support at their devastating loss. "We must compose a heroic verse in his honour."

"Please don't," said the second guard.

"I'm Pentonville, by the way," said the first guard. "This is Islington."

Clunk's chest lamp winked on, and his metal skin shone in the dim illumination. "We meet again," he said.

"The mechanical man!" breathed Islington.

"By Zephyr's great toe," cried Pentonville. "It's a miracle. He's alive!"

"You know these people?" demanded Father M.

"Indeed. They rescued me from the beach near Chatter's Reach. They are good men, and we are lucky to have them with us."

There was a round of hand-shaking, and if the two newcomers were surprised to see an elf, a gorblin and a dwarf amongst the party's members, they were too polite to remark on it.

"Was it you lot who stirred up the dragons?" Pentonville asked them all.

"If you mean, did we run off with their young, working the parents into a killing frenzy… yes, that was us," said Father M.

"You know they'll burn the kingdom to ashes?"

"It wasn't deliberate. Anyway, if they do a good job of it, there won't be anyone left to blame us." Father M indicated the hole. "Don't step back, by the way, or you'll meet the dragons' offspring sooner than you expected."

By now, Slimbough had had enough of dark tunnels and big holes in the floor. "Okay, so we survived the dragons."

"Most of us," said Father M, nodding towards the glowing rock.

"Yes, yes, most of us," said the elf, dismissing the unfortunate, pan-fried knight with a wave of his hand. "But how do we leave this place?"

Wordlessly, Splodge nodded towards the glowing rock.

"You have no back entrance?"

"I ain't that different to humans," said the Gorblin, with a frown.

"I mean… isn't there another way out?"

"Another way out, other than the secret entrance?"

"Yes."

"No," said Splodge. "Sorry."

Slimbough cursed. "Then there is nothing else for it. We must wait until the dragons leave."

Splodge snorted.

"What is it?" demanded Pentonville.

"You humans don't get the time scale, do you? One of those dragons just spent thirty or forty years pretending to be a hill. She was there so long, she was growing bushes on her hide." He jerked his thumb at the ceiling. "They could spend ten years perched up there, waiting for us, and to them it's a short rest."

"Then we're trapped in this foul dungeon for the rest of our lives!" groaned Father M.

"Welcome to my world," muttered Splodge.

Chapter 13

Tinch, the sailing master, felt uncomfortable as he entered the captain's cabin. Normally there'd be senior officers present, but after the intense and bloody sea battle of the previous day, the ship only had one officer left… and he'd gone ashore hours ago, perhaps never to return.

Tinch felt even more like an imposter as he pulled out the captain's chair and sat at the desk. It hadn't survived the battle completely unscathed, for a musket ball had left a deep furrow across the polished surface, and flying splinters had damaged the right-hand drawers. Tinch ran his rough fingers along the groove, and promised himself he'd have the desk fixed as soon as the Intrepid herself was fully repaired.

Then he forgot about desks and missing officers, because the bosun knocked on the door and escorted the enemy captain into the cabin.

"I do not talk with underlings," began the Methusian, when he realised Tinch was not in uniform.

"It's up to you," said Tinch. "Talk to me, or go over the side."

The Methusian frowned. "I am a Captain, and according to the treaty between our nations I must be interrogated by an officer of equal rank."

"Our captain was killed in battle, along with most of the officers. The two surviving midshipmen went ashore, leaving me in command, but if you'd care to sit and wait I'm sure they'll come back eventually."

"You are acting commander?"

"Aye."

"It is most irregular, but it will suffice." The Methusian bowed. "Captain Borosin, fleet commander."

"Tinch. Sailing master."

"What are your people doing in this place?" asked the Methusian.

"I'm sorry, you do realise you're the prisoner?" said Tinch, eyebrows raised.

"Of course, of course. And I wish to thank you for saving my crew from those… savages."

Tinch glanced to his right, through the cabin windows. There was a large hole where several panes had been blown out by a cannonball, and he could see the assembled army of dwarves clearly. They appeared to have settled down to wait, and he could see several large fires with spits and roasting goats. "They seem to be dwarves," he said.

"And they eat my goats," muttered Borosin. "Gold, I paid for those. Savages!"

"Well, we're safe enough here, unless they build rafts."

"Safe?" said Borosin, with a snort. "Safe? I lost one of my finest ships to a giant sea monster, and another to a fire breathing dragon. We are safe nowhere!"

"Sea monsters?" said Tinch. "Dragons?" He couldn't smell rum on the captain's breath, but even so he wondered if the man was blind drunk.

"If you think these hairy warriors are your biggest problem, sail with me to the next bay and inspect the wreckage of my fleet. And, if you don't believe me, ask my crew. They all saw the attacks with their own eyes." Borosin approached the desk. "You and I must negotiate a truce, Mr Tinch. With your ship and my experience, we can sail from this place and save all of our lives."

"We're not going anywhere until my commander returns. Him and the midshipman."

Borosin cursed under his breath. "Do you not understand? Remain here, and they will return to find our half-eaten bodies and a bay full of scorched timbers." He gestured towards the beach. "And do you forget that army, waiting over there? Your people will never get past!"

"We could sail to the next bay and put a rescue party ashore," said Tinch doggedly. "They could make their way inland before those dwarves knew what was happening."

"And then, when they return, this landing party of yours would fight the dwarven army single-handed?" Borosin shook his head. "With tactics such as these, it is no wonder you lost all your officers."

"At least I didn't lose my entire fleet," Tinch retorted. "Tell me, do the Methusians still hang incompetent captains as traitors?"

Borosin looked thoughtful as the barb went home, and Tinch realised the captain hadn't thought that far ahead. "Never mind," said Tinch. "You'll be safe enough in a Stalyan prison cell."

"Sure, until you hang us."

"We don't execute prisoners."

"You do not?" said Borosin in surprise.

"We don't execute anyone." Tinch eyed the enemy captain. "When we return to Stalya I'll put in a word for you. You'll be treated well."

"My thanks, but I will not be truly grateful until we leave this place." Borosin hesitated. "Your commander… Berry?"

Tinch nodded.

"Where did he go?"

"He took a rowing boat upriver. We've heard nothing since."

"I have a suggestion." Borosin stood tall. "I will take a dozen of my people, and we will find your commander and bring him back."

Tinch stared at him. "Why would you do such a thing?"

"You cannot go yourself, as you are needed here to finish repairs to your ship."

"Yes, but—"

"Also, if I do this thing, I shall want a favour in return."

"Aha."

"If we succeed, you will take me and my people to the coast of Methusia, and release us there."

Tinch considered it, then realised he had nothing to lose. If Borosin and his people went ashore and never returned, Tinch would be no worse off, and if they actually managed to bring Berry back… well, then they could all leave. "I agree. You have my word on it."

"You are certain this Captain Berry will listen to you?"

"I will write you a note."

"And I give you my word also, that my people and I will not try to escape."

They shook on it, and then Tinch called in the sentries who'd been waiting just outside his cabin. "Show Captain Borosin to the first lieutenant's quarters, and return his sword to him. From this moment on, he is to be regarded as one of us."

The sentries looked surprised, but were disciplined enough to obey without question. After the sentries left, Tinch turned to the Methusian. "Once you have your sword, I want you to speak with your people. Choose those who will accompany you, and then we'll set you ashore in the next bay. In the meantime, my people will attract the attention of these dwarves so they don't notice the ruse."

"This is acceptable." Borosin clicked his heels and bowed. "I thank you, and I will reward your trust in me."

— ♦ —

Hal looked up as a couple of officers approached. One was the Methusian captain, resplendent in his red uniform, while the other was an older man in far more modest clothing. There were half a dozen armed sailors with them, and Hal wondered if this was the start of the hangings. What a way to go, he thought.

He realised his only hope was to convince these Stalyans that he wasn't one of the enemy, but he didn't like his chances.

"Men and women of Methusia, listen to me," said the uniformed officer. "I have negotiated with the Stalyans, and they have agreed to release you."

There was a murmur of surprise, and Hal felt his hopes rising. However, they didn't rise too far because something in the captain's manner told him there was going to be a catch.

"But first—"

Saw that coming, thought Hal.

"I need a dozen volunteers for a critical mission."

Everyone waited to hear what exactly they were volunteering for.

"In order to secure our freedom, we will be going inland to rescue two of the Intrepid's officers."

Everyone turned to look over the ship's bow, and they eyed the two hundred or so fierce-looking dwarven warriors crowding the beach.

"You want us to fight our way through that lot to rescue Stalyan officers?" said the woman sitting near Hal, her voice rising as she realised the full implications of the offer.

"No, we're going to disembark in the next cove. From there we will follow the river, looking for the rowing boat the officers used. We will pretend to be travelling merchants, and we will wear boat cloaks to cover our weapons. Once we locate the officers, we will free them and return to the ship."

"What if they're being held by another army? What if they're already dead?"

"Then we return empty-handed."

"Those who remain here… will we be executed if you don't return?"

"The Stalyans will not execute anyone."

"So where's the incentive?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why should I stick my neck out? Why not stay here and wait for your volunteers to come back?"

A few of the captives exchanged glances, and Hal saw several nodding in agreement.

"If you don't volunteer," said the Methusian captain, "I will execute you personally."

The woman shrugged. "I'm in."

"Me too," said someone else.

Eventually, everyone decided to volunteer… except Hal. The captain noticed this, and came across and stood over him. "You do not believe me?"

"I do, but I'm not a Methusian," said Hal evenly.

"You are Stalyan?" said Borosin in surprise.

"I'm neither. I'm—"

Before Hal could finish the sentence he was hauled to his feet, and quickly surrounded. "A spy! A spy in our midst!" shouted Captain Borosin, and he drew his sword with a rasping sound.

Hal's eyes widened, and they widened even more as he was forced to his knees on the smooth deck. Someone put their foot in the middle of his back, and before he knew what was happening he was bent over, his face parallel with the planking. He saw a shadow as the Methusian captain raised his sword for the killing blow, and he was so shocked by the sudden turn of events he couldn't even draw breath to protest his innocence.

— ♦ —

Hal managed a deep breath, potentially his last, and then he heard a shouted order. Footsteps approached, and he was grabbed by the upper arms and hauled to his feet, where he saw the Methusian captain being restrained by a couple of Stalyan sailors.

"He's a spy!" thundered the captain. "He must be put to death this instant!"

"Not aboard my ship," said the older man, Tinch. "Stay your hand, or our agreement is finished."

Slowly, the Methusian calmed down, his beet-red face returning to a more normal puce colour. He was still glaring at Hal, but it was cold anger now, not violent rage. "He's one of them!" he shouted, indicating the beach.

"You think I'm a dwarf?" said Hal, now getting pretty angry himself. "You think I had a quick shave, gained twelve inches, ditched my armour and swam out to the ship just so you could tie me up? What kind of fool are you?"

The captain struggled and tried to get at him, but the sailors restraining him were too strong. "Not a dwarf," he muttered. "If you are not Stalyan and you are not Methusian, then you are a native of this land. It was your forces that destroyed my fleet."

"Sure. I just clicked my fingers and my tame sea serpent ate your wooden boat."

"Wooden boat? You refer to my flagship, the biggest and most powerful ship in the Methusian Navy, as a wooden boat?"

Hal shrugged. "Well, it's more like wooden toothpicks now, isn't it? And the other one, the one the dragon burnt to a crisp. I suppose that was my fault too? And I controlled the rocks at the far end of the bay, making them leap out and smash the third ship into firewood."

"You are a native of this ungodly place," thundered Borosin. "Who knows what mystical powers you have at your disposal?"

"I don't have any powers, but I've got a brain… which is more than I can say for you." Hal knew he was pushing his luck, but he didn't care. He'd been blown up, dumped in the sea, tied up and threatened with execution, and he wasn't putting up with any more.

Then the older officer intervened. "Captain Borosin, if this man is truly a local, then he might have important information."

"I will torture him!" cried Borosin. "Tinch, fetch me a heated brazier, and a poker, and I will get everything out of the prisoner."

"You forget yourself," said Tinch, with a frown. "You're a guest aboard this vessel. You do not give orders here."

"But—"

"Calm down and let the man speak for himself. Let us see what he has to say before we adopt sterner measures." Then he turned to Hal. "Your name, sir?"

"Hal Spacejock."

"From where do you hail?"

"How should I know? I was floating around in the sea a couple of days ago, with no idea how I got there, until a passing ship picked me up. Soon afterwards, you guys blew it out of the water."

Tinch stared at him. "You were aboard the Methusian vessel which attacked us?"

"I thought you attacked them first, but whatever."

"And you survived? We thought all hands were lost!"

Borosin was looking from one to the other, and he could restrain himself no longer. "Tinch, are you saying you sank a Methusian warship?"

"We are at war, Borosin. Would you have us surrender without a fight?"

"Hey, eyes on me," said Hal. "I'm telling the story, here. You guys can have a go later."

The officers stared each other down, but their curiosity eventually got the better of them. "What is this land called?" Tinch asked him.

"I don't know!" snapped Hal. "I can't remember anything earlier than two days ago."

"So you could be a Methusian," said Tinch.

"Or a Stalyan," said Borosin.

"Yes, or a shaved dwarf with a particularly rapid growth spurt," muttered Hal. "It doesn't really matter, does it, because like I keep saying… I don't remember."

By now, some of the Stalyan sailors were beginning to mutter amongst themselves, and Tinch turned to glare at them. "What is it?"

"If he's a native, he's bad luck," said the boson. "He's got to leave, like the other one did."

"What other one?" said Hal quickly. "Have you met others like me?"

"Not exactly, no. There was a tiny man, maybe half your size, by the name of Runt. After we pulled him from the sea, everything started to go wrong for us "

The muttering grew louder, and Hal realised the danger. Never mind Captain Borosin and his impromptu execution, this lot were likely to string him up before the hour was done. "I'll go on the mission," he said quickly. "I'll help save your officers."

Everyone stared at him, and the muttering subsided.

"Think about it," said Hal, trying to convince them. "If my memory comes back, and I am a local, I'll be able to help. Even if it doesn't, I can probably use one of those sword things if I really have to. Hey, maybe I'm a first-class swordsman, or a champion or something."

"He does have a strong build," admitted Borosin.

"If you're happy to take him…" began Tinch.

"I am."

"Good, because he can't stay here," said Tinch. "If he remains, I won't be responsible for the actions of my crew."

"Very well. It is agreed." Borosin turned to Hal. "You come with the landing party, but I warn you, at the first sign of treachery, I will kill you myself."

Chapter 14

The guest quarters at the Mollister royal palace were opulent, with a pair of four-poster beds, a separate lounge and a walk-in cupboard with half a dozen snowy white robes. The robes didn't even have labels on, forbidding guests from taking one or two with them after their stay.

Berry opened the shutters, letting the afternoon sun stream in, and he froze as he saw two archers below raising their bows to cover him. He put his hands up as they drew their arrows back, and when they'd determined he wasn't trying to escape, they lowered their weapons again.

There was thick ivy growing up the wall, and if it hadn't been for the archers, Berry and the others would have shinned down to the ground and escaped in no time. As it was, there might as well have been thick bars for all the use the ivy was. "If only we could distract them," muttered Berry.

Meanwhile, Runt was trying to see his reflection in a polished metal mirror, which was part of an elaborate dressing table. He'd never seen a mirror as fine as this in his entire life, and he was curious about his appearance. Unfortunately, he could only see the top of his head, and every time he jumped for a better look, he came down on the floorboards with a solid thud. He couldn't even catch a glimpse of his own face, because every time he went up his hair flapped around, and every time he came down he was too busy nailing the landing to eye himself in the mirror.

"Would you like me to pick you up?" asked Dallow, the young midshipman.

"No," snapped Runt, who was getting frustrated. Then he relented. "Thanks for the offer, though."

"Maybe I can tilt the mirror down a bit."

Berry was watching them, and at Dallow's words he let out a cry of delight. "That's it! You've got it!" Hurrying over, he took hold of the mirror and yanked it this way and that, trying to wrench it clear off the dressing table.

"All right, all right," protested Runt. "I wasn't that bothered about seeing my reflection."

Berry ignored him, and with a splintering of fine carved timber, he managed to free the mirror from its mountings. Then he angled it, experimenting until bright sunlight was reflected on the nearby wall. The reflected light was intense, far too bright to look at, and they all squinted in the intense glare.

Moving slowly, Berry approached the window. When he got there, the archers saw movement and looked up, and at that instant Berry directed a shaft of sunlight into their eyes, one after the other.

The archers cursed, turning away from the intense beam. They clawed at their faces, bent double, their bows forgotten.

"Let's go," muttered Berry, and the three of them were out the window and climbing down the ivy as fast as they could. They reached the ground as one, then ran over to the archers, who were still blinking owlishly and trying to see their hands in front of their faces. Dallow and Berry put a choke hold on each of them, and a few seconds later the two archers slumped in their arms, unconscious.

They dragged the archers into the nearby bushes, then sat on their unconscious forms to plan their escape.

"How are we going to get away?" asked Runt.

Berry frowned at him. "We're getting away. You can do whatever you want."

"Eh?"

"You betrayed us to Varnish."

"It was all a ruse! I was trying to stop him executing us!"

"How is spilling all our secrets to the enemy a ruse?" demanded Berry.

"Oh go on, take me with you," pleaded Runt. "I can be useful, you know I can."

Berry said nothing, and surveyed the scene. They were at the side of the palace, and he could see into a nearby courtyard, where the carriage which had brought them from Chatter's Reach was parked. The horses waited patiently, and a young man stood between them, holding the bridles.

Berry turned to Dallow. "That carriage. Do you know how to drive it?"

Dallow shook his head.

"I do!" said Runt quickly.

They both looked at him. "You can drive a carriage?" said Berry slowly, his voice laden with suspicion.

"I can! I swear! Take me with you and I'll prove it!"

Berry glanced down at the unconscious archers, and then up at the window to the guest quarters. Their escape would be noticed before long, and they had to get out of there immediately or risk being recaptured. He decided to resolve the question of Runt's loyalties later, once they were truly free. "Very well. Follow us, and don't make a noise."

They all stood up, and Berry and Dallow crept out of the bushes, bent double. Pausing only to search the unconscious archers, Runt darted after them.

Together, the three of them hurried across the open ground to the courtyard. There was no cover and they expected a shout of discovery at any moment, but nobody saw them. Once at the carriage, they stood with their backs to the black lacquered bodywork, which was hot in the afternoon sun. Slowly, Berry leaned out to look around the nearest wheel, and he saw the young stable hand attending the horses. Fortunately, the man had his back turned. Berry prepared himself, then nodded at Dallow, who hurried round the far side of the carriage.

As the young midshipman approached the stable lad, Berry raced along his own side of the carriage, towards the nearest horse. He paused until he heard Dallow speaking on the far side of both horses.

"Can you tell me where your master is?" asked the midshipman.

While the stable hand was distracted, Berry crept up behind him and put his arm around the man's neck. He tightened his grip until the lad went limp, then dragged him clear.

Meanwhile, Dallow had the carriage open, and he leapt in without bothering to lower the fancy steps. Berry ran back to Runt, and carried him wriggling and kicking to the front of the carriage, where he all but tossed him up to the drivers seat. Then Berry leapt inside and he banged on the roof. "Let's go!" he cried.

— ♦ —

Runt sat in the carriage's jockey seat, a long, long way above the ground. After getting his bearings, and looking around in vain for a seatbelt, he studied the broad backs of the two placid and very, very large horses. How in Zephyr's name would he command such beasts? He might as well order an angry dragon about!

It was then that he realised he'd taken on a somewhat tricky role in their grand escape.

Of course, when he told Berry he knew how to drive one of these things, he'd been lying through his teeth. But how hard could it be? You made the horses move, and the carriage followed. Simple! So, he looked around for the means to make them go.

Runt spotted a handful of leather traces looped around a short, rounded post. They looked promising, so he gathered them up until they were stretched in a line from his small fists to the horses' mouths. Then he gave them a very gentle tug.

Nothing happened.

Before he tried again, Runt had a quick glance to his left and right. The carriage was parked in a courtyard, facing a pair of doors, and the only exit was behind him. To get out, the carriage had to be turned, and there was hardly any room.

Berry thumped on the roof, just below his seat, and Runt heard a muffled "Move! Now!"

"That's all right for you to say," muttered the halfling. Still, it wasn't like there was a lot to the controls, and so he pulled gently on the right-hand traces. Immediately, the right-hand horse reversed up, while the left-hand horse stood still. This drove the carriage backwards, turning to Runt's right, and there was a hair-rending scrape of metal on stone… followed by a solid thump as they reversed into the courtyard's wall.

Now the carriage was stuck across the courtyard, diagonally, and Runt happened to look up at the windows overlooking the area. He sincerely hoped nobody was watching… not because of the arrows they might rain down on him, he was just embarrassed that he'd run into the wall on his very first attempt.

By now he could picture Berry and Dallow getting rather heated inside the carriage. Soon there would be sharp words, perhaps a major row, and that was guaranteed to land them all in the cells again.

Runt had seen people riding horses before, and he decided to shake the traces to see if that made anything happen. It did… the horses advanced, the carriage was pulled to the opposite corner of the courtyard, and the wheels threw up more sparks as they were dragged over the rough stone. For some reason they weren't turning, but Runt had bigger things to worry about than stuck wheels, for the horses had come to a halt with their noses pressed to the very corner of the courtyard, as far from the exit as it was possible to be.

Runt pulled the left-hand trace, and the carriage went backwards, turning sharply and scraping the lacquered finish all the way down the stone wall. Then he went forward again, got stuck in the other corner, reversed into another wall so hard he heard something fall off the back of the carriage, and then he finally got the horses heading towards the exit.

There was a creak, and he looked round to see Berry clinging to the side of the carriage, glaring at him. "You're a horrible little liar!" hissed the midshipman.

"The controls aren't where they're supposed to be!" growled Runt, playing for time. "It's not my fault they designed it all wrong!"

Berry vanished just as they passed under the stone archway and left the castle courtyard, all four wheels of the carriage jammed solid, sparks flying as their metal hoops were dragged along the cobblestones. They passed several workers bringing goods from the fields, and these worthies stopped to stare as the royal carriage went past like a large, rickety firework, wheels scraping and grinding, with the horses straining at the harness.

They made the road outside, and Runt gave the reins another shake. One of the horses gave him a look, as if to say 'you're joking!', and then Runt discovered a wooden handle at the side of his seat. When he pulled it, it released the handbrake, and with the wheels turning at last the carriage leapt forwards at great speed.

Too much speed, if Runt was completely honest with himself, but it was meant to be a daring escape, not a Sunday morning drive.

The palace shrank into the distance behind them, then vanished completely as the carriage plunged into the heavily-wooded forest. Now feeling more confident, Runt shook the traces, urging the horses on, and they flew down the road to Chatter's Reach at breakneck speed.

— ♦ —

Lord Varnish was hunched over a wrought-iron stand, which supported a polished silver frame. The oval frame was about the size and shape of his head, and had been fixed at the base so that it stood upright. In one hand, Varnish held a book. In the other, a stiff wooden rod.

Lord Varnish's chambers at the royal palace were in darkness, the heavy black curtains drawn to keep out the late afternoon sun, the door closed and locked. Securely locked, because he wasn't just attempting magic, he was attempting dark magic of the most forbidden kind.

The only illumination was provided by a couple of blood-red candles, which burned with curious, multicoloured flames. They varied from yellows and reds, to deep blues and greens, which sounded really neat when Varnish bought the things, but in practice meant that half the time he couldn't see a thing.

"By the powers of the ancients," intoned Varnish, reading from the book. He squinted at the page as he tried to read the faded text, for the candles were now burning a deep shade of purple. "May this road open a window on the…" Cursing, he tried again. "May this rod open a window on the world, so that I might see."

He prodded the air with his wand, like a man testing a hole in the middle of a doughnut, and there was a crackle of electricity. Tendrils of dark energy arced between the pure silver frame and the wrought iron stand, and then, flickering and wavering, a pinkish shape appeared. It was suspended in mid-air, blurry and out of focus, but as Varnish gripped the short, stiff rod, murmuring incantations, it settled down to show a startlingly clear image of a naked woman who was about to step into a large copper bath. At that moment she turned her head, as though aware she was being watched, and Varnish almost let go of his stiff rod as he recognised Queen Therstie.

Slowly, he turned the pages of his book, seeking a section on recording and storing images, but such magic clearly belonged to a more advanced tome. It's possible he missed it, though, for the book might as well have been toilet paper for all the attention he was paying to the pages.

The queen, oblivious to his rapt gaze, got into the tub and lay back in the hot, soapy water.

"Obligatory bathing scene… check," murmured Varnish, thus completing a magic spell which was supposed to grant fame and riches to all who used it.

Finally, he turned his attention to the book, and after finding the page he wanted, he prepared to read the words of power. Then he paused, in case the queen happened to get out of the bath again.

She didn't.

Disappointed, Varnish waved his rod and muttered under his breath, and the image dissolved. There was a flash of grey stone, very close, and then a blur as though the device were a lens travelling at great speed. Beads of sweat rolled down Varnish's face, for the powerful magic was sapping his very life force, and every second he maintained the connection was an effort. That, and the sight of the naked, soapy queen had put a severe strain on his heart.

"South," murmured Varnish, for he wanted to see whether his army had surrounded the invading warship. When the image settled down, he saw an army all right, but it consisted of hundreds of dwarves. And there, peacefully at anchor in the middle of the bay, was the warship.

Desperately, Varnish searched the nearby countryside, but apart from a large silver blob on horseback, there was no sign of his army.

He was beginning to faint now, but with iron will he grabbed hold of his sagging consciousness and bent it to his needs. The image in the circle whirled around, following the road north, and seconds later a groan escaped Varnish's lips as he saw his proud army approaching the Bark capital, with four knights in the lead. He wanted to reach through the metal ring and slap sense into them, but he could only watch, never touch. He knew that for a fact… having tried his utmost while viewing the Queen.

Next, with darkness encroaching on his mind, and his vision blurring and splitting, he drove himself east, to the elven kingdom. Here he saw a field next to a large building, where a dozen elves were stripping tree trunks to build huge war machines.

"One last look," gasped Lord Varnish, and he headed back to the palace. On the way, he saw something that made him hesitate, then swear under his breath. Racing through the forest was the royal carriage, and since he knew for certain the queen was having a bath, he could only assume his prisoners were escaping.

"Guards!" he cried, or at least, he tried to. Alas, his voice was barely a whisper.

Then, completely drained, his eyes rolled backwards in their sockets, and Lord Varnish slumped to the floor.

Chapter 15

While King Kah was fingering Tiera for his predecessor's murder, an oblivious Tiera was sitting at the elves' kitchen table. Spadell and Thonn were there too, sitting opposite her, with Willowmere at the head of the table while Treeborne served lunch.

"This is a spicy little soup I made a couple of days ago," he said, ladling generous quantities into copper bowls. He'd warmed it on the fire, and the steam which met Tiera's nose was heavily scented and very appetising.

She tried a spoonful, then smiled with pleasure. "That's really good," she said.

"I've not tasted better," said Spadell appreciatively.

Treebough looked pleased, and added another ladle's worth to their bowls.

"Do you have any salt?" asked Thonn.

Once Treebough took his place, his wife smiled at them all before fixing a knowing look on Tiera. "So," she began, "how long have you been together?"

Tiera paused, the spoon halfway to her mouth. "I met Thonn in the cells at Chatter's Reach. Captain Spadell, here… well, he saved my life. Twice."

"How romantic!" said Willowmere, and she clapped her hands.

Tiera choked on her soup. "No, not… I mean, we don't…"

"It's not like that," said Spadell quickly.

"I see." Willowmere raised one eyebrow. "Well, once you're both honest with each other, I promise it will be like that."

Tiera and Spadell exchanged a glance, then returned to their soup.

"And you, young man," said Willowmere, turning to Thonn. "What is your tale?"

"I don't know that I should say, ma'am."

"Relax, lad. You're amongst friends here."

"Well, I came by a magic book, and I started learning spells. Back in my village this was, and… well, magic is banned in those parts."

"You have the power?"

"I've got the power."

"Oh, he's got the power," agreed Tiera.

"I used to," admitted Thonn, "but then I lost it."

"It's never lost, just dormant. Sometimes a particular material is all that's needed to wake it once more."

"I don't know that I want to wake it," said Thonn, with a frown. "When the magic was strong in my veins I—I had no control over my actions. Why, I brought a stone house down on my family, killing them all, and then I was sentenced to death!"

"That is strong power indeed," said Willowmere, giving him a thoughtful look. "Do you recall the catalyst? Some element, perhaps?"

"Perlstone, my lady. I found a fragment on the path one day, and that's when it all started. Later, when they took it away, my power faded."

"Perlstone is rare indeed! They say it is formed when a dragon breathes its hottest fire on a piece of pure quartz."

"That's not such a rare thing," said Treeborne.

Willowmere frowned. "They say it must be formed in the light of the full moon."

"Getting rarer," said her husband.

"Breathed on by a newborn dragon with the power of human speech."

"Okay," said Treeborne. "Now you're just messing with us."

Willowmere laughed. "Indeed, but perlstone is truly rare, of that you can be sure."

"Just as well," said Thonn, in a low voice. "If it were lying around everywhere, my power would consume this land."

"Oh, such power can be useful once you learn to control it." And with that, Willowmere gave him a knowing look.

By now, they'd finished the delicious soup, and it was time for goodbyes. Outside the modest house, Tiera, Spadell and Thonn lined up while Willowmere prepared to observe the ancient elven ritual of Hjouseklaar. In this fashion, elves got rid of those odd little trinkets people bought back from their travels, which were fudd-all use for anything else.

