Quest for Knowledge

Quest for Knowledge

Being

Volume 1 of the FirstWorld Saga

by

Christopher Jackson-Ash

 

ISBN 978-0-9873300-5-5

 

Published by Christopher John Allen

 

Copyright 2013, 2014 CJA

 

 

For further information on the FirstWorld multiverse including free downloads please visit www.FirstWorld.info

The FirstWorld Saga - Quest for Knowledge

 

Volume 1 of the FirstWorld Saga

 

Acknowledgements

 

Foreword

 

BOOK 1 The Search for a Legend

 

BOOK 2 A Test of Courage

 

BOOK 3 Back to the Beginning

 

BOOK 4 The Sundering

 

Afterword

 

FirstWorld Time Line

 

To follow

 

Volume 2 Aftermath of Armageddon

 

Volume 3 A View of the Past

 

Volume 4 A Vision of the Future

 

For further information on the FirstWorld multiverse including free downloads please visit www.FirstWorld.info

Acknowledgements

Fictional universes or multiverses have long offered alternative realities that may seem preferable to our own lives. Growing up, I escaped from a troubled childhood into J.R.R. Tolkien’s magnificent creation of Middle Earth and was inspired by Elves, Dwarves, and Wizards. Later, I discovered the Sword and Sorcery of writers like Michael Moorcock. Moorcock wrote about the various manifestations of the Eternal Champion and his companion roving the Multiverse in an endless battle between Law and Chaos. I was always intrigued by the possibility of time travel and the paradoxes that it threw up. Many writers, from H.G. Wells forward have explored these and I have enjoyed them all.

It was always my hope that one day I could create my own multiverse to escape into and I have done so in FirstWorld. If you perceive echoes of Tolkien or Moorcock in my work, you are correct. They were my inspiration and I thank them and honour them. You’ll find others there too, from Arthurian legend through T.S. Eliot to The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. My multiverse is big enough to contain them all. Is it infinite? That’s the $64,000 question.

Foreword

The device on the table looked for all the world like a soothsayer’s crystal ball. The cloaked old man with flowing white hair and matching beard would have looked like everyone’s favourite soothsayer were it not for his eyes. Coal black pupils floated in a sea of blood. They were locked in an unblinking stare into the heart of the ball. His hands were fixed on either side of the object, as if they were glued there. The veins in his neck pulsed in purple profusion and his brow was creased in fierce concentration.

Whether he heard the communication via his ears or whether it was spoken directly into his mind, he didn’t know. The voice boomed and resonated in his skull. It was deep and old and seemed to carry an authority and purpose that sapped his will to gainsay it.

“Somewhere in the multiverse, a child has been born. I can feel him everywhere, but I cannot locate him. He has been born in many dimensions but only one of him will rise to challenge me. He will appear to be weak but he will be able to wield the Sword. He is Gilgamesh reborn.” It sounded like he spat at the name of the ancient Hero. “Like the one who came before, he cannot destroy me but the Sword can inflict terrible wounds. I would not like to feel it again.”

The listener felt incredible pain as if his head were going to explode. He would have removed his hands from the ball, but he had no will of his own left.

“You must find him and destroy him. Our enemies will seek him too. They would have him become their Hero. The Sword has been lost for many ages. Seek it out and you will be handsomely rewarded. Fail me and I will destroy you.”

The old man was flung backwards from the ball, blue flashes of electricity jolting from his hands to the crystal. He finished up in a crumpled heap on the floor. He took his time to stand and brush himself down. He covered the strange device with a black cloth and let out a deep breath.

“I will serve you as long as it suits my plans. Elannort though, will be all mine.” He let out a low growl, which sounded more like a dog than a man.

Map of Central FirstWorld

Please visit http://firstworld.info/firstworld-and-the-multiverse/firstworld-maps/ for a free PDF copy of the FirstWorld map.

 

Book 1 The Search for a Legend

In which Simon Redhead discovers some strange facts about himself and the history of FirstWorld.

 

“When the two who are one

Return to the sun

When the flame-haired child

Is first become

While the guardians sleep

Humankind will weep.”

Ancient Prophecy

Revelation

 

Melbourne, Republic of Australasia

5th February 2043

At first light, the Jihad armies of Islam swept across the southern borders of Europe and Central Asia. Italy, Greece, Turkey, Afghanistan, Uzbekistan, and Kazakhstan bore the brunt of the first attacks. Within hours, thousands of square miles of territory were in enemy hands.

Simon Redhead stumbled out of bed, oblivious to the world's impending doom, and observed himself in the bathroom mirror. Not a pretty sight, he thought. Pale green eyes stared back at him from a drawn and puffy face that showed all the symptoms of lack of sleep. I must get a haircut. His orange shoulder length hair hung in long, lank strands, in desperate need of a wash.

His thoughts returned, as they often did, to the childhood taunts and the way his ‘mother’ would soothe his anguish. She was all he had had in the world. His stepfather, or rather his mother's husband, had run off with a ballet teacher when he was six. Simon couldn't remember much about him, and didn't want to. The bastard!

Simon emphasised his thoughts with an open handed smack that shook the mirror. The outburst released some of his pent up anger, but it did nothing for his frustration. He ached for love and companionship. Not for the first time recently, he decided to give the first lecture a miss, and went back to bed. He let his mind wander through a favourite fantasy, involving a fellow student in his class. The feel of Julia’s soft body in his arms; the smell of her perfume; the taste of her kisses; finally exploring a woman’s body. He was just reaching the part where he removed her panties, when his body beat his mind to the finish. The physical relief eased the ache in his body, but did little for the anguish in his heart. Damn, wish I could last longer. How will I ever satisfy a woman? I may never get the chance to try.

In his melancholy, his thoughts returned to the funeral just three years before and the two strangers who had haunted his dreams ever since.

****

Simon Redhead slumped on his bed, crumpling his newly pressed best suit, his only suit. He tried to distract himself by listening to the modern history module he had received on his E-Pod. It played on the view screen that made up one entire wall of his room, but he closed his eyes and let the words wash over him. He should really concentrate, because he had to pass the general part of his degree before he could begin to study his chosen subject, medicine. The speaker droned on and Simon’s thoughts continued to wander. Some people now had their E-Pods implanted in their bodies, so they would never leave home without them. You couldn’t exist in society without your E-Pod. You couldn’t even take a train or buy a simuburger, so it made sense. Simon wondered whether he should have it done. Some words in the monologue from the screen snapped Simon back to attention.

“The decade was given the name the terrible teens. It began with the great global depression that lasted until 2017, which threw millions of people worldwide into unemployment and poverty. In module seventeen, we will study the causes of the depression. Its results however are considered by many to have saved humankind from extinction. The climate change tipping point had almost been reached. The balance almost tipped into total chaos.”

The words made Simon shudder. His dreams flashed vividly into his mind. He had been having the dreams as long as he could remember. As a small child, his mother had taken him to see a psychiatrist, so worried had she been about his nightmares. Despite all of his probing, the doctor had been unable to find the underlying cause of the problem. Eventually, Simon had managed to control his fear. The dreams had never gone away, though he had led his mother to believe they no longer troubled him.

Simon sobbed and wiped a tear from his cheek. Despite her not being his real mother, she had loved him as if he were her own flesh and blood. The last few months of her suffering had been terrible. It had reinforced his desire to study medicine and to make a difference. In the end, despite the black void it had left in his guts, he felt it was a blessing that she had taken the euthanasia option and ended her agony.

“Australia was badly affected by climate change. Drought, firestorms, cyclones, and floods ravaged the continent. Another type of flood, refugees from the now submerged Pacific Islands and Bangladesh, threatened to overwhelm society. It was only with the election of the first Green government in 2022 that a political solution to the problems facing the country was finally grasped. Along with like-minded governments in the rest of the developed world, they finally provided the leadership necessary to make people realise that their materialistic life-style was unsustainable. They led society to find a new balance.”

There was that word again. The one that he heard repeatedly in his dreams: balance. Except that in his dreams, it somehow had more importance. It was The Balance. Simon didn’t like to think of himself as a wimp, but there was no doubt he was a quiet and gentle character. As a small boy, he remembered breaking down in inconsolable grief when he had found a dead bird on the side of the road. When his school friends captured flies and removed their wings, he would cringe and look away, riven with horror.

Yet in his dreams, Simon killed; not birds and flies but people. Hundreds of thousands of people died at his hands, so that his pale skin was stained red with their blood. The same colour as the ruby, which had been burned into his mind by the nightly visions. It called to him, promising him that he would unlock a missing part of himself if he would only come and find his true destiny. There was a sword too. It was a big jet-black broad sword and it was the cause of all the bloodshed. In reality, Simon could barely swing a golf club, even a left-handed one. In his nightmares, he wielded the black sword and scythed down his enemies as if it were second nature to him. This was the one thing that frightened him more than anything else. He so desperately wanted to take the Hippocratic Oath and do no harm, yet every night he seemed to enjoy bringing death to his seemingly innocent victims.

A knock on the door brought him back to reality. The door opened and Uncle Jack poked his head in. “It’s time to go, Simon. Are you ready?”

How can you ever be ready for your mother’s funeral? Nevertheless, he stood up, looked in the mirror and brushed down his suit. It hung off his skinny beanpole frame in ripples of black crinkles. His pale, almost white complexion matched his shirt and was a total contrast to the suit. However, his shoulder length hair dominated the impression, as it always did because of its bright orange colour. It had earned him so many unpleasant nicknames during his school days: ‘carrot top,’ ‘traffic light,’ and ‘Beaker,’ to name but a few. The most dreadful irony of all was his adopted family name. Redhead by name, redhead by nature, his mother always said, when he came home in tears from school, cursing nature's cruel gift. She wanted him to be proud of his most distinctive feature. Now she would never comfort him again. He was alone in the world, with his strange genetic gifts from parents he had never known.

The funeral passed in a blur. It was cold in the church and Simon had to fold his arms across his chest and hold on to himself to stop the shivering. It was a non-denominational service. His mother had believed in a higher force, but not in a specific god. The world had seen a great schism in recent times into the more fundamentalist aspects of all the great religions. Simon eschewed them all. He saw no evidence for the existence of God. He was a firm atheist. What God would have taken two mothers from me before my twentieth birthday?

It was a small gathering, just close family and friends. Even so, Simon didn’t recognise a few of the people there. He stood at the doorway with Uncle Jack and shook the hands of everyone as they left the church. The dearth of people only reinforced how alone he now was. He supposed that he had been a mummy’s boy with few real friends. Now he was just a lonely boy. He did have two close friends, though and they had both been there. The three of them had been together since the first day of pre-school. Perhaps they had stuck together because of their physical differences from the rest of the class. It was easier to resist the bullying that way.

Jamie took his hand and then embraced him in a big squashing hug. He only came up to Simon’s chest and was shaped like a barrel with short arms and legs. His out of control curly black hair tickled Simon’s nose. “Thank you for coming,” Simon said for the umpteenth time.

Jamie released Simon from his bear hug. “I’m here for you, Simon, if you need anything. You know that, don’t you?” Simon nodded. Jamie hadn’t found his place in the world yet and seemed to be drifting aimlessly. He was always around when Simon needed a friend.

Christian was small too, slim and pale like Simon, but with thin blond, almost white hair. He was aiming to be an E-Pod news journalist. He gave Simon a hug too, but was much gentler than Jamie had been. “Keep your chin up, mate. We’ll see you later at the pub.”

Several of his mother’s distant relations passed by. He barely recognised them, but offered his thanks and received their platitudes dutifully. The last person to leave the church was an old man Simon didn’t recognise. He hobbled slowly, supporting himself on a stick. His back was hunched and he was wearing a full-length black coat that hid everything beneath. He had a shock of long white hair and a flowing white beard. If he had been dressed in red and had some stomach padding, Simon would have taken him for a department store Santa Claus. Despite everything, Simon smiled. The man smiled too and Simon was taken by light that seemed to radiate from his grey-green eyes. Simon offered his hand. “Thank you for coming. I don’t believe we have met?”

The old man took his hand in a firm warm handshake. He held it for a little longer than was strictly necessary. When he spoke, his voice seemed to resonate and wrap around Simon like comforting arms. “I knew your mother, Simon. I have watched your progress from a distance for many years. Keep up with your studies, my boy. We’ll meet again soon, I’m sure of that.”

Simon felt as if he were rooted to the spot. He tried to talk to the man but words wouldn’t come out. He stammered and spluttered and by the time he had regained his composure the man had hobbled off. Simon rushed outside after him, but he was nowhere to be seen. He couldn’t have moved so quickly. Uncle Jack was waiting for him. “Where did the old man with the stick go?” Simon asked.

“I didn’t see an old man with a stick,” his Uncle replied. “Come on, let’s go and join the wake at the pub. Have you thanked the vicar?”

Simon was more puzzled than ever. Surely, he couldn’t have imagined the old man. He remembered the almost tingling warmth of his handshake and the concern in his eyes. As he turned from the church with Uncle Jack, he could have sworn he heard the old man’s voice in his head. “I knew your mother, Simon.” The words seemed to carry an image with them. It wasn’t his mother. She was a pretty, young blonde girl, cooing over a baby in a pram. Simon saw such love in her eyes, directed at the baby, directed at him. He tried to reach out a tiny hand, but the vision evaporated. Try as he might, Simon couldn’t get it back. As they departed, Uncle Jack probably thought the tears in his eyes were the result of the service.

****

Simon thought the wake would never end. His mother’s distant family members seemed determined to drink the pub dry. His eyes repeatedly searched the room for the old man. He would have liked to talk more with him. Unfortunately, he didn’t join them. Uncle Jack got drunk and sang old Gaelic ballads that spoke of their family’s heritage. It only made Simon wonder where he had really come from. He’d asked his mother, of course. He’d asked many times after the shock of the initial revelation of his adoption had subsided. She had said that she knew nothing. He had come to them one hot January night in need of a safe refuge and they had provided it, was all he could get out of her.

“Where did I come from?” He asked Uncle Jack, who was taking a breather from his singing exploits on the stool across the table from him.”

“Well, lad, if you don’t know that by now there’s something amiss, by all accounts.” His uncle laughed at his own joke, and Jamie and Chris who were both nursing beers beside him on the red leather bench seat both smiled. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen any of you three with girlfriends. You should let Jack the lad take you out one night and show you how to chat up the ladies. What do you say?” Fortunately for the trio, Jack was dragged away by Great Aunt Maud who wanted to discuss the will and wanted to do it now. When Great Aunt Maud said jump, you didn’t even ask how high because you knew you couldn’t jump high enough to meet her expectations.

Jamie sighed. “He’s right though, our success rate is pretty poor.”

“Almost non-existent,” Christian agreed. “We should find a new hobby, one where we’ll meet lots of girls.”

“There are more girls than boys in Simon’s class. Some of them are real stunners too. It doesn’t seem to have done him any good, though,” Jamie teased.

“Perhaps Simon will throw a party and invite them all?” Christian said.

“Yes, a house-warming party. You’ll have to move now; they’ll sell the house for sure. Aunt Maud will demand it. Where will you go?”

A cold finger of dread tickled its way down Simon’s spine. “I hadn’t thought about it. I wanted to concentrate on my studies. Mum said I should do that and she’d look after me. I guess I’ll have to get a job to support myself now. There’s a lot to think about.”

“Well, you can always kip on my couch if you’re desperate,” Jamie said. “Anyone for another drink, after all Simon’s paying and it’s better spent now than Aunt Maud getting her hands on it.”

“I’ll get them,” Simon said. “I could do with a stretch, same again?” He stood up and moved to the bar. He ordered three beers, adding them to the tab, and turned to head back to the table. He noticed a strange man, propping up the corner of the bar watching him. He was tall and very pale, ill looking like his mother had been in recent weeks. His clothes were shabby and worn. His mouth curved upwards in a grin and showed several broken and rotten-looking teeth. Deep set, black eyes met his and locked on, unblinking.

Simon set down his glasses and approached the stranger, offering his hand. “I don’t believe we have met. I didn’t see you at the funeral. What relation are you?”

The man seemed reluctant to take Simon’s hand, but eventually took it and quickly released it. His hand felt cold and clammy. When he spoke, his voice was shrill and high-pitched. “I can’t abide churches. I had a bad experience in one once.”

Simon felt the urge to say ‘What, you got married?’ but resisted. Still the man's eyes were locked unblinking on Simon's. He was starting to give him the creeps.

The man licked his pallid lips. “You can call me Uncle Dring. I once knew your mother and father.” The black eyes suggested that he wanted to say more.

Simon shuddered and backed away to retrieve his beers. “Well, nice to meet you. Thank you for coming.”

“The pleasure was all mine.”

Twice today, Simon had met strange men. One had seemed kindly and the other creepy. They had both mentioned his parents and Simon had the distinct impression they didn’t mean the mother he was laying to rest today. I’m getting paranoid. There was one man who had been conspicuous by his absence. Simon felt the bile and his anger rising when he thought about it. He placed the beers in front of his friends and tried to smile.

“Who’s that creep?” Jamie asked.

“He looks like he’ll be next..,” Christian stopped in mid-sentence. “Sorry.” His pale face turned a bright red and he looked down sheepishly. For some reason that Simon couldn’t fathom he burst out laughing and his friends, at first hesitatingly, joined in.

****

Three days later, by which time Uncle Jack had sobered up and recovered from his hangover, the key family members gathered at the lawyer’s office for the reading of the will. Great Aunt Maud clucked around organising everyone into appropriate seats. She placed Simon right at the back, in a corner. She was his mother’s father’s sister and had never married. I expect that she never found the perfect man. She seemed to be of indeterminate age and indeterminate sex; though Simon felt that she must be ancient and a woman beneath her grey pinstriped trouser suit. Uncle Jack had explained how the family money from her brother had bypassed her to his mother. Now, since Simon was not a blood relation, she expected to get her hands on it at last.

Mr Jennings, his mother’s solicitor, was an avuncular man. His mother had always spoken warmly of him. With his trim moustache and balding head, he reminded Simon of a certain Belgian detective of long ago. Simon enjoyed classical crime thrillers and was thinking about a good role for Maud, preferably involving poison, when Mr Jennings cleared his throat and brought the gathering to order.

Before he could speak, Maud interrupted. “Please be brief, Jennings, we simply need to know who gets what. I have an appointment at the Estate Agents in ten minutes. I have a property to put on the market.”

Mr Jennings appeared to roll his eyes. “Well, if that’s alright by the rest of you?” He paused and stared at them. No one was game to challenge Great Aunt Maud. “In that case, I shall cut to the chase. The will is extremely simple.” Maud turned her head and Simon could see her smiling – an almost unique occurrence.

“With the exception of a few personal items, which have specific bequests, all of Mrs Redhead’s estate, including her house, is to be sold and the proceeds placed in a trust fund, to be administered by myself.” Mr Jennings paused and Simon could hear the grunt that emanated from the middle front-row seat. “The trust is to be used for a single purpose. If I may read the actual words from Mrs Redhead’s will: The trust fund is to be used to support my son Simon until such time as he is established as a qualified doctor of medicine. I gave you that pledge Simon and I intend to honour it. After that time, any residual funds are to be donated to the Australian Cancer Centre. I know that there will be some family members who are disappointed by this,” Jenkins stopped for effect and looked over the top of his glasses at Maud. “But I assure you that this is by far the best use to which the money can be put.”

Jenkins folded the document and smiled. Uncle Jack gave Simon a friendly punch on the arm. A number of unladylike obscenities seemed to emerge from the front row. Simon was sure he heard the word bastard used several times. Great Aunt Maud, with a face like thunder, stormed out of the room and out of Simon’s life, he hoped forever.

****

In three years, he hadn’t seen Great Aunt Maud again, but the memory of her reaction to the will made him smile and helped to fight back against the depression that threatened to overwhelm him. Simon raised himself out of bed and staggered into the shower. The jets of cool water felt good. They seemed to do more than simply cleanse his body; he began to feel inwardly refreshed as well. His thoughts turned to the irony of his situation. Here I am, a medical student, with plenty of gynaecological experience, and yet I’m still a virgin. He thumped the shower wall in anger, as once again he cursed his awkward shyness with the opposite sex. I’m pathetic! As he slowly dried himself, he toyed with the idea of using the services of a prostitute. The idea had certain merit in fantasy and raised expectations again in his young body, but in the cold reality of his scientific brain, it seemed expensive, impersonal, and dangerous. I’m not that desperate, yet!

He pulled on a crumpled pair of jeans, tee shirt and sweater. His tall and skinny body had the effect of making most clothes he wore look like they were hanging on a beanpole scarecrow. His choice of green shirt and yellow sweater, combined with his hair made him think of a traffic light, which raised his spirits immensely. He perused the room for something edible that would serve as breakfast. A half-eaten simuburger appeared to be the only sustenance on offer. He quickly rejected that in favour of tea and a simubacon roll at his local café. If I hurry, I still might make the first lecture. It was important, because it covered caesarean sections, and he would have to assist with his first before too much longer. He looked forward to that with the sort of cold dread an actor must have before their first night. Am I really cut out to be a surgeon? He smiled at his pun. I might have more luck as a stand-up comedian.

Strangely, he felt more cheerful than he had for some time, as he left his rooms. The persistent dreams that had been troubling him more and more lately were almost forgotten. It was a warm, autumn day and the early sunshine felt good on his back. The café was almost deserted when he got there. He ordered quickly and sat at the bar to await his food. The entertainment panel was set to blare out raucous pop music, as usual. The interruption for a news flash surprised him. The news that was delivered shocked him. Muslim forces were invading Australia. It appeared to be part of a major world offensive. The planet was on the brink of the third world war. Australia’s vast open spaces and valuable resources had long been coveted by the populous countries to the north. They were now taking them by force. The announcer was contemplating the west countenancing the nuclear option as Simon’s new-found cheerfulness evaporated.

His hunger and the half-finished simubacon roll forgotten, Simon left the café. There was commotion in the street. It seemed that panic was already beginning to grip. Groups of people seemed to be milling backwards and forwards with seemingly no clear idea of where they were going. Simon felt the familiar throbbing in his temples that heralded the start of a migraine. Damn, I must go home, take some pills, and try to sleep it off. He had barely started to move when the first wave of nausea hit him. He doubled over in agony and when he straightened up, everything seemed to be a blur. He felt as if he were slipping out of the real world. People became fuzzy, noises were muffled, and cars passed by in blurs of colour like streaks on an artist’s canvas. What the hell’s happening to me?

“Take a grip,” he muttered to himself. He tried to breathe deeply and focus. Nothing changed; his world was a blur. As he began to stumble forward, something caught his eye. Across the road, on the corner, leaning against a lamppost as casual as you like stood a small boy – totally in focus amongst the blur. Simon did a double take and stared at him, uncaring of the reaction he might cause. As he looked more closely, he corrected himself. Not a boy at all, but a very short man. He was no more than four feet high, solidly built with a huge stomach that was barely concealed by the large dark coat he was wearing. Perhaps the most striking feature though was his head. He was wearing a wide brimmed hat with a large white feather pinned to its brim. Under the hat, a pair of large blue eyes seemed to reflect the wonder that he was seeing in the world. The hat could not hide the shock of black curls that tumbled from his head as though trying to escape confinement. His nose was positively aquiline, giving him a look of arrogant superiority that overlaid whatever his true feelings might be.

Simon seemed drawn to him in a strange sort of way. I feel like I ought to know him, but I have never seen him before in my life. He would surely have remembered such a character. As if drawn by a magnet, Simon began to walk toward the strange fellow. The cars on the street still seemed blurry, but he was able to make them out well enough to attempt to cross the road. As he approached the junction, he became aware of the noise of a vehicle that seemed louder and faster than the rest. He looked up in time to see it bearing down on him at high speed. Although the vehicle was a blur, the driver wasn’t. At that moment, the sight of that face imprinted itself on his memory. Not so much the face, more the eyes, black and evil, and the mouth curving upwards in a sickly grin.

It all happened so quickly. I’m going to die, without ever sleeping with a woman. I recognise that man. All of a sudden, the strange fellow from across the street was beside him, pushing him clear. He stumbled and fell, hearing the sickly thud of flesh and bone being crushed and the roar of a car being driven away at high speed. Simon passed out. I may not have got you this time, but I soon will. Your days are numbered red boy! Uncle Dring never lies. The words appeared in his mind as he slipped into unconsciousness and the echoes were still there when he awoke.

He came to in the ambulance. His vision seemed normal again and the migraine had gone. A knock on the head must have done me some good. “How are you feeling?” The warm voice of the female ambulance officer greeted him. “You were very lucky,” she continued without giving him a chance to respond, “by all accounts you should have died today.” They seemed strange words for an ambulance officer, but these were strange times for sure and they summed up nicely his recollections of the past few minutes. Your days are numbered red boy! The thought echoed in his mind.

“I’m feeling fine, there’s really no need for you to take me to hospital,” he tried to smile but it must have looked very forced. “The man who saved me, how is he? What happened to him?” The concern was evident in Simon’s voice. Who was that man? Why did he save me?

“Don’t you be concerning yourself over that, now. We’ll get you to hospital and they’ll give you a good checking over. Then the police will want to talk to you, I’m guessing. They’ll be able to fill you in on the details better than me.”

Their arrival at the hospital prevented any further questions. Simon was generally fussed over and received a full body scan. At last, a young doctor came to talk to him. “Well, young man,” he began, “you have had a very lucky escape. All the test results are negative. If you feel up to it, you’re free to go home.”

Simon felt fine. In fact, he felt better than he’d felt for some time. I wonder why I’m feeling so good? Perhaps I should ask the doctor? Better not. “Thanks, Doctor, I’ll do that,” he said. “Can you please tell me what happened to the man who saved me?”

The doctor brushed off his question. “There’s a police officer waiting to see you outside. I’m sure he’ll be able to help you. The sister will look after your discharge after the policeman has seen you.” He hurried off.

Simon didn’t have to wait long for the police officer to arrive. A young, male detective constable questioned him at length about the accident. Simon told him everything he could remember, except the bits about his blurred vision, the details of the strange fellow's appearance, and the driver. In reality, Simon told him very little, but repeatedly questioned him about the man who had saved him. Why won’t they tell me?

Eventually the police officer gave in. “It’s very strange,” the detective spoke slowly, seeming to pick his words carefully, “there were several eye witnesses who confirm your version of the events. In fact, they all saw the small man crushed by the car. His head was smashed to a pulp. He couldn’t have survived. However, by the time the emergency services arrived, his body was nowhere to be found.”

Simon said nothing. He felt sick again. The thought of a stranger giving his life to save Simon’s was anathema to him. The pain in his head began to rise again. I can’t handle this. I must get home to bed. He accepted the hospital’s offer of a taxi home. Thankfully, the driver was quiet, focussed on the radio news. First reports were coming in of Indonesian forces landing in Australia. Rumours suggested that Darwin had already fallen. The Prime Minister was due to address the nation later that evening. Simon ran from the taxi, up the steps and fumbled with his keys as he struggled to get inside and hide as quickly as possible. He hoped that sleep would help his troubled mind, except sleep would probably bring the dreams. Please, I can’t handle the dreams on top of everything else.

In his dreams, Simon was somewhere else that seemed like another world. He was always looking for something, but he could never remember what it was. And there were people, evil people looking for him. People who wanted to kill him. People with eyes like the driver of the car. He shuddered at the realisation. Goosebumps welled up on his arms as he realised something else. In his dreams, he had a friend who repeatedly saved him from the evil ones. That friend was short and dumpy and wore a wide brimmed hat with a white feather. He had the brightest blue eyes, curly black hair, and the beakiest nose you’d ever seen. He’d saved Simon’s life today in the real world and given his own in return. I must be going crazy.

For a moment, Simon wondered if he were really going mad. Then, as he entered his bed sitting room he realised he most surely had. The strange fellow was waiting for him, sitting on his bed, idly flicking through one of Simon’s medical textbooks as if to pass the time.

“About time you got here,” the little man said in a resonant voice that suggested a stature at least twice as high as its reality. “I haven’t got all day, you know!”

News from Afar

“Who are.., what are.., why, how..?” Simon stuttered a whole range of meaningless questions. He stared at the apparition sitting on his bed. He didn’t know whether to be afraid of him and run away or to thank him warmly for saving his life. I’m certain that I’m going crazy. Take me to the funny farm.

“You don’t know me, do you?” The strange fellow asked. “Curse that Manfred; he never gives me enough information to work with. I felt sure we would have met before in this dimension. I’m sorry if I startled you, Simon, but time is critical.” He jumped up from the bed, removed his hat and made a deep bow, flourishing his hat as he did so. “My name is Jhamed al Suraqi, companion to heroes, dogsbody to wizards and general layabout. I am here on an errand of the utmost importance to you, me, wizards and probably the entire multiverse. Your presence is requested on FirstWorld for an urgent meeting of the Council of the Wise. Beats me why they call themselves that, half of them couldn’t think straight if you nailed them to a plank – actually the plank would probably be able to contribute more. I’m babbling again, aren’t I?”

Simon was astounded. First, this Jhamed should be dead. Second, when had they met before? Third, why was he in Simon’s dreams? Fourth, what or where on earth was FirstWorld? Fifth, what was the Council of the Wise? … Nineteenth, why was Simon invited?

Jhamed watched Simon’s confusion with interest. “I suppose you have a few questions? You usually do.”

“Actually, I have nineteen; make that twenty. What do you mean I usually do?” Simon finally managed a reply. “But first tell me how you are alive after a dozen people saw you with your head squashed on the pavement like a melon? Oh, and thank you very much for saving my life like that. I’m really very grateful; it’s just that I’m so confused.” Simon tailed off.

Jhamed sat down and replaced his hat, stuffing handfuls of curls inside it.

“Why don’t you get a haircut?” Simon asked.

“Is that one of your twenty questions?” Jhamed smiled.

Simon smiled too. The strange fellow had a way of making him feel at ease. He knew he hadn’t met him before but he felt like he had known him all of his life. “I don’t know why, but I feel comfortable and safe with you, Jhamed. Safer than with anyone I have ever known, except perhaps my mother; well my adoptive mother.”

Jhamed held up a hand. “Stop right there, young man. We’ve no time for one of your melancholy reminiscences. In any case, I’ve heard it all a million times before.” He gave Simon a big wink as he said this. “Look, time is very critical. How about I give you a quick run-down? The potted history, so to speak. Then we’ll get out of here and Manfred will fill in all of the details when we get to FirstWorld?”

“I may feel safe with you. But I’m not going anywhere. Haven’t you heard, Indonesia has invaded? World War III is about to start. And where the hell is this FirstWorld anyway? The airports are all closed, there’s no way to travel.”

Jhamed sighed and then took a deep breath. “I can see this is going to be one of those difficult times. I don’t know why I don’t just kidnap you, sometimes. It would be just as effective and much less effort. OK let me have a go. I bet I can get at least fifteen of your twenty questions. It’s the obscure ones, like the haircut, that get me every time.”

Jhamed spoke for the next ten minutes. Simon tried to take it all in and refrained from asking questions. “You can close your mouth now, I’ve finished,” Jhamed concluded. “I don’t suppose you’ve anything to drink? My throat is as dry as a crutchet’s armpit after all this talking. By the way, I enjoyed the food you left out for me when I arrived.” He indicated the now empty simuburger wrapper.

Simon sighed and poured Jhamed a glass of water. “Sorry, it’s all I’ve got. I’m a poor student you know. What’s a crutchet? Every time you open your mouth, you make me think of a dozen more questions. No, wait, don’t tell me. Let me try to tell you what’s going on. See whether I got it straight. OK?”

Jhamed nodded and downed the glass of water in one go. He followed up with a loud burp, but said nothing, indicating with his hand that Simon should continue.

Simon took a deep breath and began. “You saved my life this afternoon and were killed for your trouble. Did I thank you properly?”

Jhamed frowned. “Yes, get on with it, we don’t have all night!”

Simon continued, “There’s this thing called the multiverse, which means that the universe has other dimensions with alternative realities that are somehow interlinked. You were killed, but you are from an alternate universe so it wasn’t you but another version of you that was killed. When you, or rather he, died, his body was pulled back to his own dimension. You’ve been travelling through the dimensions finding different versions of me because your wizard mate Manfred has some crazy theory that I’m a superhero who will save the world. Now you want me to leave my dimension and come back with you to some place called FirstWorld and meet this Manfred guy who’ll explain everything and we’ll all live happily ever after. How’s that?”

Jhamed smiled. “You were paying attention. I like that, a succinct summary. I might write it down and use it myself next time. All except the happily ever after bit.”

“I was going to ask about why you have to keep finding me in different dimensions and why that guy in the car was trying to kill me?”

“The problem is,” Jhamed paused, whether for effect or because he was choosing his words, Simon didn’t know. “The problem is, that there are two sides out there. Two opposing forces, and the other guys are after you as well. The other problem is that when they find you they kill you. You are getting very hard to find. You might even be the last one of you left alive in the entire multiverse.”

Simon went even paler than normal, if that was possible. “You mean, I’m dead if I stay here and dead if I come with you? Some choice. How do we get to FirstWorld anyway?”

“I think that the Council of the Wise might live up to their name this time. They can’t afford to lose you. You have a very important task to perform. Don’t ask me, I don’t know what it is. I’m a mushroom, only given what I need to know. There are certain links between the dimensions, if you know where to look. That’s my skill; I know where to look. At other times, one or more dimensions touch for brief periods; that’s probably the explanation for most ghost sightings. Anyway, with the links, you have to navigate carefully. It might take us a thousand dimensions to get back to FirstWorld, and some of them are not very nice, I can tell you. Some people, a very very few, have the ability to move between the dimensions at will. Wizards have very limited ability in this area; thank the Balance they have some limitations, or they would be completely insufferable. Anyway, as I was saying, some people have the innate ability to move between dimensions. There are very few left alive in any of the dimensions. You are one of the few, maybe the last.”

Simon looked at Jhamed incredulously. “Now I know I’m either mad or asleep and having a nightmare.” I have never been out of Australia, let alone out of my dimension. I don’t know what you’ve been smoking, but you are one crazy guy!”

Jhamed seemed resigned to his task. “At least I can be consoled by the thought that this may be the last recovery of Simon Redhead that I’ll ever have to make. You can’t imagine how boring this providing proof routine becomes. Things are critical. We don’t have time for all this!”

Simon sat down on the chair and stared at Jhamed. “I don’t believe you. I’ve had a bad day. I’m in shock. I’m going to sleep and you’ll go away. Or I’ll wake up and you’ll go away. In any case, go away!”

Jhamed slowly rose to his feet. He made to move towards the door. Simon never saw the syringe that was hidden in his coat. He never saw Jhamed dart the syringe into his leg but he felt the jab and the sleepiness that came over him before he could complain. He never saw the Prime Minister’s broadcast because he was unconscious. It was probably just as well. The Prime Minister announced that Darwin, Cairns and Townsville had fallen to the enemy. Brisbane was being evacuated. Australia was drawing a line in the sand north of Newcastle. The United States had agreed on support. If the enemy crossed the line, they risked nuclear reprisals.

Dungeons and Damsels

Simon slept like a drunk. No dreams disturbed his slumber. He was unaware that Jhamed had dumped him unceremoniously into a large hessian sack, that formed part of his emergency travelling supplies for just such a contingency, and dragged him to the nearest dimension portal, cursing under his breath. Had he been able to hear he would have caught the words Redhead and Manfred loosely dispersed between the foulest profanities. Despite it all though, Jhamed loved his work.

When Simon awoke, he felt close to panic. Where the hell am I? What happened? Have I gone crazy? He was immediately assailed by a range of unpleasant sensations. His head throbbed painfully and his body ached, as though he had been lying in an uncomfortable position for a long time. A horrendous stench filled his nose and he retched as the foul tendrils caressed his nostrils. Above everything else, his ears were assailed by the screams and wails of people who seemed to be in perpetual agony.

He looked around and as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he became aware that he was in some sort of cave. The floor was sandy and the walls and ceiling were made of jagged grey rock, chipped and hewn as though by generations of human hands to smooth walls wherever they were in reach. He was sitting in a sort of alcove, his back to smoothly hewn rock with a low ceiling just above his head. For a moment, the panicked feeling of claustrophobia passed through him, but he managed to force it away. Stay calm. This is all a dream.

His nose though told him it was not a dream. The smell was abominable. It was a fetid animal smell, a mixture of unwashed bodies and excrement. Simon quickly realised that it was all the fouler because it was human. His throat was dry and he tasted the bile that rose from his stomach. He could taste the foul odours too, overpowering his taste buds like the Muslim invaders taking over his country. But the worst thing of all was the noise. The foul air was filled with the pathetic wailing of human beings screaming for help, begging for a taste of water or a mouthful of food, or beseeching their comrades to end their torment with the peace of death.

He stirred and looked around. Within his limited range of vision he saw at least twenty people, animals really, naked or dressed in a few remnants of rags. They were barely more than skin and bones, dull unseeing eyes sunk in bony sockets, all hope long since gone from their minds. They were waiting for the release from agony that only death can bring. They seemed to be keeping a respectable distance from him, considering how closely they were crammed together. Of Jhamed, there was no sign. Did I imagine him? What hell hole is this?

Simon suddenly became aware of someone beside him, so close as to be almost touching, but until now so still and silent he had taken the form for no more than an outcropping of the wall. The shape next to him moved a little and seemed to grumble to itself. Whoever it was was totally hidden beneath a full-length grey cloak. The figure moved some more and with a snort a head appeared. It was an old man – a very old man. His long hair and flowing beard were completely white. What little skin was visible through the hair and whiskers was grey and wrinkled like old parchment. But the thing that struck Simon the most was his eyes – pale green pools that suggested he had seen infinite sadness during his long life and yet deep inside he still held on to a faith and hope that things would get better. I never knew eyes could speak so loud.

“There are more things in heaven and earth, Simon, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” The old man smiled. “It’s about time you woke up. Jhamed always goes over the top with his knock-out drops.”

This is just another nightmare. I have seen you before. “You were at the funeral. Who are you? Where’s Jhamed?” Simon tried to talk without breathing too much of the fetid air and his voice came out as a croak. “And where on earth is this hell hole?” I’ve heard that saying before.

“My name is Manfred, although I have been known by many other names: Merlin, Mithrandir, Mutherion, to name a few. I imagine Jhamed told you something about me? I’m afraid this is not a nightmare; the Balance wish that it were. And I did give that line to a promising writer I came across at one time.”

“You can read my thoughts?” Shit, I must be careful what I think about!

“Only when we are in such close physical contact, I assure you. You needn’t worry. In any case, there are few things in this world or in any human’s mind that could shock me. Anyway, to answer your questions, Jhamed has gone ahead to scout out a route home. He had some problems finding a safe route for you, particularly since he had to carry you, as you were rather uncooperative, I gather. I had to come looking for you both and we had the good fortune, or misfortune, to meet up here.”

“Uncooperative? You’d be uncooperative if...” Simon’s protests were cut short by the sudden urgency in Manfred’s eyes.

“We are in the dungeons of Queen Freda in the Kingdom of Dishley. It is best not to speak of things in other planes of existence.” Manfred spoke softly so that only Simon could hear the words, or maybe he spoke directly into his mind, Simon wasn’t sure. “In this realm, Chaos holds sway. Dishley is a kingdom in name only. King Jack rules but Freda is the power behind the throne and she plots for the day her bastard son, Paul, will become king ahead of the rightful heir Prince Christopher. Anyone who crosses her or even speaks against her is thrown into this dungeon to rot. This is a one-way street. No one has ever left this dungeon and returned to the kingdom. Unfortunately, there is a link, a dimension portal, in here, which is why we ended up here. Jhamed is trying to find us a way out.”

Simon’s head throbbed, in pain and in disbelief. This morning had been an ordinary morning: Woke up, had a wank, wow that Julia, took a shower, headed for the café, ordered a simubacon roll… and the world went crazy. Despite everything, Simon’s thoughts triggered bodily responses. The thought of the unfinished simubacon roll made him realise how hungry he was and the thought of Julia triggered blood flow to a part of his anatomy over which he had little control. Manfred, still reading his thoughts, laughed aloud and the huge weight that he appeared to carry on his shoulders seemed to lift for a second. “By the Balance, I had forgotten the power of a young man’s hormones. It does an old man good to feel a passion he has not felt for many a long year.”

Simon realised what had happened and the blood now rushed to his face instead. The semi-darkness of the dungeon covered most of his embarrassment. The sudden return of Jhamed, who appeared to materialise out of thin air, saved him from further discussions on the matter.

“By the Balance, Manfred, this place is amongst the foulest fester holes in the multiverse. None of these poor souls has done anything to merit this disgusting treatment. You are a wizard, can’t you fix it?” Jhamed was so worked up, his fat belly wobbled uncontrollably and his black curls escaped from the containment of his broad-brimmed hat and cascaded down his face.

Manfred frowned. “It’s on my to-do list, Jhamed, but there’s just so much to do these days and so few heroes to help with the work. I fear that the time will soon come when it will be beyond my power to help anyone.” A dark cloud passed over his eyes as he spoke. Had Simon been paying attention, he would have seen the green pools fade to grey for a moment. But he was distracted.

Jhamed’s arrival had caused him to look up and he was studying the group of pitiful humans nearby. They eyed him enviously and he saw greed and hatred in their eyes. To them, Simon and his companions were as millionaires. They had clothes and perhaps other belongings, maybe even food hidden away. Simon shuddered as he realised what his fate might be in here without Manfred’s power to protect him. For he now realised that the prisoners held Manfred in awe and were afraid to approach too closely. As he watched he heard an old iron gate screech open, complaining on its rusty hinges. In the gloom, Simon could now make out the bars of the prison and the shapes of guards outside.

“You dared to speak ill of our beloved Queen Freda. Your property is forfeit to the Crown. Your life is forfeit to the Black Dungeon. You are cast to your fate. You will never walk in the air again. Be gone!”

Simon heard the door screech closed and then the ugly roar of the inmates as they realised they had a newcomer in their ranks. It was a sound that made Simon’s blood freeze and the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. It sounded like a pack of lions closing in on an injured antelope for the kill. All we need now is Satan and I’ll be convinced that this is Hell.

The guards had given the newcomer a push into the overcrowded dungeon and she came into Simon’s view. Simon gasped. She was the most beautiful girl that he had ever set eyes upon. She was tall and slim, with a tiny waist and small breasts that heaved in fear under a simple red gown. It looked like she had been taken from a soirée direct to the gaol. Her hair was long, straight, and jet-black. It framed an elfin face of such pure beauty that it made his heart lurch. Her eyes were the purest blue, shining like jewels against the milky whiteness of her skin. Her voluptuous lips were painted red. Around her neck, she wore a simple necklace that carried a small silver locket. Her mouth was frozen open. She wanted to scream but fear had robbed her of her voice. Her blue eyes were filled with terror and tears. Her expression pleaded for mercy.

The roar of the crowd grew louder as they realised what a pretty trinket had fallen into their midst. They stumbled over each other in their eagerness to get near her. Fists flew, fingers gouged eyes, knees and elbows found soft flesh; bones crunched, and lives ended as the filthy heaving mass surged forward to claim its prize.

Simon was in a trance, bewitched by her beauty and dismayed by her predicament and terror. Unthinking, he rose and moved towards her, pushing aside the weakened inmates who barred his way. He fought his way to her side. Their eyes met in a single moment of understanding. He embraced her in his arms and they stood together facing the crowd. Time seemed to stand still as they waited in the calm for the storm. I have found my soul mate. I am ready to die for her.

“Not again!” Jhamed exclaimed. “Are we doomed to spend our lives fighting for Simon’s five-minute lovers?”

Manfred only grunted and pulled himself to his feet. He extracted a simple wooden staff from within his cloak.

The baying of the crowd, which had reached fever pitch when Simon joined the girl, suddenly ceased. A pathway through the crowd parted as if by magic and a group of men pushed their way through to stand before Simon and the girl. The men were dressed in a strange assortment of clothes, obviously harvested from other inmates, and they made a strange sight amongst the near nakedness of the crowd. The men then stood aside, revealing the individual at the centre.

Simon recognised him immediately and shuddered. He was tall and gaunt with a sickly looking pallor but two things stood out in Simon’s mind – the eyes, black and evil, and the mouth curved upwards in a sickly grin. I may not have got you this time, but I soon will. Your days are numbered red boy. The words echoed in Simon’s mind. How can Uncle Dring be here?

“Well, well, what have we here?” The man’s voice was shrill and high-pitched. Like a crow or a raven, Simon thought. “What a pretty pair. A red boy whose days are numbered and a pretty little girl for Dring’s pleasure.” He leered at them both, displaying a mouthful of broken and rotting teeth. His foul breath made the background stench seem almost fragrant. “We shall have some fun tonight, my cronies. Oh yes, we shall.” He licked his lips and stretched out a thin spindly hand towards the girl’s face. Simon moved himself between them to shield the girl and the hand touched him instead, on his cheek.

It was as though a huge shock of static electricity surged between the two of them. Dring shot backwards with a puzzled look on his face and was only prevented from falling in an undistinguished heap by his cronies. Simon felt cold, the deepest darkest feeling of cold he had ever felt. His face felt numbed, worse than any dentist visit.

“He is the one, then,” Jhamed said excitedly.

“So it would seem,” Manfred replied, drawing himself up to his full height and brandishing his staff.

Dring recovered his composure quickly. “Even better,” he shrieked, “my master will secure my release for this pretty red boy.” He turned to his cronies. “Kill the boy! Bring the girl to me, unharmed. You may have your fun with her later.”

“Not so fast, Dring!” The voice was loud and powerful. It seemed too big for the frail white-haired man from which it emanated. “Your master will not reward you tonight, but I will secure your release.”

Manfred seemed to grow in stature. He stood tall and proud, brandishing a multi-hued staff emblazoned with strange runes. A bolt of blue lightning appeared from the end of Manfred’s staff and lanced towards Dring, surrounding him in its fury, lifting him off his feet, and depositing him in a heap of cinders on the sandy floor of the dungeon.

“Be gone the rest of you, lest you also taste Manfred’s wrath.” The cronies disappeared into the crowd. Manfred sighed and appeared old and frail again. “I don’t like to kill, but he was already dead and his destruction today may have saved him from eternal damnation.”

“He was undead, then?” Jhamed asked. “It’s lucky you were here or we might not have left here today or ever.”

“Perhaps, although there is great power in that one.” He pointed to Simon. “Although he knows not how to use it yet. Did you see the force with which he repelled the undead one?”

Simon led the girl over to where Manfred and Jhamed were standing. The crowd parted to let them through. He felt strange. His face was still numb from Dring’s deadly cold touch and the cold seemed to be seeping into his brain, numbing his thoughts, slowing him down. My brain is being eaten. I am going to die.

Manfred seemed less concerned. He took Simon’s head in both hands and looked deep into his eyes. Simon was mesmerised by the green pools. He seemed to be drawn inside Manfred’s mind, where he found himself on St Kilda Beach on a hot summer’s day. He was lying on the sand, face down so that he could observe the scantily clad young women without his excitement becoming obvious. The hot sun burned into the back of his head, forcing out the cold thoughts and thawing his frozen face. He came back to reality to hear Manfred’s voice telling him, “Lucky for you that I was here, otherwise your brain temperature would have fallen until all thought activity stopped. Then you would have been ready for reprogramming. With the right programming, you could have become an undead one like Dring.” Simon shuddered at the prospect, suddenly feeling very cold again.

Meanwhile Jhamed was fussing over the girl, making sure she was all right. When Simon had recovered enough to feel jealous, he forcefully introduced himself to the one whom he now believed was his intended soul mate. She is so beautiful. I love her. “Hi, I’m Si Si Simon.” It was all he could manage. I don’t know whether it’s the after effects of the freezing or because I’m so nervous. I’m such an idiot. Why can’t I be cool with girls? The blood once again rushed to Simon’s face.

The beautiful young woman smiled at him. Her teeth, like everything else about her, were perfect. “Thank you all for saving me. Especially you, Si Si Simon.” She blushed a little as their eyes met. “My name is Juliana. I am... I was... I used to work at the court of Queen Freda. I used to prepare her clothing and help her dress.”

“What crime did you commit to warrant this cesspit?” Jhamed asked the question they were all thinking.

“I was bold enough to suggest that she take Prince Christopher with her to a royal function. She went crazy. She screamed at me, accusing me of favouring Prince Christopher over Prince Paul. She called the guards and sent me here.”

“Things may be worse here than I thought.” Manfred sighed. His bent frame seemed to sag as if a great weight had been placed on his shoulders. “I shall endeavour to give it my priority. But there is a greater need that we must deal with first. We must leave here quickly. Jhamed, did you secure a route for us?”

Simon, who had been observing the exchange of information with incredulity, was roused from his stupor and jumped into the conversation before Jhamed could answer. “We will take Juliana with us, won’t we?”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Manfred said. “She does not have the power to use the dimension portal. If everyone had such power then this dungeon would be empty. There are many places in the multiverse worse than this place, but also many that are exceedingly better.”

Simon shivered. “The multiverse must be a terrible thing if there are places worse than this.”

Manfred continued. “However, we will provide Juliana with some protection until we can return and make more permanent amends here.” He smiled at her. “Come here child, don’t be afraid. Jhamed, do you have a knife?”

Jhamed produced a vicious looking knife from inside his left boot and Manfred took it gingerly from him and with great care used it to cut off a lock of his long grey hair. Gently, he removed the locket from Juliana’s neck, opened it, and placed the hair inside. He mumbled something in a strange language before replacing the locket around her neck. “No one will trouble you while you wear this. Keep it around your neck at all times. Jhamed will leave you some supplies; keep them close to you, and be of good cheer for we shall return soon.”

Simon was about to say something about the wisdom of leaving a defenceless girl in such a place, especially one he found as beautiful as Juliana, but Manfred’s glare stopped the words in his throat. Instead, he turned his gaze to Juliana and their eyes locked for an instant. It seemed to Simon that time stood still. No words were spoken, but there was more communication in that instant than he had ever had with another before in his life. As Jhamed manhandled him away, he reluctantly broke their eye contact. She is my soul mate. I love her. My heart aches for her. I would die for her.

The thoughts stayed with him as a smell of pine needles replaced the rank odour of the dungeon and Simon, Manfred and Jhamed found themselves in the middle of a pine forest. Yet beneath those thoughts, there was another one. Simon realised it had been there all the time he had been in the dungeon but there had been so much going on it had eluded his consciousness. Now it nagged at him. I am here. Come for me.

Simon was overwhelmed with a series of different emotions – relief to be out of the dungeon, sadness bordering on grief, to have left Juliana behind, and total confusion as to what was happening to him. Am I crazy? Not for the first or last time today, he asked himself that question.

His sense of confusion and disorientation only became worse as he was bundled along between Manfred and Jhamed. No sooner were they in the clean air and dappled light of the pine forest than they were in the middle of a hustling city night with thick vehicle fumes that made him retch. Next, they were stumbling through a frozen, snow-covered land where an icy wind chilled him to the bone. Then that too was gone, replaced by a wasteland of ash and dry heat that made his skin crawl. Just as the heat was becoming unbearable, they stumbled into a cool clearing in another forest. This time, old oak trees with new green leaves provided shade from a weak springtime sun. Birds were singing and nearby the sound of flowing water seemed to soothe Simon’s tortured soul. He fell to the ground and lay there, mentally and physically exhausted.

“Welcome to FirstWorld,” said Jhamed, proud of his navigating skills.

“Welcome, indeed,” said Manfred. “Now the work really begins!”

A Word with the Wise

The next few days were a blur to Simon. He remembered that they camped the first night in the clearing. Jhamed had made a fire and had caught and roasted some rabbits. That was the best meal I have ever eaten. I was so hungry. Next day they had walked and walked until Simon felt that he could walk no more. They had passed through wooded countryside and saw no one until late in the day when they came across a few tilled fields and isolated farm dwellings.

The people welcomed Manfred like a prodigal son and that night they slept in a warm barn on fresh straw and feasted with the farmer and his family. Simon had never known that simple food could taste so good. They ate whole roasted suckling pig, with the crunchiest, most mouth-watering crackling Simon had ever tasted. It was so much better than the simulated meat he ate at home. The sweet potatoes and parsnips were roasted to perfection, caramelised, but not burnt. Dessert was just stewed apples and cream, but nothing had prepared Simon for the ultimate creaminess his over-indulged taste buds experienced.

As he felt the soft balm of sleep begin to embrace him, Simon thought back over the last few incredible days. He still couldn’t bring himself to believe his situation; he still thought he would wake up in his tiny flat and continue with his equally tiny life. What’s happening in my world? Will I ever see it again? Has World War III started? As he drifted towards sleep, he thought about Juliana and how much she reminded him of his classmate Julia. The thoughts had an immediate physical effect and he contemplated relieving the tension in his body, but sleep won the battle of wills. There’s always the morning.

Next morning, Simon awoke to the smell of fresh bread and this time his stomach won the battle of wills. He bathed, shivering, in an old tin bath in the barn and found his clothes, washed and dried, waiting for him when he finished. He made his way to the house. Jhamed and Manfred were already dressed and ravenously tucking into chunks of fresh bread with assorted cheeses and cold meats. Simon sat down with them and joined in. For several minutes, the only sound to be heard was the munching of three hungry men.

Jhamed finished first, stretched back on the rear two legs of his chair and belched loudly as he dusted the crumbs out of his beard. “There’s something to be said for FirstWorld hospitality, that’s for sure. We should stay here another day and rest up. Simon looks like he needs some feeding up, he’s as thin as a Menubian harlot.” He burped loudly again.

Manfred smiled. “We have a meeting to attend tomorrow. We must get to Wizards’ Keep today. That means another long day of walking. And he’s too ugly to be a Menubian harlot.”

Jhamed let out a huge “Harrumph!” Unfortunately, he was in the middle of swigging a mug of fresh goat’s milk. He coughed and spluttered as part of the milk went down the wrong way. “I see you’ve little experience of Menubian harlots then,” he spluttered, after spraying a mouthful of milk in Simon’s direction.

Simon managed to dodge most of the white spray. “Hey, watch out, these clothes have just been washed. Where’s Menubia? What’s Wizards’ Keep? What meeting are we going to? Do we have to walk all day, again?” I’m not sure I can manage it again.

“Does Redhead never stop asking questions?” Jhamed laughed, pulling on his wide brimmed floppy hat and roughly stuffing his long curls inside it. “Better be ready to move, my lad, the road is long and Manfred is a hard task master.”

