Pylos had taken Bannick’s death hard.  He wanted to lash out at someone, strike a blow for vengeance, but he had no target.  He was now sure the Kompiran waitress was a hired assassin, but he had left the hunt for her to others.  He had a mission to complete and as much as he wanted to find Bannick’s killer, others duties had to come first.  

          Who had hired her?  Caliban?  If so, why?  To send them a message?  Pylos did not know.  And so he slung his rucksack upon his back and strode out from Cessair in the early hours of morning following Maeldune Canna, the ill-respected leader of his company.

         Their route was straight-forward enough – they would head south-east, across the Cessair’s fields of flowerfall until they reached the Stone Forest of Tethra.  From there they would head east across the region known as the Ganesa Plateau.  Pylos reckoned they would reach the city of Brigantia – otherwise known as Murdertown – within a week if they were not delayed.

          The Helyan had little hope that they would pass through Tethra without incident.  Even if they managed to avoid the Ghul and the Cabal, there were other things to worry about.  The Stone Forest was a popular place for Tethran bandits to attack travellers on the road from Cessair to Brigantia and these criminals were capable of putting to task even a skilled soldier such as himself.  Then there was the local fauna to consider: blue-skinned lizacks with their long tusks and unpredictable temperaments; herds of wild barga capable of trampling the company if startled; horned, three-legged carnopods, and thick flocks of savage durnodaws that could kill a man in a second.  Tethra was not a pleasant place to visit.

         Even the local Tethrans were best-avoided.  They were not a people who welcomed strangers and Maeldune Canna’s squad was as strange a collection of visitors as could be imagined.  They drew their snorses to a halt as they reached the end of the languid fields of flowerfall that signalled the border of Tethra.

          At their head rode Maeldune, tall and sombre.  His sharp eyes shone like the many jewels on his hands as he stared across the small river that separated them from the Stone Forest.  He was looking for the narrow opening in the forest that marked the start of the Brigand Road, the ominously named route through the mass of granite obelisks that covered the landscape ahead in thick clumps.

          Behind him rode the Kheperan Sefar Hadith, who was just as resplendent in his flowing silk robes of brilliant white.  His huge body looked ungainly upon his snorse and it showed signs of relief when he dismounted to stretch his legs.

          Remiel Grayson also climbed down from his mount, taking pains to make sure his cloth veil was still fixed over his face.  He had said little to his companions since leaving the city of Cessair and they had responded in kind, leaving the priest to travel in silence.

          By contrast, the boorish Tethran sea-captain Gunther Ross had not stopped talking since they had set out that morning.  He talked mainly about himself and much of this talk was devoted to his proud descriptions of all the metal he had grafted to his skin.  In the late afternoon sun, his tarnished metal shone like a corroded brass statue.

          Behind Gunther rode the mariner Gerriod Blake who bit at his lip nervously as his snorse came to a halt.  The red-headed Tuathan had never ridden a snorse before and had found the fast-paced ride across the flowerfall fields to be a harrowing experience.

          The Sapphyrran Trypp Elan rode beside Gerriod.  Although he too had never ridden a snorse until that morning, he did not struggle with his situation the way Gerriod had.  Years of climbing the cliffs around the Skyfall had honed his sense of balance to the point that staying perched upon a snorse was no great challenge to him.  This is not to say he looked at home on his mount.  The sight of a blue-skinned, shelled rider on the stalk-eyed snorse was as unlikely as sight as could be imagined on the gentle fields of Cessair.

          The tail of the company was brought up by Pylos Castalia astride his proud snorse Lampetia.  He had brought her all the way from Helyas but would soon be separating from her as the Stone Forest was not a place for a snorse.  Not only was it difficult for the beasts to traverse the sharp granite shingles that covered the forest floor like broken glass, but the region was also home to carnopods which liked nothing more than the taste of snorse flesh upon their yellow tongues.

          Pylos shared his mount with the Spriggan Mulupo whose garrulity was driving the Helyan mad.  Mulupo had talked the entire day.  Even when they had stopped for lunch, he followed Pylos around, seemingly unwilling to let anything bring about a break in his monologue.  Pylos had met other Spriggans but this familiarity did not give him the linguistic skill to understand half of what Mulupo had said.  Despite this, he found himself occasionally amused by his companion, preferring him to the morose, self-important individual who led the squad.

          ‘The Brigand Road lies straight ahead,’ said Maeldune to the company.  ‘We will cross here, head east until sunset and make camp by the roadside.  If my information is correct, we should be up onto the Ganesa Plateau in two days’ time.’

          ‘If we’re not killed by bandits,’ Gunther said with a smirk on his iron-adorned face.

          ‘What do you mean?’ asked Gerriod apprehensively.

          ‘A small group like this would be no trouble for the local thugs,’ Gunther said theatrically.  It was clear to everyone but Gerriod he was relishing in the opportunity to create an atmosphere of danger.  ‘Let’s hope they don’t hear us coming.’

          ‘But what interest could they have in us?’ Gerriod protested.  ‘We’re not merchants.  We have no money.’

          ‘Oh they’re not interested in money,’ Gunther replied.  ‘Just metal.  For getting dressed.’  He pointed to the broad metal plate embedded in his chest.  ‘From our swords to our spoons, we would be quite a catch for the bandits.’

          ‘Enough Gunther!’ said Pylos who could see the unsettling effect the Tethran was having upon Gerriod.  ‘We’re more than a match for your petty criminals.’  He turned to the mariner and said, ‘Relax Gerriod.  I passed through here a week ago and saw no sign of any bandits.  However, I believe it would be wiser to set up camp here on the field and venture into the Stone Forest in the morning.  We’ve made good time.  There is no need to push on further.’

          Maeldune’s eyes flashed.  He had suspected that Pylos would challenge his authority but had not expected such a thing on the first day out.  He marched across to the Helyan with an insincere smile upon his face.  ‘General Castalia, if my memory serves me correctly, you were not given command of this mission.  Please correct me if I am wrong.’

          Pylos shrugged off Maeldune’s polite sarcasm.  ‘You are wrong to suggest that we continue into the forest tonight.’

          A tiny twitching of Maeldune’s temples betrayed his annoyance but the Acoran kept his voice calm and his words measured.  ‘Your advice – though unlooked for – is much appreciated General, however we will continue on our way until sunset.  I realise that you are unaccustomed to receiving orders, but I am sure your service in the Cessair Guard has given you a healthy respect for the chain of command.’

          If Pylos was chastened by this rebuke, he did not show it.  He simply stared back at the Acoran with cool eyes of blue.  ‘Very well, Minister.  We shall march until sunset.’

          Gunther Ross stepped up and joined the conversation before Maeldune could end it.  Though he was not quite as tall as Maeldune, he had a much more intimidating presence.  The great iron ball that was at the end of the thick chain that had been engrafted into his right forearm dragged across the grass behind him, leaving a line of squashed flowerfall in its wake.  Underneath the slightly rusted metal strip on his forehead, he frowned at the Acoran.  ‘I know you’re meant to be smart, being a minister and all,’ he scoffed, ‘but you can’t think that we can go skipping down the road to Ganesa and not be noticed.’

          Remiel Grayson stepped forward to join the discussion.  ‘Captain Ross is right, Minister.  Whoever killed Bannick would be watching the road.  They’re probably watching us now.  Perhaps they’ve already ridden ahead to Ganesa anticipating our route.’

          ‘Does anyone else have an opinion on this?’

          Mulupo had been sitting on the ground watching a shatterbug crawling across the flowerfall and seemed to be paying scant attention to the discussion.  But upon hearing Maeldune’s unconvincing request to hear other opinions, he jumped up and walked into the centre of the circle that had formed.  ‘The wise priest is of course correct as is our abdominous friend here.’  He nodded at Gunther who had no idea what the word abdominous meant but inferred from it that it was in the same realm as wise.  ‘We would do well to stay off highways and roads.  Minister, with all due respect, you seem to be anotic when it comes to this point of view.’

          ‘Anotic?’

          ‘Lacking ears.  The opinion of the company is quite clear.’

          Pylos turned his back on Maeldune and spoke to the group.  ‘I recommend we circle around the plateau.  The Stone Forest stretches far to the east and south.  We can use its cover to approach Ganesa from the south.  There is a path up onto the plateau south of the Scarlet Rock Theatre.  From there it is a three day march to Murdertown.’

          Gunther Ross nodded. ‘In light of what happened to Bannick, it makes sense to head off in an unexpected direction, but know this – it will still be a dangerous journey.  Surviving the perils of the Stone Forest will be this squad’s first major victory.’

          Pylos grinned.  ‘Then I hope it will be one of many.  Are we agreed this shall be our route?’

          There were nods of consent from all in the company bar one.  ‘General Castalia,’ Maeldune said through gritted teeth, ‘we are not in Helyas now.  This was not your decision to make.’

          ‘I did not make the decision, Minister.  The squad did.  Do you have a problem with the plan?’

          ‘It is built on weak foundations.  You all assume that the secrecy of this mission has been compromised citing Bannick’s death as evidence of this, but we do not know for certain that Bannick was even killed.’

          ‘I beg your pardon,’ Pylos growled, not liking where Maeldune had taken the discussion.

          ‘Pylos, I appreciate that he was your friend,’ Maeldune said softly, trying not to sound insincere, ‘but he was drunk when I left you two last night.  For all we know, he just walked straight off the edge of the tower.’

          Pylos dug his nails into the palms of his hands as he tried to subdue the rage that was building within him.  ‘Bannick Landen was a great man.  I would caution you to tread carefully when you speak of him.’

          Maeldune recoiled slightly.  The venom in Pylos’ voice was something to be feared.  ‘General Castalia, I was merely voicing my point of view.  Perhaps you are too close to this situation to see things clearly.’

          Pylos’ fists clenched even tighter.  ‘You are a politician, and as such you deal in lies and half-truths.  This squad has little use for your opinions.’

          Feeling the tension and not liking it, Trypp Elan decided to contribute to the discussion.  ‘Even the Sapphyrro have heard of Bannick Landen and it would seem that we are the poorer in his absence, but I must confess to some confusion.  I do not understand how singling out one man to be killed could be a strategically wise move on Caliban’s behalf.  By killing Bannick, hasn’t Caliban alerted us to his influence?  Made us more cautious?’

          ‘Perhaps Caliban is playing with us,’ volunteered Sefar in his characteristic deep voice.  ‘To give himself an advantage.’

          ‘Playing?’ Remiel said, his eyes fixed on the Kheperan.  ‘What do you mean?’

          ‘Let me explain.  As you may know, until recently the tribes of my country were constantly at war with one another.  We fought with one another for so long that often the reasons for the disputes were forgotten.  And all the while paladins like me were rewarded handsomely – with jewels, gold and women.’

          Gunther Ross lifted his head and leered, ‘Women?  You were rewarded with women?’

          ‘Kheperan women, Captain.’

