In Which The Vanishing Has Swallowed The Terra Draconis

It is a morsel of common wisdom too kind to reflect reality that anything Avan Weatherstrong did not know about magic was probably not worth knowing. It is certainly true that the youngest son of the House of Weatherstrong was the most versatile practitioner of the magical arts to ever walk among the lands of Faerie.

For this reason the storm that consumed the dark side of the Okulas Moon did not impress Avan the way that it intimidated his young companion Saeed. All magic, fundamentally, was elemental. To make a rain cloud one could easily combine air and water manufactured from raw mischief. A gigantic black-hearted storm was air and water bound with raw white plasma and amplified using power and chaos. A gigantic storm was devastating, but it was a show piece for the easily cowed.

There was no subtlety to Okulas's working, it was achievable by any idiot with a rudimentary grasp on the basics and the coin to drop on the equipment to make it happen. It was hard to explain to an individual seeing the awesome power of the storm first hand. For this reason Avan didn't even try.

If Avan were to be honest about matters, and he tended to be, he would be forced to admit that the flying potions that enabled Saeed and himself to arc over the storm and settle upon the rim of the crater at the storm's eye was no more impressive to a master alchemist. The ingredients of the potion altered the gross weight of the flesh until it could slip through the air. There was a question of balance, a good flying potion was a hard thing to prepare, but once one had the technique the application was pretty tedious.

Again, it was hard to communicate to a non-magic user how unimpressive a thing a decent flight potion was except in the degree of its responsiveness. Avan's flight potions were something he was proud of but for technical reasons, not merely because the gifted the imbiber with the power to fly for one turn of the hourglass.

There were several flourishes that any alchemist would have been happy to tell you were very hard to pull off in Avan's potion. The potion allowed for mental control of the relative density of the flyer's flesh, the control was quite precise, different parts of the body responded the need to move in harmony with the flyer's wishes. Essentially, when you flew with Avan Weatherstrong's potion you found the business of flight surpassingly easy. The end phase was nicely feathered also, a soft landing at the end of your flight was almost always guaranteed.

This marked the difference between Avan and Okulas. The Count had money, which he had used to buy power to use as a bludgeon. Avan possessed diligence and wisdom, which he had used to craft elegant solutions that got the job done in the spirit of efficiency.

In a completely fair world it would be Avan and Saeed who easily triumphed over the rich bully with the expensive toys. Anyone who has ever encountered a rich bully with expensive toys will tell you that the world is hardly ever fair at all.

By the time Avan and Saeed landed Okulas's plan was already at an advanced stage. As Saeed crested the dark, swirling cloud bank that surrounded the crater a long silver thread became visible, emerging from a structure at the centre of the crater and curving around almost doubling over to cross the moon's horizon and disappear downwards towards the vague craggy outline of the lands of Faerie below. (For the scientific among you wondering how the sky could be filled with the distant image of the lands below, suffice to say that if geography in Faerie is eccentric, interplanetary spacial location is totally insane.)

"We need to aim for that building!" Avan shouted over the whirling, crackling mass of stormclouds.

Avan and Saeed swooped down, on a course to land outside the structure. They didn't make it halfway before an arrow zinged through the space between them. One arrow was quickly followed by more. Before long the air was filled with hurtling arrows, some of them on fire. Saeed and Avan dodged and weaved as much as they could but in the end they were forced back, eventually landing half a mile from their intended destination.

"I really hope that there aren't more glass monkeys," Saeed said.

As hopes went it was not a large one, if heavily armoured guards were an acceptable replacement for invisible simians then Saeed should have been well pleased. For a short while more arrows attempted to find them but Avan put up a glowing shield the arrows bounced off. Eventually a horde of cavalry soldiers reached the pair but, galloping past, they could not penetrate Avan's defenses.

"We must not be delayed," Avan said. "This shield cannot be moved but I can make us fast. Get ready!"

With that Avan threw a small clay pot onto the ground hard enough to shatter, a black-gold glowing powder bloomed outwards, engulfing the two men.

"Stay sharp," Avan instructed, once the dust had cleared. "I'm taking down the shield."

He did so and Saeed looked about to find himself in an even stranger world. Okulas's army was all around him, twisted faces snarling, strong arms bristling with weapons, all intent on cutting down the two men who would seek to interfere with the events unfolding in the nearby building. All of these soldiers were moving as if caughtin treacle, the air was filled with the slow throbbing growl of their cries, slowed down by Avan's magic.

"You still have to tread carefully," Avan said. "But this should last until we reach our destination."

And so they went, jumping over enemies, treading lightly upon the backs of trolls, lizard men and burly folk. Avan and Saeed raced across the army that was trying to kill them. As they reached the outer walls of Okulas's hide away the growl of the army had raised in pitch and tone, the motions of the soldiers a little faster.

"We haven't got long," Avan noted, "let's get up the wall."

Saeed and Avan scrambled up the outside of the building and ran across the roof dropping down into the courtyard just as the effect of Avan's speed bomb wore off. Saeed considered that it must have looked to the observers as if Avan and himself had skimmed over the roof like swooping birds landing precisely at a single spot each already focused on the scene before them. Saeed understood how intimidating such a display would be and understood a little more of what had made the name of Weatherstrong a central pillar of Faerie legend.

Okulas, a dark-haired, pale-skinned oily kind of individual who was, unsurprisingly, shorter than one might have expected, acted as if the arrival of the Prince and Saeed were expected and on schedule.

"Welcome, Prince Weatherstrong," Okulas said. "You will be disappointed to hear that your valiant efforts to preserve the Terra Draconis are all in vain. The skybow's arrow has tethered my moon to the continent and the apparatus I had built by a team of witches has distilled its energies into a single crystal, the crystal of quintessence. All that remains is for the quintessence crystal to be placed within the mounting on an amulet, linked to a ring of power and my claim to the title of Faerie's most powerful sorcerer will be passed into the pages of history."

Okulas was so intent on his gloating that he failed to notice Avan make a subtle hand gesture to Saeed that they had settled upon previously whilst quelling the riot in Dracopolis. They had only decided upon this signal less than three weeks ago but Saeed noticed it with some surprise.

The signal meant 'create a distraction'. Providing such a distraction as Saeed could was appropriate when you wanted to lead a group of trolls into a blind alley where they could be stunned and bound away from the main throroughfare. In this situation Saeed could not imagine a distraction such as he might take responsibility for that did not end with him being frazzled, throttled or otherwise demised by a powerful wicked sorcerer.

Saeed tried to put all of that into a double raised eyebrow aimed at Avan. Avan, lacking an organised response merely waved his thumb in a vaguely upwards direction.

"If I meet death today," Saeed muttered under his breath as Okulas finished explaining his plan. "I will not be impressed in the slightest."

"Even so he thumbed a little smoke bomb that Avan had made for him from the hidden pouch in his belt and smashed it on the ground. As Okulas's personal guard reacted by waving their pikes in his general direction Saeed took the opportunity provided by the confusion to punch a couple of them in places that Saeed knew would temporarily cripple them. Even so, these soldiers were the best that Okulas had under his command. Saeed could not hope to best them alone.

"Grab him!" Okulas shouted pointing in Saeed's direction. After that things went bad for him very quickly indeed.

The world became filled with flying crossbow bolts and swishing blades. Okulas's personal guard had clearly prepared well to take down individuals causing trouble in the vicinity of their employer. Saeed tried to see where Avan was, even as the noose of wood and steel attempted to close about him, but he could not see the prince anywhere.

Making a snap decision Saeed decided that he had to make a break for it. He couldn't hope to survive if the full focus of the guard remained on him. Saeed back flipped over a pair of surprised guards and ran away from the courtyard and into the building through a tall pair of double doors.

The only thing that saved Saeed's neck in that moment was that he had developed a sixth sense for the layout of unfamiliar archectural structures. He found a way down into the building's cellar and from there a trapdoor sealing an escape route into the caves below the moon. The guard, who knew the building far better, stayed in pursuit, but only because they had the home advantage.

Whatever the reason Saeed hoped that he had not made a fatal miscalculation. The narrow passages of the Okulas Moon's cave system were not an ideal place to escape from a horde of pursuing guards. Before long Saeed had exhausted all the obvious routes, perpetually finding looped passages, dead ends or sheer vertical shafts. Without any magic of his own it seemed that he had cornered himself.

In the end he found himself in a passage, hemmed in by guards on either side. Roughly half way down the passage was a shaft showing a way upwards but the rock was smooth and slippery. Saeed could not gain access to the upper shelf of rock and his small spider-silk grapple had nothing to hook onto. As the guards approached Saeed watched his options decreasing. He drew his sword but there was no real way he could defeat a small army all by himself.

