

Jewels of Darkness Novella

  
THE DARKNESS RISES by Peter McBride

1 
As he struggled to raise himself, a searing shaft of pain stabbed through his 
skull and set a deep throbbing thrumming in his temples. He was blinded by an 
angry vivid light though his eyes were closed, lids weighed down by a weariness 
that reached from the depths of his tortured body. 
He tried to lift an arm, and the pain redoubled, sweeping in a rush, a 
floodtide of great waves of crashing agony that crashed on the shores of his 
innermost self. A cry escaped his lips, bitten back almost as soon as it was 
sounded. Even in the tormenting tires of his pain, the treacherous cry was 
accursed. He must show no weakness. 
Once more he fought to sit up and to look about him. A heavy hand rested on 
his shoulder and held him down. 
"Be still. Be still. You have suffered much. You must rest." 
The deep voice rumbled softly, easing through the agony and from the heavy 
hand flowed a gentle strength that reached into his soul and pressed back the 
tide of pain. The glaring agony dimmed and he sank once more into the darkness. 
He slept the deep sleep of exhaustion, but in the early dawn he woke again, 
drenched in sweat yet icy cold, haunted by the hideous faces of the nightmare. 
Nightmare? Nightmare? No, for it had been! 
He opened his eyes and looked at the firelight flickering on the rough-hewn 
walls, but he saw only the light of his camp fire and the dancing points of 
light reflected off the vicious curved blades and in the vicious animal eyes of 
the shrieking, leaping, hacking devils that had burst upon them from the 
blackness of the night, from the blackness of the caverns of evil, bursting into 
their circle of light and life and sweeping through it in a ravaging torrent of 
death. 
He saw again that evil face, eyes afire with the lust of destruction, mouth 
agape and great crooked fangs poised to plunge into his throat. The howl of 
triumph. Then the sudden jerk, and the howl of death and the black tongue 
lolling and the choking cough and the black blood welling and the blackness 
covered him. 
He recoiled from the vision and with the movement the pain returned, but the 
voice and the hand were there. 
"Be still." 
And he was still and slept once more. 

2 
Brandon the dwarf jutted out his chin and stared at the dragon, waiting for 
it to make its move. Slowly the dragon reached out a horny claw towards him, 
then suddenly it snatched at his beard and lifted it. 
"Keep your beard off the board. I can't see the pieces" it hissed. "And I 
know you cheat behind it!" It lifted the beard higher, pulling Brandon's chin up 
until all he could see was the cavern roof high above. With its other claw, the 

dragon rearranged the red and blue gems on the chequered board. 
"Your move, master dwarf!" It let go of Brandon and gave him a leering grin. 
The dwarf looked at the board and knew he had been had again. The dragon was a 
terrible cheat. It was probably a rotten loser too, but until they got to the 
end of a game without it cheating, Brandon would never know. 
"Looks like you win again, Oh Great One." said Brandon. "Another game? Double 
or quits?" 
"Why not? I do enjoy our little games." The dragon picked up a long golden 
sword encrusted with jewels and bit a nick out of the blade. "How much do you 
owe me now?" it asked, counting along the nicks. "1, 2, 3, 8,16, ... er ... 22, 
... um 40 bags of gold. One of these days, master dwarf, you are going to have 
to pay your debts." 
"One of these days I might win!" said Brandon brightly. The dragon belched 
smoke as it laughed. 
Brandon coughed and wiped the smoke from his eyes as he set up the board 
again. This time he was going to watch the dragon like a hawk and make sure 
it didn't cheat. 

3 
In the days that followed he was aware of waking time and again into pain and 
the presence of the big man. The pain eased, but the big man was always there. 
He remembered bowls of a hot sweet infusion, and the taste was there still, 
redolent of forest herbs and wild mountain honey. Its warmth and fragrance had 
done much to dispel the cold nightmare of suffering. 
He heard a movement on the other side of the room, and turned to the noise. 
He saw a broad back bent by the tire, thick coarse hair merging into the thick 
coarse fur of a dark wolfskin jacket. He heard the sound of a pot being stirred 
and the rich smells of thick broth wafted across to him. 
Fully awake now, he realised that the one who tended him must also be the 
one who had saved him from a savage death. There could have been no other, for 
he had seen all his comrades fall around him, hacked and torn. He should have 
died too. 
"Mayhaps. Now it's time to eat. " He brought a bowl of broth over to his 
patient and propped him up in the pallet bed. "Eat." 
The food was good, and as he ate, he took in his surroundings. It was a 
cottage in the old style, with low walls and a steep pitched roof of hewn logs. 
In the centre of the room a hearth of stone held a fire now burning low. In its 
orange red light he could see the skins of bears and wolves on the floor around 
it. Beside the fire lay a dog almost as huge and shaggy-haired as the man who 
squatted on a stool by the bed. 
"Who are you that tend me?" 
"Peasants call me the Woodman. You shall too." 
"I am no peasant!" He spoke sharply, stung into life and for a moment 
forgetting his blood debt. "I am sorry, I owe you my life. I should not speak 
so." 
"Ha!" the Woodman cut him off with a brief laugh. "There's fire in you yet. 
That's good. And as for your life - when I killed that orc I didn't know it was 
still there to be saved."
"Orcs! So that's what they were. I had heard of 
them, but I thought they were the stuff of old men's tales and children's 
nightmares." In his mind's eye, he saw them again. Smaller than men, and wiry, 
clad in coarse leather with breastplates of steel, and helmets of steel low over 
the coarse leather of their skull-like faces. Most of all he remembered the 
gleaming eyes of red, and the yellowed ivory of the glistening fangs. 
"What were you doing in the Old Forest?" The Woodman's question cut through 
his vision. "It's a dark place for a young prince." His eyes glittered with 
amusement as he watched the reaction. 
"How do you know who I am?" 
"I could see it in your pride, even if your clothes and the uniforms of your 
men hadn't made it clear. Prince Tobiah isn't it? I have heard of you - and 
heard well." 
"Thank you. Yes, I am he. Would that I had heard of you before we set out. 
You would have been a good man to have had on our expedition." 
"You were hunting wolves." It was a statement, not a question. 
"Yes. They terrorise our people, those few that still try to scratch a crop 
from the dried up lands in the valleys below. We sought to rid the forest of 
wolves, but there are so many! We had killed four score or more in a se'nnight, 
yet still we heard their howls from all quarters of the forest. And then chance 
brought the orcs upon us." 
"Not chance! The orcs hunted you as you hunted the wolves." The Woodman 
turned and spat into the fire in disgust. The sharp sizzle woke the great hound. 
It turned its head and looked at his master. He caught the mood and bared his 
teeth in a snarl. The Woodman nodded. "Yes Dog, orcs. He picked up their trail 
at sunset four days ago. I saw then that they were on the track of men. Would 
that we had caught up with them sooner. There was little to do by the time we 
reached your camp." 
"My men did well," Tobiah recalled with pride. Though taken unaware, they had 
fought back and wreaked a heavy toll on their attackers. "Would that there had 
been more of us... Woodman," he asked after a moment's silence," what brought 
those orc bandits to the forest?" 
"They were no bandits, Tobiah, and they were not the only orcs in these 
parts. The forest has been infested with them throughout this last year. At 
first they came in twos and threes - spies! Though few returned to tell of 
what they found." He nodded towards a great longbow of yew that stood in a 
corner beyond. "This last month they came in greater numbers - the vanguard of 
an encroaching army, if I'm right. They seek to seal off the forest, to mass in 
its cover ready for an assault on your country." 
"Why did we know nothing of this?" 
"The Kingdom of Valaii has grown soft in the long years of peace." He snorted 
his contempt. "When did your father last send a patrol beyond the borders?" 
"It's true," Tobiah replied, "my party was the first in many a year to 
venture into the Forest." 
"And that only at your insistence?" 
The Woodman expected no answer. He could see in the face of the prince the 
strength of the ancient kings and perhaps some little hope for the future. 
Tobiah lay silent. There was much to do, if he but knew where to begin. 

