CHAPTER ONE

A foul smelling evil creature stirred at the sound of its name. For the good of mankind it should have been allowed to rest until the end of all days but Ormst cared nothing for the welfare of others, he strove only to use his power to dominate them. In his castle built of sable basalt on the edge of Ralerkand forest the wizard uttered strange guttural words from a language used by wizards of old and today forgotten by all but two powerful men. Ormst was tall and lean with a long face and pockmarked skin tinged with a yellow hue stretched tightly over his skull. He bared his stained crooked teeth as he recited the incantation while his dark sunken eyes scanned the gloom as he raised his arms in a series of moves he had been rehearsing for years.

There was a loud crack and normal reality was torn asunder as the creature appeared towering high above the wizard. He could cage the beast in an energy field but he could not control it. He knew that what he was doing was dangerous but he needed power and knowledge. To get this far he had sacrificed innocent people and suffered many privations. The creature could not escape the constraints placed around its gross festering body but its stomach churning odour could not be so carefully controlled. Sweat poured down the wizard’s face unchecked as he conversed telepathically with the fiend, staking his sanity on the encounter. Once his questions had been answered he sent his informant back to its loathsome abode with considerable relief and collapsed to the ground shaking with fear.

On the other side of Ralerkand forest another ancient creature appeared, this time unbidden. A wonderful perfume permeated the air like a sweet meadow kissed by the spring sun and nurtured by the goodness of mother earth. Her unlined face belied her age. She was clothed in flowers of pastel hues, mainly violet and green with a crown of daisies resting on her blond hair. Winacombe, an old man with a paunch on an otherwise trim figure and long thinning white hair, looked longingly at her beautiful face and drunk in the scents of the forest and meadows that followed in her wake and began to lose himself. She gently spoke his name several times to break his reverie in a voice like the wind whistling through the forest.

‘Ormst’s ambition had forced him to plummet to a new low. He has summoned one of the Vzttolx and placed himself and the world in great danger. He plans to attack Tigren’s castle at the Harvest celebrations. Lay your defences well for all will be lost if he should gain power over you and the others. The De Anacy family must fulfil a mission to find and reunite the three stones before Ormst can assemble them for his own terrible purposes. My hopes rest with you Winacombe, be vigilant and take care of yourself.’

With those words she vanished.

Shock mixed with awe registered on the face of the kindly old man. His rubbed his left hand over his hairless crown and leant on the book laden desk in front of him, his right hand supporting his head. After a few moments to collect his thoughts he stood up and walked over to a locked heavy oak door. He unlocked and pushed open the door to his private library and began to search the shelves jammed with books for a particular tome. He plucked volume seven of “A Treatise on Magic” from obscurity and began a search for the whereabouts of the other twenty-four volumes. The neat order established outside in the public lending room didn’t extend to this private collection since no one but Winacombe had access to it and he had much better things to do then tidy up.

A blue flag with a black hawk logo in the centre was snapping in the breeze at the top of a long pole mounted high on the battlements. Far below journeymen skilled in crafts valuable to the welfare of the castle’s inhabitants and the upkeep of the castle packed up the tools of their trade for the day and left for home. Beacons were lit on the battlements as soon as it was dusk to mark the castle out from the night for the benefit of those still travelling.

A mile or so away a group of four travellers crested the top of a hill. The party halted their mounts and gazed down on the welcoming sight of the castle beacons raking the night, their flames flying skyward, beckoned by the hidden sun.

“The castle my lady”, sir Sertion announced as though he were a conjurer who had by his own unaided efforts made the stone edifice appear.

“Forsooth, thank the Gods for I am forspent. I am weary and long for the caress of hot water on my skin to ease away the tensions of the journey from Trimex, these past two days have dragged and I must needs rest a while”, replied Lady Ashford, reverting to the old speech. She was red haired and a beauty. Even though she was tired and travel stained she was none the less a lady fully worth the title.

“It has been many a long and weary mile, my lady and I’m also glad to return” replied the knight.