As the guards drew together under the chimney, completely sealing Saeed's available escape routes Saeed focused on the fiercest looking guards and waved his sword about.

"I may be reintroduced to my mother this day," he shouted, "but I will be taking some of you with me, mark my words!"

The guards did not look impressed, Saeed swung his arm back preparing for a first blow. As his arm reached its ready position there was the sound of a crack and someone shouted: "Shiner!"

Saeed closed his eyes and blocked his ears as he always did when he heard the word shiner. The shiner was a small bomb developed by Avan that put out a loud noise and a bright white light that could stun anyone who did not protect their eyes and ears when it went off. The devices did not do much physical harm but were immensely useful in asserting a surprise tactic against a group of adversaries.

With the short warning the sound of the shiner was louder in Saeed's ears than he might have liked, but e managed to shield his eyes from the light. When he opened them again the guards were all clutching their heads and moaning. A sliver of white cord was hanging down to Saeed's side.

Saeed did not hesitate, he scaled the rope up the chimney and was greeted by Avan at the top.

"You cut that about as fine as I think you possibly could," Saeed said. "Thank you."

"Sorry," Avan said. "I had to lose pursuers of my own, then, I found these."

Avan held up a number of crystals, all of which looked like they could be the quintessence crystal.

"What is this? More magic?" Saeed asked.

"Raw mischief, trapped in dragon crystals as luminosity," Avan said. "Only one of the crystals is the one that contains the Terra Draconis, the others are decoys."

"So, the Terra Draconis is safe?" Saeed asked.

"Trapped in crystal," Avan nodded, "but out of Okulas's grasp. We need to make sure it stays safe, until the magic can be reversed safely."

"Can you do that?" Saeed asked.

"Not easily," Avan said. "I think the safest extraction method will prove to be alchemical but whoever does it will only get one chance. The responsibility for restoring this land is a grave one. I fear that, although I will be able to start upon a solution it won't be easy and I may not be the one to complete the work."

"So what do we do now?" Saeed asked.

A small light appeared in the passage behind Avan, it was about the size of a hornet, coloured a pale yellow.

"Hello, Starspark," Avan said, then to Saeed: "This is Starspark, I found her in one of Okulas's dragon crystals. She was an experiment in preserving mischief inside the lattice structure of the crystal. She was also my first experiment in extraction. Starspark, this is Saeed, an honest thief."

"Hello, Prince Weatherstrong," Starspark said. "Hello, Saeed."

"Starspark knows these caves, she can take us back through the roots of the tree to the light side of the moon and I can use magic to take us back to the haunted house in Faerie," Avan said. "After that you and I will hide the decoys, and, of course, the real crystal. Hopefully that will buy us some time to seek a remedy for this wicked act."


And this is exactly what they did, but as for the rest that will be told another day.

Avan Weatherstrong and the Riders in Little Hill

Before the time of the Vanishing, when all the dragons went away, there were a number of realms that were ruled by, or living in symbiosis with, the Draconic races. These realms were governed by a treaty between the dragons and the folk known as the Ninefold Covenant.

In that dim and distant past Faerie had a greater geography than it does today, with three vast continents separated by two enormous oceans. The continents of Araby and Axis were connected by a thin spit of land marking a dividing point between the Trader's Ocean and the dark waters of the Ocean Incognita. The last continent, Terra Draconis, lay at the far end of the Crystal Ocean, its vast trenches and extensive underwater kingdoms make up most of the sub-oceanic shadows, even today.

The riches to be found in the Terra Draconis were many, the routes to cross the oceans few and fraught with dangers. One of the most detailed accounts left across the former continent of Axis (now home to the Hundred Kingdoms and the Crossway Realms) is the account of the adventures of Prince Avan Weatherstrong set down in the tenth volume of his adventures.

If one were to look at a standard edition of 'The Tales of Avan Weatherstronge Vol. X' purchased, for example, from a stall at the Patchwork Market of Bridgetown one would probably find the following tale set down there. However, if one were to visit some of the deeper stacks of the Faerie Archive of Levercastle one may find the events transpired a little differently in the 'Fully Annotated' edition of the same volume written in a special expanding binding with intelligent ink. Such refinements are only to be located in Faerie's only real library, probably because of the testing effect they tend to have on the surrounding reality.

In this tale Avan Weatherstrong emerged from the sea road through the undersea kingdom of Redkale to cross the border into the coastal kingdom of Bromo. This would be his first days in the Terra Draconis and he was excited to see the last of the lands of Faerie first hand.

The first sign of trouble in Bromo came when he climbed up the stairs cut into the rock of the Bromo Cliffs to find that his entry onto land was barred by a tall gate, a tower to one side provided enough room to house a few guards. Avan knocked upon the door and saw a face appear at the top of the tower.

"Who goes there?" challenged the Broman guard from above.

"My name is Prince Avan Weatherstrong," Avan explained. "I bear a Seal of the Hundred Kingdoms, I seek no more than to travel through your lands upon my great journey among the lands of Faerie."

Avan held up the golden circle, the seal of the Hundred Kingdoms but from the top of the tower it must have looked like no more than a small golden saucer.

"Wait there," the guard told him, "I'm coming down."

There was the scuffle of a number of boots against stone and a small hatch opened in the gate.

"Hold up your seal," the guard demanded, Avan complied.

There was the sound of a number of bolts and latches being undone before the gate finally opened. Across the threshold of the kingdom of Bromo was a small stone room and two nervous looking guards holding spears, regarding Avan with suspicion.

"I take it you were expecting something more troublesome than a travelling prince?" Avan asked.

"Kalers," one of the guards mumbled in response.

"They don't usually come in the day time, they've not been coming at night so often. They're probably up to something," the other one said. He scanned the stairway behind Avan, as if expecting to find an attack force that he had not previously noted, skulking among the jagged walls of rock to either side.

"You are at war with your neighbours?" Avan asked. "That is a great shame. Men like you should be building a kingdom, not waiting in fear in a damp gatehouse."

"You'd best come through," one of the guards said. "Not safe to have the gate open for too long."

Avan entered the gatehouse and one of the guards closed and locked the door behind him. The chamber beyond the gate was small and bare, there was a set of steps off to Avan's left and a larger wooden double door about eight feet further on.

"I'm really just passing through," Avan said to the guards. "I have come to see the wonders of the Terra Draconis. Maybe, if I talk with your ruler, then I could offer some insight into whatever is troubling this realm."

"You'll have to take the Caer Road," the guard said. "You'd be better on a horse, not long now until sundown."

"What's the problem with sundown?" Avan asked. There were often, in his experience, problems with sundown, the question was more an assessment of what kind of problem this might be.

"The riders come out, usually after night fall, sometimes at dusk," the guard said. "Take the road to Little Hill, that's not so far away, you can stay at the Inn."

Avan was curious about what a rider might be but he could tell that the guards were keen to send him on his way during the last few hours of daylight so he held his tongue. One of the guards went up the stairs, back into the watch tower, the other lead Avan through the double doors at the opposite end of the antechamber and out onto a broad courtyard. A simple four stall stable was set up to one side of the courtyard, there were a few wooden stakes to the opposite side that were probably used for combat practice. At the far end of the courtyard was a high wall and, in the centre, two tall wooden gates topped with spikes.

Without talking, or even looking at Avan, the guard lead the prince to the gates. He opened a wicket in the gate on the right.

"Little Hill road goes that way," he said pointing to a cobbled road that split north from the junction just beyond the gates. Avan noticed that the guard was stood away from the open wicket, his nervousness had increased with the little door open. "Town's just over the hill in the valley beyond," the guard said. "Don't stop, get to the inn as quick as you can, when evening bell rings close the shutters on your room. They'll tell you what to do."

Avan's curiosity was now raging but he did not think that this guard would appreciate a barrage of questions. Avan would have to find someone more talkative in this town, Little Hill. He thanked the guard for the advice before setting foot on the Little Hill road.

The walk into the town did not take long, he reached the town limits while the sun still had quite a distance to sink upon its travels. Avan had travelled a long way on his journey and so he was neither surprised nor disappointed that his first experience of the Terra Draconis was indistinguishable, in many ways, from his experience of anywhere else he had been.

The air was a little chilly, the sky was a light grey, Avan imagined that some rain could not be too far away. The local vegetation in Bromo was verdant but not exotic, all in line with a temperate autumnal season. The only unusual thing about Bromo was how quiet the roads were and how scared the guards had been.

Little Hill was no more reassuring. People rushed back and forth with a sense of urgency, most ignored Avan, those that didn't regarded him wide-eyed, appearing to assess him as they would a stray dog that may turn out to be rabid. Avan heard many people make remarks about wanting to get things done before curfew.