          The beauty of Kheperan women was so renowned it was almost a cliché.  It did not take much for Gunther’s limited imagination to picture the rewards to which Sefar was alluding.  He contemplated living a life as a paladin and from that point on lost all interest in the conversation around him.

          ‘You were saying?’ said Pylos.

          ‘Well, the reason the paladins were indulged so comprehensively was simple.  It was compensation for the dangerous role we performed.  Our enemies knew that the greatest insult they could deliver a tribe is the death of its paladin.  By taking out our greatest warrior so easily, Caliban has taken a significant piece before we have moved any pieces on the board.  And in doing so, he has weakened our fellowship, making us suspicious and preoccupied with doubts.’

          Under his cowl, Remiel blanched.  Sefar’s allusion to Siege opened the floodgates to a long-forgotten memory…

 

---

 

‘It’s your move, Remiel,’ Caliban stated as he stared across the circular, tiered board that lay on the table before him.

          Remiel hunched forward and gasped when he saw it – an opening.  He could see that in two moves he could take out Caliban’s king.  Remiel was proud of how quickly he had moved his pieces up the tower whilst Caliban squandered his turns on inconsequential moves in an inconsequential section of the board.

          Caliban looked up at his brother’s eyes and read what he was thinking.  ‘You’re excited about your impending victory.’

Remiel smiled and conceded, ‘Yes, I am.  I should have you in two moves.’

          ‘You are extremely reliant on that cardinal.  Is it wise to put one of your strongest pieces in such a vulnerable position?’

          Remiel’s confidence trembled.  ‘What do you mean?  Vulnerable to what?’

          Caliban gave a patronising smile.  ‘Vulnerable to this,’ he said as he spun the board around and moved a keep guard in behind Remiel’s front line and took out his cardinal.  Suddenly that strategic landscape of the board altered dramatically, and Remiel could see that the unexpected loss of the cardinal had crippled him.  He had based his entire game around it and the loss of the piece was not only critical – it was embarrassing.  He would lose in three moves and there was nothing he could do about it.

          Caliban leant back and placed his hands behind his head.  'Remiel, you may be the same age as me but you are a novice in the art of deception.  It has taken time but I have become the better player.’

          ‘I shouldn’t have relied so much on that cardinal,’ he said, defeated.

          ‘True but there’s more to it than that.  You see, the trick to Siege is making your opponent think that the decision he is making is not only his own, but one that his opponent is not expecting.  But the fact is, I have been steering you towards that spot on the board where you thought you had me at the advantage.’

          ’But how did you know what I’d do.’

          ‘I tempted you with absolute victory.  You see, in my experience, people are impatient and if you place the opportunity of a quick and unequivocal victory before them, they will rush in and take it.  You failed to see the pieces I had been moving in behind you.’

          ‘How will I beat you now?’ Remiel laughed.  ‘You’re ruthless!’

          ‘No, it’s not ruthlessness you lack.  It’s patience.’  Caliban leaned forward.  ‘Remiel, I think I could wait decades to beat you.  How long could you wait?’

 

---

 

‘We’re wasting time,’ Maeldune said bluntly.

          ‘I understand your desire for haste, Minister,’ Remiel said politely, ‘but the longer, less travelled route may be the safer.’

          Pylos smirked provocatively at Maeldune.  ‘It is time to decide.  You know the feeling of the squad.  What is your decision?  Which road do we take?’

          Pylos could almost hear the cogs in Maeldune’s head whirring and ticking as he weighed up the situation.  Pylos knew Maeldune was a shrewd politician and could see he did not have the numbers in this.

          Maeldune smiled demurely to the group and said, ‘Your idea is sound.  We should stay off the road.’  Although the Minister’s voice was subdued, Pylos detected a quavering quality to it, and was pleased he had contributed to unsettling the Acoran, if only slightly.

 

‘Where are the cities now?’ Remiel asked Gunther Ross who sat opposite him chewing on a piece of dried meat he had pulled from his rucksack.

          ‘On my way here, they were near the southern edge of the plateau, not far from the Scarlet Rock Theatre.’

          Remiel nodded.  He unscrewed the lid of the drum of water he had been carrying for the past two days as they had wound their way through the labyrinth of granite obelisks that made up the Stone Forest.  He lined up all the flasks he had gathered from the other members of the company and commenced filling each up.  This done, he handed one bottle to Gerriod and the other to Gunther.  ‘Then we may see them when we make our way up onto the plateau.’

          Gunther did not stop eating to respond to Remiel.  ‘We may, Father.  The cities don’t tend to stay in the same spot for much more than a week, so they may have moved on.  If we’re lucky, they’ll still be there.’  The Tethran got up and burped.  ‘Excuse me gentlemen, but I must relieve myself.’  He walked off, quickly disappearing in the shadows the Myr’s moons threw across the landscape.

          Gerriod sat lacing up his boots perplexed by the conversation he had just heard.  He turned to Remiel.  ‘Father Gideon, can I ask you something?’

          ‘Perhaps,’ the priest responded without any trace of humour in his voice.  Gerriod was surprised.  He had never heard of a priest being so guarded.

          ‘It’s about the Ganesa Plateau.’

          ‘Of course, go on.’

          ‘You just asked Captain Ross about the location of the cities on the Ganesa Plateau and he said they were currently in the south.  Now maybe I misunderstood, but how can cities move?’

          ‘You have never been to Ganesa before?’

          ‘Father, I have lived most of my life in a tiny fishing village called Palia.  I doubt you’ve even heard of it.’

          Palia.  Remiel paused, wondering how to answer this.  The mention of Palia was like an incision in his brain, releasing things he had tried to hide there.  Of all the unforseen twists and turns life was notorious for, Remiel had never considered he would be sitting down talking to the man whose father he had condemned to the waters of the Worldpool.

 

---

 

Remiel scrambled his way up to the helm of the boat.  He kicked sharply at the chain caught between the post and the steering wheel.  With abject horror, Gerriod realized what he was doing.  ‘No!’ the boy screamed.  ‘My father.  You’ve got to save my father!’

Remiel kicked again, and without looking up stated plainly, ‘Your father’s dead, boy.  There’s nothing I can do.’

 

---

 

'Please call me Gideon.  Father is so… formal.’

          ‘The thing is – Gideon – that I only been three places in my life.  Palia, where I live now.  Murias, where I was sent when my father went missing.  And the Endless, where my father now is.  I don’t know much of the wider world.  We don’t get a lot of visitors in Palia and the ones that do come are usually bound for the leper colony.’

          The mere mention of the leper colony made Remiel shudder.  

          The mariner noticed the involuntary spasm.  ‘What is it?’

          ‘Nothing.  Just the chill of the evening breeze,’ Remiel said as he wrapped his arms around himself to emphasize the point.  ‘Gerriod, Ganesa is made up of three cities carved into rocky mesas and these cities move across the plateau.’

          ‘But a city cannot move.’

          ‘It can if it is on the back of a Colossi.’

          ‘And what is that?’

          ‘You’ve never heard of the Colossi?’

          ‘No,’ said Gerriod as if he had something to be ashamed of.  ‘I’ve lived a fairly sheltered existence.’

          ‘Many millennia ago, long before the Myr had known of the Ghul or the Morgai, long before the first shelp ate the grass and the marroks howled at the moons, before time itself began, a race of giants roamed the world.  In fact, giant seems remarkably inadequate as a description as these creatures are larger than anything we would describe with the word.’

          ‘How big are they?’ Gerriod gasped amazed that he had lived half a century and not heard of so wondrous a creature.

          ‘They have to be seen to be believed.’

          ‘But how can they have cities upon their backs?  And why do they move?  What are their names?’

          ‘Gerriod, you ask me questions no Myrran can answer authoritatively.  The mesas on their backs are not part of their bodies.  They are more like… a barnacle attached to a ship, albeit one extremely large barnacle made of granite and quartz.  There are those who believe the Colossi fell into a sleep lasting thousands of years and when they woke mesas had formed on their backs.  Other believe it is some form of punishment inflicted upon them by gods we know not of.’

          ‘But how did people come to live in these mesas.’

          Beneath his dark veil, Remiel smiled.  ‘That I can explain.  Thousands of years ago, the ancestors of today’s Tethrans also shared the plateau with the Colossi.  The Tethrans of old were peaceful, but the plateau was also home to many aggressors so the Tethrans carved refuges into the rocky towers that lay on each of the three Colossi.  In time, the refuges grew into great cities, defensible during the day and secure at night.’

          ‘You sound more like an historian than a priest,’ Gunther Ross laughed as he sat down beside Remiel.  ‘You know more about Tethra than I do.’

          ‘I… had a brother who studied history avariciously.  He told me the tale of the Colossi and I never forgot it.’

          ‘Are they… intelligent?’ asked Trypp who had been listening to the story as he prepared an evening meal of roots and berries for himself.

          ‘It’s hard to tell,’ replied Remiel.  ‘They certainly do not communicate with us, but perhaps they see no need.  Do we bother to communicate with insects?’

          ‘I guess not,’ Gerriod mused.  ‘Tell me, Gideon, what do the Colossi look like?’

          ‘You will see soon enough.’

          ‘Yes, they’re kind of hard to miss,’ Gunther added.

          Trypp looked over at the burly Tethran and asked, ‘Is it true what I have heard about the night-climbers of Ganesa.  Do people really do that?’

          ‘Yes, I did it myself,’ Gunther answered proudly.

          Trypp couldn’t help himself and instinctively stared at the Tethran’s armour-plated paunch.  Gunther saw this flickering gaze and understood it immediately.  ‘When I was a younger man, of course!’ he grunted defensively, one hand unconsciously stroking his belly as if to reassure it.

          Bothered that another item of conversation had arisen that was beyond his knowledge, Gerriod asked brusquely, ‘What are they?  The night-climbers?’

          ‘They’re rock climbers.  The Colossi are thousands of feet high.  Only a fraction of the height of the Skyfall, but still a prodigious height to climb.’

          Gerriod was astounded.  ‘Are you saying there are people who actually climb these things?  At night?  Whilst they’re moving?’

          ‘Yes,’ said Gunther fondly, recalling the days when he had the strength and lapses in sanity to dare such a feat.

          Trypp turned to Gerriod and conveyed what he knew of the night-climbers.  ‘Many who come to climb the Skyfall talk of their adventures in Ganesa.  That is, those who survive the night-climbs.  Every year, hundreds of people die on the shifting faces of the Colossi.’

          ‘If they climb at night, how do they see?’  Gerriod was stunned that their existed people who would so willingly put their own safety at risk.  He felt he had a lot to learn about the wider world.

          ‘By the light of the moons,’ Gunther explained.  ‘Or by lamplight on cloudy nights.  It’s something to see, mariner, the heaving masses of the Colossi grinding their way across the plateau as hundreds of tiny lights inch their way up the sides.  I ain’t no romantic, but it sure is a damn pretty thing to see.’

          Gerriod was bewildered.  ‘But why not climb during the day, when the Colossi are asleep?  Wouldn’t that be safer?’

