Subscribers Only: Phoebe September, the Rainbow Bridge and the Ghost Cat

Phoebe September wished that she could tickle the ghost cat behind the ears but ectoplasmic fur could not be tickled. It really was a beautiful creature, milk white, softly glowing. It languished on the sill of the window as if considering an evening's prowl, maybe one with a few dead mice at the end.

Like most ghosts the cat was tied to the structure that it haunted. Phoebe felt sad for the cat. It was stuck in an abandoned shadow mansion all alone. All alone most of the time. All alone except for tonight.

"Come on, light, fiddlesticks!" Frederick said. He was hunched over a pile of wood intended to serve as that evening's fire. It appeared that he wasn't having much luck with his tinderbox.

"There's no need to get uptight," Phoebe said, fully aware of the irony of her encouraging someone else to calm down.

"What?" Frederick said, looking up at her from his task. "No. I was actually telling the fiddlesticks to light. I think a musician may once have lived here. That's where I got this wood."

Phoebe examined the wood pile closer. Now that she was paying attention she could make out the tangled wisps of horsehair curled up on the ends of some of the sticks.

"Oh," she said. With a flick of her wrist she released a small ball of orange plasma. The wood pile burst into flames. "There."

"Why didn't you just do that ten minutes ago?" Frederick asked.

"I felt like a little sit down and some quiet," Phoebe replied. "Sorry."

The rest of this story can be found on my Patreon and is for subscribers only. There will be another story for non-subscribers in two weeks. If you want access to more stories and puzzling adventures subscribe on my Patreon for as little as $1 a month.

The Long Road Home

The little girl in the green pyjamas watched the snow fall out of the upstairs window. She had, to her own certain knowledge, never seen snow before because she had lived almost her entire life in a jungle, living in a tree hollow under the shadow of the Great Skull Rock. The little girl, whose name as we should realise by now was Rachel Rummage, had lived a peaceful life, never wanting for anything, never cold, never hungry but a prisoner all the same, sleeping nights in terror of the giant bat that lived in the hollowed out cave at the summit of the Great Skull Rock.

Rebecca's father, James, assured her that in Levercastle snow fell every Christmas, after which he had kindly explained Christmas to her. Rachel imagined that being cold was always unpleasant, that long nights would make her feel sad and that having to wear wellington boots to avoid wet feet in snow would be a tiresome chore. She was surprised to find that all these things were bearable if you could live in a warm, cosy house called Rainbow Reach with your mother and your father. She had also imagined that living in the world of men, far away from Faerie, would mean she missed all the friends she had made after she had left the Skull Garden.

Happily she did not have to get used to a life where she never saw the brave Sir Cobb, the powerful Phoebe September or the mighty Princess Anabyl Spireshine. Levercastle was a town unlike many others where the little holes in reality that allow the world of men and the world of folk to interact are many. The residents of Levercastle are generally happy with the arrangement because many of them have stories like Rachel's and know that there is more to the world than might, at first, meet the eye.

"Hey you, time for bed means time to get into bed, not time to loll around on the window seat in your pyjamas," said dad, James, coming in to Rachel's bedroom.

"I was just looking at the snow," Rachel said. "Remember I've never seen snow before."

"So which would you rather?" James asked. "Look at snow or hear a bedtime story."

"How about hear a story while watching the snow?" Rachel asked.

James sighed and sat down next to his daughter on the window seat. He watched the snow flakes with her for a minute. Then he asked:

"What story do you want to hear?"

"Tell me a story about when we came here, when Lester opened his brother's grave," Rachel said.

"That only happened in September, honey," James said. "Don't you want a story about Avan Weatherstrong, or one of the stories about Anabyl when she escaped the Terra Draconis after the Vanishing, I just got a parcel from the Archive chronicling Sir Cobb's journey through the Upside Out."

"No, I want to enjoy remembering what happened three months ago," Rachel said. "I just want to hear it like it's a story, but to know I was there."

"Okay," James said. "I guess that would be fun, in a weird kind of a way."

And so James recounted the events of three months previously, as if it was a story, but both of them knew that all of this had really happened:

So the story goes there was once a man who lost his brother and could not find him no matter where he looked. In the end, out of desperation, the man tracked down the Master of Mischief to ask for help with his quest.

"Are you quite sure you want to find your brother?" the Master of Mischief asked. "You may not like what you find."

"All I want in this world is to see my brother's face once more," the man said. "Please help me, or if you will not then send me on my way, for I know that you are prone to play games. I know that not all of your games are kind."

"Do you understand the threads I would have to pull? The patterns I would have to break? The mischief I would have to do to give you your heart's desire?" the Master of Mischief asked.

"If I knew what needed to be done to find my brother," the man replied. "Then I would not bother you. Please, will you help me?"

The Master of Mischief smiled his smile, the only part of the Master of Mischief that remains the same no matter which particular face he has chosen to wear that day. The Master of Mischief knows more than he ought to, for which reason the Master of Mischief lies to people, but always for the betterment of all worlds, or so he tells us.

"I am in a good mood today," the Master of Mischief said. "So I will help you. Go to death's garden and dig with a spade. You will find your brother under the earth."

And that is where the story ends. Well, most versions of the story, for stories are lies, and stories are mischief of the purest kind in all places but one. The one place where all stories are reflections, or chronicles, or accounts is the Faerie Archive at Sommerslip. The story is told there almost as rendered above, but there is one major difference. After the Master of Mischief says 'So I will help you' the sentence ends. Underneath is printed, in neat block capitals:

CONTINUED IN 'THE TALES FROM BRIDGETOWN - BOOK ONE'

Of course Lester Topping didn't know any of that. As far as Lester Topping was concerned he had received a letter from his twin brother Chester recounting that Chester had stopped off in Bridgetown to pick up some supplies and was heading on in three days to a distant shadow.

Having become quite lonely without the companionship of his brother Lester had raced to Bridgetown, got himself lost, missed the window to meet up with his brother and been asked by a curious man in a tall hat to watch a mermaid in a tank. None of that resembled the story of the man who had sought the assistance of the Master of Mischief for help with looking for his brother, for that reason no one who knew the story and travelled with Lester put the two things together, not even Lester himself.

This is how the Master of Mischief works. He lies. For the betterment of all worlds, or so he tells us.

So when Lester Topping found himself in death's garden, looking down at a small wooden box revealed within the tomb that, allegedly, marked the remains of his twin brother, his confusion was, perhaps, understandable.

He was glad that the tomb did not appear to contain Chester's remains, Lester could only imagine how upsetting that would be. Still, that did not completely rule out the possibility that within the small wooden box was an urn containing Chester's ashes. There was no note or inscription to explain the tomb's contents, Chester had proven himself an avid communicator, the content of his communications was gnomic at best.

"You should probably open it," Phoebe said, standing with the others, respectfully, at the edge of the grave site. "You have looked for this place for a long time. Whatever is in there will be your answer."

Would it? Lester wondered as he approached the box and lifted it out of its hollow by the two brass handles hanging from the sides. He knew that it should but now that he was, in theory, at the end of his journey he couldn't convince his brain that the moment was at hand.

The box was not heavy. It had, rather, a reassuring solidity that strongly implied the container's importance. The wood of the box was a nice golden brown, not too dark, not too light, like the burnished surface of a fiddle. Brass corners had been fitted to prevent the wood finish from scuffing or splintering. The handles in the side held firm, appearing as if they were part of the wooden body of the box itself. The craftsmanship of the item could not be second guessed, it was impressive in its simplicity.

There was no lock on the box, just a simple latch, a switch that moved from right to left, embossed with the symbol of the hourglass. With a smooth click the lid was open, Lester lifted the lid on well-oiled hinges to reveal the contents.

The box did not contain an urn filled with ashes. It contained a brass hand mirror, its reflecting surface turned down to rest on a cushion of red velvet. Without even thinking about it Lester picked up the mirror to look at his face.

"What is it?" someone asked, he thought it was Eos.

"I don't know, exactly," Lester said, studying his face in the mirror. "Oh, this mirror is broken."

"What do you mean?" Frederick asked. "Is it cracked? It must have cracked before someone put it in there, no shock would reach it through the earth and the rock and the box and the padding."

"No," Lester said. "It's not cracked. It's just when I talk my lips don't move. My whole face is stuck, like a photograph. I can't even... ah, no. I can wink. I can see my eye it looks like its inside something, like I'm wearing glasses or..."

"Your face," Phoebe said. "It shows you that your face is a mask."

"It does," Lester said. "I've worn a mask, all this time. I didn't even know it." He stopped for a second, he could feel his face smirk although the image in the mirror remained completely still. "That means that when I was at Lady Crimzona's party I was wearing two masks, one on top of the other. How silly."

"Well," Rachel asked. "Aren't you going to take the mask off?"

"I had better," Lester said. "It's been far more fun than I thought it would be to wear a mask for all these days, but now I think, somehow, that it is far more important that I take the mask off. So, here goes."