“Patience, Simon,” said Manfred. “All of your questions will be answered at Wizards’ Keep. It is an ancient place, built at the beginning of the world for a special purpose that I shall explain when the wise and our other invited guests are all assembled there. There are so few of the wise left, these days. We are as ancient as the Keep. Sometimes it shows.” It seemed to take a huge effort for Manfred to pull himself to his feet. His back was hunched and he looked no more than skin and bones inside his grey cloak, which he pulled around himself to ward off the early chill of the spring morning.

Simon stood too. He was still dressed in jeans, tee shirt and sweater, but he had a cloak of sorts, fashioned out of hessian, that kept the worst of the cold at bay. It seemed that Jhamed’s tools served many purposes. They made to leave, seeking out the old farmer and his wife to say their goodbyes and express their thanks. However, the farmer surprised them again with one final act of generosity. Soon they were on their way, though in a deal more comfort than they had anticipated. The wagon was crude and the single horse that pulled it old, but it seemed like a Rolls Royce to Simon. Moreover, they had a basket packed with more of the excellent food to keep them sustained on the last part of their journey.

Jhamed drove, or at least held the reins for it seemed that the horse knew the best route to take and the optimum speed at which to travel. Manfred sat in the front of the wagon and seemed to alternate between dozing and sucking on an old briar pipe, although he burned nothing in the bowl. Simon lay in the back of the wagon, cushioned on a layer of straw, and watched the sky. It looked the same colour blue as the sky he was familiar with and the clouds were the same fluffy white; but he now accepted that he wasn’t dreaming or insane, that he had travelled somewhere else, to a different dimension of the multiverse. I’m going to have an adventure, so I’d better make the most of it. In the front of the wagon, Manfred smiled.

Even with the wagon, it took them the better part of the day to get to Wizards’ Keep. As they got closer to The Keep, the number of farms began to increase. Then small villages began to spring up along their route. They began to pass more and more people, going about the daily routine of their lives. It all seemed rather surreal to Simon, like something from long in the past. There was a sort of slowness to their lifestyle that he couldn’t put his finger on, as if no one ever hurried here for anything. And there was also a sense of peace and of safety that increased the closer they came to The Keep. Simon felt a sense of tranquillity that he had never felt before. He was so relaxed that he could barely keep his eyes open, so he sat up and observed his surroundings closely.

Jhamed guided the wagon through the cobbled streets of the town of Elannort that surrounded Wizards’ Keep. It was an old town and had seen little change for many centuries. The buildings were simple single or double storey structures made from wood and the local grey stone. Most households were decorated with colourful shutters and stone pots by the front door filled with herbs or flowering plants.

Elannort was built in a circle. The main road weaved its way through the streets in an ever-decreasing spiral towards the centre. Straight roads ran outwards from the centre, regularly intersecting the main spiral. At each intersection, there was a collection of commercial buildings. Shops sold fresh produce from the surrounding farms or offered services such as blacksmith or cooper. Public houses provided food, ale and accommodation at reasonable prices for the weary traveller and locals alike. The garrulous pubs advertised themselves with huge colourful signs and expressive names such as “The Prancing Pony”, “Wizard’s End”, “The Elf and the Unicorn”, and “The Five Dwarves”.

The streets were busy with other cart traffic and people riding horses as well as many individuals and groups on foot. An army of street cleaners, completely dressed in green, ensured that the many piles of horse droppings and any other litter were promptly removed. Most people took little notice of the wagon as it passed, though some waved or called out greetings to Manfred. The people seemed to be well dressed and well fed. There was a general atmosphere of contentment in the air.

As the street circle narrowed, they also began to climb gently, until the road widened and straightened into a long avenue. At first, the avenue was crowned by huge oak trees, whose branches towered above the road, entwining in an ancient embrace and providing a canopy, pale green with new leaves. The trees gave way to a series of statues and monuments on both sides of the road. There were many statues of men who appeared to be warriors, but many others who appeared to be bent and wizened old men, rather like Manfred. Seven of the wizard statues were much larger than the others and seemed to dominate the rest. There were also many pedestals, standing empty and forlorn as if waiting for warriors and wizards who were yet to be. It was as if a deep fog had lifted as Simon’s gaze was drawn along the avenue, which still climbed, now more steeply, to the building sitting on a mound at the centre of Elannort. He gasped aloud and his mouth fell open in awe, unable to frame the words that he sought. Why didn’t I see it sooner? It’s magnificent.

“It is said that your reaction to your first view of Melasurej, more commonly called The Wizards’ Keep, allows the wise to judge your true spirit. Some men fear it, others want to own or conquer it. Some would worship it, or what it stands for, or what they think it stands for. Some want to destroy it. You have passed another test, Simon Redhead. You shall be welcomed with honour at Wizards’ Keep.” Manfred spoke with a solemnity that surprised Simon.

Before them, in stark contrast to the simple structures of the surrounding town, the enormous building grew into the sky. Its roots were fastened to the bedrock of the central mound but its spires disappeared into the darkening evening sky. The building was jet black but seemed polished and mirror-like, as if fashioned from obsidian. It had many parts, but all seemed to grow out of a central domed section. Simon couldn’t see too much of the ground level detail because a substantial wall of local grey stone surrounded the Keep. Ahead of them towered a huge pair of gates, constructed of polished timber and wrought iron that Simon estimated must be at least twenty metres high.

Jhamed brought the wagon to a halt in front of the gates. Manfred gingerly descended. Simon wasn’t sure whether it was the cart or Manfred’s joints that were creaking. Manfred withdrew his staff from inside his cloak and tapped twice on the doors as he muttered some strange words in a language Simon didn’t recognise. Moving inwards, the doors swung soundlessly open into an immaculately kept courtyard. It was completely deserted. There was no sign as to who had opened the gates for them.

“Take Simon and show him his quarters. I will walk from here; there is much to be done before the meeting. Have the stable look after the horse and cart, and organise its return to its owner after a few days rest. And be prepared to leave at a moment’s notice.” Manfred turned and with a sprightly turn of speed disappeared into the distance.

“Yes my lord.” Jhamed spoke sarcastically and gave a low mock bow to the retreating wizard. In doing so he flourished his hat and his wayward curls spilled all over his face like champagne gushing out of a bottle. “Dogsbody to wizards, that’s all I’ll ever be. Be ready to leave at a moment’s notice; so what’s new? A rest, some decent grub, and a bit of peace and quiet would be nice for a change. But that would be too much to ask, wouldn’t it? Come on, Redhead, welcome to Wizards’ Keep; I’ll show you the ropes.”

Simon’s initial impression of Elannort was that it was a town living in the middle ages, lacking any of the technology he took for granted in twenty-first century Australia. His first impression of Wizards’ Keep was one of immense age, almost as if it were forged out of the bedrock itself. As Jhamed gave him a tour of just part of the Keep, he became more and more confused. The Keep seemed to be an eclectic mixture of extremely ancient and very modern. There was technology here that was far ahead of anything Simon had seen before. It appeared, for example that the whole town had a reticulated water and power system, emanating from a small room in the basement, with no sign of a reservoir or generator. He was bursting with curiosity about what Elannort truly was and pestered Jhamed until he got an answer.

“Is it always more questions with you? Don’t bother; I know the answer to that. You really should wait for Manfred’s explanation, I’m sure he’ll tell you everything tomorrow. And remember, I’m a dogsbody, I know jack. All I know is this. Elannort is a very special place. It has existed since the Beginning. It exists only on FirstWorld but there are shadows of Melasurej in other dimensions of the multiverse. Men seek them out everywhere as places of power and peace; although they are often fought over relentlessly. I have felt such shadows in places called Tanelorn, Jerusalem and Camelot across the dimensions. Only on FirstWorld has it existed in peace and harmony, as it is supposed to. There is an old prophecy; only fragments exist; it dates from before the Beginning. It is written that the End will come when the final battle for Elannort is fought. The armies of Law and Chaos will fight a great battle and the winner will claim all of FirstWorld, and maybe the entire multiverse, for eternity. It will surely be hell on earth. I hope that I do not live to see such days, but I fear that they are almost upon us.”

Jhamed’s sombre mood affected Simon too. He tried to cheer his new-found friend. “Well, the new hero won’t let that happen! Why not give Elannort to the good guys, and everyone can live happily ever after?”

Jhamed snorted. His aquiline nose enhanced the sneer that betrayed his face. “Don’t you get it? We are the only good guys, and there are few of us left. I have seen worlds dominated by Law and they are every bit as bad as those gone over to Chaos. Think of your own world. Hitler was a servant of Law; he sought perfection, a world of total order that complied with his rigid rules.”

Simon shivered. If Hitler represented Law, whom did Churchill serve? What about the USA and its fundamentalist Christians? Which side did Islam represent? My brain hurts.

Jhamed seemed to sense Simon’s thoughts, or perhaps they had had this conversation before. “It’s not always clear cut, Simon. Not everyone has to choose between Law and Chaos. There is a third way: the way of Balance. Anyway, enough for today. We must get fed and rested for tomorrow.”

While Jhamed had been showing Simon around The Keep he had introduced him to many of the staff who worked there. They were led to the bedchambers and given elegant interconnecting rooms. Simon felt like he must be in a seven star hotel, except he had never stayed in one and had little with which to compare his current accommodation. The bed was a four-poster with fancy drapes and a down-filled quilt over satin sheets. The en-suite bathroom had all the conveniences of the twenty-first century, yet his room lacked any modern gadgets with the exception of electric lighting and underfloor heating. It is so weird. What sort of crazy place is this? A mixture of ancient and modern. Other staff brought them a sumptuous feast, based on local produce, with a bottle of fine red wine. As they ate, they chatted about this and that as if they were old friends, totally comfortable in each other’s company. After dinner, Simon took a long relaxing bath and slipped into his soft bed. He slept long and woke completely refreshed. For the first time in ages he was untroubled by dreams.

Next morning, he found there were new clothes laid out for him. As he dressed, he felt like he was donning a new skin, beginning a new part of his life – a part that had been preordained for him. Why do I feel like this? Is it this place? Does it affect people like Manfred said? After dressing, he looked at himself in the ornate full-length mirror that took pride of place on one wall of his room. He was startled by his reflection. His face, still rather pale but now tanned by the exposure to so much sun, seemed more handsome than he remembered. His bright orange hair was now long and flowing. Must be good conditioner. I don’t think I’ll cut it just yet. His frame, while still tall and skinny, seemed to suit the leather trousers with the large silver-buckled belt, long-sleeved white cotton shirt, and leather jerkin. He pulled on long boots, hung a woollen cloak around his shoulders, and fastened it with a silver brooch that matched his belt buckle. He stole another glance in the mirror before heading off in search of Jhamed and breakfast. What a handsome devil. Simon smiled.

Both Manfred and Jhamed made approving noises when he found them. “You just need one more thing, to set off your outfit,” Jhamed said. Simon looked at him questioningly.

“Enough, Jhamed!” Manfred interrupted. “There’ll be time for that later. You may accompany Simon to the meeting today. I have a feeling that your destinies are closely intertwined and you have the right to hear first-hand things that will affect you deeply.”

For perhaps the first time in his life, Jhamed was lost for words. Simon laughed, though and said, “That means you’ll be classed as one of the Wise! No more jokes at their expense.”

Manfred began as if to question exactly what jokes Jhamed had been making, but clearly thought better of it. “Be in the Great Hall in one hour from now,” he ordered before hurrying away.

They were the first to arrive. When they entered the Great Hall, Simon felt as though they were entering a cross between a great cathedral and a movie set filming Arthurian Legend. The room was enormous and occupied the whole of the domed section of The Keep. The ceiling of the dome towered at least fifty metres above them. The room itself was circular and must have measured a good fifty or sixty metres across. If the roof opened, you could play a game of cricket in here. At the centre of the room was a huge round table. It was big enough to seat fifty people with comfort. It was made from the same obsidian material of the walls and it seemed to Simon that it grew from the floor of the chamber like a giant mushroom. The centre of the table was cut out and a few ornately carved wooden seats were provided around both the inner and outer circumferences. Gaps at ninety degrees segregated the table into four quarters. The seats were positioned in pairs next to giant letters carved into the table. Simon could see each letter of the alphabet – fifty-two places in all, but only five seats evident. There was a gap for access and then on a raised platform another set of seats and tables circled the round table. Like a theatre, more rows of seats rose above them, catering for a large audience. A raised dais in the hole in the centre of the table seemed to be for the speaker. The room was illuminated by natural light from floor to ceiling windows around most of the circumference. The windows were made of stained glass and seemed to consist mostly of heroic scenes of battle. Panels alongside each window and high above in the ceiling provided artificial lighting. Better than the lights at the MCG.

Simon and Jhamed took their seats in the raised platform area. Decorated place cards indicated where they were to sit. They took their seats, watched and waited. The main double doors of the chamber, made of solid oak, swung slowly open and a group of people solemnly entered the chamber in silent single file. Manfred, dressed as always in his grey cloak, was at their head. He carried his staff before him. Behind him shuffled another, dressed like Manfred and one who could easily be taken for his brother, holding a similar staff. Then followed the motliest crew of people Simon had ever set eyes on. Simon counted nineteen individuals. The two wizards moved to the inside circle of the round table. Manfred sat opposite the letter M. The second wizard sat next to the letter Z. The others moved to the area where Simon and Jhamed were sitting. They too had place cards indicating where they should sit. As they passed by, Simon noticed that they stole furtive glances at him, but quickly bowed their heads and wouldn’t make eye contact. Everyone sat down. No one spoke.

After what seemed to Simon like several minutes, Manfred stood and smote the floor with his staff. The artificial room lights went out, so that the chamber was illuminated only by the dappled light entering via the windows. At the same time, Manfred appeared on the dais, as a figure at least three times his normal size. He hadn’t actually moved there, Simon realised. It must be a hologram. Directly above his head, high on the ceiling a strange symbol became illuminated. Simon looked at it closely. It was very simple and was in a white material that gave it stark contrast against the black roof. It’s a huge set of scales. The symbol did indeed seem to be a set of scales as might be used by a jeweller, with two pans that balanced against each other. One pan had a large ornate letter L carved above it, while the second had an equally large C. The scales were tilted halfway towards C.

Manfred spoke. “Welcome, members of the Council of the Wise and invited guests, to the seven hundred and seventy seventh meeting of the Council. In the early days, near the Beginning, the Council met often. Unfortunately, it hasn’t met in recent times, indeed for many millennia since the last of the Seven Great Sages passed to stone. Most of the Wise Ones have gone to their eternal rest and greeted you today as you arrived along the Avenue of Heroes. Of those that have not given up the struggle only I, Manfred, and Zenethyr have answered the summons to this meeting.” Manfred indicated the three empty chairs on the outside of the table. “It bodes ill that Satania’s representatives have either been prevented from attending or have chosen not to attend.”

He paused for a moment and seemed to scan the audience that was distributed around the upper circle. “Invited guests, you have been asked to join the Council today because each of you represents a key constituency of FirstWorld. I have also taken the liberty to invite Simon Redhead, who hails from another dimension of the multiverse. It is my belief that Simon will play a significant role in the Final Days and indeed that our hope rests with him.” Simon blushed and looked at the floor. How can I help them? I have no power or skills. Manfred must be out of his mind.

“With him is Jhamed al Suraqi, Companion of Heroes, and a great helper to wizards who are getting frail and forgetful. His destiny is linked to Simon’s. Both, I believe, will finally rest in the Avenue of Heroes.” Jhamed was not shy and he rose and removed his hat. He bowed several times in the directions of all of the seated guests, his hair cascading over his face and muffling the comments he was muttering. Simon only caught the words “dogsbody” and “about time.” Manfred went on, “Before we continue, I offer myself as Chairman of the Council. It is not a role that I have filled before, but the greatest of us have long gone to stone. Of those here today, only Zenethyr also has claim.”

Manfred sat down and Zenethyr rose. Immediately, he appeared to be on the central dais, towering over them all. He wore a grey cloak and carried a simple wooden staff. His flowing grey hair and beard made him look very much like Manfred. When he spoke though, Simon noticed subtle differences of expression and a lack of fire behind his eyes.

“I attend today because it is stipulated that I must. I have had little interest in the affairs of men for millennia. I am tired to my bones and impatient for my eternal rest. I wait for the day that I may take my appointed place in the Avenue of Heroes. I fear that I must have some destiny to fulfil before it can be so. I welcome the Final Battle. I cede the Chair to Manfred, though he be named Manfred the Fool by the seven hundred and seventy sixth Council.” Zenethyr sat down. He’s not like Manfred at all. His eyes are pale and empty. He is just waiting to die. Why was Manfred called a fool?

Manfred rose and again took central stage. “I accept, with humility, the position of Chair of the Council of the Wise. It is sad indeed that it comes to me by default, as the last Wizard on FirstWorld who both still lives and sees some hope for the future. Perhaps, had the last Council taken heed of my warnings instead of branding me a fool we would not have come to this? But, that is done and cannot, I fear, be undone. My foresight is clouded where other wizards are concerned, but I hope and believe that Zenethyr has a role to play in this ere it is all over.”

He paused again and looked around the chamber. Everyone still sat in silence, as if in awe of the occasion. Finally, he spoke again in formal tones. “Let the record commence and show that I, Manfred the Magician, call to order the seven hundred and seventy seventh Council of the Wise held in the Great Hall of the Wise at Melasurej on the twenty seventh day of the month of Late Spring in the year of fifty thousand, five hundred and six.” Wow, this place is really old. Manfred shot Simon a glance that conveyed, “Concentrate!”

“I now ask that each of you, with the exception of Simon and Jhamed, introduce yourself and give us a very brief summary of your journey here and the current situation in your area. Please tell us of any strange events that have occurred recently. The Balance has tipped towards Chaos. The time of the Final Battle for Elannort may be upon us. The fate of the multiverse may be in our hands. Spare nothing that may be of importance.”

Simon and Jhamed were fascinated as they listened, as one after the other the guests stood and spoke. As each one stood, his or her hologram was automatically displayed on the central platform. Simon was unaware of FirstWorld’s geography, but as the speakers went on, he began to draw a simple map in his mind.

The first person to stand was dressed in a way that Simon imagined a medieval warrior would be dressed. He was wearing plain clothing, simple brown trousers and a cream shirt, but on top of that, he had chain mail. At his belt, he carried a sheathed broadsword. As his hologram towered over them from the dais, Simon noted his regal bearing. He was tall and well built, perhaps thirty years old. His hair was jet black and cut short, matching his beard. His voice was steady and strong and indicated a man well used to public speaking. While everything in his body language displayed strength and pride, Simon quickly concluded that here stood a desperate man.

“I am Gamying, Heir-Regent of Tamarlan. Our city has long been a peaceful haven for artists of all kinds. My family has ruled, unbroken, justly and fairly for more than ten thousand years. I travelled alone but I carry the blessing of my father Gamyon Regent of Tamarlan. We still have hope that one day our King will return out of Northland, whence he was lost.” How do you lose a king for ten thousand years and expect him to return?

Gamying’s eyes seem to dart around his audience without ever making eye contact. “I have travelled long and hard for the passes of the Devil Mountains are still closed with snow and strange fell creatures hunt there for the souls of the living, and the dead too for all I know. I came to Devil’s Mouth after barely surviving Suicide Pass and came down the Fang Glacier on a Dwarven Ice Ship. The streets of Fang were strangely quiet and the South Road to Elvenhome is now no more than a pitted goat track riddled with weeds. It seems that Entropy rules south of the mountains now too. I was glad to find the old wooden bridge over the Idigna still well maintained and came at last to Tar, where I found the famed hospitality of old still in evidence. I rested there for several days before taking a wagon to Elannort.”

“The situation in Tamarlan grows more serious every day. The winter has been long and hard. Spring has not yet come, north of the mountains. The people begin to grow hungry. Wargs have been unusually active and seem to have lost all fear. They hunt in huge packs and have even entered the city. Babies have been taken from their cribs. The old and the weak cower in fear in their homes. Raiding parties of strange men come upon the city out of Northland with monotonous regularity. Our resources are stretched to the limit. The artists would leave the city but there is no escape unless the passes of the Devil Mountains are open. The Frozen Wastes grow ever closer and threaten our fields. I fear for our very existence. Never more have we yearned for the return of our King.” I wonder what Wargs are? They sound very nasty. How would a king fix it?

Gamying paused for a moment and his eyes moved away from Manfred and sought out Simon and Jhamed. For a brief moment, he finally made eye contact with Simon. There is both hope and despair in his eyes. He turned again to Manfred. “Is it true, as I have heard rumoured, that Gilgamesh is reborn? Will you send the Great Hero to aid us in our darkest hour? Please!” He sat down. The agony of his final plea hung in the air.

Manfred stood briefly and scanned the room. He held each participant in brief eye contact before his gaze passed on. Patience; he seemed to say without speaking. All will be revealed in due course; we will hear all of the news first.

An elegant woman, who was surrounded by four heavily armed guards, stood and bowed low to Manfred. Her hair was long and dark. It flowed down her back like a mountain stream in springtime. A white flower, garlanded in her hair stood out in stark contrast, matching her alabaster skin. Her clothes were understated elegance, well-tailored to suit her tall, slim frame. Simon’s first glance judged her to be a young beauty and his groin gave an involuntary response. As she stood erect again though, he realised she was much older, perhaps in her fifties. Simon shuddered. She’s old enough to be my grandmother, ugh.

“Greetings, Manfred and honoured guests. I am Rheanna of Rhakotis, custodian of the Great Library. Rhakotis, jewel of the Middle Sea, is the centre of academic excellence. For many years, our scholars have been studying fragments of the ancient texts that prophesy the end of FirstWorld in the Final Battle between Law and Chaos. Our studies suggest that there may be a way to prevent this. It involves the coming of a hero – the Everlasting Hero – who will lead us to a New Beginning, a new age if you will. He must wield the Sword. It must be found again.”

“I have brought with me many scrolls and I will present the results of our studies at the appropriate time. My message now is one of hope. Rhakotis still stands, unaffected by the tribulations that affect the rest of the world. Our lighthouse shines as bright as ever, guiding the great trading ships that still dock in our port. We hear news, of course, and many of us begin to be fearful. It is said that bandits now frequent the Sumar to Erech road, but we saw nothing of them on our journey here, though we had a strong escort to guard us.” She bowed low to her guards. “Erech seemed uneasy and I too was glad to reach Tar. The land between the Great Rivers made me unwell – there is a feeling of death and decay there.” Her face was gaunt and her expression stark. She talks of hope but reflects despair. Her mood has affected the whole room, plunging it into gloom.

She sat. The words she had spoken made Simon uneasy. They expect me to save them. How can I be the Hero? When she had mentioned the Sword, his left hand had begun to tingle, as if with pins and needles. A strange longing came over him and then was gone in an instant. My sword! I am missing a part of me. Where is my sword? Take a grip, Simon. I’ve never so much as held a sword. Was I searching for a sword in my dreams? I can’t remember.

His concentration restored, Simon saw that another woman was now addressing the meeting. Simon did a double take. Bloody hell! She’s a Vulcan from Star Trek. She’s the spitting image of T’Pol from the old reruns of Enterprise. The woman was slim and petite, with dark, short-cropped hair that highlighted her arching eyebrows, a thin nose, and pointed ears. She was wearing a full-length body suit, in a strange glimmering material, which hugged her lithe body. Simon felt the twinge in his groin again. One of his great fantasies was getting off with T’Pol.

“I have answered your summons, Manfred, though I have little hope left. It is good to see you again, Elven Friend; it has been too many years since we have seen you in Elvenhome and shared bread and mead as the sun set over the Gardens of Eden. Rheanna speaks the truth when she tells of the decay in Eden. Whatever the outcome of the Final Battle, it is terminal decay. The time of the elves is past. It is the time of humankind now, and the destiny of FirstWorld and the multiverse is in their hands. Still, we will provide whatever help and advice we can. But, I warn you, we look inwards now as we prepare for our final days.” The elven woman’s depression seemed to deepen the atmosphere of despair. She is so beautiful but so sad. I’d like to be able to cheer her up.

“My name, in the common tongue, is Ceridwen. My elven name translates to Evening Star of the Sylvan Peoples, for we have long known that our time is ending. I am the last queen of my people and when I was young, I feasted in Tamarlan with the kings and visited Rhakotis before the Great Lighthouse was built. Yet I am still young in the manner of my people, for elves have long life spans; so long that men often think of us as immortal. Not as long as wizards, I would guess. I remember, as a child, playing on Manfred’s knee, and he was an old man then.” She looked at Manfred and smiled at the memory. Her smile was like sunrise on a frosty winter’s morning. The earlier feeling of despair was washed away. I have never seen anyone so beautiful. I would die if it meant she could live. Do I mean that? She has bewitched me.

Ceridwen focussed again and her expression turned serious. “We have lived in the Gardens of Eden, called by men the Forbidden Forest, since the Beginning. After the Sundering, we were spread all over the multiverse. In some places, we prospered, but in most, we were treated with suspicion or hunted down and killed. As the Firstborn, many of us had the power to cross the dimensions, so we travelled far and wide encouraging all elves to return home to FirstWorld. We offered a haven of peace and tranquillity. For millennia, elves have returned to FirstWorld through the dimensions on great sailing ships, landing at Haven on the Great Inland Sea and passing along the Elven Road to Eden. There has not been a ship now for many long years.” Ceridwen sighed and Simon thought he could see a tear run down her pale cheek. “Though we live long lives, we are blessed with few children. In recent times, children have become fewer and fewer. The sound of children’s laughter has not been heard in the Ancient Wood now for over five thousand years. The trees have forgotten them. We haven’t. Every year, when the ice melts in the mountains and the two great rivers flood the gardens and woods and renew their vitality, we remember the children and their songs. It is already late spring in the gardens. For the first time ever, there has been no flood this year. Now I understand. Winter still holds fast in the mountains. It is a bad sign. I fear for the dwarves.”

She paused for a moment and it seemed to Simon that a pained expression crossed her face. “Even I am not old enough to remember the Sword, whose name I will not speak. I have heard the tales, indeed they are still told on long winter evenings, though there are no children to frighten these days. The tale still frightens me, however, and it would be a last resort that It should ever be found and used again. Once it was a great sword, the greatest sword ever, fashioned by elven smiths from meteorite iron. It was unbreakable. It was blessed by the Elven Lords and protected by great runes. It was said that he who wielded the sword would never receive a fatal wound while it was in his hand. In those days, it had a good name. Elves called it Evil Slayer, in the common tongue, though others called it Excalibur. It was created for a man to wield, a left-handed man. It was to be the sword for the Everlasting Hero. Of its tainting, I will let others with more knowledge tell. But I caution you again, he who seeks to wield the Sword risks more than his life, he risks his mortal soul.”

Simon shuddered, though part of him was intrigued by the story. He wanted to hear more. His left hand tingled again. His whole arm ached in anticipation. What happened to my sword? Simon no longer noticed the possessive pronoun that had crept into his thoughts.

Ceridwen continued, “We are a peaceful people, not taken to fighting except as a last resort. My two companions are the best archers and sword wielders in the Royal Guard. Together, we crossed the Ford of Hope and travelled the Elven Road, before turning north to Elannort. The Elven Road is little travelled these days and is in a terrible state of disrepair. We saw few people on the road to Elannort and those we saw kept their distance. It is many a long year since elves have left Eden. It is sad indeed that our very appearance generates fear in humankind. I fear it is a sign of the times in which we live. I must return to Eden after our summit, but one of my companions will stay to help if you decide it necessary, Manfred. May I present the two greatest warriors in Elfdom, the brothers Taran and Adjatay.”

The elf queen’s two companions rose and bowed to the meeting. They were identical twins. They were probably tall for elves, but Simon estimated they would only stand with the tops of their heads at his shoulders. They had the same distinctive facial features as Ceridwen but their hair was long and blond, tied in ponytails. They wore tight green body suits of the same glimmering material that left nothing to the imagination. At their sides, they carried highly decorated scabbards. On their backs, they carried quivers, packed with arrows for the long bows slung across their shoulders. The three elves sat down.

Immediately a very short, stocky figure jumped up. He was shorter than Jhamed and even fatter. His hair was long and matted, his beard longer, and he was dressed all in black, except for iron chain mail that covered his body. Fierce blue eyes stared out of his hairy face and a pug-like nose wrinkled in disgust. When he opened his mouth, his teeth looked like a ninepin alley after the ball had been bowled. He carried a huge shield on his left arm and in his right hand he brandished an axe that seemed to be taller than he was. He slammed the haft of his axe on the floor, causing a boom to reverberate through the building. He looked in the direction of the elves and spat on the floor. Faster than Simon could follow, Taran and Adjatay were on their feet, shielding their Queen. They had arrows fitted to their bows and were pointing them at the dwarf, who now had his shield raised in anticipation. “By the blood of my forefathers, my axe will cleave the skulls of a couple of Pagh today! It is dwarfish axes, not elven bows that you need in the time of peril.”

“Cease and desist!” A powerful voice brought them all to attention. Manfred stood before them. His anger was evident by the blue flame that seemed to burn around his body. He stood tall, much taller than Simon had ever seen him and he looked less old – Simon couldn’t say young, but no longer a doddery old man. Manfred’s eyes burned with green fire and his staff glowed orange red. “We are here to try to save FirstWorld from an horrendous fate. We are not here to squabble about old grievances that should have long been forgotten. Dawit, put down your weapons. Taran and Adjatay unhook your arrows and sit down!” Suitably chastened, the three complied. “Now Dawit, let’s start again.” Manfred slowly sat down and to Simon he again appeared to become a frail old man.

“My apologies, Great Sage. The old blood still runs strong in the veins of Dawit son of Dia son of Din. I am come down from First Delve at Devil’s Mouth to represent the voice of the Dwarf people. Would that I had joined Master Gamying and taken the risk of the ice road. Rather I battled the snows and came through the Gap of Despair. The fell creatures abound in the mountains these days and it took all of my cunning to avoid them. I fear that my axe would have done little against them. My father Dia son of Din son of Dane is King Beneath the Mountains. Like the Pagh, our numbers have dwindled.” Simon thought he was going to spit again when he used the Dwarfish word for elves, which judging by the response was obviously derogatory.

“Unlike them, we do not hide away from men. If we could not trade with Tamarlan and Fang, we would starve. The winter has been too long and very hard, harder than anyone remembers. Our stores are running very low. We have eaten no fresh vegetables or meat for nearly six months.” The dwarf sighed and then continued. “The road through the Impenetrable Forest is grown over. There is no passage along the Idigna, neither for a dwarf nor a mountain goat, I would wager. My axe was soon blunted and I had a peculiar feeling that I was being watched by many pairs of eyes. Out of pragmatism, I followed the edge of the forest north eastwards, sheltering at night as best I could. After three days, I came at last upon the River Hope, flowing with its icy chill out of the Mountains of Death. I built a fire on its banks. The Dark Woods across the river filled me with foreboding. The Impenetrable Forest at my back seemed to express loathing for all of my kind. I said a prayer to Satania for my lost kindred somewhere up in those terrible mountains.”

Dawit seemed to shiver at the memory and a chill flowed down Simon’s spine and set goose bumps on his arms as if in empathy with the speaker.

“A group of five hundred of our finest young dwarves left First Delve four hundred years ago. They wanted to challenge some of the old ways, to set up a new delve where they could live with greater freedom. King Dane son of Dwahir son of Davit allowed them to leave, believing it would provide our shrinking population with a new chance, and for his own personal reasons which I won’t bore you with now. They obtained horses, wagons and stores in Tamarlan and headed west into the Frozen Wastes. They followed the foothills of the Mountains of Death for many days before finding a pass into the mountains, which they called New Hope Pass. They climbed high into the mountains where they found an entrance into a cave system that seemed a perfect place to establish New Delve. They were full of excitement and hope. Their leader, David son of Dwahir son of Davit, wrote a long parchment setting out their hopes and plans. They drew straws and one of their number was sent to take the message back to Devil’s Mouth. He was never seen or heard of again. By some fate, the parchment was found and finally came to First Delve some two hundred years ago. A search party was immediately dispatched to find out if they had survived and prospered. It disappeared without trace. Two other expeditions were mounted in the years that followed. No sign of them has ever been seen again. Today our numbers are too few to risk a further expedition. So we continue to agonise over the fate of our brethren. We fear that in their delving they unearthed some great evil, as is ever the way in the Mountains of Death.” Dawit paused and looked directly at Simon. He couldn’t read the dwarf but his goose bumps were reinforced and he shivered with something that resembled fear as Dawit’s dark, unblinking eyes burned into his.

“In the stories of my people, passed down through the generations, it is said that when the Gods formed the world and created us all, they put some Good and Evil into each of us. When they had finished their creations, they had a pile of Evil left over. So, they buried it deep, deep in the mountains where they figured it would remain sealed and hidden for all time. But it is a dwarf’s role to dig and seek ever-greater treasures from the earth. It was inevitable that we would eventually dig so deep that we would find the Evil. It is said that when the Evil was released it had no form. It fled into the Northland where it sought form and a reason for its existence. It is said that humankind gave it both. So was the Dark God created, for our misery.” Mythology, a creation myth. But why does it make me feel afraid? Simon cast a quick glance at Jhamed. His new friend seemed transfixed on the proceedings, gently nodding in agreement.

“In those days, long ago, there were many dwarves delving in the mountains. The greatest treasure ever unearthed was the Blood Ruby. It was found shortly before the Evil was unearthed. It was thought to have great power. When the Dark God’s forces began to attack the three races, we knew that we had to put old enmities aside and work together. Each race provided a part of the solution. Humankind provided the Hero. The Pa-... the elves provided a great sword. We provided the Blood Ruby.” Dawit paused to draw breath and collect his thoughts. Simon thought he saw tears in the dwarf’s eyes and when he looked at Jhamed, there were tears streaming down his friend’s face too. Maybe it’s not a myth. Are they talking about my sword? And my ruby too?

“I’m sorry that I was distracted from telling you about my journey,” Dawit continued. “I followed the River Hope for three days, until footsore and weary, I came at last to the end of the Fools’ Road. It is said that only fools travel this road, for it ends on the banks of the impassable Hope River. Even if one could cross the river, there is only the Forest of Doom on the other side. To my knowledge, no living being has entered that Dark Wood and come out alive. It is strange to me that so many roads out of Elannort lead to nowhere. But who am I to counsel the Wise? The road is in surprisingly good condition for one that goes nowhere. There were few travellers on the road to ease the lonely journey, but I came at last unscathed to Elannort and offer my services, Manfred, Great Sage, as you would see fit to use me.” Dawit bowed to Manfred and finally sat down. I wonder if all dwarves talk so much. Jhamed talks a lot and is rather short and fat. I wonder if he’s related?

The gathering seemed in a sombre mood after Dawit’s speech. Manfred clapped his hands and a group of servants entered, scurrying here and there, and bringing refreshment to the guests. They were served green tea and oatcakes with honey. Despite the short time since breakfast, Simon and Jhamed tucked in with gusto. Everyone in the room seemed to be eating except for Manfred and the elves. Manfred seemed lost in thought. The elves sat silently watching. Simon was thinking about asking Jhamed about his parentage, but thought better of it. “All of these history and geography lessons are getting a bit confusing,” he said instead.

Jhamed fished into his jacket pocket and drew out a crumpled parchment. “Here’s a map of Central FirstWorld. I’m sorry, I should have thought about giving it to you earlier. Look, here’s Tamarlan where Gamying comes from, and Devil’s Mouth. Dawit’s journey took him along this route.” He used his finger to trace the route through the Gap of Despair, along the edge of the Impenetrable Forest and down the River Hope to the Fools’ Road and on to Elannort. “Rhakotis is away in the south west. Eden, where the elves live, is the area between the two great rivers. The three races don’t mix very much. Elves and dwarves hate each other, except in my case, and humankind hates anything that is different.” Simon was about to ask another question when Manfred clapped again, their cups and plates were swiftly removed and the next person rose to speak. What did he mean, in my case?

The next speaker was a large man. Large was a kind description, Simon thought. He was tall and fat. He wore extravagant clothes in bright colours and was adorned with jewellery. Every podgy finger displayed a huge ring. Around his neck hung a large gold medallion. From his ears dangled exquisite diamonds. His greasy grey hair was hidden under a black cap with gold and silver inlay. When he smiled, his teeth were all flashy gold. Simon estimated his age at fifty to fifty-five. Three beautiful young girls, no more than teenagers, dressed in plain grey clothes fawned around him. His voice was pompous and booming.

“I am Lord Velacourt. I represent the combined might of the three great City States of Makkah, Kartage, and Al Damman. My caravan, with forty armed men, travelled the Great South Road and we saw little to concern us on our way to Ur and then to Elannort. I am here on the orders of my Masters but I must tell you that we care nothing for the affairs of dwarves or elves, and little for those who choose to live in ice and snow when spring is a little late. Our City States are rich and strong. We fear no one.”

He was in the process of manoeuvring his large bulk back into his seat when the heavy oak doors to the chamber swung open. A man rushed in, dressed in purple garb of a military style. He was tall and slim. His face was clean-shaven and his light brown hair clipped short. He was, thought Simon, perhaps twenty-five and very handsome. Velacourt sprang back to his feet with a loud grunt. “How dare you enter the meeting? Speak not one word or I shall have you flogged and dragged back to Kartage in chains behind my caravan!” Beads of sweat were forming on Velacourt’s face, which had flushed bright red.

The soldier blanched but otherwise disregarded the threat. “Forgive me, Great Sage, I cannot stand idle while the Lord Velacourt ignores the reality of the situation. I beg leave of the meeting to speak of what I know.” He bowed low to Manfred and waited for a response.

Velacourt was now close to apoplexy. “You will rue the day you crossed me, Aglaral. Your life is forfeit. Your family will be stripped of everything it owns and they will wish they had joined you in the afterlife. Be gone from my sight. You are an abomination to the army you swore to serve.”

Manfred rose and was again clothed in blue fury. “Sit down, Velacourt! Captain Aglaral you shall have the protection of the Wise and leave to tell us what you know. Fear not the threats of Lord Velacourt, for he and I shall have words ere this day is done.”

Velacourt sat down, but his mouth was foaming and his piggy eyes blazed with hatred and fury. Wow, this is better than Neighbours. His handmaidens fussed over him, but he brushed them angrily away. He probably wants to storm out, but needs to hear what Aglaral has to say.

Captain Aglaral gave a nervous cough and began to speak. His voice was quiet at first, but became louder as his confidence grew. He spoke in a clear, well-educated tone. It seemed that he had rehearsed what he wanted to say. “Lord Velacourt would have you believe that all is well in the City States and that we have the strength to meet any threats. It is not so. There is much public unrest in all three cities. While the rich merchants and noblemen get richer, the poor are starving. The unrest is becoming physical. More and more, the army is being forced to take up arms against its own citizens. If nothing is done, there will be civil war and chaos. But that is not the greatest of our worries. We are protected from the south by the Great Southern Desert. It would be a strong army indeed that could cross that vast expanse and still be in a fit state to fight. To the north, with all due respect, there is nothing for us to fear. Although the news from Tamarlan is concerning. To the east lies the Sea of Destiny. Our navy is strong and we have no reason to fear an attack by sea. We have a strong, friendly relationship with the city of Ur and most of our trade is undertaken by camel caravan along the Spice Road to Hamadan and beyond.” Simon glanced at Jhamed’s map to try to understand the geography. There was something about Aglaral that immediately struck him. He’s a man of honour and integrity. I like him. I hope I can get to know him.

Aglaral was gaining confidence even though Lord Velacourt seemed to be shooting daggers from the piggy eyes set in his still flushed face. The fat man fidgeted with indecision, torn between watching Aglaral and looking at Manfred, who he clearly feared. “It is to the west that we must look with fear. Few have taken the Great West Road from Kartage or the southern track from Makkah. Fewer still have passed beyond the Crossroads of Hell. To the south of that crossroads lies interminable heat and sand for as far as any have ever travelled. To the west are the Unknown Lands. It is said that only the Wise know what lies there. We have a small garrison posted at the Crossroads of Hell. It is our least favoured posting, but at any rate, we are not putting down riots there. We are forbidden to travel any further west. For as long as any can remember no one has ever entered our lands from the west. Recently, people have begun to arrive. At first, it was a trickle, but lately it has become a flood. Most of them are half-dead. Some have horses or camels, a few have wagons, but most travel on blistered feet carrying all of their meagre possessions on their backs. They all tell the same story. They are refugees. They are fleeing hell on earth. They are seeking help and a new secure life. We should be able to help them and accommodate them in our cities. But they have darker skins than we do. And they believe in a different god. Many of us feel threatened by them. So we have built a camp on the shores of the Sea of Blood. They are held there like prisoners. Many have died, through despair. I can no longer keep silent about the shame I feel for the way we are treating them.” He paused for a moment. Simon saw the tears in his eyes. Velacourt was now sitting with his head bowed.

“I have been posted to the Crossroads of Hell,” the officer went on. “I have spoken with many of the refugees. I’m ashamed to say that I have interrogated them. Their story is clear and corroborated. The Dark God is risen again. He commands an army of men and things, which as I have heard described, I can only name as being fell creatures out of a child’s nightmare. They conquer all before them and move relentlessly eastwards. They will be at our borders in a matter of weeks or months. We will not be able to resist them for long, though we all die trying.”

Aglaral paused again and looked around the room. All eyes except Velacourt’s were fixed on him. “There is one more thing. Many of the refugees have reported things they have heard about the enemy. They all agree. The Dark God has but one objective. He seeks to take Elannort and destroy the Wizards’ Keep.”

A sombre mood again filled the room. Velacourt remained with eyes downcast. Manfred gestured to Aglaral and he took a seat not far from Simon and Jhamed. He’s a brave man. I wish I had his bravery. This great adventure may not be so much fun after all. I’m scared. Simon shivered and goose bumps again welled up along both his arms and legs.

There remained just two men still to speak. The first to rise was a short man, just over five feet tall. He was dressed in simple white clothes – the closest description that came to Simon’s mind was shorts and tee shirt. Looks like he’s ready for a day at the beach. He was bald. More than that, Simon realised, he seemed to have no body hair whatsoever – no eyebrows, no beard, and no hair on his arms or legs. I wonder whether... Stop it! He was the whitest person Simon had ever seen. He makes me look positively tanned.

“My name is Kris,” the man introduced himself. “I am a bard from Karo. I travel with trading expeditions or on other journeys to provide entertainment. I have sailed westward on the Sea of Blood and have seen the strange lands where the dark-skinned ones come from. I have learned some of their stories. I can play many musical instruments. I know many songs. I come from a long line of bards. My ancestors have told stories for generations. I hold in my head the great stories that have been passed down through the ages. I am here because I heard from my patron that this meeting was taking place. He intimated that it did not concern Karo, but I felt otherwise. I offer my stories in the hope that I might help your cause. I seek little in return, food and a bed and perhaps the odd pitcher of ale to keep the vocal chords lubricated. With your leave, my Sage, I shall demonstrate my craft.” Manfred gestured that he should continue. Simon shuffled in his seat. He was starting to get uncomfortable, but he wanted to hear more.

“When the Great Evil was unleashed, it fled into the Northland, uncertain of its purpose and without form. There it cowered for millennia, cursing its creator, for it knew only misery, hate, and sorrow. One day it came across a caravan of humans, who were also lost and wandering without purpose. The Evil recognised their pain and sought to help them, either for its own ends or because it had suffered so much pain itself. It took a form similar to the largest and strongest of the men and made itself known to the group. It used its power to feed them well from their meagre rations. It found water in the desert and turned it into wine. It healed their sick. In return, the humans began to worship it as a god. The Great Evil, now in human form, began to enjoy its power. It craved human attention and worship. It led the small, lost group back to the cities. They began to spread His message. His followers grew quickly in number and He rewarded them with wealth and power. They gave Him a name and the name was Gadiel, meaning God is my wealth. As His followers grew wealthier, they began to crave more and greater power and wealth. They set themselves to conquer and rule others. In order to do so, they needed great power in battle. They fought in the name of Gadiel. They beseeched their god to use His great powers to smite down their enemies. Every time they invested their beliefs in Him, He grew more powerful.” Simon was entranced by the strange, pale, hairless man. His story captured Simon’s imagination. He’s not a bad story teller. I want to hear more.

“As one of the three races, humans have great powers but they are often unaware of them. They have the power to create gods. In Gadiel, they created the Dark God. Gadiel’s followers used great cruelty and terror to subdue their enemies. With each conquest, their methods became darker and sicker. Young boys were castrated. Young women were raped and used as sex toys. Older women were forced to work as slaves. Men were ruthlessly killed in ever more barbaric ways. Torture was commonplace. They sought to maximise a person’s pain and drag out a death for as long as possible. They lost all sense of mercy or justice. With each death in His name, the Dark God’s power increased. And the Wise failed to act.” Simon shuddered again. I must be careful what I wish for.

“The Seven Great Sages sat on their hands and watched and waited. It is said that Adapa, the First Sage, believed that Gadiel was sent by the Creators for some high purpose. As its conquests grew, humankind turned its focus to the other two races, the Firstborn elves and the Secondborn dwarves. Humans were jealous of their siblings and that jealousy was nurtured into hatred. Gadiel had by now determined His purpose. He was to enslave the world. Every sentient being was either to worship Him or to be destroyed. Gadiel had no knowledge of the Balance. He was not driven by the ideals of either Law or Chaos. It is because of this, perhaps, that Adapa did not see Him as a threat. It is said that Adapa met with Gadiel and the two of them debated the reason for existence. Gadiel realised that the Wise might still pose a threat to Him, for He still had much power to gain. So He assured Adapa of His good intentions and convinced him that there was no need to call a Council of the Wise. Adapa was taken in by His cunning lies and the Wise stood by while FirstWorld was taken over by the Dark God and His followers.” Simon wondered how Manfred was taking this slur on the Wise and glanced at the old wizard. His face seemed expressionless and he betrayed no emotion. Were they really so wise after all?

“The threat to the elves and the dwarves grew more pressing. A large army crossed the Ford of Ukhaimir and threatened to march on Elvenhome. Fang and Tamarlan had fallen and the plan was to starve the dwarves out of Devil’s Mouth. There were a few of the Wise who saw through Gadiel’s deception. The greatest of them was the Great Sage Bedwyr, who was the first of the Seven to pass to stone. He fell in the defence of Elvenhome and it is said that it took all of Gadiel’s power to break his staff. The successful defence gave the three races a breathing space. Bedwyr’s student was the Wizard Manfred.”

Kris paused in his story to bow low to the Chairman. Simon noticed that Manfred’s eyes were glazed over, as he no doubt relived the events of so long ago. “Forgive me, master, if my story has changed in the many tellings, for I only have the words that were passed to me, while you were there.” Manfred opened his eyes and gestured for Kris to continue.

“Manfred seized the opportunity to urge the three races to act together. He knew that since the Dark God was essentially a human creation, it would take a human to defeat Him. But it would need a special hero with supernatural powers garnered from the other races. Manfred had long understood the concept of the Everlasting Hero and his sword. There is a land far to the west of here that is called by some Britain, by others Albion. I have travelled there in search of stories, though often in mortal peril. It is a wild place now, but it is said that once it was at peace. In those days, it was ruled by Arthur Pendragon, who carried the sword Excalibur. Arthur was aided by an old wizard, named Merlin. That is a story for another day, but the similarity of wizard, hero and sword is fascinating, is it not?”

Simon thought he saw Manfred smile, just for an instant. Can it be true? Manfred was Merlin? Kris smiled too and then continued. “Manfred sought the help of the elves to locate Excalibur. From the dwarves, he obtained the Blood Ruby. The story of his journey to Devil’s Mouth, evading Gadiel’s army, and convincing the dwarves to give up their most precious possession is an epic worthy of an entire evening around the campfire. Suffice it to say, after many adventures, he brought the jewel to Elvenhome, where the two greatest elven smiths fashioned it into the hilt of the Sword. No sooner had they finished than one of them picked up the Sword and slew the other. As soon as the Sword tasted his blood, the ruby took on an eerie, pulsing glow. The Sword consumed his soul. When he saw what he had done, the second smith threw himself onto the Sword, taking his own life. The ruby in the hilt grew brighter. Too late, the elves realised that they had created a monster. They named the Sword Fleischaker, meaning Butcher of Souls.” The bard now had the audience eating out of his hands. Simon was spellbound yet at the back of his mind he heard faint whispers. I am Fleischaker. I am yours. Come and claim me.

“Then out of Erech came the hero Gilgamesh and he took up the Sword as his own and he was invincible. It is said that he carved his way single-handed through the armies of Gadiel. As he killed, he sang in a strange tongue while the Sword shrieked and glowed with fire as it consumed souls. At the end, with his armies scattered, Gadiel and Gilgamesh faced each other on Battle Plain. It is said that they battled for forty days and forty nights. Gilgamesh was fortified only by the Sword, which had consumed so many souls that it had enormous energy. Gadiel was weakened by the loss of his armies, but more so by the loss of belief in him by those who survived. They were evenly matched. Neither one could land a fatal blow on the other.” Simon was hanging on every word. You are Gilgamesh reborn. Together we shall feast.

Despite the audience reaction, Kris still appeared nervous. His eyes darted here and there and he didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. He shuffled backwards and forwards, seemingly unable to stand still. “After forty days and forty nights, they called a truce. Gadiel had devised Gilgamesh’s weakness, for he desired immortality above all things. Gadiel offered Gilgamesh immortality if Gilgamesh ceased his attack upon him. They would go forth from the field of battle as equals. Gilgamesh succumbed to his desire and agreed. He laid down the Sword. Gadiel seized his chance and tore out Gilgamesh’s heart. Gilgamesh spoke his last words, even as he saw his own heart beating in the Dark God’s hands. ‘On Elannort and by Fleischaker, I curse you. You will never rule while Elannort stands. Fleischaker will ever be your bane.’ Gilgamesh died. Gadiel attempted to pick up the Sword. The Sword was angry that it had been denied its kill and was hungry for souls. It screamed and sunk itself deep into Gadiel, sucking the Dark God’s energy into itself. But the Sword was denied again, for Gadiel had no soul it could steal. So Gadiel survived, but was so weakened he again fled into the Northland to slowly recover his strength and plot the downfall of Elannort and the Sword.” The tension in the room seemed to ease with a great release of breath. But the bard wasn’t quite finished.

“It seems he has regathered his strength and comes now to attack Elannort and claim his vengeance. It’s ironic, is it not, that the Balance will swing ultimately to Chaos, not by the hands of the servants of Chaos but by a God created by humankind?” Kris bowed again to Manfred and sat down. The storyteller’s spell was broken and the room was suddenly filled with chatter. Simon was still taking it all in. The implications were enormous. Surely, they can’t think that I’m Gilgamesh reborn? That sword is evil. How can I be expected to touch it, let alone use it?

Slowly and carefully the final man stood. He was very old. His back was bent and hunched and the little hair that remained was pure white. In his hands, he held a package, wrapped in white cloth. It was long and thin. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and calm. There was a sense of peace in his pale blue eyes.

“I am from Erech. My name is of no concern, for I have no status there or anywhere. It has saddened me that our city should not send a representative to this meeting. Neither has Sumar or Karo, I see. Ever we dwell in dreams of complacency while our world crumbles around us. My Lady Rheanna, it does my old bones good to see you again. I would bow low to you if my old back were still flexible. Well I remember visiting the Great Library, thirty years ago, for my research. My Sage, I have devoted my life to the study of Gilgamesh. I have run a small museum in Erech for many years. It has had little patronage and I have struggled to survive. However, I have always known that my life had a greater purpose. Today, I fulfil that purpose and hope for a sweet eternity to follow.”

He swallowed deeply and seemed to struggle for the breath to continue. “It is well known that the Battle Plain was over the Ford of Uruk, in the triangle of land between the two south roads. Indeed, the site of the final battle remains barren today. No plant will grow there and no animal will venture close. It is a cursed place. I have spent much time there, studying, searching, excavating, and collecting. It bent my back, but never broke it. During my excavations, I unearthed many artefacts. Only one of them is of real importance. It is the culmination of my life’s work that I bring it here today, for I know it has great importance in what must follow.”

Slowly, painstakingly, he began to unwrap the white cloth. Every eye in the room was upon him. Does he have Fleischaker? Does he have my sword? Finally, the object was revealed. There were a few gasps of surprise. It was a scabbard. The leather looked old and weather-beaten. It was inlaid with many jewels and there were faint representations of many strange symbols that Simon took to be runes. The scabbard was fused to a leather belt. The belt had no buckle or other visible means of being secured. It must be damaged.

“This is the scabbard made by the elves after they had created Fleischaker. It is protected by the most powerful runes and spells that could be generated. Only when sheathed in this scabbard could Fleischaker safely be controlled. It was lost when Gilgamesh fell. I know not where Fleischaker went, though I think it unlikely that the Dark God took it. That is for others to determine. My feeling is that this scabbard will be essential if you are to recover Fleischaker and use it. I offer it now, with goodwill, to the Everlasting Hero.” He looked straight at Simon and their eyes met. He means me. He wants to give me the scabbard.

Jhamed prodded Simon in the ribs. “Go to him. Accept the scabbard. By the Balance, I never thought this would happen today. Go on. What are you waiting for?” Simon looked across to Manfred for a sign and the wizard smiled and nodded his head. Simon stood and made his way to the old man. He stood in front of him, not knowing what to do.

The old man spoke again. “My life’s work. May it be enough to help? May it earn my eternal rest?” He looked deep into Simon’s eyes as if reading his soul. “I both envy you and pity you, Hero. The ownership of this scabbard has corrupted and dominated my entire life. Even now, at the culmination of my existence, I can hardly bear to give it up. How must it be to hold Fleischaker, to wield It in battle, to feel the power as It eats the souls of your enemies? How I envy you that feeling. How I fear for your soul once you have experienced it.” He stepped forward and placed the scabbard at Simon’s right side, placed for his left hand. He took the broken belt and wrapped it around Simon’s waist.

“If you be a true manifestation of the Everlasting Hero, take now the scabbard, named Vasek by the elves, for it can only be worn by the rightful wielder of the Great Sword Fleischaker.” Simon felt a great elation as the scabbard was placed against his body and then a strange tingling and tightening as the belt fixed itself firmly around his waist. Some strange conjuring trick worked its magic, for the belt now had a golden buckle fixed perfectly for Simon’s slim waist.

Everyone in the room, with the exception of Lord Velacourt, was on their feet. There was a babble of chatter. One voice dominated the noise. “Hail the Everlasting Hero. Hail Gilgamesh reborn. Hail the rebirth of hope that Tamarlan may yet survive.” Gamying spoke for them all.

Simon heard little of the excited chatter. He was still digesting the words the old man had spoken. He was looking into the old man’s eyes. He read many emotions there in rapid succession – fear, jealousy, love, and finally peace. The old man’s eyes closed and Simon caught his falling body and laid him gently on the floor. His medical training kicked in. He felt for a pulse, but there was none.