“Before us lies the same Pernaycombe that I left two weeks ago, Sertion, but I have changed”, hidden by the fading light tears fell down her cheeks.

“The last time I saw Pernaycombe my father was alive but now I’m aware that some of the joy in my life has departed, perhaps it will never return”, her voice shook as she recalled receiving the news of her fathers sudden illness and their ride to the city. The journey had started by coach the same morning but torrential rain had turned the road into a mud slide eventually holding fast the wheels of their transport.

Sertion and his squire Ragant had each ridden a team horse without the comfort of a saddle to a nearby inn to rent horses for the duration of the trip.

By late evening the rain had finally stopped leaving the roads in poor repair, many barely passable with horses, certainly no coach could’ve made the journey.

Sertion reached for his wife’s hand to comfort her as she rode by his side her head slightly bowed and fresh tears on her face.

She had loved her father, who had always been reluctant to advise unless pressed to do so. In a world where indifferent advice is as freely available as sand on the beach his views were warmly welcomed by his daughter.

As she reflected on his life she could almost hear his voice.

‘There are to many people willing to give advice and far fewer people who seek it or are even willing to act on it’ he would say when questioned on the subject. Throughout his life he kept to this belief.

He had supported her marriage to Sertion, championing her cause and resolving the objections that had been raised by various members of the court who had personally protested to the Lord and Lady. The problems centred around the couples public fight following a dispute in an archery contest and the knights infamous drinking binges. Ashford was thankful that he had mostly given up on those since their wedding.

The horse’s hooves played an echoing rhythm as the knight and his lady rode their mounts into the castle courtyard, Ragant the knights squire and Pownda the lady’s maid who had been keeping a discreet distance behind followed them in. The castle squires came out to meet them and the stable lads took the horses to be fed and watered, the following day they would be returned to the inn.

By the time the dinner bell had sounded darkness had fallen on the land but the castle, illuminated from within by flickering candles casting shadows of familiar and alien imagery on the tapestry clad stone walls defied it.

The priest stood up to give the blessing as a prelude to the evening meal. The old priest who usually performed this duty was absent from his place at the Lords table. Instead a younger man stood up to repeat a liturgy that had never before echoed through this vast hall. Much of the monologue was simply padding for key words of extraordinary potency. He rattled off his lines quickly, after all he had been repeating them for the past fifteen years, and he doubted if anyone really listened when the odours of roasting foods were wafting in from the kitchen. The call to the palate at such times was louder then any call to the spirit, except that his words found their way into the minds of all the present company, planted there to seed. Very few had time for Varons words outside of the fanatical sect that bore his name but that didn’t stop the followers from attempting to spread the word, by fair means or foul. Finally he finished, closely followed by several sighs echoing around the high roofed building, a little too loud to be polite.

Lord Tigren made a gesture to the head waiter and the drink started to flow. The maids brought in jugs full of wine from the cellar and steaming plates of food from the kitchen. Soon the long tables were groaning with meats and vegetables. Around the vast hall hung the banners of the castle knights and nobles, the largest banner bore the crest of Tigren, lord of the castle. The banner showed a hawk with its talons extended to catch no doubt some unsuspecting pigeon out of the picture. His banner was known and respected throughout the kingdom for Tigren was a fair Lord and that was not at all common. Tigren was a slim, sharp featured man of middle age, his close cropped black beard did nothing to soften his angular jaw line. His wife Tsring wore her blond hair down to her shoulders. She had high cheek bones and a clear complexion, like her husband her face was angular but her chin was rounded whereas Tigren had a more pointed chin.

All the farmers on his land tithed to Tigren but the tithe was fair and set according to the quality of that years harvest, a bad harvest meant that everyone suffered, even the Lord, and because he shared their misfortunes he was well respected by them.

On the top table the serving maids and helpers had served Lord Tigren and the Lady Tsring with wine poured into silver goblets engraved with his banner.