          ‘Now where would the fun in that be?’ Gunther jeered.  He leaned back on his iron-plated elbows.  ‘I’d say if all goes well, we should arrive at Scarlet Rock Theatre about midnight in three days’ time.  There’s a fair chance the Colossi will still be there by the time we arrive.  We can purchase some ales from the theatre and go out on the plateau to watch the fallers’

          ‘Fallers?  What are they?’

          ‘Mariner, I’d reckon the name says it all.  You see, there’s a bit of a Tethran past-time to sit out on a cloudy night, with a jug of ale, and watch the fallers.  When those climbers holding the lamps fall from the Colossi, I swear, there’s nothing funnier in the world.’  He smiled broadly and it was clear that he truly believed that watching fellow Myrrans fall to a grisly death was a wonderfully satisfying way to spend a few hours.

          Trypp looked up at the Tethran in disgust but Gunther was too deep in reverie to notice.

          ‘Do you know, I once won a small ransom the last time I watched the fallers.  You see, we usually hold bets on –’

          ‘Captain Ross, I do not want to hear your tale,’ Trypp said bluntly and moved away.

          ‘Well there’s no need to be rude, lil’ blue fella,’ hollered Gunther after Trypp, but the Sapphyrran just kept walking.

 

 

The walk across the shingled floor of the forest had taken its toll upon the company and most of them were asleep within an hour of the sun setting on the third day of their journey to Brigantia.  Pylos, Trypp and Mulupo sat around a small fire sipping on hot cups of javo.  Mulupo had gone to great pains to ensure the company had an ample supply of javo beans and whilst he did not carry them himself – that was a job for Pylos – he was more than happy to share a pot when a brew had been made.

          Trypp was massaging his feet.  Although the soles were accustomed to rocky surfaces, the sharp rocks that littered the ground on the route were beginning to impact upon his bare feet and he looked forward to climbing up onto the plateau to the north where the land was flat and free of shingles.  ‘General Castalia, how far do we have to go until we reach the Scarlet Rock Theatre?’

          ‘At least two more days I’m afraid, Trypp.’  Pylos pulled off his boots and examined his own feet – there were few places where the skin wasn’t blistered.  ‘It’s a painful road I admit but it’s also the safest.’

          ‘Road?’ Trypp observed with a gentle smile.  ‘It’s hardly a road!’

          ‘I’m sorry but Bannick’s murder has highlighted the need for us to take a harder, less obvious route to Caliban.’

          ‘It has the bouquet of irony, does it not?’ suggested Mulupo.

          ‘Excuse me?’ said Trypp.

          ‘It’s ironic – Bannick Landen was killed by an assassin and yet the reason we are on this peregrination is because that is what we have become – assassins.’

          ‘I’m not sure I follow you,’ Trypp said.

          ‘We’re assassins.  That is our job isn’t it?  To assassinate Caliban.’

          Trypp paused.  ‘Yes, that is our job, but I … I don’t see myself as an assassin.  I go to protect my city and its people.  I am no assassin.’

          Mulupo shook his head.  ‘In Camulos, we believe that our actions define us, so by definition we are assassins.’

          Pylos could see that Mulupo’s comment had unsettled Trypp.  He knew it was not Mulupo’s intention to cause Trypp any consternation but the look of dismay upon the Sapphyrran’s face highlighted the impact the statement had upon him.  Pylos put a hand on Trypp’s shoulder.  ‘Your motivation is as pure as the waters of the Skyfall, Trypp.  Do not doubt your purpose.’

         ‘I have not considered Mulupo’s point of view,’ Trypp responded.  ‘I must think more on this matter.’

          ‘Trypp, let philosophers and theologians debate the righteousness of our mission in years to come – we don’t have that luxury.  Right now, the Myr bleeds.  What we seek to accomplish justifies –’

          ‘The means by which we reach that goal?  I’m not so sure it’s that simple, General.  It never is that simple.’

          ‘Three days ago,’ Pylos said gravely, ‘one of my dearest friends lay broken on the paving stone beneath Cessair Tower.  I lost many good men when the Ghul attacked Sulis.  In Morae these vermin abduct children every night.  It is that simple.  The salvation of our races lies in our hands.  Any hesitation on our part is a betrayal of all those who have fallen already.  I’m sorry Trypp but I can’t allow you to question the validity of this undertaking, or your part in it.  This is a noble cause.’

          Pylos had not meant to turn the discussion into a dissertation, but he could not restrain his words.  He looked at Trypp hoping to see some sign that his points had struck a chord with him, but the Sapphyrran just stared back with tranquil eyes that neither judged nor showed understanding.

 

 

It was Pylos who awoke first.  He wasn’t sure whether he had heard something in his sleep or smelt a change about him but he knew before he opened his eyes that they were surrounded.  It was still night but a cloud of shatterbugs that hovered about the camp revealed a squad of twenty Ghul mounted on skitteriks encircling the company.

          ‘So much for taking the safest road,’ he muttered to himself as he scanned the ghoulish faces of the soldiers staring back at him.  Each of the mounted riders bore something that made their presence all the more disturbing and grotesque.  On long bone spears, the Ghul had impaled the heads of the snorses that had borne the company across Cessair’s fields of flowerfall.  They thrust these spears into the hard ground and drew their swords.  Pylos’ heart quickened as he scanned the horrific display for his own mount but her head was not there.  Somehow Lampetia had escaped.

          Pylos unsheathed his blade and prepared for battle.  The skitteriks nearest him snapped their mandibles as if to show him they were not daunted by the shining, dark sword in his hands.

          Gunther followed his companion’s lead.  He lifted his right arm and swung it above his head.  The iron ball that was fixed to the chain that ran from the Tethran’s forearm was lifted into the air, narrowly missing Pylos’ skull in the process.  It whirled around furiously, ready to be slammed into the nearest assailant.

          ‘Oh this is just what I need!’ said a deep voice behind the pair.  Sefar had also risen, drawing his scimitar as he rose from his makeshift bed among the shingles.

          ‘There’s nothing like a good scrap,’ Gunther said as he shifted his weight and sent his iron ball down upon the head of the nearest skitterik.  The ball crushed the head to a pulp and the skitterik fell to the ground in a black heap.  Before its rider could dismount, Pylos struck out, throwing his sword like a dagger.  The blade sliced into the Ghul’s belly.  Moments later the rider burst out in flames, much to the surprise of Sefar and Gunther.

          ‘How did you do that?’ Gunther asked, amazed at the sight of the burning Ghul.

          ‘I don’t know,’ said Pylos as he rushed over to retrieve his blade.  ‘They just do that.’

          ‘No they don’t!’ cried Sefar who was hacking at a Ghul soldier who refused to die despite receiving numerous fatal blows.

          Gunther was having a little more success.  His iron ball had crushed the heads of three of the Ghul near him – they would not be getting back up.  As much as Pylos disliked Gunther – ‘The man’s an idiot’ – he enjoyed fighting by his side.  What Gunther lacked in style and grace, he made up for in sheer power.  There was no economy to his movement.  He was a juggernaut.  He had been hit numerous times by the Ghul around him but their blades of bone smashed to splinters on his armoured skin.

          Gerriod, Trypp, Mulupo and Remiel had jumped to their feet and pulled out the weapons they had chosen for the mission.  This eclectic group had one thing in common – they had no experience in handling a weapon.  Gerriod wielded a Kobold axe which he had selected because it reminded him of the hatchet he had used to chop firewood back in Palia.  Trypp carried a slingshot and although he had never used such a weapon before, he displayed a proficiency with it that was quite astounding.  Whilst he would not kill their enemies with the slingshot, he managed to blind several skitteriks in the space of a few seconds.  Remiel had reluctantly taken possession of a steel broadsword and he swung it like a novice.  Pylos kept an eye on the priest – it seemed he would need protecting.

          Mulupo had selected throwing stars as his weapon of choice.  Pylos had assumed that this was because he had some expertise with them.  It was quickly apparent that Mulupo had no expertise; every one of his throwing stars missed its mark by at least ten feet.  Mulupo posed more of a threat to his companions than he did to the Ghul.

          Despite the variable level of skill in the company, Pylos was pleased with how the battle was unfolding.  They had whittled down the numbers of their attackers to nine.  Pylos and Gunther were chiefly responsible for this but Gerriod had managed to kill one of the Ghul who erupted into flames under his axe in much the same way they did under Pylos’ blade.

          Sefar had given up trying to kill the Ghul and concentrated on the skitteriks.  This was easy work.  Trypp had managed to blind most of them so they were vulnerable to the shining scimitar Sefar wielded with such finesse.

          But then the tide of the battle shifted.  

          ‘Something’s coming,’ said Remiel who was the first to hear the crashing sounds coming from the darkness to their left.

In a stroke that was as elegant as it was devastating, Pylos swung his sword into the necks of two Ghul who made the mistake of standing next to one another.  Their heads fell to the stony ground simultaneously and their bodies broke out into flame.  The light from the blaze illuminated the arrival of Tethra’s most vicious animal – the carnopod.

          Pylos looked up at the beast stunned by its size.  It was at least three times taller than he and many times as wide.  A massive horn curled down from the top of its head to a point just above its mouth which was lined with more teeth than it probably needed.  Its impenetrable, crimson hide had the texture of a cobblestone path.  The ridge of its back was lined with large, round plates which were flushed with colour signifying its aggressive mood.  It stomped up and down on its three short legs as it scanned the area looking for the source of the smell that had drawn it near.  The carnopod’s eyes twisted around independently which gave the beast the look of something given to madness.

          Pylos quickly realised why the Ghul had brought the heads of the snorses.  It was to draw the carnopod near.  This done, the remaining Ghul quickly retreated into the darkness leaving the company to deal with the savage beast.  Its hunger aroused, the carnopod lolloped from snorse head to snorse head searching for meat to devour.  Enraged by the absence of snorse flesh, it let loose a roar that suggested its irascible temper had just taken a turn for the worse.

          Pylos lashed out at the great beast before it could focus upon one of his companions.  As sharp as his sword was, it just bounced off the carnopod’s thick hide.  The beast bellowed at Pylos and snapped at him with its sharp jaws.  He jumped back, but tripped over his feet in the rush to avoid the teeth bearing down on him.  The jaws snapped shut inches away from his chest.  

          Pylos hit the ground hard and his sword fell from his grasp.  The carnopod leapt forward and placed its thick front leg upon the Helyan’s stomach.  With a crazed stare and salivating jaws, the carnopod slowly lifted its head back.  Pylos could see what it intended – it meant to skewer him on the end of this horn and there was nothing he could do to avoid it.  His hands felt around for his sword but it was beyond his reach.  He was defenceless.  The carnopod brought its horn down.

          Pylos’ view of the rapidly descending horn was momentarily obscured by a dark shape.  It was Trypp.  He had smothered the Helyan’s body and taken the full force of the blow.  He grunted in pain as the carnopod’s horn smashed into his shell.  It didn’t pierce the thick chitin, but the force of the impact was incredible.  Trypp rolled off Pylos the moment the carnopod stepped back to deal with the other members of the company that had rushed in to help Pylos.

