It had been so difficult to know what to do when Crystal was taken. The kidnappers had knocked Tremlon out with one too many blows to the head and killed the warrior without mercy. Matt had known fear before, but in a different world and in a different place. Here, he was out of his depth and he could never win against those who were deemed to be mystical beings. His eyes misted over and he shivered involuntarily. He realised what a fool he’d been to accompany Crystal to this place. He had not fled on a horse, which perhaps a wiser man would have done. Instead, he’d fought with the bitter wind to cover Tremlon’s motionless body with the dead warrior’s coat, searching for anything that might prove useful in saving the shape-changer’s life. He’d no idea how far he was from the Kingdom of Nine Winters, so he’d sat and waited to be rescued, alone and vulnerable, until his blood turned to ice.
A shout rang out and two of the search party were seen dragging Arhdel’s body towards the fire. They had found him lying only a few yards away with the young warrior by his side. The deep snow, which acted like a blanket, had saved both their lives. The soldier revived Arhdel from his icy slumber, warm rugs were flung around his shoulders and a mug of something hot and sweet shoved into his trembling hands. The warrior’s attention was fixed on the flames which danced and licked the air until Tremlon moved to his side whilst Matt was drifting in an out of consciousness.
‘Who did this to us?’ Tremlon asked, sitting beside him and warming his numb fingers.
‘Nonhawk, it was Nonhawk.’
‘Do you have proof?’
‘I don’t need any, I know how they work.’
‘Arhdel, they’ve taken the girl.’
‘Then they have probably taken her to their king.’
‘Why, what would he want with her?’
Arhdel shrugged his shoulders, making it clear he didn’t know.
‘Getting her back is not going to be easy,’ he said, instead. ‘King Forusian is a very powerful king; he has a considerable-sized army and his magical powers are supreme within the Nonhawk.’
‘What do you know of the Nonhawk?’ asked Tremlon, trying to keep calm. Arhdel chose his words carefully before continuing.
‘As you may be aware they are a mixed breed; they are impure, once created between goblin and elf. However, their leader, King Forusian, is not of their blood. He was once an Oakwood wizard banished for his crimes against his realm and sent to a life of exile. It was written many centuries ago by the wise men of our time that no future races should ever be mixed again because of what it produced. The Nonhawk became an evil breed; goblins came from the dark side of magic and the elves from the light. Mixed together like fire and oil they made a deadly concoction.
‘Legend has it that when our world was created, having been split from the ordinary world, the Nonhawk decided they would take over the ordinary world and rule it, and when the two worlds separated, the Nonhawk jumped from our world to the next. Thankfully, they jumped a fraction of a second too late and the divide had already taken place. They fell in-between the two worlds and saw only darkness, where they lived for many centuries. The ordinary world would not forgive them for their betrayal and decreed a law banishing them from ever entering their world again. The extraordinary world, for some reason perhaps known only to a few, took pity on the Nonhawk and allowed them access back into our world on two conditions: that they use magic only in their own territory and never try to rule another realm again. They were given a kingdom of their own, but in actual fact they were cast out.’
Arhdel placed his empty mug in-between his feet and pulled the rug tighter around his shoulders to keep out the chill which threatened to return.
‘I am starting to have terrible feelings about all this,’ he continued, his voice flat. ‘I just know in my bones this is all Forusian’s doing. He is ruthless and has never tried to hide his perverse desire to take over the extraordinary world and become the ruler of all. Now Crystal has somehow become ensnared whilst he conspires against us; I’m afraid she may somehow hold the key to Forusian’s future plans.’
‘How will we get to her?’ asked Tremlon, his voice betraying his jangled senses. ‘What do you know of his castle?’
‘Unfortunately, a great deal,’ Arhdel answered. ‘I know you can only access the castle by crossing two bridges over the outer moat and entering through the main gatehouse on the eastern side.’
‘Can’t we attack from the sea?’
‘No, that would be futile. We would have to approach by land, however, the castle has a twin-towered gateway barring unwanted access and it’s the only way in.’