4 
"Lutist, stop!" cried Queen Gwendalan, catching a noise from beyond the 
window. The musician laid a hand on the strings so that they could hear the 
street sounds more clearly. "The people shout. Does it mean that Tobi has 
returned at last?" 
"By the Gods, it's time he did." King Astuin wrung his hands. "I should never 
have let the boy go on that foolishness." 
The hubbub grew closer, bursting into the courtyard below. A wailing of grief 
foretold ill tidings. Soon footsteps were pounding towards the Royal chambers. 
The guard outside tapped briefly on the door, then opened it in haste. 
"My son! What news of my son?" asked the king desperately. 
"None, my Lord" replied the guard. "Two merchants bring ill news from the 
northern road." 
Dusty, dishevelled, nearly dropping with exhaustion, the two staggered 
into the room and fell at the king's feet. "Orcs!" they cried. 
"Where? Out with it!" 
"My Lord," panted the leader of the merchants, "our caravan was passing 
through the valley by the edge of the great forest. Of a sudden one of the 
outriders cried 'eres. Flee for your lives.' We turned, and the valley sides 
were black with orcs rushing down upon us. My companion and I were at the head 
of the caravan and our horses are swift, else none would have returned to tell 
the tale." 
"Orcs!" cried the king in horror. "Oh ye Gods, truly the darkness rises 
around us and will swallow us up!" 
"Our son! He said they came from the forest!" cried the Queen. "What of our 
son? Is he too slain? Do you have news?" she implored. 
The merchants shook their heads slowly and dolefully. 
"Hush, woman." The king spoke harshly to hide his fears. "We know nothing 
yet. Guard!" he called, "Call the High Council together immediately." 
The king's command was scarcely needed, for the councillors, hearing the 
cries of 'eres' spreading through the city, were already hurrying to the Great 
Hall. 
It was a sombre and despairing meeting of the High Council. Too many of its 
members had grown old and softened by the years of ease and peace. Even the 
great drought and the plague of wolves that afflicted the northern provinces had 
done little to stir them. Food was never short for the rich in the city, but the 
loss of the caravan to the orcs had shaken them to their souls, and to their 
pockets. 
"I am ruined!" cried Kerrinan of the Merchant's Guild. "I had ten thousand 
ducats invested in that caravan." 
"And I," moaned Verdin, the Royal Wizard. "I had sent money with the traders 
too on your advice!" He turned on Kerrinan. 
"It's the army's job to protect those roads and keep them safe for honest 
travellers." replied the merchant, looking at Eliglas, the Chief Marshall. "All 
the taxes I have paid these many years, and what is the army doing now?" 
"The army is short of men and short of arms." retorted Eliglas. "Those 
taxes you complain of were never enough to defend the Kingdom properly. 
Anyway," he continued, turning to Verdin, "the wizards should have warned us. 
These are orcs, not human foes. There must be magic at work." 
Verdin sat with his head in his hands and said nothing. The others lapsed 
into melancholy silence. 
"Where's Jarnac? Why isn't he here when we need him?" asked the king at last. 
Jarnac was crusty and sharp-tongued, but at least he wouldn't be wailing and 
wringing his hands like the other wizards. "Where is he?" King Astuin demanded, 
glaring at the Royal Wizard. 
"I know not, my liege." Verdin replied. He chose to say nothing of his last 
meeting with the old wizard. It was one that he would have preferred to forget. 
Jarnac had warned him that he felt evil was at work; that the great drought and 
the plague of wolves had been brought upon them by the black arts; that the Dark 
Lord had returned to Dom Burnur, the Black Tower beyond the northern mountains. 
He had even warned that they should soon see the shadow of orcs in their lands. 
Verdin had called him an old fool, frightened by the weather and a few wild 
animals, and had forbidden him to spread panic with his fears. He had felt no 
evil magic in the air, and was he not the greatest of them? Was he not the Royal 
Wizard? Jarnac had left the city the same day, but his parting remark stayed 
with Verdin. "I shall seek out the truth." He had said. "Pray that find it 
before it finds you." 
"Would that Prince Tobi were here." muttered one guard to another as they 
stood by the door. "These have no stomach for war." 
The king then turned to his marshall. "This is an army matter, Eliglas. I 
expect action immediately." 
"I shall send an expeditionary force out directly, sire. I think we can clear 
up these orc bandits within a few days." 
"If I may say, my liege..." Verdin interposed hesitantly. "It may well be 
that this ambush is but part of a larger problem. Taken with the other signs - 
the drought, the wolves, the disappearance of the Prince Tobiah one might 
suspect some evil hand behind it. It may be that a Dark Lord has returned to the 
Black Tower and will try again to conquer our world." The wizard was still not 
convinced that Jarnac had been right, but he felt it prudent to give the warning 
now if only to protect his own position. His announcement caused instant 
consternation. Where before men had grieved for their lost wealth, now they 
feared for their very lives. "The Demon Lord!" exclaimed the king. "Why was 
I not told of this earlier?" 
"It is but a surmise, Your Majesty. We have no firm evidence. We could 
perhaps send a party to investigate..." 
"No!" The king cried fearfully. "If he has returned, we must act immediately. 
I want the full army assembled within the week. I want ambassadors sent to all 
our neighbouring friends entreating their support in this terrible time. I want 
the defences of the city strengthened, and you, Eliglas - you must send troops 
today to the forest to drive out those orcs and search for my son." 
"It shall be done." Eliglas bowed to the judgement of the king. 
And so it was done. And so it came to pass that on the third day's march from 
the city, 200 horsemen of the Queen's Guard and 600 foot soldiers of the Second 
Regiment reached the plain below the hills of Culdaron. Terror and death waited 
for them there. 

5 
Brandon had been right. The dragon was a rotten loser. When Brandon finally 
managed to win a game, it had bitten the score sword clean in two and eaten the 
jewelled handle. And when Brandon had asked nervously if he could collect his 
gold now, it had snarled "What gold? You said double or quits, and now we're 
quits!" Then it clambered back up onto its huge pile of treasure and sulked. 
The dwarf, with more greed than good sense, had suggested another game. His 
idea had been greeted with a sudden jet of flame that had set this beard on 
fire. 
Now he sat in a passage just off the great cavern, trimming the singed ends 
of his beard and planning his next move. There was another opening on the far 
side and a couple of interesting looking sacks close by it. He might just be 
able to grab those and get away. All he had to do was to find a way round the 
cavern. 
It was a journey no man would have attempted. The passages were narrow and 
twisted and as black as pitch. Brandon set off steadily, feeling his way, aiming 
to stay at the same level and to circle around the cavern. Ofttimes he would stop 
as his keen ears picked up a distant sound. The hoarse shout of an orc, the 
eery flapping of a giant bat, the scurrying of some small creature or the heavy 
slither of things too evil to be thought about. 
He trudged on. Sometimes squeezing through tight corridors, sometimes inching 
his way along narrow ledges above bottomless canyons. For a while he marched on 
a broad highway that sloped gently upwards, then stumbled and staggered down 
precipitous winding stairs. All too often the passages ended in disused 
storerooms - long since emptied of anything of interest or value - or in 
boulder-strewn rockfaces where once dwarves had mined for precious metals. And 
always he went in a timeless darkness. 
Who knows how long he had travelled before at last he smelt the foetid stench 
of dragon blowing strongly towards him, and saw the glint of gold at the end of 
a tunnel. He hurried on silently, then paused and risked a quick glimpse through 
the opening. He was back where he had started. 
"Hello," said the dragon. "Fancy a game of chance? I'm, bored." 