Lester reached up under his chin and caught the edge of his Lester mask. He felt his false face lift off the surface of his real one. It came away easily, not even fixed to his head by a length of cord. Magic had kept Lester's mask in place, in the mirror it was easy to remove for it was all part of the same spell.

Before Lester could see his real face he turned away from the hand mirror to look at the blank white object in his hands. He looked up at the faces of his friends and smiled.

"How do I look?" he said, playing a game for he already knew.

"Honestly?" James said. "Exactly the same."

Chester's grin broadened, for now Lester knew that he was Chester, his own missing twin brother. The absurdity of disguising oneself as one's own identical twin brother was delicious to both of them. Chester realised that it was he who had felt a small twinge of regret at the need to remember all the things that made up Chester Topping, eccentric, traveller and alchemist. Lester wasn't good for much, that was all part of the mask, what Chester had discovered through Lester was a constant and abiding sense of innocent wonder at the world and all it contained. Sometimes, Chester knew, he was far too clever by half.

"I don't get it," Frederick said. "I don't mind being the first to say it but I am willing to bet I'm not the only one. I don't understand what's happening."

"It's all part of the plan, dear boy," Chester said to Frederick. "All part of my plan to get the Quintessence Crystal into the hands of people better suited to its guardianship than myself and poor Professor Rummage there."

"Professor Rummage?" the gnome asked looking up at James. "And here was I just thought he was a common or garden talking mouse when first we met."

James coloured red.

"I didn't, I don't... remember," he said. "I'm a professor? What of?"

"Well, mostly, folklore," Chester said. "It's a little more complicated than that. As far as the world we come from knows, Jimbo, you are an anthropologist and expert on the mythical beasts of world cultures. Anyone inside our social circle knows that you are the foremost expert on the natural history and evolutionary biology of such creatures, that's a key part to how we ended up in this pickle."

"Dragons," Anabyl chimed in. "James found out about the Vanishing, what had happened, where the crystal was."

"Indeed, brave knight," Chester said. "Most unfortunate for he was not the only party interested in the acquisition of such knowledge. As a consulting alchemist to the Grand Order of the Covenenant of Lies I was sent to Levercastle, Professor Rummage's place of residence, to ensure his safety, and the safety of his beautiful family.

"Alas, I was too late, by the time I arrived the wicked agents of Count Bartolomeo Okulas had already turned James into a mouse, saying that they would give him twenty-four hours to see sense and that they would return on the morrow when they expected he would share his secret. I had to think fast, I came up with a plan that was the child of expedience more than prudence.

"I am, in fact, rather glad that things have played out as they have. I cannot claim any particular good judgement on my own part in that, I rather think that I provided an opportunity for several wrongs to be righted in the great tapestry. Our stopgap measure was, therefore, exploited by the Master of Mischief rather than expedited by him."

"Oh, my dear Monsieur Topping," said a new voice that everyone recognised but nobody could place. "How desperately cynical of you. Why could I not merely have found myself in a giving humour?"

The curious man in the tall hat emerged from shadows that no one could remember being there a moment before.

"Apologies," Chester said to the Master of Mischief. "I did not intend my invocation to carry such strength."

"No apologies necessary, alchemist," the Master replied. "I came of my own volition. Mostly because I like to see those who do not wish to deal with me squirm. Partly because I am tired of this business and would like to see it done."

"What is there left?" asked Chester. "I think I have explained everything."

"Well," Frederick said. "There you and I are going to have to differ. I still don't really understand what's going on. You're not Lester, you're an alchemist who looks like himself and James the mouse is really a professor of dragons and there's something to do with Count Okulas, aside from that... I don't really know what we're all doing here."

"Allow me to fill in the gaps," the Master of Mischief said as his famous grin slowly painted itself from one of his ears to the other. "Chester and James were sought after for James's forbidden knowledge by Count Okulas. The one place Chester knew that James could be hidden that Okulas would not find was the same place that the Quintessence Crystal was hidden. James, his family and Chester came here, to the Skull Garden.

"When they all began to forget things Chester understood what was happening. He forged the Lester mask using the garden's own magic to make the enchantment more powerful," the Master shot a sidelong glance in Chester's direction. "That was very cunning by the way," he said, and then returned to his story. "Knowing nothing but the story Chester had told the mask Chester sent himself away to Bridgetown, Lester arrived. Such a bizarre and powerful magic suddenly manifesting in the Patchwork Market attracted my eye. I settled to study it immediately.

"When I understood what was happening I saw the potential to undo one of the most heinous acts that has ever been committed in all the lands of Faerie. The Vanishing of the Terra Draconis was a work of sorcery and witchcraft that, although literally diabolical, was outside my direct influence. Nobody said that I wasn't able to assist those who wished to put things right.

"My only problem is that, as Master of Mischief, I am one of the most powerful figures in the whole of creation. I have to be subtle if I want to weild my powers, hard as it is to believe I am not invincible. In short, I must be perceived to be neutral.

"So, I nipped reality, I tucked it, tipping people on particular paths down little back alleys of my own devising, ensuring that the great mechanism of mischief brought things out as they have become. Frederick, Phoebe, Anabyl, Eos, you are, between you, quite capable of guarding the Quintessence Crystal from the hands of evil doers. James, Chester, Rebecca and dear little Rachel, you are to be freed from a burden too great for you to bear."

"And what about me boss?" the gnome said. "When does the little girl's wish end?"

"It's not your place to ask such questions," the Master snapped at the gnome. "You'll live as I wish and be grateful for the opportunity."

"Yes boss," the gnome said miserably.

"Don't you talk to my friend like that!" Rachel cried out, outraged.

"Darling," Rebecca said. "That's the Master of Mischief, he's very important."

"I don't care how important he thinks he is," Rachel insisted. "The gnome's given me and James our wish, and helped out with all the other stuff too. I think he deserves to be free now and nobody should be rude to him, not even a scary man in a big hat."

"Dear Rachel," the Master said, kneeling down to bring their heights closer together. "You misunderstand. This gnome is not your friend. He is with you because he is bound to you. He is just an accidental random conglomeration of mischief that calls itself a gnome. I doubt he can feel emotions. He's nothing, really, beneath your notice."

"He's my friend," Rachel said. "And he's never done anything mean or horrible. I don't know what you're talking about but it sounds mean and horrible to me. Mean and horrible people are nothing. The gnome is the gnome."

The grin disappeared from the Master's face. Most were silent, the gnome and Rebecca drew in breath sharply.

"Sometimes," the Master said sadly. "It seems even I can forget my place. Very well Cholmondeley, you shall have your own garden, but first we should see to the end of the wish."

"And how do we do that, exactly?" Rachel asked. "If you know so much then you can help us. We haven't done very well at the job ourselves."

"Why, all the answers your poor father ever needed are behind this door," the Master said pointing to a simple wooden door in the base of the Skull Rock that had certainly not been there a moment before.

The Master opened the door and it was as if they were looking out of a house onto a street. Opposite their position was a small wooden fence, painted blue, that surrounded a two storey detached house completely surrounded by well defined, but slightly overgrown flower beds.

"Rainbow's Reach awaits Professor Rummage," the Master said. "And all the stories that you hold within your head will return within its walls. Once that is done so will Cholmondeley's work."

Saying goodbye to all the friends they had made on the long road home James, Rebecca, Rachel and Chester went through the Master's door and back to James's home where their long adventure had begun so many years before, or so it seemed.

When James remembered exactly who he was, and where he had been, and the nature of those things, he understood that life in the Skull Garden unfolded at a vastly different rate to time in his own world and he had, in fact, been gone only a single night as far as his world was concerned.

Unfortunately this meant that, unless Rachel wanted to squash into a crib, which she did not, she had to sleep that night in her parent's bed. None of them minded that arrangement at all and the next day a brand new bed was bought for the little girl who had grown up in the Skull Garden not knowing anything of who she was or where she came from.

The Guardians of the Quintessence Crystal took their responsibilities very seriously indeed, and their stories are even now depicted, along with all the rest, within the deep, dark stacks of the Faerie Archive. That would probably be the best place to read them for, although the Master of Mischief will claim that he can tell you what came next everyone knows that the Master lies to people. Although, you can be assured, he only does so for the betterment of all worlds. Or so he says himself.

THE END

In Which There Is Trouble On The Okulas Moon

"I must confess," Saeed said, as the light of the rainbow bridge faded from view, "I never expected the moon to look like this."

They stood on a wide, featureless plain, covered with a sparse scrub in patches of hard, black soil. Although the stars could be seen, a bright canopy overhead that suggested night, there was plenty of ambient light surrounding Saeed and Avan.

"The moon wears many faces," Avan replied. "She is the mistress of illusion."

"'She'?" Saeed asked. "The moon is female?"

"That is the one thing all the faces have in common, yes," Avan said, then, pointing towards one horizon: "I think that is where we need to be headed."