"For you, Lonta Spadell of Chatter's Reach, I have this bronze cup brimming with water from our stream. When you are thirsty you may drink of it, and when it is empty you may replenish it from other streams."

"I thank you for your thoughtful gift," said Spadell, and he bowed deeply. The bronze cup was engraved with a phrase in the elvish tongue, all the way around the base, and as he turned it, trying not to spill the water, Spadell wondered what kind of mystical incantation was written there. He'd picked up a little of the elf language over the years, and from what he could tell the phrase began with 'My friends went to'.

"Thonn of… an unnamed village in Mollister lands," intoned Willowmere. "For you I have this special gift, passed down to me from a great-aunt who liked to watch newborn dragons in the light of the full moon. She claimed they spoke to her in the human tongue, but then she always was a bit strange." Willowmere took out a skinny leather thong, which was threaded through a tiny bead of polished grey stone.

"Is that…" began Thonn.

"I know not whether this is the perlstone your power requires, but perhaps you can write and let me know."

Thonn bowed his head, and Willowmere tried to drape the necklace around his neck. Unfortunately his head was too big, and the necklace jammed around his scalp like a circlet, with the small bead of stone pressing into his forehead. She tried ramming it down harder, but it was stuck.

Unmoved by Thonn's wince of pain, Willowmere moved on to her final victim. "Tiera, of the Grey Mountain people, I have a special gift for you."

"I can't wait," muttered Tiera.

"I was saving this for my daughter, Allyance, but she's a modern girl who doesn't believe in marriage. So, you might as well put it to good use." With that, Willowmere dropped a wedding ring into Tiera's open palm. "Once you have children, be sure to send me etchings, for human younglings are just too cute for words."

Tiera stared at the ring in shock, then stuffed it quickly into a pocket.

"Now you must be on your way, for we must tend to our farm and cook new food to replace all that you have eaten."

"Sorry about that," said Thonn.

"No, no, it is fine. We will go without for a day or two, until the next batch of soup is ready."

"This time I'll be sure to add more salt," said Treeborne pointedly.

"Really, if you'd said something—"

"Go now," said Willowmere, and there was no doubting this was her final word on the matter.

The three companions set off across the fields, leaving the elven cottage behind them. Tiera turned at the forest to wave her goodbye, but the elves had vanished indoors, presumably to cook another batch of food.

The trio proceeded into the forest, where Spadell trod carefully lest he spill the precious water. After a while he realised it was a waste of time, and he drained the cup in a single swig. "Bit coppery," he remarked. Then he glanced at Tiera. "A wedding ring, eh?"

"I don't want to talk about it," said Tiera flatly.

As they walked on, Tiera couldn't help noticing Thonn was setting a cracking pace, the lithe farm boy striding along the tree-lined path as though he'd been snacking on handfuls of sugar. He seemed to be taller and stronger-looking than Tiera remembered, too, and now that he'd discarded his silly little cape she found his lean figure, and his muscled legs and torso, particularly appealing. The loincloth didn't leave much to the imagination, either.

They came to a stream, where Thonn paused so they might catch up. A lock of hair fell across his dark eyes, and Tiera felt warm to her core as he fastened her with a look. "Which way?" he said, in a deep, manly voice.

"Huh?" Tiera shook herself, and closed her mouth with a snap. Something was happening to the farm boy, some kind of transformation which was distracting her, to say the least.

"Keep going straight ahead," said Spadell, who clearly hadn't noticed anything amiss.

Thonn nodded, turned and walked across the stream. Then, as he climbed the far bank, he encountered a buzzing cloud of midges. He waved his hand impatiently, and Tiera stared in shock as the cloud of insects was swept away by a sudden breeze. When she reached the spot, the ground was speckled with their lifeless bodies.

"Oh brother," she muttered, and she wondered what kind of terrible trouble Willowmere's parting gift had just unleashed on the Old Kingdom.

Chapter 16

Hal, Captain Borosin and the band of Methusian volunteers all clambered down the netting to the Intrepid's cutter, and the longboat was pretty crowded once a dozen of the ship's crew took up oars. Fortunately the seas were light, and there was no chance of the boat capsizing.

Unless they encountered a sea serpent.

Hal was in the bow, clutching a sword in one hand and gripping the side of the boat with the other. The sword felt clumsy, and heavy, and unfamiliar, and he was pretty sure he'd never held one before in his life. He'd already managed to poke himself in the calf with the thing, and when he pulled up his trousers he saw a trickle of blood running down the back of his leg.

Still, it was too late to back out now, and if the opportunity presented he could always run away… provided he didn't swing his sword at some enemy and cut his own leg off.

The boat crew rowed in silence, and the Methusians were too busy scanning the beach to engage in light conversation. Their only advantage was that the army of dwarves was in the next cove, but Hal had seen those same dwarves charging down a hillside en masse, and they were surprisingly speedy despite their sturdy build. If the enemy got wind of the landing, they could swamp the small task force the moment they set ashore.

So, it was quiet and tense aboard the longboat.

The oars rose and fell in perfect rhythm, and as they approached the sandy beach, Hal noticed more and more of the occupants casting glances towards the left-hand end of the bay. After they disembarked they'd only have a brief window to find cover, and that critical moment was approaching fast.

One breaking wave, two breaking waves… and the boat beached on the sands. Immediately, the Methusians swarmed over the side and waded through the knee-deep water to shore. Hal followed, and he joined in as they all helped to push the boat out to sea again. Then, as the Stalyans rowed for the middle of the bay, safe from attack, the landing party scurried towards the treeline.

"This is a good start," said Borosin, as they found cover. "Now we are concealed."

They advanced through the trees, until they came across a river blocking their path. Then they turned right, following the bank until they encountered a jetty, where an elderly fisherman was cleaning his wooden rowing boat. He was muttering under his breath as he did so, and he didn't sound the least bit happy. "Crumbs everywhere," he grumbled. "Couldn't even hand it back cleaned, they couldn't. Damn thieves."

"Hello there, fisherman," said Borosin.

The man turned to look at them, and at the sight of Borosin's magnificent red uniform his eyes lit up with greed. "You want to rent my boat? I can do hourly, but it's cheaper by the day."

"No, we have sufficient boats already."

"Somewhere to stay? I have a hut, and—"

"We do not need accommodation." Borosin hesitated. "Tell me, have you seen two officers come this way? They may have been wearing blue uniforms."

"Seen 'em?" The fisherman spat in the river. "Them officers stole my boat, and that sawn-off runt with 'em."

"Quick, man. Where are they now?"

A calculating look crossed the fisherman's face. "How much is it worth to you?"

Borosin took out a coin.

"They were taken by Sur Cumfrence's men," said the fisherman. "He sent guards with them to the city. They're going to be interrogated."

"What is the strength of these guards?"

"In the city?" The fisherman blew out his cheeks. "Maybe two dozen all told."

"You give up this information too easily," said Borosin, with a frown.

"The fudd I do. What have those lazy guards ever done for me? And Sur Cumfrence… that great blob is a blight on the rest of us."

Borosin heard a noise, and turned towards the far side of the river. Coming down the opposite bank was a huge man on horseback, stuffed into highly-polished, egg-shaped armour. Behind him were half a dozen other troops, all mounted, with swords at their sides.

"Oh, there is our noble Lord right now," said the fisherman.

The newcomers had spotted the Methusians, and there was a moment where both sides were frozen with inaction. Sur Cumfrence, the knight the fisherman had been referring to, initially looked outraged that a dozen armed troops would dare to encroach on Mollister lands. Then, when he realised the dozen armed troops outnumbered his own force two to one, his expression changed. "Strategic retreat!" he shouted, and he turned his horse and rode off as fast as the poor overworked beast could carry him. The Methusians and Sur Cumfrence's troops eyed each other off for a second or two, and then the troops reluctantly followed their Lord and master.

"Now you've done it," muttered the fisherman.

"Will he bring reinforcements?"

"Only if he rides to Last Hope and back. There's nothing else out that way."

Borosin turned to his troops. "We must hurry and complete our mission."

"You think?" muttered Hal, and he took a firmer grip on his sword. The knight might have looked comical, but the troops with him had been hard-bitten and tough, and he didn't fancy going up against them.

"With any luck they'll run into the dwarves," said the woman who'd been giving Hal a hard time earlier. "They'll take care of that knight for us."

The rest of the party brightened at this, and their mood was more positive as they climbed the bank and set off for the nearby city. As they approached, Hal eyed the stone walls and big wooden gates, dredging his mind for any memories of the place. Nope. Nothing.

"We do not attack unless provoked," said Borosin. "These people may become allies one day."

"Halt!" shouted a guard, as the Methusians headed for the city gates. "State your business!"

"We're looking for two members of our crew," said Borosin genially. "We mean no trouble."

The guard eyed his uniform, then cast a glance at the rest of the armed troops. "Wait here. I'll have to fetch someone."

'We will wait," said Borosin. "But first, please tell me if you saw my officers. They were dressed in blue uniforms, and—"

"I ain't answering any questions."

The first man departed, leaving a single guard protecting the whole city entrance. He looked nervous, and Hal wasn't surprised. Borosin could easily cut the man down and advance into the city, but for now it seemed diplomacy was the order of the day.

They didn't have to wait long, because the first guard came hurrying back with an older man at his side. The newcomer had a beet-red face, and his hair was cropped to a grey stubble. "What's all this then?" demanded the man.

"Captain Borosin at your service," said the Methusian, and he bowed with a flourish.

"Sergeant Showt," said the older man, with a brief nod.

"I come seeking two of my people, who you may have apprehended by mistake."

"Come from where, exactly?"

"There is a powerful warship in the next bay," said Borosin, omitting the fact it wasn't actually his to command. "We are worried about our missing colleagues, but we have not yet reached the point of… direct measures."

The threat hung in the air, and Showt studied the Methusians with an experienced eye. The man knew something, that was clear from his expression, but he wasn't about to lay down that easily.

So, Borosin poured on the charm. "Perhaps we could speak to the Lord or Lady of this charming city, if such an important personage would deign to meet us?"

"You what?" growled Showt.

"Take me to your leader," said Borosin, slowly and clearly.

"I ain't letting you all in." Showt looked at the sailors, then gestured at Hal. "You and 'im. Leave your weapons an' follow me."

Hal passed his sword to someone, and waited while Borosin unbuckled his belt with its elaborate scabbard. Then, when they were ready, they followed Showt into the walled city, while the rest of the Methusians sat down in whatever shade they could find.

Hal took in the sights and smells as they walked the narrow alleys, from cloth-sellers to butchers, from basket weavers to sellers of roasted lamb on little wooden skewers. It was a busy place, but none of it rang any bells, and he was almost certain he'd never been here before. Here, or anywhere remotely like it.

They crossed a big paved square, where workers were taking down a large wooden platform. There was dried blood on the timbers, and Hal frowned at the sight. Did this place butcher animals in public? Then he saw the large chopping block with its curved, neck-shaped recess, and the poles with their grisly decorations, and he turned away quickly. Not animals, no.

"Barbarians," murmured Borosin, so quietly only Hal heard him.

On the far side of the courtyard they passed through an arch, then entered a hallway decorated with painted shields and suits of armour. They were directed to a wooden bench, and they sat down to wait.

And wait.

And wait some more.

Hal glanced at his wrist, then wondered why he'd done so.

And they waited some more.

Finally, they heard footsteps, and a tall, thin man in elaborate robes approached from the far end of the hall. There were two guards behind him, swords drawn in case of trouble, but the man himself didn't appear to be armed.

"Captain Borosin?" said the man. "I am Lord Chylde, exalted ruler of the Mollister city of Chatter's Reach."

"It is the utmost pleasure to make your acquaintance," said Borosin grandly, getting up and performing his customary bow.

"Hi," said Hal, with a quick wave.

Lord Chylde ignored him. "I believe you are looking for two of your officers?"

"Indeed," said Borosin. "A misunderstanding, I am sure, but one I'd like to clear up."

"And you, er, come from a small fishing vessel which is moored in a nearby bay?"

"Fishing vessel?"

"I've had reports," said Chylde vaguely.

"Then your reports are wrong, for this vessel is a powerful warship." Borosin gestured towards the door behind them. "If such a ship were to anchor in the bay below your charming city, her guns could reduce this place to rubble in fifteen minutes."

"Is that a threat?" said Chylde, with a frown.

"An observation. Now, time passes and I am done with waiting. Where are my people?"

"They were here. Unfortunately, they were summoned to the royal palace."

"For a high-level meeting with your king or queen, I hope."

"With my niece, Queen Therstie."

"Then we must go to this palace and meet your queen. Please organise transport, for I grow weary of walking."

"Impossible. They left in the royal carriage, and there is but one."

"Horses then. I will ride if I must."

"Now look here," said Chylde. "You can't just come in here and—"

Borosin raised his hand and gave a low, drawn-out whistle. As his hand came down the whistle got louder, until he spread his fingers and made the sound of an explosion. "Fifteen minutes. Rubble."

"They won't attack the city while you're here."

"This shows how little you know," said Borosin, with a laugh. "The warship is commanded by my enemies, and they wouldn't hesitate to flatten your city while I'm standing in the middle of it."

Suddenly there was a commotion from the entrance, and a courtier came running in. "The Queen is here. Queen Therstie arrives without notice!"

Chylde swore. "There go my wine cellars."

"Never mind," said Borosin. "At least now I can meet your queen, and your city won't have to suffer a bombardment."

They all hurried out to the square, and Hal stared as a black lacquered carriage raced into view, hauled by two sweating, tired-looking horses. There was a child in the driver's seat, and he was standing up and pulling on the reins like his life depended on it. Since the carriage was hurtling towards a wall at top speed, that wasn't far from the truth.

"Whoa!" shouted the little fellow, gamely trying to stop the charging beasts despite his small stature. Then Hal looked closer, and realised the child was actually a miniature adult, wearing forest green with a vicious-looking dagger at his belt.

There wasn't time for much of an inspection, because at that moment the horses came to a skidding halt inches from the wall. All four wheels of the carriage left the ground, and the halfling was flung headlong from his seat, still clutching the reins. There was a thud and a curse from inside the carriage as the occupants were flung around, and then the carriage fell back to ground with a creak from its primitive suspension. Meanwhile, the halfling was still sailing through the air, and he performed a perfect somersault before landing astride one of the horses with a solid thump.

"Ooh, my bells," he groaned, then slid off sideways and landed on the cobblestones.

There was a long silence, broken by Captain Borosin. "This is how your queen travels?"

The carriage door opened, and a young man in uniform got out, rubbing his head. At the sight of the Stalyan officer, Borosin instinctively reached for his sword, but his hand closed on thin air. Cursing, he remembered he'd given it up at the gate.

The other officer didn't hesitate. He reached into his boot and drew a small pistol, pointing it directly at Borosin. "Hold still, Methusian scum!" he shouted, his face set. "Hold still or I shoot!"

Chapter 17

Berry sighted along the gun at the Methusian officer, ready to fire at the slightest provocation. He had no idea what the hated enemy was doing here, but clearly they'd made landfall, and his first thought was for his ship. "Dallow, out here and have your gun at the ready! 'Ware Methusians!"

Dallow clambered down, his pistol covering the enemy officer and the man standing beside him. His face was still pale from the carriage journey, the unnatural swaying motion having turned his stomach, but his hand was steady and there was a determined look in his eye.

"Name and rank," said Berry. "And then you can tell me what you're doing here."

"Captain Borosin," said the Methusian. "As for what I'm doing here, your sailing master sent me to find you."

"Bullspit," said Berry.

"I assure you, Tinch and I came to an agreement. Please, lower your weapon so we might speak. I am unarmed, I swear."

"Have you taken my ship?" demanded Berry.

"Son, there are many problems facing your ship, but my crew is not one of them."

"He's telling the truth," said the captain's companion.

"Why should I believe you?"

"I'm not a Methusian."

"Your accent tells me this, but—"

"Look, he really was sent to rescue you. We've been negotiating with Lord Chylde here—" At this, the man turned to indicate the great and noble lord… but there was an empty space behind him, for Lord Chylde had fled. "Anyway," continued the man, "I'm Hal Spacejock, and your ship is fine. Your crew captured this guy and his people, after the dwarves tried to kill them all."

"Dwarves?"

"Yeah, that was after the sea serpent and the dragon sank the Methusian ships."

"Sea serpent? Dragon?" Berry felt a flash of anger. "What kind of fool do you take me for. I'm a Stalyan officer, not some lowly drunkard!"

"He's not lying," said Runt, as he hobbled over, clutching his groin. "The coast is infested with giant sea serpents, and we've got dragons and dwarves as well."

"The hard landing addled your brain," said Berry.

"It certainly scrambled my eggs," muttered Runt.

Berry felt a twinge of uncertainty. Everyone seemed to be speaking the truth, and if they wanted to lie to him, why invent such tall tales? "You. Captain. You claim you're here to rescue me?"

"Indeed."

"Well, here I am. Let us depart."

Borosin looked over his shoulder, but there was no sign of Lord Chylde or the guards. "Suits me. I have ten men at the city gates, but—"

"Yes, as we rode past I saw them enjoying the shade like dullards."

"Well, they will not be enough if these people decide to stop us."

"Then we leave now."

"In the carriage?" said Borosin, with a glance at the device.

"You have got to be fudding joking," muttered Berry, and they all left the square on foot. Borosin and Hal took the lead, while Berry and Dallow followed with their pistols in hand. Runt came last, wincing with every step.

At the gates they met two guards, who briefly stood in their way before thinking better of it. Then they were through the big archway, and Borosin went to greet the rest of the party. They'd got to their feet promptly when they saw the Stalyan uniforms, and there was a tense moment where they gripped their weapons and muttered amongst themselves.

Berry felt his blood run cold, for the situation was perilous indeed. The two nations had been at war for decades, and the usual policy was to attack on sight.

"My loyal sailors," said Borosin quickly. "This is the Stalyan commander and his midshipman, whom we were sent to rescue. You will afford them the same respect you reserve for Methusian officers, or I will know the reason why."

"But they're the enemy!" protested Hal's nemesis, the angry woman.

"We have a truce, and I will defend them with my life." Borosin drew himself up. "Our freedom for their officers. We offered our word as Methusians!"

"I didn't," muttered the woman.

"You challenge my authority?" said Borosin sharply.

There was total silence, the muttering and murmurs cut off as though by an axe. Then the woman shook her head. "I meant no disrespect, sir."

"Thank you. Now, we must leave this place quickly, for they might get it into their heads to detain us all."

They set off in a group, and Berry tucked his pistol away. He saw Dallow hesitate before copying him, and he gave the midshipman a shrug. "We are outnumbered in any case, and they seem to be genuine."

"I would lower your voice," Borosin advised him. "There is a force of two hundred troops nearby, and we stand no chance if they surround us on land."

"Mollister troops? Do you think they were sent to capture my ship?"

"No, these are dwarves. A raiding party, I would say."

Berry glanced over his shoulder at the city. "Should we warn them?"

"I do not involve myself in local politics," said Borosin loftily. "Anyway, their cowardly Lord kept me waiting in a most insulting fashion."

"Maybe he was using the privy."

"Then I am glad I did not shake his hand," said Borosin, and he lapsed into silence as they hurried towards the river.

— ♦ —

While the rest of the group pointed fingers and apportioned blame for their predicament, trapped as they were in the gorblin tunnels, Stonesmasher inspected the wall. He ran his hands over the surface, his dwarven mind analysing the strengths and weaknesses of the rough material.

"Who's stupid plan was it to trap ourselves in these tunnels?" demanded Millie. "Worst idea ever."

"Actually, it was yours," said Clunk.

"It was not!"

"It was."

"No it wasn't!" shouted Millie.

Father M decided to settle things. "Yes it was," he said firmly, as though his wise, all-knowing manner would end the argument.

Not likely. "What would you know, you weird old kook?"

"Now look here, child—" began Father M.

"I can settle this," said Clunk quickly. The robot made a gabbling noise as he rewound his most recent recording, and then Millie's voice burst from the stereo speakers hidden in his armpits.

"Quick, in here!"

Everyone gaped at the robot. Everyone except Stonesmasher, who was still examining the walls.

"You have the power of tongues," breathed Islington. "That is witchcraft!"

"Just think of the blackmail potential!" murmured Father M.

"Dark magic!" said Splodge, backing away.

"That was not me. I don't sound like that," said Millie stubbornly.

"Do you see any other women around here?" said Pentonville.

Meanwhile, there was a yelp from Splodge, because he'd backed up too far and fallen into the big hole in the middle of the tunnel.

"Haven't they heard of safety fences around here?" said Father M plaintively. He looked down the hole, more to see whether the gorblin had crushed any surviving dragonlings than to check on the little green creature's welfare. "Hello?" he shouted.

Hellooooo!

Father M's voice reverberated back up the hole, then ran up and down the tunnel like a hyperactive child stuffed to the gills with candy and red cordial. The echo also filled tunnels on many other levels, alerting every gorblin in the underground lair to the intruders.

"Fool of a kook!" hissed Millie.

"Now we are truly stuffed," said Pentonville.

"Hold," said Slimbough, shushing the others. "My friend Stonesmasher has noticed something. Perhaps there is a way out after all."

The dwarf had ignored the party's bickering as he studied the wall, and now he turned to the others and cleared his throat. "My people are familiar with this material, for we encounter it often."

Everyone leaned forwards expectantly.

"It is called rock, and there is no way we're getting through it."

Everyone stared at him in disbelief.

"Rock?" said Father M incredulously. "Ten minutes fondling the fudding walls, and now you tell us something we knew hours ago?" His voice grew louder, rising to a thunderous roar, and as he advanced on the dwarf Father M seemed to grow larger and more menacing. Either that, or he was shouting and walking on tiptoes.

Stonesmasher took one look at the wizard's furious expression and dodged behind his best mate Slimbough. Unfortunately, the elf was standing with his back to the big hole in the floor, and…

"Argh!" cried Stonesmasher, as he stepped on thin air. There was a whistling noise from his chainmail armour as he plunged down the deep hole, followed by a solid thud.

"Bloody well serves him right," said Father M, his height and voice now back to normal. "Fudding rock? I'll give him fudding rock when I get my hands on him." He scooped up a stone and tossed it down the hole, then looked around at the rest of the party. The numbers had thinned considerably, for aside from Clunk and Millie, all that remained were the two Chatter's Reach guards… and himself. There were two giant dragons outside, an entire gorblin army was probably gathering weapons at that very moment, and worst of all, Father M was starting to feel a bit peckish. "What say we follow Hurm into the depths, retrieve the survivors and any dragonlings which still draw breath, then negotiate a truce with the gorblins?"

"Would they go for that?" asked Islington.

"Depends whether they like the taste of fresh-cooked dragonling. We only need one of the things, after all."

Millie frowned. "I'm not going to harm those darling little creatures."

"Bit late for that," said Father M, eying the hole. "If we're lucky, one of them will still be able to walk, but we have no use for the others."

"You're a horrible man," snapped Millie.

"No, I'm pragmatic." Father M tapped the wall with his staff. "If only we had a means to tunnel through this rock. Only thus could we escape this dire predicament."

"May the wind god Zephyr grant us a miracle," intoned Pentonville. He wasn't particularly devout, but they'd exhausted their other options and he was ready to give anything a shot.

Barely had the words left his mouth when there was a heavy thump somewhere above their heads. Something big and heavy had just landed on the hilltop, and as the ear-wrenching squeal of dragon claws on solid stone came to their ears, fragments of stone and streams of grit fell from the roof.

"She's digging down to get us!" shouted Father M. "Run away! Flee!"

More fragments fell, including large pieces of rock, and the party was galvanised into action. Avoiding the hole in the floor, just this once, they ran full-tilt down the tunnel seconds before the entire roof caved in.

"Thanks a bunch, Zephyr," muttered Pentonville.

Coughing in the dust, they made the far end, where they took a right turn and headed into the depths of the gorblin lair. Whatever army they might encounter, it couldn't be worse than the angry female dragon which was tearing the hillside apart to find her young.

Chapter 18

King Kah was lounging on the royal throne, enjoying a hearty snack of bread and cheese. The day hadn't started that well, but he felt like things were finally starting to go his way. He was determined to hire a judge to handle the Three Cases, which would then free him up for the finer things in life… like hot baths, massages and hunting. King Kah smiled at the thought, and he realised he'd landed on his feet with this gig.

Before he finished his sandwich, there was a commotion in the antechamber, and seconds later a flustered guard ran into the throne room. At the same time, in the distance, King Kah heard the sound of the city's warning bell.

Clonk! Clonk! Clonk!

The bell would have been a whole lot more effective had it been cast from metal, rather than carved from wood, but at least the noise carried.

"What is it?" demanded King Kah of the guard. "What is the alarm for?"

The guard had got his breath back. "An army at the gates, Sire! Soldiers… hundreds of them!"

"So round up the army and fight them off." King Kah took another bite of his sandwich.

"Sire… it is tradition that you lead the men."

"What?"

"You are expected to lay down your life in the defence of Branche's citizens."

King Kah pushed his plate away, having suddenly lost his appetite. He'd met several of Branche's citizens, and he didn't consider any of them worth laying his life down for. "Can we defeat this army, do you think?"

"They number in the hundreds, and have metal armour, metal swords and metal shields." The guard brandished a six foot pole carved from oak. "There are but four dozen guards, and we have wooden sticks."

King Kah frowned, because he felt the man's tone was bordering on disrespect. "Very well, we must do the sensible thing and surrender immediately. But first, I must dress in something more appropriate."

After King Kah found armour and a helmet, he strolled to the city gates, where he climbed a ladder to the top of the wall. It was only about twelve feet high, and many of the poles and planks were loose from years of neglect… and a complete lack of nails.

King Kah reached the top, puffing in his wooden armour, and all of a sudden he realised the situation was not as dire as he thought. Below, lined up on horseback before the large army, were four Mollister knights. Sur Loyne and Sur Pryze he knew well, for they were his trusted friends and companions. The other two, Sur Wendah and Sur Rysis, were lightweights of no importance.

Then he noticed Sur Wendah was slightly ahead of the rest, which was a surprise, for it meant the knight was in charge.

"Sur Wendah!" shouted King Kah. He saw his own men laying down their weapons, and he gestured impatiently, for some were even preparing to open the gates. Then he turned back to the Mollister knights. "Sur Wendah, what is the reason for your presence?"

"Greetings, Sur Kah. We come to sack the city of Branche and carry away all of your valuables."

"That's King Kah to you, sunshine, and you can all get lost. This is my city."

There was a thunk, and an arrow sprouted from Kah's wooden breastplate. He staggered, and would have fallen backwards off the wall if a guard hadn't steadied him.

"Who did that?" demanded King Kah, glaring at the two hundred troops spread out before the city gates. "May the breath of Zephyr smite you!"

Another arrow whizzed past.

"Stop shooting at me!" shouted King Kah, now thoroughly annoyed. He spotted a man drawing back on his bow. "You there! I can see you, you know!"

The man lowered his bow. "You slept with my wife, you cad!"

"He slept with me, too!" shouted a woman, and she let off an arrow that sped so close to Kah's right ear the sound of its passing almost deafened him.

Kah raised both hands. "Can we please discuss this in a nice, orderly manner?"

"No!" shouted the enemy army, and they loosed off their arrows.

King Kah and the rest of the guards ducked behind the walls as the volley rained down. When they raised their heads again, looking over the wall was like peering through a porcupine.

"We want your gold!" shouted a soldier.

"We don't have any!" King Kah shouted back.

"We want your gems and liquor."

The King glanced at the handful of guards who were supposed to hold the gates against the vastly superior force. "All right. We agree." He gestured at his men. "Surrender! Surrender!"

"Yes?" said Sur Wendah.

"No, surrender," snapped King Kah, and he hurried down the ladder to greet the triumphant knights. As the gates opened, and the enemy soldiers poured in, he took off his crown and passed it to Sur Loyne. "You wanted this thing, you can have it."

Sur Loyne looked surprised. "You're abdicating?"

"Henceforth, I shall again be known as Sur Kah," said the knight formerly known as King. And with that, he dashed off to claim some loot before his fellow knights got their mitts on the best stuff.

Sur Loyne eyed the wooden crown, revered symbol of Bark royalty. The people of Branche would need a steady hand to guide them, and since they didn't believe in elections, and no longer had a proper king, he decided he was the best man for the job.

So, after a moment's hesitation, he slipped the crown on.

— ♦ —

Wiltred's catapults were not coming along at all well. The elves didn't know a hammer from their elbows, and the number of bandaged fingers and foreheads was reaching epidemic proportions.

Oh, they were willing enough workers, but they refused to obey a mere human, and so Wiltred was forced to communicate his wishes through the aged elf, Oakwander. Thanks to the elves' strict hierarchy, Oakwander would then pass these wishes on to Longroot in the form of a vague suggestion. Longroot, as prince, would then bellow the mangled instructions in the elvish tongue, which clearly had no equivalent of 'be careful', 'stop hitting me with your hammer' or 'pass me another bandage'.

Despite the setbacks, the first catapult eventually rolled off the production line… and kept rolling straight down the hill, thanks to the lack of brakes. When it reached the riverbank the wheels came off, literally, and the rest tumbled into the river and broke apart into an assortment of logs, rope and elven sweat and tears.

"Fudd it," muttered Wiltred.

"It's a nice day for some casual copulation," said Oakwander to his young prince.

Longroot yelled a string of elvish, and everyone adjusted their bandages, downed tools and paired off, heading for the nearby homes arm in arm. They emerged half an hour later, looked flushed and considerably happier.