6 
Tobiah woke from a deep healing sleep. He lay still for a moment, flexing his 
muscles and feeling their repsonse. The wound in his arm still troubled him and 
would slow him down in a fight, but he knew he was strong enough to walk and he 
must return to the city. 
He rose into an empty room. Both the Woodman and his hound had gone. Hunting? 
Perhaps, thought Tobiah, for there was little enough to eat and he was 
ravenously hungry. He found some bread and the remains of a roast hare and set 
to. Later he strapped on his sword and stepped out into the bright light of an 
autumn morning. 
The Woodman's cottage was built in a small clearing encircled by tall oaks. 
Tobiah looked around, trying to get his bearings, and as he turned he saw a hawk 
launch itself from the top of the tallest tree and beat its way powerfully up 
and away to the south east. He stared after it with envy. "Ha! If I could fly 
like you, I would be home before nightfall." 
"Then it's as well that you can't. I need you elsewhere." 
Tobiah span round in surprise, drawing his sword clumsily. He let it fall 
back in its sheath as he saw who had spoken. "Jarnac! What brought you 
here?" 
"My feet. And they're sore, and I'm hungry. Did you leave me any breakfast? I 
don't suppose so, but no matter. The Woodman knows I have arrived. He'll bring 
something back with him." 
"How does he know? Have you seen him?" 
"He knows everything that happens. His birds keep him informed. Did you not 
see the hawk that went to tell him that you were practising at being an orc's 
target." 
The young prince looked again at the dark spaces between the trunks of the 
great trees. "Are they, then, around here?" 
"No, but you weren't to know that. Come inside. We'll build a fire to roast 
that young fallow deer that the Woodman has shot, and you can tell me of your 
adventures with the orcs while we wait." 
Tobiah followed him into the cottage, marvelling at the old wizard. 
Later, as they sat around the table eating vension, Tobiah asked how Jarnac 
had known about the deer. The Woodman answered the question. 
"He didn't. He was just hopeful. Jarnac's been living on roots and berries up 
in his cave. He was eager for some real meat. Isn't that true?" He grinned at 
the wizard. 
Jarnac nodded and took another bite. "Thank you, old friend. I knew you 
wouldn't fail me, but I haven't just been sitting in my cave." He waved away 
Tobiah's unasked questions and spoke no more until he had finished eating. 
At last the wizard pushed himself back from the table and wiped his grey 
beard. "Now, Tobiah. You were going to ask me something?" 
"Indeed! Will you now tell me what brings you here? I didn't know that you 
and the Woodman were friends. He never spoke of you. And also, what of this cave 
of yours?" 
Jarnac spoke slowly, savouring a pot of the Woodman's beer. "The cave is 
but a day's long walk from here. I have used it for many a long year, retreating 
there whenever I needed to think deeply or to search out truth. The city is no 
place for that. It is too full of distractions for inner peace, and its walls 
too high for distant friends. And if he did not speak of it to you, why 
should he? He has never been one to say more than is needful. Is that not 
right?" 
"Get on with it, Jarnac. Even I don't know why you are here. Though I can 
guess." 
"And perhaps you would be right. There's little that escapes your knowledge. 
You will know, Woodman, and you may have guessed, Tobiah, that the storm clouds 
are gathering over our lands. That skirmish of yours with the band of orcs was 
but the smallest hint of what is to come. Soon the whole land will ring to the 
stamp of orc armies on the march." 
I must get back to the city to alert them!" burst in Tobiah. 
"There's no need. They already know of the orcs. Jarnac, you have missed this 
on your travels. A host of the enemy passed through the southern bounds of the 
forest last week and descended upon a merchants' caravan and slew them. A few 
managed to escape and reach the city." 
"Then the orcs could be at the gates of the city by now. I must return and 
lend my sword to the fight." 
"Be still, Tobiah." The Woodman chided him. "The city is not yet in danger 
for the host was not that great. Now pay heed to Jarnac. He has come far to 
speak with us." 
"Indeed, Tobiah." The wizard looked steadily at the young prince. "Your sword 
will be little use until your wound is fully healed, but you have within you the 
spirit of ancient kings. It gives you a strength that will be of more value in 
another part of this battle. Don't worry about the city. Its walls can withstand 
a long siege if it comes to it. There is a greater danger in the mountains to 
the north, and that is where we must go." 
Tobiah had been ready to argue with the wizard, but at the hint of his 
mission he fell quiet and waited to hear more. The Woodman sat impassively, 
patient and watchful as the forest itself. 
"There is a Dark Lord again in the Black Tower. If I am right, his name is 
Agaliarept, a warrior wizard terrible in battle and a master of the black arts. 
l have heard some rumours of him in the far northern lands, and it would seem 
that he seeks to extend his empire to encompass us. It was he who sent the 
wolves to plague us, who holds back the clouds so that our lands shrivel in the 
burning sun, who directs the orc armies and is even now stirring yet viler 
creatures in the bowels of the Earth. But fearsome though his armies are, the 
danger lies less in them than in his magic. The darkness of his great 
presence spreads out from the Black Tower and falls as a shadow to chill the 
hearts of men and to cloud their minds with fear. Yet his power is not complete. 
I can feel him questing, searching the lands for that final link that will join 
the chains to enslave us all." The wizard fell silent and the room grew still 
and dark. 
"What is this link?" asked the Woodman at last. 
"I know not. I know only that he has found the Stones of the Elements and 
unlocked their secrets. There were other gems and rings and amulets that the 
great ones of old invested with their powers. I know from his works that he has 
gathered many of these unto him, but something is yet missing or his darkness 
would have already fallen upon us all. We must seek out the source of his power 
and destroy it, or find that weakness in his armour that will let us drive a 
blade into the black heart of his evil. Either way our quest must take us within 
the very bounds of his dark empire." 
"Come, the road ahead is long and grim." The Woodman spoke sombrely, aware 
of the dark days ahead, and seeing in his mind's eye the foreboding Orc's Head, 
dark gateway to a dark land. "Let us at least start in full sun." 

7 
It was just before noon that one of the forward scouts came galloping back to 
the main column. He headed directly to Thomback Hamber, Captain of the Queen's 
Guard and leader of the expeditionary force. 
"Sire, the enemy! Less than an hour's march from here." 
"How many and where?" As he spoke, Thomback reined in his steed and signalled 
the column to halt. 
"About a hundred in all, mainly orcs with some dwarves and men - Northmen 
by their red hair and the axes they carry. They are camped on the far side of a 
stream bed just below yonder hills. A rise in the land conceals them from view." 
The scout paused, then added, keen to do battle, "Do we attack, Sire?" 
"We haven't marched all this way for the exercise." said Thomback grimly. He 
knew that the enemy ahead was but a fraction of the main force, and wanted a 
good victory that would inspire his men for the more difficult times to come. 
"To attack their camp directly will cost us many men. I know that land, and 
the steep sides of the stream bed are as good as fortress walls. Ellyett!" he 
called to his second-in-command. "Take sixty horsemen and make a feint at their 
camp. Fall back immediately towards that rise where I shall be waiting with the 
foot soldiers. Denat will take the rest of the horses and circle round in the 
cover of the hills. The enemy will charge after you believing that you are 
routed and then..." he snatched at the air with his hand, "...we will have them 
in our grasp and slaughter them." 
Ellyett's troops rode off ahead of the main column, the sunlight glinting off 
their burnished armour, and the pennants on their lances fluttering in the wind 
of their passage. As they topped the rise, the riders' hearts filled with the 
excitement of battle. The enemy lay before them, unsuspecting and at their ease. 
"Onward men of Valaii! Onward to victory!" Ellyett cried, launching his horse 
down the slope at the gallop, attacking with such vigour that the enemy could 
not suspect it for a feint. 
"Valaii and victory!" his men shouted with one voice and the tide flowed onto 
the enemy's shore. 
But waves break upon the shore, and just so was the onslaught checked by the 
orcs. They leapt to their weapons and rushed out to meet the charge. Their black 
barbed arrows found targets in the flesh of men and horses, and their curved 
swords hacked at the riders as they fought their way up from the stream bed. For 
a few moments the fight was poised along the edge of the bank, lances plunging, 
swords and battle-axes flailing, then Ellyett took up his horn and sounded the 
retreat. 
The riders whirled and swept away as swiftly as they had come. The orcs 
shouted in triumph and ran after them. Ellyett's horsemen galloped up the slope, 
drawing the enemy after them into Thomback's trap. But the trap did not close. 
Where were his Captain's foot soldiers that should now have been rushing down to 
join the fray? Where was Denat's troop that should have been sweeping in from 
the side? 
As Ellyett reached the top, the truth struck him like a blow. They were the 
ones who had been trapped. The orc camp was bait for them, and their every move 
had been foreseen. Denat's horsemen had been scattered by a host of orc riders 
that must have lain in wait for them in the hills. The remnants of the troop 
were even now flying towards the main column with terror at their heels. Wolves 
were steeds for the orcs and their howling echoed across the plain. From behind 
Thomback's army and from the right, dense lines of orcs closed in at the trot, 
the thunder of their feet and the clamour of swords on shields striking fear 
into the men of Valaii. 
Ellyett's riders wavered at the sight before them, but he rallied them with a 
great cry "To me, men of Valaii! To me!" and as a troop they galloped across the 
plain and into the midst of the battle. 
He led his men across the path of the wolf-riders, hewing to left and right 
and breaking their charge. His fleeing comrades rallied to his cries and turned 
once more upon their foes. Hound they surged in a milling mass of men and orcs, 
of horses and wolves, half-blinded by the clouds of dust churned up from the dry 
plains, half-deafened by the cries of battle and the clash of steel on steel. 
At last the orc cavalry withdrew. The wolves, maddened by the iron-shod 
hooves that lashed at them, were throwing off their riders and running wild. 
Ellyett looked around to count the cost to his troops and to view the main 
action beyond. Of two hundred riders that had set out from the city, but two 
score remained mounted and fit. The foot soldiers were faring little better, 
their dwindling band hard-pressed on all sides, yet the standard still flew 
aloft. Thomback Hamber could be seen in the thick of it, urging his men to hold 
firm against impossible odds. 
Once more Ellyett rallied his men and led them against the enemy. Once more 
the sharpness of his sword and the valour of his voice gave new heart to 
near-exhausted men. For a moment it seemed as if his charge might turn the tide 
of the battle, but its impact was absorbed by the great mass of orcs and the 
cavalry were pressed back. 
In the burning heat of the afternoon sun and the choking dust of the plain, 
the fight raged on; the black noose of orcs drawing ever tighter around the men 
of Valaii. Then Thomback saw his chance. For a moment there was a clear path 
through to the enemy leader who directed his troops from the back of a great 
black stallion. He was a tall and thick-set orc with a single, gleaming eye. 
Thomback spurred his horse forward, his sword held high and the cry of 'Valaii' 
ringing across the blood-soaked field. 
The huge orc turned to his attacker and they met with a crash of tempered 
steel. Their battle steeds whirled and lunged at each other as man and orc 
fought blade to blade and shield to shield. Around them all other action ceased 
and all eyes were drawn to this combat of champions. Thorn back at first gained 
the initiative and began to press the orc back into the ranks of his army, but 
his opponent steadied, then turned the fight with a mighty blow that snapped the 
man's sword in two. The Captain of Valaii pulled back, cast aside his sword and 
took up the ball and chain that hung from his pommel. As he swung it about his 
head the orc pressed home his advantage and thrust his scimitar into 
Thomback's breast. Yet the man fell not, but gathering all his dying strength he 
smashed the heavy spiked ball into the orc's head. 
The orc leader, his skull crushed, fell from his horse but Thomback, the 
scimitar protruding from his breasts remained mounted, the ball and chain still 
swinging in his hand. "Valaii!" he cried again, and the host of orcs turned and 
fled. And then he fell. 
Thus ended the battle of Culdaron. 