In the direction that Avan had pointed Saeed could make out the twisted form of a gigantic tree, the only large form on the visible landscape of the Okulas Moon as far as the eye could see in any direction. Saeed and Avan began the long walk toward their destination.

As they drew closer Saeed began to realise that they were not headed towards a normal-sized tree that was a short distance away but, in fact, an enormous tree that was much further away than it first appeared. Even so, as they first crossed the part of the plain where some roots of the enormous tree were becoming visible Saeed could see birds swooping and wheeling around the branches far above his head.

One bird, not flying, was sat on a larger branch about sixty feet up. An impressive looking owl that, while not on the same exact scale as the tree, was large enough to look a little more comfortable with the enormity of its perch than it might have otherwise.

The size of the external roots grew larger and larger as Avan and Saeed drew closer to the bole of the tree. Before they reached a place where they could think of climbing the trunk a voice called out to them.

"Couldn't resist the challenge could you?"

Saeed and Avan turned to see Miranda Felix standing twenty feet up on the ridge of one of the roots.

"You want to give up," Avan said. "You'd be no match for me if I was alone. Let me assure you that your defeat will be swift and humiliating when you face both myself and Saeed."

"If I was alone," Miranda Felix replied. "I would not have called attention to myself. You know as well as anyone I like to pick my battles, my handsome prince."

Saeed surveyed the area around him. All he saw was the rough bark covering the tree roots, appearing grey in the strange blue of the ambient illumination, and the black and blue scrub of the earth.

"You have hidden lizard men, or trolls nearby?" Avan asked.

"I have glass monkeys," Felix replied. "Nearer than you think."

Saeed felt the brush of Avan's arm as he shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably.

"I must confess," he said. "I've never heard of a glass monkey."

"No, something new on the moon," Felix said. "Dreamed up by a darling little madame I have safe inside a mirror. Mischief sprites can have the cruellest imaginings if you just scare them a little."

"I've never heard of a glass monkey," Saeed muttered to Avan under his breath. "She could be bluffing."

Avan looked about, scanning the ground around them for some sign of Miranda's invisible henchmen.

"So we're supposed to just let you get away because of this assurance?" Avan asked.

"Oh, my sweet boy," Miranda said. "I know you too well to think that you'd take my word for anything." She drew in a breath and called out: "Attack!"

There was a shift in the air and a rhythmic pounding rumble like dozens of feet suddenly moving forward. Something screeched and Saeed felt himself struck in the face so hard it sent him tumbling backwards.

Thankfully Saeed had excellent reflexes. He turned the fall into a backwards hand spring, drawing his sword as he came back up. He swung his blade in an arc around him and drew out the sound of shrieking monkeys as they tried to avoid his random swipes.

"I am not going to be able to keep this up for long!" he shouted at Avan, who had somehow managed to cloak his entire body in fire in the few seconds since the monkeys had attacked.

"No, neither am I," Avan called back. "Besides, Felix is escaping while we're dealing with this nonsense."

"Nonsense, in my experience, tends to be less fatal than this," Saeed called back.

"This should help," Avan said pulling a gourd from one of the pouches on his belt. "Take a deep breath," he warned and threw the gourd into the air. Being a wise thief Saeed inhaled as large a lungful of air as he could in preparation for whatever was coming next.

There was an explosive popping noise and the gourd bloomed into a cloud of green smoke that settled down over them. The green smoke was made of a fine powder that settled on Avan, Saeed and also on the glass monkeys. Now Saeed could see the outline of the places where the powder fell. The monkeys did not like the powder and were scurrying away, trying not to get it on them.

Even as they did so, however, the monkeys began to swoon and fall, there were the sounds of monkey bodies hitting the floor as the green powder caused them to fall into slumber. There were more monkeys than could be caught within the radius of the gourd, of course. But clearing the space gave Avan and Saeed all the head start that they needed.

Swinging their blades ahead of them they charged towards the trunk of the tree and the remaining glass monkeys scampered out of their way, unsure what to do next. When they were outside of the reach of the cloud of green powder Saeed risked opening his mouth to speak.

"I don't think we're going to be able to climb this tree faster than monkeys, not even glass ones," he said.

"Don't you worry," Avan replied. "I don't think that we'll have to."

Avan dodged to the right into a shadowed crook between the out growth of two huge roots and disappeared. Hoping that this was not the result of some kind of sorcery Saeed followed. He was amazed to find that the shadow was far longer, and deeper than he might have imagined. Also, it felt as if he was running along in some sort of darkened interior.

"Hurry!" Avan said from up ahead. The sound of glass monkeys chattering and squealing was growing louder at Saeed's back.

Saeed felt a strong hand pull him forward so he stumbled and fell to the floor. There was the whistle of air sliced by a blade and then the rumble of unspooling rope and the rattle of metal through guide rails. Finally there was the crash of a heavy gate hitting the floor.

Avan muttered one of his minor magical incantations and a soft yellow glow permeated the space around them. Saeed was amazed to see that they were inside the tree, in a room carved into the root, a room with a heavy gate blocking a passage that lead outside.

"How did you know?" Saeed asked.

"Neither Felix not Okulas are lovers of slumming it," Avan said. "I didn't believe either of them would concede to living in the unfurnished branches of a tree, whatever it's size. Besides, I believed I could detect the suck of air entering the tunnel when we were outside."

"So... you could very easily have just run straight into a wall?" Saeed asked as the two of them started to make their way through the hallways and rooms carved into the roots of the tree.

Avan shrugged.

"What's life without a risk once in a while?" he asked.

The two adventurers made short work of finding the grand hall at the core of the tree structure. A vast cylindrical vault ran up the main trunk of the tree. Saeed guessed that it wasn't wide enough to have hollowed out the whole of the tree interior but it was still over one hundred feet in diameter, a series of circular galleries were connected with broad stair cases sweeping upwards in elegant arcs to the branches of the tree above.

"Looks like nobody's home," Saeed said after walking slightly behind Avan and nervously checking over his shoulder every five paces for about ten minutes.

"Worrying," Avan said. "If this place is empty then the forces Okulas had here must have gone somewhere else. The question is, where?"

"Let's hope the owl knows," Saeed said. "And that he's in a mood to share the knowledge."

When Avan and Saeed emerged onto the branch they found that a smooth path had been carved into the upper side of the surface leading out to the owl's perch. Now that they drew closer Saeed could see that the owl was roughly twenty feet tall, an imposing creature indeed, nestled in the branches of this mighty tree.

"You are one of the First?" Avan called to the owl as they drew close enough that it might hear them.

The owl rotated its enormous head. Huge golden discs, the owl's eyes, oriented to regard them.

"You are Prince Avan Weatherstrong, and you are Saeed ibn Abihi, the wanderer," the owl addressed them. "I have been waiting for you."

"What concern are we to one of the arbiters of fate?" Avan asked, his delivery was clear but Saeed had travelled with the Prince long enough that he could detect the quaver of concern in his companion's voice.

"Dark times are ahead, Prince Weatherstrong, only the deepest knowledge and the strongest soul can prevail," the owl said.

"If you tell us where we may find Okulas," Avan declared. "Then we will save the Terra Draconis."

"You will preserve it," the owl told them. Saeed had travelled too long not to note the ring in the owl's voice that told them this was a correction, not an echo. "This is the weft of the Weave. You will find your quarry in the eye of the storm that rages on the dark side of this moon. Nothing larger than a speck of dirt may penetrate the walls of the storm."

"Then that is how we must approach," Avan said. "Great thanks, wise one, we shall show that your trust in us was well placed."

"I do not trust," the owl replied. "I deliver the will of the weave. All things are as they must be."

With that the owl shifted its weight forward to drop off the perch, spreading its wings and swooping away from the tree on the Okulas Moon.

"I have to say that I did not find that conversation at all reassuring," Saeed said.

"Neither did I," Avan said. "But we have come too far to turn back now."

"I promised that I would undo the evil I was tricked into unleashing," Saeed replied. "So I am with you, however dark the road."

"Then you should brace yourself," Avan said. "Because I think we're about to experience a very bumpy ride."

And indeed they did, and in the eye of the storm raging over the dark side of the Okulas Moon Saeed and Avan confronted Count Okulas, but what happened when they did is a story for another time.

In Which Saeed and Avan Find Vasky Jantnor

"I don't deal with criminals," Avan said flatly.

"Too bad for you," Vasky Jantnor replied. "What are your options? I'm already under threat of execution, you can't harm me without becoming a criminal yourself."

"I can force you to share what you know," Avan growled, he pushed his face closer to the bars. Vasky Jantnor met Avan's glare steadily, his yellow eye glittering in the light from the torches on the walls.

"You won't," Jantnor said coolly. "You don't believe in using that kind of magic."