In the meantime, Wiltred had been down to the river to save what he could of the first catapult. He dragged the logs back to his workshop, fetched the wheels, and then sat down to design a rudimentary braking system.

"This is a chock," he said to Oakwander, who had been the last elf standing when everyone else paired off. He'd even given Wiltred the eye, but the human had other concerns. Now, Wiltred was holding up a triangular piece of wood. "You shove a pair under the wheel, one behind, one in front, and it'll stop the catapult rolling away."

"Chock," said the elf carefully.

"Good. Cut twenty more the same shape and size, and be quick about it."

While the elderly helper wheezed and groaned over the saw bench, cutting chocks from a thick piece of timber, Wiltred went to inspect the frames for the other catapults. He frowned as he saw the shoddy work, tutted as he saw several pieces fitted backwards, or nailed into unnatural angles, then felt better when he remembered that was his plan all along. He wanted the things to fail, because he didn't want the bombardment of innocents on his conscience.

Still, there was bound to be a test-firing, which meant he'd need at least one of the big machines to hurl a rock or two before it collapsed in a heap. So, picking out the only base which didn't look like it had been nailed together by a three-year-old with both arms tied behind their back, he set to work.

— ♦ —

Hal jogged beside the others as they made their way along the riverbank to the ocean. They passed the fisherman with his boat, and they saw Sur Cumfrence lurking on the opposite side of the river, but nobody got in their way or tried to halt their progress.

Just as well, because now that they'd rescued Berry, the Methusians were in no mood for delays.

"Onwards!" growled their captain, Borosin, and everyone increased their pace. Runt had to run full-tilt to keep up, his little legs flashing.

They reached the beach and signalled to the cutter, which was maintaining position just beyond the breakers. Fortunately, there was no sign of the dwarven army, and as the cutter headed towards them Hal realised they'd got away with it.

"Three cheers!" shouted one of the sailors. "Three cheers for our success!"

"Shut up, you fool!" hissed Borosin. "Do you want the dwarves to hear us?"

"Actually," said Runt, between deep breaths. "It's the elves who have good hearing."

"Elves?" said Borosin.

"Yeah. Way too tall, pointy little ears, blond hair and a dead eye with the bow." Runt eyed the boat which was putting in to shore. "You know, I'm done with the sea. If it's all right with you lot, I think I'll make my own way from here."

Berry smiled and clasped the halfling's hand. "I know we had our differences, but you're a stout fellow. Be safe!"

"And you," said Runt. Then he frowned at Borosin. "Wait a minute… where did you encounter dwarves? They don't show themselves in these parts."

"There's an army two hundred strong in the next bay."

Runt turned to look at the headland dividing their own cove from the next. "Two hundred dwarves? A whole army of them, just the other side of that?"

"Indeed. They chased us and tried to kill us."

"Bye!" said Runt, and he turned to jog up the beach.

Hal considered following him, but he knew nothing of this land, and the warship, though dangerous, was at least familiar.

The boat grounded, and everyone piled in. The Stalyans greeted Berry and Dallow, then clapped the Methusians on the back and thanked them. As the landing party found their seats, there was even less room than before, and they were still organising themselves when there was a deep boom from the next bay.

Hal turned to look. "What the hell was that?"

"The Intrepid," said Berry urgently. "She fires a warning signal!"

"A warning about what exactly?"

He needn't have asked, for at that moment there was a distant roar from further along the beach, and everyone stared in horror as the dwarven army charged towards them, battleaxes and armour flashing in the sun.

Runt had only made it halfway up the beach, and he now turned back and sprinted for the boat. On the way he hitched up his pants until the trouser cuffs were above his knees… much good that would do him. "Take me with you!" he shouted. "Don't leave me behind!" He reached the sea and ran straight into the ocean, leaving a foaming V-shaped wake as he disappeared under the waves. Someone reached down and hauled him into the boat, where he lay in the bottom spitting seawater into the air like a novelty fountain. "Me, I love the sea," he declared, once the water inside him was outside again. "Can't wait to sail around on it some more."

Most of the crew were aboard now, leaving only Dallow, Berry and the Methusian captain on the beach. They stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the onrushing dwarves, and as the enemy got closer Berry took careful aim with his pistol… and fired.

There was a loud crack, and one of the dwarves fell. He was immediately trampled by the rest, who took not the slightest notice of their fallen comrade. Dallow fired his pistol, which missed, and then both Stalyans turned and leapt into the boat.

Captain Borosin stayed behind, a frown on his face. He was not one to flee from an enemy, and so he drew his sword and advanced up the beach, straight towards the rampaging horde.

"Where the spit is he going?" cried one of the sailors.

"Make your escape!" shouted Borosin over his shoulder. "Make your escape while I hold them up!"

Everyone stared at him in horror, for he was about to sacrifice himself to save them all.

"Well he's gained us about two and a half seconds," said Runt, who was now sitting up in the bottom of the boat. "Oops, I guess I just wasted it speaking."

Two sailors pushed the boat off the beach and leapt in, and then, as the boat reversed into the waves, the dwarves reached Borosin.

He stood no chance. His sword flashed once or twice, and then he was overrun as though by a steamroller with a dodgy handbrake, running uncontrolled down a particularly steep hill. With an elephant perched on the roof.

Axes rose and fell, and Hal winced and turned away.

Meanwhile, dozens of dwarves waded into the shallows, shouting and brandishing axes. Borosin had managed to thwart them, though, for his sacrifice had held them up just long enough.

There was dead silence in the boat, apart from the creak of the oars. The Methusians were stunned at the loss of their captain, and the Stalyans were eying them in concern, ready to offer support and sympathy… in between oar strokes.

Berry stood in the bow, one foot on the seat as he struck a pose, and his face was grim as he gazed upon Methusian and Stalyan alike. "We will honour Captain Borosin's memory, for he was a true hero. He saved every one of us."

"Aye," muttered the boat's crew, and the Methusians nodded.

Hal was still in shock at the violent death, and said nothing. He'd nearly stayed behind in this savage place! What was he thinking? He watched the dwarves, who were still gesticulating and shouting, and then he saw something that made his heart leap. Several dwarves were tossed aside from the thickest part of the crowd, and he saw Captain Borosin regain his feet! His smart red jacket was torn, there was a cut at his temple, and he'd lost several shiny little buttons off one sleeve, but as his sword flashed and gleamed the dwarves surrounding him backed away, brandishing their axes.

"He lives!" shouted Hal.

"He will live forever in our hearts," intoned Berry.

Everyone nodded.

"No, he really lives!" shouted Hal. "Look, over there on the beach!"

Everyone turned, and there was a gasp. Borosin was making his way to the ocean, fighting a rearguard action. As he reached the water's edge, he sprang up with a tremendous leap, landing with one foot on a gesticulating dwarf's shoulder. Then he leapt again, reaching a second dwarf who was up to her waist in the sea. Finally, he reached the last line of dwarves with the biggest leap yet, and after pushing off, sinking a hapless dwarf, he plunged into the ocean with a graceful dive.

He swam strongly for the boat, still clutching his sword in one hand, and willing hands dragged him on board. Meanwhile, the incensed dwarves ignored their injured and fallen comrades, and threw their axes as far as they could. The weapons raised waterspouts all around the boat, with one burying its edge into the woodwork next to Hal with a solid thunk.

The crew set to their oars like fury, until they were well out of range. Then they pulled for the headland, and the warship Intrepid waiting in the next bay.

"What an escape!" breathed Berry. "Sir, that was amazing. Breathtaking!"

"They don't know how to fight," said Borosin, with a shrug. "All show and no blows."

"Three cheers for Captain Borosin!" cried one of the Stalyan crew… and this time everyone joined in.

The angry roar from the dwarven army barely registered.

Chapter 19

Lord Chylde was at his desk, managing paperwork. It occurred to him that nobody truly appreciated the amount of unpaid admin work he did every day. Oh sure, they called him My Lord, and bowed to him from time to time. He got a big share of the taxes, and the young women who caught his eye, provided they weren't whisked off to the palace in service of the Queen. But was there any thanks? Was there ever!

He initialled an order, signed a sheaf of death warrants without bothering to read the names, then tapped the end of the quill against his front teeth. Captain Spadell had had the right idea. Take a break from it all. Wander the nation. See the sights.

Lord Chylde shook his head. Wander the nation? It was infested with bandits. And what sights could possibly be worth a long ride there and back?

A commotion attracted his attention, and he sighed as he capped his ink well. Laying the quill on a piece of parchment, he got up and crossed to the window, from where he could see all the way to the city gate. Several men on horseback had just ridden through, and Chylde decided to write up a new rule about keeping horses outside the city limits. Sure, everyone needed fertiliser, but they shouldn't have to walk in it.

He craned his neck to listen, and he made out several words which gave him grave concerns.

"Fudding… dwarven army… fudding… coming this way… all gonna die horribly."

Chylde pursed his lips. He had a horse on standby at the stables, and he could be on his way to the palace in minutes. Or, he could lead the defence against the dwarven menace.

He strode to his desk and rang the bell. "You there," he said, as a servant entered. "Get my horse ready. I have urgent business with the queen."

"Sir, your horse was took lame."

"Then get me another horse. Quick now!"

Too late. There was a loud thud as the main gates were closed, and when Chylde looked out he saw guards running up with big wooden beams, which they used to brace the timbers. Then they piled rocks, bales of hay and barrels against the doors, until they'd built an impenetrable barricade.

Chylde noticed another rider below, with a particularly tired-looking horse. It was Sur Cumfrence, and he looked pale and frightened. "Sur Cumfrence!" bellowed Chylde. "What news?"

"Fudding dwarves! Hundreds of them heading this way!" The knight realised who he was addressing, and he bowed. "Begging your pardon, Your Lordship. I spoke baldly in my haste."

Chylde gestured. "I'm putting you in charge of the defence. Defeat this menace, and you will be held in high regard across the Kingdom. Gather every able-bodied man, woman and child, arm them and send them to the walls."

"Er… yes, Your Lordship. But… will you not lead the defence yourself?"

"I have a better view from up high," said Chylde. Then, with the defences organised, he went to pile furniture in the stairwell, which was the only access to his level.

Some time later, having jammed the stairs to his satisfaction, he heard a rumble outside. It was so strong it made the furniture jiggle and squeak, and he ran to the window to see where it was coming from.

The defences were organised now, and he could see three dozen people on the battlements, widely spaced. A quarter of them had weapons of one kind or another, and two even had bows.

"What is that sound?" shouted Chylde.

Sur Cumfrence was perched on the wall, crouching behind the parapet. He cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted back. "The dwarven army marches up to our gates."

"Tell them to go away!"

In the end, Sur Cumfrence didn't need to. The marching sound approached the gates, then turned left and proceeded along the outside of the city wall. Then, after reaching the corner, the noise progressed north once more, passing the city completely before fading into the distance.

"The dwarves do not attack?" said Lord Chylde incredulously.

By now, Sur Cumfrence was on his feet, watching the back of the army from his vantage point. Then he turned to his Lord. "As requested, I saved the city from the deadly menace."

"And you shall be rewarded," said Chylde. He glanced over his shoulder, then turned back to the window. "I don't suppose you can give me a hand with this furniture?"

— ♦ —

When Father M and the others reached the eighth level, at the bottom of the pit, they found Hurm looking over the dragonlings in concern. The creatures appeared to be unharmed, which was more than could be said for Stonesmasher and the gorblin, Splodge, who were out cold.

"Are they dead?" asked Father M, who was thinking that dialogue would be much easier to keep track of with fewer speaking parts.

"No, they're still breathing," said Slimbough. "Come now, Stonesmasher. Sit up gently, for you've had a great fall."

Stonesmasher groaned and rubbed his head. There was a dent in his helmet, and when he reached for his axe he discovered the haft was splintered and broken. "I was fortunate indeed," he said. "My trusty axe broke the fall. Ever shall I treasure it, for without its razor sharp head and solid wooden handle, I should be dead."

"How exactly…" began Father M, but then he gave up and shook his head. "It is good that all the members of our party survive."

Splodge coughed, then sat up and spat a mouthful of green blood. "It's all right, don't worry about me," he said tartly. "Who needs more than one lung, anyway?"

"As I was saying," continued Father M, "all the important members of our party are fit and healthy. More important still, the dragonlings survive."

"They do, but we won't," remarked Millie, indicating the ceiling. "From the sound of it, the angry parents have already dug through two levels, and there are but six more until the huge beasts claw their way down here."

"We must go deeper," said Father M.

"Oh no we mustn't," said Splodge. "There's some heavy gorblins down there, and I'm not talking about body mass. The king, his bodyguards… uh-uh."

"You'd rather face the dragons?" said Millie incredulously.

"At least with that pair there's a chance of a quick death." Splodge shuddered. "I've heard some taking weeks to die down below."

"Heard?"

"The screams carry," said Splodge shortly, and he wouldn't elaborate.

Clunk turned to Millie. "I am truly sorry about this. When I asked you to accompany me, I did not expect to place you in such peril, and I regret it with every fibre of my being."

Millie stared at him, and then, without warning, she burst into tears. Hurm heard the noise and barged through the others, taking Millie in his arms and cradling her head to his chest. "I'm s-sorry," she said.

"No, it is I who should apologise," said Clunk.

"It really isn't," said Millie. "I-I have to get something off my chest."

"That big barbarian, for a start," said Splodge.

Millie ignored him and continued, her voice muffled. "I lied to you, Clunk. It was all a sham."

The robot frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I work for Lord Varnish, the Mollister spymaster!"

Everyone stared at her.

"I had no choice, don't you see?" cried Millie. "I was alone in the city, and hungry, and I was caught stealing bread. They meant to execute me, but Varnish had me thrown into your cell instead. He wanted me to stay by your side, and report back to him. Your every thought, your every movement, where you were from, what you were doing in the Old Kingdom… everything! It was that or the brothel!"

Clunk frowned. "But I don't know why I'm here, or where I'm from. If I did, I'd happily tell you and Lord Varnish alike."

"I know that now! I've been given an impossible mission, and I can't keep up the pretence any more." Dramatically, Millie broke free of Hurm and flung herself to the ground at Clunk's feet. "Do with me what you will."

"Maybe we could feed her to the dragons and make our escape," said Father M. Then he saw the looks everyone gave him. "What? She just admitted she's a traitor and a spy."

"She's a member of our party," said Clunk evenly. "No harm will come to her."

There was a roar and a crunch several floors above them as the dragons broke through another layer of rock.

"Yeah, I wouldn't go around making sweeping statements like that," said Splodge. "I think plenty of harm is coming to us all."

Meanwhile, Pentonville was looking uncomfortable. "Now that we are sharing our confessions, it's time I revealed something which has troubled me for some time."

"Pentonville, no!" cried Islington. "Do not tell me you spy for Lord Varnish also?"

"No, it's much worse than that." The guard hesitated. "Islington, I have been sleeping with your wife."

"What?"

"Yes. All those nights when you worked extra shifts, I would visit your wife and… well, you know."

"I cannot believe it," said Islington, his voice hollow. "I thought you were building models of the city out of matchsticks, but now I learn your fingers were engaged in other pursuits. I am devastated."

Pentonville hung his head. "I bought the models at the markets. Worse, I'm ashamed to admit I paid your wife for my visits."

"Really? How much?"

"Two shillings a time."

"No wonder she hasn't been after my wages lately." Islington looked thoughtful. "Listen, why don't we pretend you never told me?"

Pentonville stared at him. "Er… okay."

They shook on it.

"While we're confessing…" began Father M.

"Oh, stow it," said everyone.

"What! Why?"

"Your list of misdeeds will last until the dragons reach us," said Millie. "Frankly, I have better things to do with my last few minutes."

It was then that the gorblin patrol showed up, a dozen of them with crude pitchforks and clubs. "What are you doin' in our tunnels?" demanded the leader.

Father M jerked his thumb at the roof. "We're hiding from a huge pair of beasts which are digging down through the hill to find us. Do you want to stay and help fight them off?"

The gorblins eyed the roof, which was creaking and groaning as the dragons tore at the bedrock with their claws. Then they looked at each other. "All clear in this area," said the leader. "Let's see if there's anything further down the tunnel."

And with that they shouldered their weapons, turned and beat a hasty retreat.

Hurm drew his sword as the digging noises got ever closer, but even that mighty weapon was no use against a creature that could break solid rock.

A huge dragon claw broke through the stone, and everyone backed away. The party had nowhere to go. It was over.

— ♦ —

The hole got bigger and bigger, and they braced themselves for an inferno. Instead, a snout pushed through the hole, and there was a loud sniff. "My offssspring," said the dragon, in a deep, hissy voice. The digging effort redoubled, and soon after, the dragon managed to get its entire head through the hole.

"Humansss! Elvesss! Dwarvesss!" hissed the dragon. "Alssso, some ssstrange metal creature I cannot place."

"I'm Sur Roybot, a mechanical man," said Clunk.

"I don't care if you're the goblin king wrapped in ssshiny tinfoil," snarled the huge beast. "You will die for thisss outrage, one and all!"

One of the dragonlings licked Hurm, then squeaked at its parents.

"Friendsss?" thundered the dragon. "Friendsss? Fool of a child, I need to ssspeak with you about your lack of common sssense."

The dragonling squeaked again, and this time its siblings joined in.

"I don't care if you like them, I must have vengeance," growled the dragon. "These thieving kidnappers ssstole you away!"

Squeak squeak.

"You followed them? Have you not listened to a word I've sssaid about ssstranger danger? Are those headsss of yoursss completely empty?"

"So, I'm glad that's settled," said Father M, slowly backing away. "While you enjoy your little family reunion, we'll just be on our way."

"Hold!" snapped the dragon.

The wizard froze.

"Firssst I must know. Who sssent you? Why did you come to sssteal our young in the firssst place?"

Father M realised the time for lying was long past, so he stood up straight and addressed the dragon like a man. "It was the queen. She ordered us to do it, I swear."

"The pretender who sitsss on the throne at the palace? Therssstie Mollissster?"

"Yep, that's her. She gave the order."

"It was all her," agreed Splodge, even though he hadn't been there.

"Definitely the queen," said Islington.

"Then we ssspare you, for you brought no harm to our young."

"Thanks," said Father M. "Incidentally, if you're heading that way, I don't suppose…?"

"Yesss?"

"Could we get a lift?"

"Do I look like a ride ssshare to you?"

The female dragon gathered up the dragonlings carefully, one in each claw and one held in her mouth. Then she backed out of the hole, and they heard her scrabbling around in the newly-dug crater as she made for the surface. Sunlight shone down from eight floors up, and then the dragon took off, blasting the huge crater with a down-draft that was so powerful it sent rocks hurtling through the air. Once she was airborne, they saw her high above, turning north-west and heading back to the site of the nest to become a hill once more. The other dragon, the male, lifted off with a slightly less powerful flap of his wings. The last they saw, he was flying east towards Chatter's Reach and the royal palace.

"Well, that saved us a trip," said Father M.

"How?" demanded Millie.

He shrugged. "We could have taken the dragonlings all the way to the palace and still failed our quest. No palace and no queen means no reward."

Clunk turned to Millie. "Is there any chance your parents survived the attack on their wagon?"

"Yes, a slim one."

"Then you and I will travel to the village of your birth."

"Do you really mean that? I mean… after all that I told you?"

"Indeed. You were given an impossible choice, and you did the best you could. I will not hold it against you." Clunk turned to the others. "Will you accompany us?"

Islington and Pentonville shook their heads. "We must return to Chatter's Reach. If the dragons attack the place, our help will be needed rebuilding the city."

"If the dragons attack the place there won't be a city," muttered Father M.

"Still, we must help any survivors." The two guards bid farewell, then started clambering over fallen rocks as they made their way to the exit.

Stonesmasher and Slimbough exchanged a glance. "We must be away," said the dwarf. "I am to visit elven lands with my friend here, the first and only dwarf to do so in the long history of the Old Kingdom. It is a momentous occasion, and it should herald a long-lasting peace between our kind."

They too headed for the exit, leaving Father M, Hurm, Millie and Clunk. Oh, and Splodge, but nobody had really paid him any attention so far, and it didn't look like things were going to change any time soon.

"Hurm and I must leave you, for we travel to the royal palace," said the wizard.

"You go to the queen's aid?" asked Millie in surprise, for the wizard usually ran away from trouble, not towards it.

"Er, yes. That is exactly what we're going to do. The road is long and hard, the dangers and perils may overcome us, but we must do our duty."

"But you're not even Mollisters. Why do you care about the queen?"

"Oh, you know. We have to do our part. Come, Hurm. We march!" With that Father M turned, twirling his mage robes, and after an impressive flourish, he vanished down the half-collapsed tunnel. Moments later he came past again, heading the other way.

Hurm nodded at Millie and Clunk, then turned and followed Father M, the hilt of his sword almost touching the ceiling, the point almost dragging on the floor.

"Such a big sword," said Millie wistfully. Then she shook herself. "But look, only the two of us remain."

Splodge crossed his arms and snorted.

"Plus Clunk," said Millie quickly. "The two of us, and Sur Roybot. The three of us, who will now travel to Bark to see if my mother or father survived their terrible ordeal at the hands of bandits."

"Or," said Splodge tartly, "you could lead Clunk straight to Lord Varnish and collect a nice fat reward."

"What a devious mind you have," said Millie.

"Takes one to know one, human."

"So I guess you're not travelling with us? Such a pity, and we must catch up again sometime."

Splodge grinned. "I got this idea involving floor cleaner and thirsty dwarves. A bit o' marketing, some re-labelling, and I'm in business. Know what I mean?"

"Not really, but good luck with that. Clunk, shall we?"

Clunk nodded goodbye to the little gorblin, and followed Millie to the exit. On the way they met Hurm and Father M coming towards them, clearly lost. At the sight of Clunk and Millie the other two halted, turned without a word, and strode away quickly.

When they reached the exit, Clunk and Millie were alone. They circled the lake before striking out north-east. On their way through the rocky terrain, they cast several worried looks at the columns of smoke rising in the distance. Every now and then another would puff up from the land, until flakes of ash rained from the skies.

"There's not going to be much left," said Millie quietly.

"Let us hope the inhabitants of these places reach safety in time," said Clunk, and his mouth was set in a firm line as they walked on.

Chapter 20

Wiltred hovered around like a proud parent as the elves put the finishing touches to a new, improved catapult. Yes, it was a weapon of war, designed to kill and maim, but even so Wiltred felt it was quite something to see his design made whole.

Unlike the first attempt, which had rolled down the hill and smashed apart in the river, this one came with a pair of wooden chocks to keep it in place. Even now they were positioned behind the rear wheels, and Wiltred was satisfied the device was ready for its first test firing.

The catapult sat on a four-wheeled platform, and consisted of a long, flexible arm fixed between two wooden arches, each parallel with the longest side of the platform. This forty-foot arm had a big wooden scoop attached to the thin end, which was resting on the ground, while the shorter, thicker end pointed towards the sky at a thirty-degree angle.

"Load!" called Wiltred, and six elves struggled towards the catapult's scoop, carrying a huge boulder between them. They staggered up and, on a count of three, let go.

Crunch.

The boulder smashed the scoop, breaking it off and pounding the fragments into the ground. Wiltred eyed the damage, then motioned his workers forward. "A new, stronger scoop," he cried. "Quickly now!"

A short interval afterwards, the catapult was ready once more.

"Load!" called Wiltred. "And place it carefully this time."

The six elves obeyed, puffing and cursing as they lowered the big boulder onto the newly rebuilt scoop. A movement caught Wiltred's eye, and he spotted Almiandra, the elven queen, watching progress from nearby with a frown on her face. Well, he thought, this ought to impress her.

Once the boulder was ready, Wiltred cupped his hands to his mouth. "Draw the arm down!"

Four elves stationed near the front of the catapult hauled on strong ropes, which were fastened to the short, thick end of the main arm. As they heaved and pulled, the scoop with the boulder rose into the air with a series of fits and jerks.

"Keep going!" shouted Wiltred.

The arm creaked loudly as it took the strain, but eventually the shorter end made contact with the beam across the front of the catapult, and an elf ran up and tied it firmly in place.

Now the arm was at a forty-five degree angle, with the scoop and the big boulder far overhead. Next came the tricky part.

"We'll use half power to start with," Wiltred called out, and two strong elves hauled on a big spoked wheel mounted on the catapult's base. The wheel was attached to a drum, and there was a rope which ran around the drum several times before heading up to the scoop containing the boulder. As the elves turned the spoked wheel, there was a series of loud clicks. Wiltred nodded with satisfaction, for he could see a pawl running smoothly over a big cogwheel. When the winding stopped, the pawl would prevent the drum unspooling again.

The slack was taken up, and then the rope tightened, pulling the scoop down towards the ground. With the opposite end of the arm fixed to the catapult, the long pole bent like a huge bow, and the elves strained as they worked the spokes.

This was the critical part. Pull the arm too far and it would snap in the middle, but if they didn't pull it far enough, when they released the boulder would be lucky to clear the front of the catapult.

At this moment Tyniwon emerged from his cottage, arm-in-arm with Allyance. "How's it going?" he called. "Do you need my help?"

Wiltred nodded. "You can fire the catapult on my signal. I want to watch from the side, to see how the arm reacts to the strain."

Tyniwon came over, and Wiltred pointed out the mechanism for releasing the arm. "Wait until I say, mind!"

"How far will the boulder fly?"

"I have calculated the trajectory using many complicated equations," said Wiltred loudly. He pointed across the clearing. "Be sure to keep that area clear."

'That area' consisted of a large swathe of forest, and Tyniwon grinned at him. "You have no idea, do you?" he murmured.

"Keep your voice down!" hissed Wiltred. He turned and strode away, until he was thirty yards from the big machine, facing one side. The queen was twenty yards further back, accompanied by a pair of maids, a gaggle of courtiers and prince Longroot. They were all watching closely, and Wiltred couldn't help noticing an impatient frown on the queen's face. He realised he had one shot at this, and if anything went wrong she would carry out her threat to execute him.

Slowly, Wiltred raised his hand, his gaze fixed on the catapult. They'd only pulled the arm down halfway, but even so it stored a tremendous amount of energy, and he was hoping the whole thing didn't shake itself apart with the very first firing. He crossed his fingers, then nodded to Tyniwon. "Now!" he cried, dropping his hand.

Tyniwon pulled on the lever, and there was a deep TWANG as the catapult fired. The thin end of the arm whipped up, flinging the scoop towards the sky, and the entire base of the catapult leapt off the ground before coming down again with a solid crash.

Wiltred turned to the forest and shielded his eyes, scanning left and right as he tried to spot the boulder in flight. Several seconds later, he widened the arc, but there was so sign of the missile.

"Look out!" cried Tyniwon suddenly. "It's gone straight up!"

Eyes wide, Wiltred tilted his head back and scanned the sky. Sure enough, the boulder was a black dot, high above them. It was still shrinking, ever so slowly, and then, after a pause, it started to grow. "You idiot!" he shrieked. "Why in Zephyr's name did you fire into the sky?"

"Me?" demanded Tyniwon, aggrieved. "You set the catapult up!"

By now the boulder was visibly larger, and Wiltred realised everyone was standing around looking at him. "Run!" he bellowed. "Take cover! Now!"

Instantly, there was mad panic, with screams and shouting and people shoving and pushing each other. Several elves dived under the catapult, fighting for the best spot, while others legged it for the cottages, their long blonde hair streaming out behind them. The queen and her courtiers hauled up their skirts and ran into the nearby forest, just behind the catapult, where they sought refuge amongst the trees. Longroot and Wiltred, keeping their heads better than most, simply stood in place and kept a wary eye on the flight of the boulder.

With relief, Wiltred realised he would live another day, for the huge rock was plunging towards the nearby forest, just behind the catapult. A warning bell tinkled at the back of his mind as he watched it coming down, but he pushed it aside.

The giant boulder smashed through the tree canopy with a loud splintering noise, smashing branches clean off their trunks, and the ground shook as though pounded by a giant fist.

"It's all right, your majesty," called Wiltred. "You can come out now."

Instead, he heard a piercing scream, and then one of the courtiers came running from the forest. She had the back of her hand to her forehead, and as she ran she wailed the same thing over and over. "The queen is dead. Oh no, the queen is dead!"

Then, with a noise like a deflating balloon, she fainted.

Shocked, Wiltred turned to look at Tyniwon, wondering whether they could flee in the confusion.

"Oh no," said Tyniwon, shaking his head. "Don't you dare pin this one on me."

— ♦ —

Sur Loyne was a proud man, and on the day he'd been crowned Queen's Champion, he was certain life held no greater reward.

But now he was King Loyne of Branche, and that took things to a whole new level.

Even better, he was still Queen's Champion, and a Mollister knight to boot. A foot in both camps… and what could be better than that?

Still wearing his metal sword, metal helm and metal shield, he strode into the great hall and sat on the throne. With his hands grasping the arm-rests, and his feet on a stool, he felt ten feet tall and completely invincible.

So, it was a bit of a shame when a lowly courtier turned up to spoil his mood. The man burst in, and, keeping his eyes averted from the forbidden metal in his new King's possession, he prostrated himself before the throne and blurted out his news. "Sire, a dragon has been spotted heading this way."

King Loyne grinned. "Hazing the new boy, eh?" he wagged a forefinger. "It's just as well this is my first day, or I'd have you killed."

"No, really," said the courtier, speaking to King Loyne's toecaps. "It's big and grey and—"

Whooosh!

Something huge and dragon-shaped buzzed the great hall, dislodging a handful of wooden tiles. In the silence, they clattered on the floor like a dozen firecrackers going off.

Roar!