8 
"Perhaps the Great One would like a song?" suggested the dwarf. Legend had it 
that here in the dragon's hoard was the Harp of the Sirens - the harp with the 
magical power to lull to sleep all who listened to it. 
The dragon thought about it for a moment, then rummaged through the 
glittering mound on which it lay. It pulled out a golden flute and tossed it to 
Brandon. "Yes, sing me a song." 
"Oh Wondrous Light of the World, I fear I cannot play a flute and sing at the 
same time. Would you perhaps have a harp?" 
The dragon snorted. It liked the sound of flute and voice. "You're a poor 
musician." it accused Brandon, then gestured behind him. "Try over there in the 
chest. I think I put one there." 
Brandon raised the heavy brass-bound lid of a great oaken chest and trembled 
at the sight that met his eyes. Never before had he been so close to so much 
wealth. True, the mound that was the dragon's bed was worth infinitely more, but 
the dragon kept him at a distance from that. He lifted the treasures cut one by 
one and placed them lovingly on the floor beside him. Cunningly carved ornaments 
of brilliant green jade and the purest ivory; a golden crown beset with a dozen 
matching black rubies; a statuette almost a foot long fashioned from a single 
flawless diamond; rings, necklaces, belts and bracelets without number, all of 
glittering gold and heavy with rare gems. 
"Come along, master dwarf!" The dragon grew impatient. "Get the harp and put 
those oddments away." 
The dwarf shook his head to try to clear it of the togs of gold-greed. He 
could see the harp now, and picked it from the chest. It was the Harp of the 
Sirens, of that there was no doubt. What other harp would be made of white gold 
and decorated with golden shells inset with pearls as big as a dwarf's hand? He 
grinned at his cunning, and went back to the dragon. 
"I hope the song is about gold. I like songs about gold." The dragon stared 
at Brandon, daring him to sing about anything else. 
'Well, it starts 'The golden day...' You'll like it." said Brandon 
hopefully. 
The dragon putted a cloud of grey smoke as if to say 'I'd better'. Brandon 
payed a few melodic chords then struck up a song that his mother had taught him 
when he was but a dwarf-child. 
"The golden day is ending, The time for play is done, It's time to lay your 
head in sleep, For sleepeth now the sun." 
The dragon yawned and settled closer to Brandon. 
"Though night is drawing on us, Be not thou atear'd, But lay your head in 
mother's lap, And hold your mother's beard." 
The dragon fell asleep, with a smile on its face. Its head lay in Brandon's 
lap and it clutched Brandon's beard tightly in its taloned claw. The dwarf 
didn't notice. He too had fallen asleep as soon as the song had ended. 

9 
Their path took them along narrow forest trails, winding steadily northwards 
and upwards. By late afternoon they had left the oaks and beeches of the lower 
slopes, and entered into a more rugged land ot dense pines. There were no sounds 
of bird or beasts up there, and the pine needles beneath their feet deadened the 
noise of their passage. 
They passed the night among the firs, and the next day marched many miles 
beneath the dusty, low-hanging boughs. At length, the trees thinned out, and by 
noon they stood on a rocky upland clear of the Great Forest. Jarnac scanned 
the barren hills and cliffs ahead, then turned and cast his eyes over the 
tree-clad lands behind them. 
"Woodman, you are a marvel" The wizard congratulated him. "How many leagues 
have we travelled through that sea of greenery, scarce ever seeing more than a 
few yards in front of us? Yet you bring us out just here, within sight of our 
first goal, the Pinnacle of Obdurat. I must ascend that pinnacle. It is a place 
of seeing." He pointed to a spire of rock that rose from the hills before them. 
As they walked the final mile towards the pinnacle, Jarnac explained his 
purpose to Tobiah. "Within our lands and the lands of the enemy, there are 
several such places of seeing. They have a magic within them that makes each 
place an aspect of the other. From that pinnacle I shall be able to see, not 
merely the land around here, but the land around every place of seeing. I 
believe that in the ancient days, when the magic was stronger, a man could 
transport his whole body - not just his vision - from one such place to another. 
Would that we commanded that magic now. It would save my poor feet much labour!"
"Do you think that the Dark Lord possess the secret of the places?" asked 
Tobiah. 