‘Okay, so say we somehow manage to get inside, what do you know of the layout?’
‘Well, I know the castle has two imposing turrets which house the prisoners and the soldiers. One of the turrets leads to the cliff face and the other is where the portcullis mechanism is kept and where Forusian tortures his victims and gains access to the murder holes.’
Tremlon heard himself gulp.
‘So, what will he do with Crystal?’
‘I have no idea; however, I feel he will want to keep her safe if she is valuable to him.’
‘Do you know where his private chambers are?’
‘No, but that wouldn’t be difficult to find out.’
‘How come you know so much about him?’ asked Tremlon, eyeing the soldier warily.
‘Let’s just say I had the misfortune of staying as his unwanted guest for quite some time,’ the warrior replied, touching his scar with his frozen fingertips.
Tremlon’s face fell.
‘We must find Crystal and bring her back immediately,’ he said, realising Arhdel’s words confirmed his worst fears. ‘If what you say is true and we don’t succeed, then we will lose our realm to the Nonhawk and live as slaves for generations to come.’
‘We must first speak with King Gamada,’ said Arhdel, rallying with infuriating swiftness. ‘He will know what we must do.’
‘Then to the palace we go,’ said Tremlon, already throwing his drink into the fire. ‘Phaphos!’ he shouted, his courage igniting. ‘We must leave immediately.’
*
They rode like the wind, the horses sensing their riders’ urgency and galloping with haste. Matt sat on the back of Tremlon’s horse, his arms wrapped around the elf’s waist and his fingers locked together in a tight grip. When at last they arrived at the gates of Nine Winters, there was no warm welcome. Instead, many warriors dressed in black and holding long, pointed spears stood in line waiting to escort them to the king. When the group of horses rode between them in a swirl of sleet and snow, the soldiers rounded upon themselves, shoulder to shoulder, to stop them from turning and making their escape. Tremlon blanched, realising they were under arrest, and he tightened his grip on the reins.
Matt was oblivious to their dilemma and busy enjoying the scenery, finding the mountains spectacular, and he called out to Tremlon to tell him his home reminded him of Liechtenstein in Bavaria and that he almost expected someone to pop out from the top of a mountain and start to yodel.
Tremlon shook his head at the boy’s ignorance and sighed.
‘Where’s the castle?’ Matt asked him, searching the horizon for a sign of a battlement.
‘There isn’t one,’ Tremlon answered, sounding tiresome. ‘The king lives in a palace, inside the mountain.’
They rode the rest of the way in silence until they were urged by the guards to dismount. Muttering and complaining Tremlon, Arhdel and Matt jumped down onto firmer ground. The guards appeared cautious when they forced their prisoners towards a wall of rock and once they could go no further, it was Phaphos who outstretched his hand and touched the stone. Matt was surprised to hear a low rumble from within the mountain and whilst he watched in awe, a deep crack appeared within the surface of the stone, then the rock crumbled away and a passageway became exposed.
‘Off you go,’ insisted one of the guards, pushing the tip of his spear in the small of Tremlon’s back. ‘The king await
s your return.’
Tremlon almost snarled but took a step inside instead and both Matt and Arhdel followed with Phaphos somewhere behind them. Inside the rock was a labyrinth of long, dark corridors and echoing passageways. Watery pools filled with silvery liquid had produced a city of stalactites along the roofline and the temperature was ice-cold. The small group travelled deeper inside the mountain and large naked flames licked at the rocks when the soldiers lit several sconces.
Eventually they approached what looked like a large floating ball of purple mist which hovered over a stone archway, blocking their path. Matt wanted to touch it, to feel its soft consistency, but he knew better than to let his curiosity get the better of him and it was Phaphos who once again took charge. He stretched out his palm, allowing his fingers to mingle inside the mist, and he stepped forward, pushing his hand deeper inside, searching its core. The mist started to disintegrate until it floated away in wisps of trailing vapours.