In the early days of his adventures Avan's curiosity at this odd behaviour would surely have got the better of him. When he had begun his journey his patience had not been tempered by so many brushes with death. He was confident that he could get some information from someone at the Inn, these establishments were always the hub of all the most interesting information to be gleaned in a particular place at a particular time.

Little Hill Inn was adjacent to the town's market square. By the time Avan arrived the stalls had all been removed or locked up, even though the evening bell was still a little time away. As Avan approached the inn he observed townsfolk heading indoors with some haste. Many of the houses that surrounded the square were shut up tight, blank faced shutters hiding the interior from view. To one side of the square there were three houses that had been burned out, a sign advised passers by to stay away from the ruins.

Whatever Avan's expectations had been of the inn they did not include the desolate tavern area that he stepped into. There were no more than ten patrons in the whole place, a bored looking draco stood behind the bar occupying his time with a bar-room skittles set. The green skinned inn keeper was the first draco Avan had ever seen so he tried his hardest not to feel underwhelmed.

Avan had experienced some difficulty separating out the draco, a race of dragon-people who walked on two legs like the folk, from lizard men. Now that he could see one to compare he understood that you could not mistake one for another. Lizard men were related to goblins, as such they tended to be wiry of frame, their heads were far more lizard than folk, their skin was scaled, their eyes had yellow irises and black slitted pupils.

The draco were smoother skinned, if anything their complexion looked as if it were made of some kind of soft fabric, tinted not just green but rather in a wash of colours including yellow, blue, purple and green. Their eyes were an odd china blue at the edges with large dark pupils that sometimes shone as they caught the light. Instead of having a steady iris the pupil gave the appearance of being on fire.

The draco also carried a natural bulk, even this small bar man appeared stocky, robust with health. Black hair sprouted from his head in a stripe that gave his pointed ears plenty of breathing room either side. At the back the barman's hair was gathered into a clip.

Avan approached the draco who was intent on knocking down the four badly spaced pins still standing on the board. The bar man made Avan wait until the ball had swung through its arc, narrowly missing two of the pins, clipping one so that it fell and going nowhere near the fourth. The bar man tutted at his failure and readjusted his focus to point in Avan's direction.

"The guards at the cliff stair gatehouse told me that I should come here and book a room for the night," Avan said.

"They must have liked you," the bar man replied. "Room's four florins."

Avan put down a crown.

"People round here appear to be frightened," Avan said. "Maybe while you show me my room we could talk about that."

"Your money," the barman shrugged, pocketing the crown. "Follow me."

The bar man lead Avan out of the main tavern area up a set of steps that wound round up to a second floor. He showed Avan to a small, functional guest room. Avan noted, upon entering the room, that the shutters were already closed and locked.

"Don't open them," the bar man said, following the direction of Avan's gaze. "I don't want any trouble."

"What's so troubling?" Avan asked. "I think you'll find I've paid for an answer."

"Wolf riders," the bar man said. "Mercenaries hired by Redkale. They have beseiged the whole of Bromo,"

"Why?" Avan asked. "Such a campaign must be ruinous for both kingdoms. Only the mercenaries would make any profit."

"Redkale's daughter, Princess Auriga and Bromo's son, Prince Lachlan, they are married," the barman said. "Redkale has never supported the mingling of land dwellers and merfolk. He was less than understanding on the matter."

"It's unusual for a Lord to jeopardise his people supporting his child's love match," Avan said. It was a remark that Avan hoped the barman would recognise as a diplomatically phrased question.

"There's enchantment involved," the barman said. "That's all you need to know for now. That and, don't open the shutters, until you hear morning bell. We'll bring you your supper after evening bell, there isn't a night bell."

With that the bar man withdrew, leaving Avan to get as comfortable as he could in his cell-like room. He took his heeding stone from its pouch in a boot pocket and set it up on the small dresser. He took his binding scarf from around his neck and laid it over the surface of the small mirror attached to the dresser. Only then did he remove some of his armoured travelling clothes and stretch out the tiredness in his muscles.

After a short time Avan heard the muted sound of the evening bell through the shutters. A draco woman, possibly the inn keeper's wife or sister, brought Avan a bowl of hearty broth and some unusual dense bread. Avan ate slowly and then talked with his heeding stone for a little while before retiring into the bed in his room. The complete dark and silence felt like a cocoon so the prince fell swiftly to sleep.

Avan had been travelling for too long to be a deep sleeper, so when the scream made its way through the muffle of the stout wooden shutters it awoke him. There wasn't much else in the way of sound and the scream had already died by the time he was conscious, to the point where most people would have been uncertain whether or not they had dreamed the noise.

In his travels Avan had cause to deal with the forces of the dream world, he had cause to know better than most what was real and what was not. The scream had been muffled but already Avan had recalled it to mind, it had been female, probably young, so close to the bleat of an animal in distress but that was another distinction that Avan had learned to pick apart.

Still, he couldn't be certain but where there was doubt there was also possibility. He crept to the shutters, unlocked them and opened them just a crack to peer out into the dark night.

The streets of Little Hill by night were not well lit. There was evidence that there were some lights here and there, low down to street level, mostly the view out of the window was dark, then there was the rainbow corona. A column of whirling rainbow light picked out the tiles of rooftops in narrow streets, approaching the market square. Every so often the column would collapse and the view would darken, before, once more blooming upwards shooting towards the sky.

With the shutters open a crack Avan could detect the sounds of snarling and shouting, no doubt the noise of the riders stalking whatever it was that formed the centre of the corona. Avan had to act, someone could be in danger and he had no confidence that anyone from Little Hill would risk involvement.

He quickly pulled on his armoured clothes and picked up his short sword and channeling staff. He wanted to be stealthy but had no time for a serious enchantment, he spoke a darkening charm that merely dimmed his form, making it less distinct and muting the noises he made. Then he stole out of his room and down into the tavern.

The door to the inn was locked up tight with a mortice lock, Avan muttered the words of a minor thieves' cantrip and touched his channelling staff to the lock and it sprung open. He was careful to close the door again behind him, he didn't want to think of the riders finding a house that wasn't secured. Once the door was locked Avan ran into the dark streets trying to locate the rainbow corona once more.

It didn't take long to spot it, the column of light was still blooming upwards, fading and blooming again, clear against the night sky. Avan's eyes were becoming used to the darkness now and he picked his way quickly across the market square avoiding the locked up permanent stalls, water butts and other obstacles that could have slowed him down.

As he drew closer to the corona it became apparent that its source was mobile, it was moving toward the market square, only a few streets distant. As Avan reached the western edge of the square he heard a sound from his left. He turned his eyes to see a shadowy figure emerge from between two buildings about forty feet distant from his position.

The figure was a giant wolf, it looked to be a large cousin of the dire wolf found in Axis, mounted on its back was a soldier in armour, one of the riders. Behind it came two more. Avan darted forward to gain cover at the corner of the street he was headed toward. Once he was behind the wall he carefully surveyed the approaching riders from his cover, trying to assess whether they had targetted him specifically or just happened to be headed in his direction.

From a quick glance it did not appear that Avan had been spotted. It was likely they were moving around to hem in the source of the rainbow corona. That meant that he had to head in towards the source quickly, before it was too late.

The source was only one street over now, around a corner about sixty feet ahead. It appeared to be travelling in his direction. Avan picked up his heels and ran towards it, determined to beat the riders to the prize.

The source and the prince reached the junction at the same time. Avan found himself looking into the furious face of a little girl wearing an almost comical lemon-yellow party frock under which could be seen the ominous black leather of a pair of stout boots. The corona centred on her illuminating her form and providing a glowing spear of light that pierced the night sky, betraying her location.

For a moment Avan and the little girl just stared at one another, neither certain which would move first. The little girl broke the deadlock, darting forward and kicking Avan soundly in the right shin.

She was three feet away from him, dodging around to his right, before he had recovered from the unexpected pain enough to move after her. He didn't want to draw attention to himself by calling out. Avan started after her, back up the street he'd come down originally, but neither of them got very far before the riders came down ahead of them. The three wolves spread out across the road to cut off their retreat.

The little girl spun on her heel and dodged back round Avan without even acknowledging his presence to run west further along the street. Avan quickly checked the southern approach where the girl had emerged from, there were more riders coming up that way. It was almost certain that there would be a third band of riders up the other street. The rainbow corona was too easy to pinpoint.

There was no time for questions, and equally little for subtlety. Avan had problems with works of sorcery, particularly in circumstances such as this, but the price of a one-off effect would be minor. He held out his hand and recited the summoning charm for his familiar. The tiny figure of an imp appeared in the palm of his hand.