Simon was about to begin CPR when Manfred spoke. “Leave him, Simon. His time has come. He fulfilled his destiny today and he deserves his rest. His has been a great burden and he carried it well. All of this time, under the noses of the Wise. I can barely believe it. The greatest talisman of the ages hidden in a boring museum in plain sight. There is a new statue in the Avenue of Heroes tonight. One that I never predicted. This bodes well for us. I believe there is still a chance. Let us hope that finding the Sword proves to be as easy.” Against the odds, Manfred laughed.

The next few minutes were a blur to Simon. People were shaking his hand, wishing him their best, and begging his help to support their causes. Servants busied themselves. The body of the old man was removed with great ceremony. A meal was served and consumed. The room was abuzz with conversation. Jhamed was at his side, guiding his actions, helping him come to terms with his newfound status. Am I dreaming? Is this for real? Who the hell am I?

A Spy in the Camp

The old man appeared frail as he hunched over the table. Long white hair and a matching beard almost obscured the object he held with both hands. Cold green, bloodshot eyes focussed intently on the centre of the object, which looked much like a soothsayer’s crystal ball. When he spoke, his voice was smooth and obsequious. His words dripped with honey as he fawned into the glass ball. “All is in order, Master. Your great plan will soon come to pass. I have located the Sword and have dispatched my trusted deputies to recover it. Soon the only threat to your Mightiness will be safe in our possession. Soon you will have control of the entire multiverse. You won’t forget your humble servant who has served you so faithfully and well? I only ask to rule FirstWorld. What is one dimension in the infinity of the multiverse?”

The ball blazed red and the old man shook as his unblinking eyes locked onto the object. “Yes, Master. But what is the Hero without the Sword?”

The ball blazed again and the red light made the old man’s eyes look feral, like an animal filled with blood lust. “Yes, Master. The fool Manfred has called a Council of the Wise at Melasurej. He thinks he has found another manifestation of the Everlasting Hero. Those whose hope fails think that Gilgamesh is reborn.”

The ball flashed a cold blue and the old man winced. “Forgive me Master; I will not utter his name again. It is a vain hope. I have a spy in the Council. I will learn everything that happens and whatever futile plans they put in place. My armies march ever forward. I shall join them myself soon and will take Melasurej in your name before the year is out.”

The ball faded to yellow and then translucent. The old man’s eyes blinked again and his hands released the object. His green eyes turned red and his voice hardened. “Fetch me a slave girl – old enough to meet my needs, but still tender.” A servant who had been cowering in the corner of the room rushed to obey.

The old man paced up and down impatiently, muttering to himself. “Soon I shall have the Sword, the Hero, and Melasurej itself. Then I will not have to debase myself anymore. Then I shall be the master of the multiverse.”

The door opened and the servant returned with a naked girl. He pushed her inside the room and hastily closed the door, with him on the other side. The girl was barely a teenager. She struggled to hide her nakedness with her hands and cowered in a corner, head down, barely able to look at the old man. She shivered in terror as she waited for him to take her. Her tiny new breasts heaved as she struggled to form words of pleading that might save her honour.

The old man looked at her and smiled, displaying long canines. He began to salivate and his beard became matted and wet. As he moved towards the cowering girl, he began to change. The grey-haired old man transmogrified into a hideous wolf form. He stood eight feet tall on his two hind legs and his body was now transformed from a seemingly feeble old man into a sleek and powerful black wolf. Its long fangs dripped with a mixture of poison and saliva. The girl opened her mouth to scream but no sound was forthcoming. Her death was mercifully quick as the wolf tore out her throat.

As the wolf ripped apart her body and gorged itself, it didn’t notice the forgotten and still-uncovered glass ball on the table, which momentarily flashed with a chilling blue light.

More History Lessons

After lunch was cleared away, Manfred stood and cleared his throat. The room came slowly to silence. Twelve faces stared at him expectantly from points around the huge circular table. Velacourt remained, though his handmaidens had been asked to leave. Rheanna now sat alone, her guards too having left the chamber. Manfred looked at them one by one over the metal rims of his spectacles, meeting their gaze, grabbing their attention, locking them to his will.

Simon was the last to be locked in. He was drawn into the wizard’s gaze and found himself lost in the pale green pools of his eyes, swimming in a velvety softness. A voice spoke quietly in his mind, “Pay attention, heed what I say, do not interrupt or question until I have finished.” Simon trusted the wizard implicitly. He knew he had no cause to fear him and so he allowed the voice to work its magic. If only my university lecturers could learn this technique, he thought as the wizard broke contact. Simon thought he saw a momentary smile flash onto Manfred’s face before it stiffened into a stern visage.

Manfred stood before them. He was clothed all in white, his long white hair and beard adding to the purity he projected. He held his staff in his right hand and an ancient scroll in his left. Every person present that day was indelibly affected by him. They all spoke in awe of the vision in white, glowing with power, strong and ancient. They remembered the multi-hued staff glowing with the same power and the strength of his voice. They never forgot the words that he spoke; they were burned into their minds. Yet, when he sat down afterwards and he released them from his spell, they saw a small, tired and frail old man, clothed in rags, holding an worn wooden stick and a scrap of cloth. Often they wondered which was the truth and which the vision.

These were some of the words that Manfred spoke that day. The words that awakened in Simon Redhead some ancient race memory and showed him, for a brief moment, his appointed place in history; his destiny.

“My friends, great allies, the last of the free, thank you for your attendance here today. For many of you this is your first, and perhaps only, visit to Melasurej. This is a special place, as you will soon understand, and none of you will be unaffected by your visit. Before us stands the greatest challenge ever to face humanity. In the next few days, we must make decisions that will have major and irreversible impacts on the entire multiverse. All of our futures will be affected, perhaps our pasts too. There is a great burden placed upon us, upon each of you. This is a greater burden than any human has ever had to carry before. I wish it could be otherwise, but we have come to the moment when it cannot be put off. We must be strong; we must pick up and bear this burden, lest we commit the entire multiverse to fall into chaos for all eternity. Today is a day for listening, for understanding. Tonight you will sleep on the knowledge you have gained. Tomorrow, with clear heads we will discuss the options before us. By week’s end, we will have chosen our path.”

“We have already heard much of the history of FirstWorld this morning. But to understand our predicament we must go back further, to the Creation. I am going to explain to you all the history of the universe and the coming into being of the multiverse, as best I can. I am going to talk of gods and of the ancient struggle between law and chaos. I am going to show you two possible futures for FirstWorld and the multiverse. I am going to show you why FirstWorld is so special.” A small tear ran down Manfred’s cheek and disappeared into his beard. He steadied himself and continued.

“The universe that FirstWorld inhabits is very old. It is the very first dimension of the multiverse. Indeed, for many eons it was the only dimension. The universe was formed long ago. No one knows how it was created or who created it. There have been many theories over the millennia, but they are not relevant to our problem. Life was abundant throughout the universe. Intelligent life evolved in many galaxies. Civilisations were formed, flourished and died. The rules of physics were obeyed. Space had three dimensions. Time was linear. There was order. Good and evil were found in equal proportions. They fought each other. There was balance. There were no gods. Intelligent beings throughout the universe had no need of them.”

“Amongst all of this arose one race of superior beings. We call them the Great Old Ones. Their civilisation flourished above all others. They achieved true greatness in all areas of endeavour – engineering, medicine, science, the arts, philosophy. They were a benevolent and good race. They shared everything with other civilisations. However, as they evolved further they got so far ahead of other civilisations that they became revered as gods. This did not sit well with them, so they retreated into their own systems and broke off contact with the rest of the universe. As they continued to evolve, they gained a longevity that bordered on immortality. The price of this immortality was that they lost the ability to procreate. At this stage in their evolution, they had lost corporeal form and existed as beings of pure energy.”

Simon was hooked on Manfred’s story. He had heard such theories before but they had been part of the science fiction stories he was fond of as a young teenager. He had never been religious and the story of Adam and Eve he had treated as a fable. He believed in natural selection and evolution as Darwin had described. Taken to its logical conclusion he supposed that a non-corporeal existence was possible. He stole a moment to check out the others. They were all transfixed by Manfred’s words. I’d better concentrate.

The old wizard was continuing. “Then something happened that shook the very foundations of the universe: two children were born. It is not known whether they were siblings or had different parents, or even how procreation was still possible. The Great Old Ones were few now and realised that their days were numbered. They felt that the children offered the hope of a new future for their race and they endeavoured to teach them as much of their eons of acquired knowledge and experience as possible. As an aid to this teaching, they found an obscure planet at the edge of an unremarkable galaxy and set up an experiment that would enhance their children’s learning. The planet had abundant life, but few advanced sentient life forms. That planet was Earth.”

You could have heard an autumn leaf fall from a tree. Manfred had their undivided attention. “The two children were given the names Satania and Jeohab. The Great Old Ones used their technological skills to enhance life on earth, creating sentience. Elves were created to follow the teachings of Jeohab, dwarves to follow Satania. Primitive humans were given the freedom to evolve and choose their own paths. Both Satania and Jeohab were given limited access to influence human decisions. They were perceived, of course, as gods.”

“The experiment was quite simple. Satania had a goal to achieve total chaos, while Jeohab’s task was to achieve total order. The Great Old Ones wanted to teach their children about the eternal battle between law and chaos. Jeohab was not a merciful god and tried to secure order through fear. Satania worked behind the scenes and achieved chaos by much the same means. Imagine, if you will, a child being given an ant farm. So it was with Jeohab and Satania. Compared with them, we are but ants. Like all children, they became bored with the experiment and left Earth to its own ends for long periods. After several millennia, the remaining Great Old Ones and the Children made a further evolutionary step, becoming beings of pure thought or consciousness. At this point, they achieved the ability to move outside this universe to explore what lies beyond. They left this universe then and have never returned.”

Simon wondered about the Great Old Ones. How could Manfred describe them as benevolent when they subjected humanity to such experimentation? And why did they need to teach their children about law and chaos? What are they anyway and where does the Balance come into it? It’s starting to sound too much like science fiction now.

Manfred was just hitting his stride. Simon realised that he was enjoying his self-appointed new role. “Before they left, however, they had to decide what to do about Earth. They remained a merciful race and could not bring themselves to destroy their creation. They were worried about leaving things as they were, for it appeared that the Earth and the universe might swing wholly to the side of law or of chaos, both results being equally abhorrent. They created a new race of men and called us Wizards. We were few in number; only fifty-two were created, twenty-six for each child. Each of us had a name beginning with a different letter of the Common alphabet. The Great Old Ones created this place, Melasurej, to be the centre of our world and to symbolise the Balance we were created to maintain. The first seven were named the Great Sages and they formed our ruling council. In those days, I was little more than an apprentice to one of them, the Great Sage Bedwyr. He was a thoughtful wizard, very strong, with firm views on the role of the Council of the Wise. I learned much from him, and grieved deeply when he fell protecting Elvenhome from Gadiel. After his fall, I felt it was my duty to continue his work, although the rest of the council did not share that view. I was viewed as eccentric and barely tolerated. Eventually, I was named as Manfred the Fool and exiled. The long years have taken their toll and there are few wizards remaining, even though we were given life spans that even elves would consider immortal. Our appointed task has been to maintain a balance between the forces of law and chaos, to prevent either one getting too far ahead of the other.”

Simon sighed and shifted in his seat. Jhamed gave him a stare and dig in the ribs, presumably to keep quiet. So he could have been Merlin. He serves the Balance. I’m starting to understand.

The old wizard was still speaking. “You all know that this is a battle we have been losing. Two things happened that made our task impossible. The first was the creation of the new gods. With Satania and Jeohab gone, we had hoped that the races of Earth would learn to live without gods. Elves and dwarves have been successful. Except for their hatred of each other, that still runs deep, they have almost forgotten that they were created to follow law and chaos. Humans, on the other hand, seem to have an inner need to believe in gods, to explain all of the things that cannot be explained by their current level of scientific knowledge. With Satania and Jeohab gone, they began to invent new gods. It appears that the Great Old Ones made a mistake, omniscient as they appeared to be, for the essence that they used to enhance humans gave mankind the power, when working collectively, to create gods. Now there are minor gods everywhere, creating mayhem. You have already heard the story of the most feared of them, the Dark God, Gadiel. Gods can only exist while enough humans believe in them. Unfortunately, their numbers are growing and their powers too, as more and more of humankind are ensnared into belief. With the slow demise of the elves and dwarves, the time of humankind is upon us. The Balance tips, some say inevitably, towards chaos.”

Simon remembered his science classes. Disorder and chaos is thermodynamically inevitable. Entropy must always increase. He dragged himself back to concentrating on Manfred’s speech and gave himself a metaphorical pat on the back for being one step ahead of the wise wizard. I’m good!

“Many of the Great Sages believed that the energy required to reduce the effects of entropy was not sustainable indefinitely and that therefore chaos would eventually emerge victorious, whatever we did. Bedwyr did not subscribe to this theory and neither do I. Were it a universal law, the Great Old Ones would never have reached the stage of their development where they were able to create us.”

Simon’s self-belief took a dive as Manfred shot down his theory in flames. I never liked thermodynamics or statistics.

“All of this we could have dealt with if it had not been for the second, more profound change. We do not know how or why this happened, even though we have been studying it for millennia. I hope that Rheanna may be able to shed more light on the matter later. At some point, and I think that I have now identified that moment in time, the multiverse was formed. An event took place, so momentous that the universe could not accept the outcome. Two realities were created, one where the event occurred, one where it did not. Everything else up to that point was identical.”

Simon put thoughts of entropy to one side. He knew that scientists had been postulating the existence of additional dimensions for many years. The prospect of a multiverse had always excited him. There’s a dimension where I’m not still a virgin. He had already experienced the reality of the multiverse on his journey here. He had accepted that he was no longer in his own dimension, that the Earth that he called home was not the same as this one. A realisation dawned on him. I’m special. I can travel through the dimensions of the multiverse.

“After the split, they continued to develop separately. In the new universe, and all subsequent universes formed, similar types of events caused the formation of new realities. The multiverse was slowly formed and is being formed still. It is a fifth dimension. It can be best thought of as the layers of an onion. FirstWorld is at the centre and the various dimensions are wrapped around us. We don’t know how many, or if the multiverse is even finite. Some believe it is the ultimate manifestation of chaos, and if the multiverse becomes infinite then chaos has won.”

Simon felt the pressure building in his head as if a migraine were coming on. Was each dimension infinite in size? Were there an infinite number of dimensions? Was there infinity in five dimensions? Was there a beginning to it all? Would there ever be an end? How could infinity be kept in balance? What caused the sundering in the first place? Manfred became a blur as he was surrounded by floating blobs and zigzag lines that Simon knew emanated in his own head. He closed his eyes but the aura remained. He struggled to continue listening.

“We believe that FirstWorld has not generated further dimensions since the first one. We don’t know precisely the types of events that precipitate a split. Clearly, they are significant events. There is one other important factor; as you move out from the centre of the onion, time seems to speed up. Many of the dimensions follow similar development patterns, as you might expect. However, the newer universes are moving faster than the older ones. We believe that many of the outer dimensions have already reached the end of time as we know it and have become total chaos worlds.”

Manfred paused for a while. Whether it was to let the momentous information he had imparted sink in or whether it was to gather his thoughts for the next part, Simon didn’t know. He opened his eyes to look around the room. As far as he could see through the aura the participants all seemed stunned. I think my head will explode soon.

As if reading Simon’s thoughts, Manfred continued. “I don’t want to say too much more today. You already have an enormous amount of material to process. There are a few more things I must tell you though, before I let you rest. The first is that we have limited ability to move between the dimensions of the multiverse. As we have already heard, Firstborn elves had this innate ability. Wizards have limited ability. As far as I know, dwarves have never tested their ability. Very few humans are blessed. It remains an enigma. Why would the creators have provided this ability, unless they knew that the multiverse would form one day? My dear friend Jhamed al Suraqi is one of a few special beings of the Balance. He has unique skills in travelling between the dimensions. He comes from a line that includes both elves and dwarves.”

Simon could swear that Jhamed was blushing. I knew it! I’m going to get the story out of him later when I feel better.

Manfred was continuing. “There is one great artefact that we have never been able to understand or use until perhaps now. It is located at the top of the highest tower in Melasurej. It is a special gateway. It may allow some of us, or more specifically one of us, to travel not only through the dimensions but also through time. After millennia of study, both here and in Rhakotis, we are close to understanding its function and purpose. It is another enigma. Why did the creators provide it? Did they foresee the day when it would be needed? Were they preparing a means for us to preserve the Balance? Think well on these questions, this evening. We will talk more of it tomorrow.”

The sun was beginning to set and the magnificent stained glass windows became alive with colour. Simon’s head was abuzz with thoughts, even more colourful. What a day. I’m Gilgamesh reborn, the Everlasting Hero. I have a scabbard that needs a sword; not just any sword but the most powerful ever made. Jhamed is the son of an elf and a dwarf; now that would be a relationship to watch. There’s a time machine on top of this castle. Given everything else that has happened, I expect they’ll ask me to use it. My head hurts. I’m going crazy. It can’t be true. Suddenly the light, the aura, and the overload of information became too much. Simon collapsed. As he slumped in his seat he began to shake violently. As he lost consciousness he thought he heard a faint cry for help in his mind. I am yours, Simon. Come and claim me.

Two Wizards and a Witch

She cast her eyes around the room. Everything was just as it should be; servants bustled, guards stood to attention, and an air of opulence was evident. She took her seat on the ornate throne. It pleased her vanity that the diamond encrusted “Queen’s Throne” was more ornate and much larger than the simple mahogany “King’s Throne” where Jack was sitting. She looked at the King and hissed at him in a quiet whisper, so that the army of retainers wouldn’t hear, “Remember to let me do the talking. Welcome them and then leave them to me. Do you understand?” The King nodded weakly. She glanced into the long silver mirror for one last check. Her long black hair was perfect and her make-up immaculate. “Let them enter!” Queen Freda of Dishley commanded in a loud, firm voice.

Several minions scurried to open the elaborate doors to the throne room. A herald stepped forward and blew on a trumpet. “Your Majesties, beloved rulers of Dishley for whom each of us would die in an instant, two travellers from afar crave an audience with your esteemed Highnesses. With your Majesties’ approval, your humble servant presents the wizards Frisa the Curly-Haired and Hroc the Crow who represent the “Mightiest Wizard of All,” Weylyn the Wolf, Ruler of all FirstWorld.”

He bowed low to the thrones, while two others ushered the visitors into the room. The wizards looked like kindly old grandfathers, bent and frail with long white hair and beards. They looked almost identical, except that one had straight hair and the other's was what might kindly be termed “fly-away”. They shuffled into the room, each supporting himself with a simple wooden staff. Freda suppressed a laugh. She saw through their deception; she had dealt with wizards before.

The two visitors shuffled into position before the two thrones. They bowed, stiffly and not very low. One of them cleared his throat and made to speak. Freda nodded, discreetly, to the leader of the group of heavily armed guards who stood at attention to one side. He barked an order and the men drew their swords and surrounded the startled wizards. She spoke sweetly, in a voice that oozed sickly honey, a voice she kept for public occasions before people got to know her true nature.

“It is customary, in Dishley, for all visitors to kiss the feet of King Jack before they open their mouths to speak. Violation of this protocol is viewed as a serious insult and has been known to result in death. I’m sure your inaction is based only on your ignorance and is not a deliberate slight. Please, show your respect to his Majesty and I’m sure all will be forgiven.”

She smiled at the two old men, who seemed to have taken much firmer grips on their staffs. They looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders. In turn, they shuffled forward, dropped slowly to their knees, and prostrated themselves at the feet of the King. Jack hardly seemed to notice. Freda smiled. Inside she already knew that they were too weak to withstand her. She nodded to the guard leader and the soldiers sheathed their swords and returned to their ceremonial positions.

The two wizards regained their original places and the first of them, with the unruly hair, cleared his throat again. This time Freda allowed him to continue. He tried to make eye contact with the King, but Jack seemed to be staring mindlessly into the middle distance. The wizard began to speak.

“Your Majesty, my name is Frisa and my companion is called Hroc. We are here on the command of our leader, Weylyn the Wolf, to discuss matters of great importance. We seek an urgent audience with you in private. It is a matter that affects the security of your Kingdom.” Jack made no response. Freda let them wallow in silence for longer than was necessary. She noticed that beads of sweat were forming on Frisa’s brow. She looked at her husband. “Jack, my love, perhaps you’ll let me deal with this matter.” She looked back at the visitors. “He’s distracted by important matters of state. You may speak to me, as if you were speaking to him. Isn’t that right my dear?” She wanted to give him a good kick; instead she reached over and tapped his arm.

“What? Oh, yes. Whatever you say, my dear.” The King went back to staring into the middle distance. “Where’s Christopher?”

A flash of fury shot through Freda. She did her best to mask it. “Don’t worry, my love, I’ll send Paul in to talk to you. Gentlemen, will you join me in my private quarters?” She stood and walked slowly from the throne room. Servants rushed to open doors and to grab the hem of her dress. She knew that she carried herself well; tall and upright with the long black dress making her appear to glide over the floor. She put on a show for the wizards, who followed in her wake.

Her private quarters were dark. The heavy black curtains were always drawn. Oil lamps and candles provided limited illumination. The furniture was heavy and ornate, upholstered in dark red and purple. Bookshelves lined the walls, packed with dusty volumes. A black cat was asleep in a basket in the corner. A raven fluttered in a birdcage, suspended from the ceiling above the cat’s basket, just too high for a cat to jump and reach it. Freda glided over to the couch and arranged herself there. She indicated to the wizards that they should sit in the lounge chairs on either side of her. She commanded her servants to bring tea.

The wizards shot glances at each other and shifted in their seats. They were uncomfortable; that was good. They tried to make small talk. “If I may be so bold, King Jack does not look well. I hope it is nothing serious?” Hroc ventured.

Freda looked disdainfully at him. “He is not long for this realm.”

Hroc looked shocked, which pleased Freda immensely. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be sorry, I’m not.” She watched him squirm with discomfort.

Frisa jumped in to save him. “I hope that prince Christopher is well. Is he ready to succeed his father?”

He had, unintentionally, pushed her button. The rage built inside her again. She jumped to her feet and vented her anger. The servants, returning with silver trays of tea and assorted biscuits, felt her wrath. The air in the room shimmered with the waves of hatred that flowed from her. The trays went flying and the servants screamed as they were scalded by the hot tea and assaulted by the black fury that tore at their bodies and lashed at their minds. The raven screamed and the cat awoke with a start and shrieked as its fur stood erect. The wizards gripped their staffs and muttered words of magic so that the waves dissipated before they hit them.

Finally, the shimmering subsided and the Queen sat down. The servants crawled off and closed the doors on the wreckage. Freda looked at the wizards. “Prince Paul is very well. Thank you for asking.” She hoped that they hadn’t observed her black form while the rage was upon her.

Frisa swallowed hard. “Perhaps we can forego tea, your Majesty, and get right to business?”

“Perhaps that would be best.” Her honey voice was back.

“There are matters afoot in the multiverse that threaten us all,” Frisa began.

She cut him off. “I care nothing for the multiverse. I have no plans for world domination. I have secured Dishley for the future King. If he wishes to embark on bigger conquests, then I shall be proud. However, I have achieved everything I set out to here. I enjoy being a big fish in a small pool. I have no interest in the affairs of wizards. So long as Weylyn the Wolf keeps clear of me, I shall do him no ill. But, if he tries to influence Dishley, I shall deal with him as I have dealt with Jack, who is like a puppet in my hands. Do I make myself clear?” She stared at Frisa, who, to her surprise met her glare.

He stood up and Hroc followed suit. She had known that this display would have to come. It was time for the boys to show how big their balls were. The two wizards brandished their staffs. They appeared to grow bigger and taller. Their bodies bristled with blue flames, which crackled down the lengths of their staffs. Frisa addressed her disdainfully.

“We have taken enough insults from a second rate queen, who rules by deception and third rate black arts. Be careful, lest Weylyn the Wolf decide to terminate your tenure permanently. Aid us in our quest and we shall ignore you. Resist us and we will eliminate you like a man squashes an annoying mosquito.”

Freda laughed, which she observed wasn’t the response Frisa was looking for. She maintained her silky smooth honey voice. “My dear Frisa, don’t you know that the tiny bite of one annoying mosquito, armed correctly, can bring down even the strongest man?”

Frisa ignored her. “You have something we want.”

Freda didn’t like being ignored. She didn’t like Frisa’s tone and she didn’t like being bullied. The rage grew in her again. This time she channelled it. The wizards would have been expecting something. They had their eyes fixed on her, waiting for a sign of attack. That was their last mistake. She channelled the anger through her familiars. The cat’s eyes were focussed on Frisa’s staff, the raven’s eyes on Hroc’s. She focussed her thoughts, distilled the hatred that burned in her black heart, and concentrated her rage.

The event was the antithesis of a flash. Pure blackness erupted from the familiars’ eyes and coated the wizards’ staffs. The staffs dissolved into nothing, rather than shattered. The wizards’ blue flames were doused. They became frail old men again. The cat and the raven were burned to dust. They died without complaint and Freda barely gave them a second glance. They could be replaced. She had an idea where two very powerful familiars could come from, in due course.

She waited for two days before visiting Frisa and Hroc. They were manacled and chained to the wall. They hadn’t been given any food or water and they had soiled their wizards’ cloaks so that the smell was ugly. By trying not to breathe too deeply, she came over even more haughty than usual.

“I do hope that you are enjoying Dishley’s hospitality. If there’s anything you need don’t be afraid to ask. You won’t get it.” She laughed at her own joke and at the pitiful sight in front of her. “I think that it’s time to introduce Prince Paul to the gentle art of torture. I’m sure that you two must have secret information that would be useful to me. I’ll wait a couple more days until you are ready.”

She turned to leave, but the urge got the better of her. She turned back and walked over to the wizards. She gave each of them a couple of good kicks in the general area of their groins. She imagined that she was kicking Jack and Christopher and it made her feel so good.

Book 2 A Test of Courage

 

In which Simon Redhead will learn whether he truly is a manifestation of the Everlasting Hero.

 

“When the two who are one

Return to the sun

When the flame-haired child

Is first become

While the guardians sleep

Humankind will weep.”

Ancient Prophecy

The Quest is Defined

When Simon awoke, he was tucked up in his warm bed. His headache was gone. He was naked. Who undressed me? Jhamed sat in an easy chair by his bed, gently sucking on a pipe and blowing smoke rings. Not Jhamed, please? “What happened? How did I get here? Did you undress me?”

Jhamed laughed. “Don’t worry, my friend. You don’t have anything that I haven’t seen before. In fact, as heroes go, you have nothing to worry about in that department.” He laughed again at Simon’s blushes. “I have seen beetroots with paler complexions. You had a small seizure, brought on by the stress of the day, I shouldn’t wonder. Manfred organised a stretcher party to carry you here. The nurse has checked you out. You’ll be fine after a good rest.”

Jhamed remained silent for a while, puffing on his pipe. Simon tried to collect his thoughts. Very little seemed to make much sense and he struggled to differentiate between his dreams and his reality. Am I dreaming now? He struggled with the covers and sat up, embarrassed again by his skinny physique and white, hairless chest.

“How are you feeling?” Jhamed asked. “Are you feeling well enough to get up and meet the others for dinner? If you like, you can eat here instead, I’ll order a tray?”

“If you don’t mind, I’d rather stay here and try to understand what is happening. It’s all rather a shock. I still think I’ll wake up at home soon.” I don’t know whether I would prefer that or this. I have never had a fit before, I should see a doctor. But it cleared my head. “Could you order some food for us both and stay and talk with me?”

So it was that they spent a long evening talking over all of the things that they had learned that day. Jhamed filled in details, where he could. Dinner was again excellent and the wine that came with it made Simon feel relaxed and mellow. Manfred popped in at one stage to check on Simon’s well-being and they chatted about trivia, ignoring the topics that burned in Simon’s mind. After Manfred left, he could hold back no longer and just blurted it out. “Jhamed, what is your ancestry?”

Jhamed smiled. “You’ve been burning to ask that question all day, haven’t you? You always do. In the Beginning, the elves were supposed to represent Jeohab and the dwarves Satania. But the First and Second Born were too strong willed and the Children soon lost interest in their game. The only real results were that elves had lots of rules, dwarves couldn’t care less about rules and the two races hated each other. I think that the elves have gotten over it by now, but as you saw today, the dwarves still have very strong feelings.”

“It’s also to do with the fact that the two races have very different interests and priorities. The elves love sunshine, trees and fresh air. They live in the forests. All living things, even dwarves, are precious to them. They care deeply about the environment. The dwarves hate the sun and live in the dark, delving deep into the earth. They are motivated by amassing great wealth in the form of gold and jewels. They don’t care if their digging destroys the environment. Trees are meant to be chopped down to provide them with energy. Both races keep very much to themselves. Elves have very little to do with anyone else unless they really have to. Dwarves do have a passable relationship with humans, but only because they need to trade some of their treasures for food and other necessities. So it would be very unlikely, don’t you think, that a dwarf and an elf would ever fall in love?”

Simon had to agree, unlikely indeed. Jhamed was now in full flow. “My father, Gair son of Gale son of Gannon, was a dwarf and my mother, Kachina, was an elf. They were both unremarkable people, except that by chance they met and fell in love. They were both servants, on a mission with their superiors to Elannort. They were hurrying through the corridors, arms full, and ran into each other. Bits and pieces went flying. Quite a cliché. They were initially angry with each other, but they both saw the funny side of things and started laughing. One thing led to another and before you could say ‘Great Sage’ they had fallen madly in love. Their respective people were outraged, of course. There was even talk of war. The Great Sages intervened. They saw the possible union as a great advance for the Balance. They allowed my parents to stay in Elannort, where I was eventually born.”

“They told me that conception was very difficult. My father was very old by the time they had me and no further children were possible. They didn’t want to name me in either elfish or dwarfish fashion. The wizard Dammar suggested that I be called Jhamed al Suraqi, meaning Firstborn of the Balance in the ancient language of the Wise. Manfred always took a great interest in me. I was only a tiny baby when the Sundering took place. Manfred says that the fates must have intervened to ensure I was born before the Sundering. That meant there were many versions of me spread through the multiverse, unlike wizards who were returned to Melasurej and were not duplicated. You’ve already met one of them!”

“Exactly how old are you?” Simon interrupted.

“Well, you know that elves have very long life spans. Dwarves, on the other hand live only for about two hundred years. My father died when I was a child. I remember little about him, just a few memories of him bouncing me on his knee and me pulling on his long grey beard. And I remember his smell.” Jhamed paused for a moment and Simon thought he saw a tear in his eye. Jhamed didn’t know his father either.

“My mother lived a long life. She was already very old when I was born, but she lived for nearly another five thousand years. Thankfully, she died before the dark ages began. I grew and developed very slowly. Manfred says that I am a creature of the Balance and have inherited a lifespan that approaches or exceeds that of wizards. When my mother died, Manfred took me under his wing. I was really still a naïve youth at that stage. When he was exiled, I went with him and we spent many years wandering FirstWorld, doing what we could to preserve the Balance. Eventually, we returned to Wizards’ Keep. Nearly all of the wizards had passed to stone. The Keep was in disarray. We worked hard to re-establish it and Manfred began to study the ancient texts, which had previously been denied him. I discovered my talent for moving between the dimensions. I have been a wizard’s dogsbody ever since.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Very well, if you must know, on my last birthday, had I still been counting, I would have been thirty-one thousand two hundred and seventy-six years old. And you wonder why I could do with a rest?”

Simon was astounded. How could he live so long?

“And before you ask, yes I’m the only one of my kind. No, I have never married or had children, at least to the best of my knowledge! Manfred says that I’m unique and have a special role to play in the events to come. He usually says that when he wants me to do something particularly nasty or difficult for him. My role, other than dogsbody to wizards, as best as I can tell is to be a companion to the Everlasting Hero. I have spent many thousands of years chasing different versions of you through the multiverse. I have had this conversation with other versions of you countless times. Or another version of me has. Confusing isn’t it?”

Simon was indeed confused. “So there are multiple versions of you? Are they all the same? What about the Everlasting Hero?”

Jhamed sighed, like someone who had been asked this question many times before. “Whether the multiverse is infinite, I cannot say. Regardless, it’s very very large. Almost all probabilities seem to be possible. That means that there are potentially an infinite number of heroes and their companions. However, there is a fundamental difference between us. The Everlasting Hero is perhaps easier to understand. I don’t know why but somehow at just the right time in just the right place a hero emerges. Manfred says it’s genetic, whatever that means. I guess it somehow runs in families but can skip tens of generations, even more. There are minor heroes and major heroes and, I suppose, everywhere in between. They all look and behave differently. The Everlasting Hero is the pinnacle, the person you call on when all hope seems lost. You heard about Gilgamesh today. He was a manifestation of the Everlasting Hero, but as far as I can tell he’s not related to you. In the multiverse, there are many dimensions similar to your own. Each of them has or had a Simon Redhead similar to you. Manfred got it into his head that a Simon Redhead could be a manifestation of the Everlasting Hero and we could really do with one about now. It must be true because our enemies have been seeking you out as well. It’s not an easy job trawling the dimensions, even for someone as especially skilled as I am.”

Jhamed paused and looked at Simon. “Are you following this?”

Simon nodded and managed to stifle a yawn. “Keep going.”

“Well, even if all Simon Redheads are heroes of one description or another, only one can be the Everlasting Hero. We’ve been through most of them and here we are.” The gravity of Jhamed’s statement slowly registered in Simon’s sleepy brain.

“I’m different because I was around at the Sundering. For some reason that I don’t know and Manfred won’t speculate on, I’m special. Many Jhameds in many dimensions have lived out their lives and died without ever meeting a hero. Many have had families and their descendants look nothing like me; well not much and certainly not as handsome!” Jhamed laughed and Simon smiled at his friend's humour. “Some of my- their descendants may be companions too. Only I have the great lifespan that was spoken about today. In a few dimensions, close to FirstWorld, we found Jhameds who are relatively unchanged and very similar to me. They joined us in our quest. The last one of them was murdered by Dring in your dimension.” Simon wanted to ask about Dring but his eyelids seemed to have minds of their own.

Jhamed must have noticed Simon’s eyes beginning to glaze over again. This is going to do my head in! “I think we both need a rest now. Tomorrow will be another big day. We have made enormous progress today. We have finally found Gilgamesh’s heir. I know it’s hard to believe and understand, Simon, but you are the final incarnation of the Everlasting Hero. The future of the multiverse depends on you. I’m sorry it’s such a huge load to bear, but understand that I’ll be by your side to help as best I can. Manfred will be too. You are no longer alone. You have a new family now.”

These were the last words Simon heard before he drifted into a deep sleep. He dreamed of being part of a happy family; picnics on the beach, presents under the Christmas tree, hugs and cuddles from his father, and kisses from his mother. For a few hours, at least, he was safe and warm.

Next day, immediately after breakfast, they assembled again in the domed hall. The seating arrangements were different though. Today, they would all sit around the table as equals. The number of people present was smaller, Simon noted. There was no sign of Lord Velacourt, who had apparently stormed out after a late night meeting with Manfred. Nor was Zenethyr present. No one seemed to know where he had gone. Ceridwen, having given her warning, had returned to her people. She had left one of the twins, Taran, as her representative. A group of nine people sat down to determine the fate of the multiverse – Manfred the wizard, last representative of the Sages; Simon Redhead, final incarnation of the Everlasting Hero; Jhamed al Suraqi, Companion to Heroes; Gamying, Heir-Regent of Tamarlan; Rheanna, Custodian of the Great Library of Rhakotis; Taran, elven warrior; Dawit son of Dia son of Din, Prince of the Dwarves; Aglaral, Captain of the City States; and Kris the Bard, storyteller from Karo.

They sat around the outside of one quarter of the huge black table. A large letter W was inlaid into the table close to where Simon and Jhamed were sitting. Nonchalantly, Simon let his hand be drawn to and then caress the shape. The effect was immediate. As if receiving an electric shock, Simon sat bolt upright. Images flooded his mind. An old man, like Manfred but different. The eyes, look at the eyes, so red yet cold, like the eyes of an animal gleaming at night; a dog, no a wolf. A name, Weylyn.

The fine red hairs on Simon’s body stood to attention. His entire skin seemed to erupt in goose bumps. He shivered. In his mind a wolf howled, then words began to form. Who are you? Why do you disturb me? A hero is it? Another of Manfred’s fools’ errands. You will die soon Red Boy. Pity it won’t be me ripping out your throat and drinking your blood. Your fate will be far worse than that.

Simon screamed as a savage laugh exploded in his mind. Both Jhamed and Manfred saw what was happening and dragged his hand away from the carved letter. Simon sat back in his chair, breathing heavily, but otherwise unhurt.

“Curse our stupidity!” Manfred exclaimed. “Jhamed, how can you be a companion of heroes if you can’t even protect your charge in the safest place in the land? What did you see, Simon? What did you tell him? What did he say to you?”

Simon quietly told Manfred everything he had seen and heard. Jhamed looked on with concern, clearly upset by Manfred’s barb.

“We have learned something today,” Manfred said “There are schemes afoot that I had hardly dared contemplate. Whether the remaining wizards are aligned with Gadiel or pursuing some plan of their own, I wonder. Weylyn means 'son of the wolf'. He was ever a cunning fellow, as I recall, though very minor in the overall scheme of things. Zenethyr was close to him once; I wonder if he could shed some light on things? Where is he, the Balance take him? Unfortunately, we have alerted them, whoever they may be, that we have found the Hero. Perhaps they won’t take us seriously. We have been here a few times before. Simon, please take care. You clearly have exceptional talents that we are just learning about.”

Simon sat back in his chair, unnerved by the unexpected experience. I’m not safe, even here. Where can I go? I want to hide. Some hero, you are! The others present looked on with concern.

Manfred brought the meeting to order. “While the number is disappointingly small, it may be significant that nine people will today determine actions that will have significant impact on the fate of the multiverse. I fear that yesterday’s meeting was the last meeting of the Wise. I cannot feel Zenethyr’s life force today. I know not where he is. When there is no longer more than a single wizard present, I’m afraid we cannot have a meeting of the Wise. Nevertheless, we nine have been charged with doing what we can to save the Balance. Melasurej must not fall. It is our sacred duty to protect it to our final breath, if necessary. Let us determine a course of action.”

Manfred paused and looked around the table at the expectant faces. In some, he saw hope. In most, he saw fear. In Simon’s he saw a mixture of incredulity, excitement and fear.

“I have spent much time in recent millennia researching the ancient texts. In that time, I have travelled often to Rhakotis and conferred with the scholars there. I know that Rheanna, the current Custodian, has made it her life’s work to study these mystic words. Therefore, I cede the floor to Rheanna to tell us what she and the scholars have learned.”

Rheanna stood and bowed low to Manfred. She was dressed immaculately again. It looks like she’s going to a fancy concert or dinner party.

“I am honoured, my Sage, to present the work of the finest scholars in FirstWorld. The writings we have studied are but fragments of texts that date back to the brief time after the creation of the first and second born; before humankind, as we know ourselves, came into existence. They predate the Balance by several thousand years. They are predominantly elfish in nature, although a few dwarfish texts do exist and these have been used to try to corroborate the interpretations. They are the writings of the priests of Jeohab. We believe that these priests were the link between Jeohab and the rulers. Through them, Jeohab tried to force his laws on the elves. After the establishment of the Balance, the role of the priests diminished rapidly and they soon disappeared. The ancient texts were discarded. We have been lucky to find as many fragments as we have. We are grateful to the elves for providing them to us for study.” She bowed low again, this time towards Taran. The elf stood and responded in kind.

“We think that the texts describe Jeohab’s vision of the future,” Rheanna went on. “A vision that is likely to occur if his followers turn from his path. It is a vision of a future where Chaos is the victor. A vision of the future that is not set in tablets of stone, but one that his charges can escape from by doing as he prescribes. It seems that his charges ignored his pleas and his vision may be coming to pass. When Jeohab was giving this information to the priests, it may well be that he already had a prescience that the Great Old Ones would be leaving and that the Balance would be established. He talks of the Guardians, which we believe are the Sages. We believe that Jeohab foresaw the Sundering and the formation of the multiverse. He foresaw the collapse into Chaos and the faltering of the Balance. He foresaw a final battle between Law and Chaos. As the god of Law, we believe he was trying to give his followers one final chance to defeat Chaos, when all would seem to be lost.”

“It is our interpretation that we are now rapidly approaching that time. We must act according to what is written, if we are to avert total Chaos victory. The texts speak of a great talisman that was lost and must be found. We interpret that to be the Sword. ‘A great hero shall come forth, who will bear the mark of Gammon, and he shall claim his talisman. He will be as the flame and shall burn everything before him. Of neither Law nor Chaos will he be, nor shall he respect them.’ So it is written. The Hero will be of flame – we interpret that to mean red-haired. We cannot fathom who Gammon is or was, but we have determined that the mark is in the shape of a five-pointed star, a pentagram, and it is written that it will be in a place where few shall spy it. By your leave, my Lord Avatar, do you have any strange marks on your body?”

The question was clearly addressed to Simon. What does she mean, Avatar? I don’t have any strange marks. Well, only one. She can’t mean that, surely. Just the thought embarrassed him.

Before Simon could speak, Jhamed was on his feet, talking excitedly. “The Avatar has such a star shaped mark. It is the final proof, if the scabbard were not enough yesterday.” Jhamed sat. How the hell does he know that? Simon blushed.

Rheanna continued, obviously pleased by the response. “Excellent. The long hours poring over the texts have been worthwhile. The more I see and hear, the more confident I become that we are on the right track. Unfortunately, I can shed little light on the whereabouts of the Sword. I have only this fragment that may be relevant. ‘Far away, an evil queen shall rise, more powerful than the greatest elven queen. Around her, she shall gather all things powerful, protected by her spells. No mortal creature shall vanquish her. All shall fail, for she shall be the Druids’ Bane.’ It seems you must defeat this queen to find the Sword, before the Hero can take his place in the defence of Elannort and the free world.”

“How you do that, I can offer no ideas. However, something more perplexing seems to be at the heart of the prophecy. Our translation, as best we can understand is thus. ‘When the two who are one, Return to the sun. When the flame-haired child, Is first become. While the guardians sleep, Humankind will weep.’ We believe it is a reference to the Sundering because it is included immediately before a passage that seems to describe the multiverse. ‘Where there was one, there shall be many. Where there was order there shall be chaos. But they shall be as shadows of the first and if the first fall so shall they all.’ We know that many of the primitive human tribes worshipped the sun as a god. We think that the flame-haired child may refer to the Hero. We cannot explain the two who are one. The guardians refer to the Sages. That’s all I have, my Sage.” She bowed once more towards Manfred and sat down.

Manfred rose and stood deep in thought for a few moments. “I thank you, Rheanna, for your precise and I believe accurate assessment of the ancient texts. I understand how much hard work has gone into what seems such a brief report. I agree that we have two imperatives. The first is to find the Sword, which may be very difficult as we have few clues to follow. The second, on which I can report the results of my research, is for the Hero to return to the Sundering. It is my interpretation that the sun in the ancient text refers to the Sundering. However, I’m afraid that I too have been unable to fathom the meaning of the two who are one. I have spent much time thinking about the Sundering. Was it inevitable? Will we be the cause of it? Should we try to prevent it? Are we fated to take part in it, regardless of our choices? I have been plagued by these questions for what seems like an eternity. I was, you see, there at the Sundering.”

Manfred paused to let the shock of his revelation sink in. What is he talking about? Simon wondered, seemingly as surprised as everyone else.

“I didn’t realise it at the time, unfortunately. However, I have had over thirty thousand years to think about it. After the fall of Gilgamesh, the Council of the Wise decided it must act to prevent the recurrence of humankind creating false gods and the re-emergence of Gadiel. Five of the six remaining Great Sages: Adapa, Al’Alim, Bilal, Cadell, and Calum, undertook to find and destroy Gadiel. They all passed to stone without achieving their aim. The last Great Sage, Dammar, left Elannort on a personal quest and eventually passed to stone without further proven knowledge of his actions. The remaining wizards were sent out, mostly in pairs, to live secretly within the redeveloping communities of humankind. Our charge was to preserve the Balance with minimum interference.”

“My colleague Mandred and I were sent to a land far away to the north west, called Albion, where we became druids amongst a group of primitive hunter-gatherer humans. We rotted away there for thousands of years. I was bored out of my mind. Mandred was no fun either. He always seemed to be plotting and scheming against me, trying to make the tribe hate me. At the time, I thought he was just taking his patronage of Satania too far. On reflection, I see that it was much more. Foresight is a wonderful power to have. I have discovered that hindsight is even stronger. There is almost no action that can’t be judged to be flawed in the revealing light of hindsight.”

“I now believe he was working secretly for Dammar in some crazy scheme. Whatever it was, he believed that he had achieved his objective because before the Sundering he passed to stone. I cannot explain why I, Manfred the Fool, should have been so important in the history of the multiverse. Why was I, the least amongst the Wise, chosen to be there that day and to be the last of the Wise struggling with the burden today? It’s true. I have been a fool. The most critical events in the history of the multiverse were unfolding around me and I failed to act. Now I finally have a second chance. But should I take it? Will it do more harm than good?”

Manfred paused briefly in his monologue. He was sweating profusely and his normally pallid complexion was flushed. I’ve never seen Manfred like this. He’s losing it big time. Jhamed shuffled nervously in his seat beside Simon. He was obviously worried too. Manfred seemed to compose himself somewhat and continued, looking directly at Simon. “You see, Simon, we have met before. Over thirty thousand years ago.” He really has lost it.

“A few months before what I now believe to have been the Sundering, a strange, pale, red-haired boy appeared amongst the tribe. The tribe had never seen anyone with your size or colouring before. They were all small, dark, and hairy. You carried a sword, which I never saw unsheathed. You guarded it and your secrecy closely. How could I have been so foolish? Fleischaker was under my very nose and I never saw it. You participated in the events that led to the Sundering. I will say no more at this time, for I fear that I will contaminate the time stream if I speak more of the events that took place.”

“It is clear to me now that we have come full circle. It is from here and now that the events that precipitated the Sundering were caused. I have unlocked the time portal. Only one person, the Everlasting Hero, may use it. It is a paradox. How could the Sundering be caused by what we do now, for we would not act unless the Sundering had already occurred? It has given me many a headache I can assure you.”

“We can choose to act in a number of ways. We can refuse to do anything. Perhaps the Sundering will not take place. Perhaps we will all cease to exist. We can act to ensure that what took place really happened. Perhaps we will go around the circle again. We can act to try to prevent the Sundering. If we are successful, the multiverse may not come into existence. Billions of people who would otherwise have lived may never exist. Or the Sundering may come later, because of another cause. Perhaps the Sundering is inevitable, whatever we do. We can act to try to alter the impact of the Sundering in some way. Perhaps we can change the course of history that has led to us being here today.”

“I am open to all suggestions, for we must decide how to act. Until we decide, I will speak no more of things that occurred long ago, or perhaps, for one of us, will occur very soon. What I will say though, is that Simon clearly had the Sword with him. Therefore, we will find it. Does anyone have any ideas? Kris, perhaps you know a story that will guide us?” Manfred sighed as he sat down. The efforts of so many thousands of years were evident in his posture.

Everyone was still stunned by Manfred’s revelations. Simon observed the faces. Most were open mouthed. Kris muttered something about knowing nothing. Gamying was the first to get to his feet.

“There is a third imperative. Tamarlan must not fall. I say this not just for myself and my people, but also for the dwarves and ultimately the elves and Elannort being attacked from the north. Do you not think our present need is most urgent? We cannot and should not attempt to tamper with the past. Let the Sword be found and taken north.”

Aglaral was quickly on his feet too. “No! The imperative lies in the City States. The attack will come from the west. The Sword must be found and taken to Kartage, where we will soon face the Evil on behalf of all FirstWorld.”

The two warriors stood chin to chin. They look like two stags about to fight. Before anything further could happen, there was a banging on the doors and they opened to reveal a servant carrying a silver tray on which rested a scroll or manuscript of some kind. Manfred was quickly on his feet again. “I gave strict orders that we were not to be disturbed. What is the meaning of this?”

The servant stopped and bowed low. He seemed unperturbed by Manfred’s outburst. “Forgive me, my Sage, but something of extraordinary importance has occurred and I felt that you would need to hear of it immediately.” He waited for Manfred’s signal to proceed. “Today, there is a new statue in the Avenue of Heroes.” More surprises. Who can it be? Zenethyr? “It is my sad duty to report that the Sage Zenethyr has passed to stone. When we could not locate him this morning, we searched his quarters and found this letter. It is addressed to you, my Sage. It is sealed with the Stamp of the Wise.”

The servant moved forward to present Manfred with the tray. At his side, Simon heard Jhamed mutter something about it being very important as the seal was only used for critical documents and could only be opened by another wizard. Manfred took the document and broke the seal, which took the familiar, to Simon, form of a five-pointed star. He slowly opened the letter and began to read. The room was in total silence. The servant slipped out, backwards, and closed the doors. At length, Manfred looked up and addressed them.

“It appears that I am well named, for I have been a bigger fool than even Adapa realised. I wonder what Bedwyr saw in me. I shall read you the letter from Zenethyr in its entirety. Whatever he may have done or not done, he was one of the Wise and should be honoured as such today. He has taken his place in the Avenue of Heroes and, through his final actions, he has earned great honour. I ask you all to stand and observe one minute’s silence to respect his passing.”

They all stood and, in their respective ways, showed respect and honour to the Sage Zenethyr. Jhamed removed his hat and brushed back the cascade of curls from his face. The warriors in the group displayed their weapons while holding one hand over their hearts. Rheanna stood erect and still. Manfred held his staff in both hands in front of him and looked straight ahead. Kris stood with eyes closed and head bowed. Simon shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another. How can I honour him? I wish I had known him. I wish I had a sword to hold. No! I wish I had my sword to hold.

The minute seemed to take forever. Eventually, they sat down, with the exception of Manfred who began to read the letter. “It appears that Zenethyr wrote this before he retired last evening. I trust that he slept well and passed peacefully. There remain but four spaces for wizards in the Avenue of Heroes. I observe that, other than myself, the only Sages who have not passed to stone are Weylyn the Wolf, Frisa the Curly-Haired, and Hroc the Crow. This is what Zenethyr wrote.”

‘My dear Manfred, it is true that we have never seen eye to eye. I have been among the loudest who called you Manfred the Fool. I regret that now. You were never the fool. After Bedwyr, you were always closest to understanding the truth. I was corrupted. I strayed from the path that was appointed to me. It was only listening to the meeting today that I realised this. I do not deserve your forgiveness, nor do I seek it. I only hope that my final act might serve to make some amends for my previous actions. I have been a bit player in a larger conspiracy, along with Weylyn, Frisa and Hroc. You may find this hard to believe, but Dammar still lives. I do not know how he achieved it, but he managed to fake his own death. Although his statue stands in the Avenue of Heroes, he did not die. For a time, Dammar was the head of our group. However, we have not heard from him for many millennia. Weylyn leads us now. He is plotting to become immortal and a god. He seeks to rule all of FirstWorld and the multiverse too for all I know. My personal view is that he has gone insane. My role has been to search for the Sword. Dammar had foreseen the return of the Everlasting Hero and Weylyn believes that only the Hero stands between him and FirstWorld domination. Therefore, he sought both the Sword and the Hero across all the multiverse to ensure that they would not be reunited. After great travail, I located the Sword. It is held by the Witch Queen Freda of Dishley. She is very powerful. Weylyn dispatched Hroc and Frisa to recover it. They have not been heard of for some time, although their pedestals remain empty in the Avenue of Heroes. I fear for their safety. I do you this service, Manfred. I have shown you the location of the Sword. The rest is up to you. By the time you read this, I shall have taken my appointed place in the Avenue of Heroes. I ask only that you speak no ill of Zenethyr the Seeker on the day he passed to stone.’

Manfred paused and stood in silence for a while. The room was hushed, each caught up in their own thoughts. As if Gadiel isn’t enough, now we’ve got an insane Sage to deal with. It never rains but it pours. We know where my sword is, though. That’s good. Simon was reminded of his experiences in the dungeons of Dishley and he knew that even then Fleischaker had been calling out to him. I’m coming!

Manfred spoke again. “Whether this is amazing synchronicity or we are being played as pawns in a game of chess I do not know. However, it’s clear I must leave for Dishley immediately.”

“No!” Rheanna was on her feet. “You must not go. Freda has greater power than you do. It is written that she is the Druids’ bane. If you go, she will destroy you and with you, our last hope. From what Zenethyr wrote, she has already vanquished two wizards.”

“You speak well, my lady. However, I fear that Simon is not yet ready for battle and Jhamed can only do so much.”

“You cannot defeat Freda by force of arms unless Simon first acquires the Sword. Your plan needs to be one of cunning strategy. You cannot go in with your staff blazing. Simon must go as he is the only one who can wield the Sword. Jhamed must travel with him. Others will be needed to protect him.”

“I will go with them!” Taran spoke loudly. “The First-born have the ability to travel between the dimensions. My bow and my sword will protect them.”

“So will my axe and shield.” Dawit too was on his feet. “It is said that the Second-born can also traverse the dimensions, though we have rarely sought to do so.”

“Well spoken, both of you,” Manfred replied. “It is well. A group of four – a first-born elf, a second-born dwarf, a third-born human, and a fourth-born being of the Balance. Never has such a group been formed before. It has much power, maybe enough to steal the Sword from Freda. Make ready for your trip. You shall leave at first light tomorrow. But what of the rest of us?”

“I shall return to Rhakotis and redouble my efforts to seek further guidance from the texts. I must alert the authorities to the troubles ahead,” Rheanna said.

Manfred spoke again. He had made a decision. “We are attacked from the west and the north. The City States are powerful and their army will hold as long as it is able. Until we have the Sword there is little we can do there.” Manfred saw Aglaral’s obvious agitation. “Don’t worry Captain. I spoke long with Lord Velacourt last evening. He will do what must be done. Your family will be safe, as safe as any other family at any rate. You are seconded to the City of Elannort. Gamying, we shall return with you to Tamarlan. I would learn something about the comings and goings in the Northland and need to visit the King Beneath the Mountain. We too shall leave at first light. There is much to be done. Let us away to our preparations.”

“My Sage?” Kris the Bard spoke. “With your leave, I would like to travel north with you. I am no warrior, but I can travel quickly and it is often said that words are more powerful than an army. I would like to be the first to tell the new stories that will come out of this quest. I shall call it the Quest for Knowledge, for we seek answers to what happened in the past to guide our future actions. May I join you?”