“I like this idea of engraving your tableware Tigren”, the speaker was Lord Malvert a fat humorous man, he stroked his bald pate with one hand while spearing roast duck with the knife he held in the other, his shortness only emphasised his fatness.

“It might prevent some of my own silver from being redistributed through the kingdom” he laughed at his loss but it worried him more that he cared to let on

Tigren nodded in agreement, “I approve of charity but I rather give willingly to causes I believe in rather then have my property stolen away from beneath my nose”.

“This”, he indicated his mark on the tankard Malvert had raised almost to his lips doesn’t stop it disappearing all together”.

“No?”, quizzed the other.

“The point is to constantly remind the usurper from whence it came thereby robbing a person with any sort of conscience of any pleasure he may take in its possession, it also makes the stuff more difficult to sell!”

“There is more to this that I thought” Malvert mumbled between gulps of wine.

Watching as he page approached, Tigren placed his palms together and rested the edge of his hands across his mouth, his thumbs under his chin. “To assuage such guilt I occasionally offer an amnesty for misappropriated goblets, platters and cutlery”, he turned to face Malvert who was wiping his beard, “I’m often surprised by the amount of my tableware that reappears at such times”

Malvert opened his eyes wide thinking of how much money he could save by adopting such a measure.

Tigren beckoned to his page.

“My Lord”, said the boy, “Sir Sertion and Lady Ashford request your leave to retire early”. Tigren raised his head and nodded to Sertion seated on the table to his left, the weary knight bowed, waited while Ashford curtsied before escorting her to their rooms.

The company was reseated once the meal was over to allow space in the centre of the floor for the entertainment. In a riot of clashing bright colours a jester ran into the centre of the room at such speed that a serving maid who had been sweeping the floor took fright much to the delight of the assembled company. The little man began to juggle with three multicoloured balls that matched the quarters of his tunic, green, red, blue and yellow. Progressively he lobbed them higher into the air until he had time to dance in-between his throws letting out a cackle whenever he completed a round.

He leered at the maid and with a knowing look to his audience chased her from the floor, still juggling as he did so.

The little man caught all the balls and threw them to his assistant who appeared while the first ball was in mid-flight. She wore a short green dress and yellow bands around her head and upper arms. On her arm she carried circlets of wood painted with concentric rings of colours in rainbow order. She caught the balls and set them down on the stone floor.

With a shout she threw the wooden rings into the air one at a time for her partner to catch. With exaggerated gestures he caught the first two and was already spinning them on his left leg and arm when two more arrived which he caught and sent spinning on his right arm and his neck, grinning as he did so, his head looking as though it was on a plate.

As they spun around the juggler the colours of the disks seemed to glow under the soft candlelight of the hall, shadows were flung off the short man and projected on the wall behind him.

“Look at the shadows Lalua” whispered a raven black haired girl to her sister. The blond girl followed her sister’s advice.

“It looks like a demon controlling the very planets themselves”, she gasped. “Sherain, it scares me”.

Sherain being the older of the two by almost a year felt protective towards her sister except when she was borrowing boyfriends, dresses or make up, she considered that in such matters it was every girl for herself.

She clutched her sisters hand to give and receive comfort. Tonight was a special night for them. It was the first time that they had been invited to the Lords harvest feast, some years this event was more like a wake then a celebration, but this year spirits were high across Tigrens lands. Winter could be a grim time of the year when the seasons feed for the livestock was not safely stored away.

“Lords, Ladies, Knights and company”, announced the master of ceremonies pausing for effect, “Please welcome miss Velreeth of the East!”

Music began playing the like of which neither Sherain or Lalua had never heard before and being the daughters of the Granis de Anacy who was the Lord’s appointed minstrel they were exposed to a lot of music. The bells the woman wore around her ankles and wrists jiggled as she walked. Her lithe form glided into the movements each gesture carefully executed, each step precise, both the sisters carefully noted the stunning effect the dancer had on the men in the audience, partly due to the scanty costume she wore.