"Long time no see, Princey," the little man said. "You must be desperate."

"The power of flight, until sunrise, how much?" Avan asked. He could hear the heavy lope of the wolves coming closer.

"One hundred hairs from your head, they will never grow back," the imp said.

"One hundred?" Avan asked, he was in a poor position to bargain but one hundred hairs was the potential for one hundred curses to be worked attached to him, one hundred death kisses, one hundred doppelshades, one hundred custom built mirror prisons. "Twenty, maybe."

"I'll do seventy," the imp replied. "Doesn't look like we can haggle any further if you want to keep the head those hairs grow from."

"Done," Avan responded and felt a smattering of prickles on his scalp as the hairs were extracted.

"A pleasure doing business, princey, don't be a stranger," the imp said before exploding in a puff of acrid purple smoke.

"I hate sorcery," Avan muttered as his feet lifted from the ground. He swooped forward just as the axe wielded by one of the riders swung through the space he had occupied until the very moment before.

The flight wasn't smooth, the power had been given with too much inertia, Avan would have to be careful about stopping and turning. Right now he had to aim for the rainbow corona and get the little girl out of harm's way.

The corona was still obvious, it had slowed to a stop about twenty feet further on, no doubt the girl had seen the other riders and was now looking for some avenue of escape. There was no time for anything clever. Avan soared down the street, gripped the little girl round the waist, eliciting another huge scream that rattled his eardrums, before finally shooting up into the sky.

Once he was far enough over the roof tops he flew towards the coast, where he knew the courtyard outside the cliff gatehouse would be open to the sky and locked down tight.

"Get off me!" the little girl shouted, squirming to get out of Avan's grasp.

"Stop struggling," Avan said. "I don't want you to fall. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Good for you," the little girl said. "I'm most definitely going to hurt you, as soon as I get the chance."

Avan was so surprised by the comment he nearly fell out of the air.

"I just saved your life," Avan said.

"How do I know that?" the little girl asked. "You're flying, that means you're a sorcerer, and sorcerers are mean."

"I might be an alchemist," Avan responded.

"Alchemists can't make people fly," the girl scoffed. "They just make things smell, or explode, sometimes both."

"Alchemists can work any magic, if they're skilled enough. I could be a druid, they fly," Avan said.

"I don't know anything about druids, if you mean witches they need a broomstick, you've got no broomstick, you're definitely a sorcerer."

"Well, currently," Avan said. "I'm a sorcerer who rescued you from soldiers on wolf back," Avan said. "So I think I deserve the benefit of the doubt. You can hurt me later, if I try to hurt you, deal?"

"I suppose," the little girl said.

Avan couldn't help but notice that when she made her last remark the halo of rainbow light faded a little.

"Where are we going?" the little girl asked.

"Guard house, on the coast," Avan said. "We can get you inside until morning, then you might not stand out so much."

"Will there be guards?" the girl asked.

"There usually are in guardhouses," Avan answered. The light instantly blossomed brighter. "Why are you glowing?" Avan asked.

"It's a punishment," the girl said. "From my stupid personal tutor. He makes me glow whenever I'm thinking of mischief. I've been glowing for three weeks now, almost constantly. He said it was so he could find me easily when I was up to no good."

"I take it your personal tutor is a trickster, then?" Avan said. He had heard of such sprites, they were attached to people the powers that be had deemed to be in need of a drastic lesson.

"He's a stupid, that's all I know," the little girl said.

Avan saw the light of the gatehouse tower, he curved round to make a landing.

"So how did you end up in Little Hill, after dark, alone?" Avan asked.

"It's a 'field trip', whatever that means," the little girl replied. "I told him I would do anything to get rid of the light, he said 'really, anything?' and I said 'anything' and he said 'even go on a field trip?', and I told him that if it would help me get rid of the light I would do anything at all. So he tapped me on the head with his stick and then I was in that town.

"I wasn't glowing at first, I was too amazed. Then I saw the wolf people and I couldn't help but wonder if I could steal one of the wolves, I mean, they're amazing. Then they spotted me, they were angry, that's a usual sort of reaction in anyone who's met me before, I didn't think they had. Anyway I ran, they came after me and you took me away to here."

The little girl finished speaking just as Avan touched down in the courtyard. The two guards from the tower, who were a different pair from the ones who had lead Avan through earlier, came running out, waving their spears.

"Which," the little girl concluded. "Looks really dull, apart from the spears." She turned to address one of the guards. "Hey, mister, that's a really good spear, can I have a go?"

The rainbow corona was still shining brightly. Avan held up his seal of the Hundred Kingdoms.

"Gentlemen," he said. "I will explain, inside, I think we need to contain this little girl before her light brings the riders down on this place."

The guards were confused but they weren't idiots, they hurried Avan and the little girl into the guard tower where Avan explained the situation to them. The little girl turned out to be called Anabyl Spireshine (which seemed odd as Spireshine was one of the hundred kingdoms that neighboured Avan's own home of Weatherstrong) and she identified herself as a princess. She found it hard to believe that Avan was who he claimed to be because she said he was 'from a storybook'.

Avan found out a bit more about Anabyl and how she had come to the Terra Draconis, why she was there and how he could return her to her home. All of this is a story for another time.

Sir Cobb, The Prince, The Witch and The Moon Guardian

Frederick awoke to find that he was not dreaming. This concept had never presented him with an issue before. You dreamed while you were asleep, you woke up, you stopped dreaming.

It wasn't even as if he'd woken up anywhere different to the place that he'd fallen asleep. This was still a coaching inn, still solid wood beam roof, still a little cold because the heating was a little bit primitive. There, at last, was the core of Frederick's doubt and fear. Everything around him was a little bit primitive. He was taking a trip through a little bit primitive. A little bit primitive wasn't just a description of a state of being it was also a location that Frederick was visiting.

No sooner had he opened his eyes and heaved a sigh of resignation to this elongated twist in his journey than there came a knock at the door.

"Frederick, first light in an hour, time for food," Avan Weatherstrong's voice was barely muted by the wood of the door.

Avan Weatherstrong. It was a name, it was a sentence. It was a twelve volume epic that Frederick could neither have afforded to buy nor hoped to conceal from his parents. He had read tales of Avan Weatherstrong, of course. No boy nourishing dreams of heroism passed through life ignorant of the first Mage-Warrior-Prince. He was a man who spat in death's eye and cheated the devil himself (adventures related in volumes V and VII respectively).

Now, confronted with the man himself, the experience of Avan Weatherstrong was no less awesome. If anything, it was better. Avan Weatherstrong was no heroic caricature, he was not aloof, he was not proud, he was just an awesome guy.

Frederick did not come from a part of either world, man or folk, that knew what a bromance was. For this reason he was unaware that he was wrapped up in the middle of one. Not that he would have denied the fact even if he had known. Frederick was not such a fool as to deny an obvious truth.

"Frederick?" Avan's voice again. Frederick shook his head to clear it of the hero worship.

"There in a moment, go down without me," he shouted back.

The sound of a hero's assured tread padded away from the door towards the inn's staircase. It was followed by the creak of the steps as Avan went to enjoy his breakfast; a hero's breakfast.

This was the one problem Frederick was finding. Whenever Avan did anything it was always a hero's action. Whenever he said anything they were the words of a hero. Whenever he owned something it was always a hero's whatever-it-was. Frederick had always been wary at the prospect of meeting his heroes. He hated disappointment. In this case it had led to unimaginative adjectivisation.

Was adjectivisation even a word? Frederick suspected that it was not.

Frederick shoved his hero-worship issues to one side, rolled out of bed and put on his clothes. One thing he definitely missed on the road was laundry. You just couldn't get laundry done, even if you visited a city. The major problem was that, as a knight-errant, you owned the clothes you stood up in. He had yet to find a place which offered as much as a spare bathrobe on a rental basis. Such a garment was a must while the, usually smelly and disgusting, knightly garb was being freshened.

It was even worse in this age of legends place (although technically it was time travel time in Faerie is an elastic concept). There were no laundries and everything came with a frosting of dirt, or so it appeared to Frederick. His original knightly garb, which had just been his cooper's apprentice clothes, were gone. A leather jerkin and a couple of small bits of tatty armour, hadn't stood a chance after ten minutes at Avan Weatherstrong's side.

The worst part was that he had lost the comfortable breeches that his parents had gifted him when he turned fifteen. They had received a small tear on the left thigh whilst Avan had been training Frederick in rapier swordplay. Shortly afterwards the tear had snagged in the thorns of an evil living tree. As the tree tried to do to Frederick what Frederick usually did to cherry tomatoes the breeches had given up. By the time of their escape there wasn't enough of them left to make a handkerchief.