‘What would have happened if a mortal had touched it?’ Matt whispered in Arhdel’s ear. The warrior couldn’t help chuckle.
‘You would have been vaporised and become part of the mist,’ he said, allowing a tight smile to hover around the corners of his mouth.
‘Go on ahead,’ interrupted one of the guards, pointing to the entranceway with his spear, ‘we can go no further, but you must enter at once.’
Tremlon became agitated.
‘I am sure we can find our way,’ he snapped, taking a step inside and nodding for Matt to follow. ‘It isn’t like I haven’t been here before!’
The transformation once they passed through the doorway was truly exceptional. The stone corridors changed to columns of polished marble and the design was smooth and incomparable. To their left, an arrangement of unique gemstones lay on slabs of solid gold. The gems shone like polished stars and the vibrant colours of fire opals and dragon’s breath teased their sparkling eyes. Petrified raindrops dangled like chandeliers from the ceilings and prisms of light dazzled them with the colours of the rainbow.
‘Wow!’ said Matt, utterly mesmerised. He had never seen so many jewels before, and black-and-white diamonds the size of plums were sat in bowls of white crystal. His fingers reached out and brushed against a bunch of red rubies, the gemstones sitting like fat berries waiting to be plucked, and he cradled them in his hands, not wishing to put them back.
‘Put them down!’ ordered a stuffy man who suddenly appeared from nowhere. He wore a tall, silver-and-black pointed hat and a heavy robe stretched with difficulty around his plump waist.
‘Didn’t you hear me!’ the voice boomed when Matt turned deaf. ‘Why, I’ll have you skinned alive, boy, if you don’t do as I say immediately!’
Matt bristled and reluctantly let the rubies fall from his grasp. The Lord Chamberlain raised a quizzical eyebrow at Tremlon and Arhdel, before waving a theatrical hand and motioning for two large doors to open.
‘The king is awaiting your arrival in the throne room,’ he said, shooing them along like lost sheep. ‘And it would be wise not to keep him waiting.’
When Matt entered court, he immediately spotted a few hostile stares from the elder courtiers who made him feel rather uncomfortable and he moved closer to Tremlon’s side. He noted their clothes were very different from his own. The young women wore long, ceremonial dresses which clung provocatively to their well-shaped bodies and Matt felt himself gulp when he was unable to avert his eyes. The men wore clothes that were just as regal and their eyes sought his when he passed them by, their eagerness to see a real, live mortal written all over their faces.
The usher made his way to Matt’s side; he was a short, dumpy man with dark hair and equally dark, liquid eyes. He gripped Matt’s arm with vice-like fingers and pulled him out of sight along with Phaphos. Matt tried to protest, but Tremlon shot him a look that made the words die in his throat and so he watched Arhdel and Tremlon make their way to the king’s throne instead.
‘Well, well, well, my most faithful servants have returned,’ said the king, when they approached.
‘Your Majesty,’ Arhdel began.
‘Silence, you imbecile!’ roared Gamada, clearly infuriated. ‘Don’t you think I already know how you have failed me?’ He stared in disgust at Tremlon and Arhdel who had fallen to their knees, their heads bent low in shame. Yet wasn’t it he who was truly at fault? Wasn’t it because he had been so naive to believe Forusian would not have known when Crystal entered their world?
He cursed himself for his own stupidity, taking his vengeance out on his two most loyal subjects. He had to think of a plan to get his granddaughter back or the whole kingdom and his future as king could be in serious peril. He took a moment to compose himself whilst both elves squirmed beneath his feet. He placed his cold stare on the backs of their necks and as he toyed with an idea that was starting to form behind his hooded eyes, he became more pensive.
‘Get to your feet,’ he ordered, gesturing for the Lord Chamberlain to hurry to his side, ‘for I have decided, there is much for you to do.’
Chapter 8
Amadeus sat on the king’s horse, looking down at the lush valley below. It had taken him three days to reach the valley of Raven’s Rainbow and now he had finally arrived he was filled with an unexpected sense of foreboding.