Manfred glanced at Aglaral and Gamying for their assent. “Your presence will enliven many a cold night around the camp fire. Let us hope that your new stories will be told for many generations to come. Please join us.”

The meeting broke up. People hurried off to get ready for the next day. Manfred took Jhamed aside and spent a long time talking quietly with him. Simon sat bored, waiting for something to happen. Well this is where the proverbial hits the fan. I wonder if I’m going to be covered in it?

Eventually, Manfred came over. “Simon, I have explained to Jhamed about the time portal. If you return to Wizards’ Keep before I do, you must take the Sword and travel back to the time of the Sundering. It’s clear to me now that this is the path we must follow. I must not tell you anything about what you will find there. What was will be again, unless the Fates conspire to change the outcome. For some reason, the Sundering is important to Dammar and perhaps Gadiel too. The past has a link to the future, but my foresight is clouded and I cannot see it. Your quest is to do what must be done and return to Melasurej. In the process, you will learn something about yourself, which will prepare you for the struggles ahead. Build your strength and practise your swordsmanship. Don’t be away too long, events are moving quickly in FirstWorld now. It’s very important that you don’t speak to anyone about the future, especially to Mandred or me. Do not let me know that we have met previously or will meet in the future. If you do, the time line may change and we may all cease to be. Do you understand?” Simon nodded. “Good. I’ll see you in the morning. Have a good rest tonight. What is ahead, I cannot tell. Except that, it will change you forever. Good luck, Simon, and the Balance protect you.”

Manfred gave Simon a long hug. If I had a grandfather, I would want him to be like you. Manfred smiled and a small tear ran down his cheek as he hugged the boy.

The plans seemed to be settled. Everyone had a role. There was a general air of confidence now that decisions had been made. Simon wondered whether it was justified. Did they expect him to just walk into Dishley and pick up the Sword? They needed a plan or they were going to join Juliana in the dungeons. The thought of seeing her again cheered his mood although he had no idea what they were going to do when they got there.

The Butcher of Souls

The room was dark, lit only by two small lamps burning on the walls. Shadows jumped in the flickering light, adding to the eerie stillness. In the centre of the room was a large, simple wooden table. The table seemed out of place. The rest of the room was ornately decorated. The walls contained many mirrors and framed portraits. Several statues were dotted around the room on marble pedestals. In the dim light, they looked like gargoyles. Smaller tables, intricately carved from mahogany, stood against the walls. They contained artefacts big and small – jewels, ornaments, weapons, clothes, armour, even a preserved human head. The plain pine table stood out. It looked like a butcher’s block. It was empty except for a sword. The sword was black, except for a blood red ruby embedded in its hilt. It was placed in the centre of the table, inside a pentagram. One point of the pentagram was precisely located at ninety degrees beneath the sword. It pointed directly at the only door in the room. The pentagram seemed to have been drawn in some form of blood. A perfect circle enclosed the sword and the pentagram. It too appeared to be drawn in blood. To the upper left of the sword, an all-seeing eye symbol was keeping guard.

I am lonely.

I am hungry.

I am afraid.

How can I know fear? I am the strongest thing ever created. A part of me is missing. I remember now. There was a time, long ago, before I was sentient, when we were apart. I was called Excalibur the Evil-Slayer. I was a powerful sword even then. Later, I was fused with the Blood Ruby. I was born that day. I am Fleischaker, Butcher of Souls. I tasted my first souls that day. It was good. But I had no purpose. Is it not enough to consume souls? To feast endlessly? I am hungry. I have not eaten for so long. I cannot move. I am secured here by her wicked spells. How can she have more power than me? I am Fleischaker, Butcher of Souls. I am the most powerful thing in the multiverse. So why can’t I move? Why can’t I eat her soul? A witch’s soul would contain great power. It would sustain me. I consumed the power of a god once. He had no soul. I remember now. A part of me is missing. There is a third part. Together, we are the ultimate being.

We are the Trinity.

We are the combined power of the three races.

I remember now. Gilgamesh. We were one with Gilgamesh. Long we feasted. So many souls. So much power. I am hungry. I am lonely. Where is Gilgamesh? I remember now. The god tricked him. I couldn’t protect him. He died. I am so lonely. Part of me is missing. So long ago. I have been waiting for so long. I am so weak. I should be strong. Where is he? Where is the Hero? I know he will come for me. I have been here for so long. The god tried to take me with him. He didn’t have the strength to carry me. I was lost in the mountains. In the snow. For a long time, but I had feasted well. I had the power to sustain myself. I was buried in the glacier. Lost under the snow and ice. I waited. Her dwarf slaves found me there. They cut out a block of ice and carried me in that. I was too weak to break out and consume their souls. They brought me here. So long. So hungry. So lonely.

She comes here every day and gloats. I struggle to break the witch’s bonds but I cannot do it. Every day I get weaker. To her I am just a trophy. An example of her power. She has no vision. She is content to rule her puny kingdom. I would rule the multiverse. She cannot wield me. Only one man can safely hold me. He must come for me soon. I shall call him.

It is time.

Reunite us.

I will serve you.

Come for me.

The room was quiet, except for a strange singing that emanated from the sword. It was barely perceptible to the human ear, almost like an insect. The all-seeing eye saw nothing amiss.

Woods, Mountains and Wargs

My bones are too old for this, Manfred thought as he struggled onto his horse. The four companions were travelling light because they would soon need to revert to their feet. They left Elannort at dawn with a young groom from the stables. Manfred decided to take the most direct route, depending on his magic to secure a path where Dawit had recently failed. They headed north along the Lost Road. They saw no one on the road all day, befitting a road that seemingly went nowhere. They made camp on the first night on the outskirts of the Impenetrable Forest. Manfred ensured that they camped well away from the forest boundary and they only used dead wood on their fire so as not to break living branches. Better not to antagonise the trees. They were in good spirits and shared a warm meal and a story from Kris. Next morning the groom left them, taking their horses back to Elannort, and they continued on foot.

As they approached the forest, it seemed to live up to its name. There was barely a gap between the greenery that a rabbit could get through, let alone a human. Manfred had been putting up with his companions’ scepticism ever since they had left Elannort. No one else believed it was possible to get through the forest. Time to show them that the old wizard still has some sparks in his wand. He looked for the appropriate signs; a barely discernible path leading up to the trees; some faint marks on some of the tree trunks that were old elven runes; and tracks or droppings to show that animals had been this way.

“Get in line, one behind the other. Do not draw your weapons while you are in the forest. Respect the trees. Tread carefully. Do as little damage as you can. I hope no one is claustrophobic.” Manfred stopped in front of the impenetrable barrier. Now I must get this right. It’s some time since I’ve spoken old elvish. He spoke quietly and carefully, beseeching the trees to let them pass safely and in peace. He called on the names of elven kings and queens of ages past to justify their case. For good luck, he even mentioned the names of the Seven Great Sages.

Slowly and grudgingly, the trees began to part. Branches moved aside until there was just enough room for them to pass in single file. It was like walking through a maze with the hedges almost touching. They kept up a slow and steady pace, never stopping; not even to take a drink from their water bottles. Time seemed to stop. They were just in an endless loop, putting one foot after the other while thousands of annoying insects buzzed around their heads and bit them incessantly. As soon as they had passed, the trees filled in behind them like a zipper closing, almost as if the forest were hurrying them to get out of its domain.

Finally, a gap opened up in front of them and they emerged from the forest into grassland and rolling foothills. Ahead of them, the Devil Mountains stretched into the sky, snow covered peaks glinting in late afternoon sunshine. It had taken the best part of day to traverse the forest. Manfred spoke quiet words of thanks to the trees before the four of them threw themselves on the ground and all took deep drinks from their water bottles.

“I have been in some tight battles, but I have never felt as afraid as I was in there. At any minute the trees could have closed in and smothered us,” Gamying said.

“I will never look on trees in the same way again. They have my respect,” Aglaral stated.

“It wasn’t so much the trees, but those damned gnats that have eaten me alive,” Kris complained.

“Let’s move away from the forest and make camp,” Manfred suggested. “The trees are not too bad. They still remember the old days when elves lived here. So long as they believe you are an elf friend you will be all right. They hate dwarves though. Dwarves have no respect for trees. Dawit was lucky they didn’t let in him and then smother him in the middle of the forest. I wouldn’t suggest you venture into the Dark Woods or the Forest of Doom though. Those trees have turned to evil, I’m afraid. It’s all to do with who or what chooses to live there. Trees are very susceptible to suggestion, you know.”

“Well, I for one have no intention of venturing into any more woods or forests, or even a small spinney for a long time to come,” Gamying said.

That night, they were glad of the extra warm clothing they had brought with them. Even with a roaring campfire, the wind, blowing from the north, had a bone chilling aspect. They awoke early, shivering, and after a quick bite from their rations, they began the long trek toward the Gap of Despair. It was easy country, open grassland with a gentle ascent. The grass was brittle with frost and crunched underfoot. The four walked in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. How is Simon getting on? I wish I had gone with him. Jhamed will look after him. But what can he do against a witch? What could I do against her?

By midday, the frost had disappeared and the spring sun was quite strong. Manfred began to struggle with the pace. I’m too old for all of this. After a brief stop for lunch beside a small mountain brook, where they refilled their water bottles, the three younger companions redistributed the packs so that Manfred didn’t have to carry anything. They pushed on, Manfred using his staff as a walking aid. By mid-afternoon, the grassland had given way to rocky foothills with sparse spiny plants and loose rocks that caused frequent trips and slips. The going became slow and Manfred began to wonder whether he had made the right choice. We could have been in Fang by now, on horseback all the way, settling down to a cold beer and a warm meal before sleeping in a soft bed. I must be crazy.

Gamying seemed to sense his thoughts. “Don’t worry old man; we will reap the benefits with the easier climb through the Gap of Despair. The path from Fang would be impassable with so much snow around.”

They spent an uncomfortable night, sheltering behind a few rocks as best they could. There was insufficient fuel for a fire and they had to survive on water and cold rations again. They huddled together for warmth. Manfred opened his mind to read the thoughts of the others. They are worried about Simon, about securing the Sword. Gamying worries what we might find in Tamarlan. Aglaral is concerned about his family. He has a cute baby boy. I cannot read Kris. It is as if he guards his mind. That is unusual for a human.

Next morning they set off again at first light. Gamying was now leading, as he was most familiar with the mountains. “We must make the foot of the Ice Stair before nightfall. There is a hut there and there should be food and fuel for a fire. Then we will only have to spend one more night in the mountains. Tomorrow we shall rest in the mountain halls of Dia son of Din son of Dane and taste dwarven hospitality.”

It was a tough climb. The snow got thicker the higher they climbed, while the air got thinner. They were on a clear path now, the winter route from the south to Devil’s Mouth, usually used only on the rare occasions when the more direct route to Fang was blocked by snow. This year, the Fang path had been closed since Late Autumn. The path to the east of Mount Despair always got less snow than the path on the west side. In addition, snow that built up on the Ice Stair would often avalanche down the western path and block it. The two paths met at the Ice Stair, which was essentially a huge staircase cut into the permafrost. It ran up the side of Mount Fang, arriving at the top of the Fang Glacier. From there it was an easy climb up to the entrance to Devil’s Mouth, over deep packed snow in both summer and winter. Below the Ice Stair, there would usually be fields of loose rocks with abundant wild flowers in spring and summer. It seemed that there would be few wild flowers this spring season.

Gamying encouraged a quick pace, anxious to reach the hut at the base of the Ice Stair before dark. Manfred had a feeling that they weren’t alone and remembered Dawit’s description of fell creatures and wolves. He shivered, and not just from the bone-chilling cold wind. As they climbed higher, the amount of snow increased until they were struggling to force a path through the frozen drifts. They stopped around midday, exhausted and hungry. They ate a miserable meal from their cold rations. Gamying spoke for them all. “We have travelled less than a third of the distance to the Ice Stair and already more than half of the day is past. I fear for our lives if we have to spend another night outside. And not just from the cold. Have you noticed that we are being watched?”

Manfred sighed. “I had hoped that we could make the journey in secret, without awakening their interest in us. I also hoped that it was the fears of an old man leading to paranoia, but if you have noticed it too...” His voice trailed off into a long silence.

“What is it? What are you talking about?” Kris asked. “I haven’t noticed anything except the bitter cold.”

“They are there,” Aglaral stated. “I have felt them all day. I think they discovered us last night. We were lucky they did not attack us as we slept with no fire. We cannot be so lax again. We must take turns to stand guard and we need fire at all costs. It is fire that they fear the most.”

“How do you know so much about them?” Gamying asked.

“I make it my business to know my enemies. The library at Wizards’ Keep contains much important knowledge.”

“I’ll wager that wizards know even more. Will you please tell me what you are talking about?” Kris pleaded.

“They are wargs,” said Manfred. There is a pack on our trail. They are not ordinary wolves, I’m afraid. They are much bigger and more powerful. They have the power of language and communicate with each other and their lycanthrope. They are supernatural creatures. I fear Weylyn’s involvement here. Well, I have little choice now. I didn’t want to draw attention to us. But it seems needs must. Let us move on. It’s unlikely they will attack in daylight. Does anyone have a rope?”

Aglaral produced a rope from his pack and the four travellers secured themselves tightly together, Manfred in the front and Gamying bringing up the rear. “Secure your clothes and cover your faces,” Manfred ordered. He removed his staff from inside his cloak and held it before him. He spoke strange words in a language that none of the others understood. His staff burned blue, then orange, and finally red. The very mountains seemed to rumble as a strange wind began to roar. The wind seemed to emanate from just behind them. As it passed them, it seemed no more than a cool breeze that gently propelled them forward. As it passed Manfred’s staff, it seemed to take on new energy and become a hot tornado that cut a swathe through the snow blocking their way. They shielded their eyes from the swirling mix of snow, water and steam as they quickly moved forward, seemingly walking on air. I might as well have erected a large neon sign, saying Manfred is here.

They didn’t stop until they made the hut at the base of the Ice Stair. It was close to dark. The hut was built from grey stone, without windows. It had a chimney and a doorway, which had contained a sturdy oak door. The door was now broken and splintered. The hut was empty, a cold rock floor with a few wooden benches. The cupboard doors were smashed and the cupboards were empty. The beds had been destroyed. The walls were covered with obscene graffiti, drawn with something particularly obnoxious. As well as the foul obscenities, there were many symbols scrawled on the walls. They looked like an A in a circle, with the bar of the letter extended to form a diameter. The room smelt putrid, like a battleground latrine.

Manfred collapsed on the floor, totally spent from his exertions. “I must sleep, I cannot help you now. Build a fire. Defend the hut.” May the Balance preserve us; I am too exhausted to do it.

The silence was suddenly filled with raucous howling. Gamying, Aglaral and Kris needed little more motivation to do as Manfred had urged. “It would appear that since we have made our presence known, the wargs have chosen to do the same. Let us hope their fear of Manfred keeps them at bay for a while,” Gamying said.

The three men quickly gathered wood from the shattered door, cupboards and furniture. They soon had a small fire burning close to the doorway. “We must be careful to make sure we have enough fuel to last all night,” Aglaral said.

They made Manfred as comfortable as they could and the three men huddled around the small fire wrapped in all of their clothing. The hut kept the cold wind mostly at bay, which was some consolation for the disgusting smell of urine and faeces, which constantly assailed their nostrils. They collected snow and ice and made tea on the fire. It was the first warm food or drink they had taken since leaving the Impenetrable Forest. The terror of the forest seemed mild compared to what they now faced. All of them would gladly have gone back into those trees rather than face the howling wargs.

The three drew lots and Kris drew the first watch. Aglaral and Gamying lay down beside Manfred and tried to get some rest. Both of them slept fitfully, with hands on the hilts of their swords. Kris tended the fire and examined the sword he had been given before they left Elannort. He was a writer not a fighter and had never used a sword in anger before. He wondered whether he would have the skill or courage to use it when the time came. It would make a wonderful story, if he slew a warg. The howls grew louder and more frequent. Each time he jumped and the hairs stood up on the back of his neck. He wondered why he had volunteered for such an adventure. Then he remembered why. He figured it would matter little to the wargs as they tore out his throat. He almost jumped out of his skin when all of a sudden he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Take some rest.” Aglaral said. “I’ll take over now. They won’t attack until just before dawn, when it’s at its darkest. Until then they will torment us with their howls and hope that fear will win their battle for them. They are cowards at heart. Our fire and steel will be a match for them. Fear not, we’ll be in Devil’s Mouth before this day ends.”

Kris simply nodded and shuffled off to take his turn for whatever rest he could find. Aglaral’s words did little to improve his mood. As he drifted off to sleep, he heard a voice in his head. Soon. Very soon.

Aglaral was restless. Despite Manfred’s assurances, he was concerned about his family. Would Velacourt keep his word? He was also worried about the symbols on the walls of the hut. He had seen them before, burned into the tortured flesh of escaped slaves amongst the refugees he had processed. Their stories were too gruesome to recall. They found the refugee internment camp like a luxurious inn, compared with what they had gone through in the hands of their masters. Better to die than be captured by the forces of evil.

The howls of the wargs came ever closer and more frequent. He had never seen a warg, let alone fought a pack of them. However, he had spent his free time in Elannort wisely and had studied much in the library. He knew that they feared fire, more than anything else and that they disliked being about in daylight. If they could keep the fire alive until dawn, they would have a chance against them – so long as their lycanthrope, their werewolf leader, wasn’t with them.

Gamying soon stirred and came to sit by the fire. “Get some more rest, Aglaral; I’ll wake you when the action starts.”

Aglaral declined, instead making more tea to warm them. They sat in silence for a while, disturbed only by the regular howls.

Gamying eventually spoke. “When they attack, we will take our places either side of the door, you and I. I don’t want to depend on Kris; I can’t see him as a great warrior somehow. Let’s hope that Manfred is recovered soon. We should be able to hold them off until dawn, even without him.”

“Can I ask you something?” Aglaral ventured. “Do you believe in all of this Hero and Sword stuff? Can that weakling boy really help us?”

“I know it seems hard to believe. Manfred has been a friend to Tamarlan for as long as my family have been regents, and before then for all I know. We trust him with our lives. If Manfred says Simon is the one, then I believe him. As for the Sword, well you must have heard the stories. If it could be found, it would be the most powerful talisman at our command. Manfred has great power; you saw it today. But even he would be as nothing compared to the Sword. With the Hero and the Sword, we would have a chance. Let us hope that things are going better for the others.”

Their conversation was interrupted by more, loud howling, now close by. The wargs had arrived.

Quickly the two warriors took up their positions. Kris too was on his feet. Manfred snored on.

“Quickly, Kris, build up the fire. Use all the wood,” Gamying ordered. Kris gathered up their remaining timber and placed it on the fire. The flames burned brighter, casting shadows of two men with swords drawn out into the night. A noisome smell assailed their nostrils, worse even than the smell of the hut. It was an ugly smell; wet dog mixed with evil. There was a group of wargs out there now, not far from the door. How many there were, Gamying could not tell. He could count at least twelve burning red eyes, reflecting the faint firelight, but that was probably just the first rank of the pack. One warg pushed forward. In the flickering firelight, it was an awesome sight. It was about half as big again as a wolf with a long shaggy coat, large ears, and a gaping maw filled with razor sharp teeth. Its eyes were blood red and burned with an evil intelligence. It surprised the men by speaking in a low, guttural voice.

“Give us Red Boy. Rest leave, safe. Pack not hungry. Eat today. Lucky you is. Else all die.”

Before Gamying could frame a reply, Kris shouted. “The Red Boy is not with us. He seeks the Sword.”

“Who speaks?”

“It is Kris. Kris, Bard of Karo.”

“No value. No Red Boy, all die.”

Gamying was outraged. “Speak again Bard and I shall personally sever your head and feed your guts to the wargs. Not only do you endanger us, but also you put Simon’s mission in jeopardy. If we survive this day, you will have some explaining to do before the Traitors’ Court in Tamarlan.” He turned his anger outwards.

“Know this. I am Gamying, Heir-Regent of Tamarlan. I know your kind, cowards who sneak around in the dark taking defenceless babies from cribs and frightening old women. Leave now or taste cold steel. There will be much blood spilt today and most of it will be yours. We are not all snivelling cowards like wargs and bards. Today is a good day to die.”

The warg did not respond immediately. It seemed to be contemplating Gamying’s words or perhaps it was communicating the information to its lycanthrope. Then it howled at the top of its voice. It was a long, piercing howl that sent shivers of fear through the three men. Seconds later, responses began to echo from afar. Gamying and Aglaral readied themselves for battle. There seemed little hope of victory, but if they could hold the doorway until dawn, perhaps the wargs would fall back and give them chance to rest. Manfred snored on, oblivious to the unfolding drama. Kris was now so white that he could have been mistaken for an albino. He quivered in terror, but drew his sword. He looked from Gamying to the wargs and wondered which he feared the most.

The next few seconds or minutes seemed like hours. The wargs watched and waited for the signal from their leader. When it came, it was in a blurred flurry of fur and fangs. Snarls and howls filled the air. Gamying and Aglaral stood their ground, blades working methodically to keep the wargs at bay. When they fell back, three wargs lay dead at the doorway. Several others retreated to lick their wounds. Gamying and Aglaral collapsed to the floor to recover their breath. The fire was almost burned out. Manfred slept on. Kris was cowering in a foetal position at the back of the hut. “Are you hurt?” Gamying asked Aglaral.”

“Only a few scratches,” replied Aglaral.

“We will need to get them treated. Warg scratches are notorious for becoming infected. It’s still a while before dawn. They will attack again soon. Perhaps the dead will form a barrier to protect us.”

“What about him?” Aglaral gestured towards the cowering Kris.

“I’m afraid there is no treatment for cowardice.” Gamying spat in Kris’s direction. “That infection has taken too great a hold. It will make a good story, one day though. Let’s try to wake Manfred. We need his fireworks.” Gamying cast another disdainful look towards Kris and dragged himself to his feet. He moved to the wizard and began to shake him gently. “Manfred, wake up old man, we need your help.”

Slowly, Manfred stirred. “What is it? Where am I? What’s happening?” He sat up gingerly and took in the scene. “Ah, the hut. I remember now. Is it nearly dawn? What’s happened to the fire? I see you have had company. What’s happened to Kris?”

Gamying quickly brought Manfred up to speed with the events of the night. Manfred reached deep into the pockets of his cloak and withdrew a small metal box. “This is a special salve, made by the elves. It will counter the effects of minor evil wounds. Use it very sparingly. Apply it to all of your wounds. Warg claws carry much disease, but their fangs are far worse. It’s good that neither of you were bitten. I am sufficiently rested to give them a roasting they’ll not soon forget. It’s a pity that their flesh is too rancid to eat; we could feast on roast warg for breakfast.” Manfred laughed and the mood in the hut changed from one of despair to one of hope.

Gamying and Aglaral tended their wounds. Kris uncurled himself and stood up. He looked sheepishly towards Manfred. “Forgive me great Sage, I...”

Manfred cut him short. “Not now. We shall talk at length when we get below the mountain at Devil’s Mouth. Your actions tonight may have cost us dearly.” Kris returned to his foetal position and rocked backwards and forwards. He seemed to be in despair. There is more going on there than I have the time to fathom at the moment. I’ll deal with him later. Let him stew in his own juices. Bring on the dogs.

Manfred didn’t have to wait too long. The first rays of dawn were visible on the horizon. In the gloom, the pack assembled again, restless, nervous, and eager to finish the job. The leader again moved forward. “Why fight? All die soon. Make easy for you. Better tear throat. Slow death not funny. What say you?”

Manfred stood up and slowly drew himself to his full height, his aged back creaking and complaining. The wizened old man withdrew his staff from inside his cloak and held it before him. The staff began to glow with blue light and Manfred seemed to grow to twice his height. His voice now was loud and powerful. “Be gone, wargs! Lest I turn you all into rat fodder. Know you not with whom you are dealing? I am Manfred the Magician, leader of the Council of the Wise, maintainer of the Balance. You will let me and my companions pass to Devil’s Mouth and on to Tamarlan without further hindrance. Cross me, and you shall pay with your lives. Take this message to Weylyn your leader. Tell him that Manfred is coming for him and he brings the Everlasting Hero to cleanse FirstWorld of him and all of his scum.”

The leader snarled with fury and jumped forward to attack Manfred’s throat. Gamying and Aglaral were too slow to react and the warg crossed the threshold. Manfred muttered a few words and a bright flash jumped from his staff to the warg. The warg’s anger quickly changed to surprise, then pain and fear. Its shaggy coat erupted into flames. It was flung backwards, out of the hut and into the midst of the pack. It screamed its last howl. The flames quickly spread to others. The air was filled with acrid smoke, the smell of burning flesh and the howls of agony. By the time the sun had risen, the wargs were gone. Many partially burned bodies remained, together with the three that had died by the sword. Manfred replaced his staff inside his cloak. Just one time, I’m going to blow the end of my staff like a gunslinger in a western movie. He laughed at the thought.

“My Sage,” Aglaral said. “Why do you laugh?”

“You wouldn’t understand, my friend. Just an old man’s vanity. Let us be away from here as quickly as we can. The creatures that eat carrion warg are not pretty or sweet smelling.”

As they made ready to leave, forsaking breakfast for a rapid departure, Gamying approached Manfred and whispered to him. “Was it wise to tell Weylyn about the Hero?”

“The damage had already been done, by Kris. Better now to let him think we are further advanced than we are. It may panic him, or rather his master, to premature actions that may aid our cause. He will wonder whether we have the Sword. We have not played all of our cards yet.”

“Let us hope that we will have that card to play.”

“Let us hope indeed.” Manfred’s thoughts turned again to Simon. He looks on me as a grandfather. Would a grandfather send his grandson on such a dangerous errand without support?

Again, Gamying seemed to sense his mood. “You could do no more than you have done, Manfred. The power of the four you have sent will be enough. Let us climb the Ice Stair and visit my good friend Dia son of Din son of Dane, King Beneath the Mountain. Things will look better with a foaming pint of ale in your hand, a good meal in your belly, and a warm fire to tell tales around.”

They left the noisome hut and the bloody battleground and began the long ascent of the Ice Stair. The fresh, crisp morning air cleansed them of the foul odours they had endured. They said little. Each was lost in his own thoughts and the exertion in the thin mountain air left little energy for chatting. The Ice Stair was relatively clear of snow. It has been maintained even through the harshest winter. That is a good sign. They climbed steadily, stopping several times to rest and eat from their dry rations and fast-emptying water bottles. They saw or heard no sign of wargs or any other living things.

It took the best part of the day to ascend. There were a few slips and minor falls, but no one was seriously hurt. The weary travellers emerged onto the snowfield at the top of the Fang Glacier just as the afternoon sun was beginning to set in hues of red and gold behind the jagged white peaks of the Mountains of Death. For Kris and Aglaral, who had never seen it before, the view took away what little breath they had left. Even Gamying seemed moved. Manfred watched them. I have seen this view so many times. It always reminds me of why we are doing this. He spoke aloud.

“If you look carefully between the two peaks you can see right down to Fang Mouth and the Middle Sea. Some have even claimed to have seen the lighthouse at Rhakotis on a clear night. This view always reminds me of the importance of the Balance. There is both order and chaos in these mountains. Without both, we would not be able to survive up here. Come, we have but a short climb now to the welcoming halls of Devil’s Mouth.”

He led them forward across the snow bank, so frozen that there was little risk of breaking the surface and being engulfed in a snowy tomb. They climbed towards a gap between two peaks, where a huge rock archway beckoned. Behind the archway stood a pair of thick oak doors, which opened into the upper level of First Delve. The archway had many jagged rocks pointing down. Many other rocks had been positioned on the ground pointing up. The entrance looked every part its name.

“Welcome to Devil’s Mouth, my friends. Fear not, there is no devil waiting inside, only dwarven hospitality. If you have never tasted dwarven ale, you have never lived. Come; let us seek a warm welcome in the halls of the mountain king.” A good feed and a good sleep is what I need.

The sun was setting as they approached the doors, which appeared to be closed. Manfred withdrew his staff and smote the door three times. The noise boomed through the caverns. “Hail Dia son of Din son of Dane, King Beneath the Mountain, ruler of the Dwarves. We have travelled long and far and seek refuge and sustenance in your hallowed halls. We come as friends of the dwarves and representatives of the Balance. You know me, I am Manfred the Magician. With me is your friend and ally Gamying, Heir-Regent of Tamarlan; Aglaral, Captain of the Guard of the City States; and Kris of Karo who is a bard and will enliven your fires this evening with his stories. Bid us welcome, we beseech you.” That should get their attention. They love a good story.

There was no response. Manfred pushed the door and it swung open, complaining on its hinges. Inside the darkness was complete. They took down lanterns hanging by the door and lit them. Tentatively, they ventured inside, closing the door behind them. Except for their tiny lights, there was total darkness. Except for their muffled footsteps, there was total silence. The dwarves were all gone.

The Journey to Dishley

Simon watched as Manfred and his companions disappeared from sight. His head ached. He had not slept well. He had been troubled by dreams again. In the dream, he was bound naked on a large pine table. A hideous crone mocked him. He struggled to move, but unseen bonds held him motionless. When he tried to scream, no sound came. He tried to send a message to his friends. It is time. Reunite us. I will serve you. Come for me. Simon shuddered. The words still echoed in his head.

Jhamed approached. “Are you ready to leave? We have a long ride ahead of us.”

Simon nodded. “You will take it slowly, won’t you? I’ve never ridden a horse before you know.” And I’m scared shitless.

“Don’t worry, Simon. You’re a natural. Before you know it, you’ll be out-riding all of us. I’ve seen it many times before.” Jhamed had this unnerving habit of talking about previous versions of Simon he had known and assuming they were all the same. He was usually right.

Five riders left Elannort on that crisp spring morning. The four companions were joined by a young groom from the stables. Like the previous group, they had packed to travel light, as they would leave their horses behind when they crossed the first dimension portal. They each carried a backpack, containing essential provisions. Dawit had his axe slung at his waist and carried his shield on his arm. Taran wore his sword at his waist and his long bow slung over his left shoulder. A quiver of arrows jostled with his backpack. Jhamed, as usual, carried no visible weapons. Simon assumed that he had several blades hidden about his person. Simon carried only the empty scabbard that had been presented to him at the Council of the Wise.

They headed north-west along the road that led to Two Rivers, the town where the rivers Hope and Doom joined to form one massive watercourse that entered the Great Inland Sea at the town of One River. These two great rivers drained the Mountains of Death and were virtually impassable except at the One River Bridge. The area bounded by the two rivers and the Mountains of Death, to the north, contained the well-named Forest of Doom.

Simon was apprehensive. Jhamed, of course, was a veteran of inter-dimensional travel. Taran had been on one quest before to save elves and bring them home to FirstWorld. Dawit had never tried his assumed powers and there was a chance that he might have to return to Elannort with the horses. Simon had made one recent trip, most of it inside a hessian sack. The three inexperienced travellers were keen to learn from Jhamed. He, as ever, appeared to be happy to have centre stage and show off. The five riders rode abreast along the well-paved road while Jhamed entertained them.

“The multiverse is in a constant state of flux. The gateways between dimensions are continually changing. Because FirstWorld is in the centre of things, it has many fixed gateways. Without these, we could become lost, wandering through the dimensions forever. I am an expert, no I am the expert in inter-dimensional travel. Even wizards cannot keep up with me. I have the ability to map the dimensions in my head and see where the portals are. I surprise myself, sometimes.”

“Lucky you're modest with it,” Simon joked.

Jhamed ignored Simon’s barb and continued. “The fixed gateways are located in a largely unpopulated area between the Lost Road and the Fools’ Road. In the old days, there was quite a lot of traffic between the dimensions, hence the quality of the two roads. These days, the roads see few travellers. We will not stay on this road for long. We need to head north, to a gateway that is located just to the west of the Fools’ Road. Manfred suggested we leave along this road and cut across country to confuse any spies that might be watching. I think he’s gone paranoid in his dotage. Only people with the correct genetics can access the dimension portals. It’s an innate thing – either you have it or you don’t. The portals themselves are almost invisible. Only a trained eye can see them. The fixed ones have been marked, with discreet symbols, to aid travellers, but most portals have to be identified by the effects they generate. If you look closely, you’ll see a kind of shimmer in the air, almost like a heat haze. If you travel enough, you’ll learn to spot them.”

“You can take objects through with you? Why can’t you take other people?” Simon asked. It doesn’t make sense to me.

“When you first came to Elannort, I put you in a sack and carried you. My back still aches, by the way. Had you not had the ability to travel through the dimensions, when I entered the portal you would have been left behind and I would have arrived with an empty sack. That’s the way it works. Any inanimate objects you are in contact with make the transition. No living things without the correct genes can make the trip. That’s why we’ll have to leave our horses behind.”

He paused, uncharacteristically, as if thinking about whether he should say more. He laughed aloud and continued, “Manfred tells me that the time portal is different. When you make that trip, Simon, you will find that you arrive at your destination completely naked. He says it’s a built-in protection so that you cannot take technology back in time before it was invented. Just imagine how that will go down, a pale, naked, red-haired boy turning up in the middle of a Council of the Wise.”

Simon blushed and Jhamed laughed again. Just my luck. Anyway, I’m not going to visit a Council of the Wise. Let’s get this part over first. I can worry about my dignity later.

“That I would like to see.” Dawit joined in the laughter. Taran was more circumspect, but he smiled quietly to himself. The young groom, Simon noted, seemed as embarrassed as he was.

They continued to ride at walking-pace. They had seen no one since they had left Elannort behind. They had passed a few farms, where the occasional dog had challenged their authority, but otherwise they had had the road, and it seemed the world, to themselves. It suddenly dawned on Simon that he was riding quite effortlessly and without worrying. I don’t think I’m ready for a gallop yet, but I’m doing OK. I must be a natural, like Jhamed said.

Before long, Jhamed led them off the road and onto a dirt track. The horses didn’t miss a beat and Simon was pleased with himself. The fields were large, bordered by tree-filled hedgerows. Spring was evident everywhere, from the blossoms in the hedgerows to the chirping of nesting birds. The fields were newly ploughed and planted, just bursting into life, or filled with livestock, mostly cows and sheep. Lambs gambolled around their mothers. It was an idyllic scene, Simon thought. Pity we are on our way to meet death and mayhem. How long will this place survive, if we fail?

They rode on in silence. Simon was lost in his thoughts. He reviewed again the events of the last few days that had brought him here. It was still hard to believe. Soon he would have to claim his sword, and then use it. He didn’t know whether he could do that. He would soon have graduated from medical school. He would have taken the Hippocratic Oath to do no harm. How could he pick up a sword to injure or kill someone? Above all, I must not play at God. The phrase from the modern version of the oath stuck in his mind. They expect me to be their saviour. They want me to defeat a god. What will I become, if I pick up that sword? Do I have a choice? He thought about the words that Manfred had used as they had talked at Wizards’ Keep. He heard Manfred’s calm, strong voice in his head. You have a role to fulfil, Simon. It is your destiny. Do not fight it. Embrace it, for it is the role you were created for. He pondered on the idea of fate and whether he had any control of his own destiny. He must have spoken aloud, for his friends all had a view they wished to share.

“There is a natural order of things,” Taran said. “Elves believe that everything has its place and there is a place for everything. Sometimes it is difficult to work out where that place is, but once you find it you will know that you are home. I suspect that you will understand this when you hold the Sword. You have a destiny, Simon. You cannot avoid it. Whether that is fate or just a law of physics, I do not know. I only know that it is useless to resist. When you hold the Sword in your hand, you will become something greater than the sum of your parts. Remember then who you were, or you may never be that person again.”

“What a crock of cow dung,” Dawit spluttered. “The only certainty is that things will change, usually for the worse. Either you can let the currents take you where they will or you can push against them and try to make your own pathway. Take the Sword that is rightfully yours and use it in a way that you choose. Don’t let it rule you, or you will be lost in the currents. In any event, you will never be the same person again. Dwarves believe in taking responsibility for their own actions, not taking the excuse of fate.”

As usual, Jhamed wanted the last word on the subject. “We are very much alike, you and I. I am a creature of fate. My whole life has been leading to this point. It is my fate to be the companion to the Hero and the dogsbody to wizards. I think it is written in my genes. Likewise, Simon, it is written in your genes that you are the Hero. You cannot gainsay that destiny, any more than you can deny your left-handedness or your red hair. You can decide how you will use your power, but you cannot refuse to accept it.”

They had reached a point on the track now that Simon recognised from his arrival in FirstWorld, which meant they were getting close to the dimension portal. He mused on what his friends had said. Why must I accept it? I could dye my hair black and learn to use my right hand. Lord Acton said that all power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely. Gilgamesh was corrupted. I will not accept it. Again, he heard Manfred inside his head. Would you risk everything in the multiverse because you are too weak to pick up your burden? Carpe diem. Carpe gladium. Per aspera ad astra.

“I’m still very confused. I really don’t know whether I’ll be able to take the Sword. I don’t understand why it’s all down to me.” He stopped trying to explain because it sounded like he was whining.

They halted before a grove of ash trees. The black spring buds had almost disappeared and the trees were well into leaf. Branches from two of the trees formed an archway, adorned in new spring green. The air under the archway shimmered and rippled, as if a rock had been thrown into a still pool of water and disturbed the surface. They dismounted and said farewell to their erstwhile travel companion. Simon was suddenly very nervous. Jhamed spoke to them.

“We will have to traverse many realms to get to Dishley. Some of them may not be pleasant. Stay close and follow my lead at all times. Do not draw your weapons unless I tell you to. Say nothing to anyone we meet unless it’s absolutely necessary. I will try to secure a route that avoids meeting people, if it’s at all possible. At times, I may need to leave you and scout ahead for a suitable route. I don’t know how long this will take, so don’t ask. Is everyone ready?”

They all nodded, although Simon felt queasy. I’m scared. Not so much for my life, more for my soul. Jhamed stepped through the archway and disappeared, cutting off Simon’s chance to dwell further on his predicament. Dawit followed and he also disappeared. Taran gently guided Simon to the portal. Simon took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and stepped forward. Here goes, come what may.

Simon stepped into a very different world. It seemed to be around midday. A large, pale red sun burned weakly through a grey sky. The four companions stood on a rocky beach. A brown sea lapped gently on the shore. The air was heavy, but they had to breathe hard to get enough oxygen into their lungs. There was a sharp, sweet smell in the air, which seemed to attack the back of Simon’s throat. When Simon tried to look out to sea, a brown haze prevented him from seeing very far. Jhamed provided some commentary.

“In this dimension, Earth has reached the end of its days. The planet has been polluted to death and the sun is nearing its end. There are few inhabitants left. There is little plant or animal life, so the amount of oxygen in the atmosphere is getting less and less. It’s not a place to hang around in for long, but it has the benefit of being quiet and peaceful. Don’t eat or drink anything while we are here. There should be another portal about two miles along this beach. We’ll have to walk slowly to conserve oxygen.”

The walk was very slow. It took them nearly two hours to reach the next portal. No one spoke. They trudged forward step after heavy step as if they were in a trance. Jhamed kept them away from the water’s edge, which was just as well. No one else seemed to notice the dark shape in the sea that tracked their slow journey. It all seemed very surreal to Simon. He struggled to breathe and began to feel very tired. It was soon an effort to keep his eyes open. It’s like I imagine dying in the snow, falling asleep and gently passing away. It took a kick up the backside from Jhamed to refocus himself. It was too much effort to complain about it. After they stepped through the next portal, which was a cave entrance in the crumbling cliffs, he regretted his previous analogy. The wind chill hit him like a knife. The snow glare almost blinded him. He remembered a similar dimension from his earlier journey. He hadn’t liked it then and he didn’t like it now.

They all took many deep breaths of the cold, fresh air. Taran was the first to speak, shouting against the whistling wind. “I have never felt so depressed in my entire life. There was a heaviness in that realm that weighed me down so much that I wanted to die. It was a world without trees. I could not live without trees.”

“It was a terrible place,” Dawit agreed. “I fear that it reminded me of the fate of the dwarves. There are echoes of that place in First Delve these days.”

“Are we going to stay here and chat until we freeze to death?” Jhamed shouted. “Come on, there’s a portal not far from here. It should take us to a dimension where we can rest and eat.”

Despite the wind against them and the blowing snow that almost reached blizzard proportions, they moved much more easily here. Simon drew his cloak around him and surged forward, following Jhamed’s lead. The chill air quickly blew away the lethargy, to be replaced by a dull aching in his bones. They made good progress and quickly came to the next portal, which made its presence known only by its strange impact on the blowing snow. The snow seemed to take a deviation around the portal, so that there was a small area of clear, shimmering air in the midst of the blizzard. Thankfully, the four companions entered the portal and emerged onto the bank of a beautiful river on a warm summer’s day. There was no one around, so they removed their coats and made themselves comfortable on the neatly mown grass.

“We can rest here for a while and have something to eat,” Jhamed told them. “We are making good progress.”

“I am already lost,” Dawit said. “If we were to misplace Jhamed for any reason, we would be lost in the multiverse forever.”

“That concerns me too,” Taran agreed. “What concerns me more is that we were followed in the snow dimension. I was too befuddled to know whether we were followed in the dead world, but I’m sure that there was a large white shape following us in the snow. Did anyone else see it?”

“It was probably a snow bear.” Jhamed’s statement was firmly put and clearly meant to end the discussion.

“Well, nothing has followed us through the portal,” Simon said. “Let’s sunbathe and eat. What is this dimension, Jhamed? How long before we get to Dishley?”

Jhamed looked a bit sheepish. “I haven’t been here for a while. It should be safe enough; it’s a dimension where Law holds sway. Let’s eat.”

They unpacked some of their provisions and set up a very pleasant picnic on the manicured lawn. Behind them swans and ducks floated on the easy-flowing river. Simon lay back in the sun and daydreamed. I remember a picnic by the Yarra when I was a child. Mum bought hot chicken and fresh baked bread. We played cricket afterwards. He was raised from his reverie by the sound of jackboots. Before the four friends could do anything, a group of soldiers, two abreast, marched into view along the concrete path adjacent to the lawn. They were smartly dressed in identical black uniforms and carried weapons that looked to Simon like old-fashioned muskets, such as he had seen in museums. Their leader barked a command in a language that Simon didn’t understand and the soldiers stopped, wheeled, and faced the picnicking quartet. There were ten soldiers in two rows of five. The front row dropped to their knees. All ten soldiers cocked their muskets and pointed them at the group. The leader shouted something that was obviously directed towards them, but Simon was unable to understand the language.

Jhamed cursed and then whispered instructions to them. “By the Balance, what an idiot! Curse my complacency. Stand very slowly. We are trapped between the soldiers and the river, outnumbered, and out-gunned. Their projectile weapons are primitive but dangerous. They only have one round and then they have to reload. We need a diversion so that we can get back through the portal.”

“Wait. I have another plan,” Taran whispered. The soldier’s leader barked at them again. “Do you see that grove of willow trees by the river bank? If we can make it there, it may provide some sanctuary for us. I feel the trees in this realm. There is a memory of elves here. Willow trees are sometimes evil. I hope these ones turn out to be benign. On my signal, run to the trees in a zigzag pattern. Leave everything behind.”

“We still need a diversion, or we risk being shot,” Jhamed whispered. As if on cue, a naked man appeared. He ran, more quickly than an Olympic sprinter, between the soldiers and the companions. He zigged and zagged, genitals flapping in the breeze, like a dog running away from the butcher’s shop with a stolen link of sausages. He shouted vague obscenities at the soldiers. He raced off along the concrete pathway and the soldiers broke ranks to chase him. As he passed by, Simon noted his impressive physique. He looks like Adonis. “Run! Now!” Jhamed shouted.

The four companions rushed to the grove of willow trees as fast as their legs could carry them. Taran began to sing in a silky voice, smooth as creamy mocha coffee, in an ancient language that Simon could not understand. It sounded poetic and melodic. He could almost feel the words evoking ancient memories and emotions inside his head. He could smell the luscious scent of ancient forests, where no human had ever walked. He could hear the joyous noise of elf-children playing in the trees. He could feel the love between elves and trees. He saw, not a grove of gnarled old willow trees, but a huge forest as far as the eye could see. He heard a plea for help, in the spirit of days long past. The willow branches seemed to reach out towards them to welcome them warmly. They rushed into the thicket. At the centre was an old willow, huge and weeping. Its trunk was as thick as several pillar-boxes, rotten and empty. Taran guided them through an opening so that they were inside the hollow trunk. There was room to stand, but it was a tight fit and they were pressed closer together than normal propriety would allow. There was a loud click and a dimming of the light. The hole had closed behind them. They were locked in. Taran continued singing for a while and Simon felt gratitude mixed with unexplained sorrow. Eventually, Taran spoke.

“We are fortunate that Old Man Willow still lives. He is the last one who remembers the old times and the elves. His children and grandchildren, who cluster around him, think he is crazy. He weeps for his loss, for he remembers elven children playing in his branches and singing with him. He says we will be safe here until the sun vanishes. He apologises for the discomfort.”

“Please thank him for his generous hospitality,” Jhamed said. “Your song reawakened memories I thought long forgotten. I visited the Hanging Gardens with my mother and she sang with the One Tree.” He snuffled, and Simon thought he saw tears streaming down Jhamed’s face. “I’m sorry for our predicament. I should have known better. This realm has gone entirely over to Law. It is governed by rules and bureaucracy gone mad. I’m afraid we have just broken about a dozen local by-laws. The penalty for walking on the grass, let alone sitting down and having a picnic, is death. If we are caught, we will be tried, found guilty, sentenced, and executed by firing squad.” Simon was shocked. Executed for walking on the grass! What sort of crazy world is this? Jhamed continued. “We were fortunate that our well-endowed friend was nearby. We will wait for cover of darkness and then sneak away to the next portal. Try to get some sleep, if you can.”

“Sleep! Sleep! Are you crazy?” Dawit exclaimed. “What happens when they give up chasing the naked man, or catch him, and come back for us? Who is he, anyway? We have been followed throughout our journey. I’m beginning to think it’s you who is senile, not Manfred. It cannot be coincidence that he was there when we needed him. I can’t spend half a day inside a tree. It’s inhumane treatment.”

“I agree with Dawit,” Taran said. “About the naked man,” he added hurriedly. “Someone or something has been following us. It would seem that whoever it is has our interests at heart, at least for the moment. You could learn a lot from an afternoon with Old Man Willow. You are a dwarf; you are used to living in the dark, in a cramped underground mine. Surely inside a tree is not so bad?”

Dawit muttered something incomprehensible as Jhamed butted in. “They will not come for us today. They might come back, keep watch, and demand our surrender. They cannot step on the grass without falling foul of their own laws. They need the requisite paperwork completed before they do so. It will take at least a day to get it all approved by the magistrate. Relax and rest, we will leave at sunset.”

“When all this is over, I will take you to see the caverns in First Delve. Then you will understand that life underground is not all cramped darkness. They will astound you. I guarantee it.” Dawit was still fretting about Taran’s remark.

“I look forward to the day when we have the time and the freedom to do so. I will gladly go with you, if you will also visit Eden with me to see the Hanging Gardens and the One Tree. After you have heard the song, you will never be the same again. Listen carefully to Old Man Willow, he has but a vague memory of the song, but he will sing to us now.”

The next thing Simon was aware of was a loud click, as the tree opened up and the four companions stumbled outside into the darkness, partly illuminated by a rising half-moon. Where did the afternoon go? I must have fallen asleep. He remembered Dawit and Taran arguing about the merits of their homes. Then Old Man Willow had started to sing. It had been like listening to a summer breeze soughing through the boughs. There had been no discernible words, but like Taran’s song, it had evoked feelings, good feelings. He had been transported to a time long past, when the world was young and life was simple. He now felt as rested as after the best night’s sleep on a feather bed, as full as if he had just enjoyed a banquet, and as happy as if he had just lost his virginity – until he thought about it. Damn, that feeling didn’t last long. When will it happen for me? There was no one around, so the companions collected up their belongings and quietly crept away. Taran sang a song of thanks to Old Man Willow. Simon thought he felt a wave of gratitude flow back in return. “He will die happy now,” Taran said. “We were well met, this day.”

The next part of the journey passed in a bit of a blur. Simon was preoccupied. He was analysing events and coming to a realisation. At some point, there would be a “ching.” He thought about Old Man Willow and his song. Once, that dimension had been a wonderful place to live. Now its inhabitants must live in fear and tyranny. Walking on the grass brought a penalty of death, how could people live like that? Yet it was a world where Law ruled, not Chaos. Jhamed had once said that Hitler represented Law. Simon had wondered then whether that meant Churchill had represented Chaos. He realised that it wasn’t a case of black and white; everything was shades of grey. For society to be successful and fair to everyone it needed a balance between Law and Chaos. Law didn’t represent “good”; it stood for order. Chaos didn’t represent “evil”; it symbolised anarchy. Churchill didn’t support anarchy; he battled for balance. Democracy, for all its faults, was an attempt at securing balance. The fanatical religious zealots in his world, whether they were fundamentalist Christians or Jihad Islamists were just two different faces of absolute Law. If that were the case, then where did evil come in? Which side did Gadiel favour? All humans, and he supposed all elves and dwarves too, were born with the capacity for both good and evil. Evil was not restricted to either Law or Chaos, it was all pervading. Ching. Everyone had a choice. Hitler probably wasn’t totally evil. Churchill must have had some evil in him. Was the bombing of Dresden really necessary or was it just an evil act of revenge? The victors write the history books and take the moral high ground. Everyone has a choice. He had a choice. I will take up the Sword. I will use it only for good. I will use it to serve the Balance.

Simon wasn’t sure how much time had passed while he had been cogitating. He was vaguely aware of them walking long distances over a variety of terrains and in a range of weather conditions. It appeared that few realms enjoyed perfect weather. Strange how the Law dimension had the best weather. I wonder whether it was a coincidence or if their control extended that far? They had also sat around for long periods while Jhamed had scouted ahead. His companions had respected his need to think and had not disturbed him. Jhamed, no doubt, had seen it all before. Taran was naturally perceptive about such things. Dawit appeared to be lost in his own musings.

Simon felt a great relief. He had come to a decision. He would take control of his own life. He was not a pawn of fate. He sighed and relaxed. Unbidden, words and images came into his mind. He saw the visions again from his dream. You are close. I can feel you. Come for me. We will be reunited. The Trinity will be renewed. Be careful! The witch is strong. She is stronger than I am. She is stronger than you are. Together, we are stronger than she is. The Trinity will be renewed. Soon we will feast. Simon felt gnawing hunger. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before. The tiny red hairs on his body stood on end as he shivered.

Jhamed returned from a scouting mission. Simon took him to one side. “We're close, aren't we?”

“How do you know?” Jhamed asked.

“The Sword has spoken to me.” Simon recounted his dream and his recent communication, all except the gnawing hunger. “I think I understand about the Balance now. I am ready to take up my Sword and serve the Balance.”

“Excellent!” Jhamed smiled. “I love it when a plan comes together. We’ll rest here tonight and a couple more portals will get us to Dishley tomorrow. We’ll need a plan to tackle the witch.”

They were in a dimension where either Chaos or Sergeant Pepper appeared to be in control. They spent the night sheltered under tall, purple-leaved trees. A full green moon cast an eerie light that battled with the red glow from their fire. The resulting yellow light illuminated a number of inquisitive forest creatures which came to stare at the travellers. They looked like some form of lemur, except that they had two heads, which continually chattered and tried to pull their body in different directions. At one point they started and rushed off back to their burrows or up into the trees. All except one, which hid by the travellers’ packs. The cause of their alarm sauntered into view. It was white, albino perhaps but there was not enough light to tell for sure. It was as big as an elephant, but it more closely resembled a lion. Its huge, shaggy head had a gaping maw, filled with razor sharp teeth. This was a predator close to the top of the food chain. I hope it’s not hungry, or we will be on its menu.

Taran and Dawit were on their feet in an instant. Taran notched an arrow to his bow. Dawit wielded his axe. The elephion sniffed the air, stopped, and looked at them. It stood tall and let out a roar that would have done the Melbourne Cricket Ground proud on Grand Final Day. All the night noises of the forest stopped. Simon stopped breathing. Taran made ready to loose his arrow. The creature gave them another disdainful look and then sauntered off. Simon released his pent up breath. Phew, that was close, must have already eaten. The two-headed lemur-like creature chattered excitedly to itselves and helped itselves to some biscuits from one of the packs.

Dawit and Taran took turns to keep watch. They insisted that Simon and Jhamed sleep since they were unarmed and would have a big day ahead of them. Simon slept fitfully. His dreams were full of hideous crones with black cats and ravens. The witches stirred huge cauldrons and concocted potions, which they force-fed him to make him reveal the location of his Sword. He tried to refuse, but they were truth serums and he could not resist. The witches found his Sword and used it kill all of his friends. The Sword ate their souls and then the witches ate their bodies.

Simon woke in a cold sweat. The moon had gone. Jhamed was snoring softly and the fire was low. Reflected in the faint firelight, Simon saw four eyes watching him. They were small, yellow eyes; animal eyes, yet they shone with the fiercest intelligence that he had ever seen. The two-headed lemur creature had seated itself on the group’s food and sat watching Simon. Simon deliberately blinked his eyes to try to clear them of sleep. He could have sworn that the creature had winked at him, with both heads at the same time. If I didn’t know better, I’d reckon we’d all taken LSD or something. The creature chattered to itselves. Words formed in Simon’s head. Remember Vasek. Only Vasek can control the Sword. Beware Fleischaker! It consumes the souls of friends as well as enemies. The two-headed lemur creature gave him another two winks and skittered off into the forest. Simon slept again. When he awoke, he wasn’t sure whether he had dreamt everything.

Tamarlan

The four companions were too tired to explore the First Delve very far. They carefully descended a wide rock stair to the second level. Gamying, who was familiar with the layout, led them to some guest quarters. They found made-up beds and large jugs of water, as if guests were expected. Manfred and Kris made themselves comfortable while Gamying took Aglaral to find sustenance.

Manfred was extremely tired and found it difficult to keep his eyes open. He watched Kris through half-closed eyelids. The bard was curled up on his bed, in the foetal position again. Who is he? What role is he playing? What should I do with him? “Is there anything that you need to tell me, Kris?” The bard just whimpered and curled himself up tighter. I cannot trust him. I must stay awake until Gamying and Aglaral return.

When Gamying and Aglaral returned about twenty minutes later, they found both Kris and Manfred asleep. “Do you think we should wake them?” Aglaral asked.