Frederick had been forced to cover his embarrasment with a spare blanket Avan carried on his horse. At the next city they had bought him some durable leather trousers to go with his jerkin. Avan had, in fact, acted the part of the stand up guy. He was a mentor and teacher to Frederick. He had covered Frederick's equipment budget without complaint. He brushed aside all objection with some rubbish about being dead if it weren't for Frederick's assistance.

Frederick was under no illusions. In the stories he remembered Avan Weatherstrong lived a long and happy life. None of those stories had featured a yuoung apprentice knight. The wise Sir Weatherstrong found his own domain. A land over which he had ruled wisely. Whatever was happening right now was some odd wrinkle in time and fate. The kind of thing that was best not dwelled upon if one wanted to avoid unnecessary tension headaches.

Dressed and ready Frederick went over to the basin in the corner of the room that he had filled last night and splashed some water on his face. It didn't do much more than to make the grime slide a little but it was a token effort in the direction of cleanliness.

Drying his hands Frederick had to work his way around the ring of fate, gifted to him all those months ago in the vampire swamp. The damn thing had only ever worked the once, after the vampire incident it had stuck fast to Frederick's finger. No matter how Frederick pulled at it the ring would not slide off.

Frederick wondered why this was. The sprite that had given it to him had told him it would accelerate Frederick's destiny. Since splitting him into over one hundred identical copies it had done nothing.

Something fell over in Frederick's brain. A thought so loud he was surprised it didn't make a noise. Maybe the ring was working. After all, how did one come to be training with the greatest knight legend had ever known? A gnome Frederick had fought in a cage match would have everyone believe it was a rogue nose tweak. Maybe it took a little more mischief to work something this big.

Or maybe not. Whatever the case the ring was stuck.

Focusing on the day a head a giddy mixture of excitement and apprehension washed over him. Feelings like this had become his constant companion these days. They followed Frederick as he went down to breakfast.

For a moment Frederick believed, upon entering the main lounge area of the inn, that his mentor was talking to himself. Then he spotted the tiny winged sprite, sat on top of a pepperpot, near to Avan's right elbow.

"...that does offer an explanation as to why the night is so dark," Avan was saying. "A cloud castle you say?"

A second wave of ambivalence washed over Frederick as he came to sit down opposite Avan and the sprite at the trestle. There was no doubt in his mind that Avan was finding something else for them to do. No doubt he was planning yet another daring deed that would see them wreathed in glory.

On the one hand Avan had a great eye for people in need. Frederick had made the discovery that the glory was nothing next to the sense that you had done something that would help people out. About four months ago, back in what he now considered to be 'the early days', Frederick had been happy to be busy. He had spent his first months as a knight stabbing bog fiends and burning cow-vampires.

People always appeared pleased with the standard of his work in these cases. Even so, Frederick had always felt that he was acting more in the capacity of pest exterminator than hero in those times. Then he'd slipped on that pesky ring of destiny. Straight after that he had gone through about three weeks where he had come as close as he had ever come to dying from countless injuries. The school of destiny taught hard lessons.

Then he had fallen through a gnome-portal into the crazy world of Avan Weatherstrong. Now he had received twelve weeks of top-flight tuition from history's most cherished hero. He was not at all ungrateful for this fact. He had to admit that the constant assault of evil sorcerers, ogres, witches, giants and so on was tiring.

These were none of your trench-ghouls or minor trolls. Every bad guy Avan found was your top-of-the-line  detestable evil-doer. Frederick now knew a little something about handling a case of any major malignance. He could diagnose the ills that blighted lands to be found in a variety of terrains. They were averaging something in the region of one every one and a half days. The count of wickedness vanquished was something like forty villains trounced in the last sixty days.

Weatherstrong and Cobb, cleansing the world of wrong-doers two days in three.

Frederick supped at his bowl of warm oatmeal. It didn't matter about the numbers, it was exhausting.

"Chastity Angelwing here was just telling me about a cloud kingdom above this very domain," Avan said to Frederick. This was code for 'today we are going to go and kill something that lives in a cloud kingdom'. "Hope you're full of energy today, Sir Cobb."

Chastity Angelwing looked into Frederick's droopy, water-blue eyes as he masticated some salty oats. Frederick did not get the sense that she was reassured about his competence from her survey.

"'Salright," he said to her after he'd swallowed. "I'm just the sidekick. I'm even more underwhelming before I've had my morning tea."

"Sir Cobb," Avan chipped in, his voice ringing with sincerity, "is so much more than a sidekick. He has saved my life on nine separate occasions, no less."

Chastity was clearly still far from convinced but the look of disdain on her face softened a little.

"Many hands can make for light work," Frederick said. He didn't know whether he even necessarily believed in that platitude. He felt he had to make at least some token gesture of reassurance. Of course, it was Frederick and Avan that would be putting their lives on the line over this cloud kingdom business. So what Chasitity Angelwing needed reassuring for was anybody's guess.

Three hours later, not even nine in the morning, Frederick and Avan tumbled from the basket that had lifted them upwards. The rather cramped transportation hauled into the sky by a gross of grateful sprites. This favour had delivered them over the lip of the cloud kingdom. They picked themselves up to survey the scale of the task that lay before them. For their part the sprites fled the limits of this dangerous land.

Frederick had heard of cloud kingdoms, of course. No student of heroic literature could avoid such an education. He could never have imagined the reality so distinctly. He found himself standing on the lip of verdant greensward that, upon its border dissolved into puffs of soft, white cloud. Rainbows danced through the mists here and there. Off in the far distance Frederick could see a place where a waterfall tipped over the edge of this bright and beautiful land. The flow dissolved into cloud vapour before it could have fallen twenty feet.

"It's beautiful," Frederick breathed, filled with awe at the breathtaking view.

"They always are," Avan said, a note of caution clear in his voice. "It's just a shame that the inhabitants are rarely friendly." He took a moment to look about. "The castle will be that way," he said, pointing in what seemed, at least to Frederick's eyes, to be an arbitary direction. "We'd best be about our business."

"What _is_ our business?" Frederick asked, following Avan along the meadow where they had landed towards the edge of a pleasant wooded area. "I would have asked earlier but we were always knee deep in sprites. They tend to get a little... emotional... when discussing evil things."

"You've learned a lot," Avan smiled. "It's good to see, Frederick."

"Um, thank you," Frederick said, feeling the heat of embarrasment set his cheeks aglow.

"The witch Dumita Fellcraven has seized this cloud kingdom as her domain," Avan explained. "She has imprisoned the moon. She has done this in order to enact an plan. She means to plague the land below with a bestiary of creatures that thrive only in dark places."

"Why would she do that?" Frederick asked before the more pressing question came to his mind. "And... imprison the moon? How would you imprison the moon? I mean, it's the moon."

"The moon isn't one thing, Frederick," Avan said. "I thought everybody knew that."

"When I was in Bellespire," Frederick said. "I visited a cheese emporium, La Lune De Fromage Vert. They said they dispatched miners to the moon in little wooden tubes fired from a gigantic cannon. They said that the moon is made of green cheese. I bought a cube, it was quite pricey, and a little tangy for my liking."

"Well, it is entirely possible that the moon over Bellespire is made of green cheese. I'm sure you can send miners to it firing them in a wooden tube from a giant cannon," Avan said. "I know that I once had to deliver a silver short sword to a Moon Maiden. She received me in the court of a gigantic spherical palace cast in filigree of shining silver. I believe you have made acquaintance of the same lady."

"Oh, you mean my..." Frederick's brain was racing, that always made him feel giddy. He took a moment for a deep breath. "You gave the moon maiden my sword."

"Ay," Avan said, grinning. "Destiny is a strange thing. I once had a brief moment to converse with the Norns. I would tell you what they said to me, save that I didn't understand a word of it."

"I have a ring of destiny," Frederick said. "It's been nothing but trouble. I imagine you noticed that as well."

Avan held up his left hand, encircling his little finger was a ring of destiny. It was cut  differently to Frederick's own but unmistakeable in its hue and design.

"Two knights, both with a ring of destiny, adventuring together. Both having handled the same magic sword," Frederick mused. "What do you think are the chances of that happening?"

"In the pattern of the weave? Given the power of destiny?" Avan replied. "Best not to think about it, could distract you at the vital moment."

So Frederick didn't think about it. He followed his heroic mentor on their journey. A journey towards a castle that Frederick did not doubt lay ahead of them in the cloud kingdom.