          Gerriod chopped at one of the carnopod’s stubby legs whilst Sefar and Remiel struck at its face with their blades.  Gunther brought his heavy iron ball down upon the carnopod’s right flank in an attempt to break its ribs.  None of these attacks did anything more than enrage the beast further.  It lashed out at them with its savage jaws, unable to concentrate upon a single attacker.  Each blow it received drew its attention so it snapped alternately at Gerriod, Remiel, Sefar and Gunther as they took turns at delivering their attacks.  It was a short-term strategy.  They were doing little damage to the carnopod.  Sooner or later, the beast would snag one of them with its sharp teeth and there would be no escaping a bloody end.

          Mulupo took an entirely different approach to fighting the carnopod.  He clambered up one of the stone pillars and thrust his arm into a hole that lay at the top.  He lay there atop the obelisk feeling around furiously.

          ‘What are you doing?’ Pylos called to the Spriggan.  The Helyan had dragged Trypp to one side where they lay curled up under one of the stone obelisks.  Neither of them was in any condition to return to the fray.

          ‘These stone plinths are actually granite agglomerates, pieced together by the stonemites that use them as hives,’ Mulupo answered, wincing in pain as he pushed his hand further into the mound.  Stonemite after stonemite bit into his arm as he rummaged about in their nest.  Then after an agonizingly long time, his groans and shrieks of pain were punctuated by a cry of triumph.  His arm shot out of the nest and in his hand he held a bug as large as his head, a dark green creature with a massive abdomen.

          Mulupo jumped from the stone pillar onto the back of the broad-shouldered carnopod.  He pointed the abdomen of the bug at the carnopod’s head.  The stonemite quivered for a second and then a highly noxious ejaculation of bright yellow liquid burst forth from its body.

          The carnopod roared as the stonemite’s secretion spilled over its head.  The behemoth twisted around and snapped at Mulupo but it could not reach him with its jaws.  It bucked and jumped but could not remove the Spriggan who continued to press on the stonemite in his hands spraying the yellow fluid all over the carnopod’s hide.

          The beast continued to roar but its ululations were soon drowned out by a deep rumbling sound filling the air.  It grew so loud that even the carnopod stopped its frantic attempts to remove Mulupo.  The ground began to shake.  The shingles at their feet bounced about as the rumbling grew to deafening proportions.

          Suddenly all around them the stone obelisks erupted as countless stonemites burst from their nests.  They scurried down the stone pillars and swarmed across the ground, converging on the carnopod.  Thousands upon thousands of stonemites crawled up onto the beast, summoned by the yellow secretion Mulupo had sprayed over its skin.

          Mulupo leapt from the back as the carnopod moments before the stonemites covered the beast like a shroud.  The beast bellowed and jumped about but it could not remove the stonemites.  It rammed into the stone pillars trying to scrape the carpet of bugs off its hide, but it was a futile task.

          ‘Interesting idea Mulupo,’ Sefar said as he helped the Spriggan to his feet, ‘but all I think they’re doing is making it madder.’

          ‘We shall see,’ said the Spriggan sagely.  He looked up to the sky and smiled.

          Sefar followed his gaze.  The slapping sound of hundreds of wings could be heard between the carnopod’s raucous bellowing and then the moons were covered in darkness as if a thick, black cloud had covered the sky.

          ‘What is it?’ Sefar asked Mulupo whose knowing smile had not faded from his face.

          ‘We all have our predators, Sefar.  The stonemites’ is the durnodaw.’  

          As if having some prescient awareness of the fate of the carnopod, the shatterbugs that had lit the strange scene scattered, giving the crazed beast a wide berth as the flock of durnodaws descended.  The sharp-beaked birds were driven into a feeding frenzy in the presence of multitudinous stonemites.  They hammered away at the bugs covering the carnopod.  More and more birds attached themselves to the beast.  Its coat of stonemites quickly became one of black feathers and silver beaks.  The durnodaws continued to spear down from the sky, all focused upon the carnopod, like a hundred arrows all aimed at the one target.

          In time, the bellowing stopped and the carnopod’s massive body dropped to the floor of the Stone Forest.  ‘Those beaks usually break stone,’ Mulupo noted.  ‘The carnopod had no chance.’

 

 

A groan as long as it was deep drifted out of a nearby ditch to their left.  A dark shape rose out of it.  Pylos and Sefar drew their weapons and trained them on the figure.

          ‘Put away your weapons!’ a thin, articulate voice barked.  It was Maeldune.  In the wan light of the few shatterbugs that had not flown off into the night, his face looked pale and drawn.

          Sefar returned his scimitar to its scabbard but Pylos kept his blade drawn.  ‘What were you doing Maeldune?  You were on guard.  Fall asleep?’

          ‘I was hit from behind.’  Maeldune’s right hand was plastered to the back of his head where the blow had landed.

          ‘I wonder whether it was prudent to leave our pernoctation in the hands of the Acoran,’ commented Mulupo.  He turned boldly to           Maeldune and added, ‘And I mean that pejoratively of course.’

          ‘Hit but not killed Maeldune?’ grunted Gunther suspiciously.

          ‘I thought the Acora had excellent hearing,’ added Pylos echoing Gunther’s tone.

          ‘It was my hearing that saved me Pylos.  I moved a second before a Ghul’s club came down upon my skull.  I should be dead.’  As if to corroborate his story, Maeldune held out his right hand.  It was covered in blood.  ‘I have no recollection of what followed, but I assume we were attacked and somehow survived.’

          ‘That’s right,’ Pylos said without any sympathy for the Acoran.

          Gerriod was huddled over Trypp who had sat himself up against a stone pillar.  ‘Are you alright Trypp?’ the mariner asked.

          ‘I will be.’

          ‘Can you walk?’ Pylos asked the Sapphyrran.  ‘I don’t think it wise to stay here in case another carnopod picks up the smell of the snorses.’

          ‘Yes, I can walk,’ said Trypp stoically.

          The company quickly shouldered their belongings and moved off into the deeper darkness of the forest.  They were bruised and sore but alive.  As he helped Trypp to his feet, Gerriod looked at the group hobbling off into the forest of rock.  ‘You know, I didn’t think so before but now…’

          ‘Now what?’ asked the Sapphyrran.

          ‘Now I think there’s a small chance we might actually stand a chance.  We might actually succeed.’

 

 

Pylos woke early, disturbed by a strange rumbling sound.  At first he thought the noise was coming from beneath him and in his state of half-sleep, images of the Ghul burrowing up from beneath him flooded his brain.

          Again the sound played in his ears and he realised that it was not so much a rumble as a gurgle.  He opened his eyes and turned his head to his left.  There, in the dull light before dawn, he could make out the figure of Gerriod Blake, lying awake with his hands behind his head.  The gurgling sounded again, this time much louder than before.

          ‘Was that your stomach?’ Pylos asked.

          ‘Yes,’ Gerriod answered tentatively, his speech little more than a whisper; whether he kept his voice down out of embarrassment or concern for the others who were still asleep wasn’t obvious.  ‘I’m hungry.’

          ‘We ate yesterday at lunch,’ Pylos said perfunctorily, as if to suggest that this should be more than enough to sustain a person for a day or two.

          ‘Exactly,’ replied Gerriod who was accustomed to three square meals a day (and a few bites to make the gaps between bearable).

Pylos thought about this a moment and then suggested with a happy look, ‘Let’s go hunting!’

 

 

Gerriod followed in Pylos’ footsteps as the lithe Helyan darted through the grey obelisks of the forest.  The sun had not yet risen and the subdued light of fading night gave the area an ethereal quality.  Gerriod’s mind wandered back to Palia, to the ancient cemetery that sat on the hill overlooking the sleepy hamlet where he had been raised.  The bioliths resembled the headstones that had so captured his interest as a child.  He would come to the graveyard on the few days his father did not take the boat out and sit quietly, surrounded by the granite tributes to those who had died.  The headstones stuck out of the ground like bookmarks to the page upon which each person’s life was written.  So many people over the years.  His mother was one of them.

          ‘We’re in luck!’ whispered Pylos as he looked into the sky above them.  The Helyan had halted suddenly and Gerriod was so caught up in his reveries, he failed to notice his companion had stopped.  The mariner slammed into Pylos’ back leaving the two of them in an awkward embrace for a few painfully long seconds.  Gerriod jumped back and Pylos turned to give him a scornful look.

The Helyan put a finger to his lips to indicate the need for silence.  This finger then pointed directly overhead where a flock of swiggu were slowly loping their way across the sky.  There were at least a dozen of them.  They were strange creatures, far too fat for their leathery little wings but somehow they stayed aloft.  Their tubby pink bodies hung from their tiny wings like wet sacks of grain.  Gerriod could hear their snorts of exertion as they pushed their way across the morning sky.

          Pylos lifted his dagger and took aim at a large swiggu at the front of the flock.  Then in a blur of movement, his arm thrust forward.  The released dagger shot through the still air and...

          ‘Missed!’ Gerriod exclaimed.  ‘You missed!’

          So poor was Pylos’ aim that the swiggu were still oblivious to the fact that they were being hunted.  The dagger arced through the air and clattered on some rocks some twenty yards away.

          Pylos, clearly embarrassed by his failure, wiped his hands on his tunic and said, ‘The blade was a little slippery.  It may have had some morning dew on it.’  He winced as he said it.  Silence would have offered a better excuse.

          Gerriod raised his eyebrows.  ‘Yes, it could have been the morning dew, or maybe it’s just the fact that you’re a really bad shot.’

The mariner reached down into the folds of his cloak and withdrew a thick cord about two feet long.  In the middle of the cord sat a small patch of leather, scuffed by many years of use.

          ‘What are you doing?’ asked Pylos apprehensively.

          ‘Like I said, I’m hungry.’

          ‘And you think you can shoot down a swiggu with that?’

          ‘Not if we keep talking about it.’

          Pylos was accustomed to unquestioning obedience from thousands of troops so it rattled him a little to be spoken to in such a way by a forty year old sailor.  He searched through the libraries in his brain for a quip that would put Gerriod back in his place, but in light of his failed attempt to kill the swiggu, he thought it would be better to say nothing and hope Gerriod would miss by an even greater margin.

          Gerriod scanned the area for a suitable stone to place in his slingshot.  He could take his time.  The flock’s movement through the sky was ponderously slow.  They were still well within range.

          He took aim at the nearest swiggu.  It was no coincidence that it was also the fattest – he was really hungry.

          The sound of the slingshot whipping around and around was etched upon the quiet of the morning.  And then all sound ceased as the projectile was released.

          The swiggu did not even have time to squeal.  The rock slammed into the side of its pink head.  Moments later its plump body landed in the space between the mariner and the soldier.

          Pylos waited for a smug look to alight on Gerriod’s face.  He didn’t have to wait long.  A mischievous glint in Gerriod’s eyes was a precursor to a succession of comments that made Pylos regret he had even suggested the morning hunt.