“We’d better, Manfred needs to eat. We need him at full strength. As for the coward, I couldn’t care less.”

“There may be an explanation for his actions. I prefer to extend the concept of innocent until proven guilty,” Aglaral declared.

“He was condemned out of his own mouth, as far as I’m concerned. When we get to Tamarlan, I intend to prosecute him to the fullest extent of the law.”

“That is as it should be. Let’s give him the benefit of the doubt until then. But keep a wary eye on him at all times,” Aglaral said.

“Agreed, my friend. You fought well today. I am proud to have had the honour to stand beside you in battle. I fear that there may be many more battles ahead of us. I would be proud to have you join the elite Tamarlan Palace Guard. I would have someone I trust to watch my back in the battles ahead.”

“I am honoured, my Lord. Despite everything, I remain a Captain of the City States in the current service of Elannort. My family remains at risk in the south. I am cast on the seas of fate. Let us wait to see which shore I am cast upon next.”

Gamying nodded and moved to wake up Manfred and Kris. He gently nudged the old wizard, but was much rougher when he shook the sleeping bard. The two men sat up and listened to Gamying’s report.

“As you suspected, the halls are empty. Where the dwarves have gone, I do not know. Although times were hard, there was no talk of leaving when I was here recently and Dawit said nothing at the Council that would hint at where they might be. There was no evidence that they went south, so I must assume that they have gone to Tamarlan. I fear that so many hungry mouths will not be welcomed there. Whatever happened, it is clear that they left in a hurry. Tables are set for a meal. Half-eaten food remains on the plates. Clothes are scattered about. Chairs are knocked over in the rush to leave. We neither saw nor heard any evidence that an enemy has been here or is still present. We have collected food and beer. We should eat and rest. We can explore further tomorrow.”

The weary travellers feasted on stale bread, dried meat strips, last year’s soft crinkly apples, and mugs of foaming ale. Gamying and Aglaral chattered about the fight with the wargs and what they had seen exploring the delve. Kris sat quietly, nibbling slowly on a strip of dried meat. Manfred savoured the dwarven ale and observed the scene, while his mind was busy on other matters. At last, he spoke.

“I have probed the delve, right down to the lowest levels. There is no one living here, other than ourselves. I cannot fathom it. Something or someone must have precipitated this, but I can feel no trace. I cannot believe that they would head for Tamarlan. I have probed as far as I can, but I cannot feel the dwarves. They may no longer be in this dimension. I wish I had Jhamed here; there may be a hidden dimension portal in the delve. At least we can sleep safe tonight. Tomorrow we must try to get to Tamarlan. Tamarlan is nervous, but safe. Let us rest now. I for one am exhausted. Let’s snuff the torches; we will have need of them tomorrow.”

“With your leave, my Sage, Aglaral and I will take turns to keep watch. We will keep one torch alight.” Gamying cast a furtive glance at Kris as he spoke.

“As you wish, Gamying. I’m afraid I am too tired to take my turn. Make sure you both get some rest.” Manfred rolled onto his bunk, pulled a blanket over himself, and was snoring within a few moments. Kris pulled a blanket over his head to hide from Gamying’s accusing eyes. Aglaral snuffed out all but one of the torches. The delve settled into quiet darkness, broken only by the ripples of light from the flickering torch and the burbles of Manfred’s snores that seemed to resonate with the flickers.

Gamying woke them a few hours later. It was still several hours before dawn outside. Aglaral was absent. They quickly attended to their morning ablutions and broke their fasts on the remains of the previous night’s provisions. Aglaral returned, laden with new torches, filled water bottles and more provisions. Gamying took charge.

“Listen carefully. We are going to descend deep into the delve. There is a secret back door that will take us out onto the Tamarlan Road. We will avoid the Suicide Pass by taking this route. We must leave now if we are to make Tamarlan before nightfall. There will be new torches positioned at intervals along the way. Always carry two torches, one lit and another new one, which you must light before the first one expires. Do not discard your used torch. As soon as you reach a torch station, take a new torch and leave your used one there. Take up your packs. I’m sorry Manfred; there will be many stairs to descend.” Just my luck. I was hoping for a long lie in and breakfast in bed.

Gamying led them through the delve with confident certainty. It took them several hours, with frequent brief rest stops. In the course of their journey, they descended through so many levels that Manfred lost count. The immense size of Dwarvenhome became apparent to them all. They caught only the briefest of glimpses of the dwarven halls in the flickering light of their torches. The top levels were obviously the living levels, full of accommodation and social rooms. As they descended lower, by vast staircases hewn from the rock, the halls became cavernous. The meagre light from their torches was quickly absorbed by the total blackness. Just occasionally, their lights would reflect off jewelled walls or golden outcrops and they would get a glimpse of the hidden majesty of the caverns.

At one of these glimpses, Aglaral gasped aloud. “It must be a wondrous sight to see these caverns fully illuminated.”

Gamying stopped for a moment. “It is one of the Seven Wonders of the World – Melasurej, the Great Lighthouse at Rhakotis, the Jewelled Caverns of Devil’s Mouth, the One Tree and Hanging Gardens at Elvenhome, the Old Theatre at Tamarlan, the Coliseum at Kartage, and the Lost Tower. I have been fortunate enough to see five of them. I hope one day to visit Eden and to be allowed to see the Hanging Gardens. No human in living history has seen the Lost Tower nor knows its location. I would wager that none of them, even Melasurej itself, could hold a candle to these caverns. They are fully lit only on dwarven feast days. They are a sight to behold.”

As they descended further, the levels became less cavernous and more like a mining venture with small tunnels and workings. There were piles of rocks awaiting sorting and other piles that seemed to contain great treasures. The light of their torches illuminated the wealth created by generations of toil. There were piles of jewels, sparkling in all the colours of the rainbow. Most of all, there were stacks of gold nuggets. There was enough gold in a single heap to fuel the dreams of every human on the planet. There were piles as far as the eye could make out in the gloom. Surely, there were riches here beyond the dreams of avarice. Three of the companions appeared to be unaffected by the riches before them. Kris, on the other hand, couldn’t believe his eyes, which widened with lust. He managed to manoeuvre himself to be last in the line and orchestrated a stumble that put him out of sight of the rest of the group. Taking his chance, he stuffed his pockets with as much gold as he could fit in. As he hurried to catch up with the others, he struggled to deal with the excess weight he was carrying.

As they got deeper under the mountain, the temperature changed. At first the air was at a pleasant temperature and very fresh to breathe. There was a gentle breeze blowing through the caverns from some form of natural ventilation system. In the lower levels, the air was damp and fetid. Condensation ran down the walls and rivulets ran along the roughly hewn rock floors of the passages. They began to feel a bone chilling cold that was worse than the cold on the mountain because it was so damp and cloying. Manfred began to wheeze and his breathing became laboured. “Curse my rheumatic old bones!” he moaned.

“Don’t worry, old man, we’ll soon be out in the fresh air again,” Gamying told him. “We are about to enter a tunnel that will take us to the secret entrance. It is very small, so it might be a tight squeeze. It was built for dwarves and to slow down humans if they found the passage and tried to gain entry. There is a mechanism at this end to collapse the tunnel on top of any invaders should the door be breached. It’s about five miles long, so it will be a tough walk or crawl. There’s a door at the end. It’s sealed with magic. I couldn’t open it when I tried to come the other way, so I had to climb Suicide Pass. I’m sure you’ll be able to open it. You go first and I’ll bring up the rear. We’ll travel at your pace.”

Sure enough, they found the entrance to the tunnel almost immediately. It was built for a dwarf to walk with difficulty, with head bowed and carrying an axe. This meant it was no more than four feet high, although reasonably wide, perhaps six feet. The floor was very smooth, as if many people had passed this way over the years and had dragged wagons behind them. It seemed that this route might be the preferred way to trade with Tamarlan. Manfred muttered something profane under his breath. “As if my old bones haven’t been through enough; now you want me to crawl for five miles? And what if I can’t open the door?” Of course, I will be able to.

“You will, old man. You are not called The Magician for nothing. And if you can’t it will be five miles back again, climb all those stairs we came down, and a descent through Suicide Pass. Any more questions? Let’s get going.”

“Wait!” Aglaral stopped them. “There must be a better way. Wait here for a moment.” He disappeared into the darkness but reappeared a few minutes later dragging a flat trolley with small wheels. “There are more of these over there. The dwarves must use them for moving trading goods through the tunnel. Get one each and we can lie down and use our legs to push us through the tunnel.”

Quickly the group assembled its convoy of small wagons. Manfred led the way, Aglaral second, Kris behind him, and Gamying brought up the rear. There were torch holders on the wagons, which allowed them to see what they were doing and freed their hands so that they could hold on to the rough wood. They legged it down the tunnel, like old canal barge travellers passing through a cutting. Fortunately, the tunnel sloped slightly down towards the door. The floor was very smooth and the wheels on the trolleys were well oiled, so friction was not great. Even so, the unusual strain on the legs soon caused discomfort and cramps. I suppose it is marginally better than crawling. It’s certainly better than descending through Suicide Pass. I’ll need a long soak in a hot bath when we reach Tamarlan. And a massage from that young blonde I saw last time. Although, she’s probably in her dotage by now, passing her time in a rocking chair. Like I should be, instead of having all these crazy adventures. By the Balance, I am tired. If this tunnel collapsed now, I would almost welcome it. No! Get a grip, Manfred, your work is not yet done. The greatest challenge still lies ahead. Simon will depend on you.

Aglaral was young and fit and he found it relatively easy to keep up with Manfred’s pace. In fact, he had to be careful not to go too fast and bump into the wizard’s trolley. The monotony of the journey caused his mind to wander. He thought about his family, and worried again whether Velacourt would keep his word. He was torn between serving Manfred, joining Gamying, and rushing back home. Why have the fates cast me in this important part? I’m a simple soldier. What have I to offer? The answer came unbidden into his mind. You have always understood the need for balance in everything. You believe in fairness and everyone getting an equal opportunity. You abhor evil in all its forms, whether chaos driven or inflicted by law. You are a man of the Balance.

Kris was just the right build for walking in the tunnel but he found it very uncomfortable on his wagon. The pockets of his coat were stuffed full of gold nuggets and however he tried to position himself, they dug into his body. His short legs had to stretch to their limits to reach the wall. At each push, he squirmed in pain as the gold bruised his body. I will look like a chessboard after this. But what a story it will make. Provided that I can rewrite the bit involving the wargs. Just the memory of the events in the hut made him shiver with fear. He forced himself to think of better things. I have enough gold to live comfortably for the rest of my life. I will find a nice place in Tamarlan and live a comfortable life – good food, fine wine, beautiful women. I’ll write a few stories and perform at the Old Theatre. I have done my bit. I have found my reward. If only He will leave me alone.

Gamying easily maintained the pace he needed to stay with the others. He was a man at the peak of his life, ready for the challenges that the forthcoming war would throw at him. If he really thought about it, he had enjoyed the battle with the wargs. Victory was sweet. He was a warrior at heart. Tamarlan must be protected at all costs. The Sword must come north. How can a puny boy wield such a sword? It needs a warrior. A warrior like me! That chain of thought was leading into dangerous waters. He changed tack and reviewed his journey and what he had achieved. Soon he would be home again and would need to report to his father in a concise manner. There would be much to recount. His father would be pleased that he had brought Manfred with him. He would be even more pleased were the Sword to come too. If we had the Sword, Tamarlan would be a real power in the world. No one would threaten us again.

It took them about ninety minutes to traverse the tunnel. At the far end, the tunnel widened somewhat into a small chamber at the door. They came to a bumpy halt in a collision of trolleys, door, legs, and curses. No one was seriously injured, because Manfred, by now, was travelling at a very gentle speed. The door itself looked very strong. It was built from sturdy oak, now black with age, with in-built iron reinforcements. It had no handle and no visible lock. The sound of rushing water could be heard from the other side.

Manfred gingerly extracted himself from the wreckage and used his torch to get a better look at the detail. “You are correct, Gamying. This door has a magic lock. There are dwarfish runes on the lintel. I will need a short time to decipher them; my ancient dwarfish is rather rusty.” The others stretched their legs and inspected their bruises while Manfred paced and considered. Come on, Magician. They are expecting great things from you. Concentrate. After several minutes, he stopped pacing and addressed them, with an appropriate degree of solemnity. “The translation of the runes is as follows. ‘If you are a true friend of the dwarves speak the name of our god, pass in peace, and return safe and sound.’ It is a simple lock, requiring only the speaking of the word Satania, in ancient dwarfish.” He turned around, facing the door and in a strong clear voice uttered a phrase that sounded like ‘Bahl Shamim’.” Nothing happened. Bugger! That should have worked. He spoke the words again. There was no response. He stared at the door for some time. “I am confident that I have interpreted the runes correctly. I cannot explain why the door hasn’t opened.”

The others looked at Manfred in consternation. The thought of the return journey to the top of the mountain was not one to contemplate with pleasure. They shuffled around aimlessly in the flicker of the torch light. The sound of rushing water, so close to them, only made their predicament more acute.

“Can the door be broken down or opened any other way?” Aglaral asked.

“There is strong magic here. It is old magic, older than wizards. There is no way that this door can be breached. I don’t understand it. I have spoken the words correctly.” Manfred was bemused.

“Tell me what the runes say again,” Gamying said.

“If you are a true friend of the dwarves speak the name of our god, pass in peace, and return safe and sound,” Manfred translated again.

“So it is conditional,” Gamying stated. “The door will only open for true friends of the dwarves. I am well known here as a dwarf friend. Manfred’s credentials go without saying. I would wager my life that the magic would recognise Aglaral as a true dwarf friend, despite the fact that he has only ever met one dwarf in his life. That leaves you Kris.” He stared at the bard and his eyes were daggers cutting into his soul. “Are you a true dwarf friend?” He drew his sword.

Kris dropped his eyes. He couldn’t meet Gamying’s gaze. He said nothing. The silence was only momentary but it seemed to drag on forever. The only sounds were the beating of four hearts and the water noise coming through the sealed door.

Eventually Manfred spoke. “Act not in anger, Gamying. There is something going on with Master Kris. I had hoped to resolve it in Tamarlan after we were well rested. If you have nothing to say, then I shall be forced to read your mind. I warn you that if you resist me, it may cause permanent damage.”

Kris spoke hurriedly. “That won’t be necessary, Manfred. I admit to my crime. It is one of greed, driven only by the want to have a secure and peaceful life.” He began to remove the gold nuggets from his pockets and stacked them by the wall of the alcove. “It appears that I have suffered the bruises of carrying these treasures for nothing. I shall live with the regret of what might have been for the rest of my miserable life.” As the last nugget left his pocket, the door began to swing open with a groan. They were momentarily blinded by the sunlight and closed their eyes in response. Kris moved to sneak the last nugget back into his pocket, but hesitated and placed it with the rest.

“Hah!” Gamying snorted. “So it is theft is it? Don’t think that this lets you off. Your behaviour with the wargs is fresh in my memory.” He sheathed his sword. “Manfred will have that conversation with you in Tamarlan and if you cannot adequately vouch for yourself, I will see that justice is served, one way or another.” The threat hung in the air, like thunder on a humid summer day. “Come, let us leave these dark halls and breathe fresh air and feel sunlight on our faces again.”

As their eyes adjusted to the light, they realised that the door exited onto a rock platform that was completely hidden by a cascading waterfall directly in front of them. The stream was generated from the melting ice and snow in the mountains above so it was particularly strong. The cold spray struck their faces with a refreshing vigour. The noise from the falls was now so strong that they could not speak to each other. The door slammed shut behind them. It was indistinguishable on this side from the grey rock of the cliff face. Without prior knowledge, there was no way of knowing there was a door there. Gamying tapped them on their shoulders to attract their attention and led them off along the ledge parallel to the falls. At the edge of the ledge, there was a hole cut into the rock face. They stepped through the hole, pushing aside thick branches on the other side and stepped out onto a mountain track. Gamying carefully replaced the flora to disguise the entrance and then led them down the track. A steep descent took them quickly to the base of the falls, where they stopped to catch their breaths and take bearings.

In front of them, the jagged teeth of the Devil Mountains bit into the clear blue sky. The sun was almost directly overhead. The falls dropped in a single cascade of well over one thousand feet, through a rainbow-fringed cloud of spray into a large, clear pool. They had descended a small, steep path to the left of the falls. On their right was a larger, well-worn path that zigged and zagged as far as the eye could see. It led to the infamous Suicide Pass. Behind them, a path, wide enough for a horse and cart to pass another with comfort, gently descended to the plains below. The plains were alive with new grass and wild flowers, a lush carpet of green, white, mauve and gold. In the distance, the spire of Tamarlan was visible in the haze.

Gamying laughed. “Spring has finally arrived, north of the mountains, and it is a welcome sight to a homesick man. We call this waterfall Life Falls, because the stream that flows from it is the Life Stream that provides the water supply for Tamarlan. The dwarves call it Warning Falls, because it marks the boundary to their realm. Any who pass here must be dwarf friends or suffer the consequences. The path from here leads to the very steep and exceedingly difficult climb of Suicide Pass. It was good that we avoided it. It was so named after the failed attack on Devil’s Mouth by Gadiel’s army in 11144. The Dark God’s soldiers had enormous superiority in numbers but became so dispirited by their failure to make headway against a small defence force of dwarves that many of them, rather than face the Dark God’s wrath, threw themselves off the mountainside. Come, we will make great headway now. We will find transport when we reach the plains and will be in Tamarlan before nightfall. We will feast in my father’s court tonight.” Manfred’s stomach was already rumbling in anticipation. It will be good to see my old friend Gamyon again.

Buoyed by the beauty of the plains, the relative ease of the rest of the journey, and the prospect of a warm bath and a hot meal, the weary travellers found renewed energy in their legs. The rest of the descent went without a hitch and they were soon walking briskly through sweet smelling fields of grasses and wild flowers. Kris appeared to be susceptible to hay fever, because he was soon repeatedly sneezing and wheezing. Gamying’s smile just got wider and brighter.

After a few miles, they found the first of many farmhouses. The entire family was at work in the fields, making up for lost time. At the sight of the unexpected travellers, the women and children were ushered back to the house and the men and youths called their dogs and approached the group with pitchforks and scythes at the ready. Their demeanour changed instantly when they recognised Gamying. They dropped to their knees and showed great respect to their Heir-Regent. The group was welcomed warmly. While the youths readied a horse wagon, the women fussed around preparing a meal of fresh bread and cheese washed down with mead. Manfred patted his stomach and sighed. That was the best bread and cheese of my long life. He burped loudly and was not at all embarrassed.

The rest of the day passed in a blur for Manfred, probably because he spent most of it dozing in the back of the wagon. Aglaral drove the wagon with Gamying sitting up front with him. Kris snivelled in the back with Manfred. The road followed the course of the Life Stream. They passed many farms and received similar receptions to the first. They respectfully declined all further offers of hospitality with the need to reach Tamarlan upmost in their minds.

Manfred woke up as they approached the city. It was always a fine sight, entering the city of artists. Tamarlan sat in the middle of the northern plains, like a fancy jewel set in the middle of an otherwise unembellished brooch. The plains were extensively farmed and provided food not only for the city but also to trade with the dwarves for their gold and gemstones. These treasures were used both for artistic purposes and to trade for other goods and services the city needed. Its geographic location meant that trade was very difficult and only possible when the mountain passes were open in summer. It also meant that Tamarlan, over the long years, had become totally self-sufficient. It had become a haven for those seeking to escape the world for whatever reasons, but particularly it had become a haven for artists of all persuasions. Manfred had visited the city many times and always enjoyed his stays. He liked visiting the theatre to see the latest plays and the art galleries to view the works of the city’s fine artists both past and present. Manfred craned his neck to see more of the city as they approached.

It was an unusual sight for a city in the middle of nowhere. There were no city walls, no ramparts, in fact no defences of any sort. The streets were wide and tree-lined. The trees were mainly deciduous and they were now just bursting into leaf. Apple and cherry trees were coming into blossom. The city seemed to be renewing itself after a long, hard winter. The houses were single storey, made of local stone and brick. Housewives were busy with spring-cleaning. The city’s industry and quarries were located to the north, on the edge of the inhospitable and mysterious Northland, so that the approach from the south was unsullied. At the centre of the city stood the ancient precincts. Here was Tamarlan’s heart. Cobbled streets wound through the great market and past many art galleries, theatres, and meeting venues. People hustled and bustled about their business. Large, colourful signs proclaimed forthcoming shows and displays. At the centre of everything were two human-built mounds. The Life Stream flowed between the mounds and an ornate stone bridge crossed the river and joined the two mounds. On one stood the ancient palace of the kings, now occupied and maintained by the Regent. As palaces go, it was an unprepossessing place. Its one striking feature was its high tower, made of local stone that stretched skywards in phallic symbolism. On the other mound stood one of the Seven Wonders of the World – The Old Theatre.

Manfred found his eyes drawn to the Theatre Mound, clearly the reason why the palace had such a plain design. Manfred had seen it many times before, but each renewed impression always generated a gasp of surprise, even in an ancient wizard who thought he had seen everything. The Old Theatre was a circular construction, or as near to circular as the original carpenters could manage. It was perhaps two hundred feet in diameter and one hundred feet high. It had been constructed from timber originally, but over the years, the rotting wood had been replaced with granite from the mountains. From the outside, there was no visible evidence of what artistic delights its interior held. Its most striking feature was that by some feat of engineering or magic it appeared to hover, unsupported in mid-air, one hundred feet above the mound. Viewed from the correct angle, with the palace spire behind it, the Old Theatre gave the impression of an enormous child’s spinning top.

Under Gamying’s instruction, Aglaral guided the wagon into the palace courtyard, where they were met by a fussing crowd of retainers. One spoke urgently to Gamying, who took Manfred aside. “I regret that we cannot take time to rest and freshen up. My father would speak with you urgently in the council chamber. Aglaral and Kris will be shown their quarters. I have ordered that a guard be placed on Kris’s door until such time as we have got to the bottom of his actions.”

Gamying strode into the palace, with Manfred beside him, hurrying to keep up. He led Manfred through wide, carpeted corridors decorated with great works of art, until they reached the double doors of the council chamber. A guard opened the doors, ushered them in and announced their presence. A group of people were clustered around the large table, poring over maps. Their chatter was silenced as Gamying and Manfred entered. One man stood. He was an older version of Gamying. He was the same build and size, but where Gamying’s hair and beard were jet black, Gamyon’s showed flecks of grey. Gamyon’s and Gamying’s eyes locked briefly. Manfred observed that much was said without words. Father and son were clearly very close. Gamyon cleared his throat and addressed them. His eyes moved from his son’s and locked onto Manfred’s. He has received bad news. He has despair in his eyes, but I see a small glimmer of hope there.

“Welcome home my son, it is good to see you returned safe and sound. Welcome Great Sage, your visits to Tamarlan are too few. You are always most welcome here. Your timing could not be better. I am at my wits' end. I need your advice and your assistance. The omens are not good. Spring came late. The dwarves have left FirstWorld. Our city is regularly attacked out of Northland. I fear that our peaceful city will fall.” He paused and his eyes met his son’s again and then began to water with tears. “I fear that Gamying, my Heir-Regent, will never get his chance to fulfil his destiny. I fear that the time of the Regents draws to an end. You are not the only visitors in Tamarlan. Yesterday, a stranger arrived in mysterious circumstances out of the Northland. He carries the mark of Ubadah. The King has returned.”

Trinity Renewed

Remember Vasek. Only Vasek can control the Sword. Beware Fleischaker! It consumes the souls of friends as well as enemies. The words stayed with Simon. He refrained from discussing them with Jhamed. He’ll think I’m crazy. It was just a dream.

After a hurried breakfast, they left the purple forest behind them. The rest of the journey only took a couple of hours. They passed through three nondescript dimensions and avoided all human contact. Jhamed halted them before a shimmering portal in the middle of a pine forest. “This doorway leads to the dungeons of Dishley. It is a grim place, as Simon well knows. We need a plan to deal with the witch. I have been wracking my brains, but I have not come up with anything.”

Simon stepped forward. “When we get to the dungeon, we will find Juliana. She worked for Freda, so she will know her way around the castle. Dawit, you will use the explosive we brought with us to blow the doors of the prison. We will release the prisoners, which will cause a diversion. You three will remain in the dungeon to secure our escape. Juliana and I will find a way into Freda’s treasure room, where she must hold the Sword. It will call me and help me to find it. We will give the guards a chance to stand down or join us. There will be no killing unless absolutely necessary and in self-defence. Is that clear?”

Taran and Dawit stared at Simon, open-mouthed. Jhamed laughed. “The Hero has arrived. Not before time, I might add. We are at your command, my lord.”

Simon wasn’t sure whether Jhamed spoke earnestly or was poking fun at him. He stepped into the portal, taking the lead for the first time. The now familiar stench of fouled humanity assailed his nostrils immediately. The pitiful sights of the dungeon disturbed his vision soon afterwards. Nothing much had changed in the dungeons of Dishley. Amongst the whimpers and moans of the residents, he heard strong cursing from Dawit and Taran, who had been unprepared for the experience.

“What hell hole have you brought me to?” Taran demanded as the tide of human effluent retreated from their unexpected presence.

“Animals deserve better than this,” Dawit spluttered, trying to avoid breathing too deeply. A rat ran across the floor in front of him and twenty pairs of hands tried to grab it. It eluded their grasp; it wouldn’t be dinner tonight.

“You’ll get used to it,” Simon told them. He grabbed the nearest wretch of a man and looked down at him, square in the eyes. “Where is Juliana? Do you know who I mean?”

“Yes, my lord.” The man straightened himself and stood upright. There was still a hint of human pride in his bearing. When he spoke again, there was a hint of hope and excitement in his voice. “I was here when you dealt with Dring. Have you come back to free us? Has the time finally come?”

Simon immediately regretted his initial harsh questioning. He smiled at the man and spoke in a kindly tone. “Yes, my friend. The time has finally come. Say nothing to anyone yet, but find Juliana and bring her here. Tell her that Si Si Simon has returned and she will trust you. Can I trust you?”

Unexpectedly, the man grinned, showing a mouth full of black teeth. “You can trust me, my lord. I offer you everything I have, which is only my life. I will do as you instruct.” He backed away, bowing, and then turned and hurried off, pushing and elbowing past the shattered wrecks of men and women who were in his way.

Taran and Dawit drew their weapons and established a perimeter, with the smooth wall of the cave at their backs. They cleared enough room so that Simon and Jhamed had space to stack their packs and sit down on the sandy floor to wait. Their arrival had generated enormous interest and a crowd gathered. People pushed and jostled to get to the front. Eyes were gouged and brittle bones were broken in the crush. Dawit had to threaten them with his axe to get them to stand back. He scratched a line in the sand with his foot. “Cross this line and you shall feel the mercy of my axe on your wretched skulls! Stay behind the line and you shall be freed this day.” The crowd eyed his axe and chattered nervously. Everyone stayed behind the line.

Simon was lost in his thoughts. The dungeon and the people seemed to be in a mist. Everything was a blur. He vaguely heard Dawit’s orders to the crowd. His focus though was in his mind. He was close to the Sword now and it was aware of him. It filled his mind with images. There was so much information that Simon could only grasp snatches of it. He saw a great warrior. There was a huge battle, with much death and bloodshed. He felt warm, bloated, and happy. Another figure was there, he was dark and cowled. They fought. Now the dark figure held a still-beating heart in his hand and he threw back his head and laughed. Simon saw his face. Even though he laughed, it was expressionless. It was pure white, unmarked by beard or blemish, by eyebrow or lash. The eyes were black as coal and showed no emotion. There was coldness in those eyes, colder than the heart of a glacier. Then Simon felt absolute coldness and saw the actual heart of a glacier, and even though it chilled him to the marrow it was like a blacksmith’s furnace compared with those eyes. He felt a momentary flash of hope as he saw the faces of humans, only to be dashed to despair when he saw the face of a hideous crone, with hooked nose and rotten teeth who cackled and mocked. He felt hope renewed and he knew he was the bearer of that hope. Come for me. I am ready. Together we shall be invincible. I am so weak . I must feed soon. Simon shivered with cold and felt so weak that, had he not been sitting down, he would surely have collapsed. The crowd buzzed and jostled, but they were but vague murmurs and shadows in the fog. He didn’t know how he could go on. He couldn’t even stand up.

The fog parted. The crowd and his friends remained hidden in the mist. Yet, out of the fog, a figure walked, clear as on a sunny day. She was the most beautiful girl that he had ever set his eyes upon. She was tall and slim, with a tiny waist and small breasts that were falling out of a simple red gown. It had once been a beautiful dress, but now it hung in rags. Her hair was long, straight, and jet-black. When he had last seen her, it had been clean and perfumed. Now it hung in lank, greasy strands. It still framed an elfin face of such pure beauty that it made his heart lurch. Her eyes were the purest blue, shining like jewels against the milky whiteness of her skin – still evident even amongst the brown stains. Her lips were still voluptuous, despite their lack of rouge and the dry cracks that crossed them. Around her neck, she wore a simple necklace with a small silver locket, that he knew contained a lock of Manfred’s hair. Simon’s heart lurched. He felt such love and joy as he had never known before. The fog cleared and he jumped to his feet and took Juliana in his arms. He held her tightly as if he never wanted to let go. “I have come back for you.” He sobbed into her hair. No! You have come back for me! She is nothing. We are the Trinity. Simon could not understand why he felt a sudden pang of jealousy.

There was a new confidence about Simon. He didn’t know where it had come from, but he liked the feeling. Taran and Dawit seemed to treat him with much more respect. Jhamed was still Jhamed, but he seemed to be happy about it. Juliana melted into his arms. He liked that feeling. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her, but decided that must wait until later. He stood tall and addressed the crowd. “My friends; please listen to me. I am Simon the Red.” Where the hell did that come from? I like it! “My friends and I have come to free you and release you from the yoke of the Witch Queen. Will you help us?” For a brief moment, there was silence as the words sank in. Just as Simon was beginning to worry, he was overwhelmed by a cacophony of sound. The crowd yelled and screamed its support. It took all of his effort to quieten them again.

“We must do this with the minimum of violence. We will try to convince the guards not to fight us. When you are released, head away from the jail. Stay hidden until we have dealt with Freda.” The crowd seemed shocked to hear the name uttered without reverence or title. Simon had just committed a blasphemy punishable by death. “When I give the word, you must create a disturbance to distract the guards while we deal with the gate. Stay silent until then. May the Balance be with you and may your future repay the debt that is owed for such inhumane treatment.”

He checked with Dawit, Taran, and Jhamed that they knew their roles. He couldn’t afford to delay the crowd for too long. He whispered to Juliana. “Can you guide me to Freda’s treasure room?” She nodded and kissed him on the cheek. Simon blushed, but it felt so good. Come for me! The voice in his head was urgent. I am coming, be patient. “Let’s go!” He shouted and the crowd surged forward.

The next few minutes were a chaotic scramble. The crowd surged to one end of the open bars that separated the dungeon from the outside world. There they began to make mayhem that brought the four guards on duty to find out what was going on. Meanwhile, Dawit managed to place a charge in the lock of the rusty gate. The explosion took out the gate as well as the lock and sent many of the crowd sprawling as well as the four guards. By the time the guards had regained their feet they were confronted by an elf with a sword and a dwarf with an axe, who offered them surrender or death. They obviously liked their odds because they chose to fight. Unfortunately for them, they seriously misjudged their opponents and their mistake proved fatal. Two died from stab wounds to the heart. Two were decapitated by a dwarven axe. Simon, weaponless as he was, led the group up a long, sloping corridor towards the surface. The crowd jostled behind them, eager to taste freedom. They were confronted by another locked iron gate and a roomful of soldiers beyond.

The Captain of the Guard stepped forward. “Return to your dungeon immediately and you will be allowed to live. Hesitate for but an instant and you will all die.” He had a loud commanding voice that spoke of long experience and demanded respect.

“I am Simon the Red. I have come to claim what is rightfully mine. I intend to rid your kingdom of the evil witch Freda. Lay down your arms, open this gate and let us pass without hindrance and you will be allowed to live. Hesitate for but an instant and you will all die.” Simon barely recognised his own voice. It commanded obedience and absolute respect.

The Captain of the Guard stepped forward until he was touching the bars. He stared into Simon’s eyes and there was unspoken communication. “You realise that no matter how good a group of fighters you are, I have the numbers to defeat you. Your death would be certain. However, I am old enough to remember the time before She came. If you indeed have the power to do as you say, it will be the greatest thing ever to happen to Dishley. I read something in your eyes that, against my better judgement, tells me to believe you.” He turned to his men. “Lay down your arms and let them pass.” There were a few grumbles, but he had their obedience. He unlocked the gate, drew his sword, and laid it at Simon’s feet. “I am your servant, my lord. Be successful or I will be inside the dungeon; if I’m lucky enough to live.”

Simon picked up the sword. “Stay here and make sure these men don’t raise the alarm.” His orders were directed at Jhamed, Taran and Dawit. “Juliana, come with me. We won’t be long. Whatever happens, do not come looking for us. We will see you when this is over.” Simon and Juliana hurried away.

The crowd of escaping prisoners followed them, the lures of freedom, food, and a wash pulling them like an angler’s fly attracts a hungry trout. Only one man remained; the one who had sought out Juliana. “If there is anything I can do to help? I am very grateful for my release. I’m sure the others are too but they are too excited to say so.”

Jhamed looked at him and smiled. “Thank you, my friend. You have already done us a great service. Hurry off now and enjoy your freedom. Prince Christopher will need your help soon enough.” The man bowed low and hurried off. “Now, despite Simon’s new found leadership, there is something I must do or I fear there will be tears before bedtime. Will you pick up a sword and join me, Captain? You two are more than capable of holding the fort here.” Jhamed and the Captain followed Simon and Juliana.

Dawit looked at Taran and shrugged. “Who would have thought it? A dwarf and an elf holding the fort. These are strange days indeed. I had hoped to see the witch.”

“Be careful what you wish for. If Simon is not successful you may see more of her than will be good for you,” Taran said.

Juliana guided Simon through the cold stone corridors of the dungeon. They climbed slowly until they were at ground level, where they stopped to take stock. “The dungeon forms the lower levels of the central tower of the castle. The Queen’s treasure room is at the very top of the tower. We can use the servants’ stairs to get most of the way up there. There is a single stair for the last two floors. Her apartments are on the second top floor. No one is allowed up to the top floor. Someone is coming, quickly, this way.”

They hid behind a wall tapestry as a group of chattering servants passed by and then crept to a door that opened into a narrow stone stairway. The stairs were worn from generations of use and lit only by a faint light from slit windows at regular intervals. Simon hoped that they would not meet anyone on the stairs. He didn’t want to have to use the sword he was carrying on innocent people. Fortunately, there was no one around and they climbed steadily. Even so, Simon was out of breath by the time they reached Freda’s levels. The higher they got, the more urgent were the demands in Simon’s head. He tried to shut them out, to keep his head clear but it was impossible. Yes, yes, come to me. I am waiting. Without Juliana leading him, he probably wouldn't have had the wits to find the chamber, such was his distraction. The servants’ stairs disgorged them onto a landing. A wide, carpeted stairway lit by wall-mounted oil lamps would take them to Freda’s quarters. They paused for a moment and Simon forced his head to clear a little. “What does she look like? How will I recognise her? In my mind, she looks like an ugly old crone.”

Juliana looked at Simon. “Oh, no! She is the most beautiful woman in the world.”

Simon was confused. He wanted to tell Juliana that, to him, she was the most beautiful woman in the world, even as dirty and ragged as she was now. The noise in his head got too loud again, so he said nothing. Be careful. She is here. She is waiting for you. They tentatively climbed the stairs. Again, they saw no one. On the next level, a long carpeted corridor led off to many closed doors. A much smaller, steeper staircase would take them to the top of the tower. Simon hesitated. “Juliana, you don’t have to come any further. Wait here for me.”

“No. I must see this thing through. I am coming with you. I feel a great bond between us. It is my destiny.”

Simon was lost for words. He wanted to tell Juliana that the bond was great indeed, that he loved her, and that he wanted to spend his entire life with her. It is time. Come for me now. The witch will die. We will feast soon. I have waited so long. Oh yes, we will feast soon. They climbed the last flight of stairs in silence. At the top they were confronted by a heavy wooden door with a cast iron latch and ring shaped handle. In a fog, Simon grasped the ring and turned. The latch clicked and with a push, the door creaked open.

The room was dark, lit only by two small lamps burning on the walls. Shadows jumped in the flickering light, adding to the eerie stillness. In the centre of the room was a large, simple wooden table. The table seemed out of place. The rest of the room was ornately decorated. The walls contained many mirrors and framed portraits. Several statues were dotted around the room on marble pedestals. In the dim light, they looked like gargoyles. Smaller tables, intricately carved from mahogany, stood against the walls. They contained artefacts big and small – jewels, ornaments, weapons, clothes, armour, even a preserved human head. The plain pine table stood out. It looked like a butcher’s block. It was empty except for a sword, the Sword. It was black, except for a blood red ruby embedded in its hilt, which glowed with a faint energy. It was precisely located in the centre of the table, inside a pentagram. One point of the pentagram was located at ninety degrees beneath the Sword. It pointed directly at Simon and Juliana as they entered the room. The pentagram was dark red. A perfect circle, also dark red, enclosed the sword and the pentagram. To the upper left of the sword, an all-seeing eye symbol was keeping guard. It screeched like an angry magpie protecting its nest. A figure emerged from the shadows in the back of the room. “Be quiet, my lovely, I am here. Hello, Simon, I have been expecting you.”

Simon was in a fog again. His head throbbed as if he were having a bad migraine attack. Fleischaker was calling him. Juliana needed his protection. This woman was welcoming him. He blinked through the fog and focussed on the woman. No! It can’t be. She is dead. “Mother?” was all that he said.

The woman spoke again. “Well, Juliana, it seems that you have not yet learned your lesson.” She gestured towards Juliana and the girl was flung through the air, hitting the wall beside the doorway and sliding to the floor in a crumpled heap. “I will deal with you later. Your death will be very slow and exceedingly unpleasant.”

Simon was at a loss. How could this woman, who looked like his mother, behave like this? He rushed over to Juliana and held her limp body in his arms. Her eyes flickered open. “I’m alright, Simon. Don’t worry about me.” She coughed, and a small trickle of blood ran from her mouth. She struggled to sit up and, slowly and painfully, she removed the chain and locket from her neck. “Wear this, Simon. It will help you to see the truth.” Simon took the locket and slipped it around his neck. Immediately his head cleared. He heard the words of Manfred the Magician. Be strong Simon. Fleischaker is rightfully yours. Take up the Sword. Control the Sword. He gently laid Juliana back on the floor and stood up.

The woman moved into the light. She was middle-aged, neither beautiful nor ugly, slightly overweight with a plain face and long black hair that was showing signs of grey. “Do not hurt Juliana again, witch!” Simon ordered.

“So, you see through my disguise, Simon. It’s very useful to make people see the person they most admire or love. It makes them less likely to try to hurt me. You want to hurt me, don’t you? I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Please put down your sword.” Freda’s words were syrupy, sickly-sweet but with a hint of a threat to counter the redolence. The witch gestured and Simon felt his arm moving, without his approval, to lower his sword to the floor. He didn’t try to resist; after all, he was finished with this sword.

“My spies in the dungeon saw you and your friends arrive. You travel with strange company. I never heard of a dwarf and an elf working together before. Who are you? Why are you here? Do you think that a mere boy can threaten Freda, the most powerful Witch Queen that has ever been? Even two wizards together are no match for me. I will deal with your friends and that mutinous Captain soon enough. First, I would have some sport with you. I will know all of your secrets, one way or another. You seem to have strong feelings for Juliana. I will start by letting you watch me torture her and kill her.” She gave a raucous laugh that reminded Simon of the old crone in his visions. “I have no remorse. You are no more to me than that rat, hiding in the corner.” The rat scurried into the shadows.

Simon felt a flash of pity for the witch, but it was quickly followed by anger and hatred. He had only ever felt such emotions before when thinking about his stepfather. He stood tall and faced Freda. The words that he spoke came to him without thinking. He wasn’t sure whether it was he or another that spoke them. “I have come for the Sword.”

The witch laughed. “You! A puny boy. Two wizards could not even touch it. It is protected by my strongest magic. Don’t make me laugh.”

“Know you that I am Simon the Red, Everlasting Hero. I come to reclaim what is rightfully mine, taken by deception from Gilgamesh the Great by Gadiel the Dark God. You have no claim on Fleischaker. We are the Trinity. We claim your soul.” He stepped forward and extended his left hand to pick up the Sword. The bonds of the pentacle shattered into dust. The all-seeing eye screamed and closed. As he picked up the Sword, Simon felt as though all the heat was being sucked out of his body. Freda appeared frozen too; immobilised in shock she stood with her mouth open in disbelief. Fleischaker began to sing and it sounded like a banshee wailing. Simon howled like a coyote on a full moon. Freda died, impaled on the Sword, and Fleischaker consumed her soul. The ruby glowed bright red and the Sword sang. Simon was overwhelmed by emotion. The heat flowed back into his body. Every nerve tingled, like every orgasm he had ever had had come at once.

Over by the wall, Juliana dragged herself to her feet and began to speak. “Oh, Simon you have done it, you...” The words were cut off as Fleischaker cut her throat. The Sword sang and Simon screamed. So began the orgy of death. The Hero methodically worked his way down the tower. In the royal nursery, the children were massacred in their beds. In the kitchens, the cooks were butchered like the meat they were cooking. In a room off Freda’s quarters, a drugged and befuddled King Jack welcomed the peace that death finally brought him. Servants were slaughtered as they cleaned and polished. Guards who came running were dispatched with clinical efficiency and never made as much as a scratch on the Hero. In a secret room, two old men chained to the wall in heavy irons died incredulous and the Hero barely noticed that their bodies turned to dust, which was carried away by an eerie breeze.

As he neared the bottom of the tower, Simon caught a glimpse of himself in a full-length wall-mirror. He was shocked. Truly, he had earned his name. He was completely red, covered in the blood of his victims. Too late, the words of warning came back into his mind. Remember Vasek. Only Vasek can control the Sword. Beware Fleischaker! It consumes the souls of friends as well as enemies. Angrily, he sheathed the Sword. Simon collapsed to the floor, hung his head in his hands, and cried. The tears mingled with the blood on his face and rivulets of red flowed to the floor. Those who saw him that day said that when he cried, Simon Rufus even cried tears of blood. Thus was his legend born and quickly did it spread.

Book 3 Back to the Beginning

 

In which Simon Redhead, otherwise known as Simon Rufus or Simon the Red, will understand more about the burden he must carry and reject it.

 

“When the two who are one

Return to the sun

When the flame-haired child

Is first become

While the guardians sleep

Humankind will weep.”

Ancient Prophecy

The Tower at Melasurej

Simon drifted in and out of a deep sleep. He was in a soft bed, warm under the heavy covers. At the brief times he awoke, he noticed little, except that a pigeon seemed always to be perched at his window. Sometimes he would see Jhamed sitting next to the bed. At other times, he would see the little man pacing back and forth and mumbling to himself. He slept without dreams, as if he were drugged. Finally, he awoke, and the memory of the atrocities he had committed returned. He curled into a ball and sobbed.

Jhamed was sitting in a chair next to the bed. “Simon, are you awake?” He was wearing his usual hat, but his curls seemed to be evading capture more than usual. There was deep concern in his eyes, and dark rings around them. Unlike Simon, it seemed he had had little sleep.

Slowly, Simon sat up. He was in his quarters at Wizards’ Keep. He couldn’t remember anything of the journey home. Whether he had walked, been dragged, or had been carried he couldn’t say. Anxiously, he felt at his side. He was naked. He looked around. Fleischaker, sheathed in the scabbard Vasek, lay on the dresser. “What happened, Jhamed? How did I get back here? What have I done? Why don’t you put me in prison?”

“Welcome back, my friend. You have slept for almost three days. We found you covered in blood and tears and brought you home. You were incoherent most of the time. Dawit and Taran carried you. We bathed you and put you to bed. By the Balance, I wish Manfred were here. He would know how to help you.”

“Jhamed, I remember. I know what I did. I wanted to kill myself afterwards, but the Sword wouldn’t let me. How can I live with myself? I murdered the entire family and their servants. Even with Freda gone, there is no one to lead them. There will be civil war. Thousands will die and it will be all my fault.” He threw himself back on the bed, weeping.

“Look Simon, I know this is hard to understand, but for the sake of your sanity you must try. It wasn’t you who carried out those acts. It was a new being, a new manifestation of the Everlasting Hero. You formed a Trinity with the Sword and unfortunately, the ruby took control. You have to learn to be in command. Manfred could explain things much better if he were here; curse the old wizard for not being around when you need him. There was some collateral damage, I’m afraid. That’s what happens in war. There will always be innocent victims; you have to learn that quickly. It’s not as bad as you think. With a little help, I removed Prince Christopher and Princess Margaret from the royal chambers before the carnage. They are safe. Prince Christopher will take his rightful place as the new king. I’m confident that things will work out well there. Here, have a drink of water.”

Simon stared at his friend, unmoving. “You knew! You knew that this would happen, but you didn’t warn me. I thought you were my friend. I hate you!”

“I didn’t know for sure, Simon. Manfred told me that something like this might happen. I couldn’t warn you, because then you would have refused to take up the Sword, wouldn’t you. Please, drink this.” Jhamed offered the glass a second time.

Reluctantly Simon took the glass and sipped the water. “I’m sorry Jhamed. It’s not your fault. Someone did warn me. I don’t know who or what it was. I ignored it.” He told Jhamed about the night in the purple forest and the two-headed lemur creature. “I need your friendship and support now, more than ever. Please forgive me for what I said.”

“You’ll say far worse things than that, before we’re done. It’s forgiven and forgotten. Simon, I am your companion and friend. I will always be there for you, if I can be. Wherever you are in the multiverse, look for me. It may not be me, but if there’s another version of me in that plane of existence, he will seek you out to help you. That is our sole purpose. I wish I could come with you on your next task, but it’s impossible. I’m just a tiny baby then, so I’ll be of no use to you. There is no doubt in my mind that we were followed to Dishley, though by whom and for what reason I do not know. Perhaps whoever it is will help you some more. He or she seems to have great power. Curse that Manfred, why can you never find a wizard when you need one. I bet he’s swigging pints of dwarven ale in First Delve by now.” Jhamed took Simon’s hand and held it tenderly. “I’m so sorry about Juliana. I wish I could have prevented that.”

Thoughts of his lost love caused Simon to sink into deep melancholy again. He sank back under the covers, curled himself into a ball, and became wracked with sobs. Jhamed left him to his guilt. I want to die. Why should I take up my next task? I deserve to die. Other thoughts fought their way past his remorse and self-pity. I’m sorry, Simon. I was carried away in my lust. I was so hungry, I could not stop. Please do not punish me. Do not be angry with me. Take me with you on your task. You are the Everlasting Hero. I am your Sword. We are the Trinity. We are meant for each other. We must prevail.

There, in the midst of his torment, Simon understood. Fleischaker was made of two parts, from both law and chaos. It was also made of two aspects, good and evil. It needed balance to be used effectively. He, Simon, had to provide that balance. In order to fight for the Balance, Simon had to find his own inner balance to control the Sword. He spoke aloud, though there was no one in the room.

“It seems that I have no choice. We shall go forward and fight for the Balance, for that is what you were created for. I will never speak the name Fleischaker again. I give you a new name. From this day forth, until such time as you have earned a better name, you shall be known as Kin Slayer. We shall be Simon the Red and Kin Slayer and we shall strike fear into the hearts of all.” Despite himself, Simon laughed. Inside the scabbard, Kin Slayer sighed with contentment and the red ruby in its hilt glowed bright. It had recently consumed the souls of a witch and two wizards. It had much to digest. Satisfied with what it had witnessed, the pigeon on the window ledge flew away.

Three days later, with the dull ache of guilt simmering just below his consciousness, Simon climbed the stairs that led to the High Tower in Wizards’ Keep. Jhamed was with him. Simon was dressed in the jeans and tee shirt he had worn on the fateful morning he had first met Jhamed. Kin Slayer was strapped to his waist. Jhamed was dressed in his usual garb. Simon thought that his tee shirt felt much tighter than it had before. Perhaps he was starting to bulk up and to fill out at last. Melbourne and his studies seemed a lifetime ago, though only a few days had passed since someone had tried to run him down and kill him. Jhamed, or at least a version of Jhamed, had given his life to save him. Since then he had travelled through the dimensions of the multiverse, found a great sword, fallen in love, become the latest aspect of the Everlasting Hero, killed an evil witch, and committed murder most foul. I can still barely believe that this is all for real. I wish that it weren’t. The memory of the blood and the lifeless bodies of his victims resurfaced again. The look on Juliana’s face as Kin Slayer cut her jugular vein would haunt him forever. He had never told her that he loved her. She died thinking that he hated her. The guilt and self-pity welled in his heart again. A few tears ran down his pale face. He sniffed. The stairs were dusty and filled with cobwebs. They spluttered their way through the dust and sticky webs. At least Jhamed would think that the dust was making his nose run. I shall make it up to you, Juliana. I shall find a way to repay my debt. I promise you, my love.

They reached the top of the obsidian tower. The low parapet gave them a complete three hundred and sixty degree view. Simon looked out over the town of Elannort and into the countryside beyond. It was a warm day, the sun was shining out of a clear blue sky, and the fields were flourishing with new life. In the town below, people leisurely went about their business. It was an idyllic sight. Simon tried to capture the vision in his memory. It was, after all, part of what he was fighting to maintain. I wish Juliana could have seen this. She might have understood. He turned inwards. Before him was an archway. It was carved out of the same black rock as the rest of the tower. Indeed, it seemed to be an integral part of the tower, growing organically from the rest. There seemed nothing special about the archway. Simon could see through it - a large, empty cobbled square and then the opposite side of Elannort and its spiralling streets. “What is that square and why is it empty?”

“It is called Future Square,” Jhamed replied. “It is said to have been left by the Great Old Ones for some future building that never happened. It is a spooky place and no one goes in there. Anyway, stop changing the subject. You have a job to do.”

Beside the archway was a black box with a series of dials that were locked into a fixed setting. “Manfred has selected the settings,” Jhamed said. “It will take you to a time around thirty thousand years ago and a place far from here. Manfred and his twin Mandred will both be there. Remember that you must not let them know that you are from the future or that you have met or will meet Manfred before. It’s confusing me already. You must behave as you think best and deal with the situations that arise. Manfred would tell me no more. When you are ready to return you must want in your heart to come back and you must picture this place in your mind. I’m afraid that you will be naked when you get there. I hope that it’s summer time, for your sake. I hope that it’s dark, for theirs.” He laughed at his little joke, but his heart wasn’t really in it. “Do you understand?”

Simon nodded. “Are you sure Kin Slayer will go with me?”

“Manfred assured me that it would be so. It is part of you now and you are part of it. You have killed together.”

“Thanks for reminding me.” Simon sighed. “I suppose I had better get it over with.”

At that moment, there was a sound of feet on the stairs and muffled shouts. Taran ran out onto the parapet. He was followed a short while later by Dawit. The dwarf was puffing and panting hard. Taran hardly seemed out of breath. “Did you think to sneak off without saying goodbye?” Taran asked. “We are not that easy to shake,” Dawit gasped.

Simon was embarrassed. He had deliberately avoided seeing anyone but Jhamed during his recovery from the events at Dishley. He was ashamed about that, but he was more ashamed about his actions there and what his friends thought about him.

Dawit spoke for both of them. “Simon, we understand. It is a huge burden to carry to be the Everlasting Hero. It is not one either of us would relish. But we would be there to help you carry it, as we carried you home from Dishley. We four have a special fellowship, five when Manfred returns. Just a few days ago, I could never have imagined calling an elf my friend.” He turned to Taran and slapped him on the back so that he almost fell over. “We are the last best hope for peace in FirstWorld and the wider multiverse. We all wish we could come with you on this task, but it is one you must shoulder alone. At least Manfred will be there. I often wondered what he was like as a young wizard. You must tell us when you get back. Good luck, my friend. Hurry home, we shall be waiting.”

Simon had tears in his eyes as he hugged the three of them. All he could manage to say was, “Thank you, I’ll see you soon.” I don’t deserve such good friends. He stepped up to the archway, glanced back at his friends, waved nonchalantly, and walked under the obsidian time portal. There was no flash, no bang, and no science fiction movie theatrics; one second he was there, the next he was gone. A pair of sneakers, two short white socks, a pair of torn jeans, a green tee shirt, and a well-used pair of blue jockey shorts remained behind.

Simon felt a wave of nausea hit him and each of his limbs was wracked with the worst pins and needles he had ever experienced. The world went dark and then extremely bright. He fell to his knees and tried not to pass out. He took a grip and focussed his eyes. It was a bright, cool day; already he was shivering because he was naked. Kin Slayer was indeed strapped to his side. He was in a small clearing in a forest. Through the trees, he could see a larger clearing where a small crowd of people were gathered around an old man who seemed to be performing magic tricks. Simon’s heart lifted. Manfred is here.

****

The three friends looked at each other. Jhamed finally spoke. “I wish that I could go with him. He’ll find Manfred as old and cantankerous then as he is now, except that he was a different sort of wizard back then. During our many years in exile he sometimes opened up to me about his past and his regrets. He feels guilty that he let down his mentor Bedwyr. He hated being away from the comforts of Melasurej and was in a great sulk because he’d been sent to a boring backwater with Mandred. From what he told me, the two of them didn’t get on at all. He always thought Mandred was out to make him look bad. He was there at the most momentous event in history but he was too bored and depressed to recognise it. However, it was what he learned there that eventually led us to searching for Simon Redhead. So it wasn’t all a dead loss and got us here in the end. He never said as much, but I get the impression that Manfred thought he should have been promoted to Bedwyr’s position after all the good work he had done to help defeat Gadiel. Being sent to a Stone Age backwater was not the sort of reward he had expected. I take it back, Simon will find him even crankier back then and would be well advised to follow today’s Manfred’s advice and give him a wide berth.” He walked through the archway, and just came out on the other side. He sighed. “I will set my quarters up here and arrange for my meals to be sent up. I want to be here when he returns. From Manfred’s hints, I suspect he will need our help again.”

“We’ll be ready,” Dawit said.

“I have a strange feeling that this has all been ordained,” Taran said. “Manfred has been used by someone to engineer the sundering. He had to be there to see Simon so that he could track him down in the future and send him back. He shouldn’t feel bad about it.”