Frederick was right to have faith in his companion. By noon they were approaching the forbidding walls of an enormous castle-fortress. Avan studied the high granite walls with a look of apprehension.

"It's built to a large scale," Frederick noted. "Do you think there are giants."

"Giants don't work for evil witches," Avan said. "But giants definitely built this castle. It's their style of architecture."

"So, what?" Frederick asked, puzzled.

"This witch drove the giants away," Avan said. "Or killed them. Either way that's bad news for us... good news also."

"How is facing a witch who can kill or exile giants from their own castle any sort of a good thing?" Frederick asked.

"Oh, that's not," Avan said, his tone light. "Giants like their accomodations dry. They have a tendency to suffer from many damp-related conditions. They're masters of efficient drainage. Witches, by and large, don't care about drainage. They tend to leave the extensive sewer systems unguarded."

An hour and a half later Frederick was swiping his sword clean of green-black ichor. The sticky mess had spouted, in great profusion, from the corpse of a sewer gremlin. The last of seven sewer gremlins that they had encountered in the tunnels beneath the castle. He was not angry at the encounter but he was a little confused by it.

"I thought you said the witch would leave this place unguarded," he said to Avan, irritation leaking through in his tone.

"They weren't guarding this place," Avan said. "They'd just taken advantage of the quiet times since the witch took over and, oh-"

"Oh what?" Frederick asked, he finished off cleaning the blade and stowed his short sword back in its scabbard. He looked over to see his partner stood at the wrong end of a long, curving blade, the design unfamiliar to Frederick's eyes. Holding the blade firm on the legendary prince was a small, athletic figure clad almost entirely in black. Two large, black, possibly female eyes stared out from the tight wrapping that enclosed the woman's head.

"Uh," Frederick said. "Can we help you?"

"You work for the evil one," the woman said. There was a strange accented inflection to her voice. She came from a place that Frederick had never been, the weapon, her garb and now her voice all told Frederick this.

Frederick had learned a thing or two about people from faraway lands during his travels. The first was that you couldn't presume anything when it came to their culture. For example, it might encourage them to behave like crazy people if you didn't treat them with respect. The second was that you would have no idea what action would lead them to believe they had been disrespected. Standing very still and talking slowly and clearly was often a safe bet, nothing was universal. Frederick had to take his chances.

"We were attacked by gremlins," Frederick said. "We're all on the same side here."

Of course, the woman in black hadn't stated which side she was on. It would be unusual to refer to your boss as 'the evil one', but it wasn't entirely unheard of.

"Unless," Avan supplied unhelpfully. "You work for the evil one. In which case we are here to kill your mistress."

Frederick let go of a sigh. Avan was a great guy but sometimes he was too straightforward.

"Why would you tell me this?" the woman asked. "If I do work for the evil one now I will kill you."

"You will try," Avan said.

"Maybe I will," the woman said and thrust her sword forward. Avan ducked and rolled away from the blade. Somehow he managed to pluck his own sword from the body of the last gremlin he had dispatched as he did so. He sprung to his feet swinging the sword down in a heavy parry even as the woman swung round on a second strike.

"Uh," Frederick said as the two traded sword blows in the confines of the tunnel. "Ah."

The fight didn't last long, after a few swings by both parties they split apart, looking set to regroup and come at it again. Frederick wasn't standing for any more nonsense he stood between them.

"What are you doing?" the woman asked. "Stand aside."

"Stop!" Frederick said firmly, splitting his attention between the two impromptu opponents. Once he was sure that Avan was not going to stab him in an accidental opening thrust he turned his attention towards the woman in black. "Are you intending to kill the evil one?" he asked.

"I fully intend to skewer her black heart with the blade of my father's daito," the woman said. Frederick would have to award her full marks for intensity.

"Well, okay," Frederick said. "Then perhaps we could spend a little less time squabbling in a sewer and a little more getting on with our mission then, together. I'm guessing that the witch in the giant castle will find killing us all together a little harder than as individuals. Particularly if we manage to keep from killing each other right now, don't you agree?"

"I travel alone, my target is for my blade only," the woman snarled.

"Well, Avan and I are only here to, uh, rescue the moon," Frederick said. "So if you want to get all stabby and emotional with the witch I, um, guess that's entirely your thing, right?" Frederick turned for support to Avan.

Avan had a strange look on his face, grimly troubled and, at the same time, angry and frustrated. He sheathed his sword, shifted his gaze to Frederick and inclined his head.

"You're a wise man, indeed, Sir Cobb," he said. "I will resolve my own differences with our new 'friend' after the moon is safe."

Differences? Frederick thought. Avan was usually very level-headed and gentlemanly. He didn't start fights with girls, even girls dressed all in black with scary huge weird swords. Frederick made a mental note to ask his companion about this later. For now, it seemed, peace had been restored.

The peace lasted for another forty-five minutes. At which point they had gained access to the central hall of the giant's castle and a truly epic battle ensued.

It transpired that Dumita Fellcraven had siphoned off large amounts of blue plasma from the moon. In this place, Frederick noted, the moon resembled a large blue-white sphere of energy the witch had bound in a cage. Fellcraven laid about herself freely with scorching balls of blue fire. So it took the combined acroboatic and martial skills of both Avan and the woman in black to keep Dumita occupied.

Meanwhile Frederick hacked at the lock of the cage. Frederick frantically swung over and over in his attempts to hack apart the stout lock on the cage door.

"Is that a moon blade?" asked a voice from the moon's direction.

"Uh, possibly," Frederick panted. "I got it from a moon maiden."

"Oh, how wonderful," the voice replied. "So you're here to help?"

"I'm trying to break the lock on the cage," Frederick said.

"Well, I don't know," the voice emerging from the dazzling blue white light at the limit of the moon's energy sphere, said. "Nobody's been a friend to me since the witch forced the giants to haul us from our mounting."

"Us?" Frederick grunted, seeing the lock was on the point of splitting apart. "Who's us?"

"The moon and me," the voice said. "I guard the moon, although the giants were too much for me. This cage is enchanted. Once I am free I will be able to take my revenge on the evil one."

"That's great," Frederick said. "Really, I'm very happy. Let me just get this last... bother..."

Frederick made an extra special effort, ignoring the pain in his aching muscles. The swing went off centre and glanced off the cage bars.

"We will, of course, be immensely grateful for this service," the moon's guardian continued. "How will we be able to repay your kindness?"

"Unless you can return me to the place that I came from," Frederick said. "I think I'm really just doing this for experience."

"What place did you come from?" asked the moon's guardian.

"Not so much a place," Frederick said, lining up his moon blade for one final swing. "More a time. After this. The adventures of my companion, Prince Weatherstrong, are a legend in the time I come from."

"Oh, is that so?" the moon guardian asked.

Frederick did not answer, instead swinging down with all the strength h could muster. He let go a mighty cry as he broke the lock on the cage. The door swung open and the moon began to drift forward.

From the floor Dumita Fellraven paused in her continued plasma assault. She turned to see her prize floating free from its bonds.

"No!" she screamed. "No! No!"

"Yes," said the woman in black and thrust her sword into the witch's chest.

"And everybody gets what they want," Avan breathed, exhausted by his battle with the witch.

"Not quite," said the voice of the moon guardian. "I know that the young man who broke me free is lost far from home. The moon and I would like to offer him a chance to return to the place from whence he came."

"You would?" Frederick asked. "How?"

"We, of course, have to return to our place in the great sky-machine," the moon guardian said. "In a short while, if my time-keeping is correct, and it always is, we will come within close proximity to the cloud of wishing stars. You can ride a wishing star home, if you make your wish when you climb on board. The way may not be straight, but it will surely put you on the path to where you need to be."

"That," Frederick said. "Would be incredible."

"Well, Sir Cobb," Avan said. "It would appear as if our time to travel together has come to its close. I would not stand in the way of your journey home, my friend."

"I wasn't expecting it to come so soon," Frederick said. "But I have to take this chance."

"Of course, Sir Cobb, of course," Avan said. "Destiny's tides are fast and strong, we must accept her gifts even as we weather her storms."

"You talk like a fortune cookie," said the woman in black, her narrowed eyes turning from the body of the witch to Avan once more.

"I don't know what that means," Avan admitted.

"You have never seen the Pheban Empire," the woman said. "It would humble you, overblown knight."

"Then maybe you should take me to your land and teach me to be humble," Avan said moving over to stand facing the woman.

Frederick suddenly understood the strange energy between his mentor and the woman in black. Avan Weatherstrong had fallen in love with a pair of dark eyes wrapped entirely in black cloth. Maybe it was best that Frederick was starting on his path home.

"You could not keep up with the pace set by Kal'hath of Phebe," the woman taunted him.