"I can deal with criminals," Saeed cut in. Since he had met Avan he had been happy to allow the prince to lead. After all Avan Weatherstrong was a legend and Saeed was just a thief who had made some poor decisions. Over time, however, Saeed had come to realise that there were disadvantages to being Avan Weatherstrong and advantages to being Saeed. An example was the fact that Saeed did not feel compelled to indulge in a circuitous political pantomime to associate with street trash.

"Look at you, Prince Weatherstrong," Jantnor said, a white toothed grin spreading across his face, "fraternising with the enemy."

"What do you want me to do?" Saeed asked before Avan could become defensive. "Ask and, if I am able, it shall be done."

"You could take a leaf out of your servant's book," Jantnor said standing and coming towards the bars of the cell, looking Saeed up and down. The draco was very tall, his movement lithe and sinuous. Saeed would not have liked to face Jantnor in unarmed combat, even half-blind as he was, thankfully the mercenary was caged. "This boy is very polite. I like it when people are polite, makes me cooperative."

Jantnor delivered his statement without removing his gaze from Saeed.

"I just want some comfort in here, son," Jantnor said to Saeed, "in my last days, something to bring a little light into this dark cell. I'm sure you'll find this a hoot. I keep a pet, a small white mouse, the type my more backward cousins regard as a snack but I call him Snowdrop and I keep him at my home. I left him two days ago with fresh food and water. If I don't have him returned to my care he will die. Probably he will anyway when I am executed. Until then I would appreciate it if you would bring Snowdrop to me, so I can tend to him as long as I am able."

"That's what you want?" Avan said. "Your pet?"

Jantnor still hadn't looked away from Saeed. He held a hand up, dismissing Avan.

"This ain't your deal, Prince," Jantnor said. "This is on the boy now. What do you say, junior? You bring a man his only comfort and joy in exchange for the information you seek?"

Saeed opened his mouth to do the deal and Jantnor moved his hand waving at Saeed to be quiet.

"Be careful, son," Jantnor said. "If you agree to this you have to enter the White Woods alone to go fetch. I won't take kindly to you sharing the burden. So only accept if you're up for the journey."

"If this is what must be done to find Miranda Felix," Saeed said. "And it is I who must do it, then that is how it shall be."

"Excellent news," Jantnor said, his tone quietly satisfied. "The prince and I shall eagerly await your return. You will know my house by the wooden training dummy in the front yard. I painted the symbol of my old troop on the wall, so that friends would know a welcome and enemies would be warned."

Jantnor displayed a brand burned onto the inside of his left forearm before turning his back on them and crossing his cell to lie out on his bed.

"If you want me," he said, "I will be napping here, be advised Prince Weatherstrong, I will hear you leave, and if you do I will never tell anyone where Felix is, whatever they bring to me for aid and comfort."

Saeed looked over to Avan. The prince did not appear to be in the best of moods. He turned to Saeed.

"I suppose you'd better be about your business," Avan said although his eyes betrayed another conversation lurking in his mind.

"I suppose I better had," Saeed agreed. Saeed did not know what objection Avan would have to this enterprise but, at this stage, he did not really care. "I will be back as soon as I am able."

With that Saeed left the dungeon, on his way to the White Woods.

Saeed was not so much of a fool that he had believed that acting as a companion to the greatest hero who had ever lived would be a position free of problems. However he had been badly mistaken as to the nature of those problems. The dangerous situations and fighting were inevitable, of course. However, Saeed had believed that the problems between himself and the noble prince would mostly be ethical, or differences in approach to a particular problem.

Actually, that's exactly what most of the issues were. However the final resolution of such issues was usually an urgent requirement. The sooner objectives could be completed the better for everyone. What was left behind, however, was a vast ocean of problems unresolved and conversations that there simply wasn't time to have.

Saeed was surprised that he felt some hurt that Prince Weatherstrong actually didn't appear to really like him. Of course, their initial meeting had not been optimal in this regard. Saeed was a thief and had engaged in an act of mercenary thieving when Avan interceded. Add to this the fact that Saeed proved himself a dupe, fooled into actions whose consequences were far in excess of what he had expected and he could fully understand the disapproval of wiser minds.

Where the hurt came in was that this first impression never appeared to be replaced in the Prince's eyes with anything closer to the person that Saeed was trying to put forward during his tenure as Avan's companion. Saeed wanted to show a greater consideration of ethical concerns, a deeper wisdom with its roots in the humility and shame of ill-advised actions that could not easily be undone.

Saeed had committed to this atonement and that commitment had not changed. However, he couldn't help but feel that Avan was, in a rather mean-spirited way, not giving Saeed any credit for these decisions.

It was this array of points: how Saeed's reform was not acknowledged in any way by his travelling companion, why the fact of this bothered him, and what he could do to reverse the situation, that occupied Saeed's mind as he rode his horse into the White Woods.

So distracted was Saeed that he quickly found himself at the end of the trail near to an abandoned hunting lodge. It didn't take Saeed long to see that this was not Jantnor's home so he turned his steed around and picked his way back to the last fork he had taken.

The White Wood was a quiet, cold place and Saeed had not encountered another living soul since he had arrived. Trying out a few more paths lead to more dead ends. Abandoned paths, paths that had been overgrown or turned into swamp, circular paths to abandoned mines or clearings that may once have furnished herbs but were now no more than barren scrub.

The day was almost over as Saeed realised that Jantnor had not been honest and straightforward in his request. The White Woods were a larger space than he had implied and Saeed, even given his excellent sense of direction, realised that he had no way of telling where Jantnor's home might be. There were hundreds of paths criss-crossing the wood, if the home were off the path in a secret corner of the forest then Saeed had no hope of retrieving the prize.

Saeed had never experienced such frustration, he felt foolish, but beyond that there were unpleasant currents of anger and humiliation. The prospect of failure in such an apparently simple task filled Saeed with a cold dread. What made it worse was that it wasn't the mockery of Jantnor that upset him so much as the quiet disdain that was almost inevitably going to come from Avan's direction.

Here was the issue with projecting new wisdom and humble acceptance of one's own past failings: once you realised that you still had failings after that acceptance things got complicated. You could easily begin to understand that your new wisdom wasn't as deep as you might have hoped; present humiliation had even more burn to it when stacked on the embers of past humiliation.

"Sad boy! Sad boy!" a voice rang out from up above.

Saeed looked up to see a small bird, a sparrow, sitting in a tree.

"Sad boy! Sad boy!" the sparrow chirped.

"Are you talking to me?" Saeed asked the sparrow.

"Technically," the sparrow replied, "I was talking about you. Now I'm talking to you."

"You have an impudent mouth for one so small."

"Small birds are always impudent," the sparrow replied. "We have to tease the bigger birds to maintain our territory."

"I see," Saeed said. "I had always heard of talking animals, but I have never met one properly. Oh, I once encountered a talking mouse but I understand he used to be a man. I don't know how that changes things."

"Is this why you are sad?" the sparrow asked. "Because you have never met a talking beast. Maybe you have and you just weren't ready to hear what they had to say."

"I can imagine that being the case," Saeed said. "I think... It makes some kind of sense. But no, that is not why I am sad. I am sad because I promised to do something and now I find I cannot do it."

"Well, that was a stupid thing to do," the sparrow said. "I never understand the actions of folk. You appear, at least to me, to be entirely contrary creatures. I have never promised to do something I could not do, nor would I."

"I didn't know I couldn't do it," Saeed said. "At the time I imagined it would be a simple matter to find a house with a wooden dummy in the yard and a strange symbol painted on its wall. I had no idea how big the White Woods were."

"I see," the sparrow said. "If that house had bread or seeds in it would you give them to me?"

"If you could show it to me and if it has any kind of bread or seeds inside its walls then you could happily have as much as you could eat," Saeed replied.

"Then I hope for my sake that you can keep this promise," the sparrow replied. "Follow closely, I have no time for laggards"

The bird hopped off its perch in the tree and flew into the forest. Saeed followed the bird closely, never losing sight of the fluttering black punctuation mark of its body. Sure enough the house was found within the hour, Jantnor's pet was retrieved within its home (a large skull that may once have belonged to a beast man or similar large animal). Using his thieves senses Saeed found his way out of the woods and returned triumphant to the jail.

Upon being presented with his pet Jantnor's expression became shifty and awkward.

"I am much obliged, son," the draco said to Saeed. "Now I must admit that I cannot tell you exactly where Felix hides herself away, but I do know a step along the route."

"I knew this would all be a big waste of time," Avan said.

"Hold on there," Jantnor said. "I'm a mercenary, that makes me a business man, I don't believe in short changing folk. What I've got may not be everything but I think it's close. You probably know that in our line of work there are people you can deal with that you may not exactly trust one hundred per cent. Felix, well I'm not sure I trust her even ten per cent. So when I took that job from her, the one that ended with me in here, I tailed her after the meet."

"She must have known you were following her," Avan said. "She's like that."