The hall was illuminated with red and yellow light, and seconds later King Loyne heard the crackle of flames. He eyed the dry, wooden building, which gave a whole new meaning to the words fire hazard, then got up and ran for it.

— ♦ —

Tiera kept an eye on Thonn all the way back to Branche. She didn't notice him using any more of his powers, and she wondered whether the effects of the perlstone necklace had already worn off.

"Is that smoke?" said Spadell suddenly.

"It's probably just a cooking fire." Tiera noticed tendrils of smoke drifting between the trees, and she realised it was no cooking fire. "Could it be the city?"

They sped up, catching and passing Thonn, and as the smoke got even thicker then broke into a run. Ten minutes later they burst out of the trees, and on the plain ahead they saw a sight that had them staring in horror. They stood on a slight rise, and the walled city of Branche was stretched out beneath them. They could see columns of smoke rising from at least a dozen fires, and then Tiera ducked as a huge dragon skimmed the trees behind them and dived towards the city, the trailing edges of its wings fluttering from the sheer speed.

Tiera was dumbstruck at the sight. She'd heard about dragons, and she'd once had a slice of pie which was supposed to contain shavings of dried dragon flesh, but she'd never seen one.

The dragon swooped on the city, and flame jetted from its mouth and torched a row of buildings. Then the dragon pulled up sharply, rising high into the sky. Tiera saw light glinting off arrowheads as the city's defenders opened fire, and she blinked at the sight. "What are they doing with iron arrows? This is Branche… they ought to be using wood!"

"An angry dragon is burning the city to the ground, and you're worried about the bylaws?"

"That's not the point. The residents don't have metal arrows. So who's firing at the dragon?"

"Isn't the point that there is a dragon? What they're firing at it seems… trivial."

While they were arguing, Thonn had been watching the dragon. As it dived towards the city once more, preparing to unleash another firestorm, the farm boy raised both hands and closed his eyes.

The dragon's jaws opened, its neck muscles corded, and Tiera held her breath as she waited for the fire.

Nothing happened.

The dragon twisted its head from side to side, then pulled up from its dive and made a series of barking noises as it tried to breathe fire. When nothing came out, it gave an angry roar, turned to the west and flew away at speed.

There was a thump, and Tiera turned to see Thonn out cold on the ground. She hurried over, sat beside him and cradled his head in her lap. He was breathing, she discovered, but he was completely out of it. "Did you see what he did?" she asked Spadell.

He nodded, looking thoughtful. "The lad's got some powerful magic."

"It's the necklace the elves gave him." Tiera looked up at Spadell. "He once told me the power grows in him until he can control it no longer. The last time it happened, he killed his family."

"Then you must take the necklace."

Tiera reached for the cord, which was still jammed around Thonn's forehead. As her fingers closed on the thin leather, Thonn's eyes snapped open, and his hand shot out like lightning, gripping her wrist.

"I don't think so," he said, in his curiously deep voice.

"Thonn, it's doing you harm."

"It's our only defence against the dragon." He struggled to sit up, and Spadell leaned forward to offer his hand. Once they were all standing, Thonn rested against Spadell, still looking faint. "My powers are weak as yet."

"You just stopped a blast of dragon's breath. I wouldn't call that weak."

Thonn gazed down at the fires burning across the city. "If only we had arrived sooner."

"Well, we're here now," said Spadell. "Come, we must aid the citizens where we can."

They made their way down the hillside, and Thonn grew stronger with every step. By the time they reached the city walls he was leading the other two, striding ahead while they struggled to keep up. He found a section where the timbers had collapsed, and they all entered the city.

The streets were packed with people, most of them emptying their houses of belongings and bundling up anything of value they could carry. Some enterprising souls were emptying other peoples' houses instead, and every now and then a scuffle broke out as the thieves were confronted.

Then Tiera noticed a look on Spadell's face, and she turned to see what had caught his eye. There were three soldiers coming down the street, iron swords at their side, and they were wearing Mollister uniforms. One was eating a chicken leg, but when he saw Spadell, he tossed it aside and spread his arms wide. "Captain! By the great god Zephyr!"

They hugged, in a restrained manly fashion, and then Spadell greeted the other two soldiers. "What are you doing here?" he demanded. "Do you protect the city from the marauding dragon?"

"Protect it? Do you jest, Captain? Why, we've just captured it!"

Spadell's jaw dropped. "Queen Therstie invaded the Bark Kingdom?"

"It's not the Bark Kingdom any more," said the soldier, with a rough laugh. "Welcome to North Mollister." He turned to Tiera. "I see you've found a woman at last. What is your name, my lady?"

"Tiera, and we're not—"

"You old dog," said the soldier, punching Spadell on the shoulder. "Go on, introduce us, will you?"

"This is Bellish, an old army comrade of mine."

The soldier bowed, and introduced his friends. Meanwhile, Thonn stood nearby, eyes scanning the sky. "You lost there, son?" Bellish asked him.

"I await the dragon's return."

"Yeah, funny how it flew away. Guess it ran out of breath, eh?"

"I guess," said Thonn, and he didn't elaborate.

Thick, acrid smoke blew down the narrow street, and there was a hiss as buckets of water were hurled onto a burning house. "Well, can't stand and chat. We're supposed to be looking for loot."

"These people have next to nothing," said Tiera, with a frown.

"They ain't people, sweetheart. They're conquered peasants. Anyway, it's not like they've got anything. Wooden money, wooden valuables… wouldn't bother."

"Why do you treat them so badly?"

"We're the conquering army. What do you expect?"

Tiera reached into her sleeve, and her fingers closed on the hilt of her stiletto. "This is my city, and I have a house here. Do you consider me conquered?"

The soldier was taken aback, and something in her expression told him he was treading on very thin ice. "Er… no, I suppose not. Come lads, we'd better get patrolling or the sergeant will have our guts."

"Before you go," said Spadell. "Who leads your army?"

"Well, that's the funny thing. When we set off it was Sur Wendah, with Sur Rysis as second-in-command. But along the way we met up with Sur Loyne, and now he's been crowned King."

"Is that so?" said Tiera flatly.

"Yeah, they're already singing songs of the battle, and I swear most last longer than the siege itself."

With that the soldiers bid farewell and left.

"Sur Loyne… that traitorous dog," growled Tiera. "I should have killed him when I had the chance. 'I'll meet the army and turn them away,' he said. 'I'll send them back to Mollister lands.' Instead, he brings them here and takes the crown for himself!"

"We don't know the full story yet," said Spadell soothingly.

"The city is overrun with Mollisters!" snapped Tiera. "I bought a house! I was supposed to start a new life here, in peace and quiet. How's that going to happen with enemy soldiers at every street corner, and dragons raining fire from the skies?"

"Perhaps you could sell up and try elsewhere."

"Sell up?" Tiera gestured at the columns of smoke. "Do you have any idea what dragon attacks and sieges do to real estate values? I'll be lucky to walk away with a tenth of the value!"

"Yes, well perhaps we can discuss your retirement plans later. In the meantime, we should seek out Sur Loyne and find out what he has to say for himself."

Tiera grumbled and cursed, but she knew he was right. Before she could take action, she had to know what was going on. So, she nodded to Thonn, and together the three of them set off across the city towards the palace and the barracks.

Chapter 21

Everyone was happy to reach the Intrepid, and there was much rejoicing as the crew welcomed Berry and Dallow aboard.

"You must inspect the repairs, sir," said Tinch eagerly. The sailing master was itching to show off the work, and he barely paid any attention to the tales of rampaging dwarves and narrow escapes. "Going well they are, and soon we'll be able to sail out of here."

The Methusians were welcomed back too, and there was a special cheer for Captain Borosin when word of his deeds spread amongst the crew.

"He saved Cap'n Berry, he did!" exclaimed one sailor excitedly, and soon everyone was talking about the brave, indestructible Methusian.

Hal and Runt stood to one side, shoulder to waist, their expressions grim. "It's all right for them," murmured Hal. "What's going to happen to all the people in Chatter's Reach? They've got a whole army heading their way."

"Unlucky for some," said Runt. He stuck his hand out. "Runt, by the way."

"Hal Spacejock."

"Yeah, I heard." They shook hands. "You're not one of these sailors, are you?"

"I don't know," said Hal slowly. "I don't think so."

"Have you lost your memory?"

"Yes. I know my name, but that's about it."

"I know someone who could help with that."

Hal felt a ray of hope. "Really?"

"Yeah." Runt took off his boots and emptied them over the railing, pouring out several pints of seawater. "He's a powerful mage, Father M is. I bet he could fix you up."

"Where is he?"

Runt put his boots back on, then nodded towards the shore. "Somewhere west of here. We were supposed to capture a dragonling together, but the party split up. Last I heard they were heading for the rocky wastes, near dwarven lands" He paused at that. "Hope it wasn't them who stirred the dwarves up."

Hal turned to look at the beach. After escaping the enemy in the next bay, they'd watched the dwarven army regroup before heading inland, straight towards Chatter's Reach. "We should be helping those people, not hiding out here on a boat."

"It's not our fight, Hal."

"But with all these sailors, and their weapons…"

"Forget it."

Hal couldn't. There wasn't much he could do on his own, but a well-armed force might be the difference between life and death for everyone in the city. So, with a determined spring in his step, he approached Berry. "You're in charge around here, right?"

"That's correct." Berry smiled. "Weren't you one of those who volunteered to save me?"

"Yeah, I did." Hal gestured towards the shore. "It isn't right, leaving a whole city to die. The dwarves… they're going to crush them."

Berry nodded. "It troubles me also, but what can we do? We're sailors, not soldiers. We fight on the seas."

"You have weapons, don't you? And that Borosin guy, he said the dwarves are all show. Put up a solid front and they'll run for it."

Borosin heard them talking, and came closer. "What is it you are saying?" he asked Hal.

"We should get over there and kick some hairy dwarf butt."

"You have a curious manner of speaking," said Berry. "However, I explained that we're sailors, not—"

"He's right, you know." Runt had approached without anyone noticing.

"You've changed your mind?" said Hal in surprise.

"I believe in saving my own skin wherever possible, but we can't just sit and do nothing." He looked up at Berry. "You want to form an alliance with the Old Kingdom? This is your chance to earn their trust."

"My people will join the fight," said Borosin quickly. "Methusians do not abandon their allies so easily."

"All right, all right!" Berry raised his voice. "Bosun, pipe the crew to attention. I will address them from the quarterdeck."

"Aye aye, sir."

Pipes twittered, and there was a thunder of feet as two hundred Stalyans left their posts and formed up in neat rows. Meanwhile, the officers, Runt and Hal took the steps to the raised quarterdeck, where Berry approached the railing and looked down at the expectant faces. "You've all seen the dwarven army, and I must tell you that it's now threatening a nearby city. In order to gain favour with the ruler of this land, we are to join the battle. Arm yourselves well, for we must prevail!"

There was a roar, and the crew dashed off to find weapons. Meanwhile, Berry addressed the sailing master. "Mister Tinch, we'll drop anchor in the shallows. Lay netting over the bows."

"Aye aye, sir."

"You must pick a dozen crew to stay behind and defend the ship. Keep Dallow, too, since he's been through enough already. Be sure to load the bow chasers, mind, and if the dwarves come back… shoot to kill!"

Tinch saluted, then hurried off to choose his people.

Ten minutes later the big warship gently ran aground, and the waiting crew swarmed down the nets to the shallows. There was a cheer as they made the beach, and then the force of two hundred men and women strode purposefully towards the treeline, swords and pistols at the ready. Berry and Borosin were in the lead, while Hal and Runt followed, each clutching a sword as though they weren't quite sure what to do with it.

"The pointy end goes in the enemy," a sailor called out, and there was a round of laughter.

It wasn't hard to follow the dwarves' tracks, for they'd left a trail of trampled grass and bushes. By the time the Daylans reached the jetty, the fisherman could be seen a hundred yards up-river, rowing so hard in his desire to get away from yet another army that he was throwing spray twenty feet behind his boat.

The army swarmed up the bank and headed straight towards the city. Hal frowned, because he'd expected smoke and fire and fighting, but there was no sign of battle. In fact, the gates were closed, and he could see a couple of archers peering over the top of the city wall.

The army came to a halt two hundred yards from the gates, well out of bow- and earshot, and Berry called Hal over. "This was your idea. You go and speak with them."

Hal eyed the archers on the wall. "What if they shoot first and talk afterwards?"

"Your noble sacrifice will be noted," said Borosin.

There was no escape, so Hal hitched up his trousers, laid down his sword and strolled towards the gate. As he left the others, he heard Berry muttering to Borosin. "Those dwarves better not be circling back to my ship."

Hal could see the archers watching him, and he noticed one of them was little more than a boy. That didn't comfort him in the slightest, for grubby little brats were more likely than most to let fly their arrows.

He walked to within fifty yards of the wall, where he stopped and cupped his hands to his mouth. "We come in peace!" he shouted.

"With a whole fudding army?" someone replied. "Who are you kidding?"

"We came to save you from the dwarves!"

"Very kind, I'm sure, but the dwarves went straight past us and headed north."

Hal looked to Berry for guidance, but the officer made a 'get on with it' motion. So, Hal turned back to the gates and the archers. "What's north of here?" he shouted.

"It's a few hours march to Branche, in the Bark kingdom. That's a capital city, that is. Rich pickings to be sure."

"So you don't need our help?"

"Not today. Now get lost before we turn you into a pin cushion."

Hal gave up and returned to the officers. "He says the dwarves are marching on Branche, to the north."

"How far is it?"

If he told the truth, Hal knew the big force of sailors would go back to their ship, and the dwarves would still wipe out a city. "Oh, it's just up the road a bit," he said, hoping Runt, a native of the Old Kingdom, wouldn't butt in with a helpful correction.

Fortunately, Runt had his back, and the halfling said nothing. Well, the back of his legs, at least.

Berry frowned. "This was supposed to be a quick rescue mission. Instead, it's turning into a full-scale campaign."

"Oh, go on," said Hal. "It's a beautiful day, the sun's shining and there are some lovely birds in the sky."

"Really? Where?"

"It's the big bright yellow thing overhead."

"Not the sun, the birds!" growled Berry. "I haven't seen any since we set foot in this land."

Hal pointed at a black speck on the horizon. It looked like a crow or a raven, and as it got closer he realised it was pretty big. Then, as it got closer still, he realised it was enormous.

"Dragon!" shouted Borosin. "It's a dragon! Hide!"

"Are you sure?"

"Am I sure it's a dragon? Yes! Am I sure we should hide? Double yes!"

The city gates were shut, so there was no escape that way. Instead, the large force of sailors ran for the woods. Meanwhile, the dragon circled the city like a black crow, if a crow had huge leathery wings and scales and was about a hundred feet long.

"What's it doing?" hissed Runt, who was lying face-down under a bush.

"Flying around in circles," said Hal.

"Great. It's picking out targets." Runt turned on his side to check. "If it's circling the city, we're okay. If it comes this way, run for it."

Hal shrank into the bushes, and he watched in silence as the dragon continued to circle. Then folding its wings, it rolled over and dived for the city. As it got lower, a huge jet of flame streaked from its jaws, playing on the buildings. Then it opened its wings, pulled up sharply, and let its speed carry it towards the clouds.

A column of smoke rose from the city, and Hal could hear the crackle of flames. Then the dragon dived again, and again, until there was a pall of smoke covering the entire city and most of the countryside surrounding it. Satisfied with the damage, the dragon flew off to the west.

"Nice walk in the sunshine, eh?" said Berry, brushing twigs and leaves off his uniform. "Imagine if that monster had caught us in the open!"

"At least now you believe me," said Borosin. "You are lucky if it does not burn your ship, as it did mine."

"Give it time," said Runt. "Your boat is probably on its to-do list."

"It's a ship!" growled Berry and Borosin together.

By now, the columns of smoke in the city were subsiding, as citizens frantically doused the fires. "I'd offer to help them," said Berry, "but what can we do? We are no match for a dragon, and they must take their chances. Instead, we must return to the Intrepid, and—"

"No!" said Hal quickly. "If you go back to your ship, that thing will kill you all. There's no escape if you're trapped on board."

"He is right," said Borosin.

"Therefore, what's the harm in chasing after the dwarves and saving this Branche place?" Hal knew it was madness, but he didn't care. Something told him it was the right thing to do, and he was determined to convince the others to come with him.

Berry looked around at his crew, who were scattered amongst the trees. Hal could see him picturing them aboard the Intrepid as the dragon burned it to the waterline, and he wasn't surprised when Berry finally agreed. "We'll move quickly, and at the first sign of that dragon we take cover."

"I think we've all got that part down to a T," said Hal.

After carefully checking the sky, the landing party formed up on the road before marching past the gently smoking city of Chatter's Reach. Then, once clear of the city, they headed northwards.

Chapter 22

The elves didn't say anything as they locked Wiltred and Tyniwon up, they just bundled them into their cottage, sealed the front door and posted about thirty heavily-armed guards outside.

"Well, if we weren't knocking on death's door earlier, you've certainly kicked the thing wide open now," said Wiltred, as the enormity of their situation dawned on him. "Of all the places to land a boulder, why did you have to fire it at the queen?"

"I—"

"What do you have against royalty?" continued Wiltred, his voice rising as he warmed to his theme. "First you off King Larch with a bowl of plaster, and then you plaster Queen Almiandra with a boulder."

"But Wiltred, I…"

"Don't give me your excuses!" Wiltred spread his arms. "Why stop with a pair? We could visit the northern kingdoms next, and you could snuff out their royalty, too. Is that your plan? Complete the whole set of Old Kingdom monarchs?"

"But it was you who…"

"I haven't finished yet," snarled Wiltred, who was now in full flight. "I know! Let's return to Mollister lands! You could knock off your sister, Queen Therstie, and then you'd be three for three." He started to pace. "Just think, all these royals are probably worried about losing their heads in a popular uprising, but no, let's invite Tyniwon to high tea. Let's see whether he can't murder a head of state with a well-aimed cake fork, or drown a few heirs to the throne in a soup bowl. They must be getting frantic right now, thinking you're going to visit their land next. Uh-oh, Tyniwon is heading our way. Get ready for a quick coronation, lads."

"But—"

"If they're smart, the rest of the royals will abdicate the minute you step over the border," muttered Wiltred. He glared at Tyniwon. "One monarch was bad enough, but two?" he growled. "Please, Tyniwon. Please tell me this is all part of some dastardly plot to rule the Old Kingdom. Please tell me it's not just a giant fudd-up."

Tyniwon waited until he was sure Wiltred had finished ranting before trying to speak. "I'm sorry, but I have no plans. It's just a fudd-up."

"A monumental fudd-up, the likes of which has never been seen before. The likes of which, no doubt, will never be seen again. Not that we'll know anything about it, because the elves are off building a scaffold to hang us, or sharpening their axes to behead us, or, or… oh, here's a thought. MAYBE THEY'LL DROP A HUGE FUDDING BOULDER ON OUR HEADS."

There was a knock on the door, which seemed very polite under the circumstances.

"Come!" said Wiltred, and he was stunned to see Longroot, the queen's son, in the doorway. He guessed the elf was now king, given the queen's demise, for the elf wore a crown. A slightly mangled crown, recently cleaned, but a crown nonetheless. He also carried a small gilded cage with a brown bird inside, a bird which chirped and sang constantly, making it hard to concentrate. "Your Majesty," said Wiltred, prostrating himself. "We are devastated by the loss of your mother."

Longroot gestured impatiently. "These things happen. Now get up, get up."

He closed the door firmly and entered the cottage, giving Tyniwon a wide berth. Then he took a seat at the kitchen table, placing the bird cage in the middle. "We can speak freely," said Longroot. "Long ago, the elves discovered that brainless twittering is the most effective way to obscure important conversations."

"Your Majesty, can I just say…" began Wiltred nervously.

"Stow it. The queen's dead, and without realising it, you've done me a huge favour. Her erratic style of ruling was driving us all crazy, and with her out of the way, the elven kingdom can now return to its roots. Literally, for we must plant new trees." Longroot gestured at the cottage. "These despicable warts on the landscape must go, because it is my wish that the mighty elves no longer pass their lives in miserable bungalows."

"So you won't need my catapults then?"

"Of course we need them!" snapped Longroot. "I still intend to take Branche, just as my mother did, for that plan was sound. You have two hours to get one of those infernal devices working, and then we march on the Bark Kingdom." He turned to Tyniwon. "As for you, to pay amends for your errant boulder, you must break all ties with Allyance. She is to become my queen."

Tyniwon reddened, his fists opened and closed, and Wiltred thought he was going to explode.

"I have already explained to Allyance, and she has offered me her hand in marriage to save you. In the meantime, she is confined to her quarters, and my guards have orders to shoot anyone who approaches her."

With an effort, Tyniwon restrained himself. "Fine," he said, putting all his anger into that single word.

"One catapult ready to move in two hours, gentlemen, and you will accompany the army to Branche to oversee its firing. That is the price."

"And afterwards?"

"Your freedom once we take the city. My word as king of the elves."

"We agree," said Wiltred quickly.

Longroot nodded, and, picking up the cage, he got to his feet. "I will instruct the guards. Some were extremely loyal to my mother, so I wouldn't roam too far. They would love a reason to kill you."

With that, he left.

"I'm going to kill him," said Tyniwon softly.

"Given your recent form, that's pretty much inevitable," said Wiltred mildly. "In the meantime, we'd better return to the scene of your most recent crime, for we must get that catapult ready to move."

— ♦ —

Pentonville and Islington caught a whiff of smoke long before they got within sight of Chatter's Reach. Despite their weariness, they increased their pace until they were almost jogging along the road. "Do you think it was the dragon?" asked Pentonville, his words coming between panting breaths.

"That's more likely than a squad of incendiary jellyfish, isn't it?" said Islington sharply.

"What are we going to tell the sergeant about Sur Rhyff? What are we going to tell Spadell about the mechanical man? And then there's his Lordship. He's bound to ask whether we saw anyone waking any slumbering dragons while we were on our quest to the rocky wastes."

"You worry too much," said Islington curtly. "The sergeant is probably a pile of ash by now, just like Sur Rhyff. We'll tell Captain Spadell the metal man right royally piffed off a dragon, and after it tore him to pieces the creature took off and made a beeline for Chatter's Reach. Nothing we could do, sir."

"You've really worked this out," said Pentonville admiringly.

Islington shrugged. "It all makes perfect sense to me."

They were still jogging along, holding onto their sword hilts with one hand in case the stunted weapons fell out of their scabbards. Then they spotted an old fisherman rowing his boat downriver.

"Ahoy there!" shouted Islington. "Would you give us a lift?"

The fisherman eyed their uniforms, then nodded. Moments later, the boat nosed its way between the thick reeds lining the riverbank, and the two guards clambered in. "Thanks," said Islington.

"Don't thank me yet," said the old man. "You might not like what you find when you get to the city."

"Is it bad?"

"Dunno yet, but there's been smoke blowin' around for hours." The old man pulled on the oars, and the boat turned downstream and sped up. The banks moved past at a fair old lick, and the two guards were grateful as they recovered their breath. "So far I seen an army of dwarves, and a big mob of sailors, and a murderous fire-breathing dragon… I'm tellin' you, it's not safe in these parts any more. People thievin' my boat, too, then paying for it an' thieven' the money back after!"

"It's not your day, is it?" said Pentonville conversationally.

"What's that supposed to mean? You planning on cuttin' my throat? If so, I warn you, I got nothing left."

"No, no. I was just chatting."

"Well don't. Rowin's hard enough without all the yammerin'."

They proceeded in silence, making good time, and after an hour they saw a jetty ahead, on the left bank. "This is me," said the fisherman.

Islington reached into his purse, and handed the man a coin.

"Thanks." The fisherman sniffed. "What's that smell?"

"I found it on the beach," said Islington, and the two guards left the boat and hurried up the steep bank. They could see a pall of smoke in the distance, almost hiding the city walls, but there were no fires. "Put them out, do you think?"

"Or burnt out," said Pentonville.

They got closer, and were challenged by a lad on the wall. He was the only defender in sight, and he didn't even have an arrow nocked in his bow.

"You know us, lad," said Islington. "Open the gate and let us in."

The archer disappeared, and moments later the small gate set into the big wooden doors swung open. "What happened?" asked Islington.

"A dragon it were. Big as a mountin' and hot as th' sun!"

"Next time, run, run, run," Pentonville advised him. Then he pushed past, and stopped as he saw the damage. "By Zephyr's mighty codpiece, the city has truly been ill treated!"

Entire houses were missing, while others stood in ruins, their roofs burnt to cinders. Market stalls, stables… everything was blackened and scorched. "What of the people?" demanded Islington. "Were there casualties?"

"Some," admitted the young archer. "Most took refuge in the dungeon, and were spared the roastin'."

"And His Lordship?"

The archer shook his head. "He were in the old bell tower, trapped by furniture in the stairwell. They say he was building defences against the dwarves, but it didn't do no good against the dragon."

The two guards looked up at the tower. It had already been a sorry sight, with its missing roof and broken brickwork, but now it was also blackened from foundation to the very top floor.

"Roasted 'im alive, it did," said the archer, with a touch more relish than the death of their Lord and Master warranted.

"So who's in charge?"

The archer shrugged. "Everyone's sort o' helpin' themselves."

"What of sergeant Showte?

"Fell in the first attack."

"Sarminter? Nate? The others?"

"They was on the walls when the dragon flamed 'em. It flamed 'em all."

Islington frowned. "You mean… the two of us are the only guards left?"

"Yessir."

"Well we'd better take charge, then. You look all in, lad. Go and find some food, then help with the wounded."

Islington and Pentonville retreated to a secluded spot and conferred in low voices. "This is a terrible day for the city," began Pentonville.

"…but a wonderful opportunity," finished Islington, who knew exactly where his friend was going. "We must form a committee, and from this day hence the city of Chatter's Reach will be independent and self-governing."

"A safe and fair life for all, with no more lords… lording it over us all."

"We'd better give a speech."

They both looked up at the tower, where writing materials used to be abundant. Now, however, they'd be lucky to find a fragment of paper and a scorched quill. "It will be more natural if we speak from the heart."

"That, and we have nothing to write on."

They crossed the city to the square, and on the way they told everyone they met to pass the word. Something very exciting was about to happen… and they didn't mean another dragon attack.

By the time they reached the square, with the half-disassembled stage where executions had been carried out only two or three days earlier, there was a large gathering of city folk. There was also a lot of muttering, and the scorched, singed-looking populace didn't look like a particularly receptive audience.

Still, Pentonville and Islington took to the stage, where they stood together and faced the rapidly-growing crowd. Some of the crowd kept a wary eye on the sky, and Islington didn't blame them. If the dragon came back now, there wouldn't be anyone left to vote in the newly-formed democracy.

"Fellow citizens!" shouted Pentonville. "It has been a dark day in the history of our city."

"Tell us something we don't know!" cried a voice.

"You two weren't even here!" yelled a woman, her tone aggrieved and bitter.

"This is a new dawn for Chatter's Reach. From this day forth there will be no more executions."

The crowd murmured, and a few surprised looks were exchanged. Truth be told, the populace didn't mind the odd execution, as long as they weren't directly involved.

"There will be no more floggings! No more conscription!"

"We don't have conscription now," an old man pointed out.

Pentonville looked surprised. "We don't?"

"Nah! Not for decades!"

"But my mother… she told me I'd been called up."

"More fool you," said a woman, with a laugh.

"I was only twelve!" said Pentonville, hurt by their callous attitude.

The crowd laughed, and an elderly woman raised her voice. "You wouldn't leave your room all day. What's a mother supposed to do?"

"Not sell her boy into service," shouted Pentonville hotly.

"Yes, I think we're getting off track," said Islington. "The point is, we're going to build a fairer city. A modern, democratic Chatter's Reach. A new, friendly home for all."

There was a long silence.

"Where?" said someone at last.

"What do you mean, where?" Islington gestured around the square. "Here, of course!"

"But you said we was going to build a new city."

"I meant in a non-physical way. Building a community, that sort of thing."

"So we're not really building anything."

"Not as such, but—"

Pentonville took over again. "The point is, we're going to make this city the envy of the Old Kingdom. We promise to look out for you all, instead of punishing you and working you to death. Life will be easier. Taxes will be lighter. And," he said with a frown at the old woman, "nobody will be forced into the guards against their will."

The huge crowd conferred, with many urgent discussions. To his relief, Islington saw a lot of nodding, and he realised they'd won the residents over. So, he wasn't surprised when a tall, white-haired man turned to the makeshift stage and raised his voice. "Three cheers for Islington and Pentonville!"

The crowd roared, their voices shaking the city square to its foundations.

"Islington and Pentonville will be our new rulers!"

More cheering, and the two guards were taken aback. "No! No ruling!" said Islington. "We're going to establish a democratically-elected—"

He got no further, because Pentonville elbowed him in the side, hard, before raising his hands for silence. "Thank you, our loyal subjects. We are honoured to be elected Lords of Chatter's Reach, and I promise we'll set up a committee to examine the question of debating the possibility of enacting the rights which my fellow Lord may or may not have promised in his earlier speech."

"But—" began Islington.

"Give it up," muttered Pentonville, through the side of his mouth. "They're not yet ready for a democratic government."

Islington realised his friend — and fellow Lord — spoke the truth. So, he beckoned to a group of men on the fringes of the crowd. "You there. Fetch others, and move our belongings into Lord Chylde's quarters."

"Yes m'lord," said the men, and they saluted and ran off at the double.

Islington smiled at their unquestioning obedience, and then he felt Pentonville's gaze on him.

"It feels good, doesn't it? Very wrong, of course, but oh so good."