"That is a challenge I shall be happy to meet," Avan replied. The atmosphere in the room was becoming close, Frederick bristled with awkwardness.

"Your friends appear to be... passionate," the guardian of the moon said.

"You wouldn't believe they only met an hour ago, would you?" Frederick asked.

"Maybe we had best leave them to work out their differences," the guardian suggested. "We do need to return to the great sky-machine."

"Yes, absolutely," Frederick said. "Hey!" he called out to Avan. "I need to go!"

Avan turned his attention away from Kal'hath. He turned a broad smile in his companion's direction.

"One day I hope we meet again," Prince Weatherstrong said. "Or, if fate is not so kind, I hope to read tales of the great deeds of Sir Cobb in a stout story book."

"I hope you do," Frederick said. "Because it would mean I lived."

"Oh, you will live, Frederick Cobb, you will most certainly live," Avan Weatherstrong said.

The prince was right. Frederick travelled from the great sky-machine through the fringe lands. He made his way back to Bridgetown to continue his adventures. But those are all tales for another time.

In Which Saeed Returns Joshua's Bag

To the right of his view Saeed could see something very unusual. A great rock pillar that seemed to grow from nothing in the centre of the garden. Atop the pillar was a mishapen formation of rock that reminded Saeed of a skull.

We must always remember that some people do not enjoy the best start in life. We should also remember that some people make bad choices. This is a story about a young man who falls into both these categories, his name was Saeed.

Saeed was born in the city of Afsana, the capital of Old Araby, some time ago. It is difficult to say exactly when for a variety of reasons. Yesha, the old washerwoman who had been the midwife at his birth raised him from infancy. The back alleys behind the bazaars of Afsana are not the ideal place to birth a child. Saeed's birth mother had been sick and weak.

Yesha had saved Saeed at the mother's request, but in the process the woman had died. Yesha took Saeed in and taught him the value of honour and the importance of having a code to live by. The two loved each other very much. Yesha hid nothing and told Saeed that his real mother had died. The boy didn't care and called the old woman mother anyway.

As he grew to become a smart and strong little boy so Yesha also aged. Towards the final days of her life Yesha could not rise from her bed. She could no longer wash laundry or do the dozen other little tasks that had brought food to their table.

Saeed tried his best to take over what he considered to be the family business. He found nobody would pay much attention to the little boy that had followed the washerwoman around for the past few years. Now he was old enough to be a bother they called him thief and threw stones to get rid of him. The streets of Afsana taught Saeed how cruel people can be when they are allowed the liberty to be so.

Yesha, the only mother he had ever known, grew sick with hunger and age. Saeed burned with anger that the only person who had ever shown him love and kindness should be the victim of such neglect. His fury grew as he considered all she had done for the people around her.

"If thief they call me," he said to himself. "Then thief I shall be."

At first the fact that nobody noticed him helped enormously in his thieving endeavours. His only regret about his new path was that Yesha believed that he was providing for them both with honest work.

The longer the new life continued the more Saeed felt that he should be truthful with his mother about the source of the food on their table. The longer it went the sicker she became; Saeed's shame at the lies he was telling grew. The more he stole the harder it became to come clean. One day, Saeed returned from the souk to find a dark figure stood over the washerwoman's bed.

"Who are you?" Saeed asked the cloaked figure.

The figure turned, pulling back the hood that covered its head. Underneath the cowl the figure was revealed to be a young woman of extreme beauty. Her skin and hair were silver-white, her eyes shone like rainbow coloured diamonds. Saeed had never seen anyone like this before.

"I have come to free your mother from her pain and suffering," the woman said. "I offered her a bargain so that she could continue the good works that she performed in life."

"I know that mother would appreciate such a chance," Saeed said.

"She did indeed. I did not know she had a son. She has gone already."

Saeed was puzzled, he looked over to the bed.

"I can still see her, underneath the covers," he said.

"That is her body, Saeed," the young woman said. "I liberated her soul."

When Saeed heard these words he knew who the young woman was. Sadness and anger welled up in his chest. He cried out as a terrible pain gripped his heart. He ran to the bedside and kneeled beside it, but it was too late, his mother's hand was cold.

"Saeed, do not weep," the young woman said. "Your mother was a good woman and she has been given a new chance to do good work. All of the love she gave to this world will multiply and spread throughout a thousand realms. There is no need to mourn."

"I never told her," Saeed said, as tears rolled over his cheeks. "I never told her what I had become. Now I never will." The young woman said nothing. Saeed bit at his cheeks trying to drown out his sadness with pain. When his tears were under control he said: "I am nothing but a dirty little street thief. Mother believed I provided food for us with hard work. I would have, but that nobody would give me a job, and mother was so ill. I meant to tell her. It was never the right time."

The young woman touched Saeed's shoulder, the skin tingled where her fingers made contact.

"You can find her, Saeed, so that you may make your peace," she said. "But the path will not be easy."

"Anything," Saeed replied. "I must make amends with her. I cannot live with this shame."

"Then the first thing you must do," the young woman said. "Is to gain entry to the caliph's treasure store, within the grand palace. There, in the central vault, is a sapphire that the caliph has named 'The Shooting Star' because it is so bright and clear. Within the jewel is a magical garden, that is where your journey will begin."

"How can a sapphire contain a garden?" Saeed asked, too puzzled to be sad for a moment. The tingle on his skin had stopped, the young woman was gone. Saeed had asked that last question to the empty air.

There was now only one way that Saeed could get an answer to his question, he had to go to the palace treasure vault and find the magic sapphire. Saeed had never been inside the palace walls before, but now that he was alone in the world he had no fear of being caught.

Even so, at sunset, standing before the shining white palace walls, Saeed paused. He bowed his head, not in prayer, but so that he could concentrate upon his words.

"Mother," he said. "I lied to you, and that is shame that I must bear. I swear to you now, wherever you may be, that no more lies shall ever pass across my tongue. Though I may have to take things that do not belong to me in order to survive, I must never deny my nature to any one ever again."

With the feeling that he had made as much peace as he was able to for the moment, he began to scale the palace wall.

The ascent was the most difficult that Saeed had ever attempted. The palace walls were the smoothest in the whole of Old Araby. Fortunately they were also among the longest, and hence impossible to keep entirely free of blemishes. After no more than two tolls of the night bell Saeed had reached the summit.

Once within the bounds of the palace Saeed benefitted  from the fact that nobody expected him to be there. Ironically it appeared that stealing from the souk, where there were many thieves was hard work. There was competition in the souk and not much worth stealing. Here he was alone and within five hundred paces of an enormous treasure vault.

Saeed was acutely aware that if he were discovered here he would immediately be put to death. All the other thieves in Afsana were aware of this also, as were the palace guards. This meant that the guards patrolling within the walls did so without much in the way of concentration or vigilance. Saeed evaded them easily and found his way towards the treasure rooms.

The grand palace was an enormous structure but its design was simple and elegant. Saeed followed patrolling guards and, one by one, each guard route took him deeper and deeper into the palace. Saeed, like most thieves, knew how to tell the rank of a guard by his attire. The more important a guard was the more careful you were not to offend them out on the streets.

Inside the palace the rule appeared to be that the more important the guard the closer to the centre of the palace they patrolled. Even with this obvious pattern of duty Saeed made a couple of wrong turns. Once nearly walking into the caliph's private chambers. once more cutting close to the private bath house and on the final, hair-raising, occasion Saeed nearly found himself in the guard house.

Saeed was concerned that it would soon be morning when he finally found the grand colonnade that lead the way into the treasure vaults. As he walked along the shining marble floors towards the vast halls that contained all of the caliph's most treasured possessions Saeed felt humbled at the scale and magnificence of the building.

Saeed had heard tell that the architects of the grand palace had been blinded after building the impressive structure. He was not surprised at this, the streets of the bazaar had told him everything he needed about pointless selfishness and cruelty.

"All of this grandeur, mother," he said to himself. "And none of it compares to the lullabies you sung me to send me off to sleep."

Saeed was surprised to find, as he entered the vault and walked among the heaped piles of treasure, that the obvious wealth and power of the caliph did not impress him, nor did it really make him angry. This palace and these treasures existed and the caliph chose to believe that they belonged to him. Saeed understood that all things were at the whim of fortune, a caliph could become a pauper in a day at fortune's hand, so what was any of it worth?

In the centre of the treasure vault was a small covered room with a single doorway. Inside the room were a number of pedestals, mounted on each pedestal was one of the caliph's most remarkable possessions. In the very centre of the room, resting on a velvet cushion, was the largest sapphire Saeed had ever seen.