"There is no great secret to the seeing, Tobi. Many magicians have acquired 
that art, and we can use it to communicate with each other, though as most of 
the places are in these distant parts, they are little used normally. As for the 
Dark Lord, I think I may even have come upon that one, once. It was some time 
ago, before he began to expand his evil upon us. I think he had but newly 
discovered the power of the places, and thought that he alone commanded it for I 
sensed great surprise in him. I also sensed a force of hatred and fury, far more 
potent than any I had ever felt before. Then he was gone. In after times, some 
of the places became clouded with a mist that obscured vision. I seek now to 
clear those mists and to learn his plans." 
By then, they had reached the pinnacle, and as the old wizard began to mount 
the steep and narrow steps, Tobiah asked after him "Is there not great danger 
for you in this?" But Jarnac replied not. 
While they waited for the wizard, Tobiah and the Woodman sat and ate in 
silent contemplation of the lands before them. The pinnacle was on a ridge of 
high land above a rocky-sided valley that opened out onto a great rolling plain. 
In the far distance, shimmering in the heat of the day, was a thin line of 
purple-blue; the mountain wall that marked the edge of the Dark Lord's vastness. 
The land between was dry and barren, save for a few stunted trees and 
patches of burnt-out gorse at the mouth of the valley below. 
A thin, brief cry from the pinnacle made them start. Swiftly they ran up the 
rocky staircase only to find, when they reached the top, that the wizard was no 
longer there. 
"Has he then discovered the power of movement between the places?" asked 
Tobiah breathlessly. 
"No," replied the Woodman. "For look, he has left his wand behind. It is the 
Demon Lord who has that power, and who has taken him." 
"Then we must rescue him!" 
"We must try." His older companion said grimly. "The wand points to the 
eastern end of yonder mountain chain. The Black Tower lies there, and there we 
may find him." The Woodman tucked the wizard's wand into his belt and led the 
way down again. 
Once more at the base, they shouldered their packs and prepared to set out. 
"Wait!" said the Woodman, catching sight of a movement high in the sky. It 
was a hawk far above, winging swiftly towards them. The bird circled once over 
their head, then flew off, turned and came back low flying as straight and true 
as an arrow. It rose and landed on the pinnacle. 
"What does it mean?" asked the young prince. 
"Orcs! A party is coming swiftly towards us along the line of the ridge. The 
enemy may have seen us, or may have guessed that Jarnac had companions on his 
journey. There will be too many for us to fight in the open. Let us find shelter 
in the valley. There are caves in its rocky sides where we may hide or stand and 
fight if need be." 
The Woodman led Tobiah at a scramble down the slope, dog loping swiftly 
alongside. Near the bottom they found a deep, high-mouthed cave and flung 
themselves into its cool darkness. They lay still, breathing deeply and Silently, 
straining to catch any sounds from beyond. But another sound came first 
to their ears. A deep regular rumbling from deeper in the cave told them that 
they were not alone. They peered into the darkness and tasted the air. The heavy 
smell of sweat and badly cured leather, and an undertone of cold roast meat 
suggested orcs or wild mountain men, but the rumbling snores told of a much 
larger frame. And as their eyes became accustomed to the darkness they could see 
the great bulk of a giant lying on a bed of skins. 
Tobiah shifted his position to bring his sword to hand, and the movement 
upset a small pile of bones by his feet. The rattle as they fell echoed through 
the stillness of the cave. The giant stirred and yawned mightily. He scratched 
his massive gut and stretched out arms as long as a man is tall, then he yawned 
again. The travellers pressed cautiously back into the deeper shadow against the 
cave wall. 
Other sounds now reached them - the soft padding of leather-soled feet on 
rocky ground and the sniffing of an orc tracking his prey. The giant also heard 
the sounds and rose from his bed. Tobiah could scarcely believe how one so large 
could be so nimble and silent. The giant crept swiftly to the cave mouth, paused 
and listened, then leapt outside. They heard the orc cry in surprise, and the 
swish of a sword being unsheathed, then a sickening crunch as the giant caught 
up his victim and dashed him against a rock. 
The deep voice rumbled softly as the giant returned, trailing the orc by one 
leg. "Ho, ho. Roast orc for supper. Better than scrawny goat, though I'd rather 
'ave a bit of man-flesh. Bin a long time since I 'ad any of that. It's you lot 
what 'ave done it. Driving all them good tasty farmers away. Right I'll 'ang you 
up by the chimney, and see if I can find another 'un. You never comes one by 
yourselves."
The giant left the orc hanging upside down at the back of the cave and 
returned quietly to the hunt. As he reached the cave mouth he paused, the smell 
of men reaching his nostrils. He turned and looked towards the travellers, 
though seeing them not in the darkness of shadow. The Woodman and Tobiah 
prepared to sell their lives dearly, but the giant turned away again, hearing 
more orcs outside. 
"Cor! Loads of 'em. I'll not go 'ungry this month." He picked up a massive 
club from the floor by the cave mouth and went outside. 
"What now, Woodman?" 
"Leave the orcs to him, and him to the orcs. Come! He spoke of a chimney. 
There may be a way out there." 
The chimney was a natural feature of the rock, a wide fissure that angled 
steeply upwards and backwards. Though it was slippery with greasy smoke, the two 
men and the dog were able to scramble up through it, emerging into daylight on a 
brush covered slope. There was no sight of ires, though the sounds of fighting 
drifted to them over the hill from the valley beyond. As they climbed down 
the slope, the cries of the orcs ceased one by one. 
"We have lost time, Tobiah, and I fear for Jarnac. Let us hurry." 
Together they set off at a steady trot northwards across the wide and dusty 
plain. 

10 
King Astuin sat brooding in the Council Chamber, scarcely aware of Marshall 
Eliglas, his aides and the other councillors who were brooding over maps spread 
out on the great table. Why, after so many centuries of peace, had the orcs 
chosen his reign in which to return? He was no warrior king. He didn't even 
enjoy hunting, let alone battle, and was now tar too old to ride out at the head 
of an army. Why couldn't they have waited ten or twenty years when Tobiah would 
be king? He would have thrown himself into the campaign heart and soul - 
probably pulled some good young bloods round himself too. The king looked 
balefully at the ageing marshall and his fluttering advisers. 
And what of Tobiah anyway? The queen had scarcely stopped crying in the week 
since the merchants had brought news of the orcs. And when she wasn't crying she 
was cursing the king for allowing the boy to go off alone. Boy! Tobiah was over 
twenty - a grown man. And the king had sent him with a guard of a dozen men. 
That seemed more than enough for anything at the time. 
A disturbance at the door made the king look up. Verdin, the Royal Wizard 
came hurrying across. 
"My liege! I have had communication from Jarnac. He has much news of the 
enemy - and of your son." 
"News!" cried the king eagerly. "Is it good? Is he yet alive?" 
"Some good news, my liege. Prince Tobiah is alive and well, but..." 
"Enough!" The king cut him off sharply. "Does the queen know this?" 
"No, my liege I came straightway to you. But..."
"Later, Verdin." The king called to a servant. "Take the news to Her  
Majesty that Verdin has spoken with Jarnac the wizard, and that Prince 
Tobiah is alive and well." He waited until the servant had left, then turned 
once more to his councillor. "Only good news for Queen Gwendalan. She has worn 
me out with her crying this week. Now you may tell me the rest." 
"Jarnac spoke to me from the Pinnacle of Obdurat - it is to the north of the 
Great Forest on the borders of the wastelands. Prince Tobiah was with him, and 
though wounded in a fight with orcs was much recovered. They intended to press 
across the waste into the enemy's vastness..."
"You forbade it, of course. I cannot allow the prince to go there!" the king 
burst in. 
"My liege, he wouldn't listen to me. He..." 
"You blithering fool! Do you know what the queen will do when she hears of 
this?" 
"My liege!" implored the Royal Wizard. "There was nothing I could do!" 
"Her Majesty must not know of this." The king was adamant. 
"The secrets of the High Council do not pass beyond this door." said Kernnan 
the merchant, who also had a wife. The other councillors nodded their support, 
and the king looked a little relieved. 
"Jarnac also had news of the enemy." Verdin began again. "He had a vision 
within the realm of the Black Tower and had seen a great army assembling and 
beginning to march east - towards Valaii." He paused for a moment and tried to 
find the right words in which to convey the rest of Jarnac's message. "He 
estimated the force at one hundred thousand orcs, and suggested that we would be 
unable to defeat them on the field. He - Jarnac - suggested," the wizard continued 
over the protests of the marshall, "that we seek a solution in magic." 
"Poppycock!" cried Marshall Eliglas. "We have defeated them once on the field 
of battle. We shall do so again. Magic, ha! Where has your magic got us so far?" 
"Have we defeated them?" asked Verdin. "What news is this?" 
Eliglas showed the magician a scroll. "A messenger brought this within the 
hour. The expeditionary force met with an army of orcs on the plains at 
Culdaron. After a fierce fight, the orcs withdrew, and our troops return. 
Casualties were heavy on both sides. This is Captain Ellyett's report on the 
campaign." 
"Did not Hamber lead that force?" asked the magician. 
"Thomback Hamber died gloriously in combat. His body is being borne back to 
the city." 
"Do you mind if I read Ellyett's report?" Verdin was sure that the marshall 
was leaving much unsaid about the battle, but knew that the young Captain could 
be relied on to give a fair account. He took the scroll and read it silently. At 
length he spoke quietly to the marshall. "Ellyett estimates a force of two 
thousand orcs against the eight hundred of ours. He puts the enemy's dead at 
under a thousand, while our own force is reduced to a miserable handful. They 
were outmanoeuvred and outfought and they would have been utterly defeated had 
it not been for Thomback Hamber's valiance. How can we repel one hundred 
thousand orcs, especially now that the flower of our troops lie dead at 
Culdaron?" 
"We have full twenty thousand men under arms now, and the promise of as many 
again from our neighbouring princes. As for the enemy's numbers, we have only 
Jarnac's word for that. My army stands ready to defend our country." The 
marshall spoke stiffly to Verdin. 
"Can we not sue for peace?" asked Kerrinan. The merchant had little faith in 
either Eliglas' army or Verdin's magic. 
"Peace with the orcs?" Verdin laughed bitterly. 
"Never!" cried Marshal Eliglas. Then he added, impetuously. "My liege, I ask 
permission to lead my forces against the enemy." 
"Not all of them!" replied the king in haste. "The city must remain well 
guarded. You must leave at least half of them here." 
The marshall thought over his command, and weighed the likelihood of 
Jarnac's estimates being right. "Then perhaps, Sire, I shall wait for 
Ellyett's return and send him with ten thousand to o~n forces with our 
allies against the enemy. I shall supervise the defence of the city myself." 
"Do what you will." said the king. 