Since an ancient law was broken here many years ago, elves were no longer welcome and he felt his shoulders knot with tension. His horse made its way down the steep ravine and Amadeus held the reins tightly when the mud slipped from the sides of the slope, causing his horse to stumble over loose rocks and large sods of earth. He headed towards the river and the horse broke its surface with an unexpected splash, and she whinnied in dire protest when the icy water rose up to her belly.
Kicking his horse on, he urged her through the freezing current until they reached the other side of the bank and then he pushed on towards the cover of trees. He needed to make it to the traveller’s rest before nightfall. He was weary and wanted to be fresh when he finally came face-to-face with the wizard, Bridgemear.
Unfamiliar noises filled the bristling trees whilst Amadeus rode through the dense forest. Tension tightened the muscles on his shoulders as taut as piano strings and his eyes darted from side to side in his attempt to be vigilant. A sudden movement caught his eye and he reached for his sword, manipulating his horse to turn so that he could ensure no one was planning to attack him from behind. He wished he hadn’t come, wished the king had chosen someone else. He pushed his horse on whilst the wind died and a gentle stillness settled around him. The trees spoke to each other in secret whispers and calm settled over the forest.
It was a few lonely hours later when he broke through a set of trees and found himself in a less dense area. He followed a track going east to Fortune’s End, where he planned to rest for the night. It had grown dark, but he managed to make out the minute hut which sat alone in a small clearing. He dismounted his horse and immediately felt the presence of another, but he was not afraid; this was neutral territory, even for elves. He unfastened his saddle and the horse gave a snort of appreciation.
Out of the shadows a small gnarled figure came to greet him with a dented lantern held securely in his hand. He had short legs and fat arms, his face was drawn with many lines across it and his age had been forgotten long ago. He wore only a shirt and a pair of trousers, but the evening was strangely warm so there was no need for anything more.
‘Welcome, weary traveller, come in and rest the night,’ said the keeper, gesturing for him to approach. Amadeus relaxed his shoulders and pulled the bed roll off his mount. He was relieved to see that the man he had sensed was not a wizard.
‘That would be very much appreciated,’ said Amadeus, walking towards him with a smile.
‘Come in, come in,’ said the keeper, stepping aside to allow Amadeus to enter. ‘There is no need of a fire tonight, but I have hot food. Please, come and place your bed down whilst I pour you a drink to wash the dust from your throat.’
The keeper placed the lantern on a small pine table, the light sending gigantic shadows across the walls. The room was sparse but clean and the keeper reached for a goblet from a shelf, pouring a sparkling liquid into it from an old, battered carafe.
‘You speak the words I have longed to hear,’ grinned Amadeus, when the keeper offered him the goblet.
‘I can tell by your clothes you have travelled far. I will see to you first and then I will see to your horse.’
‘You are very kind,’ said Amadeus, taking a gulp of his wine and finding it refreshing.
‘My name is Nekton,’ said the dwarf, closing the door, ‘and as you may have guessed, I am the keeper here.’ They shook hands and Amadeus noticed the dwarf had a strong grip, a sign of sincerity.
‘The washbasin is in the back,’ Nekton explained, releasing his grip. ‘You’ll find what you need to clean yourself there.’
Amadeus was soon washed and changed, and he sat expectantly at the table. Nekton was as good as his word and presented him with a hearty meal.
‘Oh, I love feefalas cooked this way,’ said Amadeus, when he saw what he’d prepared. The meat had been cooked in rich, dark gravy seasoned with black pepper and garlic, and was accompanied by fresh vegetables and a mountain of potatoes.
‘This reminds me,’ Amadeus continued, when his mouth stopped watering, ‘of when I was a boy and my mother used to cook for me and my brothers.’ The memory of his childhood flashed before his eyes; they had been good times.
‘Dig in my friend, whilst I attend to your horse. I am sure she is just as hungry, but definitely not as thirsty as you,’ Nekton chuckled as he watched Amadeus fill his goblet for the third time.
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