“Look at that”, complained one large woman to her even fatter friend, “that’s indecent, there is more of her brown skin than fabric”.

“Its indecent that’s what it is”, echoed her friend more from jealously than conviction for she too had noticed the effect it had on the men.

“I’ll wager the Lord is not pleased with this”. It’s a wager she would have lost. Tigren, hidden from the fat couple’s sight by knights standing on their benches to gain a better view was just as engrossed as they were, much to the chagrin of Lady Tsring. The lady had been discussing with a husband a recent case that she had been presiding over concerning claims against a man accused of using secret arts to secure unusually good terms in a business deal with a local merchant.

It had been a strange evening. The master of ceremonies was nowhere to be seen when a tall silver haired man walked to the centre of the room and announced his own identity though there was no real need since he was known to them all by reputation or personally. Sherain and Lalua although both feeling a little drunk and heavy lidded made a big effort to bring themselves to attention and both rearranged their dresses and hair self consciously. What followed became an antidote to all that had preceded it. Through songs and tunes he told them that nature was doing what needed to be done and when man was a partner all would work well, but when dark forces were awoken no one could say where it might end. As he played the heaviness of the evening lifted and hearts became lighter with the joy of companionship and it was in this spirit that the company retired for the night.

The candles in the great hall were extinguished leaving only the passage ways and staircases lit. Through the gloom a short figure moved carefully down the corridor and looked around to see if he was being observed and crept back into the darkened hall.

“Is that you Ormst?”, the figure asked in a forced whisper.

“Tis I you failure!” cursed the other bitterly.

“But the plan was working until that damn minstrel destroyed the spell” whined the other still tired after his nights work.

“I expect results not excuses, I only pay for success”

“But.. I’ve done as you asked at great personal risk I might add, I could lose my job if I’m found out” his voice rose finding indignation welling up inside him.

“You could lose your head” Ormst lowered his voice to a taut whisper.

“I want to see you at my castle immediately assuming you can find it”, he taunted.

There is still a way that you and your bungling accomplices may redeem themselves Quegan, and for that you should be grateful, it would be very unfortunate for you if it were otherwise.”

“What about my fee” protested the small man.

“You will, be paid when I have found what I seek”

“So how did you come to lose it, or is it someone else’s property that your looking for!”

There was a dread silence. Jesters are used to insulting people with status and Quegan like many of his fellows sometimes pushed his luck. Suddenly the little man collapsed on the floor unable to stand as though his weight had suddenly increased fourfold. The jester wanted to scream in pain but he could barely breathe. The candles flicked for a moment and went out. The little man tried to stand, but his legs were shaking to much, he wiped the sweat beading on his forehead with his tunic sleeve and sat down on the cold stone floor. When he looked up again Ormst had gone.

“Your dealing with dangerous people juggler,” your quick wits can get you into big trouble as well as out of it. The speaker emerged from a small alcove hidden by one of the ceiling to floor tapestries where she had observed the proceedings, when she walked bells jingled. The jester had not calmed down enough to reply.

Miss Velreeth sat beside the little man and gently laid her hand on his head.

“You aren’t doing very well are you Jester? I heard every word, our friend is not going to like this, he is expecting to be paid for his part in the plot”.

“The plan might have worked if it hadn’t been for that damn minstrel, curse him and his line”, the jester spat, regaining some of his composure, how come you didn’t manage to dope the minstrels ale, miss Velreeth?”

“I’m certain that I did, Its a mystery that it had no effect on him”.

“Then maybe he didn’t drink it”, suggested the little man, rubbing his arms over his chest to restore the blood flow and warm himself after the black wizards attack.

Slowly the jester recovered and the two walked out of the hall and straight into a man wearing a grey cloak over a blue jerkin.

“Oh he drunk it all right, I watched him”, the man assured them in a smooth voice quite capable of being raised with no loss of clarity or diction.

“Then how did he manage to play tonight?”, asked the puzzled woman

“That is what I intend to find out, but first my share of the fee”.