11 
Jarnac lay where he had been thrown on the filthy floor of an 
evil-smelling dungeon. He had seen much from that magic place on the pinnacle, 
and had managed to contact the Royal Wizard in the city to pass his knowledge 
on, but he had lingered too long. The Demon Lord had felt his questing eye and 
had come to him, face-to-face. They had locked their wills in combat, and though 
Jarnac was strong, the enemy was stronger yet and had prevailed. He had beaten 
down the old wizard's defences and swept through, capturing him bodily and 
transporting him to another place deep within his citadel. There he had given 
him into the charge of his orcs to guard until he had time to spare to question 
the wizard. His jailers locked and bolted the cell door, then one went to report 
to his chief. 
Grok, Keeper of the Orc's Head Tower - for that is where Jarnac had been 
taken - was in his room staring out of the single round window. For over two 
hours he had been standing there, watching the Demon Lord's army march across 
the bridge of stone and down to the crossroads beyond. From there the soldiers 
were turning southwest towards Valaii. Many thousands had already passed, and 
many more thousands yet were still assembling in the great caverns beneath and 
behind the guard tower. 
"Chief... It's me, Zaxz." 
"What is it?" Grok snarled, without turning his gaze. 
"We just put a prisoner in the fourth dungeon. Some wizard what 'is Worship 
caught. We gotta keep 'im safe, 'cept if 'e tries any of 'is magic, we've gotta 
chop is 'ead off. An' if we don't keep 'im safe..." 
"'imself'll chop our 'eads off, right?" Grok growled, and turned at last. 
"Who's bleeding, think 'e is? That's what I wanna know. Who does all the 
bleedin' work round 'ere? Who goes out an' gets 'emselves killed? Eh? Orcs! 
That's who! An' who sits around where it's safe giving the orders, livin' off 
the fat of the land? Eh? 'imself! That's who! It ain't right. Orcs does the 
work. It oughta be an orc as sits on 'is throne."
"Don't talk like that Chief! 'E'll 'ear you! 'E'll 'ave you strung up inside 
out!" Zaxz whispered frantically. 
"Bleedin' nonsense! 'E won't know nothin' unless some squealin' rat goes 
thin' 'im. Now you wouldn't do that would you?" Grok grabbed the guard by the 
throat and hissed in his face. 
"No, Chief, no!" 
"'Ere, did you say a wizard? A wizard like 'imself?" The trembling 
orc nodded. Grok let go of him and paced the floor. "A wizard, eh?" he mused, 
his small red eyes gleaming brightly. "Now tell me, my lad, what's 'imself got 
what we 'aven't? Don't know, do you? Well I'll tell you. 'E's got a bleedin' 
great big army - what's just marchin' out the door - and 'e's got magic. Now we 
got our little lot what's lookin' after the tower - all mates from the same cave 
- an the only soldiers what'll be left 'ere soon. Now just suppose we 'ad a 
wizard of our own... then we'd 'ave magic, and we wouldn't need 'im. Would we?" 
"Nah, it wouldn't work." Zaxz shook his head, then stopped as cunning 
overcame fear. It might just work. It was certainly worth playing along with 
Grok. If things started to go bad, he could always shop him to the Dark Lord - 
perhaps get his job as keeper. He grinned conspiratorially. "Yeh, why not. I'll 
go get the others." 
"Not yet." Grok stopped him quickly and gestured to the open window and the 
marching army beyond. "Wait till that lot 'ave gone. An' wait till I've 'ad a 
word with this 'ere wizard." 
Jarnac stirred as the heavy feet of the orcs tramped into his cell. He had 
been stunned by his encounter with the Demon Lord and he had to struggle to 
bring his mind back into focus. He was aware of an orc bending over him, a horny 
hand pulling him up by his beard and a warty face only inches from his own. 
"Wizard!" Grok hissed, and the foulness of his breath made Jarnac snap his 
head back. The orc turned to his fellow, "Zaxz! 'E's awake. Go and keep that lot 
busy out there. I want a bit of quiet chat with our friend 'ere." 
Grok waited while the wizard sat up, then handed him a flagon. "It's 
alright." he urged, as Jarnac refused it. "Some men's drink. Never touch it 
meself." He preferred the flagon again. The wizard took it cautiously, sniffed 
and tasted it. A honey liquor, thick and sweet with a fiery heat. He drank and 
felt the warmth spread inside. 
"Enough!" Grok snarled and grabbed the flagon. "Maybe a little more later if 
you're a good boy." 
The wizard stiffened. No orc was going to weasel information out of him. But 
Grok's questions were not what he expected. 
"Now what do you think's gonna 'appen to you, oh? Well, I'll tell you. As of 
right now, you got two choices. Either they torture you till you tell 'em what 
they wanna know an' then they kill you, or they torture you till you die 
without telling 'em nothin'. Not a lot o' bleedin' choice really is it?" Grok 
grinned evilly, then hunched closer. "But supposin' there was another choice, 
eh?... Now, I got a proposition for you, my old son..."

12 
The dragon woke first and tugged Brandon's beard to wake him too. "I liked 
that, master dwarf. Sing me another - only make it a bit livelier this time." 
The dwarf shook his head to clear the fogs of sleep. Then the dragon shook 
Brandon's head. "I won't take no for an answer. I want another." 
"All right, all right!" said Brandon, half-dazed. "Just give me a minute or 
two, Oh Master of the Living Flame!" 
"Only one." The dragon spoke severely. "If you want two minutes, you'll have 
to give me two songs... Wait! That's a good idea. Let's have two songs - but 
make them about gold." 
"Yes, right." Brandon though frantically, trying desperately to remember a 
song. He had heard so many in his hundred and forty years. Why couldn't he 
recall one - or two! - when he needed it. 
"Time's up!" The dragon was smouldering gently, ready to burst into flame if 
it didn't get its song. 
"Er... er... I've got one! It's called Gilmor's Quest for Gold. It's all 
about how a warrior is torn between love for a dwarvess and love of gold. You'll 
like this one." He struggled to find the right chords on the harp, then began. 
"She was a golden maiden fair, And would have given him ought, Though 
gold her beard and gold her hair, 'Twas not the gold he sought." 
Getting drowsy, and beginning to dream about gold, Brandon lost concentration 
and got his fingers tangled in the harp's strings. The dragon looked at him 
crossly. It was enjoying this song. He snorted smoke and hissed at the dwarf. 
"Never mind about the harp, just get on with the song." Brandon shrugged and 
carried on unaccompanied. 
"She loved her handsome warrior all, And the golden axe he carried, Full 
three foot two he stood in all, Oh, fain she would have married. 
Come sit by me and drink, she cried, Handing him a flagon. No, no, he 
said, for I must go, And kill that flaming... er... wolf." 
Brandon's song ended rather lamely. He peered up at tho dragon to see how it 
was taking the ending. The dragon was disappointed. 
"That doesn't rhyme. I don't like songs that don't rhyme. Why doesn't it 
rhyme?" 
"O Living Volcano, O Golden-Winged Elegance!" said Brandon hurriedly before 
the dragon could think too much about rhymes. "I have just remembered. There's a 
whole scroll of songs in my pack. I left it in that passage. If your Smokiness 
will but wait, I'll go thence and fetch it." He scurried off while ihe dragon 
was still thinking, and had reached the entrance to the passage before there 
was an explosion of anger. 
"Pah! It should have been 'flaming dragon'! Come back here you tricky little 
dwarf, and bring back my harp. I'll give you flaming dragons!" And to make its 
point, it sent a burst of fire after Brandon. 