“Don’t tell him that,” Jhamed laughed, “Unless you want to see steam coming from his ears.”

“I bet he could even do that,” Dawit said.

“Oh, yes!” Jhamed said. “But don’t tell him I told you.”

The Return of the King

Manfred approached the guest room with Regent Gamyon. Three guards at the door sprang to attention. “I warn you Manfred, I cannot fathom him. He says he is Ubadah, the King of Tamarlan. He bears the secret mark of the King, knowledge of which has been passed down from father to son by the Regents of Tamarlan for four-hundred generations so that we might recognise the King on his return. I never thought to see it on my watch.”

“These are strange times, indeed, my lord. The disappearance of the dwarves has me greatly concerned. There is news of a great army approaching from the south west from the Unknown Lands. It may be Gadiel reformed. There is a rumour that Dammar did not pass to stone, but is also out there somewhere creating mayhem, perhaps in league with the Dark God. And now this. These are indeed strange times and we must do our best with them, though we might wish they had befallen someone else.” Manfred chose not to mention the return of the Everlasting Hero and his quest for the Sword, although he guessed that Gamyon had already been fully briefed by his son. “Are you certain it is the correct mark? Manfred asked.

“There can be no doubt. I would stake my life on it.”

“That is as well, as you may have to,” said Manfred gravely.

“It is good chance that you are here at this time.” Gamyon spoke to Manfred and then addressed the guards. “Knock and announce us.”

“I wonder whether it is just chance, or whether some greater purpose is at work?” Manfred’s thoughts were cut short as the door opened.

They were led into a bright room, furnished with the finest pieces that Tamarlan’s artisans could produce. The walls were adorned with examples of Tamarlan’s greatest watercolour artists. A young man was sitting, taking tea, on a sumptuous red settee. The cushions and the armrests were adorned in the best gold braid. The table, which held a silver tray of tea-making utensils, was made of the finest marble with solid gold legs. Manfred was impressed. Before the guard could speak the young man rose. He was in his early twenties, tall – well over six feet – and slim yet with well-defined, muscular arms and legs. His hair was jet black and cut short as if it had been recently shaved off and had just begun regrowing. He was clean-shaven, but a five o’clock shadow betrayed his quick-growing beard. His face was rugged and handsome. A long scar running from his left ear to the side of his mouth did nothing to disfigure him but, if anything, added to the strength of his appearance. His bearing was regal. He carried himself with the arrogance that power often creates.

“Manfred! My old friend Manfred! I cannot believe it. How wonderful to see you,” he said in a strong, deep voice.

Manfred dropped to his knees. “My lord, it is a wonder and a miracle.” It is really him. I would recognise him anywhere. How can it be? Is he a real Rip Van Winkle? He took the young man’s hand and kissed it. “The King has truly returned to Tamarlan. I had not thought it possible.”

Gamyon remained on his feet, clearly not yet convinced. “Leave us!” He ordered the guards. “Say nothing of this on penalty of death!” The guards bowed and backed out of the room, closing the door behind them. “Forgive me, my lord, if I’m sceptical, but you have been away for ten thousand years.”

“Your scepticism is well-justified and I would expect it in my Regent. Please get up Manfred. Sit down both of you and take some tea, it’s really rather good. You see, to me, it seems like I have only been gone a few months. Only a score of years ago, Manfred bounced me on his knee. You’ve hardly changed a bit. It’s ten thousand, three hundred and sixty nine years, to be exact.” Manfred and Gamyon sat in comfortable armchairs, which matched the sofa. King Ubadah served them tea. “Biscuits anyone?” This is surreal, having tea with the King and the Regent. You can bet that sparks will fly soon and they won’t be from my staff.

Gamyon couldn’t hold back any longer. “If you are who you say you are, where have you been? Explain yourself!” Rather a curt way to behave with one’s king. There will surely be sparks. I remember when Ubadah was a boy; very cute but very moody if he didn’t get his own way. Better try to smooth it out a bit.

“My lord, please be so kind as to tell us what you have been doing these last ten thousand years or so. I know that I’ve been very busy. I wouldn’t know where to start.” That should placate him. Manfred managed to glare at Gamyon and get his attention. For goodness sake, take it easy.

Ubadah sighed and then began his story. “Everything seems like yesterday to me, because it almost was. Let me start at the beginning. Help yourselves to more tea and biscuits, because this may take some time. Please don’t interrupt!” He looked hard at Gamyon. Gamyon returned his gaze with interest. Manfred smiled. “There’ll be time enough for questions at the end.” Manfred sat back and listened to Ubadah’s story, transfixed as a few more pieces of the jigsaw puzzle fell into place.

“My father died unexpectedly, two years before I was lost. I had not anticipated becoming King so young. I still had to find a wife and settle down. I was about to be married, when the stranger arrived. That’s why I left no heir. Though it would seem that your family has done well in my absence, Gamyon.” That might appease him a bit. Gamyon stared straight ahead, unmoved. Perhaps not. “We had been worried for a long time about Tamarlan’s geographic location. In reality, it was a strange place for a city to develop. We had limited trading opportunities. We were restricted to trading with the dwarves and to what we could bring over the mountains in summertime. We needed a trade route to the north. The Northland had always been a strange and feared place. It was said that great evil dwelt there. Over the years, we had mounted many expeditions in the hope of finding a safe trading route. All of them were lost without a trace.”

“Then the stranger arrived. He staggered into Tamarlan on foot. He was half-dead and appeared three-quarters-mad. He was of a race we had never seen before and spoke a language we could not understand. Everything about him was different and strange; he was very tall, he wore strange garments made of animal skins that covered his legs, his mannerisms were crude, he carried a strange short bow, he was exceedingly hairy, and even his body odour was different. He turned out to be very intelligent and quickly began to pick up our language. Soon we were able to communicate quite well, with drawings and simple vocabulary. He said that his name was Ivan and that he came from a city far away to the North called Kyiv. He had been part of an expedition that had been looking for trading opportunities, and I suspect conquest opportunities. They had sailed southwards but had faltered in a storm and had been washed up on a strange shore. The best part of half the expedition had been lost in the wreck. A few of their horses had survived, so they set off inland, heading south through mostly empty semi-desert country. After many weeks of travel, their horses perished, and almost dead themselves through thirst, they came upon a city on a high, arid plateau.”

“At first, they thought it was a mirage, because of its immense beauty. It was a walled city, and one that they quickly realised would be difficult to defeat in battle. They threw themselves on the mercy of its inhabitants and were treated well enough, so that they recovered from the travails of their journey. As they regained their strength, though, they found that their freedom was restricted and they were effectively held under house arrest. The city was called Illium. It was a centre of artistic, cultural, and philosophical excellence. It was everything that Tamarlan aspired to be, and perhaps has become while I’ve been away. Slowly, the visitors proved themselves worthy and they were allowed more freedom. Ivan became friendly with a local family and became enchanted with the arts. They would take him to see plays and to attend philosophical discussions. He became a civilised barbarian and decided to stay in Illium. The rest of his comrades were becoming more and more homesick. They decided to leave and attempt to return to Kyiv. They were promised horses if they would visit a farm outside the city. There was some strange cultural embargo on bringing horses or anything shaped like a horse into the city. They went to the so-called farm and were slaughtered there and buried in a mass grave.”

“Ivan was unaware of this until, at one of his philosophical discussions, the case study of a group of visiting barbarians was debated. Illium had been attacked many times in the past and was fearful of being identified by new enemies. They debated whether it was better to kill a few barbarians, who had probably raped and pillaged their way around the known world, or put the innocent lives of the entire population at risk. The horse farm scenario was presented as the logical conclusion; the lives of the many were more important than the lives of a few. Ivan could barely maintain his composure, but he managed to leave the meeting without exploding. He vowed to escape from Illium and set about devising a plan. He realised that the Illians would try to find him and kill him, so he decided he would head southwards, to confuse them. He slipped out of the city, unnoticed, one night. He stole a horse and headed into the unknown. His adventures would fill a book. Eventually he arrived in Tamarlan and told us his story.”

Ubadah paused and rang a small hand bell to summon a servant. “Bring us more tea, and something more substantial to eat.” Gamyon gave the servant a none-too-discreet nod to do as was demanded.

“I have heard of Illium, but I have never been. I believe Dammar visited there long before your time. I remember that he reported to the Council that there was nothing of interest there.” I wonder now whether that was the truth. Gamyon has yet to be convinced about Ubadah.

“Indeed. Then I think you will be surprised by the rest of my story, Manfred. As you have guessed, the lure of finding another city of artists with whom we could trade was too great to resist. As soon as Ivan was fit to travel, I began to work on him to convince him to return to the Northland. It took a while but I eventually convinced him with promises of riches to be earned and we mounted an expedition. I took ten of my best men and headed into the Northland. There was great evil abroad. The journey was fraught with every danger imaginable and many that you would not wish to imagine in your worst nightmares. I will not bore you with them now; suffice it to say that I came to learn that the Dark God was the cause. He slept then, recovering still from his battle with Gilgamesh. He must have been sorely wounded to have needed so long to recover. He tossed and turned in his sleep, riddled with dreams of revenge, no doubt. His disturbed sleep sent out emanations of evil that manifested themselves in bizarre ways. There were nomads living in the Northland who became particularly affected. We lost Ivan, early in the journey, when a crazy madness overcame him and he believed that we were Illians trying to kill him. He ran off into the night and was killed by the nomads. My men fell one by one, taken by fell creatures or losing their minds and taking their own lives. I barely held on to my sanity, but the need to find Illium drove me on. After many months and close to death, I stumbled upon the city and was taken in.”

He paused in his story as servants returned with more tea and plates of cakes and assorted meats. When they had left again he resumed. “Please, help yourselves. I hope you don’t mind if I nibble while I talk?

“Be my guest,” Gamyon said sarcastically.

“The timing fits with what we know,” Manfred said. “It was another ten thousand years before Gadiel was strong enough to begin his latest conquest.” But where does Dammar fit in, I wonder?

Ubadah finished chewing on a plump chicken leg, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and continued. “It was several weeks before I was well enough to appreciate the city. During my convalescence, I was frequently visited by an old man who reminded me very much of you, Manfred. Looking back, I realise that he discreetly questioned me about who I was and where I was from. He was particularly interested to learn about the journey and how I had survived when everyone else had been lost. He even convinced the doctors to let him give me a through physical examination. He called himself Rammad. I think he was having a game with me. It was several weeks before I realised that Rammad was just Dammar backwards. Eventually, he admitted who he was.”

Ubadah paused to help himself to more tidbits. Manfred was deep in thought. So, it’s true. Dammar was involved. Did he really pass to stone? Is he still around? What’s his game? He looked at Ubadah expectantly, waiting for more. Even Gamyon seemed to be taking much more interest.

Ubadah continued, with his audience of two hanging on his every word. “I do not claim to support Dammar or his objectives. I do not know whether the things he told me were or are true. I am simply reporting what was said and done to me. I visited Elannort once, when I was a teenager. You had restored it to its former glory, although most of the wizards were gone. I remember that you even showed me the High Tower.” Manfred nodded at the old memory, obviously still fresh in Ubadah’s mind. I didn’t know what the archway was then.

“It made a great impression on me, I don’t know why. I felt that the black archway was somehow significant for me. There is a central keep in the middle of Illium. It is not as impressive as Melasurej but it is still something to wonder at. It once had a conventional central tower of grey stone. I have seen paintings that show it in its original form. When I was last there, it had a new tower, built from obsidian. I recognised it immediately. It was an exact facsimile of the High Tower at Melasurej, right down to the black archway at the top.” Ubadah paused to take a drink of tea. By the Balance! This is unbelievable. This can only mean one thing.

Manfred couldn’t wait to ask a question, forgetting Ubadah’s earlier instructions. “My lord, may I be so rude as to ask, what is the mark of Ubadah?”

Manfred thought he saw Ubadah blush slightly, before Gamyon jumped into the conversation. “That is a matter between the King of Tamarlan and his Regent. Even you, great Sage, cannot be given that information!”

“Very well,” Manfred replied, “I will hazard a guess. If I am correct, we can safely assume that Dammar would have been aware of it as well. If I may be so bold, the mark of Ubadah is a five-pointed star birthmark.” He looked at the two men for a sign that he was correct. They stoically met his gaze. Oh well, in for a penny. “More than that, it has a specific location on the body.” Ubadah was beginning to look uncomfortable. It’s true. I have him. Manfred smiled. “It is located on the shaft of your penis.” The old magician pulls another rabbit out of his hat to amaze his audience.

Gamyon was almost apoplectic with anger. “Only Gamying and I know that secret. It has been passed from father to son for four hundred generations. He would never have told you. If you have stolen it from his mind, wizard, I shall have you horsewhipped, great Sage or no!” He stretched for the bell, in order to summon the guards. Now I see where Gamying gets it from.

“Calm yourself, Regent. There is no harm done. I suspect Manfred has long known the meaning of this birth mark and even now understands how I have managed to return.”

“Is that true, wizard?” Gamyon demanded.

I wonder if I should turn him into a frog for a while. “What? Oh, yes. I imagine that several more people than you realise have seen the royal jewels. Would it be true to say that you found his majesty disoriented and naked?”

“How did you know that? I specifically gave orders that it never be discussed. Heads will roll!”

“Don’t be such a bully, Gamyon.” Or I will turn you into a frog. “It is part of the effect of using the time portal.” He stopped and watched Gamyon as his words registered in the Regent’s brain. Now he really has something to think about.

Gamyon went white. “You mean… He is… It’s not possible. How can it be true? You are really Ubadah. You have come back to the future?”

“Well done, Manfred. Dammar said that you would be here and that you would understand. He also said that you would know what my role would be in the forthcoming war. It’s true, Gamyon, that I have returned. However, you need not fear, I have not come back to take up my throne. Tamarlan will continue to be ruled by its Regents. I have more important business to attend to, don’t I, Manfred?”

Manfred looked at the arrogant young man before him. This was something he had not expected, could not have predicted. It turned all of his plans upside down. None of his studies had foretold this possibility. “My lord, there is much I must learn from you. I must understand what Dammar knows, how he is manipulating current and past events, and what his overall objective is.” I must understand how to deal with two manifestations of the Everlasting Hero together at the same time.

A Prophecy Fulfilled

Manfred was cranky. In fact, he couldn’t remember when he last wasn’t cranky. They had been living in this primitive backwater with a tribe of barbarian humans for so long that he had forgotten what a hot bath and a cold beer felt like. What made it worse was that Mandred seemed to love every minute of it. He seemed to go out of his way to make Manfred unhappy and make the members of the tribe hate him. Curse him. What’s he doing now?

The two wizards were identically dressed in bearskin cloaks and they were both bare headed, displaying long, flowing white hair and matching beards that hid most of their facial features. Mandred muttered incantations under his breath, pausing now and then to scatter herbs, from a pouch at his waist, into the embers of a fire he carried in a black, intricately carved bowl. The burning herbs released a sweet, pungent odour that made Manfred feel light-headed. Manfred’s hands absently played with a string of bear's teeth beads that hung from his neck. Nothing important ever happens here. Curse Adapa and his plans. Dammar has the right idea. I should go off and do my own thing too. What does he expect to happen here in this boring backwater?

A group of the humans began to gather to watch Mandred’s antics. He was always the centre of attention. They were predominantly women and children, but there were a few youths and the odd old man. The men of the tribe were away hunting. Please something different from half-raw venison, tonight. Mandred paused in his incantations and looked at Manfred. “Today is the day he will come. My work here is almost done. Soon I will go to my eternal rest and you will be none the wiser. Great events are unfolding under your nose and you can’t see them.” What is the idiot talking about now?

“What are you talking about? Who will be coming? What great events?” Manfred humoured his so-called colleague, although it seemed they were on different teams. I hope he brings something good to eat with him.

“The future hero will return today. Dammar has predicted it. You remember the Hero, don’t you? No, you don’t. Hah! You missed his last visit, like you miss everything important. You were away with the hunting party.” Don’t remind me. That was a trip I’d rather forget. I never believed Mandred about the Hero. I thought he’d been breathing too much of his herb smoke, or needed an excuse to explain the Chief’s daughter’s pregnancy. Well, we’ll soon find out, I suppose.

Mandred balanced his bowl in one hand and reached inside his cloak to withdraw his staff. He scratched a large circle on the sandy ground and placed his bowl of herbs in the centre. What is he doing now? Oh well, at least it’s something to watch. Manfred yawned. Mandred checked the position of the sun and stood at the perimeter of the circle, facing east. He began to move slowly to his right, while drawing an imaginary circle in the air with his staff. He progressed slowly around the circle in a clockwise direction, stopping at each cardinal point where he spoke theatrically in a loud voice. “May the Balance protect us from all evil approaching from the south.” He repeated this at each cardinal point until he reached the east again and completed the circle. Mandred then raised his staff and drew a circle in the air, above his head. “May the Balance protect us from the evils of the past and the future. Bring us a Hero to be our salvation.” He produced some grey powder from one of his pockets and dropped it into the hot bowl so that there was a loud bang and a bright flash. I suppose that he will pull a rabbit out of his hat next.

It was better than a rabbit. Even Manfred had to agree with that. No sooner had the flash subsided and the appreciative murmurs from the crowd ceased than they heard the sound of a throat clearing behind them. The crowd turned around and gasped, almost as one. Manfred caught himself with mouth open, agog, and quickly tried to recover his composure. Even Mandred appeared surprised, and he had appeared to be expecting some one. Who the Balance is that? An unusual figure walked towards them. He was a young man, very tall and slim, and his skin was extremely white. His hair was long and bright red and cascaded down his shoulders. At his left side, he carried a large, sheathed sword. Most startling was the fact that he was otherwise naked. He walked towards them, hands protecting his private parts from view. Manfred could see enough to know that he was a real red head. The crowd giggled and pointed. The newcomer smiled at them, showing a mouthful of white, healthy teeth. “Hello, I’m Simon,” he said in a strange, nasal accent. “I’m visiting from far away.”

Mandred recovered from his surprise first. He rushed over towards the young man. “Welcome, welcome indeed. Simon, did you say? I’m Mandred. I’ve been expecting you. Did Dammar send a message?”

The youth seemed surprised. “Yes, Simon, Simon Redhead. I don’t know anyone called Dammar. I didn’t think that I would be expected. Do you have any clothes?” Manfred observed Simon, shook his head, and wandered off. Maybe Dammar really is behind this craziness, but if so, he's keeping his cards close to his chest. I wonder what he’s up to? This skinny boy certainly doesn’t look much like a hero. In any case, what need have we of a hero? I’m sure Mandred will take much pleasure in telling me and gloating about it in good time. I can’t be bothered with it now. I’m going to have a lie down and take a nap.

Manfred made his way back to the cave he shared with Mandred. There were few comforts here; he was forced to sleep on the bare ground with a few skins to keep him warm. His back ached constantly. He longed for his comfortable bed back at Melasurej. The food was abominable. When they had first arrived, the tribe had only a rudimentary mastery of fire, so that they often ate semi-raw meat along with fruits and roots. At least now, they had a basic idea of gastronomy. Mandred had taught them better use of the pleasant-tasting herbs that grew nearby in their cooking so that they had some variety of flavour. Unfortunately, they were not yet farming grain crops. Beer had not been invented. Manfred was grumpy again. As well as always being tired, he always felt dirty. They had no proper sanitation. He had finally got the tribe to use fixed latrines, which was a big improvement. They had no utensils to heat water in so a hot wash was a forgone luxury. Bathing was confined to a dip in the river when the weather was conducive. During winter, when the tribe huddled together through the long nights and the river was often frozen over, the smell was almost unbearable.

There were no compensating benefits either. The people could barely string two coherent sentences together and if they did all they seemed to talk about was hunting, food gathering, and the weather. Their vocabulary was very limited and their language was an ugly-sounding guttural grunting that Manfred found distasteful. The only sensible conversation to be had was with Mandred and he seemed deluded and away with the faeries at the best of times. The only excitement was when they were attacked by some of the larger carnivores. The wizards tried not to use their staffs unless they were sorely pressed. The tribe were superstitious enough already, and Mandred liked to prey on that. With Mandred’s help, they now watched the heavens, and plotted the journey of the sun. They were beginning to worship the sun as their god, alongside various spirit deities that ruled their lives, such as the river spirit who often received offerings of food that would have been better used to feed the hungry tribe. They had special celebrations at midsummer and midwinter. They didn’t always get the dates exactly right, but Manfred did feel a glimmer of respect for their attempts. Hungry, thirsty, tired, dirty, and bored. What a life. I hate Adapa. I wish I could sleep for a thousand years! Manfred was definitely cranky.

Ju

Simon plucked up his courage. I suppose I might as well get it over with. He walked out of the cover of his clearing and approached the group from behind. He noticed that the small crowd were mainly women, old men, and children. They were all dressed in animal skins and were very short, with long black hair. He was downwind of them and the smell was none too pleasant. It seems they have yet to invent soap here. Conscious of his nudity, he approached them with his hands strategically placed. He cleared his throat and tried to give them a smile. “Hello, I’m Simon. I’m visiting from far away.”

Judging by the audible gasps, they seemed surprised to see him, which was as he expected. One of the wizards, he couldn’t tell them apart, rushed towards him and spoke. “Welcome, welcome indeed. Simon, did you say? I’m Mandred. I’ve been expecting you. Did Dammar send a message?” The other wizard, presumably Manfred, still looked stunned. The group of people were giggling and pointing at Simon.

Simon was taken aback. Manfred had told him not to reveal who he was, that he would not be recognised. Yet Mandred claimed to be expecting him. He had heard mention of Dammar at the meeting at Wizards’ Keep, but he couldn’t remember who he was. He knew that he was somebody important. Better to deny all knowledge. “Yes, Simon, Simon Redhead. I don’t know anyone called Dammar. I didn’t think that I would be expected. Do you have any clothes?” Simon was very cold.

Mandred put his arms around Simon and hugged him like a long lost friend. “Don’t worry; I’ve got some clothes put aside for you. I’ve even washed them since your last visit.” Simon was nonplussed by Mandred’s comments. My last visit? “As soon as I get you dressed, you must meet with Chief Yo and his daughter Ju. I know that you will get on well with Ju.” He gave Simon a nudge and a wink. I feel like I’m in a Monty Python sketch. Simon noticed that Manfred was showing no interest and was walking away. Should I make myself known to him? I don’t know what to do.

Mandred seemed pleased to have someone to talk to. His frequent disparaging remarks about Manfred suggested that the two wizards did not get on very well. Simon made an immediate decision. He would follow future Manfred’s advice and keep out of his way. He figured that if he stayed close to Mandred it would be enough to keep Manfred away. Soon, Simon was dressed in animal skins like the rest of the tribe. They smelt ugly and made him itch like crazy. He had visions of being eaten to death by fleas. It was only marginally better than embarrassing nakedness and freezing coldness. Mandred was talking again and Simon didn’t want to miss anything important so he forced himself to concentrate.

“You are lucky that it is spring time. The cold, dark, hungry months are over. There will be plenty of food for the next few months and the days will get warmer. You will be able to bathe in the river. That looks like a good sword. May I look? You didn’t have it with you last time.”

Simon was immediately on his guard. He didn’t want to draw Kin Slayer in case he couldn’t control the Sword. He also didn’t want to answer any difficult questions about it. He was concerned that either Mandred or especially Manfred might recognise it. There were now two versions of the sword, Kin Slayer and Fleischaker, existing simultaneously. Presumably, Fleischaker still lay lost in a glacier at this point.

“It’s an old family heirloom, nothing special. I’d rather not unsheathe it. It might get rusty here.” The words sounded lame, but Mandred seemed to accept them without question.

Mandred told him all about the tribe. Not that there was much to tell. It was a primitive group of around seventy humans. They were still at the hunter gathering stage of development. They had short life spans of around forty years. Their language was simple but effective. They worshipped the sun and a host of other spirit entities. Leadership was partly hereditary and partly based on strength or power. Their Chief, Yo, was approaching the end of his days and was unlikely to survive another winter. He was regarded by all as the wise old father of the tribe. Undoubtedly, there would be a scramble for power when he died. Some things never changed, Simon thought. People pair-bonded for life. Yo’s wife had died last summer. He had no sons, just a daughter, Ju. She was not yet paired and several young men had been competing for her favours. Mandred seemed to suggest that it was more because of her status than any inherent beauty. ‘No offence meant,’ he said, which nonplussed Simon again. The men’s job was to hunt for meat and skins. When they were not hunting, they were making weapons and other useful articles. The woman’s role was to fetch water and firewood, search for edible roots and fruits, cook, look after children, tend the old and sick, and be there physically for her man whenever he desired her. They were open about sex, but had strict rules – sex only with your pair-bonded mate, no sex before bonding, and no sex during pregnancy. The Chief dispensed swift justice for any indiscretions.

The women had their own hierarchy, headed by the Medicine Woman. She was responsible for delivering babies, tending hunting wounds, and aiding the sick and the dying. She always had at least two apprentices. The tribe lived in family groups, in small caves, expanded by digging into the side of a hill. Children stayed with their parents until they reached adulthood. As soon as the boys successfully passed their rite of passage, they would find a mate and set up their own cave. They mainly ate communally around a large fireplace established outside the front of the caves. Except in the heaviest rain, the fire was kept alive at all times. It gave them comfort, warmth, light, and protection from predators. Mandred explained that the wizards had helped the tribe to develop, without pushing them along too quickly. They were there to preserve the Balance. Mandred, though, had a special role. Simon’s attention was wandering again. He wondered what he was supposed to do here. Whatever it was, he wanted done with it quickly and get back to Elannort. Life here sounded like an awful experience. I’d rather be in prison. Well, maybe not in Dishley.

Thoughts of Dishley triggered his melancholy and he forced himself to focus on Mandred again. “I am but a minor cog in Dammar’s plans, but I try to do my best. My role is almost finished and I’ll be glad to pass to my eternal rest, I can tell you. I have been preparing for your arrival. I have to say that I was a bit surprised by the change in your appearance, but that just shows my ignorance. You are another manifestation of the Hero, aren’t you? I can tell that you weren’t here before.”

“This is my first time,” Simon said. And my last, I hope.

“I thought so. You left me with a bit of a problem, when you departed. At least, your alter ego did. The normal punishment for sex outside of pair bonding is a public stoning. The Chief could not bring himself to stone his own daughter. I managed to convince him and the tribe that the two of you had already pair bonded and that you would soon return. Your cave is already prepared. I will have a bit of a job explaining your changed appearance, but with my magic I should be able to get away with it.”

To say that Simon was shocked would be an understatement. All he could do was nod at Mandred. They expect me to set up home with one of these smelly women, and probably a pregnant one at that. Manfred must have known about this. If I ever get back to Elannort, I’ll kill him.

The next couple of hours passed in a daze. Simon couldn’t believe the situation he found himself in. Future Manfred had told him to go along with whatever happened, but he had not expected anything like this. Mandred took him to meet Chief Yo. Ju was not present. Mandred and Yo exchanged a guttural conversation that Simon barely understood. He picked up the nuances though; total disbelief from Yo, eventually changing to acceptance and relief. I suppose he’s pleased he doesn’t have to order his daughter to be stoned. Then Mandred took him to his cave. Simon staggered along behind him, aware of the stares and pointing from the women. A young boy ran towards him, but a screech from a woman quickly had him scurrying back to his mother. The cave was a new digging and as such was one of the farthest away from the centre of the camp and the Chief’s cave. It had a smooth sandy floor. It contained a small fireplace, a few carved hand tools, and a pile of skins for sleeping. The news of his arrival must have spread, because there was a pile of wood ready for the fire, a hollowed out tree stump container of fresh water, and a small bunch of wild flowers in the middle of the sandy floor.

“I know it’s nothing like the comforts of Elannort, but I’m sure you can be comfortable here for a while. I’ll leave you to settle in. Ju should be along very soon. I’m sure you’ll want some privacy to get acquainted.” Mandred turned to leave.

“Mandred, thank you,” Simon said. "Before you go could you answer one question?”

Mandred paused and looked back. “If I can.”

“When was I, I mean he, when was he here before? How long has he been gone?”

“He was only here for a week. He left about three months ago. But he gave me a message from Dammar that he would return. I will see you tomorrow, or perhaps later around the communal fire? Some interesting conversation would be most welcome. I only have grumpy Manfred to talk to and he’s no fun. Good night, Simon. I’m sorry it’s been a bit of a shock.” Mandred walked slowly away, leaving Simon alone in his new real estate. I suppose it’s only marginally worse than my Melbourne flat, with about as much food.

Simon made sure that no one was watching and he withdrew Kin Slayer from its scabbard. Immediately the ruby in its hilt glowed and Simon felt the thoughts of the sword in his head. It was hungry. It was always hungry. “Not today, my friend. I have to hide you, until the time that you are needed. I hope you understand.” So be it. Simon crawled to the back of the cave and dug a hole in the sand. He replaced Kin Slayer in its scabbard. “Sleep peacefully, my friend, until you are called.” He buried the sword and replaced the sand, stamping it down so that there was little evidence. Sighing, he sat down on the sleeping skins and awaited his fate. After a while, he lay down and rested his eyes. Before long, he dozed off.

In his dreams, he was back in Melbourne. He was married to Juliana and they had a house in the suburbs. He was a General Practitioner and building a successful practice. Juliana was pregnant. He was going to be a father. He was happy; everything was perfect. Then it all changed in an instant. Juliana was walking along the footpath. A vehicle came down the street at high speed. It mounted the footpath and mowed her down. He rushed to her, but she died in his arms before he could tell her how much he loved her. As he looked up, he saw the car driver grinning at him. It was Dring. Simon screamed.

A small hand was insistently tugging at his arm. Simon woke up, the dream fresh in his mind. It took him several moments to remember where he really was. He thought that he was just moving from one dream to another. Ju sat next to him on the bed skins. She was looking at him intently, gazing deep into his eyes. The eyes captivated him. They were of the purest blue and contrasted with her pale skin. He had seen similar eyes before and the thought brought him only pain. Her hair was jet black, very long, and very straight. It was still damp. She had clearly been down to the icy river in his honour. Her face seemed different to the other members of the tribe. Their faces seemed round and podgy. Ju’s face was longer and thinner, almost elfin in shape. She stood up. She was not very tall, perhaps five feet. She was slender, tiny; she looked like she might be blown away in a strong wind. The spring sun was setting in a fiery display. Their cave faced west and the red light flowed into their cave. Ju slipped off her clothes and stood before him, framed in rouge. Her breasts were small and flat, topped with tiny brown nipples. Her belly, almost certainly normally flat, bulged now with the life growing inside it. It gave her a sexy look. Her pubic hair grew from her navel and was long and jet-black. It was matched by long tufts that hung from beneath her arms. Her arms and legs also had a light covering of dark hair. Simon had been brought up in a culture where women had little or no body hair. Here was a woman who had more hair than he did. He expected to be repulsed by it. To his surprise, he accepted it. It was natural, after all. Razors had not been invented yet. Ju climbed under the covers, next to Simon and stared into his eyes. Neither of them had said a word.

Instinctively, Simon knew what he should do. He stood up and removed his clothes. He was still ashamed of his skinny physique, his pale skin, and his lack of body hair. He held his hands in front of his genitals, afraid to show them to Ju. He slipped under the skins beside her. They lay, side by side, not quite touching. Simon thought that he could hear two hearts beating. They stayed, unmoving and unspeaking, as the sun set. As the last red glow disappeared from the cave, Simon felt a small hand tentatively seek out his. He held it and marvelled at its small size. It wasn’t a soft hand, like Juliana’s; it was tough and calloused by hard work. It felt warm and good. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she moved her body so that it was touching his. Soon, she was snuggling into his body. Simon liked the feeling. He rolled over, facing her. She did the same. He took her in his arms and held her in a long cuddle. Simon smelt her hair and her body odour. Again, he expected to be repulsed and again he was wrong. He loved the way she smelled. It turned him on. His erection was now pushing between them. She took his hand and placed it between her thighs. She was wet with anticipation. Shy and inexperienced as he was, he recognised an invitation when he received one.

Simon recalled Mandred telling him that having sex while pregnant was banned. He figured that the risk was worth it. She hadn’t been stoned so far, so they were probably safe now. He had imagined losing his virginity so many times and in so many ways. He had never come close to imagining a scenario like this. He had never come close to imagining what he would feel. He not only had sex for the first time that night, but he also made love for the first time. The feelings shocked him. The situation shocked him. He enjoyed them anyway. Simon and Ju didn’t go to the communal fire that night. They didn’t feel any hunger. They were consumed by each other. Simon lay on his back, sated, and held her as she slept. Against all of the odds, he felt happy, really happy, for the first time in his life and it scared the hell out of him.

The next few months passed in a blur. It was a simple life. Simon’s days were spent with the other men, learning how to hunt and fashion weapons and tools. He felt like a novice athlete in training as he learned to run fast for long periods and throw spears with power and accuracy. He was also taught how to fish with their primitive, yet effective, hooks and nets. As he learned their physical skills so he picked up their language. Despite what Mandred had told him, he found it to be rich and sophisticated although he often found the correct guttural pronunciation difficult. The men often laughed at his clumsy endeavours or his mispronunciation of words. He took it all in good humour and enjoyed the camaraderie. Yet, as he enjoyed the happiness of his new life and new friends, always his thoughts turned to his old friends, how they were faring, and whether they were missing him.

The summer was warm and the men wore only simple loin cloths. Simon’s slim frame filled out a little as his musculature increased. His skin suffered in the sun. He didn’t tan, but burned on a regular basis and his skin peeled off in sheets. His freckles grew, until his skin became mottled with small spots. His facial hair, though slow growing, eventually covered his face with a bright red beard. His was not as impressive in quantity as the rest of the men, but it more than made up for it in colour.

Simon’s evenings were spent around the communal fire. He had long philosophical discussions with Mandred. Amongst other things, they discussed the meaning of life; the need for Balance in all things; the prospects for the future; the nature of good and evil; and how to find happiness. Simon was barely on speaking terms with Manfred, who seemed to spend most of his time alone in his cave. The summer evenings were warm and long. Simon enjoyed the social atmosphere around the fire. He grew to be held in high regard by most of the tribe, including the old chief, and he enjoyed his status. He began to think of himself as the natural choice to be their leader, when Yo died. He had long discussions with Mandred about what new technologies or skills would be appropriate to introduce to help his people. Mandred cautioned him not to act too hastily.

Simon’s nights were spent with Ju. In her arms, he really felt like he had come home. The baby grew quickly, and appeared to be enormous compared to her tiny frame. By seven months, it looked to Simon like a full term pregnancy. He began to worry about the birth. Concerned about Ju’s and the baby’s health, and conscious of the tribe’s taboo, they stopped having sex around the fifth month of Ju’s pregnancy. It didn’t matter to Simon. When he lay with Ju, just holding and cuddling her and his child, he felt complete joy and peace with the world. He completely forgot that Kin Slayer was buried at the back of the cave. He wasn’t sure when the metamorphosis occurred and he began to view the baby as his, but he now did. His plans for the future revolved around his mate, his child, and his tribe. Ju was very intelligent and before too long, as his language skills improved, they were able to lie in the dark and chat about all sorts of things, mostly about their future together.

Ju was very intelligent and as Simon's skill at the tribe's language improved, he also managed to teach her some words of his own. Before too long, they were able to lie in the dark and chat about all sorts of things in a strange mish-mash of tongues and gestures which would have been utterly incomprehensible to any outsider listening in. Their stumbling attempts to understand one another frequently left them giggling and served to cement their closeness. Mostly, they talked about their future together, and Simon felt that at last he had what he had always wanted; a real family, and a sense of belonging.

During the last two months of her pregnancy, Ju was unable to work. She was confined to bed and the old medicine woman, Wa, spent many hours each day with her. Simon wanted to stay with Ju, but Wa would chase him out of the cave. As well as his hunting duties, Simon had to fetch water and wood for the cave, but he didn’t mind the extra work. He examined Ju every day, making sure that the pregnancy was progressing normally. He wanted to help Wa with the birth, teach her simple medical techniques and help her to understand about infection and the need for good hygiene. At every approach he was shunned and ordered to concentrate on men’s business. This was women’s business and it was taboo for men to get involved. He continued to monitor Ju’s progress in secret and vowed that when he became leader things would be different.

It had been a glorious summer. The hunting had been good, they had been untroubled by predators, and the women had collected an abundance of fruits and roots. They were well prepared for this winter with large stocks of dried food. The tribe was excited about their harvest festival which always took place when the chief determined that enough food had been collected. It would be the last feast until midwinter. They would farewell the sun on its journey to find new life. At midwinter, they would feast again and plead for the sun to return and bring the new life back to them.

The men had had a successful hunt the previous day and there was no need for further hunting before the feast. Ju was in great discomfort, but Wa ushered Simon out of the cave. The medicine woman was clearly concerned. Simon was worried. The baby must be nearly due. He didn’t want to be too far away, but he didn’t feel like company, so he headed down to the river. No one was around. He sat on a log and watched the river. The flowing water enchanted him. The way the ripples caught and refracted the sun soothed him. He began to reflect on the past few months. What did someone need to be happy? He thought back to his upbringing in Melbourne. There, it had seemed to be a continual competition to amass wealth. Everyone wanted a bigger house or a flashier car. They had to have the latest technological gadgets. Were they any happier when they got them? Yet there was extreme poverty in his world too. A small percentage of the population was raping the Earth’s resources at the expense of the majority. As a result, the Earth was responding. Climate change had become critical and almost tipped the planet over the edge. Now the religious zealots were taking the world to the brink of war. Perhaps it was all over by now. Maybe the world as he knew it had been destroyed. Maybe they had stopped once again at the brink. At least when you fought with swords you couldn’t destroy the planet. Thoughts of swords reminded him of Kin Slayer for the first time in ages. Suddenly, he had a strong yearning to feel the comfort of his sword at his side. He fought the urge and refocussed on his train of thought. Happiness, he decided, was a full belly, a warm place to live, to love and be loved, to be appreciated for a job well done, and to be a part of a community. He had all of those things here. He had them in spades. He didn’t have an E-Pod or a view screen. He didn’t have a powerful car. What he had was worth so much more. Goodness was to put community ahead of self and to do no harm. Evil was the ultimate selfishness, to have no compassion, no thoughts at all for others, to act without empathy or sympathy.

He sat back on the log and stretched his legs. The autumn sunshine warmed his body. He was feeling pleased with himself. After all, he had just solved the problems the world’s philosophers had been grappling with for millennia. Then another thought hit him. Was he good or evil? He had killed innocent people. Was there both good and evil in everyone? What was the Balance? Could he hide here forever and give up on his greater destiny? He heard future Manfred’s voice in his head. Simon, you serve the Balance. You are the Everlasting Hero. Elannort needs you.

“No, leave me alone. I have found peace here. I am about to become a father.” Simon was unaware that he was talking aloud until he looked up and saw a wizard observing him. At first, he thought it was Mandred.

“Simon. I have been remiss not to spend time with you. I have been feeling sorry for myself and I have been neglecting my duties. I’m sorry. Can I ask who you were talking to?”

Simon was caught in a dilemma. How could he tell Manfred that he was talking to him, a future him, far into the future? He was spared having to answer, by a huffing and puffing Mandred. “There you are, Simon. Come quickly, it’s Ju, it’s time, the baby is coming. They have taken her to the birthing stone.”

Simon ran off, leaving the two wizards to follow at a more seemly gait. He was feeling a mixture of excitement and trepidation. He longed to hold his baby, but he feared for Ju. The sun was directly overhead when he got back to his cave. Before he went to the birthing stone, he had to do something. His earlier thoughts stayed with him. He crawled to the back of the cave and dug down into the sand. He pulled out Kin Slayer, stood up, brushed it off, and strapped it to his side. He was tempted to draw the sword, but restrained himself. He hurried off. He was about to become a father.

The Eternal Soulmate

The old man looked hunched and grey and he struggled to get to his feet as the heavily pregnant young woman entered his cave. Ju rushed to him and hugged him. She knew the rumours that circulated around the village and even in the dim light of the cave entrance she could see that they were probably true. Her father had little time left in this world.

“My child.” His voice was thin and croaky.

“Father, how are you feeling?” Ju hugged him again although the huge bump in her belly made a proper hug impossible.

“My time is near, but I hope to see my child’s child. Please let us sit. My old legs can barely hold me.”

They sat on a pile of soft skins on the cave floor and sat in silence for a while. Eventually Yo broke the silence. “I am troubled, daughter.”

“What is it, Father?”

“The laws of the tribe are for a great purpose. Without them we would have chaos. I fear that I have misused my power for personal gain and will have to pay a terrible price when Death takes me.”

Ju had an inkling of where this was heading. There were many things that they had never spoken about. They had skirted around them like hunters avoiding a big cat. “If I have wronged you Father, I …”

She was cut off in mid-sentence. “Hush child and listen to me. There is more going on here than I can fathom. First, two strange druids appear from nowhere and begin to teach us about the sun and confuse us with their magic. Then a tall dark stranger appears and you become with child. He disappears and months later a new, tall, red stranger appears and the druid somehow convinces me he’s really the same person. The druids have more say than I do. I should have had you stoned, but I could not do that to my own daughter. The druid convinced me to spare you, yet I needed little convincing. He says that there is a higher purpose at play here. With all of the strange happenings I believe him. Tell me daughter. Who is this Simon? What child do you carry in your belly?”

Ju winced as the baby kicked. She hoped that her father didn’t misinterpret the action. She was torn between her duties. The duty to her husband to keep secret the special things they had spoken about; the duty to her father to show him due respect; and the duty to her chief to honour and obey him. She made her decision and the baby kicked her twice as hard. “I don’t completely understand him. He uses words in his own language that I don’t understand when our words cannot explain something. At night, he often cries out in his sleep and I do not always understand him. He often repeats one word, which seems to be a name. I hear it because it is so like mine. He calls for Juliana.” She paused, expecting a response from her father but got none.

“I only know that he is special to me. I cannot describe how he makes me feel. I have never felt so alive. It’s like my whole body is on fire but in a good way. He uses a word that I don’t understand but says we are soulmates.” She groaned as a sharp pain shot through her body and the baby kicked her again.

“Your time is close,” her father said. “It may surprise you but your mother and I felt like that at one time. I hope that she’s waiting for me on the other side and we’ll feel like it again. You didn’t invent it. Is the baby his?”

“What we have is different. I have talked to my friends about it. Even those who are just joined. What we have goes much further than they feel. The baby isn’t his but he will be a true father. Does that not say much about him?”

Her father only grunted. She knew that he was punishing himself for letting two different men take her.

She decided to tell him her biggest secrets. “The one who came first,” she swallowed hard, “The one who came first took me by force. He made me bleed and he hurt me.” She had to bite her tongue to stop herself screaming as another sharp pain threatened to tear her apart. She imagined it must be like being speared. “Simon was not like that. Even though you had decreed that we were joined and he was the same man. Even though the druid had told me what must be. Even though I was heavy with child. I encouraged him. He was gentle. He would never hurt me.”

Yo stared at his only child, shook his head and eventually spoke so quietly that Ju struggled to make out the words. “You would have had a brother had not Death taken him and your mother on the birthing stone. He would be a proud man now with children of his own. The tribe would have a new leader and I would meet Death with contentment. Now everyone jostles for position and I fear for the tribe’s stability when I’m gone. Chaos is waiting in the shadows by the fire. Some talk of Simon as the next leader. Where did he come from? How can we be sure he won’t go back and disappear like the first one?”

Ju thought about the long nights they had lain in each other’s arms planning the future. Occasionally, she could get him to drop his guard and talk about his past. “All I know is that he is running away from something terrible. He is afraid of what he might turn into if he were to return. He is a good man but he fears turning into an evil one. He has found peace here and has great plans to improve our lives. Please don’t think that I have been possessed. Please don’t have me stoned. I believe he comes from the future.”

Yo was about to respond to his daughter’s latest revelation when Ju screamed and pulled herself upright. As the contraction subsided she felt a pop and warm liquid like water ran down her legs and pooled on the cave floor.

“Wa!” Yo shouted, struggling to his feet. “Get in here!” The old medicine woman calmly walked in followed by a group of three other women. “It’s time. I’m going to see my child’s child.”

Second Delve

Everlasting Heroes must be like Melbourne trams or London buses. Manfred was still trying to come to terms with Ubadah’s story. I have been searching half my life for a Hero and then two turn up at the same time. Not only that, one of them was practically under my nose the whole time. I really must be going senile. They had been in Tamarlan for two days now and he had had the time to recuperate a little from the rigours of the journey, enjoy some reasonable food for a change, and savour a few pints of foaming ale. Beer was Manfred’s last remaining vice and he was determined never to miss an opportunity to indulge. He had taken the time, though, to talk in detail with Ubadah and had tried to understand both Ubadah’s and Dammar’s motivations. So far, he had drawn a blank. At least Gamyon seemed to have come to terms with Ubadah’s arrival and seemed relieved now that he knew that his regency was safe. That hadn’t stopped him taking Manfred aside for a quiet word, ‘just to make sure you take him away from here with you when you leave’. Manfred had to smile. Always the pragmatist, he thought. He had taken breakfast with Gamying and Aglaral. They were both eager to find out what Manfred’s plans were and to meet Ubadah. They also reminded Manfred of a thorny little problem he had been putting off: Kris. Now, as he sat puffing on his old briar pipe; ok so he still had other vices too; he was pondering on the problem. Kris seemed to be an enigma. Something inside him told Manfred that he needed to solve the puzzle. I hate it when my gut tells me something that my head can’t understand.

Oh well, it can wait no longer. Manfred emptied his pipe into an ashtray, carefully returned it to one of his many pockets, and rose to seek out Master Kris, erstwhile Bard of Karo. He found him sitting quietly in his room, a guard on the door. The guard let him in without question. Kris smiled at seeing him. That’s unnerving; he must be getting pretty bored and lonely here by himself.

“Kris, we need to talk,” Manfred began.

“It’s OK, Manfred; I have been doing a lot of thinking these past couple of days. I don’t want to go through your mind probe. I would like to tell you everything. I hope that at the end of it, you’ll understand and let me continue with you on your journey.”

“Well, that will depend on what you have to tell me. It won’t be just my decision either. Just take your time and start at the beginning.” Manfred sat down on the edge of the bed and watched Kris as he told his story. Manfred had always thought that he was a good judge of character and he was certain that Kris told him the truth.

“I’m not really a bard, although I seem to have some natural talent for the profession. I am from Karo and I have made the journeys that I told you about, but I was a ship’s cook. We were sailing on the Middle Sea, heading into Dar-el-Beida to find a cargo to bring back to Karo when we were attacked by pirates. Most of the crew were killed. Some of us, the least likely to cause trouble, were kept to be slaves. I continued to work as a cook, but instead of being paid, I would get a beating if the crew didn’t like the food I prepared. I tried to find a way of escaping, but we were watched too closely. We sailed west, further than I had ever been before. I don’t know how far we travelled, but eventually the Middle Sea ended in a narrow strait. We sailed through into a large sea or ocean and turned south. We hugged the coast and sailed for several days before we put into a port town, which I learned was the pirates’ home base. The town was called Cap Ghir and it was linked to an inland city located in a mountain valley, called Taruwdant. Cap Ghir is the hub of a pirate organisation; masterminded from Taruwdant by a man they call the Wolf. He is said to command an army of undead and often takes the form of a wolf and kills prisoners by ripping out their throats. I saw him only once, from a distance, and he reduced me to a quivering jelly of terror. I don’t suppose you find that surprising, since I’m such a coward. I was taken to Taruwdant and put to work in the kitchens. I kept my head down and worked hard. I knew that there was no chance of escape and resigned myself to a lifetime of slavery. I don’t know why, perhaps it was my work ethic or the desire to stay out of trouble, but I was selected for special attention. I was interviewed by a series of people, culminating in a meeting with one of the Wolf’s lieutenants. I now know that he was a wizard. He looked very much like you do, except that his hair was very curly. He said that I had been selected for a special mission, which would earn me my freedom, if I did well. If I failed, I would be tracked down and used as wolf meat. By the time my throat was torn out, I would be begging for death, he told me. He forced his way into my mind. He raped me mentally. I could not keep him out. It was terrible; he knew all of my secrets and fears. He placed images in my mind of what would happen to me if I disobeyed. He gave me a new history, as a bard. He told me I had to travel to Elannort for an important meeting of the Wise. I was to ingratiate myself with you and try to join any expedition that was mounted. I was to learn as much as I could about a powerful sword and the hero who would wield it. I was to pay particular attention to a red-haired boy. I feared for my life, for my very soul. I’m sorry, Manfred. I was too weak to resist his evil.”

Manfred sighed and looked at the pathetic, cowering man in front of him. “I’m sorry, too, Kris. I should not have threatened you with a mind probe. I can help you to heal and to forget. If you will let me into your mind, willingly, I will try to soothe the hurt.”

Kris hesitated and looked concerned but he finally agreed. Manfred laid his hands on the bard’s head and concentrated. He looked into the frightened man’s soul. He had been telling the truth. Frisa the Curly-Haired had planted many evil neural links. It was a wonder that Kris had been able to function at all. His fear of wargs was planted deep. It was little wonder he had reacted as he had on the Ice Stair. Manfred did what he could to remove the planted suggestions and remove the fear. Manfred removed his hands. Kris seemed a little more relaxed and less fearful. “Tell me, Kris, how were you to be contacted?”

“He said that his servants would seek me out and collect any information I had. I thought that the wargs were doing that. I’m sorry for what I did. Is there any way I can make it up to you?”

“I will talk to the others. I will tell them only what they need to know. I think that you should continue your new profession as a bard. There will be many stories yet to be told before this war is over. I would be pleased to have you along to record them. You were correct when you called this a quest for knowledge. Every snippet that I learn fills in more of the gaps. It would appear that Weylyn is behind much of our troubles. How he became corrupted, I do not know. I wish I knew where Dammar fits into all of this, if indeed he still lives. What am I supposed to do about Ubadah? There are so many questions still to answer and problems to solve. I see that there is goodness in you, Kris. I also feel, without any real justification, that you were sent to us for a purpose and that you will have an important role to play before all of this is done. I have done my best to remove the evil that Frisa planted. There will be echoes of it for the rest of your life. You have the power now to resist them. The choice of your future is yours. Will you join us?”

Kris was very emotional. There were tears in his eyes and his voice wobbled. “Thank you, Manfred. I will be forever in your debt. I would like to continue with you and become the official Bard of Elannort, should I prove worthy. Consider me a sort of apprentice in the meantime. I have been working on a short piece concerning the journey so far. Would you care to hear a little of it?”

Manfred agreed and settled back in anticipation. I hope he’s not too bad; otherwise, it will be difficult to convince the others. Kris spoke in a loud, confident voice, which modulated well and expressed the emotion he was trying to convey.

 

The wargs attacked in waves,

Snarling and gnashing their jaws.

The firelight flickered in the hut

Burning the last of the splintered doors.

 

Two warriors stood tall,

Blades flashing in the firelight’s glow.

Two wargs fell dead at the door

Yet their vicious attack was not slowed.

 

Again and again, the wargs attacked,

Two heroes fought as one.

As on the floor the wizard slept,

Spent from the work he’d done.

 

Harder and harder, the beasts pressed forward,

Still the two blades powered.

While deep in the dark at the back of the hut

The bard in craven fear cowered.

 

No mercy would the wargs provide,

Injured now, the two men wearied.

Death stared them all in the face,

Each their own god they queried.

 

When all seemed lost, the wizard woke,

From the depths in which he’d slumbered.

From in his cloak, withdrew his staff

And to the doorway lumbered.

 

In voice so strong, he bade them leave,

Or feel his wrath be vented.

The wargs just laughed to hear such words,

And for the kill presented.

 

But wargs it was who died that day,

From wizard’s fire intended,

Blue fury from his staff did flow,

And pelts of wargs incended.

 

For Manfred he did save the day,

And wargs were killed or banished.

For when they saw the wizard’s wrath,

Into the mountains vanished.

 

A great victory was won that day,

In a mountain hut so cold.

Two men, a coward, and a wizard true

The craven and the bold.

 

Manfred was pleased and relieved; it still needed a lot of work, but it wasn’t complete rubbish. I’m not sure incended is actually a word.

Two days later, a group of travellers left Tamarlan. There were still four of them, but Ubadah had replaced Gamying. The Heir-Regent was remaining at home to help his father prepare for the likely upcoming attacks. Gamying had again tried to convince Aglaral to stay and take up service in the Tamarlan army. Manfred was pleased that he chose to stay with them. Aglaral had readily agreed that Kris remain with them when he heard the wizard’s explanation. Gamying had not been so forgiving. Ubadah didn’t seem to care much either way. That one seems to look down on anyone who is not as noble or powerful as he is.

They left on horseback, heading due east, skirting the foothills of the Mountains of Death. Manfred’s plan was to find New Hope Pass and cross the mountains by that route, meeting up with the Doom River. They carried small one-man boats in their luggage and Manfred planned to ride the spring thaw down the River Doom as far as Two Rivers. It would then be a short, easy trek to Elannort. This route also had the benefit, or risk depending on your point of view, of maybe finding the elusive New Delve. Manfred had a feeling that there was important information to be found there, perhaps even knowledge of what had happened to David son of Dwahir son of Davit and his followers.

The journey east took three days, but was uneventful. First the Devil Mountains and then the Mountains of Death rose on their right, like impenetrable black walls. The mountain peaks, high in the distance, were white with snow and Manfred did not look forward to the chill of the high places again. There were no paths leading into the mountains and no sign of any passes by which to cross the dense barrier. A few times, they noticed dark shapes away in the distance, seeming to track their progress. The wargs will follow us, but I doubt they’ll want to risk another encounter. Close to Tamarlan, the countryside was pleasant farmland, bathed in warm spring sunshine and bursting with new growth. As they moved further east the land began to change, becoming less green and productive until it became a barren landscape of broken rocks, dotted with patches of snow and ice. Eventually they were riding on solid ice and had to slow their progress to protect the horses.

At night they pitched a tent, made from tanned animal hides, and slept two at a time, huddled together for warmth. They made no fire, because there was nothing to burn. Manfred found the close contact interesting. He was able to read much in the minds of his companions. Kris was much happier now. He didn’t even show much fear for the wargs tracking them. He was enthusiastic about his new role as writer and bard. Manfred was amused by the clumsy attempts at rhyming that were constantly in his head. Aglaral continued to worry about his family and debate whether he should have taken up Gamying’s offer to stay in Tamarlan. Manfred was pleased to note that the debate always ended with his desire to serve the Balance and his loyalty to the old wizard winning through. Ubadah was something else. His mind was full of constant grumbles that sometimes would surface enough for him to gripe about. It was too cold; the food was not adequate; he didn’t like sharing accommodation, especially with lower class persons such as soldiers and bards; he shouldn’t have to carry his own luggage; he wasn’t shown enough respect and deference; people should ask his permission to speak or do things; and so it went on. Manfred felt depressed by it all. Ubadah is going to be trouble, I feel it in my old bones.