"Normally I would agree," Jantnor said. "It was one of those things that I figured wouldn't pan out, but in the back of my head I thought 'what if it does', so I did it anyway. I followed her to an abandoned tollhouse, used to stand to the side of the bridge connecting the Twenty Kingdoms to the Okulan Empire. Obviously Okulas didn't take too kindly to having the forces of order so close at hand, his men destroyed the bridge."

"So how did she get across?" Saeed asked.

"She didn't," Vantnor replied. "From behind a rock I watched her pay a ghost with silver and he opened up a different kind of bridge, a rainbow bridge, up to the moon over the Empire."

"You expect us to believe that?" Avan asked, his face impassive.

"Believe whatever you wish," Jantnor shrugged. "I traded my mouse for what I know, that's what I know."

"I know the bridge he's talking about, it is some distance away," Avan said to Saeed. "We shall have to use magic to get there."

Having no other option Avan prepared a magic portal that brought them within half a day's walk from the tollhouse. Vast mountains stretched upwards around a broad valley path in which were visible the remains of an old brick road. Many of the stones from the road were missing, weeds and grasses grew up in between those that remained. Avan and Saeed walked with silent purpose along the road towards their destination.

At the end of their journey the companions cautiously approached the ruined tollhouse that stood at the lip of the great chasm.

"I have travelled extensively for one so young," Saeed said. "But this is the first time I have ever trafficked with a ghost."

"They're really just a form of sprite," Avan said. "They are a sort of elemental, filled with the powers of death."

"That's not reassuring," Saeed said.

"It is not intended to be," Avan replied. "The dead can see the forces of the weave and the wheel with a clarity that the living seldom achieve. They have knowledge because they are almost totally unable to use their powers of insight. They know all the consequences of telling you about things that are to come, as a result they tend to keep their own counsel. It is almost impossible to coerce them, so they are often aloof."

"A fine grasp of the academics Prince Weatherstrong," said a voice from the shell of the tollhouse. The ghost emerged through a wide crack in the wall, a gentleman in a formal tunic, he had the appearance of wearing a wig and carrying a lantern. His face was thin, deeply lined and grave.

All Saeed could think of were questions about this apparition. One found its way out of his mouth before he could think better of it:

"I always thought," he said, "that ghosts could walk through walls."

"One day, no doubt, you shall learn better, Saeed ibn Abihi," the ghost replied. "Today, however, you are here on a business other than metaphysics."

"We seek access to the rainbow bridge," Avan said in the formal tone of voice the prince used whenever rehearsing a matter of protocol.

"Then it is best that you furnish me with the toll," the ghost said.

Avan pulled a silver piece from his money pouch.

"Will this suffice, tollkeeper?" he asked.

"Only honest hands have touched that metal, Prince Weatherstrong," the ghost answered. "I cannot take it in payment."

"Give it to me," Saeed said. "I am a thief. If it's dishonest hands he wants well, mine are as bad as anyone else's."

"Noble humility," the ghost addressed Saeed, "but you misunderstand, great sage. The silver itself must be dirty; stolen, to employ the vernacular."

"The toll to cross the rainbow bridge is a piece of stolen silver?" Avan asked, more in the spirit of confirmation than actual enquiry.

"Just so," the ghost confirmed.

Saeed reached into his own belt pouch, even as he did so he felt his cheeks begin to burn. The topic of the silver key that he had placed within the pouch had never appeared relevant to the current situation. As long as no one asked about it directly he was not compelled to talk about it. Paying the toll with it was going to raise questions, but if their journey was to continue without delay there was nothing to be done about it.

"Will this suffice?" Saeed asked the ghost, holding out the small silver key.

"Indeed it will Saeed ibn Abihi," the ghost said, a humourless grin lighting upon his face. "Then, you already knew that it would."

The ghost held out his right hand and Saeed dropped the key onto it, curious as to what would happen. As the silver hit the palm of the ghost's hand it sparked bright white for a second, a flat chime appeared to sound and the key disappeared.

"I shall open the way," the ghost said and raised his lantern up. The light within the housing intensified, starting to shift within the glass like a thing alive. The liquid glow spilled forth from one side of the lantern in a spray of unexpectedly intense colour stretching up over the chasm, piercing the clouds above and continuing on to the flat silver orb of the moon in the sky.

"Step forth, travellers," the ghost said. "The continuation of your journey is at hand."

Avan and Saeed stepped into the rainbow light and were transported along its length towards the Okulas Moon. What they found on the moon and what they did when they got there are stories for another time.

Sir Cobb and the Amateur Rogue

Frederick had not often had the privilege of staying in an actual castle. At least, not one local to his own time and place. When he had trained with Avan Weatherstrong in the time of heroes, of course, the opportunity to stay under a roof with nobility had cropped up more often.

Frederick liked castles, they had high walls, portcullises, gatehouses, guard stations and, on occasion, moats. Until Frederick had settled on the course of his life he had always slept well. In the early days of being a knight errant the number of nights actually spent in beds had dropped dramatically. During his training the unpleasant nature of the world became more apparent. Sleeping in a large stone structure with forbidding entry ways and a round the clock guard started to show itself as a sensible precaution.

Roadside inns that called themselves 'The Castle' were, at the least, optimistically named. They were just as secure as any other dwelling place. Experience had taught Frederick that this meant nothing. Guards were a rare thing indeed and miniature portcullis features had never really caught on, being a pain to install.

'Sleep with one eye open' was not a piece of advice for a knight-errant, more a description of how they slept all the time. Even so, a good rest was a vital weapon in a knight's arsenal. There were not many aged insomniac knights, in fact, Frederick had never met one.

Frederick often found that looking out of the window and enjoying some night air before retiring helped him to drop off. This evening, staying in 'The Castle', a coaching inn on the Sommerslip Road, it allowed him to catch sight of a suspicious, shadowy figure mooching about the stables.

There was a time, not so long ago really, when a shadowy figure, moving in a series of darting shuffles from point to point, shortly after sunset, might have caused Frederick to raise an eyebrow, shake his head and continue on with whatever he was doing. These were the days before the hero's paranoia had taken hold.

Now all Frederick could see was a threat, skulking nearby, waiting to strike. Maybe the threat wasn't directly aimed in his direction, this was irrelevant. Frederick was a knight-errant. Whoever was endangered by the presence of this black-clad rogue was someone Frederick was honour bound to protect.

Frederick was not yet so jaded by his role that he regarded this fact as tedious. It was still inconvenient, he mused, casting one final glance towards the warm and inviting blankets neatly arranged upon his bed.

One of the things that really annoyed Frederick about common rogues was their inability to master even basic roguing. If you hired a guild-approved rogue for light espionage and workaday dirty deeds then most of those seeking to foil them would be entirely unaware of their presence until it was too late. If people just had the common indecency to have these things done properly then assassination attempts would be far less regularly foiled.

The fact Frederick had seen this chap by glancing out of his bedroom window told him that his quarry was in no way affiliated to any of the major thieving federations, he was, essentially, a bodger in the world of stealth.

This made him a nuisance, the longer the incompetent rogue were free the more he contributed to the common misconception that a proper thief was not such a big deal. Frederick wasn't just stopping this fellow for the good of his target and the detriment of his employer but, in a very real sense, Frederick was helping to erase the notion that stealth was easily achievable by the common man on the street.

As Frederick crossed the stable yard in the shadows, knowing he was only visible, and even then as an indistinct black lump, for less time than it would take for fifty grains of sand to settle in the lower chamber of an hourglass, he considered that he was a knight and would never pass the basic exams for affiliation to any self-respecting thieves' guild. Yet, here he was, silently lifting the substantial mass of a spade from against a wall, hefting it in his hand to assess weight and balance and swinging it down upon this foolish man's head. Frederick had not made a single sound, his breathing was calm and controlled, his tread careful, his actions fluid and discreet.

Frederick knew 'knight-stealth' a short term, quick and dirty profile of tricks used by men who preferred to fight face-to-face wherever possible. Yet this idiot had completely failed to detect him. If this man was any sort of rogue Frederick should have a knife between his ribs right now. As the spade made contact with the amateur's head Frederick glanced down to check he wasn't being triple bluffed.

Thankfully there was no stealthily concealed knife jabbing at the side of Frederick's stomach, the poor-man's thief was unconscious on the floor.

"I'm almost disappointed," Frederick muttered, bending down and pulling two lengths of cord from the belt loops at the top of his breeches. Having some lengths of cord handy to tie people up with was a trick Frederick had learned from Avan Weatherstrong. Of course, Prince Weatherstrong had a bewildering array of magicks at his command to restrain those who required it, but Avan, like Frederick, was a guy who liked to be prepared.

As Frederick was tying the man up he noticed a large amethyst signet ring on the pinkie of the man's right hand. There was a crosshatch of silver holding the amethyst down, five lines diagonal across the circular surface of the stone.

Recognising evidence when he saw it Frederick removed the ring to show to Phoebe and Harvey. Then he hoisted the man onto his shoulder and headed for the inn entrance. Before he made the mistake of blundering through the door carrying an unconscious rogue, an action that could lead to discovery and questions, Frederick stopped.