"I'm sure we'll get used to it," said Islington, and he gave the order for a feast and a nice hot bath.

Chapter 23

Hurm and Father M were crossing the Kingdom at speed, for they'd found a pair of horses on their travels… although 'found' was a somewhat generous interpretation.

As they left the rocky wastes they'd come across a burned-out watchtower next to a cottage, the tower still smouldering from the dragon's attack. Someone had led the horses indoors, obviously trying to save them, and the beasts were happily eating the curtains and soft furnishings. The flagstone floor was ankle-deep in manure, and Father M struggled to keep his footing as he tried to push a horse outside.

Hurm, being much stronger, had no trouble leading his own charger from the cottage, and after ensuring the horse was tied up, he came back to help Father M.

"Quick," hissed the wizard. "Whoever hid these nags might return any second." Theft of a horse meant an instant death penalty, usually carried out on the spot by the aggrieved owner, and Father M wanted to escape without bloodshed.

That was a couple of hours earlier, and now the horses carried them through thick wooded countryside. Father M had never been to the royal palace before, but he knew its approximate location. Also, he could plainly see the rising column of smoke which the vengeful dragon had so helpfully provided.

As they neared the palace, Father M recalled the reason he, Runt and Hurm had first ventured into Mollister lands. A powerful northern sorcerer had offered a large sum for a perlstone necklace belonging to Queen Therstie, and Father M had accepted the quest without question. Had he known just how tricky the quest would become, with endless side quests and a close encounter with a pair of rampaging dragons, he would have turned it down.

Now, though, he could almost feel the gold and priceless gems in his hands. So what if they had to hunt for the necklace amongst the ruins of the palace? So what if the sorceress wanted the perlstone to augment her already impressive powers? Success meant gold and gems!

"Hurm smell… burning."

"Indeed, my friend. The angry dragon has torched the palace."

"Bad dragon."

"Bad for them, but excellent news for us."

Father M saw a group of dazed palace staff coming towards him, with stunned expressions and distant gazes. They were carrying a few meagre belongings, and he realised he should probably stop and help.

Gold and gems.

"There's help up ahead of you," he called, then spurred his horse on.

"Not excellent," muttered Hurm.

"We have no food, no spare clothes… absolutely nothing to give them," protested Father M.

Hurm was silent.

"Just let me find the necklace, and then we'll help. All right?"

They passed more groups of survivors, all fleeing the destruction with whatever they could carry. Father M studied them carefully, in case Queen Therstie was amongst them, but they were all servants. "What of your queen?" he asked one group, but they didn't appear to hear him.

Half an hour later, Father M and Hurm emerged from the trees and reined in their horses to survey the scene. What they saw had them sitting there in stunned silence, for the palace was a shambles. The dragon had done a real number on it, tearing down the fine brickwork and incinerating anything remotely flammable. Still, thought Father M, perlstone was supposed to be fireproof, so there was hope for their quest yet.

Riding down to the palace, they dismounted and tied their horses up. There was a courtyard littered with fallen masonry and beams, the area as quiet as a tomb. Their footsteps echoed loudly off the broken walls, and Father M cast nervous glances at the cracked and broken stonework.

Together they hurried towards the doorway at the end of the courtyard, where they entered the remains of the palace proper. The air was heavy with smoke, and Father M could see flames flickering amongst the ruins. He saw something else, too… nearby, a portly, bald man with a magnificent black coat was trapped underneath a large beam. As Hurm ran over to help, Father M realised it was Lord Varnish, and it was plain the man was beyond help. "Leave him, Hurm. He's dead."

Hurm draped the man's cape across his face, then looked towards the rear of the entrance hall. There was a broad flight of steps, cut off halfway up as though by a giant axe, and beyond the gap they continued again to the next floor. Thick beams, twisted and broken, barely supported the weight of the next floor, and Father M realised the whole lot might come down any second. "Don't go under that," he told Hurm.

"Must find Queen."

"Yes, but not under there."

The big fighter didn't try. Instead, he ran lightly up the flight of steps, and, after a moment to regain his balance, he sprang across the gap to the upper portion of the staircase. There was a loud groan as the floor took his weight, but it held.

Father M watched him, torn with indecision. He'd prefer to stay on the ground floor… or, indeed, flee to a different continent, but he couldn't trust Hurm to find the queen's necklace. The barbarian would probably want to do something noble like rescue people from the upper floors, and where was the gold in that?

Father M placed one foot on the first step and pushed down. It felt solid enough, plus Hurm was about double his weight and he hadn't fallen through. So, he took the flight of stairs cautiously, feeling his way.

When he reached the gap, he discovered it was a lot bigger than it looked from the ground. He'd never been a huge fan of running and jumping, or any other kind of exercise, and he wasn't sure he'd get across.

"Gold and gems," he muttered, and after backing up a few steps he broke into an awkward canter and sprang into space.

"Oof!"

The lip of the stairs caught him in the midriff, severely winding him, and it was all he could do to hang on. Then he felt his fingers slipping on the smooth stone, and he realised he was going to fall. "Hurm!" he cried desperately. "Help!"

The fighter came hurrying back, and Father M felt the floor give as the big man came closer. "Slowly, Hurm. Slowly!"

Hurm approached the lip, took Father M's wrists in his big strong hands, and hauled him bodily up the steps. Setting him down, he lowered his voice and gave the wizard a sidelong look. "Hurm find queen."

"Is she alive?"

"She sleeps."

Bless him, thought Father M. The big barbarian obviously had no concept of death. Which was rather odd, for he'd caused plenty in his time. Then Father M turned his attention to more important matters. "Was she wearing a necklace, by any chance?"

The fighter blushed. "Hurm not look."

Puzzled, Father M told him to lead the way, and they crossed the creaking, buckled floor to a pair of ornate doors. One of them was hanging by a single hinge, and it fell off when Father M tried to open it, clattering on the floor with a racket that made him jump. Then, waving at the clouds of dust and soot, he peered into the queen's chamber.

There was a large copper bath near the window, brimming with water, and lying in the bath was Queen Therstie. Her head rested against the rim of the bath, and there was a substantial bruise on her forehead. On the floor nearby was a splintered batten which had fallen from the roof, and looking up, Father M saw a corresponding hole in the ceiling.

He hurried over, and discovered the queen was naked. Averting his eyes, he felt for a pulse, but could detect nothing. "We must give her the kiss of life," said Father M, but before he could do so, Hurm elbowed him out the way and bent over the queen.

Seconds later, Father M saw her arm twitch, and then she coughed.

Hurm withdrew quickly, his face red.

"I'm not fully recovered yet," said Therstie, and she held her arms out to the big barbarian.

Father M realised they were going to be a while, so he left them to it. Anyway, it was obvious the queen wasn't wearing any jewellery. Instead, he went to search the rest of her chambers. He found several jewellery boxes, all of them empty, and he realised the palace staff had grabbed everything of value before they fled. So much for giving them assistance, he thought with a frown. Some of the staff he'd met fleeing the palace were probably lugging around enough stolen valuables to buy their own castles.

Disappointed, he lashed out at a fallen box, kicking it across the floor. It slammed into the wall, bounced off and ended up on its side. As it fell over, a false bottom sprang open, and Father M's eyes widened as he saw a flash of gold. Hurrying over, he reached into the box with trembling fingers, and he withdrew a beautiful gold necklace with a ruby pendant as big as his nose. Since he had a proper wizard's nose, that was indeed one impressive piece of jewellery.

"Mine!" he hissed, and he secreted the necklace in one of his special inner pockets. Then he went around kicking the rest of the jewellery boxes, in case they too contained hidden treasures.

No dice. Or necklaces, for that matter.

Annoyed, he went back to the bath and tapped Hurm on the shoulder. The fighter came up for air, and Therstie gave the wizard an impatient look. "Yes? What is it?" she demanded.

Father M couldn't help feeling her priorities were a little out of whack, for she was dallying in the bath with Hurm while her palace lay in ruins, her treasure had been looted and her kingdom was being torched by an angry dragon, but he was too polite to raise the subject. Instead, he cleared his throat and bowed. "Your Majesty, legends tell of a fabled necklace, a piece of such incomparable beauty it almost matches your own."

The queen laughed. "You're after my perlstone necklace, aren't you?"

"It would be a suitable reward for saving you."

"Too late, for I gave it to another." So saying, the queen reached into Hurm's jerkin and withdrew a leather cord bearing a large piece of perlstone.

"You gave it to him?"

"Yes, after we met in the stables at Chatter's Reach."

"But that was days ago!" breathed Father M, in a daze.

"Hurm like queen," said the fighter. "Queen like Hurm."

"I like Hurm very much," said the queen, and they turned their attention back to each other.

Father M opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish. In order to get his hands on the necklace, he'd crafted an elaborate plan which would ensure Hurm got close to the queen. When the queen gave the fighter the dangerous quest to fetch a dragonling, Father M had been all for it, since it would elevate Hurm in the palace and make it much easier to snatch the priceless necklace. So, for days now they'd traipsed all over the kingdom, dodging dragons, fighting gorblins and enduring hunger and thirst as they attempted to complete the all-important quest, and now it turned out Hurm had been carrying their fudding prize under his shirt the whole time?

Silently, his face working with anger, he reached for Hurm's thick neck with both hands. Instead of throttling the distracted fighter, though, he found the knot securing the leather cord and untied it. Then he took the necklace and slipped it into his robes.

"Fudding thick-headed idiot," he muttered, and he strode from the chambers to find his horse. "What is he good for?"

Father M reached the top of the stairs and took a flying leap to the far side, where he lost his footing and rolled all the way to the bottom. Wheezing and groaning, he got up, exploring his body to see whether he'd broken any bones. Then he hobbled to the exit and paused next to his horse.

It was a long way to the northern kingdom, and the road was perilous. Travelling alone was the best way he knew to meet a sticky end, but he had no idea where Runt was, and Hurm looked like he was going to be busy with the queen for hours… if not days.

Then Father M remembered the ruby necklace. If he could make it as far as Branche, such a prize would buy him a dozen loyal mercenaries for the trip further north. Plus he could rent quarters in Branche, which was a peaceful, pleasant city he remembered fondly from earlier visits.

A few days rest, and then a ride to collect a fortune in gold and gems. What could be nicer?

Father M mounted his horse, and was about to ride off when he heard a commotion. Looking back, he saw the queen at one of the upper windows, waving to him.

"Where do you think you're going?" demanded Queen Therstie, who was now wearing a gown.

"I ride for Branche, Your Majesty."

"Wait for us. We're coming too."

Then she vanished again.

Father M brightened, for now there was an excellent chance of reaching Branche. If they met a large force of bandits, he could hand the queen over to them and make his escape.

Moments later, Hurm and Therstie mounted the second horse, and with the queen's arms wrapped tightly around his muscled torso, Hurm spurred his mount away from the ruined palace.

Chapter 24

Clunk was apprehensive as they made their way towards Millie's village. First, they were now in Bark lands, where ninety-nine percent of him was apparently illegal. He could just imagine a large gathering of people arguing over the best method to destroy him, before hurling the bits and pieces back across the border.

Next, according to his calculations, the chance of finding Millie's parents alive was something less than zero, and he wasn't sure how she'd react to the disappointment. He hoped there'd be other people there, people who would take her into their homes so that he could finally turn his attention to his own situation.

He needed to find out who he was and where he'd come from, and then he had to work out how to get back there.

"These are the fields of my village," said Millie excitedly, interrupting his train of thought. "We're getting close at last!"

These fields looked the same as any others to Clunk, but then he usually relied on his GPS to find out where he was. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, Far Kew! I grew up around here, didn't I?"

"There's no need for that kind of language, young lady."

Millie had already run ahead, and did not hear his admonishment, so Clunk lengthened his stride to keep up. As he did so, he noticed a slight grinding noise from his left leg, and he hoped it wasn't something critical. It wasn't like he could obtain spares, and the threat of an imminent breakdown gave him one more thing to worry about.

They reached the far side of the field, crossed a small stream and climbed a lightly-wooded hill. As they approached the top, Clunk heard a dog barking, and the sound of children playing. "You'd better go ahead," he murmured. "They might take one look at me and run away."

"Nonsense," said Millie, taking his hand. "When they see you're with me, they'll accept you without question."

Despite his misgivings, Clunk accompanied her through the woods, and when they emerged on the hilltop he found a large clearing with a collection of about twenty modest log homes, their roofs thatched with straw. There was an open barn nearby, containing several cows, and Clunk frowned as he saw the animals. He felt a flash of anger at the sight of the placid creatures, but he had no idea why. Perhaps his planet was overrun with the things, where they took great delight in stomping helpless robots into the dirt. "Cows," he muttered.

"Far Kew cows," said Millie.

"My feelings exactly," said Clunk.

Then he noticed a woman with a big, broad shovel, who was clearing manure from the barn. She'd just picked up a big shovelful, and was turning to add it to a pile when she caught sight of Clunk. "Eek! It's an evil monster!"

"Madam, I assure you—" began Clunk.

That was as far as he got, because the woman ran up and hurled the manure all over him, then started whacking him with the shovel. A small dog got in on the act as well, charging up and trying to nip Clunk's ankles… at least, until it discovered they were harder than the toughest bone.

"Stop, stop, stop!" shouted Millie, in perfect time with the shovel's clang, clang, clang. "He's a friend! He's with me!"

The woman paused, panting and out of breath. "Be you Millie, lass?"

"Of course I'm Millie. Who else would I be?"

"And what is this evil creature?"

"Clunk's not evil, he's metal!"

The woman lowered her shovel, but she looked ready to resume combat at any second. "Metal? In the Bark Kingdom? Who would play such a trick?"

"Oh, never mind that," said Millie. "Are my parents here? Please say yes!"

The woman hesitated, but before she could speak there was a cry of joy, and a portly, middle-aged woman ran up and engulfed Millie in a giant hug. "My daughter! My darling daughter! The great god Zephyr saved you!"

Clunk felt this was a bit rich, since the great god Zephyr had been conspicuously absent when he, Clunk, had put his life on the line time and time again to save the girl. Bandits, dragons, gorblins… where was the all-powerful Zephyr when a whole series of ugly incidents had threatened to end Millie's existence? Still, at least the first woman had stopped hitting him with a shovel.

"I prayed and I prayed," said Millie's mother, "and now here you are, returned to Far Kew."

"Me," said Clunk automatically, for he loathed sloppy grammar.

The woman gave him a strange look.

"Mother, this is Clunk. He brought me home safely."

Clunk bowed deeply. "A pleasure to meet you, ma'am." Unfortunately, as he bent double, clumps of manure slid off his head and shoulders and splattered on the ground, somewhat spoiling the solemn gesture.

"Call me Tallie," said Millie's mother. She was still holding her daughter tight, as though she'd never let go.

"What of father?" asked Millie. "Tell me he survived also!"

A shadow crossed her mother's face. "I'm sorry, child, but he died saving me from the attack."

"I feared that it was so," said her daughter, in a small voice. "I hoped and prayed, but—"

"It was the will of Zephyr that he never returned to Far Kew."

Millie nodded, and looked downcast.

Meanwhile, Clunk looked from one to the other, thoroughly confused. Then his speech recognition finally worked out the combination of syllables, and his face brightened. "Oh! Far Kew," he said.

"There's no need to be rude," said Tallie coldly.

Clunk adjusted his pronunciation and tried again. "Far Kew. Far Kew. Far Kew!"

Millie looked uncertain. "It's been a long journey," she began apologetically. "I'm sure he's just tired, that's all."

Tallie eyed Clunk dubiously, then shrugged. "You must come and share our repast and tell me of your adventures. I long to know more about you."

"Thank you, but no. I must be on my way."

"Nonsense!" cried Millie. "You must see my house, and there's so much to tell everyone!"

"But—"

"I insist!"

"Very well," said Clunk, resigned to the delay. "I accept, and thank you."

"Perhaps take a trip to the stream first, so that you might wash yourself," said Tallie. "I'm not being rude, but right now we could grow crops on you."

Clunk nodded, and made his way back to the stream, accompanied by several dogs and a dozen small children. They all gazed in awe as he washed off the manure, until his bronze skin shone in the sunlight. He was so taken with their fascinated little faces that he decided to impress them with a couple of party tricks. First he squatted until his face was level with theirs, and then he put his hands together and mimed pulling his thumb off.

"My dad does that," said a small boy, unimpressed. "You're just pretending."

Stung by the criticism, Clunk popped his thumb loose and held it up for the kids to look at.

Wide-eyed, they stared at him with their mouths hanging open.

Encouraged, Clunk decided to really impress them. "Watch this," he said, and without warning he rotated his head through three hundred and sixty degrees.

There was a chorus of screams at the grotesque sight, and the children fled, wailing and crying. The dogs raced after them, whimpering and howling with their tails between their legs.

Clunk popped his thumb back into place with a loud click, and decided it was just as well he hadn't opened his chest plate, or lifted the top of his head to show them his brain. As it was, they'd probably have nightmares for a month or two.

Now clean, and alone, he made his way back to the village. He saw kids hiding behind aprons and doorways, peeping at him with fearful expressions, but he strode on until Millie called to him from a neat little house near the edge of the clearing.

He entered, bowing his head under the lintel, and found himself in a small room with a wooden table and chairs… and not much else.

"Take a seat," said Tallie, who was ladling soup into three wooden bowls.

"No food for me, thank you."

"Are you not hungry?"

"I do not eat."

Tallie looked surprised, but said nothing as she took the third bowl and emptied it into the first two. Clunk couldn't help noticing the soup contained very little in the way of solids, and there wasn't very much of it, either.

Millie and the mother ate hungrily while he just sat there, looking around the small house. There was very little in the way of belongings, and he guessed most had been sold or traded for food. He wished he'd picked up some coins on his travel, then realised it was just as well he hadn't, for they were as good as a death sentence in these parts. "Do you have any firewood?" he asked suddenly.

"Round the side of the house. Why?"

"I'll be back in a moment." Clunk went outside and found a pile of wood. To his surprise there was an axe with a metal head, rusty with age and worn with use, and he realised it must have been forged by Wiltred, the metalworker Millie had told him about. He covered it with a couple of branches, in case the village was raided by guards, and then he picked up a medium-sized log and turned it in his hands. Once he'd scanned it, he extended a cutting blade from his fingertip, and then his hand moved like lightning, wood shavings flying everywhere. He turned the lump of wood end over end as he whittled it down, and within minutes the log had disappeared, and in its place was an ornate wooden vase carved with a beautiful floral pattern. Clunk set it aside and repeated the process with several more logs, varying the shapes and patterns until he had a dozen wooden vessels. Then he blew wood shavings off himself, gathered up his carvings and took them indoors.

"They're not much," he said apologetically, "but if you take them to Branche, you should be able to sell them."

Tallie took one of the vases and turned it gently in her hands. "Never have I seen work like this!" she exclaimed. "The finest craftsmen in the land could not make its equal!" Then she smiled at him gratefully, her eyes shining. "You are a kindly soul, Clunk. May Zephyr bless you!"

Clunk hesitated. "The axe outside… was that forged by Wiltred?"

Tallie started, and then her face softened. "Indeed it was. How did you know of him?"

"Your daughter told me all about him."

"Not everything," murmured Tallie, and she seemed to be weighing something up. "Oh, to Zephyr with it!" she cried suddenly, turning to Millie. "Your father, rest his soul, is gone these many months, and there's no harm in telling the truth for once. Wiltred, the metalworker… he was your true father!"

"What? How?"

"Daughter, take a seat and I will explain. You see, when a man and a woman like each other very much, they lie down together and…"

"I know about sex, mother," said Millie hurriedly, before things got truly awkward.

"Well, Wiltred and I, we used to go at it like rabbits in his little cottage, and—"

"Mother!"

Tallie shrugged. "That's how it was. Anyway, Nine months later…there you were."

"I don't believe it," murmured Millie. "Wiltred of Tharn, the metalworker, is my father?"

"Metal wasn't the only hard thing in his workshop, if you—"

"Mother! Stop it, or I swear I'll leave again!"

"Do you know where Wiltred is?" asked Clunk. He still held a hope of finding the man and using his equipment to forge new metals. Within a decade or two, Clunk might have the means to build himself a communication device, and then he could call for rescue. Or, given a lot more time, he could build himself a ship and fly away.

Tallie sighed. "I have not seen Wiltred for sixteen years or more," she said sadly. "He fled when the guards came, and hasn't been seen since. I always hoped he got away, but… what if he's chained in a dungeon? Or dead?"

"I must go to Branche and ask after him. If he lives, I will get word to you."

Tallie grabbed Clunk's arm. "Would you? Tell him he's most welcome here. Tell him… I still have his axe. Tell him… tell him he has a daughter!"

Clunk smiled and nodded, and then he got up. "I must leave now, but I beg a favour. If you have a spare cloak…"

"Of course. You can't walk into Branche looking like that." Tallie opened a chest and took out a rough brown cloak with a hood. "This was my husband's. There are work gloves too, and boots if you need them."

Clunk donned the cloak, the boots and the gloves, and with the hood up every inch of his metal skin was covered.

"You can take the axe also, if you need a weapon."

"He can't," said Millie. "Clunk's not allowed to hurt people. It's his law."

"Really?"

Millie nodded. "Unless they irritate him, and then all bets are off."

They made their farewells outside, and afterwards Clunk strode from the village in the direction of Branche, the old brown cloak flapping around him. At the stream, he looked back, and he saw Millie and her mother waving at him. He raised his hand in farewell, then leapt across the bubbling brook and lengthened his stride.

Branche was no more than two hours away, and deep inside he knew he'd find answers there.

Chapter 25

"Are we there yet?" demanded Runt.

Hal frowned. "We're fifty yards closer than the last time you asked, which was about sixty seconds ago."

"Don't blame me," grumbled the halfling, who was trotting alongside, struggling to keep up with the human's long strides. "The horizon's a lot closer for me than it is for you. If my eyes were any closer to the ground, I'd be lucky to see my hands at arm's length."

Hal opened his mouth to refute this wildly inaccurate statement, but he didn't have the energy. They'd been walking for hours, and if the road hadn't been ruler-straight with no turn-offs, he was certain the others would have accused him long ago of leading the entire landing party astray.

As it was, he noticed Berry and Borosin frowning at him from time to time, and he knew it wouldn't be long before they called a halt to interrogate him about the destination.

"At least I didn't tell them how far it really was to Branche," said Runt. "If this lot knew they'd have to walk halfway across the Old Kingdom, they'd never have agreed to follow you." The halfling looked up at him. "You must really hate dwarves, if you want to fight them this badly."

"Not at all," said Hal. "I didn't fancy staying on that ship any longer, and I didn't want to explore the Old Kingdom on my own. So, I conned those officers and two hundred sailors into coming with me."

"That took some bells," said Runt admiringly. He looked over his shoulder at the puffing, red-faced sailors. They weren't unfit, but they weren't used to long marches either. "If they find out you've tricked them into becoming your private bodyguards…"

"Keep your voice down," muttered Hal.

"So what's the plan?" Runt asked him. "Walk around until you get your memory back?"

"I'm hoping someone will recognise me. Or maybe I'll remember this Branche place when we get there." Hal glanced at the halfling. "And you? Why are you coming with us?"

Runt shrugged. "That's one big army of dwarves roaming around, and they're none too keen on halflings. I'm sticking with this lot until I get to safety."

"Sounds like we've got the same plan."

Runt nodded. "Of course, I have the better of it."

"How so?"

"You're the one who lied to them. They'll probably string you up for that, but I'm in the clear."

And on this encouraging note, they kept on walking towards Branche.

— ♦ —

The dwarven army was marching north at speed, for they intended to take the city of Branche before the hated elves got there and claimed all of the Bark Kingdom for themselves.

Unfortunately, their leader wasn't having the best of weeks. First, Rugbeard had disowned his son, Stonesmasher, after an embarrassing coming-of-age ceremony in which the young dwarf had refused to cut down a tree.

Instead, Stonesmasher had declared his love for the environment and run off with an elf.

Then, as the mighty army made their way along the coast, Rugbeard had led the attack on a bunch of fancy, dressed-up humans setting up a camp on the beach. That attack had failed when a gigantic wooden ship unleashed a furious barrage of iron balls. Had the humans only aimed a little lower, or had the dwarves been a little taller, the broadside would have ended half of Rugbeard's army.

Rugbeard had hoped to take the ship and reward his army with food and loot, for the humans were lousy shots and probably easy pickings. However, with their ship anchored in the middle of the bay, Rugbeard had been forced to give up and lead his army inland.

He'd been tempted to take Chatter's Reach as a consolation prize, but somewhere the elves were marching, and after two embarrassing failures he wanted to get to Branche quickly.

After all this recapping, Rugbeard realised his throat was dry. "More ale," he cried.

"There is none," said a female dwarf.

"Bet there was plenty aboard that ship," muttered another.

An elderly male dwarf spat on the road. "And even more at Chatter's Reach."

Rugbeard took his axe in both hands. "If any of you want to fight me for the leadership, ready your weapons."

"I meant no disrespect," said the elderly dwarf quickly. Rugbeard was the longest-reigning dwarven king in living memory, mainly because he'd offed every challenger with his fabled axe, Split. Sometimes he offed mouthy dwarves before they got around to challenging him, which was a highly effective way to keep both his hands on the crown.

"There will be ale aplenty in Branche," said Rugbeard.

"To Branche!" shouted the dwarves, and the cry was taken up along the line, the army's raised voices thundering across the plain.

— ♦ —

Meanwhile, in the elven kingdom, the only army in the Old Kingdom not marching on Branche was waiting patiently for orders. There were a hundred tall, slender archers, with their flowing hair tied back so their bow strings didn't rip it out at the roots. There were fifty armoured swords, with metal shields and wicked, curved blades. And there was a single elf with a big wooden club, who wasn't actually a soldier but enjoyed a good fight anyway.

Wiltred felt all of their eyes on his back as he toiled on the catapult.

"If it's not done soon, we're toast," murmured Tyniwon.

"Why whisper, when they can hear you anyway?" replied Wiltred. "Now drive that axle pin into place, and then we'll give it another push."

Tyniwon obeyed, whacking the wooden peg with his mallet, and then, at last, Wiltred declared his preparations complete. He'd fitted larger wheels for the trek to Branche, so the catapult's base would clear any rocks in their path. He'd fitted traces, so the stronger elves could take turns pulling the catapult, like long-haired, two-legged beasts of burden. And, finally, he'd built a sturdy, four-wheeled carriage to transport their ammunition: two dozen huge boulders.

Personally, he felt they could fire any old rocks they happened to find near the city, but the elves insisted on being prepared.

"My brave elven warriors!" shouted Longroot, their newly crowned king. "Into position!"

Two dozen of the strongest soldiers hurried to the catapult, where they shouldered the long, thick ropes and braced themselves.

"Pull!" shouted Longroot, and there was a groan and a creak as the catapult set off.

Wiltred was impressed at the way the huge, wheeled weapon rolled across the ground. It was probably the largest machine ever built in the old kingdom, and he felt a thrill as he saw it creeping across the clearing towards the treeline. He'd even had time to design a crude steering rack, and by pulling on a couple of ropes he directed the big, heavy catapult around the many tree stumps which dotted the clearing. To steer properly, he was forced to sit on the catapult itself, and to cheer Tyniwon up he'd let the seven-foot giant sit alongside him. Whether this cheered up the elves trying to pull the catapult along, he didn't like to ask.

The army saluted as the catapult creaked by, then fell into line behind it, marching in step with the brims of their helmets almost touching their long, aquiline noses. Wiltred looked back at them, and he was struck by their fearsome appearance. With those warlike elves, and his catapult, Branche would fall in no time.

"Watch where you're going," muttered Tyniwon.

Wiltred realised they were heading straight for a large stump, and he turned the catapult a few degrees to avoid it. How foolish would he look, knocking a wheel off the thing so soon?

Before long the procession rumbled past the elven cottages, where the young and the elderly came out to watch their army marching off to war. As the marching army and huge rumbling catapult went by, the vibrations loosened a dozen roof tiles, which fell and smashed on the ground.

Wiltred glanced at Tyniwon, who was obviously brooding over his beloved. The man was staring at a small cottage set back from the rest, where two guards were standing either side of the front door. Wiltred saw his angry expression, and he realised this must be the place where the elves were holding Allyance. Her planned marriage to Longroot was the only thing keeping the humans alive, and Wiltred hoped the headstrong young man wouldn't do anything stupid.

He didn't. Tyniwon's expression was like a thundercloud as they trooped up the street, one of the catapult's wheels going squeak-squeak-squeak, but he wasn't foolish enough to attempt a rescue.

Moments later, Wiltred felt a light tap on the shoulder, and he turned to see one of the elven archers keeping pace with him. It was a moment he'd been dreading, ever since the queen's unfortunate death, but the woman didn't knife him in the back. Instead, she smiled at him. She wasn't out for revenge, and she wasn't an elven archer. In fact, it was Allyance herself, the helmet obscuring half her face.

"What are you—?" began Wiltred, then shut his mouth with a snap. Elves had supernatural hearing, and even a whisper was useless in their presence. If Longroot knew Allyance was amongst them, anything could happen.

Wiltred wanted to ask her how she'd escaped, although he figured she'd probably kicked a large hole in the wall of the cottage, which was about as strong as damp paper. Wiltred wondered where she'd got the bow, and the armour, and the helmet, but all of that and more would just have to wait.

Allyance put a finger to her lips, then nodded towards Tyniwon, who was still looking back over his shoulder, and hadn't seen her. Wiltred got the message. When it was safe, he was to tell Tyniwon she was along for the march.