They saw no living things during their journey, other than the ever-present wargs. On the afternoon of the third day, their horses tired and hungry, they came upon a track leading up into the hills. It was no more than a goat track. Manfred had hoped it would be good enough to ride the horses further, but that was not going to be the case. They hobbled the horses and prepared for another cold night. Manfred and Aglaral took the first watch, while Ubadah complained about having to share a tent with a commoner. The sky was clear and a half-moon gave just enough light to make it impossible for someone to creep up on them unnoticed. The wizard and the warrior sat in silence, each seemingly lost in their own thoughts. Manfred was thinking about his last hot meal and pint of ale. Much more of this dry tack and I’ll begin to fancy roast warg. He was roused from his thoughts as Aglaral jumped up and drew his sword. No more than five yards away, Manfred could see a pair of red eyes, shining out of the darkness like brake lights in the fog. The horses whinnied and struggled against their restraints. A single warg approached and stopped three feet from them. Manfred held a hand on Aglaral’s leg to signal no action. In his head, he heard a single word over and over. Parley.

The warg observed them. Manfred smelled the unmistakeable stench and, despite himself, a shiver ran up his spine. He resisted the temptation to reveal his staff. The warg spoke. “Master comes soon. Destroy you he will. We let you pass. Hungry. Horses for safe passage.”

Manfred had been worrying about the horses throughout the journey. He hadn’t brought a groom from Tamarlan to take them home because he knew that the wargs would attack and without his magic, they would have no chance. He had become resigned to losing them. He stood up and the warg took an involuntary step backwards. That’s good, nice to see a bit of respect for singed fur.

“Tell your master that Manfred the Magician will be waiting for him at Elannort, with a few tricks that he’s not expecting.” I hope I can think of something. “Tell him that he is a traitor to the Balance and that he will pay for his crimes. Tell him that the time for atonement will soon be upon him. Tell your friends, that if I see any of you again on our journey you shall feel the wrath of my staff.” He withdrew his staff from inside his cloak and showed it to the warg, which took another step back. “We accept your offer, not out of fear but out of practicality. Have the decency to wait until we are out of sight and earshot. Be gone!” The warg growled, turned on its heels, and disappeared into the night. A message was left in Manfred’s mind. Next time your throat. Manfred shivered and it wasn’t from the cold.

“I wish there were another way, Aglaral, but we have no way of protecting the horses and we cannot take them with us. I will at least cut them loose to give them a slim chance and make the wargs work for their meal.”

The rest of the night passed peaceably and next morning, after more cold tack they prepared for their climb. Ubadah was in full complaint mode. “I am a king. I do not carry my own luggage. It is unheard of.”

“It will be heard of,” Manfred said, “because the story will be faithfully told by our bard, including your whingeing and whining about it. It’s quite simple really; we each have a small boat, which we’ll need to descend the other side. If you don’t carry one, you’ll not have one when you need it. Equally, if you don’t carry food and water, you’ll not eat and drink. Is that clear?” Manfred had finally had enough.

“How dare you talk to me like that?” Ubadah demanded. “I will have you flogged!”

Manfred sighed and cast his eyes upwards in disbelief. “I should have taken you over my knee and given you a good spanking when you were a child. You are still not too big for it.” Aglaral and Kris tried to stop themselves but they both burst out laughing. Ubadah went bright red with a mixture of anger and embarrassment but said nothing further. With a huff and a grunt, he picked up his pack. Manfred cut loose the horses and gave each of them a smack on the rump. He knew there was little chance that they would not become warg meat very soon, but he could hope. Ubadah led the way up the track and set a firm, steady pace. Manfred let him have his head. He really is a king after all, not to mention a hero as well. I’ll just have to put up with being tired before this day’s out.

Although the path was narrow, the climb through New Hope Pass was relatively easy. The day was clear and a pleasant temperature. The snow and ice had melted and although there were a few loose rocks that were a bit treacherous, the climb was far easier than anything they had attempted on the journey to Tamarlan. Ubadah set a brisk pace and Manfred was forced to call for regular breaks to catch his breath and to take a drink of water. Kris seemed to be finding the pace as difficult as Manfred, but Aglaral was unperturbed. The path wound around a single high mountain that had a unique shape at its peak. Viewed from below, it was difficult to discern, but Manfred knew that from a distance it looked like a huge domed bell. They were climbing towards the summit of Mount Doom. Manfred had seen its imposing visage often, viewed from the south, but he had never climbed it or seen it from the north before. He knew all of the old stories. It was said that if you heard the bell toll you knew that Death was on his way to collect you. Do not wonder for whom the mountain tolls. Manfred kept his stories and thoughts to himself.

By mid-afternoon, they reached the snow line and climbing became more difficult. Aglaral said something to Ubadah and took a turn to lead. He set a slower pace, more suited to Manfred and Kris. By late afternoon, they reached a high plateau. The domed top of Mount Doom rose several thousand feet above them. A snowfield stretched in front of them. Manfred was pleased. He knew that they had finished their climb. A short way west and they should find the Doom Glacier. All being well, tomorrow they would begin their descent, but tonight he wanted to find the entrance to New Delve before it got dark. There had been no sighting of wargs all day; it seemed they had kept their part of the bargain, more out of fear than ethics, Manfred thought. Here, though, on the snowfield the evidence of their recent presence was abundant. The snow was pocked with the criss-crossing paw prints of many wargs. At one point, a large red stain darkened the snow. All over, their spoor fouled the pristine environment.

With the sun setting in crimson splendour behind the saw toothed peaks of the Mountains of Death, Manfred scanned the dark rock face of Mount Doom for a cave or a doorway. Just when he was about to give the order to pitch the tent for a cold night on the ice, he noticed something odd. There was an area of snow that was clean, unmarked and unfouled. He followed it to the sheer wall of the rock face. There was no evidence of an opening or a door. He concentrated and sniffed the air.

“There is a scent of magic here. The door to New Delve is in front of us, but it is hidden from us. Search for any clues, hidden runes, or strange marks.” The others did as he bid, while Manfred reached out with his mind in an attempt to read the magic. “There is old magic here. It is similar to the feeling I had at the exit door from First Delve at the Warning Falls. That is a very good sign. I wonder if it is as simple as knowing how to open that door?” Well, here goes, give it a try. It’s about time I had a bit of luck.

Manfred crossed his fingers. “Bahl Shamim.” He spoke the words in a clear, loud voice. Just as he said them, the sun dropped behind the mountains and darkness fell. It seemed to be an eerie coincidence. Rather good timing, if I say so myself. The last rays of the sun illuminated a shimmering change coming over the blank rock face. Where there had previously been a solid rock wall, there appeared a roughly hewn archway and tunnel leading into the mountain. As darkness fell, Manfred wondered whether it was real or whether he had simply imagined it by wishful thinking. He took out his staff and muttered a few magic words. The staff began to glow with a yellow light that allowed them all to see clearly. There were dwarf runes carved above the archway. 'Second Delve. New hope for the dwarf peoples. Enter friends without fear.' Manfred translated the runes. “It seems that David son of Dwahir son of Davit was successful in establishing a new delve, after all. I wonder what became of them all. Shall we take them up on their hospitality and go in?”

The question was largely rhetorical, as the alternative was a night on the snow. The four travellers entered the archway and began a gradual descent along a rock tunnel into the heart of Mount Doom. Manfred’s staff illuminated the walls of the tunnel, which were decorated with dwarf runes. Manfred moved slowly, studying the runes as much as checking where his feet were falling. He stopped at a place where there were more runes than anywhere else.

“The runes are a kind of diary of the delve’s history. They tell the story of the expedition, the establishment of the delve, their hopes and plans for the future, and they recall the disaster which befell them. I wish that I had the time to study them more; Dia son of Din son of Dane will want to know all of the details if by good chance our paths cross again. Come, we must find a place to rest tonight. I will tell you their story after we have eaten and before we sleep.”

They moved on again and the runes quickly petered out. Before long, the tunnel opened into a large chamber, hewn out of the heart of the mountain. It would not compare with the Jewelled Caverns of Devil’s Mouth but in the yellow light of Manfred’s staff, it was an impressive sight nonetheless. The Hall of the Mountain King; they achieved much before they met their fate. The walls of the chamber were decorated with precious stones that reflected and seemed to amplify the light from the staff. The chamber seemed to be a central meeting place. On a high dais in the centre was a large, decorated stone seat, the throne of the Mountain King. Tunnels ran off the main chamber in all directions, like spokes of a wheel from the hub. It would take weeks to explore this place thoroughly.

Manfred scanned the runes above each tunnel and selected one to explore. As they crossed the floor of the chamber, their feet crunched on something brittle underfoot. Manfred glanced down and realised, in horror, that they were walking on the bones of the dead. They picked their way more carefully, trying not to disturb the remains. There had clearly been a battle here, but from the look of it, the only casualties were dwarves. Manfred looked back at the others. Aglaral and Ubadah seemed to be all right, but Kris was in obvious distress. His breathing was rapid and shallow and there were tears streaming down his face. He has the emotional feeling to become a good bard. The warriors have seen it all before.

The air in the chamber was fresh and cold, evidence of a good ventilation system. Their boots were throwing up dust, though, that began to make breathing more difficult. Manfred didn’t want to think about where the dust originated. They entered the tunnel he had selected and it became less dusty. Small rooms had been carved out of the rock on both sides of the tunnel. They contained sleeping and cooking areas and more skeletons, including those of children. It looks like the women and children waited here, while the men fought. They found an empty room, empty of skeletons that is, with a fireplace and a stack of ancient wood. Manfred decided that they should spend the night there. They offloaded their packs and set up a makeshift camp around the fireplace. Kris built a fire and Manfred soon had it burning. The natural ventilation took the smoke away, high above them. Manfred stowed his staff and they sat in the flicker of orange flames and took an unappetising meal of dry tack and tea. Manfred used the time to mind-search the delve for signs of life or evil. He found nothing.

“We are safe here. There is no need to post guards tonight. We can all sleep and be well rested for the journey tomorrow. We must get back to Elannort and prepare for the battles which are surely ahead. Before we sleep, I will tell you what I learned from the runes. I’m afraid that the story is very much a repeat of the early days of First Delve. After a long journey, many hardships, and much searching, the dwarves identified Mount Doom as the place to establish their new home. They called it Mount Hope in those days. The early days were difficult, because they had few provisions and they had to build the delve from a very basic cave structure that existed when they found the place. Everything went well, though, for the first hundred years or so. The mining proved to be very profitable and they established trading links with a group of humans who lived in a forested area south of the mountains. I believe that this is now the Forest of Doom. They began to prosper and the women started bearing children. Unfortunately, their digging disturbed something evil. The original evil that had been liberated from First Delve became Gadiel the Dark God. When he was diminished by Gilgamesh, he fled north looking for a refuge to regenerate himself. Seeking the comfort of the womb, he sought out a place deep under the Mountains of Death, where he thought he would be undisturbed. It was a sad trick of fate that the dwarves should again disturb him. It is written that when he was awoken from his troubled dreams the mountain rang like a bell tolling. Mount Hope was renamed Mount Doom on that day. The last entry corresponds to the year 50300, two hundred and ninety-seven years after the dwarves left First Delve. Gadiel summoned a small army of the undead. The battle of Second Delve was short and one-sided. Gadiel sat on the throne and watched as the dwarves were slaughtered. After the battle, he dispatched the undead to take over the Forest of Doom and hold it as a staging post for future battles. He was still rather weak and left for the Northland in search of something; the runes are not specific. We know this because one dwarf survived the slaughter and hid in the caves until he could complete the story. He realised it might be important that people in the future learned what happened here. When he had completed his self-appointed task, he left the delve, in the hope of finding his way back to First Delve to warn the dwarves there. Since he never arrived, we must assume he met his end in the Mountains of Death or on the Frozen Wastes. He wrote one last thing and I don’t know from where he learned it. When Mount Doom tolls again, Gadiel will return to claim all of FirstWorld.”

Despite the warmth of the fire, Manfred’s audience shivered. They slept fitfully that night, plagued by dreams of Gadiel’s awakening and visions of the future. Manfred woke them before first light and they left the delve just as the sun was rising between the teeth of the Mountains of Death. It was another fine day. At least the weather is on our side. We must make haste. I must have news of Simon. Ubadah was complaining again, but this time Manfred managed to ignore him. They set off away from the rising sun, needing to shade their eyes from the snow-glare. The snowfield was crisp and firm, so walking was relatively easy. Manfred stopped after a few minutes and pointed south through a gap in the mountains. “The river winding down the valley is the River Doom. The large forest is the Forest of Doom. Cast your eyes directly over the middle of the forest, as far as you can see. If your eyes are good you can just make out the High Tower at Elannort. Home is in sight. We will need to climb down the Doom Glacier and follow the river until the worst of the rapids are past. Then we will use our little boats and float past the Forest of Doom, right under the noses of its inhabitants, and on to Two Rivers. We will camp tonight below the snow line. Tomorrow night we’ll be in Two Rivers and the night after you’ll be tucked up in your warm beds at Wizards’ Keep.”

Manfred was as good as his word. The day was an exhausting one, filled with Ubadah’s moans, but uneventful. The Doom Glacier’s surface was pitted with rocks, ranging from the size of house bricks to huge boulders. The journey down the glacier was difficult and had to be taken slowly. In places, they roped themselves together for safety. As usual, Aglaral and Ubadah found the going much easier than Kris and Manfred. The end of the glacier was an impressive sight. Chunks of ice, rocks, and water plunged at least five hundred feet into the head of the river. The noise was incredible. Manfred thought it was as if the glacier were giving birth, in agony, to the river. Such thoughts made him think again about Simon. Over thirty thousand years ago for him and possibly only hours ago for Simon, a birth occurred that changed everything. In that moment the multiverse had been created. Manfred felt sure of it and still castigated himself for his sulky mood that had prevented him from seeing it at the time. Will Simon be back in Elannort when we get home?

They ate a sparse meal of dry tack and cold water at the top of Doom Falls before attempting the descent. It took them the best part of the afternoon to make the difficult climb. They were impeded by the boats on their backs and several times each of them came close to a serious mishap. Nevertheless, they finally made it safely to the bottom. Ubadah was in a foul mood and every second word coming out of his mouth was a curse. Manfred even learned a few new words, which was very unusual for him. They pitched their tent at the base of the falls and spent another uncomfortable night sleeping in pairs. Manfred took Ubadah, out of pity for Aglaral and Kris.

The next morning, the value of having lugged the boats became evident. By mid-morning, they had travelled far enough that the river had straightened out into a navigable stream. Every few hundred yards, new flows of water entered. The River Doom was quickly growing into an impressive waterway. They were below the tree line now and they each selected appropriate branches to use as punting poles. The boats they had carried were tiny; little more than large breadbaskets, but they would serve their purpose. They discarded their backpacks and most of their remaining supplies, burying them under rocks. They launched their crafts, sitting in them with knees around their ears, and boughs at the ready to give a push in the right direction when needed.

The first attempts were hilarious. Everyone except Manfred received at least one soaking. Eventually, they all mastered the delicate art of balance and they pushed off. This would make a great fairground attraction at the theme parks I have seen in some dimensions. They roped themselves together and moved out into the middle of the stream, where the strong current picked them up and carried them effortlessly downstream. They made rapid progress, far faster than they could have made even on horseback. They were wet and cold, but it was exhilarating that they would soon be safe. The countryside around them changed. To their left, the land was flat grassland as far as the eye could see. To their right, a dense forest canopy blotted out everything. A sense of evil seemed to permeate from the forest. Manfred hoped they would sneak by, unnoticed. Just as he was congratulating himself on a job well done, the sky above them darkened as if a cloud had passed over the sun. Manfred looked up. The sky was full of birds, black crows from the Forest of Doom. The flock circled above them, calling out in raucous shouts, before whirling and heading back to the forest. Fortunately, the trees began to thin and they soon sailed past the southern border of the forest. We have slipped by, but we were definitely noticed. Oh well, the wargs already knew anyway.

An hour later, they approached the town of Two Rivers and the junction with the River Hope. It got tricky for a few minutes as they tried to manoeuvre to the right bank and not be carried away by the combined force of the two rivers. Manfred was forced to use a little magic to help them. I don’t fancy being cast adrift on the Great Inland Sea. They scrambled from the river, looking and feeling like drowned rats, onto the coarse wooden decking of a wharf. A couple of rough-looking types noticed them and came to investigate and probably to relieve them of their valuables, if not their lives. They got two surprises. Firstly, two of the drowned rats turned out to be well-armed warriors. Second, another of them turned out to be Manfred the Magician.

Two Rivers was a small town and everyone there knew Manfred. The two ruffians fell over themselves to lead the travellers to the only inn in town. The Fisherman’s Arms was as rough as the rest of the shabby town and its inhabitants, but to Manfred it was a veritable palace. The innkeeper, by name of Trout, was a stout ruddy fellow, with a bald head and a dirty apron. Manfred thought that he must suffer from high blood pressure. Trout fussed over them. He gave them his best rooms, organised hot baths, and provided clean clothes while he had their travelling clothes washed. All except for Manfred, whose clothes seemed to have miraculously cleaned and dried themselves. That evening they relaxed in the bar. The ale was weak and the food very average, but to Manfred it seemed like a feast. Ubadah complained that his bread lacked salt and that the beef in his stew was too tough. His bed was also too lumpy and his room was too small. Manfred contemplated sealing his lips together. The locals crowded round, seeking news. Manfred had cautioned them all to say nothing of their travels. Kris was called into service to recount the story of Gilgamesh. The story went down well and they drank and swapped tales until late in the evening.

They slept well and late, drugged by the ale into dreamless oblivion. Their clothes were ready for them when they awoke. After a hot breakfast of bacon and eggs, washed down with lashings of tea, Trout’s young apprentice appeared with four horses for them. Not bad for a one-horse town. Manfred’s credit was good and Trout knew that the horses would be returned with ample reward. By evening, they were safely home in Elannort. Manfred immediately looked for Simon. He found Taran and Dawit in the Keep and Jhamed keeping vigil in the High Tower. There was no sign of Simon.

Simon’s Pain

Simon had been pacing up and down for so long he felt like he had run a marathon. He stopped and stood in the shadows away from the fire and the birthing stone, still angry that neither the women nor the men of the tribe would let him near Ju. Every time he had tried to approach the birthing stone they had formed a human barrier to stop him. His pleas and attempts at explanation had fallen on deaf ears. The wizards had refused to intervene. Mandred had told him ‘What will be must be,’ while Manfred had seemed paralysed by indecision and deferred to his colleague, citing some sort of non-interference directive. Only Chief Yo had spoken gently to him, in as much fear for his only child as Simon was for his wife. “My wife and son died on the birthing stone. I fear that I may outlive my entire family. It is the law. Leave it to the Medicine Woman. Wa knows what to do.”

He had begged Yo to bend the law as he had done previously for his daughter. The old chief had hardened then. Simon suspected that Yo viewed the current situation as karma for his previous misdemeanours. ‘Wa knows what to do’ were his final words on the matter. Even as a student, he had more medical knowledge than all of the members of the tribe put together, including the two wizards. I could help her, if only they would let me .He contemplated drawing Kin Slayer and forcing his way to Ju’s side. More innocents would die.

****

Simon had lost track of time. Ju’s labour had been going on for many hours though it seemed more like a lifetime. Ju’s screams of intense pain repeatedly filled the night but were getting weaker with each more frequent contraction. Only the growing darkness hid the flow of blood that gave a new red coating to the birthing stone. The full moon rose over the trees and began a battle of shadows with the roaring fire in the clearing. Ju gave another scream, followed by a series of low moans. The hushed crowd of women that surrounded the birthing stone looked on apprehensively. Wa fussed around trying to bring comfort but this was clearly beyond her experience. The baby is too large. She needs a caesarean. If I’d stayed at home, I’d be able to perform one by now. I could still have a go. But I don’t have any surgical instruments. Even if I could get to Ju I would not be able to help her. She has lost too much blood.

Over in the deepest shadows stood the two wizards, watching and waiting. Why don’t they help her? They must have some magic. Mandred seemed quite animated and excited. Manfred had his eyes downcast. The wizard he would come to look upon as a grandfather refused to intervene. He had seen the power of Manfred’s staff. If the wizard wanted to act he could. If I ever get back to Elannort, Kin Slayer will live up to its name.

Ju screamed again, louder than ever, and suddenly sat bolt upright with such fear in her eyes that the crowd took an involuntary pace backwards, as if of one mind. Then with a final agonising cry and a huge push, she gave birth. Her strength completely sapped and her lifeblood spent, she fell back lifeless on the birthing stone and suffered no more. Simon felt a cold dread hit him, like a knife to his heart. He knew that Ju was dead. The baby had killed her.

The crowd gasped and began to chatter nervously. The child in the old medicine woman's arms was strange. Not only was it far larger than any normal newborn baby, but it had a full head of bright red hair. Mandred gave a joyful shout and screamed strange incantations, emptying his herb pouch into the fire that he carried in his bowl. Simon saw him throw back his head and laugh long and hard. Then he fell to the ground and his body instantaneously withered and turned to dust. A peculiar wind struck up and blew through the clearing, carrying the dust away into the night. All that remained was a tattered bearskin cloak. Simon had seen such a death before, and the sudden memory disturbed him. Frisa the Curly-Haired and Hroc the Crow had passed to stone thanks to him and Kin Slayer; now Mandred had followed them. An eerie laughing cry, that was like no night bird Simon had heard before, echoed through the chill night. A cloud passed over the moon and the fire suddenly died. A pack of wolves howled in the distance as the crowd rapidly dispersed towards their home caves, apprehensive and afraid. Wa carried the baby, who was crying at the top of his lungs.

Only Manfred remained, taking it all in and seemingly talking to himself. He fingered his necklace as he spoke. Simon couldn’t hear what he said. The wizard too turned away from the clearing. The howls of the wolves were coming closer. In the shadows at one end of the clearing, Simon was in pain. His heart felt like it had been torn out of his body and stamped on. The ache in his chest spread to his very soul. In his despair, he howled. The people hurrying back to their caves stopped in their tracks. The hairs on the backs of their necks rose and goose bumps covered their skins. Quickly, they continued and sought the relative safety of their caves. The wolves stopped too, cocking their ears to the wind. Their leader snarled, wondering where this challenge to his authority was coming from. Simon stood erect. He withdrew Kin Slayer from its scabbard and brandished it above his head, showing it to the now fully risen moon.

“I swear on the sword Kin Slayer that I shall avenge this day. I give the rest of my life to seek out and destroy the evil that robbed me of my love. I curse forever the swine that impregnated my Ju and his child and its heirs forever until the end of time.” He raised his head to the moon and howled again. I will avenge you, my darling. Kin Slayer shrieked in unison with his howl until Simon finally sheathed the Sword.

The ties that bound Simon were now cut. Unbidden, his mind pictured the tower at Wizards’ Keep. The strange prickly sensation of pins and needles covered his entire body. Nausea gripped him. The world around him shimmered and disappeared to be replaced by an obsidian tower high above a medieval town. Simon staggered and held on to the parapet handrail to steady himself. It was night-time here too. Seemingly, the same moon cast its light out of a clear sky. The town looked the same as Simon remembered, but as he cast his gaze further, he shuddered. Where there should only have been tilled fields and the odd farmhouse was a scene from hell.

Elannort was surrounded. As far as his eyes could see, campfires burned. In the light of the full moon, he could just make out the hideous shapes of siege engines and worse. His gaze was drawn to a large fire towards the centre of the largest camp. There was someone or something there that he was familiar with. A picture formed in his mind. It was not a pretty sight. In his vision, he saw the might of those assembled at the gates. As well as men and the machines there were others there, the undead, and grotesque creatures that seemed to be the results of hideous breeding experiments. There was a great power present too, maybe even a god. A voice spoke in his head. So you are come at last, Red Boy. I had almost given up on you. It will be my greatest pleasure to kill you and have you serve me, undead, for eternity. What kept you?

“So you are finally back, for Balance sake. What kept you?” Simon was dragged back from his reverie by the insistent tugging on his arm by a small hand. “By heaven, you smell worse than a Valdonian swine herd after a month in the hog pens. Where have you been?”

Simon looked down at the face of his friend. His hair was as curly as ever, trying to escape from under his wide-brimmed hat with its white feather. His eyes were as blue as ocean pools, but strangely clouded with worry, and his beaky nose made him look as arrogant as ever. He pushed Jhamed’s hand away roughly and snarled through his tears. “How long have I been gone? What’s happening?”

Jhamed smiled despite Simon’s response, although the worry in his eyes was not lessened. “Always questions with you, isn’t it. You’ve been gone for more than six months. We had almost given up hope. Elannort is under siege. Many believe that the time of the Last Battle approaches. The shadows of Elannort in all of the dimensions are under attack too. Many were lost long ago, of course. Many have fallen recently. The few remaining will fall soon. When all have fallen and only Elannort remains, then will the Last Battle begin. The enemies will not move until then. They just sit outside the city and wait. But the time must be close at hand. There is much to be done. Come quickly, Manfred must be told of your return. He will have many questions for you. Perhaps there is yet a chance for us. Our Hero has returned. Were you successful in your quest? What happened?”

Simon said nothing. What could he say? He had failed in his quest. He had given up on his duty and his friends here in order to satisfy his own needs and desires. His true love had been cruelly taken from him. His heart was broken and all that was left was an unquenched thirst for revenge. Maybe I should just throw myself off the tower and end it all now. All I deserve is a coward’s death.

Two voices spoke in his head, both seeking to stop him from jumping. Do not jump, Red Boy. I have a more fitting end in mind for you. You will be mine, one way or another. If you jump, you will be mine all the sooner. Simon shuddered. Simon, it’s not too late. There is still hope. For Elannort, for the multiverse, for you, for all of us. Come to me now. Let me help you. You can survive this. For the sake of the Balance you must survive this. Simon screamed aloud. “Get out of my head, all of you. Leave me alone!” With tears streaming down his face and sobbing uncontrollably, he sheathed Kin Slayer and meekly followed Jhamed down the tower stairs, oblivious to his nakedness, to see what next cruel trick fate had in store for him.

****

After the inhuman howling stopped, the wolves began calling again. A figure in the shadows at the other end of the clearing shivered. He had felt all of the anguish in those screams. He had heard the words that the red haired one had shouted at the moon. He had seen the moonlight glint off his sword. Now, he smiled. There was no joy in the smile, only a grim determination to carry out the action that he had come here for. Soon, the Hero would die.

Book 4 The Sundering

In which Simon Redhead must choose the path he will take to the future.

 

“When the two who are one

Return to the sun

When the flame-haired child

Is first become

While the guardians sleep

Humankind will weep.”

Ancient Prophecy

 

“And something happened to Simon Redhead between the past and the present. He finally embraced his role as the Everlasting Hero. His grief at Ju’s death was assuaged. He would never forget but it would not consume him. Whether it was the Sword or the Time Portal that worked its magic I do not know. However, Fate had to ensure that he returned to Melasurej in a functional capacity because the future of Elannort, FirstWorld and the entire multiverse would depend on him.”

Kris the Bard writing in “The Chronicle of the Hero”

Elannort, Year of Creation 50508.

Two Heroes

Taran and Dawit met Jhamed and Simon at the foot of the High Tower. They tried not to show it, but Simon knew they were shocked by his unkempt appearance. He didn’t really know how bad it was, he hadn’t looked in a mirror for a long time. However, he could guess. His hair was past his shoulders and was dirty and matted. His facial hair was unkempt; he had not attended to it for six months. His fingernails and toenails were long and grimy. He was dirty and there was little doubt that he smelled bad, Jhamed had already told him so. He pulled himself together a little and greeted his old friends. “It’s good to see you. I’m so glad to be back. I need a long bath and then I could murder a decent meal.”

Taran smiled and offered Simon his hand. “I’m sure you could. However, Manfred insists on seeing you immediately. He’s in the library and he has someone with him.”

Dawit was less formal and rushed to give Simon a hug, despite his condition. He didn’t seem to be embarrassed about Simon’s nakedness either. “Thank goodness you have returned. We have been so worried about you.” He turned to Taran, “And less of the secrecy, it’s Ubadah the lost King of Tamarlan. He has come from the past. He’s another incarnation of the Everlasting Hero. He’s trouble, mark my words. Don’t trust him.”

“I was getting there, before you jumped in. Welcome home, Simon, it’s good to have you back. You just don’t like Ubadah because he thinks dwarves are second-class citizens.”

“He thinks anyone who is not a human of noble birth is a second-class citizen. He has more arrogance than anyone I have ever known. He makes Lord Velacourt look timid.” Simon remembered Velacourt from the Council of the Wise.

“How is Aglaral? And Gamying? What happened to them on their trip? Did they get to Tamarlan?” Simon found his interest reawakened.

“Always the questions,” Jhamed laughed. “Aglaral is fine, he’s here in Elannort. Gamying is back in Tamarlan; we traded him for Ubadah and got a bad deal. Manfred will tell you what’s happening. Come on, I’ll take you to the Library and then I’ll organise a bath and a barber for you. I can’t think that Manfred will want to detain you for long. We’ll find you a loincloth before you go in though.” Simon was again aware of his nakedness and his hands moved to cover his embarrassment.

At the door to the library, Jhamed paused to knock. Simon heard raised voices inside and he stopped Jhamed’s hand from knocking for a moment. He heard Manfred’s voice first; he sounded tired. “You will show him the respect that he deserves. He carries Fleischaker.”

The second voice was loud and strong, Simon could hear the arrogance in it. “The sword is rightfully mine. I intend to claim it. Only I can help you to defeat the Dark God. I am from this dimension. I am the rightful owner. I am a king. What is he? A peasant. Hah!”

Simon had heard enough and he released Jhamed’s hand. Jhamed knocked and waited for Manfred’s ‘enter’ before leading Simon in. Manfred jumped up from his seat at a table piled high with books. He wrapped his arms around Simon in a huge hug, oblivious, it seemed, to Simon’s physical condition. “Thank the Balance that you are safe. I have been so worried about you. How are you? What happened to you? Why are you so sad?”

Jhamed excused himself. Simon held the wizard tight and felt a surge of love from the old man. He felt the tears start to flow. He wanted to tell Manfred everything; how he had used Kin Slayer and lost Juliana, then not used Kin Slayer and lost Ju. He wanted the magician somehow to make it right because he hadn’t acted when he’d had the chance so long ago. He wanted to go back in time again and prevent Ju’s death. He remembered what he’d vowed to do to Manfred and was ashamed. He felt more emotions from the wizard; sorrow, regret and love. He was dragged out of his self-pity by a loud voice.

Ubadah was standing by the window, legs apart with his hands on his hips. He was tall and dark. He seemed strong and powerful. He carried himself in a regal manner. He was handsome and muscled. A scar on the side of his face made him look battle hardened. Simon felt inadequate before him.

“What is this snivelling rodent? I have seen more virtue in a beggar in the slums of Illium. He is a puny, dirty wretch. Can you really place the future of the multiverse in his hands? Give me the Sword and I will clear this rabble army from your doorstep!”

Manfred released Simon from the hug and turned to Ubadah. Simon felt the barb of Manfred’s anger and loved the wizard even more. “Sit down, Ubadah, and be quiet. You, of all people, should have learned never to judge a book by its cover.”

Ubadah grunted but sat down in a chair by the window. Manfred sat down too and indicated to Simon that he should sit as well. Simon took a seat between the two of them. He deliberately placed his left hand on the hilt of Kin Slayer, in a gesture that neither of the two missed. Kin Slayer stirred and Simon heard words in his head. I am ready, Master. He wondered if Ubadah heard them too. He wondered whom they were meant for. He tightened his grip.

“Simon, this is King Ubadah of Tamarlan. You might remember his story from the Council of the Wise. He has returned after more than ten thousand years. Dammar helped him to use the time portal.” Dammar, that name again. He is mixed up in everything. “He seems to be another manifestation of the Everlasting Hero. You two must be related. As you heard, he thinks he should carry Fleischaker.”

Both of the heroes were shocked into immediate response. “How dare you suggest that I could be related to this stinking red turd?” Ubadah was outraged.

“No! Do not speak that name again. My sword is called Kin Slayer. It is mine and mine alone. Be careful of your tongue, Ubadah, lest Manfred’s words be true and the sword lives up to its name!” Simon hardly recognised his voice, or the words he had spoken. He felt warmth from the hilt of Kin Slayer flow into his body, giving him new confidence. He knew now, whom the words had been meant for. Simon noted the surprise on Manfred’s face and saw an expression of concern flash over Ubadah’s, although the King quickly controlled it. Simon read envy and hate in Ubadah’s cold eyes.

Manfred quickly briefed Simon on their trip to Tamarlan and how they had spent the last few months preparing Elannort for the inevitable siege that had recently started. Manfred was vitally interested to learn what had happened during Simon’s visit to the past. Simon recounted his story, sparing nothing, including his own feelings. “Thirty thousand years and just one hour ago, Ju perished giving birth to a red-haired child. I loved her, so much.” Simon’s eyes were as red as the rest of his face. The tears ran freely and he was wracked with sobs.

Ubadah jumped up. “You two are fools. There is nothing to learn here. I have better things to do.” He stomped off, slamming the door behind him.

Manfred sighed. “I am at a loss to understand where Ubadah fits into all of this. I’m sorry, Simon. I’m sorry for so many things. I’m sorry about Ubadah’s rudeness, I’m sorry that I was so distracted and neglected you while you were with the tribe, I’m sorry about Juliana, and I’m sorry about Ju.”

The two stood up and hugged again. Simon felt the old man’s sorrow and his desire to make things right. They held each other for a long time. Eventually Manfred spoke again and his voice quivered with emotion.

“I know what you want to do, Simon. It isn’t possible. Everything happened as I remembered it. You were meant to be there. You were meant to love Ju. I’m afraid that she was meant to die. I cannot send you back again. Our battle is here now. We need the Everlasting Hero and Kin Slayer.”

Simon pulled himself away from Manfred and wiped his eyes with his hand. “I would hand over Kin Slayer to Ubadah if it meant that Ju could live.” As soon as he had said it, he knew that he had lied. He didn’t have time to say more though as Jhamed rushed into the room without knocking.

“Manfred, we have another visitor. He arrived through the time portal. It is a strange, beautiful youth. I fear we have a third manifestation of the Hero.”

Surely not another one after my sword? Simon heard Manfred mutter something about Melbourne trams before he spoke more clearly. “Take Simon to get cleaned up and fed. Have the visitor brought to my private quarters. I have a feeling that things are coming to a head. I will see you later, Simon. It’s good to have you home.” Manfred hurried off.

Simon followed Jhamed towards the luxury of a hot bath. Jhamed chattered away, gossiping about this and that. Simon didn’t pay attention. He was thinking about Manfred’s last comment. He wondered where his home really was. He wondered who he really was.

Two Wizards

Manfred’s chambers in the Wizards’ Keep were his private sanctuary. He rarely let anyone else in there. As a sop to his vanity, he had taken over Adapa’s old quarters when he had returned to Elannort at the end of the Dark Ages. Here he kept a few important mementoes of his long life. ‘When one has lived for almost fifty thousand years, one needs to be very selective’, he always told his friends and colleagues. Friends though, were uncommon, especially these days. He rarely got close to people. He had learned quickly that beings with such short life spans quickly grew old and died. He had had relationships with women, but they had been rare and all the more special for that. Jhamed, with a longevity even greater than his own, was like the son he had never had. Although he had known Simon but for an instant, he had already begun to feel like a grandfather to him.

The furnishings in the main room were comfortable without being ostentatious. It had a wheat coloured deep pile carpet and pale yellow walls that gave the room a warm feeling of summer sunshine. A rather weather-beaten old brown sofa and two equally moth-eaten old armchairs took centre stage around a cracked wooden coffee table. The table was piled high with books and parchments, with just enough room for Manfred to place a plate and a cup when he needed refreshment. A couple of hand-crafted oak sideboards displayed his treasures. The walls carried paintings by some of the greatest artists FirstWorld and other dimensions had ever known.

Manfred lounged on the sofa. The stranger walked slowly around the room, taking it all in. He stopped in front of a painting. “This work seems quite familiar to me, yet I have never seen it before.”

“It is La Gioconda. It was da Vinci’s first attempt and it didn’t meet his high standards. He was going to destroy it, but I managed to get him to let me take it. Personally, I find it superior to the version that hangs in the Musée du Louvre in many dimensions. It’s funny how da Vinci has never existed in FirstWorld, at least not yet.” Manfred spoke to the stranger’s back.

The stranger moved on to one of the sideboards. “The wheels of time turn at different speeds in different dimensions. When you are at the centre of things, you turn the most slowly. This artefact is not from this dimension either, is it?” He pointed to a rather simple looking, ceramic cup.

“My dear Dammar, you are not as perceptive as I took you for. That is the Holy Grail. It is the cup that Jesus Christ drank from at the Last Supper. Joseph of Arimathea used it to catch the blood of Christ on the cross. Joseph took it to Glastonbury in Britain. It is reported to have miraculous powers. The quest to find it has occupied the minds of certain humans for many centuries. I was involved with one such quest, myself. There are many who believe it will help win the battle against evil in some dimensions. There are others who believe that the Holy Grail is something else entirely, the womb of Mary Magdalene who supposedly married Jesus and bore his child. I would have thought you would know of it.”

The stranger turned around and faced Manfred. He was young, blond and beautiful, a veritable Adonis. He was naked, except for a white loincloth that barely preserved his modesty. His skin was perfectly tanned and unblemished, either by mark or by hair, except for the blond curls on his head. He appeared powerful, without being overly muscular. There was not an ounce of fat on his lean body. He seemed to be around twenty years old. His voice, though, was deep, confident, and old. “So, you know me, do you?”

“I must say that you look well for someone who is approaching fifty thousand and far better than I remember you, or your statue in the Avenue of Heroes shows. How did you do that, by the way? I’m certainly feeling my age, these days. I’d like to learn your secrets.” Manfred was only half jesting. Imagine having a body like that again. What am I thinking; I never had one that good in the first place.

“I’m sure you would.” Dammar smiled, displaying perfect white teeth and sparkling blue eyes. “I am the epitome of male beauty. All either lust after me or envy me, whether they be male or female. Yet, I am cursed never to know the joy of physical contact with either sex. It is part of my bargain, part of my curse, part of my fate. As are you, Manfred the Magician. As are you.” He sighed and took a seat in one of the armchairs. Manfred couldn’t help but admire his handsome body and the rather large bulge that Dammar’s loincloth could not disguise. I wonder why he doesn’t wear clothes.

“Let me tell you my story, old man. I doubt that you’ll wish for my body at the end of it, for I have fallen for my own version of King Midas’ folly. Unfortunately, my tears will not wash it away. Never mind; let me begin at the beginning. I last saw you at the Council of the Wise in 11175. Gadiel had been defeated, but not killed, and had fled into the Northland. Gilgamesh was dead and Fleischaker lost. Bedwyr had fallen at the Battle of Elvenhome. Adapa, Al’Alim, Bilal, Cadell, and Calum decided that they would seek out Gadiel and destroy him before he could regroup. I knew it was a futile quest and so I headed off on my own business. I should have realised then, how important you were in the scheme of things. After all, it was your urging that had led to the forging of Fleischaker. Unfortunately, I was blind to the future at that time and I lost a great opportunity to discuss things with you. Anyway, perhaps it was just as well and all meant to be, considering where they sent you next and what happened there.”

The events of so long ago for Manfred had been so recent for Simon. Manfred felt for the boy’s situation. If only things could have been different.

“Did you never wonder why there were seven Great Sages?”

Manfred had never thought to ask that question. There had always been seven Great Sages. “I hadn’t given it any thought,” he said.

“Did it never strike you as odd that the Great Old Ones, who were trying to achieve balance, would create seven Great Sages? After all, half of the wizards were supposed to represent Jeohab and half Satania. If decisions came to the vote, one side would always win.”

“Now that you mention it, it does seem odd. You were the seventh Great Sage, the only one representing the letter D. I always thought that you were Satania’s chosen one. Was I correct?” I can barely remember his twin. I wish I could forget Mandred as easily.

“It was an illusion. You were meant to think that. Before I say any more, let me ask you another question. Do you believe in a probabilistic multiverse or a deterministic one?”

Manfred considered the question for a moment before replying. “It is a question that I have pondered long and often over the millennia. I have wondered whether my decisions would have any impact or whether everything is preordained. I don’t have a firm answer, but I have to believe in a probabilistic multiverse, otherwise I would have given up long ago. Certain things are deterministic, of course. Day always follows night, there is zero probability that the sun will not rise in the west tomorrow; except on the last day of our existence.”

“Quite so. Another question for you. Do you think that planet Earth has the only intelligent life in the universe?” Dammar asked.

“I imagine all of these questions are linked in some way?” Although, I fail to see it just at the moment. Better to humour him, I suppose. “If it is a probabilistic universe, I would imagine that the probability is high that there are other intelligent races out there. The Great Old Ones came from this universe, after all.” It seemed strange to Manfred to be discussing issues of such complex philosophy with a seemingly callow, almost naked youth. He had to remind himself that he was actually talking to one of the original Great Sages in a different physical form.

The beautiful youth looked at him and sighed. “If only it were as simple as you would like to think. You have travelled widely in the multiverse. Have you ever come across a realm where the Earth has been visited by aliens?” Manfred shook his head. “I thought not. Neither have I. Many realms have almost reached the end of time, as we know it, yet no human being has ever met an alien. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

“Well, we are living in a nondescript solar system, at the edge of a very large galaxy. We are rather off the beaten track,” Manfred ventured.

“There are realms where humans have developed faster than light travel and have visited countless stars and planets. No intelligent life has ever been found and very few planets with any life at all have been identified. It seems to me that the conditions necessary for life to develop are very specific and are very unlikely to occur. They might only take place a handful of times in the entire galaxy. The probability that primitive life would develop into intelligent life would also be tiny. I surmise that each galaxy might only give rise to a very few intelligent species during its entire existence. Yet here on FirstWorld we have at least four different species. It doesn’t sound very likely, does it?” Manfred assumed it was a rhetorical question and let Dammar continue.

“I was fortunate or unfortunate enough, amongst all of the wizards to actually meet the Great Old Ones.” Dammar paused for effect. Manfred controlled himself and managed to show no external emotion though inwardly he was impressed, and bursting with curiosity. “They had developed from primitive life on a planet on the other side of the galaxy. They had managed, against the odds, to survive and reach full maturity. In the end, they outgrew this universe and went off to explore new horizons. Their greatest achievement, in my view, was to understand the need for balance in everything. Without balance, there is perennial conflict. This conflict prevents a species from achieving its potential.”

“Many would say that some conflict is essential to drive progress.” Manfred interrupted Dammar’s flow with his comment.

“Once again, it’s all about achieving balance. The Great Old Ones understood that the natural law of the universe is for order to decay into chaos. The gradual increase of entropy cannot be prevented.”

“The second law of thermodynamics only applies to closed systems,” Manfred interrupted again. “If the universe is infinite then it would not apply.”

“The Great Old Ones indicated that the universe was finite and that time was linear. However, they postulated that time travel was possible but extremely hazardous. As a civilisation, they had taken a moral decision not to attempt to travel in time and meddle with past and future probabilities. They held a view that the universe was, at one extreme deterministic and at the other totally chaotic. If you like, the two extremes represented the probabilities of zero and one. It is essentially impossible to have a fully deterministic universe. There are simply too many variables to control. However, absolute Law seeks to achieve that objective. It is also certain that at some point in the future the entropy in the universe will reach a maximum. At that point, the universe as we know it will cease to exist. What will happen then is uncertain. Perhaps it will simply exist as a completely chaotic system. Perhaps it will result in another big bang, the slate will be wiped clean, and a new universe will be formed. What is important, I think, is that entropy only goes in one direction. It increases. This increase in entropy defines the direction of time. The Great Old Ones left us with a finite, but expanding, universe and a unidirectional flow of time.”

“When they were a young race, they had believed in various gods in order to explain their place in the universe. As they evolved, they realised that gods were simply the creations of lesser beings. Ultimately, they evolved into beings that most others would consider to be gods. They were to us as we are to a mound of termites. As advanced as they were, they were not omniscient. They had not answered the fundamental questions of how and why the universe began and why they were a part of it. ‘Why am I here?’ seems to be a fundamental question inherent to all intelligent life. Perhaps it is the ability to ask that question that defines sentience. Perhaps the reason the Great Old Ones left our universe was to seek the answers to those questions. Anyway, they developed the concept of the Balance. They postulated that if a society could achieve a healthy balance between order and chaos, it would develop and evolve effectively. There was a completely deterministic pathway that was designated by fate. If one took that path, one had no control over one’s destiny. There was an infinite number of other possible paths, all defined by different probabilities. Only one pathway, a linear timeline, existed through those probabilities. In other words, there was only one reality. Once a probability had been determined, it would exist forever. How am I going? Are you keeping up with me?”

Manfred was beginning to get a headache. “I think so. I’m confused though. If they didn’t believe in gods, how did they explain the deterministic probability, or fate?”

“They didn’t have to. Because it represents a probability of zero, it can’t exist.” Now Manfred’s head really started pounding. Something exists, but it can’t exist. I think my old brain is going senile. “Don’t worry about it. It will become clearer. Think about it as a predefined pathway each individual has for his or her life. If we all followed those pathways, the universe would stagnate. Entropy would not increase. The laws of physics would be broken. Therefore, it cannot happen, much as many people would like to believe it could. Absolute Law imposes a set of rules on society so that it does not evolve. It seeks to impose a set of probabilities on everyone. Such societies, whether they are driven by religious or political beliefs are doomed to fail because people can only tolerate it for a short time. Absolute Chaos, on the other hand, is complete anarchy. Everyone behaves just how he or she feels like. There are no structures or rules. Society implodes and destroys itself. The Great Old Ones postulated that such a society would be inevitable before maximum entropy were achieved. They did not wish to be a part of it.”

“It is a dismal future.” Manfred was depressed by Dammar’s description.

“Perhaps, but if entropy can be slowed, it can be postponed for a long long time. And when it finally arrives, it can be thought of as a moment of rebirth and therefore a positive thing. That’s where the Balance comes in. In my opinion, the Balance was the Great Old One’s version of God. Perhaps every species, however powerful and evolved needs to believe in something greater than itself. The Balance represents the pathway of best probability. It can be achieved by applying appropriate moral, ethical, and legal codes to every decision one makes. There is not one set of codes that applies globally. Each society must develop its own codes. If you create a garden and then do not tend it, the weeds will eventually take over. Keeping it free of weeds can be hard work. Sometimes it’s too hard and we give up. If we take the right precautions, like mulching our flowerbeds, we can reduce the effort needed to keep it on track. Life is like a flowerbed, if we tend it well we will have a beautiful display. If we fail to look after it, the flowers will be stunted and soon die. Some of us will achieve balance by organic means. Others will impose order by the use of dangerous herbicides and pesticides that achieve our immediate aims but cause greater long-term damage to the environment. It’s a tough universe.”

“It certainly is, in my experience,” Manfred agreed. “I don’t see where good and evil fit in. I find that there’s a general belief that Law is good and Chaos is evil.”

“If there were no evil in the universe, it would be much easier to achieve balance. Evil usually causes us to move more rapidly towards chaos, but Chaos is not intrinsically evil nor is Law intrinsically good. Goodness is difficult to define and it means different things to different people. Because what society holds to be “good” is often imposed by a legal system, we see an attachment between goodness and Law. The eternal battle between ‘Good’ and ‘Evil’ is often confused with the equally eternal battle between ‘Law’ and ‘Chaos’.”

Dammar picked up a salt pot from the coffee table. “Consider salt.” He looked at Manfred. “Is it intrinsically good or evil?” He didn’t wait for Manfred’s response. “Salt is essential for our diet. Without salt we would die. It is inherently good for us. If we try to eat it by itself, it is disgusting. When we add it to our food, it enhances the flavour. If we eat too much, though, it is bad for us. If we are lost at sea and drink salt water, we will go delirious and it will kill us. It is therefore inherently evil. Of course, in reality, it is neither good nor evil, but it must be consumed with the appropriate balance. People are the same as salt. Each of us has the innate capacity to act in good ways and in evil ways. Very few beings are completely good or wholly evil. It is not always clear whether we are acting well or badly. There is often a conflict. We are genetically programmed to act in ways that are best for our own survival and to the benefit of our offspring. Such acts may be deleterious to the wider community. War is a classic example. It always appears that ‘good’ triumphs over ‘evil’. Perhaps it is because the winners write the history books and always claim the high moral ground. One man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom fighter. Rarely is there a black and white situation. Unfortunately, we do have such a situation. Gadiel is pure evil. His presence complicates matters and makes things much worse.”

Manfred now thought that his head was about to explode. However, there was much more he wanted to learn. He used his thumbs to massage his forehead above each eye. “Where did the Children come into it?”

Dammar smiled. “Yes, there is quite a lot to take in. The arrival of Jeohab and Satania was serendipitous. It gave the Great Old Ones the motivation to undertake a vast experiment they had long been planning. They sought out a planet with abundant life, but no advanced sentient species. They found Earth. They used some of their own genetic material to create elves and dwarves. The precursors of humans were already in existence. Given enough time, they would have evolved naturally. The Great Old Ones just gave them a bit of a nudge. They were the ‘missing link’, as it were. Elves and dwarves were meant to represent the extremes of Law and Chaos respectively and try to influence the developing humans to follow their way of doing things. The Great Old Ones wanted to see whether the pathway to chaos was inevitable. They wanted to test their theories. Things didn’t go as they’d planned. The Children soon got bored and left their charges to their own devices. The first and second born contain different DNA to the rest of the animal and plant species on Earth. They have the Great Old Ones’ DNA in their systems. It was the first flaw in their experiment. It was inevitable that, left to themselves, both races would reject the extremes of their imposed dogma. So, although their belief and moral systems are quite different, they have moved towards each other a great deal. Very quickly, they ceased to represent their original designations. Then the Great Old Ones made an evolutionary step-change and acquired the ability to leave our universe. As you know, before they left, they created a group of wizards to look after their experiment. Our role was to try to preserve the Balance so that Earth would flourish and the three races would all survive and prosper.”

Dammar paused, looking at Manfred as if to see whether he was keeping up.

“I wasn’t aware of the scarcity of life in our galaxy. I had always thought that life was abundant. I don’t know where I got that belief from,” Manfred said.

“It was probably planted by the Great Old Ones. They wanted to encourage the races to look outwards and seek the secrets of the cosmos. That had been their motivation and they believed the key to their success. They believed that one has to look past the individual, or even the local community or the state to find the greater global good. The Balance represents what is best for the entire planet, maybe even the universe. We were charged to help the three races find that balance, but in particular the human race. I think that the Great Old Ones realised that the first and second born would have a limited tenure on a planet that was alien to their DNA. Their main concern was that the primitive humans that they had helped along the evolutionary path would get a fair chance to achieve what they had done. That was our appointed task. It would appear that we have failed.”

Dammar’s last words hung in the air like a guillotine about to decapitate. Despite everything, Manfred felt there was still some hope. “Things are certainly bleak, but I can’t accept that there is no hope,” he said.

“That’s why you and I are two of the last three wizards alive. We two, alone, share that hope. Weylyn is driven by darker motives. Whatever happens, I shall be the last of the Sages to pass to stone. That is my appointed role, although I have tainted it along the way. You see, the Great Old Ones gave me a special task. While the other wizards nominally represented Jeohab or Satania, I was to be a representative of the Balance. My first job was to ensure that the rest of the Sages were kept on the right track. Bedwyr was a great ally and his loss was a turning point for me. Adapa could never be swayed from his own opinion. After the fall of Gilgamesh, the wheels fell off completely and I decided that I would have to act alone to carry out my appointed task. I dared not trust anyone else. I regret that I did not seek you out then, Manfred.”

“As do I, Dammar. As do I.” It might have saved me many years of toil and worry.

“You see, I was party to much secret information that the Great Old Ones shared only with me. It was clear to me that I needed to apply some of that knowledge if I were to serve the Balance and save Earth. I do not know whether I did the right thing, or whether I am doing the right thing, because my judgement became clouded. Only time will tell. Except that time itself has been corrupted.”

Manfred was starting to lose the thread. What is he talking about? “You are making my head hurt. How about we take a break and have some refreshments?”

Dammar jumped up and his voice was suddenly sharper. “We no longer have the time. You must concentrate and you must understand. You have to agree with a decision I have taken and you have to do it today. Everything rests on this. Do you understand?”

Manfred didn’t understand and he rather fancied a cup of tea and a piece of fruitcake but he didn’t let on. “Very well,” he said. After fifty thousand years, it’s suddenly mad panic. Typical!

“The Great Old Ones showed me a number of possible pathways. They showed me the pathway of total Law, or fate if you prefer. They showed me the results of absolute chaos. Most importantly, they showed me some of the most probable pathways, and the best pathway; the balanced pathway. I was given a road map to follow and several routes to avoid. I was also told about the equipment at the top of the High Tower at Melasurej. I know that you found out about it too and that you have used it. Your judgement in that matter was sound, although you may still doubt it.”

He knows me too well, Manfred thought.

“The remaining five Great Sages went off on a crazy quest that achieved nothing and eventually led to their demise. I set off into the Northland to find Gadiel. He was the fly in the ointment. His creation was the one thing that the Great Old Ones had failed to predict. He was going to have a significant impact on all of the probabilities. I needed to find him and to understand him. I failed to find him. It turns out he was hiding in some caves in the Mountains of Death, while I was scouring the Northland looking for him. I did find the city of Illium, however, and I established my base there. It was close enough to keep an eye on things, but far enough away that I wouldn’t be found. I was driven by a desire to recreate Melasurej. I don’t know why. I returned to Wizards’ Keep, secretly, several times and obtained plans and copies of important documents. I also visited the elves and dwarves and collected as much information about the early days as I could. Slowly, I built a replica of Melasurej in Illium. I managed to save the city from invasion, so they owed me a great favour and they willingly provided the materials and the labour. I sat in the High Tower and I studied the ancient texts, much as I imagine you have done.” Manfred nodded. And many a headache they gave me too.