          ‘I just can’t believe you missed!’ Gerriod chortled.

          ‘Everyone misses from time to time, Gerriod.’

          ‘But not you!  You’re a Helyan!  You can hit a Ghul with your sword at a distance of twenty feet.’

          ‘So?’

          ‘And you’re the General!  You’re the best of the best.’

          ‘So?’

          ‘A near miss I could understand, but you missed by at least ten feet.  I’m not even sure which one you were aiming at.  Was it the one at the front of the flock or the one at the back?’

          ‘Could we drop this please?’

          ‘The swiggu didn’t even know you’d thrown anything at them!’

          ‘I am not proficient at knife-throwing.’

          ‘Not proficient!  Pylos, you were terrible.’

          The Helyan’s fingers twitched as he tried to control his mounting anger.

          ‘Relax General,’ Gerriod laughed, acutely aware of Pylos’ mood.  ‘If we do get into another fight – which seems more than likely – there’s no-one else I’d rather have watching my back.’

          Pylos was dumbstruck.  After the parade of thinly-veiled insults, it was a most unexpected comment.

          Gerriod bent down and slung the dead swiggu over his back.  As he moved off through the stone pillars, he called over his shoulder, ‘You better run back and get your knife.  We’ll need it to carve up our breakfast.’

          ‘Are you wondering how the Ghul found us in this maze of stone?’

          Gerriod was carving up the meat whilst Pylos sat nearby turning a pebble over and over in his hand as he stared blankly at the other members of the company who were still asleep under their cloaks.

          ‘That has been on my mind,’ Pylos whispered as he turned to face Gerriod, ‘but that wasn’t what I was thinking about.  Something else is bothering me.  Something Jehenna said.’

          ‘Maeldune’s wife?’

          ‘Yes.  She said that the Acoran archers had killed many Ghul at the breach near Lucien.’

          ‘I remember.’

          ‘Yet I have spoken to countless others who have claimed that the Ghul could not be killed.  Look what happened tonight.  Sefar hacked away at the Ghul with as much fury as I could muster, and yet only you and I were able to slay them.’

          ‘Gunther managed to kill them too.’

          ‘Yes, but only by smashing their heads into tiny pieces.  I wonder how he would have fared with a sword.  The Acora killed many Ghul, but the Sessymirians couldn’t.  The Ankarans couldn’t.  Even the Pryderi who tried using magick against the Ghul quickly learnt they couldn’t kill them.  But in Sulis that night of the first attack, I lost count of how many had fallen under my blade.’

          ‘Maybe it’s not us,’ Gerriod said, thinking aloud.  ‘Maybe it’s our weapons.’

          Pylos considered this.  He frowned momentarily and then his eyebrows raised as he saw something that had been staring back at him for months.  ‘Of course!’ Pylos exclaimed.  ‘I am so dull.  Why did I not see it earlier?  It is so obvious!’

          ‘See what exactly?’ asked Gerriod.

          Pylos pulled out his sword and showed Gerriod the blade.  It was not the shiny silver of most swords – the metal was dull and black.  ‘Shatterstone!  It’s made of shatterstone, as are the heads of the Acora’s arrows.  He reached over and picked up Gerriod’s axe.            ‘This is also made from shatterstone!’  The Helyan laughed loudly, not caring whether he woke his companions.  ‘I had to fight with the Helyan Senate for weeks to get them to approve the acquisition of a small complement of shatterstone swords.  Very expensive, but worth every coin.’

          He twisted onto his knees and started rolling up his blanket.

          ‘What are you doing?’ Gerriod asked intrigued by Pylos’ erratic behaviour.

          ‘I’m going.’

          ‘Where?’

          ‘Back to Cessair.  I have to let the Chamberlain know.  This is important.’

          ‘You’re not going anywhere General.’

          It was Maeldune, standing imperiously behind Pylos.

          Pylos stood up and faced Maeldune who stood a full foot taller than the Helyan.  ‘What do you mean?’

          Maeldune’s cold, grey eyes bored into Pylos’ scarred face.  He paused a long time before answering, as if to remind Pylos who was in command of the mission.  ‘I would have thought my statement was plain enough to avoid repeating General.  You are not abandoning this mission.’

          ‘You know this information will save lives.  I must return to Cessair so others Myrrans can protect themselves.  If I can get word to the other companies –’

          ‘You will throw away the only advantage we have.  I agree that this is a significant discovery – if it bears out – but it will not stop Caliban, nor will it stop the march of the Ghul.  There is not enough shatterstone in the entire world to match blades with the Ghul.  We have a mission to complete.  I shouldn’t have to remind you of your duty.’

          Maeldune was shrewd.  He knew using words such as mission and duty would weaken Pylos’ opposition.  But the Helyan pursued his course.  ‘Are you insane Maeldune?  We have two other squads for this very eventuality.  They can continue the mission.’

          Maeldune stepped forward so that Pylos had to crane his head back to maintain eye contact with the Acoran.  ‘And what if they can’t finish the mission General?  Have you thought of that?  What if we are the only ones left?  Every day hundreds of lives are lost.  Are you willing to accept those deaths for the days we would lose should we return to Cessair?’

          ‘I’m not asking you to come with me,’ Pylos snarled.

          Maeldune stepped away before answering.  Pylos had all but declared his animosity towards the Acoran.  Years of political manoeuvring told Maeldune to change tactics.  He could achieve the higher ground by backing down.  His voice softened and he dropped his gaze so that it rested at Pylos’ feet.  ‘But I am asking you to stay, Pylos.  You are second-in-command of this squad.  Should I die, which is more than likely given my lack of skill with a weapon, you must take the helm.  Who else can?  The Spriggan?  The priest?  Gerriod?  We stand no hope of success should you leave.’

          Confusion settled upon Pylos’ brow.  The change in Maeldune’s temperament was unexpected and he was not sure how to respond to it.  ‘Minister, I fully intend to return to the company and continue the mission.’

          Maeldune nodded, accepting the explanation.  ‘I believe you Pylos, but I fear there would be no mission to return to.  I would not dare hope that we could survive out here without you.  There is much at stake here – are you willing to risk it all?’

          Pylos did not answer immediately.  He had always considered himself a conservative when it came to military decisions.  Years of respecting by a chain-of-command fought against the necessity of letting the world know of the vulnerability he had discovered in the Ghul.  The Chamberlain’s final words rang in his ears:

          ‘May I emphasize the fact that the companies have one primary goal – the death of Caliban…  If we cut off the head, the body should die. ’

          He was inspired by these words at the time, but now he found them to be a millstone around his neck.  ‘Very well.  I will stay.’

 

 

Dawn broke and the smell of fried swiggu quickly woke the other members of the company.  The low-lying sun painted the eastern side of the stone obelisks a luminous orange.

          Pylos and Gunther consulted an old map of the Stone Forest Pylos had obtained before leaving Cessair.  Whilst the map was extremely crude lacking in precise topographical detail, it did supply the two men with enough points of reference to work out how far they had come and where to head next.

          ‘If that last gully was this river bed here,’ Pylos said pointing to a thin broken line on the map, ‘we should be eight leagues from the Scarlet Rock Theatre.’

          ‘Then we should turn north.  If we can exit the forest here,’ Gunther said placing a metal coated finger onto the map, ‘we should find a path that brings us up onto the plateau.  At our current pace we should reach the theatre shortly after nightfall tomorrow.’

          Pylos agreed with Gunther’s calculations but was in two minds as to whether it was wise to stray so close to the theatre.  He was reluctant to reveal their whereabouts especially when they had been found so easily by the Ghul the night before.

          ‘I doubt Caliban has any Tethran spies,’ Gunther said in response to Pylos’ concerns, ‘and anyway, he’d be hard put to find us amongst the thousands of people who attend the Scarlet Theatre every night.’

          Pylos could see his point.  He had visited the theatre years before and knew that Gunther wasn’t exaggerating. The massive open-air amphitheatre could seat at least ten thousand spectators and drew such crowds every night.  They should be safe there.

 

 

The light of day was beginning to fade when they put the Stone Forest behind them.  Gunther had found a shelp-track which cut back and forward across the face of the steep incline up onto the Ganesa Plateau.  The track was quite wide and well-used.  It was not uncommon for the shelp-herders on the plateau to bring their flocks down to the edge of the Stone Forest in search of the moss and roots the animals ate.  

          Before ascending the escarpment, Gunther made a simple brew consisting of rock-moss and what was left of his personal store of water.  The intoxicating aroma of the boiling drink hung deliciously in the air.

          ‘It seems simple doesn’t it, but few people can pull off this brew.  If the heat is just slightly wrong, you get undrinkable sludge.  But if you get it right…’ – he paused to sniff his concoction and smiled broadly – ‘you get this!  It takes effect almost immediately.’

          ‘You’re getting drunk?’ Gerriod gasped.

          Mulupo looked up at the Tethran with imploring eyes.  ‘Captain Ross, I seem to have exhausted my supplies of water, but – being somewhat partial to the joys of a well-constructed beverage – I am wondering whether it would be beyond you to consider the possibility of allowing me to partake in sampling that most potable substance you hold in your hands.’

          ‘Spriggan,’ Gunther said brusquely, ‘it’s a good thing I don’t understand you, because if I thought for a second that you were trying to snaffle some of my brew, you’d be wearing my iron knuckles on your face.’

          Mulupo paused.  He shifted his weight from hoof to hoof as he decoded the linguistic variables of the Tethran’s response.  ‘Ah, I see that you have responded to my humble request in the negative, sir.’

          ‘You’re a clever fella,’ grunted Gunther as he took a long swing of his drink.  He stood up and burped.

          Pylos eyed the Tethran critically.  ‘Gunther, you’re no good to us drunk.’

          ‘Ah, don’t be so uptight Pylos.  Anyways, I’m a better fighter when I’m fuddled.’  

          Gunther made his way over to the shelp-track, slid on a small rock and crashed down on Mulupo, who had followed him closely, enjoying the smell of the rock-moss brew.

          Mulupo was pinned under Gunther’s substantial weight.  The Tethran just lay looking up at the sky laughing.  ‘Whoa!  That’s quite a brew!’ Gunther chortled.  ‘Getting up this here track might be a struggle.’  He heaved himself back on to his feet, and gave a shallow apology to the Spriggan who felt as if his every bone had been crushed under Gunther’s steel and iron-plated body.

 

 

As it was, they made good time up the escarpment, despite Gunther Ross’ state.  On a number of occasions Pylos thought the Tethran was going to walk right of the edge of the cliff, especially towards the end of the ascent when thick clouds rolled in, hiding the Myr’s moons.

          At one point on the journey, the clouded sky above the plateau was lit up.  ‘What was that?’ Sefar asked the group but no-one had an answer.  They knew it wasn’t lightning as the clouds had been lit from below.  

          ‘It came from the plateau,’ observed Remiel.

          ‘Perhaps it was a beacon flare,’ suggested Gerriod.  ‘We use them on stormy nights on Lake Erras.’