Saeed approached the sapphire agape with wonder at the jewel's size, clarity and brilliance. He had to use both hands to pick it up.

"I still don't know," he said. "How there can be a garden inside a sapphire."

He brought the shining surface of the jewel close to his face and as he did so he believed he could see something inside the facets of the sapphire, bounded by the smooth cold walls of the cut gem. As he peered into the heart of the stone, concentrating harder on the object he believed he had noticed, the surface of the jewel seemed to shift, to become fluid.

Saeed could hear water and the call of birds, he could smell vegetation and feel warm sun in the cool treasure vault. The surface of the stone turned to a curtain of clear running water, Saeed stepped through it and fell head over heels.

In panic he wheeled his hands, thrashing and twisting as he hit the surface of a cold, clear pool of water beneath a waterfall. Saeed had grown up his entire life in the bazaar, he did not know how to swim.

Thankfully, the water of the pool was not deep. Saeed's instinct to survive helped him to gain his feet. Once he was standing, waist deep in water, he looked about the place that he had landed.

The air was warm but not hot like the bazaar in the dry season, just pleasant, like the shade of the rooms near the entrance to the souk. Saeed had never seen so much green, the pool had rock shelves, covered in moss, to either side of the waterfall. On the far side a grassy bank stretched from one edge of the pool to the other. Beyond the bank tall trees crowned with broad glossy leaves reached up to the sky.

Saeed checked the waterfall but it appeared that there was nothing behind the curtain of falling water. It was as if he had stepped from a wall of solid rock. Saeed did not question, this had been the intended effect. At least he no longer had to worry about escaping from the Grand Palace.

Saeed left the water. The warm air was already drying his skin and clothes. He found a solid tree and climbed up to the top to get a better view of this garden. At the top of the tree he could see that the forest went on for many miles in every direction, there were some small hills and a place where he believed there was a river. Looking back at the pool he could see that the water from the waterfall exited via a small stream which could feed into the river about three miles hence.

To the right of his view Saeed could see something very unusual. A great rock pillar that seemed to grow from nothing in the centre of the garden. Atop the pillar was a mishapen formation of rock that reminded Saeed of a skull.

Lacking any better plan Saeed slid back down to the ground and set off for the pillar. As he walked he started to feel tired, he had been awake since the previous sunset, he had a feeling that in Afsana it was coming on for dawn. He did not know what time it was in the garden but the day appeared to be growing warmer, so he guessed that it was not yet noon.

The day became hot and still as Saeed walked towards the rock. As he approached a clearing that surrounded the base of the pillar he found evidence that someone had been here before him. Nestled in the grass was a small square of yellow metal, an intricate and regular design engraved into its surface.

Saeed bent and picked up the object. Upon examining it he found that there was a hinge at one end and a catch at the other. Saeed worked the catch and the object sprang open. Inside the metal frame was a small compact mirror. Saeed blinked, surprised by his own reflection.

"This is a strange object to find in a garden," Saeed said. "I wonder who it belongs to."

With those words the image in the mirror warped and shifted. The face lost colour from its skin, aged, a dark beard sprouted from the chin, the eyes shifted from nut brown to ice blue.

"What a stroke of luck!" said the reflection in the mirror. "That is, the mirror is mine. While I have your attention I wonder if I could beg of you a little favour. I was the victim of poor circumstance, not to mention, ah, a small explosion... Suffice it to say that I had to leave that area in something of a hurry. I left a bag of supplies in the cave on top of the skull pillar. I wonder if you could see your way clear to returning it into my possession."

With those words the image in the
mirror warped and shifted. 

Saeed was tired and had already seen several strange things in the last day alone. He did not have much surpise left that a strange bearded man should appear inside the mirror's surface.

"Who are you?" Saeed asked the man.

"My name is Joshua," the man replied. "Listen, you're probably going to want to get my bag back to me before nightfall, Poliocephalus Giganticus will awake at dusk. I think he mostly eats things about the size of a small dog but he may view you as a competitor for hunting rights. I think he could get... aggressive."

"Poli-what... ?" Saeed didn't understand half of what the man had said, but it did not sound good.

"Uh, a bat," Joshua said. "A giant bat. You will need to be careful when retrieving my bag, our nocturnal friend is sleeping now but he will be roused by noise close by. Do you think you can be quiet?"

"Oh yes, sir, I think I can manage that," Saeed replied.

"Good boy," Joshua said. "That's the spirit. How far are you from the skull pillar?"

"Not far," Saeed said. "I can see it through the trees." He paused for a moment, preparing his next statement in his mind. "Sir, I am happy to help, but you must understand my position. My name is Saeed Ibn Abihi, the great weave has determined that my station in life should be as a humble thief in the streets of the bazaar in Afsana. I have little in the way of possessions, save for the clothes on my back and the sense in my head. If you treat me fairly then I will return the courtesy. If you do not, I feel it only right to inform you that I shall take from you what I can, and I will feel no remorse for the act."

"An honest thief indeed!" Joshua said. "Despite the worrying implications of your tale. Bring me my bag Saeed and I promise I will treat you fairly."

"I will trust you to be a man of your word, sir," Saeed answered. "I shall retrieve your bag and contact you again."

Saeed closed the mirror and made his way over to the pillar. Compared to the palace wall scaling this rock face was simple. The cave in the left eye socket of the skull rock smelled of animal droppings, it was very warm and appeared to wind a long way back into the cranial vault. Saeed could hear the sigh of the giant bat nestled in the darkest shadows.

Sure enough Joshua's bag lay on its side, near to the cave entrance. There was a large soot mark on the floor where something had exploded. Saeed did not stop to consider this, he retrieved the bag and climbed back down the pillar.

Back in the shade of the trees Saeed opened the mirror again.

"I have the bag, Mister Joshua, now how do I get it back to you?" he asked.

"Open the bag, you'll find two vials of liquid tucked into the hood, one will be green, the other will be blue. Drink the green, then the blue. Fly away from the skull in the direction that it is looking."

Saeed knew that he had been awake a long time, but he did not believe he had misheard. Even so, he had to check:

"Sorry Mister Joshua," he said. "Did you say.. fly?"

"Indeed, and be quick about it, you'll have to fly about four hours to get to me, and one hour you'll be within the bat's hunting range. Sundown isn't for another two hours, but still."

"You are a very strange man, Mister Joshua," Saeed said. "But I shall do as you ask."

"Excellent," Joshua said. "I shall brew some tea."

Saeed closed the mirror and undid the buckle on Joshua's bag. He slipped the mirror inside amongst the jumble of boxes and envelopes that Joshua wanted returned to him. Sure enough, tucked into two holding straps in the flap of the bag were the two vials that Joshua had described.

Saeed unstoppered the bottle of green liquid and swallowed it, making a face because its taste was intensely unpleasant. He took the second vial and swallowed that too, it tasted no better.

Saeed did not have time to dwell on the unpleasant taste of the concoction because the second he had swallowed the blue liquid he felt something rise up in his belly. It was a sensation like he was about to do an enormous burp but the strange tingling pressure continued to rise up past his mouth, through his nose and up to the tip of his head.

The sensation also worked its way down, through his guts, down his legs to the tips of his toes. Tingling from head to toe Saeed began to rise into the air, slowly. Panicking he tried to reach for the ground, his ascent stopped and he spun round his middle head over heels.

After a couple of minutes he managed to get himself upright again, then he twisted to pick up Joshua's bag. He found that all he needed to do to rise above the tree line was to desire to fly up to that height.

Whooping with joy Saeed did a huge loop in the air, swooping so low over the upper leaves of the trees that he could touch them. After a couple more aerial acrobatics he pointed himself in the direction of the skull's gaze and flew in a straight line, as fast as he could.

It turned out that 'as fast as he could' was very fast indeed. He sped over the garden until the trees became a blur and kept going out over meadows and fields, over rolling hills and past small towns, never stopping, never slowing.

By evening he found that he was drifting closer and closer to the ground, the odd giddy sensation of flight had died down. As the moon began to rise Saeed found himself outside of a small farm house in the middle of more rolling green meadows.

The door of the farmhouse opened and Joshua appeared, a tall, thin man, dressed in a manner that Saeed had never before seen.

"My bag!" Joshua exclaimed. "I bid you greetings young Saeed. As promised I have brewed tea, and, as you are my guest, I have had my wife bake some cakes to go with. Shall we go inside and share our stories with one another?"

"Of course, Mister Joshua," Saeed replied. "I will tell you of the vow that I made to my mother, for I have a feeling you will have some ideas about where I should go next."

So Saeed and Joshua went inside to enjoy their tea and to share their stories, but the tale of what happened after will not be told today.