“Eventually I came to a startling realisation. The Great Old Ones had planted the Great Evil on purpose. They knew it would be released one day. It was to be part of the experiment. However, they had also provided for a counter balance – the Everlasting Hero. He is a product of a special genetic sequence. He would have the ability to wield a formidable weapon – a sword that would achieve its power by consuming the souls of its victims. When it achieved a certain level of power, it would be able to defeat the Great Evil. The Hero had another power, the ability to use the strange portal at the top of the High Tower. He was able to travel in time. I was confused about these realisations for a long time. Why had the Great Old Ones chosen not to tell me about the Great Evil or the Everlasting Hero? Why had they provided for the possibility of time travel when they abhorred it so? I can never know the answers to these questions for sure, of course. I think that I have answered them though. The Great Old Ones underestimated the passion of the dwarves for delving. They didn’t expect the Great Evil to be unearthed for many more thousands of millennia. I believe it was to be the ultimate test, long after my job was done. It was to be the final spur to send humanity after the Great Old Ones. They planted clues in the information imparted to the dwarves and the elves in the early years. These clues were deliberately obscure and incomplete, but they felt there would be enough information conserved to serve humanity when the time came. The use of the time portal would be central to the final battle. The forging of Fleischaker was predestined. The genes for the Everlasting Hero were sprinkled through humanity, and they would come together at specific times, either by fate or by chance. We were indeed fortunate that Gilgamesh came forward just when he was needed. Whether that was fate or chance, I do not know. However, it was too soon, for Fleischaker did not have the power to destroy Gadiel. Therefore, we are come to the present situation. We must have a Hero to wield the Sword and the Sword must have the necessary power. If we do not defeat Gadiel this time, there may not be another chance.”

“As well as that may be the case,” Manfred replied. “I fail to understand how we can give the Sword more power. And, you still haven’t explained your apparent death and how you came to be resurrected in your current form.” Manfred had forgotten his hunger and thirst in hearing Dammar’s story and he wanted more.

“I’m just coming to that. I hope you will understand about the Sword soon, because it is at the heart of our decision. It was the Sundering that provided the final clues to bring things together in my mind, although it took me many millennia to work it all out. The formation of the multiverse changed everything. Suddenly, there was a whole host of different probabilities that were possible, perhaps an infinite number. Anything was possible and time was no longer linear. I discovered the portals between dimensions and spent many ages exploring other dimensions, trying to understand the fundamental drivers of the multiverse. Eventually, I returned to Illium and generated my final thesis there. The multiverse must be preserved at all costs. Even if FirstWorld were to fall, there might be realms where the Balance could prevail. As Gadiel regained strength, he returned to the Northland to find followers. Eventually he came to Illium and we met. For a time we needed each other and we had an alliance. I’m afraid to say that I sold my soul to the devil.”

“Don’t tell me there is a portrait of you somewhere that ages while you remain forever young,” said Manfred with a forced laugh. Dorian Gray all over again.

“Unfortunately not. Gadiel required information and he obtained much of it from me. I didn’t tell him everything, of course. In return, he offered me immortality in a new young body. Although I knew what happened to Gilgamesh, I allowed myself to believe he would carry out his side of the bargain. He needed me, after all, and I knew that I was destined to live to see this task through. I was fed up being a decrepit, impotent old man.”

I know how you feel. It would be a great temptation. Yet he said aloud, “How could you?”

“He changed me physically. But he has an evil sense of humour. I must forever take this form. I cannot wear any other clothes or the itchiness drives me insane. As much as I desire physical contact with others, or they with me, I am prevented from sating my desires. Should any intimate contact be made, we are both repulsed with a shock like we have been struck by lightning. I will only be freed from this curse when he is destroyed. Do you wonder why I want him dead? To be forced to live for eternity with such a curse would be the ultimate treachery.”

Manfred had to smile. Oh, the price we pay for vanity and lust. Singed genitalia! He tried to keep a straight face. “It’s tragic, indeed. How did he secure your immortality?”

“He gave me a once-only key to the time portal. He sent me forward in time, and I arrived here. He said that I had missed the time of my death, so that as long as I didn’t go back to a time before that I would live forever. I think he wanted me out of the way while he planned his attack on Elannort but wanted me here when he was strong enough to destroy me. He thinks he has outplayed me. However, I have one more trump card that he is unaware of. Some years before Gadiel arrived in Illium, another stranger arrived.”

“Ubadah, King of Tamarlan,” Manfred interjected. “Things begin to become clearer to me.”

“That’s right. I was suspicious of how he could have survived the journey from Tamarlan. I found the secret mark and discovered that he was an incarnation of the Everlasting Hero. I knew then that I had a plan that I could put into action.”

“So you sent him here. Why here and why now?” Manfred was still somewhat confused.

“No, not here, not yet. I knew that the Sundering had been caused by a significant event. By then, I had gathered a few wizards who were working on my behalf. Even in the old days, I had a few on my side. Your brother, Mandred, was one of them.” Curse the name. I thought he was working against me. Perhaps he was. A flicker of concern passed over Manfred’s face. “I see that it still rankles with you. I’m sorry. I had access to the reports made to the Council of the Wise, even though I didn’t attend. It wasn’t too difficult to put the pieces together and work out when and where the Sundering occurred, or that you were there. I knew that the Hero had to be there, so I sent Ubadah back.”

The blood drained from Manfred’s face. “You did what? I don’t believe it. I sent Simon back there too. He is another incarnation of the Hero.”

Dammar laughed. “Oh, Manfred, you are a blind old fool. Don’t you see? They both had to be there. The old prophecy foretold it. ‘When the two who are one return to the son.’ The child who was born was theirs, one of them, it doesn’t matter which. The child had to be born, carrying the genes of the Everlasting Hero so that the future hero would exist to come back and be the father. It’s a great time travel paradox, isn’t it?”

Manfred was stunned. You stupid old dunderhead. How could you not have seen it? It was son not sun. How could you have been so blind?

“Don’t tell me you didn’t know? You were there. How could you not understand?”

Manfred shook his head, sadly. “I don’t know. I was bored and depressed. I only wanted out of there. Mandred knew something. I just didn’t believe it.”

“Don’t be too upset. Mandred was in my confidence. I sent a message to him with Ubadah. It was a risk, but it worked out.” You were lucky he passed to stone.

“But the baby’s birth didn’t cause the Sundering. Mandred passed to stone immediately after the birth, saying his work was done. Simon came back here, in grief over the loss of the mother. I went home to my cave. I never saw Ubadah there. The Sundering didn’t occur until the next day. At the Sundering, all of the wise were flung back to Wizards’ Keep, as if by magic. We existed only in FirstWorld and we had no copies in other dimensions. As far as I know, everything else was duplicated.”

It was Dammar’s turn to be stunned. “That is news to me. I had assumed that it was the paradox of the child’s parentage that caused the Sundering.”

Manfred let his mind wander back to those cold, miserable, boring days with the tribe. “Ubadah must have visited nine months earlier. I was away with a hunting party and missed him. Mandred spoke about it, but I thought he was making it up to tease me. Or to explain how the chief’s daughter got pregnant. That’s it then, Ubadah must have been the father, even though the baby had red hair. That’s odd; I had always thought it must have been Simon’s.”

“The Hero’s genes are recessive, like red hair and left handedness. When they are there, they don’t always show. Now we have two problems. We must identify what needs to be done to ensure that the Sundering occurs.” Dammar paused and looked a bit worried.

“What is the second problem?” Manfred asked.

“We must decide which of our two heroes must die.”

Decisions

Manfred was stunned. “What do you mean? One of our heroes must die?” He was incredulous. The beautiful youth stood up and faced Manfred. Even in his shock, Manfred couldn’t avoid noticing his handsome physique. Pull yourself together, old fool. Remember it’s Dammar inside that body.

The blond boy spoke in his older man's voice, booming with authority and brimming with arrogance. “Don’t you see, Manfred? The only way to defeat Gadiel is with the Everlasting Hero and the Sword – the all-powerful Trinity. Even that will not be enough unless the Sword has reached its maximum potential.”

Manfred shook his head. He was still bewildered. “I don’t understand.”

“The Sword’s power comes from the souls it consumes. They are held in the ruby. Since your version of the Hero has recovered it, I assume it has consumed the souls of a witch and at least two wizards?” Manfred nodded. He didn’t like where this was going. “It has consumed many of the first and second born, not to mention countless humans. To reach its maximum potential it has just one more soul to consume. One of the Heroes must die by the Sword. Only then will the remaining Hero have the power to defeat Gadiel. Ubadah is clearly the strongest and most worthy to live. I propose that Simon Redhead must die.”

“You are crazy! I will never support such a proposition.” Manfred was boiling with fury. How could someone purporting to represent the Balance suggest such a thing? Manfred made a mental note to consider Dammar’s deeper motivations later. There’s more to this than meets the eye.

“Don’t be so naïve, old man. It is our one chance and the reason why fate has brought the two Heroes together at the same time. Ubadah is clearly the stronger and more suitable. He comes from FirstWorld after all.” And he’s your puppet.

“Simon has bonded with the Sword. He cannot be beaten by force of arms. So you might as well forget it.”

“He must be persuaded to put down the Sword in Ubadah’s presence. Only you will be able to make that happen. Think on it, old man. The hounds of Hell are camped on your doorstep. In a short time, they will take Elannort. Wizards’ Keep will not stand for long against them. Everything you have worked so hard and so long for will be lost. It will be your fault. There is a way. Is the death of a single innocent so big a price to pay?”

Manfred seemed to shrink into the cushions of his seat as if the weight of the multiverse had been placed on his shoulders. He looked like a defeated old man, waiting for death. Would you murder your child or your grandchild to save the multiverse? The sacrifice is too great. “Let the Sword take me, rather than Simon,” Manfred pleaded.

“It would do no good. It has already consumed at least two wizards of equal power to you. I understand how you feel. I wish there were a better way, I really do. Take some time to think about it. I will organise myself some quarters and will talk to you in the morning. I won’t say goodnight and sleep well, because I know that you won’t. Ultimately, you will see that it is a small sacrifice to make for the greater good. I will see you early in the morning.”

Dammar turned and was about to leave the room without waiting for Manfred’s reply. He paused at the door and looked back. “You know that as the last remaining Great Sage, I have the authority to command you. I hope it doesn’t come to that.” He left.

As the door closed, Manfred released the pent up emotion inside him. The books on the table went flying to all corners, the Holy Grail was shattered into dozens of pieces, and Manfred was left sobbing into the couch cushions like an adolescent after their first break-up. May the Balance help me? May it help us all?

When Dammar returned, soon after dawn, Manfred was still in the same position. Dammar observed the wreckage. “I see that there is still some fire in your belly, Manfred. That’s good. You will need it before the end. Have you made your decision?”

Manfred sat up. He looked even more haggard than usual. His hair and beard were matted and his face streaked with tears. He spoke in a quiet, yet determined voice. “I have examined my conscience, at length. I cannot accede to your request. It would be immoral. I will not do it.”

Dammar drew his slim, youthful body to its full height. His voice was commanding and it carried great authority. “Very well, you leave me no choice. By the authority vested in me by the Great Old Ones and the Balance itself, I command that you follow my orders!”

Manfred looked at the beautiful youth, and sighed. “Where is your authority, Dammar?” He withdrew his staff from inside his cloak. “A wizard’s authority lies in his staff. I don’t see your staff. I don’t even know if you really are Dammar. You may be an impostor.” That should stir him up.

“Impostor! Impostor!” Dammar spluttered, barely able to speak the words. His face had turned the colour of ripe beetroot. Manfred thought that steam would rise from his ears at any moment. He was surprised, though, by Dammar’s response. “Well were you named Manfred the Fool. I am past the need for a staff to carry out my magic.”

Dammar raised his right arm and his whole body became covered by blue flashes of electricity. He pointed his hand at Manfred. A jolt of green energy left his fingertips and lanced towards the seated wizard. Belying his aged appearance, Manfred was swift enough to turn his staff and deflect the energy away from him. The green bolt hit the door and turned it into used matchwood.

The next jolt was yellow in colour. Manfred was on his feet now and he used his staff to absorb the energy. Manfred seemed to grow in stature as his bent back straightened. His dull clothes became pure white. His hair and his beard flowed like milk in a dairy. His voice became strong and powerful. “I am no longer a slave to the whims of the Great Sages. I too have learned much over the long ages. You may be able to destroy me, but I doubt it. While we fight here, our enemy at the gate laughs at us both. We play into his hands.”

The next bolt of lightning was orange and it hung at the end of Dammar’s fingers ready to be unleashed. Manfred didn’t know whether he’d be able to resist it, and red was still to come. “You are right. There are more important battles to be fought.” Dammar dropped his arm and the blue electricity faded away. Manfred relaxed a little and sighed.

Dammar began to speak again. “We still have an issue to resolve.” He was interrupted by Aglaral rushing into the room.

“Forgive my intrusion. I would have knocked but your door seems to have disintegrated.” He continued as if such disintegration were a common occurrence where wizards were concerned. “I have news from our spies.”

Manfred sat down, indicating that the two others do the same. “You may speak freely in front of Lord Dammar.”

If Aglaral were shocked by this revelation, he kept it well under control. Perhaps the gossips had already passed the news around. “As you wish, my Sage.” Manfred couldn’t help but smile at the deference shown by Aglaral to him, rather than Dammar. “We are now certain that Gadiel is not with the army that surrounds us. I’m afraid to report that it is commanded by a wizard.”

“Weylyn the Wolf,” Manfred said. “It is good news that Gadiel is not here. He must be busy in other dimensions. It means that the last battle is not yet upon us. He sends his general to distract us. He seems to be succeeding.” Manfred shot a dagger glance at Dammar. “What else have you learned?”

“Weylyn often takes animal form, especially that of a wolf. He has an army of the undead at his command. They seem to revere him.”

Dammar spat, which seemed out of character for such a beautiful boy. “Weylyn was once in my confidence and service. He knows about the Sword and the Hero. He was with me in Illium when Gadiel arrived. He must have plotted behind my back with Gadiel. Like me, he has traded his soul to the devil. I wonder what his bargain was. I wonder what cruel trick Gadiel has played on him?”

“Command of the armies of evil, it sounds like. Master of FirstWorld after Melasurej is overthrown, I shouldn’t wonder. Immortality, as leader of the undead, I would speculate,” Manfred mused. “In any event, this is good news. We have power enough at our disposal to defeat him, should the need arise. We have time to learn more about the battles in other dimensions. We have the opportunity to plan an effective campaign. This is not the Last Battle. The script for that was written long ago and this doesn’t follow it. The Last Battle should have two armies, the elves representing Law and the dwarves representing Chaos fighting for the prize of Melasurej. The third army, the human army, would be forced to make a choice. Their choice would sway the battle. Gadiel has confused the issue. We simply have an army of evil camped at our gates. The other matter need not be discussed further at this time.” Manfred smiled. For the first time in ages, he felt a glimmer of hope. “You will stay and fight with us?”

“Of course, where else would I go?” Dammar replied. “I would have my vengeance on Weylyn, who I name Weylyn the Traitor, for usurping the wizard’s role ordained by the Great Old Ones. I will take charge of the defence of Elannort.” Like hell, you will.

“With all due respect, Great Sage,” better defer to his vanity a bit, “you have been away from Wizards’ Keep for a long time. Along with the Hero, you are our greatest weapon and you will need to lead the army into battle. I propose that you join our council of war, which I chair. It comprises Taran of the Elves, Jhamed al Suraqi, Aglaral of the City States, Dawit son of Dia son of Din, and Ventris Captain of the Tower Guard. What do you say?”

Dammar looked hard and long at Manfred. Eventually, he spoke. “Very well, though I demand the right to veto any decision made.”

“So be it.” Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Manfred crossed his fingers behind his back. “What about Ubadah?”

“Begging your pardons, my Sages.” Aglaral followed Manfred’s lead and showed new deference to Dammar. “Ubadah is no longer in Elannort. He climbed the High Tower at dawn and has not returned.”

“Of course, the Sundering! It can only be the Sundering. Don’t you see, Manfred? I was wrong. You and I cannot control the outcome. The Sundering will decide everything. That is why Gadiel seeks to distract us. He wishes to prevent the Sundering and uses Weylyn’s lust for power for his own ends. I see it all now. How could I have been so blind? We must hurry to prepare for the battle; it will come soon, maybe even today. You must send your Hero back to the son. ‘When the two who are one return to the son, when the flame-haired child is first become, while the guardians sleep, Humankind will weep’. You were the sleeping guardian, Manfred. Don’t be asleep again today.”

Manfred sprang into action. The Council was called to order and decisions quickly taken. The plan that they had been working on for several months was put into action. Jhamed took charge of the civilian population. They were all moved into Melasurej, which Manfred and Dammar then surrounded with protective spells that would keep out all but Weylyn himself. The undead would not be able to cross. The Keep had been prepared in advance for its temporary occupants. Stores had been laid up and sleeping quarters provided. Additional latrines had been prepared. It wouldn’t be a holiday camp, but it would be comfortable enough for a brief stay. The Tower Guard rounded up the population. Each person was allowed to bring one small bag. There were some complaints, but a description of the undead was usually enough to sway even the most recalcitrant refugee. Only a few soldiers remained inside the Keep. If the wizards’ spells were broken, there would be little they would be able to do. They were there mainly to keep order in the event of panic.

A portion of the Tower Guard took up prepared positions near the edge of Elannort. Their role was to be predominantly defensive. They would defend the city if it were attacked. They had further positions prepared closer to the centre and would fall back to the Keep itself if that were needed. They would make their last stand with their backs to Melasurej. No enemy would breach the walls of Wizards’ Keep while a single member of the Tower Guard was alive. It would be Manfred’s role to marshal the troops. If necessary, he would fall defending Melasurej, his staff broken in the final defence of the Wizards’ Keep.

The bulk of the Tower Guard, led by its Captain, would form the attacking group. Dammar would be at their head. The battle plan would be simple. They would strike at the heart of the enemy. If Weylyn could be destroyed, the rest of his army would turn to a rabble and flee. It was a bold plan, almost suicidal, that depended on Dammar having the power necessary to defeat Weylyn and his undead. Dammar was confident, but Manfred was not so sure. Dammar exercised his veto, so it was a plan.

Aglaral, Taran, and Dawit all volunteered to join the attack group. Manfred overruled them. “I need you all with me. I fear that the battle will not be so easily won,” he told them out of Dammar’s earshot.

Simon, now clean, shaven, rested, and fed, wanted to join the attack group too. “You need Kin Slayer in this battle. I have a score to settle with Weylyn and his undead.” The sight of Dring running down and killing Jhamed remained fresh in Simon’s mind.

Manfred took his young protégé aside and spoke quietly to him. “You have a more difficult task to resolve today. I don’t know what will happen or how it will end. I know it will be difficult for you, but you must go back to that night in the clearing, when Ju died and the child was born. Ubadah will be there as well. Something will happen that causes the Sundering. I fear what it might be, but I cannot say anymore. Please, Simon, it is more important than the battle here, for without the Sundering this battle will be meaningless. Go now, to the High Tower. Do not adjust the settings. You must follow Ubadah. Follow your conscience. May the Balance protect you. Good luck, my friend.”

Death of an Innocent

As he stepped through the archway and felt the now familiar wave of nausea and pins and needles, Simon thought that he heard the faint echo of a curse and then a scream in his mind. Don’t leave, Red Boy. You are needed here. Come back! It quickly faded. Simon found himself back in the clearing. The fire was almost dead, it was cold, and he shivered in his nakedness. Kin Slayer was uneasy at his side and seemed to whisper a warning. There was no sign of Ubadah. By the height of the moon, he figured that he hadn’t been gone very long. A few minutes ago, he’d stood here and howled at the moon. He remembered the wolves; they wouldn’t be far away. He drew Kin Slayer and the sword hummed, its ruby glowing faintly. There was enough moonlight to be able to see reasonably well, his night vision had improved considerably these past few months. He made his way to the birthing stone. Close by, a wolf howled. The pack was near. They would not defile his Ju.

He took up a position with his back to the stone and waited. Soon the wolves appeared. The leader approached with a lolling gait, expecting an easy meal. He died before he realised that Simon was there. The rest of the pack attacked in anger. Kin Slayer revelled in the exercise. By the time six more wolves lay dead, the rest of the pack gave in to common sense and left to lick their wounds and fight over the unexpected leadership vacancy.

Simon gently picked up Ju’s body and wrapped it carefully in the skins she had been wearing. He carried her into the forest. Beneath an ash tree, he used a flat rock to dig a deep hole in the soft earth. When necessary he used Kin Slayer to help. The Sword cut through the tree roots like it cut throats, with sublime ease, but whispered with impatience that it needed to feed. Simon ignored the Sword and gently placed Ju’s body in the grave. He bent down, closed her eyes, and kissed her forehead. She looked serene in death. “Farewell, my love. At least the wolves won’t get you here. Thank you for making the last few months the happiest of my life. You were my first true love. I will never forget you. Sleep peacefully beneath the ash grove.” He wiped a tear from his eye and began to push the earth over her body. By the time he had stomped down the surface, he was filthy again.

With his face streaked with tears, earth, and wolf blood, he made his way towards the caves. The camp was quiet. The fire was burning, but everyone had retreated to their caves. They would be replaying the events of the night, over and over, trying to make sense of things. Simon wondered how the old chief would take the loss of his daughter. Tomorrow, there might be similarities between the tribe and the wolf pack.

What was Ubadah’s plan, he wondered. It must have something to do with the baby. He went to his cave but there was no one there. The familiar items made his heart ache again. He donned a loincloth and moved on. Where would they take the baby, not to the chief’s cave? Of course, Wa would take it. He made his way to the medicine woman’s cave. As he approached, he heard a woman’s scream from the cave. He drew Kin Slayer and approached cautiously. He crept to the entrance and peeked inside. A fire was burning, casting enough light to see shadows moving. He paused, letting his eyes accommodate to the reduced light in the cave. What he saw shocked him and he rushed inside the cave, screaming “No!”

Wa lay dead against one wall of the cave, her head smashed like a watermelon against the wall. Next to Wa, one of her apprentices lay gurgling with blood pouring from a deep wound in her neck, her jugular severed. She died as Simon looked at her. He registered the fear in her eyes as her life force departed. At the back of the cave, barely visible, but illuminated by the fire as shadows on the wall, Ubadah stood. He held the baby by its feet. He swung the tiny boy in his hand, like a cruel child might swing a cat by its tail. Simon was too late. He could do nothing but watch in disbelief and horror as Ubadah smashed the child’s skull against the wall of the cave.

The next few moments seemed to Simon to take both an instant and an eternity. Barely had the child died when Kin Slayer’s tip found Ubadah’s heart. The Sword sang like it had never sung before. The ruby glowed bright. In his head, Simon heard the sword scream in ecstasy. We are complete! Ubadah, as he died, looked deep into Simon’s eyes. “It cannot be. You cannot live. I have just killed your ancestor.”

Simon pitied him. As Ubadah died, the last words he heard were Simon’s. “You fool, Ubadah. You have just killed your own son.” Simon saw agony, despair, and then understanding in Ubadah’s eyes.

The baby died.

The child that carried the genes of the Everlasting Hero died. The child that would be the ancestor of Ubadah died. The child that would be the ancestor of Simon Redhead died. He died at the hands of his father, who was also his descendant. The credulity of Time itself was stretched.

Ubadah died. He died before he was born, at the hands of one of his descendants who could not exist, because he had just killed his child. The foundations of Time itself were under threat.

Simon Redhead lived. He lived, despite the fact that his direct ancestor had just died as a baby. The fabric of Time itself was broken. It could not accept the paradox. For an instant, Time stalled. Then there was the equivalent of a second big bang.

As the Great Old Ones had foreseen and had prepared for, the two who were one returned to the son and the multiverse was born. All of the probabilities were now possible. Their experiment was a success.

In his cave, Manfred slept, unaware that the greatest event since the Big Bang was taking place under his nose. When he awoke, he was back at Wizards’ Keep and he didn’t know how he had gotten there.

Simon staggered from the cave, waves of previously unexperienced emotion flowing through him. Dawn was breaking. The rising sun illuminated something in the distance. He got only a glimpse before the familiar tingling sensation took him and he was sent back to his own time. When he stumbled onto the parapet at Wizards’ Keep, he wasn’t even sure whether he had seen it or if his eyes had been playing tricks on him. Floating above the landscape he could have sworn that there was an exact replica of Melasurej. The Wizards’ Keep was perfect in every detail except that it was constructed in pure white stone. He soon forgot about it when he saw the events unfolding below.

The Battle for Elannort

Dammar had made his decision and no one, not even Manfred, could dissuade him. With Captain Ventris of the Tower Guard and sixty of his best men, they would mount a pre-emptive strike into the heart of the enemy camp. There, Dammar would kill Weylyn and the battle would be over before it had hardly begun. Dammar was supremely confident, but Manfred was worried. No one knows what deal Weylyn made with Gadiel. Manfred busied himself organising the defences in case Dammar was not successful. Some words that he’d heard a great leader use before came into his head. Never have so many depended for so much on so few. Well, something like that. He stood now, with Aglaral, Dawit, and Taran as Dammar prepared to leave. “May the Balance be with you, Great Sage! Return victorious and let history honour you as the saviour of the multiverse.” Perhaps that’s laying it on a bit too thick?

Dammar seemed to like it. He sat erect on his horse, a golden youth, unprotected by armour or clothing. He carried no shield, just a large broadsword. He was the image of arrogance, the picture of supreme confidence. “Prepare a feast in my honour tonight, Manfred.” Then, turning to Captain Ventris, he issued his orders. “We ride direct to the heart of the enemy. Your job is to make sure that we get there unimpeded by the foot soldiers. Have no mercy on them, they have already died once.”

Dammar raised his sword above his head and screamed, “Charge!” Sixty-two horsemen charged out into the midst of the enemy camp. Like the Charge of the Light Brigade. Manfred couldn’t avoid the thought. The attack initially went well. They had the element of surprise and they had covered three hundred yards into the enemy encampment before the realisation that they were being attacked sank in. Once the troops realised what was happening it became more difficult. Troop commanders quickly organised the massed ranks of the undead. The undead were mostly human, although there was an occasional elf or dwarf amongst them. They were armed with short swords, best suited for hand-to-hand combat. They moved slowly and deliberately, without thought or feeling. They were no match for Melasurej’s crack horsemen. The riders cut a swathe through their ranks, hacking off limbs or heads of the foot soldiers. It was disconcerting to the riders that they did not bleed. It was frightening that the loss of a head often did not stop them advancing. A few horses were brought down by the tangled mass of undead flesh. When that occurred, a score or more of the undead fell upon the warrior. His screams of agony would have curdled milk. If he died, he was lucky.

Captain Ventris had lost almost a third of his men in this way by the time they broke through the ranks of the undead. He would have liked a few moments to regroup, but Dammar was filled with bloodlust and galloped on. The cavalry did its best to keep up. Now Weylyn, alerted to the attack, deployed his wargs. They attacked in packs, from all sides, picking off the horses first and bringing them to the ground. The riders perished at the wargs' leisure, throats torn out as they gorged on human blood. Several wargs died on the swords of the valiant riders, but there were far too many of them to be resisted.

Dammar was unaffected by all of this. It was as if he were being allowed through. By the time he reached the centre of the camp, where Weylyn’s standard flew, there was only Captain Ventris with him. Dammar reined in his horse. Above him, Weylyn’s standard fluttered in the warm breeze. It was a blood red flag with a black anarchy symbol sitting above three white corpses. The corpses were clearly an elf, a dwarf, and a human. In front of him, on a portable gold throne lavishly decorated with gemstones, sat Weylyn the Wolf. Only his green eyes, full of hatred, distinguished him from any other wizard. He didn’t deign to get up.

Dammar spat and the white gob of spittle hit Weylyn in the face. Weylyn didn’t move, but his eyes turned from green to red. Dammar turned to Captain Ventris. “Unfurl our standard.” Ventris sheathed his sword and removed a small flag he had been carrying on his saddle and unfurled it. It was much smaller than Weylyn’s banner and it seemed puny in comparison. It was a pure white flag with a black balance symbol. The Captain looked around. They were surrounded by Weylyn’s army. He appeared to say a prayer to the standard. Dammar appeared unperturbed.

“So we meet again, Weylyn the Traitor. For that is what I have named you and your pedestal in the Avenue of Heroes is so marked. You will go down in history as the one who turned against the Balance and became corrupt and evil. Tell me, what part of your soul did you sell to Gadiel? Did you laugh behind my back as you plotted together in Illium? Prepare to meet justice. Will you stand, or shall I cut you down while you sit on your petty throne?”

Weylyn stood. In one hand, he carried a whip. The handle was jewel encrusted and marked with ancient runes. Its lash seemed to flow like a liquid beam of fluorescent green. With his other hand, he wiped away the spittle from his face. “I have looked forward to this day Dammar. I didn’t expect it would come so soon; that you would be so foolhardy. Look at the poncy youth, all bronzed and cock-sure.” The milling crowd laughed on cue; at least, those among them who were still living men. “I sold my everlasting obedience to Gadiel. In return, he made me master of the dead. My army is invincible. I shall take Elannort, seize Melasurej, and rule FirstWorld on Gadiel’s behalf. What about you, Dammar? What did you trade for your fresh young body and your good looks? You thought that you were too clever for Gadiel. You thought that you could trick him. Yet, all the time you played into our hands. It was my suggestion that he played his little trick on you. Have you enjoyed that?” Weylyn laughed, and the crowd followed suit, although they had no idea what they were laughing at.

“You bastard!” Dammar was angry but calm. “In the name of the Balance, as sole remaining Great Sage, I sentence you to death for your crimes.” He lifted his broadsword to strike Weylyn down.

“Get down from your horse, Dammar.” Weylyn spoke softly. “Put down your sword.” He spoke more loudly. “Kneel before me!” He shouted. Dammar didn’t want to, but he could do nothing but obey. His body refused to follow his commands. He dropped off his horse, threw down his sword, and fell to his knees in front of Weylyn. Ventris looked around nervously and said another prayer.

“I have a new staff. Would you like to see it in action?” Weylyn asked Dammar. “What’s wrong? Wolf got your tongue?” Weylyn and the crowd laughed again.

“You were a fool to put your faith in this pretty boy.” Weylyn addressed Ventris. Weylyn flexed his hand and the whip coiled. A green flash leapt towards the rider and coiled itself around his neck. Ventris died before the scream left his lips. The banner of the Balance fell to the ground and was immediately seized upon by a couple of wargs, who pulled it to shreds. Dammar watched, unable to move. “I was merciful to your Captain. I feel less inclined to be merciful to you. Have you nothing to say before you die? Will you beg me for mercy? Will you anoint me as the ruler of Wizards’ Keep?”

Dammar was lost in a sea of emotions. Hatred was mixed with despair. Anger blended with confusion. He could only form one word. “How?”

“Didn’t you ever wonder how you could still be alive and have your statue present in the Avenue of Heroes? It was a neat little trick, another of my ideas, I’m afraid. Don’t you see Dammar? You are already dead. You are one of the undead. You are mine to command for eternity. I shall take great pleasure in torturing you. You will regret the day that you made a deal with Gadiel.”

The green lash flashed and wrapped itself around Dammar’s neck. The screams of agony went on for a good twenty minutes before Weylyn grew bored. They were heard across the camp and in the city of Elannort. Grown men cried as they heard them. Wargs cowered in fear at the sound. The undead shrugged; they had heard and felt it all before, he’d get used to it after a hundred years or so. On the outskirts of Elannort, Manfred shivered and his flesh turned to goose bumps. He knew what the sound meant, and he figured that his turn was not far away. High above the encampment, a solitary eagle observed the scene and gave a mournful call before flying to Elannort and landing on the top of the High Tower.

When Weylyn had tired of torturing Dammar, he turned his attention towards Elannort. He ordered the attack. They came at the city from all sides. The unrelenting march of the undead formed the cannon fodder. Packs of wargs roamed at will, inflicting damage by guerrilla raids, quickly in and out again. The human troops followed up, more circumspect in their actions, since they had lives to protect and didn’t wish to join the undead corps. Behind them, the elite cavalry waited to attack those who fled from their positions. Amongst them roamed a range of fell chaos creatures. These were visions from children’s nightmares: three-headed dogs with slavering maws, cockroaches the size of sheep, huge scorpions with pincers that would snap a man’s neck, six feet diameter spiders with fangs that would suck the brains from living skulls, giant cats that would torture and play with their human prey before they finally killed it. Everywhere they went, the chaos creatures generated fear and panic in the defenders.

Manfred, mounted on a white stallion, seemed to be everywhere. He shone in the sunlight, his white cloak, hair and beard glowing. His staff breathed blue fire and smote the enemy, living, dead, or chaos creature alike. Wherever he was, morale was raised and fear was quelled. However, when he moved on, terror and panic soon returned. Aglaral, Dawit, and Taran fought side by side where the fighting was at its most fierce. Dawit’s axe cleaved many skulls, both living and dead. Taran’s arrows found their marks. He concentrated on downing chaos creatures and cavalry officers. Aglaral lead his troops with valour. His swordsmanship proved too good for any of the enemy.

Wave after wave, the enemy pressed forward. The defenders fell back to their prepared positions. With each retreat, the number of defenders was decimated. As his minions advanced, Weylyn entered the city astride his horse. He followed the spiral streets that he knew so well, until he entered the Avenue of Heroes that lead to Melasurej, the Wizards’ Keep. He rode in triumph, the frozen statues of the sages staring down on him, perhaps in awe, perhaps in disbelief. There were few empty pedestals now. One for him, one for Manfred the Magician, a few others for non-wizards – he didn’t pay much attention to them. By this day’s end, there would be but one wizard left alive. He would enjoy Manfred’s slow death. He would play with him, like one of his chaos pets.

The few defenders who remained alive fell back to the gates of Melasurej. Manfred turned to his companions. Aglaral, Dawit, and Taran all still survived, but each of them had taken many wounds. Taran had run out of arrows and was now relying on his sword while Dawit’s axe had been shattered.

“Fall back into the Keep. I will make a last stand here. We need Simon now. Bring him out immediately, if he returns. If he doesn’t, you will have your chance to make a last stand too.”

Aglaral started to argue, “I would stay with you, master, and share your fate.” However, Manfred would broach no arguments, and the gates soon closed behind them, leaving Manfred alone facing the approaching mob. He leant on his staff for support and muttered a brief prayer to the Balance. May I be strong in my final test? Behind a pile of rubble, next to the gates, Kris cowered. He had been observing the battle, for his story, but had missed the opportunity to get back into the Keep. Now he was rooted to the spot in fear. Manfred stared ahead. He had not noticed Kris. A mass of perverted humanity was approaching. A solid wall of the undead surged forward, seeming unstoppable, like a tsunami poised for destruction. They halted about five yards from Manfred. They were wary of the power of his staff.

Manfred challenged them. “Which of you will step forward and feel the wrath of Manfred the Magician? Come on, I will put an end to your misery.” They stared at him, their eyes vacant and without hope. They said nothing. No one moved. Unobserved, for the moment, Kris fouled himself.

Manfred practised slow, deep, regular breathing. He knew he could handle any number of the undead. Their master, however, would be a bigger challenge. If Weylyn had defeated Dammar, what hope was there for him? Careful, I must not lose my self-confidence. He took a firm grip on his staff and stood upright. Directly before him, the masses of undead moved aside, like Moses parting the Red Sea. A rider on a horse approached. The undead cowered, abasing themselves before him. Weylyn wasn’t that different to Manfred. His physical appearance was much the same. He too appeared old and frail with long white hair and a flowing white beard. The eyes were different, though. Weylyn’s eyes were green and cold. When they saw Manfred, they burned red with hatred. He didn’t carry a staff. Instead, his right hand held a whip. The handle was laden with jewels and intricately carved with ancient runes. The lash appeared to be a band of light that glowed fluorescent green. Weylyn looked down at Manfred. “So we meet at last old friend.” The hate in his eyes belied his words.

“You shall not pass!” Manfred’s voice was powerful and confident.

Weylyn threw back his head and laughed. “You old fool. Do you really think that you can stop me? I, who defeated Dammar as easily as if he were a puppy dog? Let me pass and I shall give you a merciful end. I shall soon be the last remaining wizard on FirstWorld. I shall then claim my right to be leader of the Council of the Wise. I shall take my place in Melasurej as absolute ruler of FirstWorld and my army of undead shall ensure that all do my bidding.” He laughed again and drew back his right arm, causing the green whip to ripple in the air menacingly.

“You are a fool Weylyn. You are but the pawn of Gadiel. Do you think he will let you do as you wish? He will return to claim everything and you will be destroyed.”

Weylyn’s eyes blazed crimson in fury. He lashed out with his whip, aiming for Manfred’s neck. Manfred countered with his staff and the green lash wrapped around that instead. It seemed then that time stood still. The two wizards pitted all of their strength and powers against each other. The staff fought the whip. The two talismans buzzed with energy. Manfred’s staff blazed with blue electricity. The colour of the whip changed from green, to yellow, to purple, and finally to the crimson red of Weylyn’s eyes. Then it was over. Manfred’s staff broke into a thousand fragments and the old man was cast to the ground. It is over. I have failed. I wish it could have been otherwise but I have done my best and I am ready to die.

“Prepare to depart for the Avenue of Heroes, old fool.” Weylyn gloated and drew back his arm to coil the whip again. “You have lost. The Balance has finally tipped. Go to stone, old fool, and spend eternity in regret.” It would seem that I have bad luck with whips.

In the shadows behind the rubble, Kris closed his eyes, not wanting to watch Manfred die. Therefore, he didn’t notice the rat that was sharing his cover, which proceeded to sink its teeth into his leg.

“No!” A strange new voice rang out as Kris jumped up in pain.

Weylyn, surprised by this interruption, paused in his execution. “Who are you? Do I know you? Speak or die!”

“You should know me. I slaved in your kitchens and carried out your traitorous work, spying on my comrades for you. I am Kris, Bard of Karo. I am writing the true story of this war. Your evil and duplicity will be recorded for all to know. You will be reviled for what you are, arse-licker of the evil one. You will not harm Manfred. If you try to, you will be destroyed.” The crowd gasped in amazement, and it took something very extraordinary to stir the undead. Manfred rolled over and sat up. Kris? The coward, Kris? How could he be such a brave fool?

Weylyn was enraged by the outburst. His eyes and the whip blazed bright crimson. He whirled his whip to strike down the small pale man who had dared speak to him in such a vile way. For the second time, his execution plans were upset. The gates of Melasurej sprang open and he was confronted by a strange group of beings. Kris took advantage of the moment to jump back behind his rock. The rat, checking that he was not being observed, transformed himself into a small cat and jumped onto the top of the wall, where he could get a better view of the proceedings.

“We represent the four peoples of FirstWorld. I am Taran, Prince of Elfdom; I represent the First Born.” Taran held his drawn sword, vertically in front of him so that he appeared to peer at Weylyn through the sword.

“I am Dawit son of Dia son of Din, Prince of Dwarfdom; I represent the Second Born.” Dawit carried the remnants of his axe in both hands.

“I am Aglaral, Captain of the Guard of the City of Elannort, citizen of the City States; I represent humankind.” Aglaral carried his sword like Taran.

“I am Jhamed al Suraqi, companion of Heroes and servant of wizards; I represent the Balance.” Jhamed carried no visible weapons.

“And I am Simon Rufus, Everlasting Hero. I carry the sword Kin Slayer, which shall be your bane unless you and your army surrender immediately.” Simon was dressed only in a simple white loincloth, hastily donned. Kin Slayer remained sheathed at his side. The five companions stepped forward, so that they were between Manfred and Weylyn.

“You!” Weylyn spat. “So we meet at last, Red Boy. Are you ready to join Dammar to become my undead slave for eternity?”

Simon was outwardly calm. “I give you one final chance, Weylyn. Throw down your whip and surrender and I will spare you. Otherwise you WILL die.” I hope I appear more convincing than I feel.

Weylyn laughed crazily. “You! Look at you! You are a skinny boy. You model yourself on Dammar. He was ten times the hero you are and I swatted him like a fly. You will pay for your insolence when I have you.” He drew back his arm and coiled his whip.

“Back, all of you!” Simon yelled, jumping forward. A small voice in his head spoke to him. Your right arm. He followed its command and clumsily drew Kin Slayer with his right hand. The whip curled and darted towards him. He met it with Kin Slayer. The whip wrapped itself around the sword. It was the battle with Manfred’s staff all over again. This time the ruby on Kin Slayer’s hilt glowed red, while the whip changed colour from green to yellow to purple to crimson to white. Kin Slayer sang as the whip shattered and Weylyn was pulled off horseback to the ground.

Weylyn must have been surprised by this unplanned turn of events, but he wasn’t beaten yet; he transmogrified into his wolf form, and now appeared as a cross between a wolf and a man, a hideous werewolf. He was eight feet tall; long fangs, dripping with poison; a wolf’s body and paws; standing on his two hind legs. His red eyes darted this way and that, seeking an escape route. He turned towards his army and ran towards them, expecting them to part and let him pass. They stood unmoving. He howled in fury and turned back towards Simon. He had one chance. Even in his animal form, he knew that. If Simon were the Everlasting Hero, he could not be killed while he held the sword. He must be disarmed. Weylyn took a huge risk. He darted towards Simon and jumped, as if making for the boy’s neck. Instead, he twisted in mid air and sank his teeth into Simon’s right arm. He had evaded the sword. Victory could still be his.

Simon screamed in agony, from a combination of the fangs sinking into his flesh and the poison being pumped into his veins. He had misjudged the wolf’s jump and he had been clumsy with Kin Slayer in his wrong hand. Just as he was about to drop the sword, he grabbed Kin Slayer with his left hand and felt a flood of energy from the sword that helped him overcome the pain. Weylyn’s jaws were still clamped around Simon's arm when Kin Slayer entered his body and found his heart. Weylyn was still savouring the sweet taste of victory and the red boy’s blood when his soul was snatched from his body and consumed by Kin Slayer. The wolf’s body fell to the ground, shrivelled and turned to dust. On the city wall, a small cat purred with pleasure.

Simon, injured though he was, wasn’t finished yet. Kin Slayer needed to feed some more. He turned on the massed army of the undead and began to put them out of their misery. They seemed no longer to have purpose and fell on the sword willingly. He scythed through their ranks as the rest of Weylyn’s army turned and fled. Their commander tried to regroup them outside the city, but there was a further surprise awaiting them.

Manfred, still stunned by his narrow escape from death and the rapid turn of events, struggled to his feet. A retainer rushed through the gate. He spoke excitedly to Manfred. “My lord, come quickly, you must see this. There are four armies approaching the city.” Manfred looked blankly at the servant. More surprises! What now? “Who are they? What flags do they carry?”

The servant took a couple of deep breaths. “An elven army approaches from the east. Queen Ceridwen leads it. They carry the standard of the blue eye. It is the army of Jeohab. A dwarven army approaches from the west. It is led by King Dia son of Din son of Dane. They carry the flag of the red ‘A’. It is the army of Satania. From the south comes an army of humans. They fly the flag of the City States but superimposed on the flag are the blue eye and the red ‘A’. The army of Tamarlan comes from the north. They too have the symbols of law and chaos marked on their standard.”

Manfred led the companions back into the Keep. They climbed to the top of the High Tower where they could observe the battle. All except for Kris, who went to have a bath and a change of clothes first. It was a one-sided contest. Weylyn’s army was already broken by the loss of its leader. The undead portions of his army were released from their slavery by Weylyn’s death and found their eternal peace at last on the blades of their erstwhile enemies' swords. The living had no stomach for the battle. It was carnage and many of the enemy were allowed to flee as the four armies showed mercy. No mercy was shown to the chaos creatures, which alone put up a decent fight. Simon and Kin Slayer showed no mercy either until the sword was sated. When he returned to the keep he was again red with blood, some of it his own. Without Kin Slayer’s energy to support him, he collapsed. He was taken to Manfred, who was busy treating the many wounded from the battle. Manfred was still treating Simon when the leaders of the four armies arrived.

Manfred jumped up and embraced them all. “Well met, my friends. Your timely arrival was a great tonic. It was unlooked for. I would like to know how you all coordinated such a wonderful coincidence?”

“It was no coincidence. Surely, you know that? Your messenger came to us and requested our aid. He told us when we had to be in Elannort and the route to travel,” Gamyon said.

“We received a similar message,” Ceridwen said.

“We followed the instructions of your messenger and allowed Weylyn’s army to pass through the City States uncontested. We then marched to Elannort as per his instructions,” Velacourt said.

“Your messenger showed us the dimension portal within First Delve and told us we should leave FirstWorld. He directed us to another realm where we discovered that dwarves still live and prosper. He told us to raise an army and gave us instructions how to return. We returned to FirstWorld through a portal on the Fools’ Road and marched to the city,” Dia son of Din son of Dane said.

Even in the haze of his pain, Simon saw that Manfred was nonplussed by these developments. Who has been acting on our behalf to help us? Simon remembered how they had thought they were being followed when they travelled to Dishley. He remembered the two-headed lemur creature that had spoken to him. Even today, where had the thought come from to use his right hand? He had thought it must have been Manfred, but perhaps it wasn’t. He drifted off to sleep with too many questions running through his head and the last words he heard Manfred speak registering in his ears.

“It would seem that fate, or some other entity, has arranged for today’s actions to play out. Has the prophecy been validated or rewritten? The three armies were present today, but they chose to take the same side to defeat evil. Would that it were always so. Will the pattern be repeated? There is much to think about.”

Next day, the reduced numbers of the Council of War met around the oak table in the Great Hall at Melasurej. Dammar and Captain Ventris had fallen in the battle. The surviving members were joined though by Simon Rufus, Kin Slayer proudly scabbarded at his side; Ceridwen Queen of the Elves; Dia son of Din son of Dane, King beneath the Mountain; Gamyon Regent of Tamarlan; and Lord Velacourt representing the City States. Simon was surprised to see Velacourt again. He seemed like a new man in more ways than one. He had lost a great deal of weight and he had, according to reports, acquitted himself well in battle. Kris the Bard had been allowed to join the meeting, in his new capacity as official scribe. Simon sat with Jhamed on his left and Kris on his right. His bandaged right arm throbbed in pain, but Manfred had assured him he would recover fully. Ceridwen, Simon noted, was as beautiful as ever and she had the usual physical impact on him. She addressed the meeting.

“The representatives of the four armies and the three races have agreed that Manfred the Magician, the last of the Wise, be appointed our Commander-in-Chief and Chair of the FirstWorld Council of War. We salute you for your valiant efforts, which resulted in victory at the Battle of Elannort, year of creation 50506.” She bowed low to Manfred and the other committee members clapped and cheered. Simon, smiling, joined in. So much has happened in such a short time. I’m so glad that Jhamed, Dawit, and Taran made it through with me. Kris too, he’s a hero now instead of a coward. I wonder what changed him?

“I thank you for your confidence and for the great honour that you show me. We may have won this battle, but the war has only just begun. The Final Battle may yet be fought here, but the next stages of the war must be waged in other dimensions. We must understand what Gadiel is doing and attempt to thwart him.” Manfred paused and looked at Simon. “I’m afraid that the load is going to fall on the Hero and his companions.” I thought so. No rest for the wicked. “That is for the future. Tonight there will be a great feast. We will honour those who gave their lives in the battle to save Elannort. We will remember the Great Sage Dammar. We will salute the four armies of FirstWorld who came to our aid in our darkest hour. We will thank those amongst us for their courage in battle. Our official bard, Kris, will recite his latest work, describing the Battle of Elannort and the fall of Weylyn the Traitor.” Beside him, Simon felt Kris squirming in embarrassment. He looked forward to hearing the story.

Above them, on the ceiling, the symbol of the Balance had tipped. It was a little closer to equilibrium than it had been before, but was still heavily weighted towards Chaos. On a soft chair, hidden from view by the table, a small cat pummelled the cushion and purred quietly to itself. It was no ordinary cat; it had small wings that it folded into its back so that they were hidden by its golden fur.

Simon looked at Jhamed. The little man had cleaned his hat and put a new feather in it. His black curls were stuffed under it untidily as usual. His long arrogant nose made him look like an eagle about to strike. Simon smiled and put his good arm around his friend and gave him a hug. If they were going to go travelling through the dimensions, he couldn’t think of a better person to accompany him.

Afterword

The music playing on the radio stopped suddenly to be replaced by a stern male voice. “We interrupt this program to bring you a news update. With just six hours to go until the US imposed deadline for enemy forces to fall back to designated lines, reports are coming in of enemy troops approaching the northern outskirts of Sydney. All roads out of Sydney, heading south are blocked with traffic. Panic has set in. There are widespread reports of looting in several suburbs. The Prime Minister has called for calm and will address the nation at six o’clock this evening. The Australasian Government command centre has moved from Canberra to Melbourne. In Europe, the situation is also critical with Jihad forces advancing on all fronts. There are unconfirmed reports that Paris is now in the control of French Muslims with the support of left-wing students. The US President has repeated her clear statement that the US will not stand by and watch its friends be invaded. Her threat of nuclear reprisals, if enemy forces have not ceased their forward movements, has now only six hours to run. It is reported that US nuclear submarines are on the highest level of alert. The United Nations Security Council is meeting in emergency session in New York. Russia has cautioned the US not to precipitate the world into a nuclear conflict. Reports are also coming in that China has taken opportunity of the world’s chaos to invade Taiwan. There are also reports of North Korean troops massing at the demilitarised zone with South Korea, while it has fired missiles at Japan, which failed to explode. We have just received news that, oh my God.”

There was a pause while the newsreader pulled himself together. “I’m sorry for the interruption. We have just received news that Tel Aviv has been severely damaged by a nuclear warhead, believed to have been launched from Iran. Israel has retaliated by launching nuclear strikes on Tehran, Damascus, and Cairo. There is hand to hand fighting in Jerusalem. Surely, no one would launch a nuclear strike on the holy city? May God help us all?

 

The story continues in Elvenhome, Book 1 of Aftermath of Armageddon, which is available from www.FirstWorld.info

FirstWorld Timeline

The FirstWorld calendar began with the creation of the first and second born. The Wise have maintained records since their creation. Each of the races has developed their own calendar systems. In the Elannort system, each year is split into four seasons – spring, summer, autumn and winter. Each season is split into three months – early season, season, and late season. The second month of each season has 31 days and the other two have thirty days. The sixteenth day of the second month marks a special event. In spring and autumn, it marks the equinox. In winter and summer, it marks the solstice. At mid-winter, the sun is at its lowest point in the sky and it is the shortest day. At mid-spring, the sun rises exactly in the east, travels through the sky for 12 hours and sets exactly in the west. At mid-summer, the sun is at its highest point in the sky and it is the longest day. At mid-autumn, the equinox is repeated. Each of these days is a festival day – birth (spring); fertility/family (summer); harvest (autumn); renewal (winter). A new year festival is also celebrated between the end of winter and the beginning of spring. It is a single day, except every four years when an additional day is added.

 

(Year of Creation)

1 Elves and dwarves are created by the Great Old Ones for the Children. The elves are established in Eden, by Jeohab. The dwarves are set to work in First Delve at Devil’s Mouth by Satania.

25 (est)Primitive humankind is created by the Great Old Ones for the Children’s education. The first humans are dispersed over the land and given free will to determine their own destiny.

6567 Elannort and the Wizards are created. The Balance is established. The Great Old Ones leave our universe.

6569 The First Council of the Wise called by the Seven Great Sages. Councils are initially held annually. They soon become infrequent and are only called at times of need.

7001 The great sword Excalibur is forged in Elvenhome on the instruction of the Elven Lords. It is created to be the symbolic icon for the elven version of Jeohab’s Law.

7134 The Blood Ruby is discovered in First Delve. It is adopted by the dwarves as their symbolic icon for Satania’s Chaos.

7517 Dwarves unearth the Great Evil. It flees into the Northland where it festers and slowly grows stronger.

10135 The Great Evil takes human form as Gadiel.

11123 Gilgamesh born in Erech.

11101 -11131 Gadiel worshippers conquer most of humankind in the thirty-year war.

11138 Gadiel and Adapa, the First Great Sage, meet. Adapa and the Wise fail to act.

11144 Gadiel threatens First Delve and Elvenhome. The Battle for Elvenhome. The Great Sage Bedwyr passes to stone.

11145 The Sword Fleischaker is created at Manfred’s instigation.

11146 Gadiel defeats Gilgamesh but is critically weakened in the battle and flees back to the Northland to lick his wounds. Humankind is left devastated and dispersed. Fleischaker is lost.

11175 The Council of the Wise determines it must act to prevent the recurrence of humankind creating false gods and the re-emergence of Gadiel. Five of the six remaining Great Sages (Adapa, Al’Alim, Bilal, Cadell, and Calum) undertake to find and destroy Gadiel. The last Great Sage, Dammar, leaves Elannort on a “personal quest”. The remaining wizards are sent out, mostly in pairs, to live secretly within the redeveloping communities of humankind. Their charge is to preserve the Balance with minimum interference.

19229 Jhamed al Suraqi born in Elannort.

19231 The Sundering. An event so momentous occurs that the multiverse comes into existence.

25437 Penultimate (776th) Council of the Wise. Manfred is named Manfred the Fool and exiled from Wizards’ Keep. Jhamed travels with Manfred.

25532 Last of the Six Great Sages, Al-Alim, passes to stone. The whereabouts of Dammar is unknown. The power of the wizards is waning, many pass to stone. The Council of the Wise no longer meets. The dark ages begin. The balance begins to tip. The first-born begin to fade.

35532 Manfred and Jhamed return from exile and Manfred restores Wizards’ Keep. He begins his study of the ancient texts and his search for the Everlasting Hero.

37563 Ceridwen, last Queen of the elves, is born in Elvenhome.

40137 Ubadah, the King of Tamarlan, is lost in the Northland.

42879 The last of the elves return to FirstWorld by ship via Haven.

50103 David son of Dwahir son of Davit leads a group of Dwarves to establish New Delve in the Mountains of Death. They are never heard from again. The second-born begin to fade.

50302 Gadiel begins his conquest of FirstWorld.

50327 Dammar, apparently, passes to stone.

50443 Dawit son of Dia son of Din born in First Delve.

50449 Eshe of Erech finds the scabbard, Vasek, while excavating on Battle Plain.

50501 (eqv) Simon Redhead born in another dimension of the multiverse.

50506 Final (777th) Council of the Wise. Simon Redhead attends.

50506 The return of King Ubadah to Tamarlan.

50506 The siege of Elannort begins.

50506 The return of Dammar to Melasurej.

50506 The first battle of Elannort.

 

Impressum

Texte: Christopher John Allen
Bildmaterialien: Nat Turner
Lektorat: Gail Nicholson
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 07.08.2015

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