Wiltred's spirits rose, for he'd been hoping to escape the convoy and make his way to Mollister lands, but he knew Tyniwon would never run whilst Allyance was in captivity. Now, with Tyniwon's beloved elf maiden in tow, they could make their escape at any time.

Of course, first Wiltred wanted to see his catapult in action, even if it meant a five hour march and hand-to-hand battle against countless foes. But they could escape any time after that.

They passed the last of the cottages, and slowed their pace as the ground sloped up towards the treeline. As they approached the fringes of the woods, Wiltred steered the catapult along the middle of the path. It was then that he noticed the big, strong wheels were several inches wider than the path.

He looked ahead, to the spot where the path threaded between tall, ancient trees, and a horrible suspicion began to form. As the elves hauled the catapult closer and closer to the big trees, Wiltred cleared his throat nervously. "You might want to slow down there a bit, guys."

They heard him, of course, but they weren't about to take orders from a mere human. So it was that the catapult was still moving at a fair lick when the front wheels slammed into big, solid tree trunks, one either side of the path. There was a huge crash, the sudden stop surprising the elves no end. They tumbled over like skittles, ropes still clutched in both hands, and Wiltred learned a useful set of elvish swear words.

"It won't fit," he said, but the elves weren't having it. They pushed the catapult back and tried again, several times, and each time the wheels went bump-bump-bump on the trees.

Longroot came hurrying up to see what the problem was. "You made it too wide?" he demanded.

"No, someone planted the trees too close together," said Wiltred.

"Make it narrower! Quickly!"

Wiltred shook his head. "To cut the axle down we'd have to trim the base, and to do that I'd have to fit a narrower pivot."

"Then do so!"

"A narrower pivot means a much smaller arm." Wiltred held up his fist.

"You threaten me?" said Longroot, reaching for his sword.

"Eh? No!" Wiltred gestured with his fist. "If I modify the catapult, this is about the biggest rock you'll be throwing at the enemy."

"Make narrower wheels, then!"

Wiltred shook his head. "We must cross the marshes, and narrow wheels will quickly sink."

"Then what is the answer?"

Wiltred eyed the trees, estimating their girth. "Do you have a axe?"

Longroot stared at him, then gestured wildly. "First you murder the queen, and now you wish to chop down my forest?"

"Well, we could open fire from here," said Wiltred reasonably, "but I doubt we'll hit Branche."

"Axes!" roared Longroot. "Everyone fetch axes!"

There was a stampede as the elves ran back to their cottages, and in the excitement Wiltred managed to whisper to Tyniwon. "Allyance is with us, dressed as an archer."

"Really?" said Tyniwon, his expression hopeful.

"Yes, she's dressed as an archer. After Branche, we will flee the elves with her by our side."

"That is grand news, old man. But… the elves agreed to set us free, so why would we—?"

"Oh, don't be naive. They're never going to let us go, not after you did for their queen." Wiltred shook his head. "No, we will flee after the attack begins. Hopefully, they will be occupied with the fighting, and won't notice our absence."

Tyniwon looked doubtful, but they could speak no more because the elves came hurrying back with large axes. Soon, the forest rang with the sound of chopping, and cries of 'timberrr!' — in elvish — and falling trees.

As each tree was felled, the catapult was moved up, progressing slowly along the road. Eventually, though, once forty or fifty beautiful old trees had been hacked down, they reached a lightly wooded section where the elves were able to shoulder their axes. After that, they made excellent progress, and it was no time before they reached the edge of the marshes.

Now the going got really tough. The catapult rode the soft ground easily, but with every step, the elves pulling on the ropes sank knee-deep into the mud. They struggled mightily, hauling the huge contraption across the broad wind-swept marshes while Wiltred and Tyniwon sat there watching the herculean effort from their comfortable vantage-point.

"I'm steering," said Wiltred, when one of the elves looked back to give him a death-laden glare.

"I'm navigating," said Tyniwon.

Behind them, more elves struggled with the carriage full of ammunition, making extremely heavy going of it.

With little to do except steer the catapult in a straight line, Wiltred decided to give his assistant a quick math lesson. "If twenty-four elves take four hours to drag a catapult to Branche, how long would it take twelve of them?"

Tyniwon thought for a bit. "Fourteen hours and twenty minutes."

"I think you mean eight," said Wiltred gently.

"Sure. Eight hours travelling, but they'd have to rest more often."

"All right, let's try another one."

Before Wiltred could pose the problem, a large elf carrying a broadsword altered his course to walk next to the catapult. "I have one for you," said the elf. "How long would it take for two humans to pull this thing to Branche?"

"That would be impossible!" protested Wiltred. "They'd never get there. The effort would kill them first."

"Then steer the damn thing and keep your trap shut," snarled the elf, and he returned to his spot in the formation.

"Here endeth the lesson," muttered Wiltred.

And so they progressed, leaving deep wheel ruts and even deeper footprints across the face of the land as they headed towards Branche.

Chapter 26

Clunk sought directions to Branche before he left the village, and so he knew to turn north once he reached the broad, sun-soaked plains beyond the edge of the woods. Here, he encountered a narrow stone road, and he discovered the ground on either side was churned up as though by hundreds of boots. From the prints, several hundred people were heading to Branche in a large group, and Clunk wondered why.

After extending a high-capacity solar panel from the top of his head, he set off at a loping run. His feet thudded on the road, and his leg motors whined as he took huge, loping strides. Within seconds the scenery was blurring past, and he was moving faster than any land creature in the Old Kingdom had ever travelled. Except, of course, those unfortunate enough to be taken by a dragon. The wind tore at his cloak, pulling the hood back, and sunlight gleamed on his metal skin.

As he charged down the road, Clunk noticed the grinding in his left leg was improving. He brightened as he realised the speedy running was freeing it up, and he was still pleased at his good fortune when he spotted a dust cloud up the road.

He shortened his steps, but as he saw the big column of men and woman ahead, he decided it would be safer to run around them. So, he veered off the road, lengthened his stride once more and ran full tilt across the plain, parallel to the moving column of troops. He had business in Branche, and if these people were marching on the city there was no time to lose.

Clunk saw people stopping and pointing at him, stunned surprise on their faces as they saw the bronze human-like figure belting past. His rapid progress was raising clouds of dust, which billowed out behind him, leaving the troops coughing and spluttering.

As he neared the head of the column, Clunk spotted a pair of officers wearing vastly different uniforms. The younger man wore navy blue, with a fancy tricorne hat, while the older officer sported a bright red uniform with shiny buttons. They both looked hot and dusty, and they got a whole lot dustier after Clunk ran past.

Finally, ahead of the officers, there was an odd-looking couple. One was a tiny figure of a man dressed in forest green, with tousled hair and a jaunty, confident walk. The other was a human, at least twice the height of his companion. As Clunk ran by, he noticed the taller man's honest, open face and his shock of dark hair. Then he was past, and the funny-looking pair were swallowed up by his dust cloud.

He rejoined the paved road, but ten steps later Clunk's brain flashed a notification. Somewhere deep in his circuits a latent memory had been triggered, and he realised he knew the man he'd just seen. Instantly, he put on the brakes, leaning right back as his rubber-shod feet gripped the surface of the road. He came to a halt, legs groaning, then turned and jogged back.

He found the man and the halfling bent double, coughing in the dust cloud. "I'm sorry," said Clunk politely. "But I must ask… have we met?"

"Yeah, ten seconds ago," wheezed the man, after another coughing fit. "Right after you decided there wasn't enough dust in my diet."

"No, I meant before today." The robot put his hand out. "My name is Clunk, and I've lost my memory."

"You're not the only one," muttered the man. He finished wiping his eyes, and, blinking through the dust, he squinted at the robot. "A metal man, huh? Well, you seem polite enough." He shook Clunk's hand. "Hal Spacejock."

"Alas, the name means nothing to me."

"Me neither," said Hal. "I woke up two, three days ago not knowing who I was or where I came from."

"But that's what happened to me!" said Clunk excitedly.

There was no chance to exchange notes, because by now the rest of the army was approaching. As the officers got closer, they stared at Clunk with surprise.

"The blue one's Berry, the one in red is Borosin," said Hal. "Their countries are at war with each other, but they're both at war with the dwarves so there's a kind of truce."

"Dwarves?"

"Keep running at that speed, and you'll meet them soon enough," remarked Hal.

Berry turned and raised a hand, halting the march. Then he turned to Clunk. "What manner of creature are you?"

"I wish I knew," said the robot. "They call me the mechanical man, or the metal marvel, or… several other names, but I'm usually called Clunk."

"Your technology is impressive," said Borosin, as he circled the robot, studying every panel and joint. "Even the metal workers of Methusia would have trouble building one such as you."

"We could probably manage it in Stalya," said Berry.

Clunk stared from one to the other. "Are you telling me your nations are more advanced than the Old Kingdom?"

Berry and Borosin exchanged a glance, then burst out laughing. "The Old Kingdom is a living fairy tale," said Borosin, shaking his head. "They have no guns, no pistols—

"They can barely forge usable swords," said Berry.

"All right, all right," said Runt, looking aggrieved. "Just because we haven't invented better ways to kill each other, it doesn't mean we're completely backwards."

"Where is the nearest hospital?" Borosin asked him.

"The nearest what?"

"I rest my case." Borosin turned to Clunk. "When my fleet arrives, you shall visit Methusia in style. I, Captain Borosin of Methusia, will show you what an advanced civilisation looks like."

"His fleet might never show up," muttered Berry, "and if it does, another sea serpent will probably sink all his ships."

"Next time, we will be prepared," said Borosin haughtily.

Berry turned to Clunk. "That may be so, but in the meantime I have a ship not three hours march from here." He frowned at Hal. "It would have been a lot closer, but I was misled about the distance to the city of Branche."

"Anyone can make a mistake," said Hal, with a shrug.

"In any case," continued Berry, "if you agree to accompany us, we will march back to my ship this instant. I am Midshipman Berry, commander of the Intrepid, and by my order we set sail for Stalya before sunset."

"Hang on, hang on," said Hal. "What about saving the people of Branche?"

Clunk stared at him. "Did you say 'saving'?"

"Yeah. They're about to get besieged by angry dwarves. I thought we should give them a hand, so I talked this lot into chasing them down and stopping them."

"You mean your army is not attacking Branche?"

"My army?" Hal laughed. "What makes you think I'm one of these guys?"

Clunk turned to the officers. "Sirs, I am willing to visit both your nations, in turn, but on one condition."

"Yes?" said Borosin, expectantly.

"Name it," said Berry.

"You will march to Branche and protect her people from the dwarven army."

Borosin looked at Berry, who nodded. "It's a deal," said the Stalyan. "We must be almost there by now, in any case." So saying, he turned to the sailors and gestured. "March on!"

Everyone moved off, and Clunk fell into step beside the officers, with Hal and the halfling further ahead. He answered a barrage of questions as well as he was able, then excused himself.

"We will talk later," Berry promised him.

Clunk sped up until he was walking beside Hal and the halfling. "I cannot shake this feeling that I've seen you before," he told the human.

Hal gave him a sidelong glance. "I can't say the same."

"Don't play with the manemol flange," said Clunk suddenly. "Do not touch the controls."

"I'm sorry, what?" said Hal.

Clunk frowned. "I don't know why I said those things, Mr Spacejock. They seem to be latent memories."

"Maybe I should unscrew your head and look inside."

"And maybe I should unscrew yours," retorted Clunk.

They walked in silence for a minute.

"Did you say you woke up two or three days ago?" Hal asked him at last.

"Indeed. I came to in the sea, just off Chatter's Reach. I was dragged onto the beach by two guards called Islington and Pentonville."

"I woke up in the sea as well." Hal shook his head at the memory. "I was hauled aboard a warship, which was blown up in a battle. The explosion nearly killed me. There I was, bobbing in the ocean, and all these chunks of burning wood came splashing down."

"I had seaweed and sand mixed up inside me," said Clunk. "And… I got wet."

"You got wet?" protested Hal. "I had to cling to a barrel, and I paddled in the sea for a whole day and night…"

"My leg was making groaning sounds!"

"… through serpent infested waters. Then another ship blew up, showering me with burning timbers, and after escaping by the skin of my teeth I had to swim through rough seas for another two hours."

Clunk frowned, for he still believed he'd had the worst of it. "I had to fight the Queen's champion in a duel to the death."

"You're still alive aren't you?" Hal gestured with his less-than-impressive sword. "I had to fight two hundred dwarves with this letter opener!"

"And yet you emerged unscathed from this one-sided contest."

They both fell silent as they ran out of grievances.

"Where do you think we came from?" asked Hal suddenly. "I mean, it can't be a coincidence that we both ended up in the ocean."

"If I had the answer to that question, I would give it freely."

"Do you think there's another land out there, one more advanced than Stalya and Methusia? One where they have the skills to make robots like you? One where they raise highly intelligent beings like me?"

"It would take advanced equipment to construct more of me, but I suggest that the equipment needed to create your equal is far more common." Then something hit Clunk like a bolt of lightning, and he stared at the human. "You called me a robot!"

"I'm sorry. Is that offensive to your kind?"

"No, I mean you used the actual word 'robot'. Mr Spacejock, this is an incredible development!"

"Not really. You said something about a manemol flange earlier, and if I tried I'm sure I could spout gibberish just like it."

"That's not the point. The inhabitants of this place have no word for robot, yet you used such a word. Therefore, you are not from the Old Kingdom!"

"That's an amazing deduction."

"I know," said Clunk, looking chuffed.

"Shame I worked it out two days ago, while I was paddling that barrel past burning fragments in the serpent-infested oceans."

Clunk ignored him. "According to the locals, I landed in the sea after a fireball fell from the sky, smashed a tower and killed their High Priest. The fireball must have been a vessel of some kind, perhaps a machine which protected me from the impact." He turned to Hal. "Mr Spacejock, what if you were aboard that same vessel?"

"Are you trying to pin the High Priest's death on me? Because if you are—"

"No!" Slowly, Clunk pointed at the sky. "I keep getting flashes of memory, and in them I'm at home travelling between the stars. I'm certain we came from the heavens, and landed here by accident."

Hal grinned at Runt, making a twirling motion with his finger.

"Don't dismiss me so quickly," said Clunk. "It's the truth, I'm sure of it."

"Well, as soon as we've saved Branche you can swim out to sea, find this vessel of yours and return to the stars. And be sure to send me a message when you get there."

"That's not—"

"Hey, I've got a better idea!" said Hal. "Why don't you tame one of those giant dragons, and teach it to fly you to the stars?"

Runt snorted at the ludicrous suggestion, while Clunk wisely said nothing.

After that they lapsed into silence, and they marched on towards Branche without exchanging another word.

Chapter 27

Somewhere to the north of Hal and Clunk, Stonesmasher the dwarf and Slimbough the elf were making their own crossing of Bark lands. They were heading east to Slimbough's home in the elven kingdom, and despite being on the Bark side of the border, they were still carrying their extremely sharp and very metallic weapons.

Not for them the judicious application of mud, nor the wearing of overpriced cloaks. No, Stonesmasher carried his axe proudly over one shoulder, and he was dressed from head to toe in chainmail, which glittered like a disco ball in the sunlight.

They'd crossed the border some hours earlier, and when Stonesmasher saw the sign threatening death to anyone who dared bring metal into Bark lands… he chopped it down. Like most dwarves, he believed rules applied to other people, and that went double for stupid rules written by stupid humans.

The companions had been travelling uphill for some time now, and when they reached the summit they paused to survey the lands ahead. To their left were the beginnings of a forest. Straight ahead there were more hills, and beyond those, they knew, were the treacherous marshes which stretched to the very border of the elven kingdom. To their right were the plains which extended all the way south to Mollister lands.

Broad, sunny landscapes and alluring vistas weren't the only things they could see. On the plains below, a large party of armour-clad warriors was moving at the double, their boots thudding on the road in unison. They were dressed exactly like Stonesmasher, right down to the round helms on their bullet-like heads.

"Dwarves!" hissed Slimbough, and he performed a special elf manoeuvre called haidin, whereby he flitted behind a nearby tree… and, well that was it, really. He just hid behind a tree.

Since the marching army of dwarves weren't exactly alert to stray elves on the skyline, this fine example of outdoorsmanship sufficed to conceal him from view.

Meanwhile, Stonesmasher had just recognised the burly figure leading the army, and his eyes narrowed at the sight. "It is Rugbeard," he muttered in surprise. "That's my father!"

The last time he and Slim had seen the dwarven king had been at Stonesmasher's coming-of-age ceremony, and that had ended under something of a cloud.

"Are they looking for you?" whispered Slimbough, from his semi-concealed position.

"He wouldn't get out of bed to find me, let alone cross the Old Kingdom with one hundred and ninety-nine other dwarves." Stonesmasher noticed a second dust cloud far to the south, and he shielded his eyes and squinted as he tried to make out the source. "Friend Slimbough, will you lend me your elven eyes? I cannot see the cause of that dust storm."

"My eyes are no better than yours," said Slim. "However, my hearing tells me there are two hundred armed humans marching this way."

"Are you sure you're not hearing the dwarves?"

"I am certain, for they make a completely different sound. And… there's also the footfall of the metal man, Clunk. And, strangely, the light steps of a child." Slimbough cupped a hand to his pointy ear, then frowned. "No, not a child. It's a halfling."

Stonesmasher spat on the ground.

"What was that for?"

"Halflings. Can't stand 'em." Stonesmasher spat again. "Sneaky little creatures, they are. Sooner run you through from behind than stand up and fight properly."

"Hush, friend. There is another sound, and I cannot place it."

"Hopefully it's someone strangling the halfling," muttered Stonesmasher.

"No, it's a squeaking noise, like wood on wood." Slimbough pointed due east. "It comes from beyond yonder hills."

"Maybe it's a tree branch, scraping against another in the wind."

"There is no wind, and there are no trees in the marshes. And hark, another sound!"

Stonesmasher could only hear crickets, and he wondered if Slim was pulling his leg. Then again, the elf was a dour sort, and not one given to japes and fripperies.

"An army of one hundred and forty-nine souls approaches," said Slim. "And… oh, how my heart sings, Stonesmasher, for it is an elven host!"

Stonesmasher eyed the dwarves, and the dust cloud representing the pursuing humans, and the hills concealing the approaching elves, and he realised there was going to be the mother of all battles. He considered himself well out of it, and he was just about to offer Slim a wager on the outcome when he realised something. "Why are your people marching on Branche?"

"Why are yours?" countered Slim.

Neither of them wondered why the human army was marching on Branche, because the hot-tempered, short-lived creatures were always warring amongst themselves.

Meanwhile, the large party of dwarves was now vanishing into the forest at the northern end of the road, and Slimbough emerged from behind the tree and set off down the hill towards the road.

"Where are you going?"

"I must speak with my people before the humans cut us off."

Stonesmasher hesitated, then followed his friend. He hoped the elves would be more welcoming to him than his own people had been to Slimbough, but he wasn't going to bet on it.

They made it to safety, crossing the stone road and toiling up the hill on the other side. When they reached the top, a curious sight met their eyes. Below, the marshlands were spread out as far as the eye could see. Two deep ruts wound their way across the landscape, and about four hundred yards away there was a big wooden device on wheels. From this distance, it looked like a wooden spoon balanced across a cotton reel, with both sitting on a wheeled sandal. However, the tiny, ant-like figures surrounding it gave some measure of its true scale.

"What in Zephyr's name is that?" breathed Stonesmasher.

At the sound of his voice, the figures stopped moving, and one hundred and forty-nine elves turned to look at him. There were two humans as well, but Stonesmasher didn't pay them much attention, because two thirds of the elven host had just drawn their bows and nocked deadly arrows.

"Hold," said Slimbough quietly. "Do not fire. It is I, Slimbough."

"Fire what?" demanded Stonesmasher, but then he realised the elf's words were meant for his brethren, four hundred yards away. And they'd heard him, too, because they hadn't loosed a hail of arrows.

Yet.

There was a pause as Slimbough listened to a reply, and then he spoke again. "Yes, he's with me. This is Stonesmasher, son of Rugbeard, heir to the dwarven throne."

"Hi!" said Stonesmasher, and he waved with his left hand. The right was still gripping the leather-bound haft of his axe, even though he was outnumbered by over a hundred-to-one, and they had bows.

"They reply to your greeting with salutations of their own," murmured Slimbough. Then his face turned paler. "No, it cannot be!" he said softly.

"What?"

"My mother… the queen. She is no longer with us!"

Stonesmasher looked around. As far as he knew, there hadn't been any other elves with them at all. Not even queens with a combination of magic use and the elven skill of haidin. Then he realised what Slim meant. "Is she dead?"

"She has breathed her last and passed to the great beyond. In our tongue, she has cistobee."

"We call it pushing up the crazies," said Stonesmasher conversationally. "But that's because we chuck our dead into the nearest gorblin lair, and they always come pouring out looking for more."

Slim frowned at him. "This is the queen you refer to. Please show some decorum."

"That's all right. You know I'm just kidding."

Slim pointed to the heavily-armed elven hoard, who were now roughly three hundred and ninety-five yards away. "Maybe so, but they don't."

Stonesmasher couldn't help noticing the archers were still ready to fire. "Just kidding!" he shouted, and at his unexpected roar Slimbough clapped both hands over his pointed ears.

"Ask them what that contraption's for," said Stonesmasher. He had a dwarf's love of engineering and machinery, even though he was incapable of hitting the head of a nail twice in a row.

"It is a destroyer of cities. A catapult, in the human tongue. And, apparently, the killer of queens."

"Yes, but what does it do?"

"Let us approach, and find out."

"If it's all right with you, I'll wait here." Stonesmasher gestured at the marshlands. "I'll sink up to my neck in that filth, and cleaning dried mud out of chainmail is like trying to pick your nose with a spear."

Despite his desire to join his fellow elves, Slimbough saw the wisdom in this. Also, he was wearing fancy leather boots and his best leggings, and the marsh did look particularly foul. So, they sat down on a nice clean patch of grass, and the two of them told elf and dwarf jokes while the elven host struggled, and hauled, and inched their way towards them.

By now, the human army had drawn level with the base of the hill, on the opposite side to the elves. Slim and Stonesmasher kept their heads down and watched them with interest, noting their unusual clothing and weapons. "That is a curious army indeed," muttered Stonesmasher. "They don't wear Mollister uniform, and those aren't Mollister weapons."

At the head of the column they could see their companion, Clunk, striding beside a human who appeared to be wearing a muddy, sweat-stained onesie. Originally white, the garment looked like it had been dragged through a field full of cows before serving as a pig-cleaning rag. Stonesmasher spat again, and Slimbough realised he'd seen the halfling too.

"Should we attract Clunk's attention?" asked Slim. "Perhaps he might tell us who these people are."

Stonesmasher shook his head. "Let them go."

"But they pursue your brethren!"

"My dwarves could take that lot with one arm tied behind their backs," scoffed Stonesmasher. "I mean, just look at those two in their fancy dress," he said, pointing at Berry and Borosin, although of course he had no idea of the men's names. "You call that a hat?"

He fell silent as the humans marched past, because he'd just realised there were a great many tough-looking warriors. Some sported golden earrings, home-made tattoos and long tallowed ponytails, and their arms had muscles so corded they looked like thick, twisted ropes. As for the men, some of those were quite fierce-looking too.

"They are definitely not Mollisters," said Stonesmasher, as the last of the horde marched by.

"Five shillings the humans beat nine shades of spit out of your dwarves," said Slim.

"Ten shillings the mighty dwarven army crushes your lanky elves."

"Twenty shillings my elves pound those ugly humans into the dust."

"Fifty shillings the dwarves beat both armies without breaking a sweat."

"Now you're just getting silly," muttered Slim.

"Chicken." Stonesmasher looked round to see how the elves were faring with their catapult, and was pleased to see they'd almost reached the foot of the hill. Another ten minutes of heavy effort and they'd finally have made it across the marshes. "Come on, let's go and meet them," he said, getting up.

After a last look at the departing humans, Slimbough followed him down the back side of the hill. By the time they reached the bottom, the elves had managed to get their catapult onto firm ground, and Stonesmasher went to inspect the device while Slimbough greeted his older brother, Longroot.

"Well met," said Slim, with a nod.

"Well met indeed."

"You attack Branche?"

"That is the plan. We intend to get there before the filthy dwarves claim the Bark kingdom for themselves. It was our mother's plan, and one I intend to carry out."

"You'll have to get a move on, then," said Slim. He jerked his thumb at the hill. "The dwarves have a twenty minute lead on you."

"It matters not," said Longroot calmly. "They will be held up by the city defences, and we will rain death on them from afar. It shall be a slaughter for the ages."

"Yes, about that," said Slim. "Are you aware there's another army marching on Branche?"

"Indeed. I just heard two hundred Mollister troops, a metal man and a child passing by on the other side of the hill."

"Your hearing was never that good, was it?" said Slim. "For they were not Mollisters. They are a fierce-looking bunch of humans, the like of which I've never seen before."

"Even better!" exclaimed Longroot. "The dwarves and these humans will decimate each other, and we will only have to face the weary survivors."

"Speaking of weary, your elves look all-in." Slim had been eying his brother's proud army, and he couldn't help noticing their intricate armour was covered in mud right up to their armpits. Many were swaying where they stood, exhausted from hauling the catapult and the ammunition across the marshes. "There's not much fight left in them, is there?"

"They will not have to fight, for we have a secret weapon." Longroot slapped a hand on the catapult's nearest wheel, which was almost as tall as he was. Then he looked around for somewhere to wipe off the sticky, cloying mud. "With this catapult, our victory is assured."

"It looks like a big wooden spoon bent over a pair of cotton reels," remarked Slim. "But tell me, where did you get the idea for such a thing?"

A shadow crossed Longroot's face, and he turned to point out a balding human, who was inspecting the catapult with the aid of a man at least two feet taller than he was. "The smaller one is Wiltred, an inventor. The giant next to him is Queen Therstie's half-brother, Tyniwon Mollister."

He almost spat the name, and Slim realised there was bad blood between them. "I see he troubles you. Come, tell me why."

"It was he who ended the queen's life."

"On purpose?" said Slim, astonished.

"No, of course not. The man would not yet draw breath, if such were the case." Longroot sighed. "It was an accident, I assure you."

"Then why the hatred?"

"I have fallen for a girl… the most beautiful, intelligent and wise elf maiden."

"I can see why you'd be piffed off," remarked Slim. "What a burden."

"Nay, brother, that is not the reason. My Allyance… she has eyes only for Tyniwon."

"Let her go, Root."

"I cannot. She is to be my queen."

"She will be unhappy, and I guarantee she will make you unhappy also. Your days will be long… and the nights even longer." Slim clasped his brother's shoulder. "Let her go."

"Do not tell me what to do," snapped Longroot, shaking Slim's hand off. "I am king now, and you would do well to remember it."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Oh, shut up." Longroot eyed his younger brother. "Sorry to tell you this, but you wasted your time seeking building materials from the dwarves. From this day hence, elves will live in the trees, as we're supposed to."

"You're not keeping up with all mother's progressive ideas, then?"

Longroot shuddered. "Those cottages of ours… they are foul abominations. Once the Bark lands are annexed, we shall burn them down and plant saplings amongst the ashes." He looked up at the catapult, which towered over them. "But first, we must take Branche and secure these lands for the elves. Only then can we keep the dwarves and the humans from our homeland."

And with that, the family reunion was over. Longroot gave a signal and the least-weary elves took up their traces and hauled the catapult forward once more, sensibly going around the hill rather than over it.

Chapter 28

Sur Loyne was sitting in a deserted tavern, a jug of wine at his elbow. One hand was clenched around a crude clay goblet, which was resting on the wooden table in front of him, and his royal crown had slipped down over one eye.

The tavern was deserted because every citizen in Branche was trying to save their belongings. Mollister soldiers were taking everything that wasn't nailed down, and the dragon had tried to burn everything else.

Even the tavern had been stripped of wine and food by the invading army, but they'd missed a barrel with a few dregs in the bottom, and that's what Sur Loyne was drinking right now.

After the dragon burned half the city to the ground, an angry delegation had confronted him. They insisted he ride off to fight the dragon, like a true King of Branche, and he only got rid of them by promising faithfully he'd do exactly that.

Instead, he made a beeline for the nearest tavern.

As he sat there, trying to get drunk on half a mug of wine, he saw a face peering over the bar at him. It was a girl, maybe eleven or twelve years old, with dirty blonde hair and a soot-streaked face. She was regarding him curiously, not frightened, but ready to run at the first sign of trouble.

"Where are your parents?" Sur Loyne asked her.

After a moment's hesitation, the girl replied. "There's only my ma, and she ran off with a soldier."

Sur Loyne frowned, and shook his head.

"Why are you wearing that old crown?" the girl asked him.

"I'm the King of Branche. Did you know that?"

The girl stood up for a better look, and he could see she was skinny, and likely ill-fed. "You're never!"

"Yes I am."

"But… they said you disappeared, Sire."

"I'm not King Larch. I'm a new one."

"King Kah?"

"No, even newer than that. I am King Loyne."

The girl came closer, hesitantly, but the lure of honest-to-goodness royalty was strong. Even if he'd only been king for an hour or so. "You sound like a Mollister," objected the girl.

"That's true enough. I'm Champion to Queen Therstie herself, but my mother was a maid who hailed from a Bark village." Sur Loyne poured himself more wine, but it was mostly thick sediment.

"I wish my ma was in Mollister lands," said the girl wistfully.

"Why, when you yourself are in Branche?"

"Exactly."

She was close now, and Sur Loyne looked her up and down. She was skinnier than he first thought, and he doubted she got more than one decent meal a week. Her clothes were little more than rags, and they'd be no defence against the chilly nights. "You know," said Sur Loyne slowly, "a strong warrior like you would make an excellent knight."