He returned with his burden to the stables where Gerda and Ferris waited impassively by Tabarnas's coach.

"Lads," Frederick said to the golems. "I found this fella sneaking about the stables and I would like to discreetly question him in my room. Any chance you could help me get him upstairs quietly?"

The golems were very helpful. Frederick went back to his room and Gerda stood on Ferris's shoulders. Between them all they lifted the thief in through Frederick's window.

A few moments later Harvey and Phoebe had been summoned. Harvey was the first to arrive and he cast an appraising eye over the bound thief as Frederick explained what had happened in more depth.

"So, you're basically saying that you saw someone you didn't like the look of and took it into your head to swipe him over the head with a shovel?" Harvey asked as Frederick's account came to a close.

"There was a bit more to it than that," Frederick complained. "Trust me, he was up to no good."

"There's a town in the Skyleg mountains where they award the largest swine of the year's herd to the person with the best knee-jerk reflex," Harvey said. "I think you should seek that place out, you'd be eating fresh bacon the next day for certain."

"I think it's better to apologize for over-caution than die for complacence," Frederick said.

Harvey's sly, narrow gaze fixed on Frederick's earnest face for a few more moments. The faint smirk twitching the corner of the djinn's lips communicated a level of smugness it would have been hard to describe in actual words.

"I'm only teasing," Harvey admitted eventually. "I think it's great that you're taking the law into your own hands, very chaotic. I'm a big fan of chaos. The right to a fair trial is highly overrated."

"I'm not trying to deny anyone..." Frederick snapped.

"Boys!" Phoebe said from the doorway. "I am about sick and tired of your arguing. Harvey, you know I have the power to apply a severe attitude adjustment to you so don't bait Frederick so much. Frederick... well... try to be a bit less easily baited. You have to understand that every word that falls from Harvey's lips is utter nonsense. The sooner you do the better for all of us."

"Every word?" Harvey objected. "Isn't that just a tad harsh?"

Phoebe only had to look in Harvey's general direction to get the mischievous sprite to lapse into silence.

"He's still not awake, then?" Phoebe said, inspecting the still unconscious rogue. "How hard did you hit him exactly."

"I tend to hit hard enough to give me a decent head start," Frederick shrugged. "Anything softer and you'd end up on the wrong end of a cross country pursuit, or a term in a castle dungeon with the looming prospect of probable execution."

"I never realised that whacking someone with a shovel was such a precise science," Phoebe remarked drily, uncorking the small bottle that she'd fetched from her room. "Get ready," she said, holding the bottle under the rogue's nose and moving it back and forth.

The rogue's head rolled, twitched and then jerked upwards as the man came back to consciousness. The muscles in his shoulders bunched as he attempted to reach up to massage the sore spot on the back of his head. As he realised he was bound to a chair his eyes widened as he focused on the three people intent on his every move, standing too closely for his comfort as the inn's lodging rooms were not intended for gatherings of this size.

"One false move," Harvey said to the man, truculence dripping from every syllable, "and we'll give you a smile from ear to ear via your throat, get me?"

The man panicked and started straining at his bonds, muffled yells tried to find their way through the gag improvised from Phoebe's collection of coloured handkerchiefs.

"You are treading the line," Phoebe warned the djinn. "Apologies sir, whilst you are, temporarily our captive we do not intend to kill you, my associate believes that he is funny."

"We just want to know what you were doing sneaking around the stables in the middle of the night," Frederick said. "And, more importantly, on who's behalf. Don't bother telling us it's none of our business and there's no point acting innocent. I'm a knight, she's a witch and he's a djinn. We can practically smell mischief."

The rogue looked from Frederick to Phoebe, not liking the expression on her face he tried looking at Harvey's face, although everyone could have told him that would be a waste of time and energy.

"Thief," he said eventually, "Horse thief... I am... just looking for horses... to thieve."

"So," Harvey said, moving in closer to the man. "You are so scared of your employer you'd rather pretend to be a horse thief than reveal your true allegiance. That means you're working for a noble. Probably one with a fair degree of power and influence, someone whose name is known in the region."

The rogue's eyes widened and his mouth opened, even at amateur level this fellow hadn't been rogueing for long.

At that point the door to Frederick's room opened and Tabarnas shuffled in.

"I heard voices..." Tabarnas said before catching sight of the prisoner. He stumbled to a stop with a perturbed 'ah, I see'.

"Sorry," Phoebe said. "We didn't want to disturb anyone."

"Who is this?" Tabarnas asked.

"That's what we're trying to find out," Frederick said. "Although now I come to think of it we may be taking the wrong angle. Tabarnas, does this tell you anything?"

Frederick reached into his pocket and retrieved the signet ring he had taken from the unconscious rogue's finger. Tabarnas adjusted his eyeglasses and squinted at the ring.

"Ring of fealty," Tabarnas said. "Silver would indicate a moon tribe, the circle is usually a light stone, the purple, particularly occluded like that is the new moon. Unfortunately these items are not really traded. If I were to buy one I would have to melt it down for parts, they're not magical but they do have very particular meanings in the One Hundred Kingdoms. Any kind of civil servant should be able to tell us specifically who this belongs to in the morning."

"So," Phoebe said, looking over at the prisoner. "Either you are a horse thief in the employ of a local noble, or, as we already worked out, you are lying to us. You also must be aware that it is only a matter of hours before we know who you are working for anyway."

"You have two choices," Frederick chipped in. "Either you come clean and, as long as we like what you say, we may even let you go. Or I can go get the constable now and you can go to jail for... what was it, horse theft?"

The rogue didn't look as if he really knew what to do. His gaze travelled around all of the room's occupants, the light his eyes distant as if he were doing some immense calculation. Before any concrete result manifested an explosion outside sent a shudder through the inn's frame and rattled the window panes.

"Too late," Harvey chimed in.

It definitely looked that way, and the wise man knows that when things look that way, often they are that way, and, indeed, in this case they were. But the why's and the how's of what followed are a tale for another day.

In Which Saeed and Avan Have A Falling Out

Saeed had lived almost his whole life in the grandest cities of Faerie and beyond. He was used to tall buildings, narrow alleys, the rich and the poor living side by side. Noise, heat, bustle, secrets, these were as constant to Saeed as the air he breathed. Even during his time studying in Luminis he had found himself surrounded by crowded grey stone walkways and city people preoccupied with city problems.

City problems, or, to give them a more straightforward title: money problems. City people worried about profit and loss, about making ends meet, about taxes and thieves. In the landscape of a city Saeed was comfortable in the knowledge that he was one of the problems. If you were a problem it tended to be more difficult for you to have a problem. Saeed had worked hard to cultivate an attitude that problems belonged to other people.

When he had been a young boy, trailing after his mother along the streets of far away distant Afsana, Saeed had accepted his temperament on face value. As he had grown older, lost his mother, adventured, become a student, learned a little of the world, Saeed had learned that remaining open-minded and free from worry were two things you definitely had to work at.

Now he surveyed the Plaza of Diamonds, and beyond it the high walls surrounding the Diamond Treasure House and waited for night. He was a stranger in Dracopolis, wearing a hooded cloak, sat at a table outside an Inn, basking in shadow. He would have had a harder time of things if Dracopolis wasn't filled with strangers on a daily basis. Then he might have stood out. As it was he was comfortably invisible in the background noise of a normal day in Faerie's largest city.

Dracopolis was not a place that welcomed strangers, except insofar as it tolerated them, in the days before the great Vanishing tolerance and welcome were not separated by much. In days to come the world would learn better manners. As far as Saeed could tell that just meant you said please and thank you while you were twisting the knife.

Saeed was not bitter, he preferred to think of himself as careful. Saeed was no liar he preferred to think of himself as a victim of circumstance. A thief? Well, some things Saeed could not deny because he didn't want to think of himself as a liar.

The difference between young Saeed and old Saeed was a matter of degree and a matter of relationships. When he was a boy Saeed stole food to live, now he stole things he didn't care about in exchange for money he could use to buy the food he had once stolen. Saeed didn't care about the things he stole but he cared very deeply about who got hurt.

Saeed had made a vow never to lie, and, in the meanwhile, a second vow never to intentionally harm anyone. The first was a vow he had made to his dead mother. His mother, being dead, knew nothing of this. The second vow he had made before his teacher, in the room his teacher called dojo, within his master's house at Luminis. Saeed took the second vow very seriously, as seriously as he took the first, but for entirely different reasons.

The walls of the Diamond Treasure House reminded Saeed of the walls of Luminis. The Treasure House Walls were intended to be intimidating but they were no more than a shadow compared to the barrier that kept those who were not ready out of the city at the brink of forever.

As dusk gave way to night street lights made a declaration that Dracopolis did not intend to stop just because the sun had set. This, too, reminded Saeed of the city where he had learned so much. The similarities were slight, nothing could compare to the glowing heart of Luminis by night.