He raised his hand but the expression on the small man’s face together with a shake of his head accompanied by the woman’s bitter laugh prompted him to lower it again.

“We had a deal”, he raised his deep resonant voice in anger. Then, with remarkable agility for a big man he spun behind Quegan and pressed a knife to his throat, his other hand caught the hair and used it to bend the head back exposing the fullness of the neck to the knifes pleasure.

“No, wait he tells the truth”, the woman broke out of her shock at the sudden attack on the small man.

The big man paused, looked at her suspiciously.

“Your in this together, where is the money”

Ormst did not pay us”, she carefully stressed every syllable, he said that we had failed”

“I don’t believe you”, hissed the compere.

“He said there would be no pay until he had what he sought, continued the dancer, “it appears that tonight’s efforts were not an end in themselves, just a stepping stone to something much bigger.”

“So what is he looking for?”, demanded Chanver still holding the cold steel to the jester’s neck.

His captive spoke with a dry mouth, “I don’t know but he wasted his time and he was not very happy”, beads of sweat formed on his forehead.

“Leave the jester alone Chanver he’s having a bad evening of it”, sobbed his companion”, the compere turned to look at her face.

The knife went spinning through the air and the giant clutched at his groin where the smaller man had delivered a kick packed with all his weight behind it, the big man sunk to the ground groaning.

When the knife crashed to the floor Quegan dived for it, circled behind his fallen foe and placed the point of his weapon in his opponents upper back.

“What was that”, one of the guards patrolling the castle heard the noise of the scuffle.

“Trouble that’s what!” said his mate as he hurried to keep up with his companion striding yards ahead down the castle corridors.

They were closing in fast but the cause of their attention was drifting away into the night like shadows.

“No one here” the first guard had finished investigating the passage ways and returned to his colleague.

“But someone was here”, replied his companion, “I know it”.

“And up to no good I’ll warrant!” added the first guard grimly.

“Wait, look at this”, he dropped to his knees and picked up a small bell from the floor.

“I think the lord might be interested in this. The dancer had bells like this, not that I was interested in her bells when she was dancing tonight” he said giving a leer at an imaginary dancing girl, illustrating the natural curves of her body with his hands.

“This bell might be a clue to who was here tonight though.”

You think that someone was attacking the dancer then?”

“Maybe, but where is she now, there’s no sign of a scrap, no blood, just the bell”.

Partly to remind himself of the dancers earlier performance and in the vain hope that she might still be in earshot and recognise the sound, he shook the tiny bell.

“Perhaps she’s been abducted?”

“Could be, mind you that thought went through my head a few times tonight I can tell you!”

The guards exchanged knowing looks.

“The Lord shall hear of this fracas, but I think it will keep to the morning.”

“It had better, we’ve both had a few ales and the rules state that no guard should drink on the evening of his night duty.”

The men strode in step down the passage way with mixed feelings, while relieved that no further action was required tonight they were also disappointed that the perpetrators had given them the slip.

“These old tunnels honeycomb through the castle but this one doesn’t appear on any map that I’ve seen.” The jester walked ahead with a torch lighting the way.

“Where does it lead then” the compere enquired, stroking the dripping walls with his hand and wiping the moisture on his blue jerkin.

“Under the city wall, it surfaces in the wood not five hundred yards north-east from the city gate.”

The party followed in Indian file because there was no room for two to walk side by side. The tunnel was wide enough but the headroom meant that only four foot people like the jester could walk two a breast and since there was only one of him, a fact that the rest of his nocturnal party felt was a blessing, they followed.

“Jester, how much further, I don’t like being underground like a rabbit in a warren, I have other engagements to attend to, already I sense that there are but a few hours of night time remaining outside to conceal our escape.”

“Miss Velreeth please keep your voice down, we are close to the gate”, the small man pointed his grimy finger directly above his head,” and guards have sharp ears”.

“When they aren’t sleeping at their posts”, hissed the compere.