13 
All through the long hot afternoon, Tobiah, the Woodman and his hound ran 
across the baked-dry plains. As evening came, a wind sprang up and whipped the 
dusty earth into a choking, blinding fog that made further progress impossible. 
They stopped and took the enforced rest, then later, in the chill of the night 
when the air was again calm and the stars could guide them, they urged their 
weary legs into action once more. 
Through the night they ran, running through pain and exhaustion, running at 
last in a mindless state in which nothing existed save the ground beneath their 
feet and the Pole Star above their heads. In the half-light before the dawn, 
they saw the mountain wall looming high on the horizon and the plain falling 
away to their left in wooded valleys. They ran on, into the cover of the 
woodlands and there slumped down for a few hours' sleep. Towards 
sunset of that day the two men and the dog came onto an ancient road that ran 
eastwards from the edge of the woodland and across the grassy plain beyond. The 
weeds that grew through its cracked surface were trampled and crushed. The 
Woodman bent low and studied the road, then read the signs to his companion, 
pointing to faint marks as he spoke. 
"A great army has passed, heading southwest. Orcs without number - many 
mounted on wolves. A train of wagons with iron bound wheels, drawn by the sturdy 
ponies of the south, led by dwarves. Engines of war and siege towers drawn by 
oxen. Elephants, hunting leopards and the feet of many men from distant 
countries. All these have passed by in the last two days some but a few hours 
since." 
"The Demon Lord has spread his net wide to amass such a force. Now he seeks 
to engulf the world." Tobiah spoke sombrely. 
"Perhaps," replied the Woodman evenly, "but this army marched away from his 
lands. How many now are left to guard his fortress? Our passage will be much 
easier now that the army has gone, and Valaii is safe for yet a while. That 
great host must move slowly. Come, I would reach the Orc's Head before it is 
fully dark." 
They marched off with the setting sun at their backs and their shadows long 
before them. But the road also was long and the sun had sunk far below the 
horizon before they reached the cross-roads and saw the Orc's Head to the north. 
It looked an evil, fearsome place in the dismal twilight. A great head, fully 
sixty foot high, carved out of the solid stone at the base of a high cliff. Its 
stone tongue formed the bridge over a fast flowing river and led into the foetid 
darkness of the fang-fringed mouth. Beneath a massive brow, its stone eyes in 
deep sunken sockets stared a deadly challenge across the lands below. Many 
centuries ago, another Dark Lord had caused it to be built as a guard tower and 
gateway to his kingdom. Ancient battles and the long years of neglect had etched 
deep scars in the graven face, making it yet more grim and foreboding. Now once 
again it stood guard at the entrance to a land of evil. 
The hound growled deep in his throat, and his hackles rose. "Aye, dog. 
There's orcs in there, but go quietly now." The Woodman laid a hand on its neck 
and calmed him down. 
"How far is the Black Tower from here?" asked Tobiah. 
"How far?" echoed the Woodman. "Time and distance have no meaning beyond 
that bridge, Tobiah. It has ever been thus. I ventured in there once, in the 
days before the Demon Lord took possession of the lands. How long I wandered I 
will never know. Beneath is a maze of unlit passages and caverns; above a marsh 
of mists and forgetfulness. I know only that the Tower is there, somewhere above 
and beyond, and that to find it we must go only where we least want to." He 
pointed down the road. "Do you want to cross that bridge?" 
Tobiah looked at the glaring Orc's Head and sensed the evil flowing out from 
it. "No." he spoke heavily. "That must be the way." 
They set off up the road in single file, the Woodman in the lead, with his 
hound padding silently at his heels. As they crossed the narrow bridge of stone 
the noise of the rushing waters below rose up to greet them, but from within the 
gatehouse came no sound. They stepped inside the cavernous mouth with its broken 
rows of stone fangs jutting up from the floor and hanging low from the ceiling. 
All was still and quiet, then suddenly from somewhere deep inside, there came 
the echoing clang of an iron door being flung open, and distant sounds of harsh 
voices raised in angry argument. At the thundering of heavy feet running towards 
them, they drew their swords and made ready to fight. But the running stopped 
and instead they heard the lashing of a whip and cries of pain and death. Then 
the footsteps receeded, the iron door clanged again and all was silent once 
more. 
"What do you make of that, Woodman?" 
"I know not, but it would seem that the guards have no time for us. Now, 
which way, Tobiah? I judge that Jarnac could be either in some dungeon or in the 
Black Tower itself. But which? The wizard would tell us to seek light in the 
darkest places, and the darkest opening is to that passage over yonder." 
They trod softly forwards, swords drawn and all senses alert. The passage 
angled sharply to left and then to right, but always sloping gently downwards. 
The air was cold, damp and heavy with the smell of orcs and the walls and floor 
were slippery with a slimy wetness. In that total darkness, where they dared 
risk no light, they moved slowly, feeling their way, listening for any sound 
that might guide them. They came to a junction and paused. To the left rose a 
flight of stairs, while to the right the passage seemed to continue downwards. 
Tobiah moved towards the stairs, but the Woodman held him back. 
"Listen and look!" he whispered. From up above there drifted a faint 
murmuring of voices, and there was the merest hint of light that suggested a 
flickering torch somewhere far out of view. "I would guess that leads to the 
guard rooms. We need to go much further in to find the Black Tower." 
The passage down which they now walked had many doors leading off it. Massive 
doors of wood or iron, at which they listened but heard nothing. Then at one 
where a slit of light beneath told of its use, the Woodman heard the scraping of 
stools on the floor and the sound of footsteps. He hurried Tobiah forwards 
urgently. They had gone only a few yards when the door opened, and an orc 
bearing a torch stepped out into the passage. He was startled to see the men and 
it was a moment before he turned to call to his fellow guards. 
"There are m..." The Woodman's swift sword cut him down before he could 
finish, but the damage was done. More orcs poured out from the guard room, 
swords and whips flailing. 
The Woodman and Tobiah fought back fiercely, hewing at the orcs with their 
swords. The great hound also lunged forward, massive jaws agape, but sheer 
weight of numbers told against them. They fell back steadily looking for some 
way of escape. Tobiah felt an opening in the wall beside him and turned to tell 
the Woodman. In that one brief moment that his attention slipped from the fight, 
an orc whip wrapped around his leg and jerked him off balance. Down he crashed 
through the opening, and headlong down a steep flight of stairs. 
Up above, the Woodman fought on with renewed ferocity, careless of his own 
life, seeking only to protect the young prince and to safeguard his escape. 
Blind to his wounds, he pressed forward, scything at his foes and hewing them to 
the ground. One by one the orcs fell, but they were all battle-hardened soldiers 
who sold their lives dearly. At last it was over. The orcs lay all around him, 
slain by the Woodman's sword or rent by the hound's fangs. And the Woodman, 
overcome by his many grievous wounds laid himself down by his dying dog, and 
together they passed into the spirit world. 

14 
Brandon ran along the passage, the dragon's fire licking at his back. The 
stone walls echoed to the clatter of his clogs, the panting of his breath and 
the occasional twang as a harp string caught on a toggle. At last he reached a 
sharp bend and once round it, he was safe from any further jets of flame. I 
"Typical!" he puffed, pressing his back gratefully against the cold wall. 
"Two dozen ways out and I pick the straight one that's wide enough for it to get 
its head in! Still, mustn't complain. I've got the harp. It must be worth a 
king's ransom. I suppose 1 could even go back and sing it to sleep and collect a 
bit more..." 
He walked on for some way, debating the issue with himself, weighing treasure 
that had been gained against even greater treasure that might be gained. At 
last, overcome by the memories of the dragon's hoard, Brandon sat down to think 
about it properly. How could he just walk away and leave it? But could he get 
any more? Perhaps a song would work - though he must remember to stop up his own 
ears first. Or perhaps there were other ways. The dragon must leave its hoard 
sometimes, if only to feed. Perhaps if the dwarf learnt the ways of the 
passages, he could even lure the dragon out then slip in and take a few 
sackfuls. As he lay day-dreaming, his hands stroked the golden harp making soft 
melodic music. 
An orc patrol found him there a few hours later, and carried him off, fast 
asleep. Brandon woke as he bounced down the steps into a cell. A hard thump in 
the back and a resonant twang told him that his harp had been thrown in after 
him. 
"You musicians ain't supposed to be down 'ere. You just wait till 'imself 
cars about this!" the guard shouted as he locked the door. 
The true strength of dwarves lies not in their thick muscles and sturdy 
bones, but in their resilience in the face of sudden misfortune. Brandon may 
have been a thief - though he would call himself an 'adventurer' - but he was a 
true dwarf. He waited until his orc jailers had settled to their supper in the 
guard room just beyond. Then he rose and sat by the iron bars of the door, 
stuffed his hair in his ears and struck up a song. It was one that he had 
composed while he was waiting. 
"There were four vicious orc soldiers, None worse in all the land, They 
loved to kill and maim their foes, To chop off head and hand." 
Brandon glanced round to check the reaction. So far, so good. The orcs seemed 
to be enjoying it. 
"Now Nazgarod their captain, Was the nastiest of them all, He used to grab 
foes by the nose, And smash them 'gainst the wall. 
But Grindlesocks the greedy, Was no use in a fight, As soon as he had 
killed a man, He'd sit down for a bite. 
While Bumblespots the horrible, Was a foul and filthy fiend. He'd... 
er..." 