The Tavern on the Plaza of Diamonds, became louder as the darkness deepened. The pedestrian traffic slowed and thinned. Saeed became more visible as a result, that was never a comfort. Thankfully the people who remained were all preoccupied with each other, none of them were looking at him.

It was still some time from Midnight Bell but if Saeed waited then he risked becoming even more conspicuous. He stood and crossed the square to the Temple of Turan. He hoped that no one had discovered his cache or the preparations he had made to gain entry.

As he crossed the square a young woman, laughing, stumbled out of a party of merry makers and nearly collided with him. He saw her coming, stepped to one side and caught her before she could fall to the floor.

The young woman looked up into Saeed's face, Saeed shifted his head forward so that his features would remain obscured by shadow. They young woman did not appear afraid, she was still smiling.

"Thank you sir," she said. "I'm afraid I got carried away."

Saeed lifted the woman to her feet and gave her a small bow from the waist. He made sure that his hood kept his face from view.

"Don't you speak?" the young woman asked.

Saeed did not want to be remembered as any more than a man in a cloak. He looked at the party of people that the woman had emerged from. They were nearly over to the opposite edge of the square now. Saeed pointed after them.

The young woman looked.

"I don't even know if you have a handsome voice now," the young woman said. "But I felt that you were strong."

She smiled at him, her eyes sparkled in the light from the crystal lamps that lit the square. She was a young Draco, very beautiful. Saeed was not here to fraternise, he just stood waiting for her to move on, or at least to take her eyes off him. She studied him for a moment longer before saying:

"You really are no fun at all," then she turned and chased after her friends.

Out of habit Saeed checked his pockets, but the encounter had not felt like a pickpocket's attack of opportunity. Of course, the best attacks of that nature did not.

Satisfied that he still possessed everything that he needed to proceed Saeed carried on to a small trade entrance at the side of the temple building. From the inside of his cloak he drew a long wire with a hooked end.

He worked the wire in between the wood and the jamb at the hinge end and fished around for a moment. When he pulled the wire back a thin, strong cord was caught on the hook. Saeed picked up the cord and lifted it until he felt the tug of it coming free from the screw that he had wedged it behind on the opposite side. Then he pulled at it gently at about waist height, about where he remembered the bolt being earlier. He felt the bolt slide back. He undid the latch and opened the door, retrieving the cord and stowing it, along with the wire hook in his cloak.

From a pouch at his waist he took a small screwdriver and retrieved the screw he'd used to wedge the cord earlier. He put the screw and the screwdriver back into the pouch. Once he had closed the door, he shot the bolt again leaving no evidence that he had been here at all, except for the tiny hole left by the screw at the hinge end.

Saeed climbed the steps of the temple's offering tower. All Temples to sky gods had tall towers, the law of the city meant that it could not be as tall as the treasure house walls, but it was tall enough for Saeed.

The visitors to the temple had not found Saeed's means of entry, neither had they found the wooden box he had stored in the chimney of the offering room. The wood on the lower side was sooty, the priests had made an offering at some point after Saeed had stowed the box. Saeed's box was varnished with a flame-retardent, it had easily withstood the heat of the fire.

Saeed opened the box and pulled out a crossbow and an arrow with a hard, barbed tip. The head of the arrow trailed a thin cord of dark rope in which could be seen fine filaments of metal. Saeed mounted the arrow into the crossbow, went over to the window of the offering room that faced the treasure house, took careful aim and fired the arrow so that it stuck into the stone near the summit of the wall.

Saeed tested the arrow's hold and found it to be satisfactory. He tied the far end of his thin cord about the bracket of a sconce in the wall opposite the window. This done he hoisted himself off the floor onto the rope and used a clip on his belt to secure him to the cord. His feet pointed back towards the sconce, his head was oriented toward the wall of the treasure house. He began to climb along the rope over the square towards the Treasure House.

This was the riskiest part of the enterprise. He had no contingency for falling. Thankfully he could not be seen from the ground the light from the crystal lamps was reflected downwards by metallic hoods on the fittings. He edged swiftly over the space between the top of the tower and top of the treasure house wall.

He did not pull himself all the way over. Stopping about fifteen feet from the end of the rope. He rested at a point pre-marked in the rope where the silver filament running through the cord stopped. Saeed double checked that the absence of filament was not a trick of the light by sniffing the rope. The pungent aroma of the treatment of the last fifteen feet told him that he had stopped in the right place.

He reached carefully into his pocket for a preprepared alchemical tinderstick he had made. He brought his boot carefully to his waist by bending his knee and struck the tinderstick against a rough patch on the toe of the boot. Then he slowly turned the flaming spill and wedged into a hole drilled into the sole of the boot at the front.

Saeed lifted his toe up and touched the flame to the rope behind him, where the filament started. The rope burst into a fast burning bright red flame and vapourised instantly all the way back down to the tower.The light was intense but the red colour was not bright and lasted only for an instant. The rope, now effectively bissected, fell towards the treasure house wall.

Saeed twisted his body and swung his legs round, bracing for the impact. As he hit the wall a shock ran up his legs along with a little pain, but it was bearable. Once he had stabilised himself Saeed set about getting over the top of the wall. Wrapping the cord of the rope around his right arm for extra stability he began to run sideways along the wall using the rope to help him also run upwards. When he felt that momentum had taken him as far as he would go he spun his heel and ran the other way.

Several times he repeated this action, each time picking up speed, changing the motion from running to a kind of guided swinging. On the last pass he threw his weight up at the end of the spring and sailed over the top of the wall feet first. Bracing himself again he hit the wall on the other side. The impact on his feet was not as hard but the rope burned the skin on his right arm a little.

Hanging there, six hundred feet in the air above the courtyard of the treasure house Saeed took a moment to compose himself before reaching into his cloak and pulling out the slender silver spider cord that would take him to the ground. One end of the spider cord had a metal clip on it in the shape of a lily blossom. Saeed held the lily head to the end of the thicker rope he had fired from the bow. Working a catch on the underside of the clip the petals of the lily sprung shut binding the spider cord to the rope.

Saeed released the rest of the cord to fall into the dark shadowy canyon between the treasure house and the interior side of the wall. He tested that the clip was holding and then transferred his weight to the spider cord. Once he was sure that the spider cord was firm he clipped it through a sprung metal loop on his belt and slid down the cord in a number of jumps down the wall.

Once Saeed's feet had made contact with the ground again he twisted the spider cord in a clockwise direction and, with a few twists, the cord clip released. Saeed quickly regathered the length of spider cord together and placed it back in the knee pocket in his breeches.

Now he was ready to get inside the treasure house. Saeed looked about the thin strip of cobbled courtyard that ran around the base of the building. It was extremely dark down here, more shadow than light. Saeed had prepared for this as well. He took a vial of night's eye drops from a pouch on his belt. He dripped the drops onto the surface of his open eyes and, as the liquid spread across the surface his vision blurred and then cleared, bringing the shadows into focus.

Saeed had descended on the eastern side of the treasure house. There was no entrance to the main building here. He would have to go around to the south side, there would only be one entrance and exit. The disadvantage of this for thieves was that the entrance was bound to be heavily guarded. The advantage was that guard patrols were light, in many cases non-existent.

Taking a peek around the nearby corner Saeed could see a pair of trolls had been left on guard at the main entrance. This was all in line with the operation information he had bought from the goblin in Ferrowmarsh. Saeed had planned ahead for this eventuality.

Using his pocket knife Saeed prised a chunk of cobble out of the ground. Then he pulled the mirror brooch from his belt and clipped it to the outside of his cloak. Still out of sight behind the corner Saeed opened the metal shell that covered the top of the mirror crystal and a perfect copy of him appeared directly opposite him.

Using the angle setting controls embedded in the rim of the brooch Saeed offset his reflection to appear about six feet away from him and slightly off to the right. Then he covered the crystal again and the mirror image phantom disappeared.

Sticking close to the edge of the north wall Saeed crept up to the side of the entrance, remaining in shadow as much as he was able. As he drew within about half a dozen yards of the trolls he threw his rock into the shadows beyond the entrance to strike against the outside wall with a hard crack.

The trolls instantly leaned forward to examine the shadows, exchanging a puzzled glance. Saeed flipped the shell on the mirror brooch and his cloaked form appeared before the trolls. Saeed tried to look as if he was pausing, wondering if he'd been discovered, waiting for the trolls to see him.

One of the trolls pointed at the mirror phantom.

"You!" it cried out. "Stop there!"

Saeed turned, away, knowing the mirror phantom would do the same. He ran a few yards away and out from the walls. He looked back over his shoulder to see the trolls giving chase as the phantom appeared to melt into the shadows.

Saeed closed the brooch shell, spun on his heel and ducked in through the main entrance of the treasure house. He was not out of the wood, but the guard patrols within the vaults should not be as hard to evade as the sentries at the entrance. The warren of narrow corridors and shadowy alcoves was where Saeed felt most at home it didn't take him long to find vault number 425, the lock on the door was almost embarrassingly easy to pick.