"Me?" The girl's eyes shone. "Really?"

"You'll have to study, and train hard," he warned her.

"I will, Sire. Make you proud, I would."

"Good. I expect nothing less from my loyal subjects." Sur Loyne smiled at her. "Tell me, recruit. What is your name?"

"Wren."

"I will write your orders now." Sur Loyne felt about his person, but oddly enough he wasn't carrying parchment, a quill or an ink pot. So, he slipped off his signet ring and handed it to her. "Present that at the palace when things have settled down, and ask for an audience. In the meantime, gather what food you can find, and hide yourself away somewhere safe."

There was a crash outside, followed by a scream. "Sire…" began the girl.

"Somewhere safe, mind."

"But taking food is stealing."

Sur Loyne's heart went out to her. Here she stood, starving hungry and alone, right in the middle of an enemy invasion of the city, and she was worried about the law. "I'm king, and I say you can take whatever food you can find." He wagged his finger. "Just this once, mind. Don't make a habit of it!"

"No, Sire! I wouldn't!"

"Good."

"But… what will you do about the enemy?"

Sur Loyne sighed. "What can I do? They outnumber us a dozen to one."

"We could fight!" said Wren fiercely. "I would stab them, and cut them, and kick them where it hurts."

"I can see you will make an excellent knight one day, but now is not the time for heroics. Instead, you must hide."

"I am not a coward!"

"I know that."

"Are you?"

Sur Loyne paused, the mug halfway to his lips. There was something about the skinny little girl's challenge which made him want to jump up and and rally all the citizens of Branche to the cause. A big, angry crowd, acting as one… that would see the Mollisters off.

Then he sighed. Deep down, he knew he wasn't the man for the job. He could barely muster three cheers from a room full of thirsty soldiers, let alone convince all the peasants in the city to take up arms against trained enemy soldiers.

"You just gave up, didn't you?" demanded Wren. "You should be striding the battlements, shouting for men and women to join us under the Crossed Twig banners of Bark. You ought to be finding weapons, and armour, and even more weapons, and then sticking them into any Mollister soldier who doesn't run for his life."

There it was again, thought Sur Loyne in wonder. The girl's challenge was like fuel to a flickering candle, all but inspiring him to leap up and wade into the nearest group of Mollister soldiers, despite the fact he himself was a Mollister knight.

That's when he realised he would never be the true king of the Barks, not even by accident. The land needed an orator, a motivator, and a fierce, unbroken spirit, and he wasn't that person, not by a long shot.

So, he stood up and took the crown off.

"You're quitting?" said Wren in disgust. "A coward, just like I thought."

Very gently, Sur Loyne placed the ancient crown of Bark on Wren's head, pressing it down around her matted blonde hair. "With this crown I dub you Queen Wren, regent of Branche and ruler of the Barks."

The girl looked up at him in surprise. "Can you do that?"

"It's my last act as king, Your Majesty."

"Oh, okay then. Sorry about the coward thing." Wren thought for a minute. "Right, let's do this. Grab your sword, Sur Loyne. It's time to kick some Mollister butt."

They left the tavern together, the burly ex-king and the skinny little queen. On the way out, Sur Loyne gave her his steel dagger, and, once outside, they headed straight towards the nearest group of Mollister soldiers. A small part of him felt this was an incredibly stupid idea, but he couldn't help himself. It was like he was compelled.

The enemy were standing around idly, carelessly swilling wine from jugs, the red liquid splashing over their uniforms and pooling at their feet. As Sur Loyne and Wren advanced on them, side by side, they lowered the jugs and lazily readied their weapons, the iron swords glinting evilly in the sunshine.

Sur Loyne felt a moment of calm, knowing he was about to die but accepting it. Maybe one day someone would write a song about the defence of Branche, and the skinny little girl who led the revolt against the invaders.

Then, just before he reached the soldiers, a cry came to his ears.

"We're under attack! Branche is under attack!"

I know that, thought Sur Loyne. I'm about to take some of the attackers with me.

"It's the dwarves! Shut the gates. Shut the gates!"

Several things happened at once. There was a creak and a thud as the main gates were closed, the big wooden beam groaning as it was rammed to. A cry went up as the Mollister invaders realised the danger they were in. And Wren let out a fierce yell and brandished her knife at the group of sword-wielding soldiers.

"We are besieged by enemies!" yelled several officers, their cries ringing out all over the city.

All around Branche, Mollister soldiers stopped their looting and drinking and paused to listen.

"How many enemies?" someone called out.

"Who are they?" shouted someone else.

"There are dwarves numbering in the hundreds approaching from the south. Retreat north! Retreat north!"

The Mollister soldiers looked at each other, then ran for north wall, bearing everything they could carry.

"Come back!" shouted Sur Loyne. "Come back and help us!"

"Save your fudding selves," growled a soldier, who was hurrying by carrying a wooden dining chair over one shoulder. "This lousy city didn't even have anything worth looting."

Wren's group of soldiers, realising they were about to be overrun by a fearsome army of dwarves, turned tail and ran for it.

"And don't come back!" shrieked the queen of the Barks, hurling an empty wine jug after them.

— ♦ —

The war council was in full session, for an army of dwarves was now at the city gates, brandishing axes and hollering insults in dwarvish. The Mollister invaders, along with Sur Wendah and Sur Rysis, had already fled through a large, army-sized hole in the north wall, and this and others just like it were hurriedly being patched before the dwarves figured out they didn't actually have to enter the city via the front door.

There were several important people seated at the oval table, as well as a couple of lesser lights. Sur Kah and Sur Pryze had made it to the palace, where they had been summoned by the most recent King of the Barks… who now sat beside them as plain old Sur Loyne once more. Oxley was there, representing the Branche city guard, and also the palace genealogist who had originally declared Sur Kah the rightful king.

And, in the shadows to one side, stood Wren, shivering in her rags.

The wooden crown of the Barks, symbol of all that was mighty in the kingdom, sat in the middle of the table, where it was illuminated by a shaft of sunlight shining through a hole in the roof.

"So let me get this straight," said Starlow, chief courtier to the king of the Barks. Or, as it might be, the queen of the Barks. He turned to frown at Sur Kah, then gestured at Sur Loyne. "You abdicated when the Mollisters attacked, and made him king?"

"Yes, but—"

"Let me finish." Next, Starlow turned to Sur Loyne, and this time he gestured at Wren. "You were legitimately crowned king by this man, but less than an hour later you abdicated and made her queen?"

"It is so," said Sur Loyne gravely.

"I've never heard such casual disregard for high office," grumbled Starlow.

"Actually, in 354 A.F., there was a Mollister—" began Sur Kah.

"I don't care about the fudding Mollisters!" shouted Starlow, and then he calmed down and turned to the genealogist. "Is there a precedent in our land? Something we can use to overturn this… madness?"

"I made her queen," said Sur Loyne, his voice quiet but firm. "To suggest otherwise is treason."

"Not if you weren't king in the first place!"

Wren snorted. "By the great god Zephyr. Listen to yourselves, will you?" She came closer, right up to the table, and jabbed the ancient, worn surface with her forefinger. "Evil dwarves are getting ready to kill us all, and you sit here arguing like children. Get the army together! Give everyone weapons and shields! We've got to fight back, or die!"

Thoroughly inspired by her rousing speech, Sur Loyne jumped up, drawing his mighty sword. "Your Majesty, I fight for Branche!"

Sur Pryze did likewise. "We are but guests in your fair city, but we stand beside you!"

"Sit down!" hissed Sur Kah. "You're both Mollister knights,"

Sur Loyne frowned at him. "From this day forth, we serve none other than Queen Wren."

By now everyone else was on their feet to pledge allegiance, even Starlow and the elderly genealogist, who took up a candlestick and brandished it fiercely. "I'll burn the queen's enemies, I will!" he declared, before he got hot wax all over the back of his hand, and hurriedly put it down again.

Slowly, Sur Kah got up. "I still think I'm supposed to be king. I just had a moment of weakness, that's all."

"Give it up," said Sur Loyne.

Sur Kah frowned at him. "Very well, since you're all involved in this madness, I suppose I'll have to go along with it."

"A rousing speech indeed, Sur Kah," said Oxley drily.

Starlow took up the royal crown, and placed it reverently upon the queen's rather grubby curls. "Your Majesty, we serve at your pleasure," he said quietly. "But now, we must split up and prepare for—"

He got no further, because at that moment the doors exploded inwards, showering everyone with splinters. Standing in the doorway was a tall, lithe farm boy in a loin cloth, his arms outstretched and his eyes firmly closed. His body vibrated with suppressed power, and nobody doubted that he could shatter them as easily as he had the doors.

Behind him stood Tiera of the Grey Mountain people, and ex-Captain Spadell of Chatter's Reach.

"Traitor!" shouted Tiera, pointing her dagger at Sur Loyne. "That low-born cad sold us out!"

"What?" said Sur Loyne, looking shocked.

"He was supposed to meet the Mollister army and order them home. Instead, he leads their attack!"

"Oh, do keep up," said Sur Loyne testily. "The Mollister invasion is over. The soldiers fled to the north, I was made king after Sur Kah abdicated, and then I passed the crown to the new queen of Bark. But that's not important right now, for an army of dwarves besieges the city."

"What new queen?" demanded Tiera, completely ignoring the bit about a huge dwarven army at the gates.

"That would be me," said Wren.

Tiera turned to look at her. If she was surprised at the sight of a twelve-year old in ragged clothes, with an old wooden crown pressed down over her matted hair, she didn't show it. Instead, Tiera dropped to one knee and bowed her head. "Your Majesty. I apologise for my outburst."

"You see that?" murmured Starlow to the genealogist, who was still picking dried wax off the back of his hand. "That's class, that is. You don't see the like these days."

Meanwhile, Queen Wren addressed Tiera. "That's okay, you can get up, er…"

"Tiera, of the Grey Mountain people."

"Get up, Tiera, and don't worry about the doors."

"Her Majesty is correct," said Starlow. "If there's one thing this city has lots of, it's wood."

"And invaders," remarked Sur Loyne. "It's like rush hour around these parts."

Everyone ignored him.

"Your majesty, I am Lonta Spadell, once captain of the city guard at Chatter's Reach." Spadell bowed his head. "I pledge myself to your service."

"Good. And who's he?" Wren was pointing at Thonn, who was leaning against the door frame, recovering from his display of magic power. He looked drawn and weak, for the effort had drained him.

"That's Thonn," said Tiera. "He was a farm boy, but now he's a powerful wizard."

"Bet nobody saw that coming," muttered Sur Loyne.

"He doesn't look very powerful to me," said Wren.

"The briefest use of magic completely saps his energy," explained Spadell. "He should recover in time, and then he'll be ready once more."

Tiera's lips twisted. "You'll be hearing that a lot when you get older," she told the queen.

"Why's he wearing a necklace around his head?" Wren asked her.

"That was a gift from the elves, and the perlstone pendant is what gives Thonn his power."

"Yes but… around his head?"

"The cord was a little on the short side," admitted Tiera.

Wren went over for a closer look. "This little grey bead gave him the power to destroy doors? What happens if he gets hold of a huge piece of the stuff?"

Tiera pursed her lips as she considered the potential for destruction. "Let's hope he doesn't," she said at last.

Wren stood in front of Thonn and reached up to the perlstone, touching it with her fingertip. Then she leapt back. "It tingles!"

"I'm not surprised. It contains much latent magic," said Tiera. Despite her words she looked thoughtful, and she regarded the queen with new found interest.

Thonn had been motionless throughout, but now he became aware of the skinny girl standing before him. "Y-your Majesty," he croaked, his throat dry. "I am a-at your service."

With introductions complete and loyalties assured, the meeting was called to a close. Everyone split up to visit different parts of the city, their intent to rally the populace under the newly-crowned queen.

"Can't I get a gown or something?" said Wren plaintively, as she was left alone, shivering in her rags.

Chapter 29

Wiltred had little to do sitting on the back of the big catapult, for the way ahead was clear and it didn't take much to keep the war machine rolling in the right direction. In fact, he was so confident they wouldn't run into anyone Wiltred let Tyniwon steer the device, while he himself turned his mind to the coming conflict. Beside them on the catapult sat Stonesmasher, shunned by the elves despite Slimbough vouching for him, but fortunately the dwarf was lost in thought and didn't intrude.

Wiltred was an intelligent man, and a deep thinker, and therefore he had no intention of wading into a do-or-die battle between elves, humans and dwarves. No, his plan was to stay with the catapult, directing the bombardment, and if any dwarves broke through the line of elves defending the big machine, he was determined to turn tail and run.

"Those trees look a bit close together," said Tyniwon, breaking Wiltred's train of thought.

Some way ahead, the fabled forests of Bark lay across their path. The trees weren't as big as the specimens in elven lands, but there sure were a lot of them. And, as Tyniwon said, they were pretty close together.

Wiltred glanced at Longroot, but the king was engaged in discussion with the newly-arrived elf, Slimbough, who was apparently his brother. Far be it for me to interrupt their family reunion with such a trivial matter, thought Wiltred. Anyway, if the trees were too close together, it would become apparent soon enough.

It did.

The catapult got closer and closer, and as it neared the trees Longroot glanced at the thick trunks, then turned to eye the catapult. Finally, he shot Wiltred an angry look, full of malice.

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty." Wiltred spread his hands. "Once you've taken this land, perhaps you could invest in some wider roads."

Muttering under his breath, Longroot signalled to a group of elves, and they took up their axes and went to work on the trees lining the road. Soon there were wedges of fresh timber flying everywhere, and yard by yard the catapult made its way through the forest.

"Told you the trees were too close together," muttered Tyniwon.

Wiltred ignored him, for he had another concern. It had occurred to him that he was in a truly perilous position, because the elves had absolutely flogged themselves getting the catapult this far, dragging it through marshes and forests, and chopping down dozens of trees. He could only imagine how they'd react if it broke down after the first shot.

The worst of it was, if he tried to run he'd have a dozen arrows in his back before he took ten steps. However he looked at it, he was going to have a major elf problem.

Wiltred consoled himself with the thought that King Longroot of the elves was living on borrowed time, given Tyniwon's proclivity for accidental regicide. If the big Mollister lad ran true to form there'd soon be yet another dead royal, and Wiltred vowed to flee in the ensuing panic and confusion. Meanwhile, he steered the catapult between the fresh-cut stumps, wincing as the big wheels bumped over the remains of the magnificent trees.

Before long, the trees thinned out, and the tree-chopping elves were able to shoulder their weapons and fall back into line behind the rest of the party. As a bonus, the ground sloped gently downwards, and the elves pulling the catapult along were able to walk upright, for the big device moved much easier on the downhill slope.

Ahead, beyond the foot of the wooded hill, Wiltred could see a big field, and beyond that, the walled city of Branche. The gates were closed, which wasn't surprising because the dwarven army was right outside, shouting and waving their axes. Wiltred estimated the distance to be roughly a thousand yards, and he decided the catapult should be positioned at the foot of the hill, from where they'd be able to launch boulder after boulder at both the dwarves and the city itself.

Then he saw another army, to the right, and he realised the humans were going to bide their time. No doubt they'd join the fight once the elves and the dwarves had beaten each other into submission… which, apparently, was also Longroot's plan. "I don't like the look of this," he muttered.

A gentle bump interrupted Wiltred's train of thought, and he realised the catapult was beginning to move quicker still. The slope was getting steeper and steeper, and the elves who'd been pulling the catapult along now looked over their shoulders to see why the ropes had gone slack. What they saw was the big machine catching up with them, fast, and as the big wheels rumbled and bounced over the rough ground the elves scattered to avoid being crushed, hurling themselves into the bushes lining the road.

Worse, when Wiltred looked back up the road, he saw another group of elves trying to halt the cart carrying the huge boulders he intended to use for ammunition. These elves were leaning back at a steep angle, their leather boots skidding along the stone paving as they were dragged bodily downhill. Then the cart really took off, and they were forced to let go of the ropes as the heavy vehicle threatened to haul them off their feet.

It was too late now, but Wiltred realised he should have invented a better braking system… something more effective, say, than a couple of wooden chocks, which only worked when the big machines were standing still.

Wiltred, Stonesmasher and Tyniwon were still on the back of the catapult, with Tyniwon struggling to keep the thing on the path as it rolled faster and faster downhill. Wiltred wanted to grab the steering ropes off him, but Tyniwon was doing well and he realised it was safer to leave him in control.

By now, they'd flashed past the elves who'd been pulling the catapult… and they were rapidly gaining on King Longroot and his brother, Slimbough. The elves didn't need their supernatural hearing to pick up Stonesmasher's warning bellow, nor the rumble of wheels, nor the frantic shouting of the elves in the undergrowth.

No, they heard all right.

Slimbough did the sensible thing and stepped onto the verge, out of the path of the runaway machine. King Longroot, on the other hand, did the worst thing possible… he sprinted down the road, arms windmilling crazily as he tried to outrun the big machine.

"Get off the road!" yelled Wiltred, but the elf was in a panic and ignored him. Desperately, Wiltred turned to Tyniwon. "Steer around him!"

"Fudd that," said Tyniwon, and he hunched over and aimed straight for the elven king.

Too late, Wiltred remembered Allyance, and the ill-fated love triangle. Too late, he realised that one particular corner of the triangle was about to become a very flat line.

There was a thud as the catapult knocked King Longroot down, and a bump as the front left wheel ran over him. There was a second thump as the rear wheel added to his injuries. Finally, the cart full of huge boulders careening along behind the catapult comprehensively finished the job.

Wiltred didn't have time to chalk up yet another dead regent to Tyniwon, because the catapult was now moving so fast their own lives were in peril. It tore down the hill, trees blurring past, and the big Mollister lad was forced to use all his strength on the ropes to keep them on the narrow road. Branches whipped at their faces, others smacked into the catapult's long arm, and the bouncing and jolting was incredible.

However, as the slope finally levelled off, Wiltred realised the great god Zephyr must have been smiling on them… if not on King Longroot.

They rolled off the hill, still streaking along, and Tyniwon eased the steering to the left, bringing them round in a wide arc. The cart full of boulders went barreling past them, hurtling across the field towards the massed ranks of dwarves. Wiltred was being bumped and jounced around, but he could still see a particularly big dwarf staring at the oncoming cart in shock.

"Father!" cried Stonesmasher. "Look out!"

As the rest of the dwarves scattered, their king foolishly raised his axe to defend himself, and that was the last Wiltred saw of him. Silently, he added another tick to Tyniwon's score, although this one was more of an assist.

The catapult had barely come to a halt when Wiltred realised this was probably his one and only chance to escape. He could hear shouting from the hillside behind him, and more shouting from the dwarves ahead, and he knew it wouldn't be long before everyone converged on him. He tapped Tyniwon on the shoulder, and they both jumped down just as half a dozen arrows thunked into the catapult, right where they'd been sitting. Stonesmasher was bracketed by the arrows, and when he realised which side he was on, he followed them hastily.

They darted underneath the catapult, then crawled across the soft earth on elbows and knees to reach the far side. More arrows hit the woodwork, and Wiltred waited for a pause in the shooting before leaping up and running to the left, across the field. He heard the whistle of arrows landing all around, and he twisted and shimmied as he ran, trying to put off the elves' aim.

Then he heard a mighty roar from the dwarven army, who were intent on avenging their king, and the elves stopped trying to shoot him and instead transferred their aim to their real foes. Wiltred, Tyniwon and Stonesmasher kept running, eyes firmly on the safety of the trees.

They made it, and were just gathering their breath when Wiltred saw an elf running towards them, sword drawn. He gathered a fallen branch and brandished it, ready to sell his life dearly. Stonesmasher, armed with a far more effective axe, took a defensive stance.

Before either could attack, Tyniwon barged past them and charged the elf with no regard for his own safety. Wiltred was just admiring the noble gesture when he realised Tyniwon had his arms outstretched, as though begging the elf to run him through. Then, to Wiltred's surprise, the elf threw aside her sword and ran into Tyniwon's arms.

"Oh," he muttered, for the elf was Allyance.

There was a lot of hugging and kissing as the lovers were reunited, and Wiltred was kind enough to give them about ten seconds before loudly clearing his throat.

"What is it?" demanded Tyniwon, his face flushed.

"Moments from now, this will be a battlefield," said Wiltred. "We must get to safety."

After another hug, Tyniwon and Allyance were ready, and the four of them skirted the field together. Wiltred explained that he intended to bypass the dwarves and approach the city from the west, hopefully gaining entry before the elves caught up with them.

"These two must have met before," said Stonesmasher, as they made their way through the trees.

"You could say that. King Longroot wanted Allyance for his queen, and Tyniwon was forced to accept the situation or forfeit his own life."

Stonesmasher scratched his beard. "Didn't I hear Tyniwon killed the elven queen also?"

"Trust me, she's just one of many." Then Wiltred frowned. "Wait, did I hear you call that big dwarf… father?"

"True," said Stonesmasher, with a nod. "But we were estranged, and he was evil through and through. I do not mourn him."

"But… that means you are king of the stone people! You can order them to stop fighting!"

Stonesmasher laughed. "That is not the dwarven way. Kings are elected, not born. And as for stopping a battle… hah!"

After that, they continued in silence, keeping an eye out for pursuing elves intent on revenge, and battle-mad dwarves also intent on revenge.

— ♦ —

Queen Wren headed for the top of the battlements, right above the barred city doors. Someone had found her a pair of slacks and a blouse, and she climbed the wooden ladder confidently, the crown of Bark firmly seated on her head. Ahead of her, just the other side of the wall, she knew there were hundreds of armed dwarves, but she felt safe behind the flimsy, crumbling wall made from thin wooden planks.

Wren reached the top and turned to face her subjects. Right at the front, looking up at her expectantly, she saw Oxley, Spadell, Tiera and Thonn, as well as the Mollister knights Sur Loyne, Sur Pryze and Sur Kah. Behind them, hundreds of peasants and the occasional member of the Branche city guard thronged the streets, the result of her rallying cry.

"This is not going to be easy," she said, her voice high and clear in the silence. "We've got to save the city, and that means fighting with the dwarves."

"And the elves," someone called out.

"Elves?"

"They're crossing the field from the south. Dozens of them!"

Wren turned to look over the battlements, and she saw a hundred or more elves flooding across the field. Then she spotted a large force of humans as well, but she wisely decided to keep that discovery to herself. "Like I said, it's not going to be easy. We must fight elves and dwarves."

"And the Mollisters, if they come back," someone cried.

"And the dragons, if we must," said Wren sharply. "And the sea serpents, and even the will of Zephyr himself."

There was a gasp at this.

"We've got to fight them," said Wren firmly, "or they'll kill us anyway."

A few people exchanged glances, for this wasn't quite the rousing speech they expected. Even so, Wren had a presence, and the crowd was about to experience the full force of her personality. "In a moment I will signal to the guards," she continued, "and they will open the doors. We will charge the enemy, and this day will forever be remembered in Bark history."

"Three cheers for the queen!" shouted a woman nearby, and there followed three lusty roars.

Wren smiled down at them, then turned to the guards standing near the big doors. She raised her hand, and was about to bring it down when there was a commotion at the rear of the crowd.

"Hold, for we bring an important visitor!"

Two horses approached down the narrow street, one carrying an old man in flowing, embroidered robes, the other with a huge, muscled fighter and a slim, dark-haired woman in a fetching dress. The woman had both arms wrapped tightly around the fighter's chest, her cheek against his shoulder.

It was the old man who'd spoken, and as the crowd backed away from his impressive mount, he looked up at Wren. "I am Father Mephistophiles, a powerful wizard of world renown, and this is Hurm, a mighty barbarian from the northern lands. I know we are an impressive sight on our own, but you will be truly amazed when I introduce… Queen Therstie Mollister!"

There was a gasp, and the dark-haired woman raised her hand to gave the crowd regal wave.

Then, in dribs and drabs, Mollister soldiers appeared from the side streets.

"We are invaded!" shouted someone. "Fight the devils!"

"Hold!" thundered Father M. "These soldiers are your allies, here by command of their queen. We encountered them in the woods to the north, and Queen Therstie ordered them to the defence of your fair city."

"They just looted our fair city," grumbled an old man.

"Your goods will be returned."

"Oh. Well, that's all right then."

Wren's spirits rose as she saw the newcomers swelling the ranks of Branche defenders. Fighting dwarves with sticks and wooden daggers was very heroic, but now they might actually have a chance. "Take up your weapons," she cried. "Everyone get ready to fight!"

"Who's the kid, and where's King Larch?" Father M asked someone, and he was quickly put straight. Well, reasonably quickly, given the recent turnover of royals in the Bark capital. The explanation was still in full flight when Wren brought her hand down, and the guards below struggled with the big wooden beam securing the door.

"When you're ready!" someone shouted out.

They struggled mightily, but the thick beam was stuck.

"Where is Thonn?" cried Wren. "He will open it with his magic powers!"

The farm boy emerged from the crowd and stood before the doors, eyes closed. Slowly, he raised his hands, and… fell backwards in a dead faint, landing on his back with a thud.

"Great," muttered Wren. "Now what?"

"I open door!" cried Hurm, and he shook himself free of Therstie's vice-like hold and dismounted. He strode towards the doors, long blonde locks flowing, huge sword at his back, and after motioning the guards aside, he took hold of the big beam and plucked it free as though it were made from balsa wood. Then, still holding the beam in both hands, he kicked at the doors, flinging them open.

"Charge!" shouted Wren, and her cry electrified the crowd. Everyone surged forward, including Father M, Queen Therstie and a group of elderly men who'd only stopped by to complain about all the shouting.

Hurm led them all, swatting aside dwarves with the huge beam, leaving them dazed and bleeding. Then, before they could recover, they were swarmed by peasants armed with little more than pointed sticks.

Father M twirled his magic staff above his head, reciting Words of Power as he brought the end down on the metal helmets of the dwarves. "Take that, and that, and that!" he cried, and as each magical incantation left his lips, the dwarves dropped like sacks of spuds.

Meanwhile, Therstie was hauling on a dwarf's beard, and as he lost his balance she kicked him repeatedly in the side. Then she jumped him, pounding him with her fists, and her fancy court dress was soon covered in mud.

Up on the battlements, Wren was doing her part too. Accompanied by a dozen other children, they all hurled bricks, buckets of manure and furniture upon any dwarf foolish enough to approach the wall.

Slowly, though, the dwarves fought back, and Wren saw her valiant defenders falling one by one. At this rate, she realised they were going to lose, and she felt tears of frustration welling.

She looked back at the deserted streets of the city, and was surprised to see two humans, a dwarf and an elf maiden coming towards her. They were peering through the big doors, at the fighting beyond, and seemed to be on the point of leaving.

One of the humans was huge, at least seven feet tall, and with a rush of joy Wren recognised him. Tyniwon had been a regular visitor to the tavern, and he always left her a penny or two for food. She knew he was an ally, and that meant the others must be as well… elf and dwarf notwithstanding. "Tyniwon!" she cried desperately. "Please, we need your help!"

The big human looked up, and he smiled as he recognised her. "Wren! How goes the battle?"

"Not well. The dwarves… they're winning!"

Tyniwon eyed his companions, and then he took up a thick wooden staff and ran for the gates. The elf maiden drew a wicked-looking sword and followed, while the dwarf shrugged and ran after both of them with his big axe at the ready. Once they'd left, only the older, balding man remained, and he came to the ladder and started to climb.

"You do not fight?" Wren asked him.

"I'm more of a thinker," puffed the man. "Wiltred, by the way."

"Queen Wren."

He bowed, then eyed her thoughtfully. "You know, it's probably best if you steer clear of Tyniwon."

"Why? He is a good man!"

"He is, but he's poison when it comes to royalty."

Wren was about to argue, but there was a loud whistling noise, followed by a terrific thud. She turned to the source of the noise, and saw a huge boulder rolling through the dwarves, knocking them aside.

"My catapult!" exclaimed Wiltred. "It works. It works!"

It worked all right. Another huge boulder sailed into the sky at the far side of the field, then came down with a sickening crash. This one fell even closer to the wall, and Wiltred's enthusiasm was tempered by the realisation that a working catapult might not actually be such a great thing after all - at least, not when the elves were firing it at him. Sure, the elves were using any old boulders they'd found lying around, instead of his specially-chosen ammunition, but they would still hurt.

However, the catapult did have one good effect. The dwarves stopped beating up the Branche militia, and instead charged across the field towards the elves. They were only halfway there when the human army roared and started a charge of their own.

That's when Wren looked up at the sky.

"They won't fire again," Wiltred reassured her. "They'll be too busy defending themselves."

"No, I'm looking for giant eagles."

"Eagles? Why?"

"My ma used to read me tales from a book, and this is when they normally show up."

"Aha," said Wiltred. "Deus ex machina."

"No, I think it was some other book."

Wiltred looked uncertain. "Well, maybe the giant eagles will show, and maybe they won't. In the meantime, why don't you give the order to regroup? We can tend to our wounded before that lot stop hammering each other and come back to hammer us."

Wren tore her gaze from the sky and nodded in agreement, and the two of them headed for the ladder to pass the order.

Chapter 30

A few hundred yards from the Branche city gates, the large party of Stalyan sailors had adopted a defensive formation. Everyone stood in neat rows, the edges all facing outwards to repel attackers, while the officers stood in a small clearing in the middle, making plans.

"People are getting hurt," said Clunk, who was chafing at the inaction. "We must go to their aid!"

"Whose aid?" demanded Berry, which was a reasonable question given the all-in melee taking place on the other side of the field. "Personally, I cannot tell friend from foe."