          Sefar shook his head.  ‘That was no beacon.’

          ‘I wouldn’t worry,’ slurred Gunther.  ‘It’s probably some dramatic trick from the Theatre.  Something to amuse the opera-buffs.’

          ‘I don’t think so,’ Remiel said quietly.  

          Pylos turned to Maeldune.  ‘What about our leader?  Minister, what do you think?’

          Before the Acoran could answer, the sky lit up again.

          ‘Let’s just keep moving,’ Maeldune grunted.  He had said very little since the Ghul attack.  Pylos assumed this was due to embarrassment over his lack of participation in the fight, but something told the Helyan there was more to it than that.

          A short time later, the light flashed for the third and final time and Remiel winced.  ‘What’s wrong?’ Trypp asked.  

          Remiel’s eyes were closed and his head slightly cocked to one side.  When his eyes opened, his pupils were dilated and his face was flushed.  His temples pulsated as if his veins were about to explode.  ‘On the edge of my hearing, I thought I heard…’  His voice faded, as if his thoughts were too dreadful to mention.

          ‘Thought you heard what?’ whispered Trypp, aware that Remiel was struggling with whatever was running through his mind.

‘I thought I could hear thousands of voices, crying out at once.’

          ‘Do you hear them now?’

          Remiel closed his eyes again, listened, then shook his head.  ‘No, nothing.’

          ‘Maeldune?’ Pylos asked, sure if anyone else could hear what Remiel heard, it would be an Acoran.

          Maeldune shrugged to indicate he hadn’t heard a thing.

 

 

As they neared the top of the shelp-track, another noise stopped the party in their tracks.  It was Gerriod who first noted the booming sound that was sounding at rhythmic intervals every few seconds.  ‘What is that sound?  It’s like thunder, but –’  He turned to Pylos who had been walking alongside him for the last part of the journey.  ‘Is it the Colossi, moving across the plateau?’

          Pylos gave the mariner a warm smile.  ‘Yes, it is.’

          ‘Why do they move?’

          ‘I have been told they forage for food.’

          ‘What does something so large eat?’

          Overhearing the conversation, Gunther chimed in.  ‘They eat durnodaw eggs.  It’s all part of the chain.  The stonemites eat the rock.  The durnodaws eat the stonemites and the Colossi eat the durnodaw.’

          ‘But the durnodaw is not much bigger than an ordinary bird.’

          ‘A single durnodaw lays thousands of eggs.  They hide them under the red dirt of the plateau, but the Colossi can always sniff them out.’

          ‘I’m glad I’m not a durnodaw,’ Gerriod said as the pounding steps of the Colossi shook his body.

 

 

When they reached the lip of the Ganesa Plateau they were met with the sight of a large red stone structure which was lit up by hundreds of torches and lamps.  In the distance, the company could see three massive black shapes moving across the landscape.  They were perhaps a league away but dominated the dark sky.

          Although he had heard about their prodigious size, Gerriod was awestruck when he finally cast eyes upon the Colossi.  They were of a size that was stupefying to behold – larger than a hill, but smaller than a mountain.  Two of the creatures were stationary, but the third and nearest Colossi moved ponderously across the dusty plateau floor to the north.  As far as Gerriod could tell in the dark, the Colossi was totally grey in colour, except for its sad blue eyes which shone in the darkness as though they were lit from within.  What amazed Gerriod most of all was the shape of the ‘creature’ – it looked just like a man down on his knees, crawling across a dusty floor, his bald head lowered as if he were searching for something he had lost.

          ‘It looks like… a person,’ he panted.

          ‘I’m a person,’ said Sefar.  ‘It doesn’t look like me.’

          ‘I’m a person too,’ noted Trypp.

          ‘I struggle to see any resemblance to my own being,’ added Mulupo, ‘and I too claim some right to be considered a person.’

          ‘I’m sorry – that’s not what I meant,’ apologised Gerriod.  ‘It’s just, I was expecting something resembling an animal.’

‘Like a shell?’ asked Trypp.

          ‘Or perhaps a horn?’ Sefar suggested, joining in the fun.

          ‘Or hooves such as those that would be found on an ungulate mammal, such as myself?’

          ‘No!  I pictured something like a giant shelp!’ Gerriod exclaimed.  Everyone turned to face him with bemused looks upon their faces.  ‘Well, no-one explained what they looked like.  I had to imagine them for myself.’

          The Colossi turned its head to look to the south seemingly staring straight at the party, but its gaze was only fleeting and it returned its attention to the ground underneath its great head.

          ‘That one’s the largest of the three,’ Gunther said.  ‘Tethrans call him Galam.  It’s an old Tethran word meaning first to wake.  The other two follow him.  Their names are Lo and Mok.

          ‘Can they communicate with one another?’ Gerriod asked.

          ‘We don’t have time for a history lecture,’ Maeldune sneered.  ‘Let’s head over to the theatre, gather some fresh supplies and head on to Brigantia.’

 

 

They made their way up onto a broad bluestone avenue that was lined with glass poplars.  This avenue ran all the way from the Brigand Road to the north to the main entrance of the theatre.  The company walked under a wide archway that had the words Scarlet Rock Theatre etched in ornate gold letters across its surface.

          Gerriod’s mind reached back across time and space to the deck of his ship The Crimson Dawn.  

          ‘I was a dancer, you know.  I once performed at the Scarlet Rock Theatre before the Lord Chamberlain himself.’  

          The leper’s sad voice reverberated inside his head, and he realized how much he hated Caliban, for what he had done to his father, what he had done to the Tethran dancer, what he had done to the world.

 

 

The curved walls of the theatre’s exterior stretched out on either side of the company.  Exquisitely painted representations of a famous opera singer covered panels on the theatre walls.  Dame Yam Ka was an Ankaran from the distant city of Copacati.  It was said that her voice could break glass and the hardest heart.

          ‘Where is everyone?’ grunted Gunther.  ‘It can’t be that late!  The shows usually don’t finish until midnight.’  He was accustomed to the avenue being filled with theatre-goers and merchants.  Most performances also attracted devotees of the artists who could not afford to watch the performance but would happily sit outside the theatre listening to the music that floated over its high walls.

          A Spriggan caravan lay outside the theatre.  Since the slaughter in Camulos, Mulupo had been informed of numerous merchants who had been abroad at the time of the massacre.  The thought of seeing his countrymen filled him with joy and he trotted as quickly as he could over to the caravan.  His expectant expression turned to one of disappointment – the travelling shop was empty.  All its trinkets still intact but there was not a Spriggan to be found.

          ‘How can this be?  Some of these items are extremely valuable.’

          ‘Perhaps the Spriggans have gone in to watch the performance,’ offered Maeldune.  ‘It is Dame Ka after all.’

          ‘Even the most dithyrambic aficionado of Dame Ka would not abandon his caravan,’ Mulupo contended.  ‘As much as we delight in the finer arts, business is business.  Add to this axiom the regulation stating that traders are not allowed in the theatre and I think we can discount your inchoate suggestion, Minister.  I fear something deleterious has occurred.’

          ‘Let’s go up the steps,’ said Gunther with some urgency.  ‘There’s something wrong here.’

          Mulupo stepped away from the group.  ‘I will remain outside and seek the whereabouts of my countrymen.  Some expiable crime has taken place, perhaps at the hands of our lucifigal nemeses.’

          Maeldune opened his mouth to voice his objections to this idea, but after a moment’s reflection decided against standing in Mulupo’s way.  ‘Very well.  The rest of us will investigate this mystery.’

 

 

‘Why is it so quiet?’ Gunther wondered aloud as they made their way up the steps leading into the stadium.

 

 

There was nothing that could prepare them for what came next.  It would have been impossible for any of them to imagine a sight more gruesome.  Almost ten thousand Myrrans had gathered for the concert and all of them were dead.  Most had remained seated, although some bodies lay in the aisles and a number had fallen over the railing at the front of the stands.  Every single corpse had a gaping hole in his or her torso, a large cavity where the heart once lay.  Most had their eyes open, staring out at the centre of the arena in disbelief.

          Pylos moved through the stands examining the bodies.  ‘This devilry was done this night.  Their blood is still warm.’

          ‘But what could have done this?’ Gerriod’s voice was so strained, his words struggled to leave his lips.

          Remiel was crouched over a body of a young girl.  The sight of the innocent youth lying torn and bloody on the steps had brought tears to his eyes.  ‘This wasn’t the work of the Ghul.  There’s no sign of their presence.  There are no footprints in the pools of blood.  No signs of struggle.’

          ‘Then how did this happen?’ asked Sefar who was struggling to look at the bloodshed.

          ‘I believe this is the work of one of the Cabal, one we have not heard of.’  Remiel lifted his head and stared across the stands.  ‘To kill so many, so quickly.  Thousands of victims in just one night.’  His voice trailed off into sobs.

          ‘But why didn’t they run?’ Gunther said as he paced from body to body.  ‘Surely whatever killed them couldn’t have done it at once.’

          Maeldune said nothing.  He just stared at the multitudes of violated bodies.  His face was fixed in a blank expression but his eyes suggested he was struggling with what he saw.

          Trypp crawled off to the dark space under the first tier of stands and vomited.  

 

Gunther rushed through the stands searching vainly for some sign of life amidst the carnage.  The Tethrans had their breastplates ripped from their flesh.  Their hearts had been taken out.

          ‘Gunther, I’m sorry,’ Remiel offered, placing his hand upon the Tethran’s broad, metal-encased shoulder.

          ‘It’s not your fault, holy man.  Caliban’s just gone and made this personal.  Promise me one thing - you all let me be the one to kill him.’

          ‘We can’t promise that,’ Remiel said sadly.

          ‘Then I’ll have to make sure I find him first.’

 

 

It was Trypp who heard it first – a quiet shuffling noise.  It was difficult to notice amidst the distant booming of the Colossi’s slow and steady steps.  The noise came from the middle of the arena where someone was slowly making his way up the wide flat steps of the arena’s central dais.

          The figure leant on a wooden staff.  It had long, ragged white hair but its face was in shadow.  Similarly ragged, charcoal coloured robes hung around it like a collection of old strips of leather.  The figure seemed to wheeze with exhaustion as it made its way to the top of the wide dais.

          Pylos looked quizzically at Gunther.  ‘A survivor?’ he offered.

          Gunther just shrugged.  ‘Surely that’s not Cabal.  Aren’t they all big monsters?’

          Remiel made his way down the stairs leading from the lowest stand onto the arena.  His eyes were fixed on the figure on the dais.   ‘They are monsters,’ he said to Gunther without looking at him, ‘but they are not necessarily big.  Stay on your guard.’

          ‘Look!’ cried Gerriod.

          The figure had stopped in the very heart of the theatre and shifted its body slightly as a brilliant white lantern was illuminated above its head.  Its face lay in shadow under a tousled mess of greasy white hair.