For a moment or two Saeed considered the possibility that this had all been an elaborate trap but his fears quickly appeared groundless as he observed the target of his mission, the rainbow lattice, a magical device forged by a powerful druid, Cyrus September.

Wanting to be done with his work as quickly as possible Saeed stepped into the treasure room. Something in the corner of his field of vision caught his eye and he only just managed to raise the grieve protecting the underside of his left arm before a blow aimed at the side of his head made contact. The force of the blow left Saeed in no doubt that his assailant would have rendered him unconscious. The attacker had not reckoned with Saeed's sharp reflexes, born of much training in his master's dojo.

The fight began in a flurry of blocks, strikes and attempted grapples. Whoever this stranger was he had learned some of the unarmed combat techniques that Saeed had learned in Luminis. Saeed needed some time to work out the stranger's style of combat if he was to have any hope of turning it against his opponent.

Talking during a fight was not encouraged but Saeed believed that he might be able to apply the pressure of persuasion to the situation, so he broke the rule:

"Guards finding us fighting won't care that you're trying to stop me," Saeed said.

The opponents fist attempted to plant itself in Saeed's ribs. Saeed danced backwards, evading the hook. As he did so he got a chance to get a better look at his opponent. The man was male, a little older than Saeed, dark haired, full beard neatly trimmed. The man had designs shaved into the sides of the beard where they cut down to his jaw over his ears. The designs were intricate, probably symbolic of rank and also magical. The man wore several jewelled rings, which also indicated that he had some magical power.

Without responding the man stepped forward, planting his feet and raising his arms, adopting a fighting stance. The man had positioned himself between Saeed and the entrance to the treasure room. Saeed noted a sword hung at the man's waist. It became plain that the man could easily have killed Saeed, with metal or magic, but had chosen not to.

"You don't want to kill me," Saeed said. "Is there no agreement we can come to?"

"You leave now, without the lattice, we part, we don't see one another again," the man replied, his tone flat.

"You seem well equipped in every respect, my friend," Saeed replied. "Save that you packed no sense of humour."

"You think this situation is funny?" the stranger asked him.

"Any situation is what you make of it," Saeed replied. "There's no personal animosity between us, unless you are the owner of that artifact, which I do not believe you are."

"Regardless of who I am," the stranger said. "You have no right to the lattice. I will not allow you to take it."

"What does it matter to you?" Saeed asked. "I am just an agent, if I fail another will come."

"If you want to prove that there is more to you than thievery," the man said. "Tell me who sent you here."

"So you do want to threaten my life, no thief can be trusted with the name of their true master," Saeed said. "I am no more than an agent hired, in turn by an agent. The woman who retained my services in this task was a mercenary by the name of Miranda Felix. I do not know who retained her, it is entirely possible she doesn't know either. She knows enough to recognise information she doesn't want to hold."

"Felix?" the man said. "Don't tell me you took a job from her."

"I did some research, no one will be hurt as a result of this job," Saeed said. "This is something I am very particular about."

"I'm going to reach for my pack," the man said. "Do not attempt to escape."

Saeed could only honestly admit to the man that he would take any quarter that was given, so he didn't say anything at all. The man reached his hand behind him, not removing his eyes from Saeed. At the last moment, overtaken by urgency, the man looked away to his pack. Saeed ducked forward and grabbed the lattice before heading for the door.

"Don't-" the man said.

Then things began to go in a very strange direction. Saeed heard the tinkle of a small glass vial breaking in the doorway. In an instant he was surrounded in a choking grey-purple fog. Saeed fell to the floor and the next thing he knew he was looking up into the blurry face of the strange man from the treasure room.

"Are you awake?" the man demanded. "How do you feel?"

Saeed's head felt like it had been hit with a mallet. He groaned.

"What happened?" he asked.

"You'll be fine, stay away from the treasure room," the man said. "Stay here, don't try to move."

Then the man was gone, running off down the corridor, as if giving chase to someone.

Saeed couldn't work out what was happening. One moment he had been sailing through the air, the lattice tucked under one arm and the next he was here, without the lattice, lying on the floor.

It was all very well for the mysterious stranger to tell him to stay put, but what if a guard patrol came by? Then Saeed would be caught and imprisoned. No one should be in the Treasure House without authorisation, no exceptions.

Saeed struggled to sit up, but the pain in his head was accompanied by a weakness in his limbs. He managed to raise his head a little but his arms didn't seem to want to work.

"Well," a female voice said from somewhere over his head, out of view. "You appear to have screwed this up. I should leave you but, I must confess, you seem to strike at a soft spot I didn't even know I had."

A face appeared in the corner of his field of vision: Miranda Felix, smiling at the prospect of having Saeed under her control.

"Come on," she said. "I'll help you up. We'd better get out of here."

Miranda offered Saeed a hand, he forced his arm to reach up and accept it. Between the two of them they got Saeed to his feet.

"What are you doing here?" Saeed asked as they began to make their way, slowly, along the corridor. Miranda was supporting Saeed more than he would have liked.

"Call it an intuition," she said. "When I checked on you in the square before you entered the temple I got the impression that I may have asked too much of you."

"I would have been fine, except for the stranger," Saeed complained.

"What stranger?" Miranda asked.

"Don't move," the stranger said behind them.

"I've heard that voice before," Miranda said. She did not sound too concerned but she had stopped moving. "Prince Weatherstrong, what brings you to the heart of the Terra Draconis?"

"Passing through," the stranger, Saeed now recognised as Avan Weatherstrong, a hero in some tales that he had been told when he was a boy. "I saw your puppet here, and your exchange in the square. I decided that it couldn't be good news so, I followed. Good job too by the look of things, return the lattice."

"She doesn't have the lattice," Saeed said. "She was my contact remember, she paid me to retrieve it."

"She paid you to take the blame for its theft," Avan replied. "She always intended to leave you here to face the consequences of her actions."

"You always had such a dark view of me, Avan," Miranda said. "If you are going to insist on being such a bore then I have no real choice but to comply with your request."

"Slowly," Avan said as Miranda reached over her head to her back pack.

There was another of those confusing moments in which Saeed felt a sick twist of giddyness. He was flying through the air, he collided with something... someone... then he was on the floor again.

"She's getting away," Avan said from underneath Saeed.

Recovering a little more health by the second Saeed struggled to get off Prince Weatherstrong. Once free the prince leaped to his feet and ran off in pursuit of Miranda. Saeed, determined not to be left behind again, followed on afterwards.

It appeared that Prince Weatherstrong had no more right to be in the treasure house than Saeed, they had to pause a couple of times and reroute to avoid guard patrols. Avan lead Saeed down below the ground level of the treasure house and out through an entrance to the Dracopolis sewer system that hadn't been on any of the treasure house plans.

Saeed was too grateful to have got away alive and undetected to ask about that means of entry and escape right away. Avan didn't even really seem to acknowledge that Saeed was following him.

After a short run through the twists and turns of the sewer system Avan found a way up that surfaced below a grate in an alley adjacent to the Market Square. As soon as the two men climbed up onto the streets of Dracopolis it was clear that something was wrong. In the south the sky was orange-lit with flames and there was a tang of smoke upon the air.

"Felix," Avan muttered. "What have you done."

Saeed, tired of feeling out of his depth, plundered his study of the layout of Dracopolis for an answer to Avan's question.

"The jailhouse," Saeed said. "That's in the south. You don't think..."

"You don't know at all who you were working for," Avan replied. "That's exactly the kind of thing that she would do."

"I have spent a long time in a place where I learned much about my own nature," Saeed said. "I am afraid I do not know much of the nature of others. This is what I came out into the world to learn."

"Well, your first lesson is that some people enjoy bending chaos and destruction to suit their own ends," Avan said. "They leave others to help clean up their mess."

The prince turned away from Saeed and strode off towards the Market Square, Saeed could hear the sounds of terrified people screaming and shouting in the distance. His cheeks burned with shame that he had been played for such a fool. He hurried after Prince Weatherstrong once again.

"Please, Prince Weatherstrong," Saeed said. "I am a simple thief, but I have my own code. No harm should come to anyone as a result of my actions. As Melinda has unleashed the inhabitants of the jailhouse to cover her escape if I do not help to end this then I am, indeed, partially responsible. I will help."

"Do as you will," Avan replied. "It is none of my concern."

Saeed wanted to insist that if he could not win the respect of the prince then he would feel that he had faced a great and shaming failure. That was a personal issue, though, for which there may be time later. Saeed could hear his master's voice in his ear, telling him that, in the first instance, he should help to contain the problem that he had created. If he wanted Avan Weatherstrong's respect then that would have to come later.

And indeed it would; in fact, the two would work together to defeat Miranda Felix, and the person behind her actions. But that is a long story, for another time.

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.