The jester had taken the precaution of changing into nondescript clothing of dark browns and greens. His garments were so wrinkled that it looked like a design feature rather than a complete lack of care. He always kept a change of clothes stowed away in his saddle bag along with other items that made up an entertainer’s disguise kit.

“What is this place”, the compere asked as he walked up the steps out of the tunnel into a small high roofed cave. There was writing on the walls, it was not the untutored scrawl of graffiti but hieroglyphs, the composition of a scribe whose name when spoken correctly bestowed a certain benefit to the speaker, that had long since been forgotten by almost everyone.

“I don’t know, my father only revealed the whereabouts of the tunnel he didn’t give me a history lesson.”

As the three stood in the cave, the night scented air wafted in making a welcome change to the mustiness of the tunnel.

“Who told you father?”, enquired the compere.

“Why his father before him, you will have observed I’m sure that a jester good standing in court is a tenuous thing”. He dragged a rock across the floor and placed it as the apex of a triangle with two others already in place, he sat down and since it was difficult to hear him the other two sat on the remaining stones.

“A jester must entertain but also he must educate” but a lord does not always wish to be a pupil and a knight with a short temper”, the jester paused and shot a glance at the compere, “might take offence at being publicly ridiculed”.

“My escape tunnel has proved very useful, there have been several times in the past where I have saved myself from a dagger in the night or a sword at dawn through the use of my inheritance”

“Juggler, the night won’t last forever, if we are to travel undercover of darkness we must away”, the dancer reminded him.

She wrapped her black cloak around her and a blue black shawl over her head and neck.

The company walked out into the night over rock strewn ground heading for the forest. In a clearing they met Ormst’s servant who waited with four horses, each suited to the intended rider. The compere’s horse was stout, the jester’s horse was small and the dancer’s horse was fine boned like herself. The mount of the groom seemed to possess more spirit than her rider. That wasn’t difficult for he was a shambling wreck of a man dressed in black. He walked with a shuffling gait as if his energy came from the floor and removing either foot from it would terminate his existence. If he had been standing tall and upright he would have been six foot six but as he walked with knees and back bent and his head bowed he didn’t command anything like the presence he should have. With only the creak of leather they mounted and rode through the forest.

Later that morning at Tigren’s castle the head guard was standing in the Lords office, a small bell lay on the only part of the large oak desk that wasn’t covered with paper or books. Much of the paper required a signature and many of the books were waiting to be carried back to the shelves, curved over the years by the weight of the volumes they carried. Tigren was nodding as the story of how the bell was found ended.

“Why didn’t you hear of this last night Merjoc?” Tigren demanded in gruff tones, thumping the desk and causing the bell to jingle.

The guards thought it would keep since they found no one to detain.”

“Damn, it Merjoc we need to know about these events as soon as they happen, if they have kidnapped the woman they could be anywhere by now”

“Yes my Lord, I shall speak to the guards about that, I have already dispatched a search party”

“And pray tell me in which direction have you sent them?”

“Primus I have been searching for the other entertainers in her party, they may well know something about her whereabouts sire.”

“Have you found any signs of them yet?”

“No, my Lord and that’s a puzzle all of its own.”

“How is that?”

“They didn’t leave after the performance, it was to late, they were offered accommodation in the castle which they accepted, but no one has seen them this morning and their beds weren’t slept in.”

“Did the gate keepers see anyone leave?”

“No my Lord.”.

“Who are you looking for exactly?”

“The dancing girl, the compere and Quegan, we have found his assistant but she doesn’t know where he is”.

“My Lord, how did you come to engage the dancer and the compere.”

“They came recommended by Malvert, they had organised a show at his castle and left a lasting impression with the audience.” They wanted a modest fee for which they would organise and present the entertainment. I’ve never seen our juggler in such good form that new act of his was stunning.”

“True enough and the dancer was quite remarkable”

“Yes, lady Tsring is still not speaking to me over the rapt attention I paid that dancer”

“How was it that Granis played then my Lord, the compere didn’t even mention him?”