          Gunther reckoned the figure to be no taller than four feet – the priest’s caution seemed misplaced.  The Tethran tucked his iron ball under his arm and jumped the rail to the arena.  He landed on the dusty rock floor and started walking toward the figure.  He stuck out his right arm and swung the iron ball above his head in large, lethal arcs.  The figure on the dais remained where it was seemingly unaware of Gunther’s approach.

          Pylos, Sefar, Remiel and Trypp joined their metal-plated companion on the floor of the theatre.  

          The light above the head of the figure on the dais was growing brighter, illuminating the brutality in the stands, leaving no aspect of the carnage hidden from view.  But no-one was looking at the stands.  Gunther and his companions were staring at the light before them.  Strangely, the more brilliant the light grew, the easier it was to look at.

          Trypp found himself becoming mesmerised.  Despite the illumination, his head was foggy.  He felt as if he was on the edge of a dream, vaguely aware of his actions but unable to influence them.  He could not remember what he was doing in the stadium but he found himself strangely drawn to the beautiful luminescence before him.  He shook his head and as he did so, he managed to pull his gaze away from the seductive lantern.  He caught sight of Maeldune behind him.  The Acoran had not made his way onto the arena, but rather was hiding himself behind the small wall that separated the performance arena from the stands.  

          Trypp pulled his slingshot from his bag and armed it with a large, sharp rock.  ‘Don’t look into the light!’ he shouted to his companions.  His voice had lost all its gentleness; every syllable had been infused with panic.

          It was all the warning Pylos needed.  He cast his eyes down, where he could see the figure in his peripheral vision but not the light.

         Remiel looked to his left and saw that Sefar was transfixed by the light.  He raised his hand and slapped the Kheperan hard across the face.  Sefar looked around with a dazed expression on his face, as if he had just woken from a dream.

          ‘Sefar, get behind me now,’ Remiel yelled.  ‘Hold my robes and shut your eyes.’

          Stunned by the situation, the Kheperan did what he was told without hesitation.  He crouched down so that he was covered by the priest’s shadow.  

          Remiel looked across to his right to see Pylos, edging closer to the figure under the lantern.  The Helyan shielded his eyes from the light but kept his sword raised, held purposefully before his body like a standard bearer marching into battle.

          Trypp also moved closer to the dais, his eyes completely shut.  He was relying on other senses to direct him.  Gerriod and Gunther also moved forward, but they had not taken heed of Trypp’s warning.  They both stared into the light, drawn to it like small insects to a flame.  ‘Gerriod!  Captain Ross!’ Trypp cried but the two of them were so entranced by the light they could not hear a thing.

The enigmatic figure on the dais lifted its head slightly and there was an audible intake of air.  The light above its head momentarily faded.  Its cloak dropped away, revealing countless tentacles dangling from its neck.  Each tentacle ended in a thin, curved prongs that dripped with blood.

          Out of the corner of his downcast eyes, Remiel caught sight of the tentacles and shuddered. ‘Argas!’ he whispered to himself.  Long ago Caliban had told him about a creature he had stumbled across in scrolls he had acquired from ancient vaults under the city of Caquix.  The creature was called Argas and if there was a member of the Cabal to be feared more than the others, this was it.  It used its lantern to entrance its prey and then it would blind them.  The creature would rip out its victims’ hearts with its tentacles and feed upon the bloody organs.

          Suddenly the glowing orb above Argas erupted.  A pure, intense light shot out over the vast space, stripping all colours away as its white brilliance impacted upon every surface.  The light was so bright that Trypp could see it though his eyelids were shut.  As it erupted, a faint whipping sound sliced through the air.

          Without thinking Trypp leapt to his left, his arms blindly stretching out for Gerriod Blake.  As he collided with the mariner, the Sapphyrran’s carapace was hit by something with tremendous force.  Not since the attack of the Morrigu above Skyfall Town had Trypp felt such violent power.  Fortunately, whatever hit him had been aimed for Gerriod, who lay under Trypp’s body with a vacuous expression on his face.

         Gunther Ross was not so lucky.  When the white light exploded from the glowing orb, the Tethran was staring straight into it.  Deep in his mind, he knew something was wrong, knew he shouldn’t be standing there defenceless before the small, strange being in the centre of the theatre.  Gunther was also aware of something snaking through the air at him at incredible speed.  He was so transfixed by the beguiling light that he did not even move as the thin claw at the end of the creature’s tentacle gripped onto the edges of the metal plate he had grafted to his chest ten years before.  The Tethran just stood there impassively as the talons dug under the plate and ripped twenty square inches of metal from his flesh. 

          The searing pain wrested Gunther’s mind back into his control and he screamed a wrenching cry of pure agony as if his very soul had been torn out of him.  He fell to the dusty, blood spewing from his torso like a volcanic eruption.

         Pylos was saved by years of discipline in the field.  He had walked forward, his eyes clenched tightly, holding the shatterstone sword firmly in his grasp.  Its hilt was held before his waist so that its dark blade protected his naked torso and the rapidly beating heart inside it.  Moments after the bright light shot out across the theatre, Pylos felt something collide into his sword with such force that the Helyan thought his wrists had been broken from jarring impact.  Then with greater strength than Pylos thought possible, the sword was ricked out of his hands.  The Helyan fell forward to his knees as he vainly tried to keep his prized weapon within his grasp.

         Sefar and Remiel were untouched.  From where Sefar cowed behind the priest, all he had seen were Remiel’s flapping black robes superimposed over the ethereal glow coming from the centre of the theatre.  In the fulgent detonation that followed, Remiel just became a black shield against the luminous assault.  In his peripheral vision Sefar could make out countless clawed tentacles whipping past on either side of him.  One slammed into the crimson wall behind which Maeldune was hiding, ripping away the stone, leaving the Acoran exposed.  Sefar’s gaze switched to Gunther Ross, whose hands were clutching his chest feverishly as he fell to the theatre’s floor.

         Sefar expected Remiel to fall just as Gunther had.  There was no way the priest could have evaded the strange being’s savage appendages.  But he seemed unharmed.

          As innumerable tentacles retreated back to their source, slithering across the red floor like serpents returning to their nest, Remiel spun around to see what had befallen his comrades.  ‘Get back to the wall!’ he screamed to the others.

          They ran like they had never run before.  Pylos picked up Gunther, and Trypp picked up Gerriod.  It would not be long before the creature struck again.  They had seconds to find shelter.  Argas had already gathered up his tentacles and was ready to cast them out once more.

           A split-second after the fleeing group had vaulted over the small wall that ringed the arena, the light exploded once more.  The sound of Argas’ claws smashing into the rock wall filled the air and then the wall was gone.  Argas had ripped down the only thing that stood between it and its quarry.  The company had no-where left to hide.

          A dark shape leapt out of a pile of bodies to their left.  It was Maeldune.  He was covered in blood.  He had gathered the dead around him like a shield and it had saved him from Argas’ second assault.  ‘Hide under the bodies!’ he cried.  ‘It’s our only hope.’

Pylos could not bring himself to even consider using the dead as shields.  ‘No, you’re only delaying the inevitable.  There’s got to be another way!’

          Trypp stated flatly, ‘I will not disrespect the departed.’

          Maeldune spat back at him, ‘It’s alright for you Sapphyrran – you’ve got a shell to hide in.’

          The tentacles slithered back down the stands’ steps, returning to their host.  A third attack was only moments away.

          ‘Get behind me, all of you!’ Remiel roared.

          Sefar shook his head at the priest.  ‘Father Gideon, I don’t know what you did before, but you can’t protect us all.’

          ‘Get behind me!’ Remiel repeated, aware that they had only seconds before the clawed appendages would fly out again.  This time they would hit their marks.

          Somewhere outside, the sound of the crawling Colossi was like a death knell.  Boom!

          Pylos ignored Remiel and scanned the arena for his sword.  His eyes flicked back and forth frantically until…  ‘There!’  It stood like a black crucifix in the dusty red dirt in front of the dais.  Without even thinking of whether he had time to do it, Pylos leapt onto the area and started sprinting for the weapon.

          ‘What’s he doing?’ said Maeldune incredulously.

          ‘He’s trying to save us,’ Trypp observed.

          ‘He’s going to get himself killed,’ Maeldune retorted.

          Remiel’s face was a portrait of desperation.  ‘Pylos no!  You don’t have time.’  But the Helyan wasn’t listening.

          Another booming sound reverberated across the theatre, but Pylos could not hear it above the beating of his heart.  The tentacles had almost fully retracted and he was over ten yards away from the sword.  The light above Argas’ head dimmed once more before releasing its energy.  Pylos reached for his sword but unexpectedly he found himself upended by one of the last tentacles to return to the body of the creature he was trying to kill.

          ‘Pylos!’ Trypp shouted desperately but his voice was drowned out by the dull pounding noise beyond the theatre.

Pylos scrambled to his feet but he had nowhere to go.

          In an act that was as reckless as it was honourable, Trypp leapt back onto the arena and raced towards Pylos who was still many feet from the sword.  

          In the stands Maeldune cowered behind a bloody heartless body and everyone closed their eyes as the explosion of light spilled over the stadium like the wrath of a god.  Trypp kept on running despite the futility of his actions.  Pylos bit down hard on his tongue in anticipation of the sheer agony of having his heart ripped out of his torso.

 

 

Suddenly the whole world seemed to be thrown upside down and every single body in the theatre, dead or otherwise, was thrown a few feet into the air as the ground beneath them moved.  The bright light was gone and for a while nothing made sense.

Pylos was the first to dare opening his eyes and for a brief moment, he was totally disoriented.  The air around him was thick with crimson dust.  Behind him he could make out the figure of Trypp lying face down in the dirt.  The Sapphyrran lifted his head, totally confused as to what had just transpired.  Another booming sound echoed through the stadium but this one not as close as the one that had sounded before.

          ‘Are you okay?’ Pylos asked Trypp, extending a hand to help the Sapphyrran from the ground.  But his companion didn’t take his hand; he didn’t even notice it.  His eyes were focused on the incomprehensibly large creature overhead.  It was one of the Colossi.

Pylos wheeled around following Trypp’s gaze and upon seeing the gigantic figure so close that he felt a strange sense of earthbound vertigo, he fell back down on his rump, breathless and amazed.

          Slowly it dawned on him what had happened.  The Colossi known as Galam had placed a village-sized hand down upon the theatre, levelling the stand.  Not only had Galam destroyed half the stadium, it had squashed the Cabal creature like a bug.  The dais was crushed and all that was left of their assailant was a dark smear on the ground and the stains of hundreds of flattened tentacles.

          ‘It’s dead!’ Pylos said with a profound sense of relief and lay back on the ground, shut his eyes and thanked his gods he had been spared yet again.

          ‘What were you thinking?’ Trypp asked curiously, without any note of criticism in his voice.  ‘You were never going to make it to your sword.’

          Without opening his eyes, Pylos  smiled.  ‘There’s an old Helyan saying: If you must die in battle, do so running at your opponent, not away from him.  I always liked that saying.’

          A deep laughed sounded from behind the pair.  ‘And you, Pylos, just had to take it literally!’