"They might all be foes," added Runt. Then he peered between a couple of soldiers. "I don't believe it!" he exclaimed in delight. "That's Hurm!"

"Who?" said Hal.

"Not who… Hurm!"

"What's a Hurm?" asked Hal.

"He's a huge human with a hollow head." Runt pointed excitedly. "And look, it's Father M, the other member of my party!"

"Which side are they on?" asked Berry.

"That depends."

"On what?"

"It depends which side has the bigger purse." Runt paused. "Or the bigger weapons."

"Mercenaries," spat Borosin. "There is no honour in one so low."

"Don't call me low, lanky legs."

"Cease your insults," said Borosin loftily, "or I will shorten you even further."

"I'd like to see you try."

"SHUT UP!" shouted Clunk, at full volume. Everyone recoiled, and the sailors standing nearby winced. "We must—"

What they must was never revealed, for at that moment the elves opened fire with their catapult. There was a whistle as a huge boulder sailed into the sky, and a thud as it came down near the city walls. There was a second shot, and then the dwarves turned from the city, charging towards elves and humans indiscriminately.

"Now we know who to fight!" exclaimed Borosin, and he drew his sword and elbowed his way through the defensive formation. There, he brandished his weapon and goaded the sailors on with a fearsome Methusian war cry.

"Ready, steady… charge!"

Everyone ran for the enemy. All, that is, except Hal and Runt. They watched the sailors, the two officers and Clunk running full tilt towards the dwarves, then exchanged a glance.

"War's not really my thing," said Hal.

Runt concurred.

"I can't remember much," Hal continued, "but I'm pretty sure I've never held a sword before."

"It's much easier when your enemy stands alone, looking the other way," said Runt. "For my money, this hand-to-hand stuff is way too dangerous."

They stood there together, watching the heroic charge. The elves had abandoned their catapult, and while a hundred or so loosed arrows, which travelled about twenty yards before landing ineffectually in the grass, another fifty stumbled towards the humans and dwarves, barely able to lift their swords.

"They look tired," remarked Hal.

"Easy pickings," Runt agreed.

Then, just when it seemed things couldn't get any more confusing, the militia who'd been defending Branche took up their weapons and ran into the fray as well. It was bedlam, and Hal winced as he saw humans, elves, dwarves and more humans trading blows. Clunk was in the melee too, giving friend and foe alike a good talking to.

"Dragon," said Runt.

"Yeah, that's all we're missing," agreed Hal.

"No. DRAGON!"

The halfling pointed, and Hal saw a winged shape high in the sky. At first he thought the halfling was mistaken, because to him it looked like a giant eagle. But no, he realised that was too far-fetched, and it was much more likely to be a fire-breathing dragon.

The creature was rapidly getting bigger, since it was heading directly for the battle, and as Hal watched its approach he realised things were about to get really exciting.

— ♦ —

By now, all the combatants had been swinging their heavy weapons for some time, and it wasn't just the elves who were getting tired. Even the mighty Hurm, still batting dwarves and elves with his big wooden beam, was thinking about a jug of ale and a nice sit-down in some quiet little tavern.

The battle limped along for another ten minutes, before the participants realised they were getting nowhere. Slowly, the red mist cleared, and the dwarves, elves and humans lowered their weapons.

In the sudden quiet, the groans of the wounded came to their ears, and more than one combatant looked a little shame-faced as they realised what they'd done.

"Father?" said Stonesmasher suddenly. "Father, is that you?"

It was indeed Rugbeard, lying on his back with his beard askew, a dented metal helm on the ground beside him. "Son, I'm proud of you!" he said. "I saw you fighting like a true dwarf. I choose you to succeed me!"

"Wait just a minute," said an aggrieved dwarf with a cut above one eye. "He was fighting against us, not for us!"

But he was too late, for Rugbeard had just closed his eyes for good.

Stonesmasher laid the fallen helm on his father's chest. "He deserves a proper burial."

"Indeed," said another dwarf. "We will not feed his body to the—"

"DRAGON!"

"I mean the gorblins," said the dwarf. "But I suppose I could have meant—"

"DRAGON!"

The cry came from across the field, where Hal and Runt were standing side by side, waving to attract everyone's attention. Stonesmasher looked up at the sky, and blanched. "Dragon!"

There was a chorus of shrieks, and almost everyone ran for it. Some ran into the highly flammable woods, while others took shelter in the even more flammable city. Suffice to say, most hadn't thought things through.

Those who had, remained in a group.

Sur Loyne and Sur Pryze were supporting Sur Kah, who'd taken a blow to the knee. He was just glad it wasn't an arrow, because he didn't want to be the butt of endless jokes.

Oxley was sitting on the ground, nursing his bandaged head, while Wiltred and Wren were moving amongst the wounded.

Father M was moving amongst the wounded too, in case any happened to breathe their last. He'd already scored two coin purses, and was hoping for a gold ring or two.

Hurm was standing with one end of the wooden beam planted on the ground, the other pointing to the sky.

Tyniwon and Allyance were tending to a wounded, foul-smelling Slimbough, who'd been struck by a bucket of slops when he ventured too close to the city wall.

Queen Therstie stood wild-eyed and flushed, her dress in tatters and a long, sharp sword gripped in both hands. She wasn't even sure why she'd been fighting, since it wasn't her kingdom or her city, but she'd enjoyed herself very much indeed.

Tiera and Thonn stood together, the assassin with her bloodied dagger in one hand, Thonn swaying on his feet, having used up all his magical energy to protect her. Spadell was nearby, studying Therstie with a cold, determined look. Tiera noticed, and she crossed to him and put an arm around his shoulders. "I know you swore vengeance against the queen," she whispered, "but we cannot spend the rest of our lives together if you kill her."

Spadell looked at her in surprise, and then a slow grin lit up his rugged face. "You mean it?"

In reply, she kissed him.

Of course, their lives would only last as long as it took for the dragon to dive on the group and burn them all to a crisp, but everyone smiled and nodded and looked pleased for the happy couple.

Clunk was busy collecting swords, axes and bows, snapping them all over his knee before throwing the pieces aside. He was extra careful with the arrows, because he didn't want to be the butt of endless jokes either.

Of all the combatants, Berry and Borosin looked the freshest. Highly trained in the art of swordplay, they'd barely raised a sweat as they parried crude blows from primitive swords and axes.

Now, though, the large group of heroes faced an impossible task. The dragon was circling above, and they all knew it was going to burn them, and the city, and everyone trying to flee the destruction.

"Friends, I'm afraid we brought this fate upon ourselves," said Father M, in a rare confession. "We travelled into the rocky wastes of the west, and stirred up the dragon by leading its young from the nest. Now, clearly, they intend to wipe out every city in the land. When they're done, only cows, horses, and… other four-legged animals will remain," he finished lamely.

"Cows. It had to be cows," muttered Clunk, and he snapped a bow with unnecessary force.

"We are not done yet," said Thonn, his voice weak. "I have the power."

"He has the power," agreed Tiera.

"What power?" demanded Therstie. "I'm no stranger to willing farm boys, and I'm telling you now, this one's shagged out."

"Nevertheless, I drove the dragon away from the city once before," said Thonn quietly. "I will just have to do it again."

They all looked up at the huge dragon.

Then they all looked at the weak, semi-conscious farm boy.

Then they all looked extremely doubtful.

"We could try shooting arrows at it," suggested Slim.

Snap!

Slim looked round, and he realised Clunk had just broken the very last bow. "All right. Scratch that idea," he said.

"What about the catapult?" asked Oxley. "If we could hurl a boulder at it—"

"Never going to happen," said Wiltred firmly. "We could barely hit a stationary target."

"I don't know," said Tyniwon. "The elven queen was running around a bit, and I hit her all right."

For that, he got angry looks from the surviving elves.

"Sorry, but it's just not feasible," said Wiltred. "It's for knocking down buildings, not skeet shooting."

"Er… guys," said Hal, who'd been looking up at the sky. He pointed, and they all saw the dragon high above, already going into a steep dive.

"Thonn, do your best," whispered Tiera.

As the dragon hurtled towards them, Thonn raised his right hand and held it to the sky, palm outward. Meanwhile, Wren took his free hand and gave it a squeeze. "I know you can do it," she said quietly. "You're a true hero."

Thonn said nothing, since he was drawing on his power, but the tiniest smile flickered across his lips. Then he strained with every fibre of his being, his face red, his teeth gritted as though he were suffering every known agony.

Still the dragon dived on them, getting bigger and bigger. They could see its jaws opening, and they knew the jet of flame would soon follow.

"It's not working," muttered Tiera urgently. "He can't do it. We're all going to die!"

Chapter 31

"The perlstone's not big enough!" cried Tiera desperately. She pointed to the tiny grey bead on Thonn's necklace, gifted to him by Willowmere of the elves. "He's never going to drive the dragon away with that little thing."

"She's right!" said Spadell. "We're gonna need a bigger antidote!"

"Wait, did you say perlstone?" Fearing he was already too late, Father M desperately dug around in his robes. He found what he was looking for, and brought out Queen Therstie's necklace with its big perlstone pendant. "Here! Catch!" he said, tossing it to Thonn.

As you'd expect from a wizard, it was a lousy throw, and the necklace landed on the ground at the farm boy's feet. Wren didn't hesitate. She crouched to gather it up, even though the dragon was now so close everyone could pick out its scales.

There was a terrible roar as it belched flame directly at them.

"Too late!" groaned Tiera, and she buried her face in Spadell's neck, waiting for the end. By the time the girl picked up the necklace and gave it to Thonn, she knew the flame would engulf them all.

But it wasn't over yet. As Wren's fingers closed on the perlstone, she felt a jolt of power surging through her veins, so strong she was almost blinded. She could feel the people around her, even Clunk, with his metal heart. As for the dragon, that was an overwhelming life force almost as strong as the magic power coursing through her body.

Almost as strong.

With a mental command, Wren sent out a blast of indescribable power. Most went straight up, towards the dragon, but there were enough weak echoes of the blast to knock everyone around her clean off their feet.

The oncoming jet of dragon breath was extinguished in a split second, whipped away as though it never existed. Then Wren's shockwave smashed into the dragon head-on, blasting it into a thousand meaty fragments.

Then… silence.

Slowly, marvelling at their survival, everyone sat up, feeling for any new injuries.

"That's my leg," said Therstie, pulling it away from Runt. Then she noticed the chunks of raw dragon flesh dotting the field. Wide-eyed, she surveyed the bloody mess, and then, slowly, she licked her lips. "Someone fire up the coals, for we feast on dragon this day!"

"Never mind the dragon," said Wren, her voice loud enough to shake the ground. "Everybody, eyes on me!"

They all turned to look, and what they saw left them open-mouthed in shock. The skinny urchin stood before them, looking much as before, but now she radiated boundless power. "The fighting between our races is over!" said Wren, and everyone knew it to be so. "There will be peace for all time, and your leaders will now swear to it. First, the elves."

Slimbough looked around, then realised he was now king. Surreptitiously, he edged away from Tyniwon. "I swear it," he said solemnly.

"The dwarves speak next!" intoned Wren.

There was a round of grumbling from the dwarves as Stonesmasher stood tall, or as tall as he could, but they were quickly silenced. "You have my word," he said.

"The humans!" cried Wren.

"This'll be good," said Runt. "I count five or six factions, and they'll never agree on a leader."

Hal stepped forward. "I'm not from around here, so I guess I can speak for them all."

"Who died and put you in charge?" demanded Father M.

"Come closer, and you'll be the first," retorted Hal.

"It should be a military man," said Captain Borosin. "As the ranking naval officer—"

"And they're just getting started," said Runt, rubbing his hands together.

"Silence!" said Wren, and they obeyed, much to Runt's annoyance. "There is one amongst you who is human, yet not human. His word I will accept."

Everyone looked around, mystified.

"I speak for the human race," said a calm voice, and then Clunk stepped forward. "They will not fight each other, nor others. This I swear."

"Acceptable," said Wren. "The treaty is signed by all. The Old Kingdom is at peace forever more." Then she staggered, and before anyone could catch her, she collapsed on the turf.

Tiera hurried over, and while she felt Wren's forehead with her right hand, she palmed the perlstone necklace with her left. She'd seen what perlstone had done to Thonn, and a piece this large would kill the girl in days. That, unless the girl went mad with power and killed them all first.

Wren was out cold, but still alive, so Tiera made her comfortable and stood up. She looked around, and saw hundreds of Branche citizens streaming from the city to collect fresh dragon meat. Queen Therstie was right, there would be a huge feast that night. Speaking of the queen, she and Hurm were reliving their recent combat, acting out the fights blow by blow, and they seemed to be perfectly matched even though the barbarian only spoke one word for the queen's every hundred.

Hurm and Therstie, Tyniwon and Allyance, her and Spadell… at least some good things had come from all of the chaos and death.

There were new friendships, too. All around her, various permutations of elf, dwarf, human and halfling shook hands, introduced themselves, and… in Runt's case… even avoided picking everyone's pockets.

Yes, thought Tiera, Wren's little declaration of peace seemed to have worked. Things looked bright for the inhabitants of the Old Kingdom. They could return to their homes, rebuild, and forge ahead with their new lives.

And then a sour note was struck.

"Well, that was a close shave and no mistake," said Father M. "It makes you wonder, though."

Tiera frowned at him. "What do you mean?"

"Well… you have to admit everything's been strange around here since he showed up." Here, Father M indicated Clunk. "We've been at peace for centuries, and then look what happened."

People stopped what they were doing, and a few of them muttered under their breath.

"You're at peace now," said Clunk reasonably.

"At what cost? Palaces destroyed, cities burned, dozens… maybe hundreds killed. And it all started with you, when you killed the High Priest at Chatter's Reach."

"That was an accident!" protested Clunk. "I fell from the sky, with no means of propulsion to alter my course!"

"Yes, that's what they all say."

Everyone edged forward, hemming Clunk in until the robot was surrounded. Whether it was the heady smell of fresh dragon, or the latent effects of Wren's power, there was a dangerous edge to the crowd. The muttering got louder, and the happy mood was gone.

"The mechanical man has unnatural skill with the sword," Sur Loyne told them. "He bested me with trickery."

Wiltred joined in. "A mechanical man such as this… it's not natural."

Spadell grunted. "He can break leg irons and doors like they were made of straw."

"He's too tall for my liking," said Runt.

"Exactly!" said Father M. "It's far too dangerous to have him around."

"They had the right idea back in 243 A.F." said Sur Kah. "In those days, they—"

"We don't need a history lesson," said Slimbough quickly. "But I can tell you right now, the elves will not welcome this abomination into our lands. Why, we'd sooner offer the hand of friendship to an evil sorcerer and his army of gorblins!"

"He's not coming to our lands," said Stonesmasher.

Therstie crossed her arms. "The Mollister border is closed."

"He's metal," said Oxley. He eyed the blade he was holding, then hid it behind his back. "We don't allow metal in Bark lands. He must leave."

The madness was spreading, and Clunk heard people taking up the chant. "Leave! Leave! Leave!"

"Yes, he must leave, or we will make him!" cried Slimbough. He prodded Clunk in the chest. "Why don't you leave this place, metal man?"

"Hey, hey, hey!" said Hal, stepping between them. "Clunk's all right, you long-haired, pointy-eared freak. And that goes for all of you. If you want to get rid of him, you'll have to go through me first!"

— ♦ —

It was two days later, and Hal was aboard the Stalyan warship Intrepid once more, bound hand and foot. The only difference this time was that he was tied to Clunk.

The ship was anchored off Chatter's Reach, in sight of the cliffs and the walled city. The shattered bell tower was visible in the distance, one side caved in where the meteorite had smashed into it days earlier, killing the High Priest.

Hal and Clunk hadn't been treated badly, all things considered. At their trial they'd been blamed for everything from the price of wheat to Queen Therstie's morning sickness, and the guilty verdict hadn't exactly been a surprise.

Hal had expected the robot to fight back, busting them both out of captivity before heading into the wilds, but Clunk had done nothing. After all the accusations and finger-pointing, the life had gone out of him, and he obeyed every shouted order without question.

Both of them were shocked at how quickly the inhabitants of this world had turned against them, but Clunk had taken it much harder than Hal, for Hal had little faith in people at the best of times.

Still, Hal kept trying. "Are you hungry?" he asked the robot.

No reply.

"Manemol flange!"

"Don't touch things you don't understand, Mr Spacejock," said Clunk, before lapsing into apathy.

Hal heard footsteps, and he looked up to see Berry and Borosin coming towards him. "Come to set us free?" he asked them.

Berry shook his head.

"Are we going to Methusia? Or Stalya? You said you wanted Clunk to visit, remember?"

"Clunk is not visiting our nations," said Borosin, "and neither are you."

"Look, we didn't do anything," said Hal. "Just let us go, and we won't bother you."

"Impossible," said Borosin.

"We made a commercial agreement," explained Berry. "Our nations will transport goods to this place, and on the return voyage we will take local goods back to Methusia and Stalya. It's called a cargo business."

"That sounds like a plan," said Hal. "Let me go, and I'll help you set it up!"

"I think not," said Borosin, looking down his nose. "You are clearly unsuited to this line of work."

"A disaster in the making," agreed Berry.

"However," continued Borosin, "in return for the trade deal…"

"We agreed to dispose of you," said Berry. "We need to get this over with, so please stand up."

"I'm fine just here," said Hal quickly.

Unfortunately, he was tied to Clunk, and when Clunk stood up, he dragged Hal with him.

"Now you must walk over here," said Borosin.

"Right over to the side," added Berry.

Hal looked from one to the other, expecting a punchline, but he realised they were serious. Their eyes were curiously blank, and he realised they were still gripped with the madness that had spread like a virus after Wren's massive power blast. It was almost like they were being controlled by a powerful mind, which was something Hal had never been troubled with. Worse, the mind was evil, and vengeful, and it clearly had it in for Hal and Clunk.

"Please walk to the rail," said Berry.

Hal struggled with all his might, but Clunk strode along, dragging him so easily it was as though he wasn't there. They reached the very edge of the deck, where the railing had been taken down.

"Now step off," said Borosin.

— ♦ —

Tiera and Spadell were standing amongst the ruins of her house, and she felt a stab of anger as she eyed the damage. The evil mechanical man was to blame for this, she just knew it!

"You had a garden?" Spadell asked her. He'd been to her house before, but she'd never let him in the back way.

Tiera nodded, and showed him to the tiny courtyard. The water pipe was a blackened pile of ash, and the tank had emptied itself into the dirt. Nearby, she saw a patch of white powder, the remains of the death mask Thonn had broken up. "Poor old King Larch. He would live still, if it were not for that monster, Clunk."

"Relax, they'll have dealt with those two by now."

"I hope so, for they were a foul weight on our land." Tiera dug her hands in her pockets, and her fingers encountered the perlstone necklace. She pulled it out, and her eyes glittered with anger. "Like him, this foul thing must be destroyed!"

So saying, she laid the perlstone on the ground, and, picking up a rock, she smashed the grey gem into powder. There was a bright flash, the fog gripping her mind lifted, and all of a sudden everything came flooding back. The way they'd treated the metal man, after all he'd done for them… it was horrible!

Mortified, Tiera looked up at Spadell, and she saw he was just as unhappy. "Oh Zephyr, what have we done?" she groaned.

— ♦ —

"Since we cannot throw the metal man back to the stars, we must throw him back into the ocean," intoned Berry. "Thus our world is cleansed of evil. Thus we are spared."

"Thus we are spared," intoned Borosin.

"Guys, we can still talk this though," said Hal. He was standing on the very edge of the Intrepid's deck, firmly tied to Clunk, and the pair of them were about twenty feet above the ocean waves. Looking down, he could see the water was deep, and he knew there would be no escape once they went over the side.

"And so, we commit our enemies to the deep," intoned Berry, and then he and Borosin gave Hal and Clunk a hefty shove.

For Hal, time slowed.

He felt himself tipping, and he was still staring into Berry's eyes when the man blinked once, twice. Then, like lightning, a new expression flooded Berry's face: shock, surprise, regret, guilt.

Hal was still tipping backwards, way past the point of no return, and as he fell his gaze flicked to Borosin. He too looked stunned, and even as Hal plunged towards the ocean, the Methusian captain stretched out his hand in a futile attempt to bring him back.

Somehow, the spell had been broken. Somehow, the evil, controlling mind had lost its grip over the men, and, presumably, over all the other crazies who'd condemned Hal and Clunk to death.

And, of course, the spell had been broken about five seconds too late.

"Nooooo!" went Borosin.

Splash, went Hal, with a resigned look on his face.

He held his breath as they sank like a large pair of stones, hoping against hope the Stalyans would toss an anchor after him, or dream up some other rescue attempt in the next thirty seconds or so. Meanwhile, he kept his eyes open, and he frowned as he saw something lying on the sea bed, maybe forty feet below him. It was a big metal sphere, at least fifteen feet across, and it was mottled with moving streaks of sunlight filtered through the waves above. There was also a large round hole in the side, and as Hal sank towards it, he thought he could see a pair of seats inside the sphere.

He felt a flash of hope. If he could make it to the thing, maybe get inside and close the door…

But no. Still attached to Clunk, there was no way he could swim to the sphere, or even to the surface. Plus he was starting to black out, and his lungs hurt.

With a final, desperate look at the metal sphere, and with spots flashing in his eyes, Hal gave up and let his breath out.

— ♦ —

The next second there was a FWOOM, and suddenly Hal was standing upright, water streaming off his clothes. He was in a large, polished cylinder, still tied to Clunk, and as he started coughing and spluttering and ridding himself of the seawater, a tall door opened in front of him with a whoosh.

Three people entered, two women and a man, all wearing helmets and dressed from head to toe in white overalls. Hal was in a daze, and he got even more groggy as one of them reached up to his neck and administered a sharp sting.

Then he passed out.

— ♦ —

When Hal opened his eyes, he was lying in a bed in a darkened room. He could hear a regular beep nearby, and there was a chrome metal stand holding a clear plastic bag bulging with fluid. The sheets were crisp and starched, and, to confirm his suspicions, there was a large bunch of grapes on the side table.

With a flash of insight, he realised he was in a sick bay. And from the ambient noise, he was aboard a… a space ship. He struggled to remember more, but his mind was still foggy.

"Ah, our patient awakes," said a voice.

Hal turned towards the sound, and he saw a nurse in a trim white uniform. "Wha—?" he said. He swallowed, and tried again. "Wha—?"

She spoke into a commset, then smiled at him. "Relax, Mr Spacejock. The doctor will be along shortly."

Hal sank back on the pillow. The bed was comfortable, and he felt serene and at peace. Then he remembered the near-drowning, and he sat bolt upright. "Where's Clunk? Is he all right?"

"I'm perfectly well, Mr Spacejock."

Hal looked across the room, where he saw the robot sitting in the shadows. "What's going on? Why are we here?"

"I can explain," said a female voice, and Hal turned to the door. A doctor had just entered, along with a man wearing a white jacket with gold epaulettes, and a very fancy peaked cap. "This is the cruise ship Ecstasy, and Captain Overly here picked up your distress beacon in the nick of time."

"We've been searching for days," said the Captain, in a deep, cultured voice. "You must have left the vicinity of your escape capsule, which any pilot knows is a huge mistake."

"It was underwater!" said Hal. "Anyway, neither of us knew where it was, or even what it was."

The Captain smiled. "Well, when you approached it, the beacon activated automatically, and we got a lock on you right away."

"I'm very glad you did," said Hal, with feeling. "By the way, what's a cruise ship?" he asked, looking around the sickbay. "Do you have cannon? Are we going to war?"

"Things will be fuzzy for a few days," said the doctor. "The criminals used a memory blocker on you."

"What criminals?"

"The men who stole your ship."

"I have a ship?"

"Well, you did." The doctor made a dismissive gesture. "It doesn't matter now. Just get some rest."

With that, she and the nurse left. The captain remained, and he took off his hat and gave Hal a polite nod. "The Ecstasy is on a two week cruise, Mr Spacejock. We'll put you up in a cabin, and you can enjoy all the facilities for free until we reach the next port. And tonight, you dine with me."

"Thanks! And thanks again for saving us."

"Don't mention it," said the captain, with a smile. "One day you might do the same for someone else." And with that, he left.

"Well," said Hal. "That made no sense."

"It seems we were the victims of a robbery," said Clunk. "We were flying our ship—"

"Flying?"

"Well, I was flying," corrected Clunk. "A group of criminals convinced you to let them on board, and then they overcame the two of us, removed my memory, administered a drug to suppress yours, and then placed us in an escape capsule and abandoned us on the planet below."

"The Old Kingdom, you mean?"

"Indeed. The planet is in an uncharted system, and it's now under quarantine."

"What does that mean?"

"Standard procedure for inhabited planets. These primitive civilisations must be allowed to develop at their own pace, and so it's forbidden to interfere with the locals."

Hal eyed the robot. "Did you get your memory back?"

"Not yet. Our ship has been recovered by the Peace Force, and with any luck my data cubes will be on board."

"So we've ended up with two weeks of luxury, as much free food as we can eat, and we still get our ship back at the end of it?" Hal rubbed his hands together. "This I can live with."

"Indeed, Mr Spacejock."

"Now pass me that menu, because I could murder a portion of dragon and chips."

While Hal selected two of everything, plus three mugs of strong coffee, the ship's engines fired and the huge liner left the system with a burst of near-infinite power.

Epilogue

Splodge the gorblin was riding a mule across the rocky wastes, heading west towards dwarven lands in the dead of night. He preferred travelling at night, because he could look up at the stars and ponder on the mysteries of the Universe.

Plus at that hour, all the bandits were safely tucked up in bed.

The rickety cart behind him creaked, and he looked back to check his cargo. The cart was piled high with barrels of floor cleaner, freshly brewed that very day. He didn't think the dwarves were thick enough to drink floor cleaner, of course, so he'd crossed the words out and written 'Best Beer' underneath.

Let the stupid humans, elves and dwarves batter each other as much as they liked, he thought. He'd concentrate on trade, and making his fortune.

He just hoped there'd be somewhere left to spend all his money, once he earned it. There'd been a worrying number of smoke columns on the horizon, in every direction, and he suspected a lot of towns and cities were being razed.

Then, looking up, he saw a spark of light in the heavens. Unlike a meteorite, it stayed in one place, steadily getting brighter. Splodge stared at it, and it dawned on him that a meteorite would look exactly like that, if it were falling directly towards him.

But no. The light reached an intense, glaring crescendo, then shot across the night sky before disappearing completely. The after-image burned his eyes, and for a while he could see the trail everywhere he looked.

"An omen," he said quietly. "That was a good omen for our journey."

The mule brayed.

"I agree with you, Happy," said Splodge, patting the mule on the neck. "We're going to make a fortune."

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That's it for the Robot vs Dragons series! Or is it?

I'm fond of the Old Kingdom and its surviving inhabitants, and I'd love to go back there one day.
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If enough people ask for another Robot vs Dragons book, I'll write a new book just for you.

In the meantime, don't forget Clunk features in the Hal Spacejock series!

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Simon Haynes was born in England and grew up in Spain. His family moved to Australia when he was 16.

In addition to novels, Simon writes computer software. In fact, he writes computer software to help him write novels faster, which leaves him more time to improve his writing software. And write novels faster. (yWriter)

Simon's goal is to write fifteen novels before someone takes his keyboard away.
Update 2018: goal achieved and I still have my keyboard!
New goal: write thirty novels.

Simon's website is spacejock.com.au

The Hal Spacejock series:

Hal Spacejock 1: A Robot Named Clunk *
Hal Spacejock 2: Second Course *
Hal Spacejock 3: Just Desserts
Hal Spacejock 4: No Free Lunch
Hal Spacejock 5: Baker's Dough
Hal Spacejock 6: Safe Art
Hal Spacejock 7: Big Bang
Hal Spacejock 8: Double Trouble
Hal Spacejock 9: Max Damage
Hal Spacejock 10: Cold Boots (2019)

Available now in ebook and paperback.
* Also available in Audiobook

New from Simon Haynes

The Secret War: Raiders

1. Raiders
2. Frontier (2019)
3. Deadlock

Available in ebook and paperback.

The Harriet Walsh series:

Harriet Walsh 1. Peace Force
Harriet Walsh 2. Alpha Minor
Harriet Walsh 3. Sierra Bravo
Harriet Walsh 4. Storm Force (2019)

Available in ebook and paperback.

New from Simon Haynes

A Portion of Dragon and Chips

1. A Portion of Dragon and Chips
2. A Butt of Heads
3. A Pair of Nuts on the Throne

Available now in ebook, paperback and audiobook

Simon also writes the Hal Junior series for children:

Hal Junior 1: The Secret Signal
Hal Junior 2: The Missing Case
Hal Junior 3: The Gyris Mission
Hal Junior 4: The Comet Caper

Available now in ebook and paperback.

Maybe you love my work, and you want to know how I wrote it.

Or maybe you think you can do better!

Either way, this straightforward guide should prove really useful:

How to Write a Novel by Simon Haynes

Available now in ebook and paperback

Short Fiction by Simon Haynes

A Piece of the Action
Billy's Book
Catch of the Day
Loss Leader
No Reply
Off Course
Produit d'appel (French)
Sleight of Hand
The Desolator
The Project
Thonn Day
Updown
Yard Fail

Copyright

This is NOT a free ebook

You are not allowed to
• Distribute this ebook by any means, nor store it in a public retrieval system for others to access.
• Modify this ebook, nor distribute derivative works based on the content or characters.
• Offer this ebook for sale, nor bundle it with other goods or downloads.

Dedication

Dedicated to my cousin, Jeremy.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.