“No but can you imagine a special event without his sublime musicianship? In actual fact he nearly didn’t play he said he felt drowsy.”

” Too much ale?”

“Perhaps, but it isn’t like him to drink to excess when he’s playing, anyway he wanted to get a breath of fresh air before he played and judging by his towering performance it worked.

Its funny but when I asked the compere some weeks ago why he wanted to omit Granis he said that the audience should have something completely different for that night. I went along with it myself until last night when it seemed so important for Granis to play.”

The head guard pursed his lips and frowned.

“Go to work Merjoc and let me know when you have any clues.”

The men who had reported the incident that morning sat in the head guard’s office.

Merjoc gave the door a hearty kick and it sprung back on its hinges, the door handle on the other side taking another bite from the wall.

The men leapt to their feet in surprise.

“So you can react quickly if you need to, at least I don’t have to teach you that!”

They knew they were in for a grilling from their boss and they were right.

Out in the forest the four travellers caught sight of Ormst’s crow black castle, towers rose from the four corners of the structure each a different height from its fellows as though the castle builders had run out of black basalt during their construction.

A tall bearded man wearing a jet black robe etched in silver with strange geometric patterns stood on the battlements. He had travelled the distance between the two castles at a speed no horse could have achieved. His means of transport did not belong to the normal animal kingdom. Each time he called it to do his biding he used up his own energy to transport it from the dimension that was its natural home and to animate the beast for it was a creature of his own imagination.

When he had first called the creature and it had come fear had almost done for him. Even now its dark spectre haunted him whenever he had cause to summon the creature, after all who can totally control their imagination?

All this was possible for he knew not only the name of an ancient scribe but also the great discovery he had made.

He possessed other powers all purchased at a price saner men would have flatly refused to pay, but he had long since crossed out of the world of ordinary people. Each day for him was fine balance between madness and an influx of knowledge of which he had only the capacity to use a minuscule part of.

He watched the group as they made their way towards the castle.

Ormst muttered an oath that was promptly swallowed up by the wind, perhaps to protect the ears of the world from the corruption that would surely follow if such a profanity reached them.

“Just when I had gone to so much trouble to lay plans for a great spell you idiots ruin it with your stupid blundering”, he waved his first at them although they were much to far away to see the frustrated gesture.

“I must know the whereabouts of the jewels of power and my sources have told me that someone in Tigrens domain knows something that will help me, although they may need some persuasion”. He gave a short dry laugh and pointed in the direction of that other castle though it was invisible to normal eyesight. Something is protecting you, I can sense it, you were subtle before, I didn’t think to even suspect, but at least you have been forced to reveal your presence. He saw the castle as if in a vision but his mind could not penetrate, could not even get beyond the gates to sense what thoughts were passing through the many minds that lived there. He uttered a shout that startled a collection of crows preparing to alight on his castle. The lead birds wheeled round and flew into those behind sending loose black feathers tumbling to the rough dirt far below.

A while later the party rode over the drawbridge and halted in front of the gates. The castle was surrounded on three sides by hills, its southern face leading out into Ralerkand Forest. The party drew up at the broad gatehouse built from black stone that the centuries had attacked with winds and rain. The gate was three times a mans height and six times his width and both of them were shut.

No one visited the castle from choice these days, so it was with some trepidation that the jester, a sober expression formed on a face that wasn’t made for it stared at the reddening sky. Just when it seemed that the sun would appear over the horizon and light that terrible place wisps of mist began to roll in and knit together around the castle and its visitors, soon it was so thick that that the even the forest was hidden from view.

The groom pushed against one of the doors without appearing to strain. It opened with an awful grinding noise of protesting metal crying out in pain to be left alone to rust in peace and return to the ground from whence it came.

“A drop of oil would not go amiss here”, the juggler attempted to lift the solemn mood of his dishonourable companions but he only received bleak stares for his trouble.