          Pylos sat up and swung around to see Sefar, alive and intact.  ‘In Helyas we only take things literally.’

          Trypp stood and smiled at Sefar.  ‘It is good to see you safe, Sefar.  We were fortunate to have an unexpected ally in this fight.’

Maeldune stepped out from behind Sefar, his eyes fixed on the departing figure of the Colossi.  ‘You don’t think that dumb brute knew what it was doing, do you?’

          ‘Why don’t you run after it and ask it, Minister?’ Pylos sneered as he got to his feet.

          ‘Strange it is that it did not step on any of us,’ Trypp said before Maeldune could respond.  ‘It killed this monster but spared our company.  It saved us.’

          ‘It didn’t save these people,’ Sefar observed grimly and all eyes went to the thousands of corpses surrounding them, many of whom had been squashed into the rock and dirt of the theatre.  Sefar had a point.  If Galam had any concern for tiny creatures with whom he shared the Myr, the dead surrounding them lay in stark contradiction to such feelings.  ‘We were saved by lumbering chance, not ancient wisdom.  We were just lucky.’

 

 

Gerriod made his way over to the small group near the shattered dais.  He was clearly unnerved by what had transpired, and although he had no broken bones or wounds, he walked slowly, an older, wearier man.  ‘I think you’d better come.  Captain Ross is in a bad way.’

 

 

Gunther lay in the stands being cradled by Remiel, surrounded by a thick pool of blood.  Pylos stepped forward but the other members of the squad kept their distance, as if to provide what little dignity they could to Gunther’s inevitable demise.  A wound as terrible as the one he had received could only lead to death.

          Remiel was crouched over the Tethran whose eyes were shut and body was still.  Much to Pylos’ surprise, Remiel’s hand lay across Gunther’s bloody chest.

          Pylos knelt down beside them.  ‘Please Father Gideon, let me inspect his injury!’

          Remiel leaned back and his hand slid off Gunther’s chest.  Pylos prepared himself for the sight of mangled flesh.

          There was not a mark on him.  Although his shirt was torn apart, his skin was untouched.  There was no wound where the iron breastplate had been torn from his flesh.  

          Gunther’s chest heaved as air filled it and moments later his eyes opened.  He was dazed but very much alive.

          ‘What devilry is this?’ Pylos asked Remiel who looked upon the miracle without any sense of shock.

          ‘I used a vial I once acquired from a Tuirrenian apothecary.  A healing potion.’

          Pylos eyed the priest suspiciously.  ‘I have never heard of any potion that can bring a man back from the dead.’

          Remiel shook his head.  ‘He was not dead when I administered the solution.  Close to it, yes, but not gone from us.’

          Pylos nodded but there was nothing in his face that indicated he accepted the explanation.

 

 

The company left the theatre.  Trypp ventured off to find Mulupo whilst the others discussed their next steps.

          ‘What’s the plan Minister?’  It was a simple enough question but Maeldune knew that Pylos was – yet again – testing the Acoran’s ability to lead.

          ‘We’ll leave this place as soon as we can.  We should find supplies in the surrounding buildings.  We’ll only need water.  We can eat when we get to Brigantia.  I would like to be there within two days.’

          ‘There are stables not far from here,’ said Gunther faintly.  Although he was on his feet, he seemed damaged in a way that could not be healed.  His arrogant swagger had completely disappeared.  The defiance in his eyes had dimmed.  His armoured shoulders slumped and his voice trembled.  Pylos could not help but stare at him.  It was difficult to see any trace of the man who once occupied that metal-plated body.

          It was understandable.  Gunther had just discovered the massacre of thousands of his countrymen.  It was doubtful he would ever be the same again.

           ‘You mean to take the Brigand Road?’ Remiel asked Maeldune.

          ‘Yes.  In light of this catastrophe, there seems little point in taking a less obvious route.’

          Remiel nodded.  ‘I agree.  We should abandon secrecy in favour of speed.  Caliban lashes out at all the world now.  Thousands died this night.  Every moment that passes, more are slain.  We must get ourselves to the Worldpool without delay.’

          ‘What was that creature?’ Sefar said.  ‘Does anybody know what it was we just fought?’

          After seconds of silence, Remiel spoke.  ‘Its name was Argas and it was one of the most powerful and dangerous members of the Cabal.’

          ‘Forgive me for asking this, Father,’ said Pylos warily, ‘but how does a priest know such things?’

          ‘I was not always a priest Pylos,’ Remiel answered with a tone that declared that he was unwilling to discuss the matter further.

          ‘Well, it’s dead now, so this mission only gets easier now, right?’ Gerriod suggested, not really believing any of the words that left his mouth.  ‘Right?’

          ‘If no-one else has anything worthwhile to add,’ said Maeldune brusquely, ‘I suggest we make preparations for our journey to Brigantia.  I would like to leave within the hour.’

          ‘I have something more to add.’

          ‘What is it General?’ A note of suspicion could be heard in Maeldune’s voice.

          ‘Maeldune, I must ask your forgiveness.  Until this night, I must say I had certain… concerns about you.’

          Maeldune’s face darkened.  ‘General –’

          ‘No let me finish.  I will be direct.  Bannick’s murder filled me with suspicion and – though it shames me to admit it – I thought you capable of that sort of betrayal.’

          ‘General, may I remind you that I am –’

          ‘Yes, you are Minister for Justice.  We are all well aware of that.  Just… hear me out.’

          ‘Very well,’ Maeldune said uncomfortably.

          ‘I must admit that I even entertained the thought that you had a part to play in the Ghul attack two nights ago.  Your convenient absence from the fight was hard to ignore.’

          ‘As I said –’

          ‘But tonight I have abandoned all my suspicions.’

          ‘And why is that General Castalia?’ Maeldune said contemptuously.  He felt he was being patronised by Pylos and it was not something to which someone of his station was accustomed.

          ‘Argas.’

          Maeldune’s face went pale at the mention of Argas’ name.  The Acoran could still hear the sound of the stone wall cracking as the creature’s claws pounded into it, seeking to find his heart so that it could tear it out.  

          Pylos laughed.  ‘Yes.  It tried to kill you too.  Either I’ve been wrong about you and you’re on our side, or…’ – he paused for effect – ‘or Caliban doesn’t like his servants very much and cares little whether you live or die.’

 

 

Trypp came up to the group accompanied by Mulupo.  The Spriggan had blood all over his gold waistcoat, but he seemed unharmed.  He slumped to the ground and placed his head in his hands.

          ‘The blood’s not his,’ Trypp explained.  ‘He found the bodies of the Spriggan traders.  They had been slaughtered not far from the arena’s entrance.’

          ‘Slaughtered?  By whom?’

          ‘Ghul.  They were riddled with arrows carved from bone.  It seems they had been lined up and shot.’

          Remiel knelt down beside Mulupo and stroked his head tenderly.  ‘I’m sorry Mulupo.’

          ‘I know his name,’ Mulupo said plainly.

          ‘What?’

          ‘The Ghul commander who is responsible.  I know his name.’

          ‘You saw him?’

          ‘Yes.  He even introduced himself to me.  His name was…’

 

---

 

‘Lucetious.’

          ‘You called for me, Lord?’

          Caliban hobbled forward and placed a hand on Lucetious’ shoulder in a show of affection.  ‘Yes, I did.  I have been watching the events unfold in Tethra with great interest.  The Spriggan’s ingenuity in dispatching the carnopod was truly inspiring, wouldn’t you say, Lucetious?’

          ‘It was most resourceful.’

          ‘Indeed,’ croaked Caliban, ‘but I am growing nervous about my old friend Maeldune Canna.  I think he needs our help.  Pylos Castalia clearly suspects him of duplicity.  I think it is time we changed that.  For your next task, Maeldune must be considered… expendable.’

          ‘Do you want them all killed?’

          ‘I want them tested further.  Certainly the squad you sent to the Stone Forest wasn’t up to the task.  I want to push these men who plan to kill me.  You must move quickly – you have little time.  You are to take Argas to the place they call the Scarlet Rock Theatre.’

But Lord, surely Argas will –’

          ‘Slaughter my brother and his companions?  That is unlikely.  Pylos is far too resilient to dismiss so easily.  I think the Sapphyrran could also surprise you.  If worst comes to worst and lives are about to be lost, I believe my dear brother will reveal himself as Morgai.  He is more than a match for Argas but he does not want to divulge his identity to his companions.’

          ‘Then this attack is just to force his hand.’

          'Yes.  It would make for an interesting game.  It is time that the Myrrans realised that Remiel Grayson walks among them.  Let Argas know a banquet awaits him.  He will be able to feed on the hearts of thousands enjoying a night out at the opera.’

          ‘Opera?’

          ‘There is no time to explain.  Set up a perimeter around the theatre.  No-one leaves.’

          ‘Yes, my lord.  It will be done.’

 

---

 

‘What did he say to you Mulupo?’

          Mulupo looked up at Remiel with eyes that articulated his pain more than mere words could.  The Spriggan had held out hope that his people would survive, they would rebuild, but in light of the horrors he had just witnessed outside the Scarlet Rock Theatre, their future seemed bleak.  Genocide, it seemed, was a foregone conclusion.

          ‘What did Lucetious say?’ Remiel repeated.

          ‘Nothing,’ Mulupo replied.  ‘As I lay there clutching my compatriots, he just bade his troops to fire upon me.’

          ‘What happened?’

          ‘A brilliant light radiated from the theatre. The closest Colossi seemed to take an interest in it.  I think it found the light to be… disconcerting.’

          ‘What happened to the Ghul?’

          ‘They fled.  Some took refuge in the theatre, which did not prove to be a choice characterised by sapience as this was the section that was decimated by the Colossi’s monumental arrival.  It was a serendipitous turn of events on a less than serendipitous night.’

          Mulupo turned away, not wanting to discuss the matter further.  Respecting this, his companions set about their duties.  None of them wanted to stay a moment longer at the theatre than they had to.    

 

 

‘Father Gideon, I have found some stores of water but I’ll need a hand carrying them.  Could you assist me?’

          Remiel glanced up to see Pylos leaning against the theatre’s outer wall.  He was tapping his foot which seemed uncharacteristic.  Pylos did not seem like the impatient type.

          ‘Of course,’ Remiel replied and stood up to accompany Pylos.

 

 

They made their way to the far side of the ruined theatre to a small building that had escaped the Colossi’s path of destruction.  It seemed a long way to go to fetch water.

          Pylos opened the door.  A window let in a slither of moonlight but it was not enough to illuminate the room.  ‘The drums are against the far wall,’ Pylos said as he stood in the doorway and waited for his companion to walk past him.  Remiel thought it strange that Pylos had not left a lamp lit when he had found the water.

          Before he had a chance to recognise the sound of a sword being drawn from its scabbard, Remiel’s body stiffened as a searing pain shot through his back.  He looked down to see a dark blade, smeared with blood, sticking out his stomach.  He was about to die at the hands of Pylos Castalia.