The dark man beckoned to the three to follow through the gap he had opened against the will of the gates.

“Make way” commanded the dancer as she regally stepped forward. Before her descent to her present occupation she had been quite used to issuing commands and having them obeyed but then a title preceded a name that was not Velreeth.

“Stand back for a lady” mocked the compere and he gave a coarse brief laugh that was more forced than felt.

Overhead the mists were thickening, shrouding the new born sun, robbing the earth bound of the joys of the morning. The company was caught in a bubble, at the mercy of a powerful force and unable to escape.

They walked through the opened gates but there was no one in sight.

“Where is he juggler?”, the compere’s voice betrayed his anxiety.

“Up the steps to your right”, uttered the man in black his voice resembled the protesting tones of the rusty door hinges. He did not look at those he addressed but directed his voice to the straw covered flagstones. The courtyard picked up his voice and echoed it around increasing the agony with each reverberation.

Exchanging glances with the compere the jester shrugged his shoulders and followed the big figure.

The castle was suffering from neglect, grass pushed its way between the stones and moss dappled their surfaces.

The silent party walked up the stone staircase, past open doors containing overturned furniture covered in dust and cobwebs, suggesting that the last occupants had been forced to leave in a hurry.

After ascending several stairways the were led to the only door on a small landing. As they approached the black arch topped door it opened, apparently of its own volition.

“Enter”, Ormst’s mocking voice invited. “Think yourselves lucky that you will have a chance to correct your miserable failure of last night”.

“The compere decided not mention the purse for the job. Ormst made his own rules and changed them when it suited him to do so, he was dictating all the terms and these three were merely pawns to prevent him expending energy needed for more exotic purposes. Although he could appear to be in two places at once the projection of his image had no ability to touch anything. His image appeared to speak as the result of two separate spells, each difficult enough to perform by themselves but together they sorely taxed Ormst’s powers.

Hidden from them by the gloom the assembled trio had to look carefully to catch sight of their tormentor.

“Failures!” shouted the wizard, “I don’t like failures”. The filigree pattern over the left shoulder and down the back of his black robe resembled a superimposed collection of the tracings of waves at sea on a blustery day. Occasionally the pattern caught the light of the solitary candle spilling out its life on to the table as many others had done so before, the mountain of wax obscuring the wood testifying to this truth.

“They have been warned”, he pointed in the direction of Tigrens dwelling, your bungling attempts to carry out my master plan has warned them!”, his voice rose to a maniacal shriek that sent a shiver down three backs.

“Find out who is protecting the castle”, his voice enticed now that it was barely a whisper, “and bring them here to me”.

“How do we find out who it is Ormst?” enquired Chanver.

There was silence.

The candle spat as it consumed a moth who had diced with the secrets of yellow flame for the last time in its short life. It had dared to know and paid for the knowledge with its greatest treasure.

“Someone is pursing a course of study parallel to my own, Of course this person is a mere student whereas I am the acknowledged master”, the wizard strutted as he spoke, placing his hands together at his midriff, palms together fingers pointing sky wards in a pious gesture.

“You work at the castle jester, so ask questions. I have an extensive library”, he waved his arms in the air to indicate the overcrowded shelves lining every wall and the company instinctively flinched. Ormst gave a high pitched yell when he realised why, ” this is the best, the finest collection of occult literature in the world. Yet, someone may possess something that I do not have, unthinkable though it may be, but I will have it.

Only those with something to hide will refuse to tell you what they have studied. They’re the ones I’m interested in, tell me their names, I’ll be most interested to discuss their choice of reading with the one who masterminded the castles defence.” he grinned and it looked like a smile frozen on the face of a corpse. The company stared in horror.

“Now go”, shouted the wizard raising his arms again just to watch the small party cower.

The shambling black giant returned to lead them back to the courtyard.

Making indecent haste to leave the black edifice the party followed the jester out into the mist. None of them cared in which direction they were heading, as long as it was away from Ormst’s castle.