The dwarf let his song trail to an end. The orcs all seemed to be asleep, and 
he still hadn't worked out the rest of the verse. He couldn't find a rhyme for 
'fiend'. 
It was then that he realised the shortcomings of his plan. The cell door was 
locked. The keys were on the table and the table was out of reach. He turned 
back into his cell to hunt for something long, found nothing and wandered back 
to the door. The fourth orc was standing there, holding out a plate of 
vile-smelling stew. The dwarf could see the other three slumped over the table, 
snoring loudly. He looked up at his jailer and wondered. 
"Would you like another song?" he asked hopefully. 
"Eh?" replied the orc, cupping a hand to his ear. "Speak up!" 
"Never mind." Brandon accepted the food through the bars and sat down. 

15 
"Now then, mates. You all knows me, an' what I stand for, don't you. You all 
knows you can trust Grok, don't you. 'Ave I ever whipped or killed anyone as 
didn't deserve it? No, course not! Not like some as I could mention." Grok 
gestured upwards in the direction of the Black Tower and there were grunts 
of agreement. 
"'Ere, Chief!" called a voice from the back. "We knows you, but who's this 
wizard you got with you?" 
"Ah, don't you mind 'im. 'E's all right. I'll tell you why 'e's 'ere in a 
minute. The wizard you got to worry about, mate, is that other one up there. An' 
what I says is, who's 'e think 'e is, going round givin' out all the orders 
an killin' orcs what don't do just what 'e says. What I says is, it's time we 
got ourselves a new boss - an orc like us - what 'ud look after our interests, 
not 'is own." 
"Forget it!" another orc jeered. "You don't stand a bleedin' chance. Not an 
earthly. 'E'd 'ave yer guts for garters before you'd even started." 
"Guts! What would you now about guts? Apart from tilling that fat gut of 
yours..." Grok snarled back, and waited while the cruel laughter died down. "You 
need real guts for this. Guts enough to stand on your two feet an' say 'I'm an 
orc, an' orcs don't take orders from no wizards!'"
Grok looked over his audience as they cheered and shouted their approval. 
There were a few at the back who would need careful watching. "An' we can do 
it..." he went on, speaking more quietly, so that the other orcs had to be silent 
and listen. "...an' 'ere's 'ow. There's three score of us 'ere now, all orcs 
from the same cave, bin through thick an' thin together, an' we'll stick 
together in this one too. Out there in the rest of this place, there ain't no 
more than fifty - an' most of 'em 'll join us when they sees what's 'appening. 
So that's the fightin' sorted out, right?" 
"What about his bleedin' great army?" Yeh, an' what about his magic?" 
"Don't you worry yerself about the army, mate. By the time it gets back, 
we'll be in charge 'ere, an' the army'll do what its told, like what it always 
does. An' as for magic... that's where our friend 'ere comes in." Crok cocked 
a thumb in Jarnac's direction. "We gotta wizard of our own. Only this one don't 
wanna be boss. 'E just wants to go 'ome, ain't that right, my old son?" 
"Yeh, but is 'e any good?" asked a worried voice. 
Jarnac made no reply but looked steadily at the one who doubted his powers. 
The orc held his gaze for a brief moment then recoiled clutching his head. "All 
right, all right. Tell 'im to stop. I only wanted to know." 
"An' now you do." Grok didn't know what Jarnac had done, or how, but it had 
done the trick. "All agreed then?" He glanced around the company. 
"No! I still don't reckon it'll work, an' anyway, I'd rather 'ave 'imself for 
boss than you. Look at all them battles what we won with 'imself tellin' us what 
to do." "Yeh! But it were the orcs what done the fightin', an' it 
always will be. We'd 'ave won them battles without 'imself, but if it weren't 
for us, 'e wouldn't 'ave got nowhere." 
"You're wrong, Grok. An' I'm not gonna get meself killed for you. I'm off." 
The angry orc stormed to the door and crashed it open. 
'Stop 'im!" shouted Grok. "'E'll squawk to 'imself an' ruin it." 
Zaxz stepped into the passage after the other, unwinding his whip as he 
moved. Before the running orc had gone ten paces, Zaxz had lashed out, catching 
him by the legs and bringing him crashing down. Flicking the whip free, he 
lashed the dazed orc again and again as he walked closer, down on his victim. 
One blow was enough. Zaxz turned and went back to the meeting, slamming the door 
shut behind him. 
"Any more objections?" Grok asked. "No? Right. Now we're all goin' down the 
stores to get ourselves some extra weapons, then we 'ead for 'is tower. Anyone 
we meet on the way, we gives 'em a choice - join us or get topped. When we get 
there, the wizard goes in an' sorts out 'imself - an' that's it! Right?" 
"What 'appens then, Grok?" Zaxz asked the question that he had arranged with 
his chief. 
"We raid 'is cellar an' 'ave a booze up." Grok knew that this would delight 
the crowd. 
The shouting, cheering orcs cleared a way for Grok across the room to the 
door. "Follow me, mates!" he cried. 
Jarnac was swept along in the crush. This was not the way he would have 
chosen to approach the Black Tower, but it was better than none. Quite how he 
was supposed to 'sort out' the Demon Lord was another matter altogether. Most of 
all he wanted to know what had happened to Tobiah and the Woodman. 

16 
There was a thudding and crashing down the stairs towards the cell block. 
Brandon ignored it, the deaf jailer couldn't hear it and the other three slept 
through it.
Tobiah lay stunned for a few moments, then picked up the sword that had 
clattered down ahead of him. He rose cautiously and painfully, peering through 
the open doorway to the jailers' room. Three orcs were slumped about a table - 
the stone walls echoed with their snoring - while a fourth was picking his teeth 
with a key, his head turned partly away from the man. Tobiah hefted his sword to 
his left hand, took up a club that stood against the wall and crept upon the 
unsuspecting orc. The club came down on the orc's skull with a loud thud that 
made Brandon turn and take notice. He watched with interest as Tobiah span round 
towards the other three, ready to deal with them too. 
"I shouldn't bother," Brandon told him, "they'll not wake up for ages." 
"Who speaks?" asked Tobiah, startled by the dwarf's voice. 
"Brandon Branningon's son at your service, or will be if you would be so kind 
as to open this door." replied the dwarf politely. 
"A dwarf, eh?" said Tobiah, picking up the keys and approaching the door. He 
looked closely at the captive. 
"Yes, but no friend of the orcs, as you can see." He gestured to the keys and 
the lock. The prince eyed him doubtfully, for dwarves had a poor reputation 
amongst men and some were known to be in the Demon Lord's service. "And what are 
you doing in this place?" he asked. 
"I might ask the same of you, noble sir, for you are my visitor are you not?" 
The dwarf politely reminded Tobiah of his manners, but went straight into his 
explanation, for he was keen to be free. "I am, good sir, but a humble minstrel. 
I came to these parts by chance and was thrown into this dungeon for my pains. 
And I, who want only to please the world with my music... Shall I sing you a 
song?" He realised that if Tobiah fell asleep where he then stood, the keys 
would come into reach. 
Tobiah looked at the harp and laughed. "And what humble minstrel carries a 
harp of gold? Ha! I judge you for an adventurer, come to steal gold and caught 
in the act." Even as he laughed he unlocked the door. "Come out, for I am an 
adventurer too, though it is not gold that I seek. I am Tobiah of Valaii, come 
here in search of knowledge. Now tell me again about yourself. But tell me no 
more lies!" He swung the club with half-serious menance to emphasise his point. 
"My noble lord is right. I am an adventurer in search of gold. There is a 
vast treasure here, guarded by the most cunning dragon. So far I have 
acquired only this harp - though it does have its uses!" He gestured with 
the harp towards the sleeping jailers. 
"A Sirens' harp, no less! And you would have sung to me?" 
Brandon shrugged. "An adventurer must take care of himself..." 
"What do you know of these caverns?" Tobiah grew suddenly sombre. He had 
found the dungeons, but the wizard was not there. He had become separated from 
the Woodman, who might be captured, or even dead. It fell now to him alone to 
seek out the Demon Lord's lair and discover what he could. "Do you think you 
could guide me to the Black Tower?" 
"I think I would rather guide myself to the outside. I have decided that I 
shall give up adventuring and go home." 
"Home! Do you think you have a home to go to? Do you not know that this Demon 
Lord has already conquered the northern world and is even now set to overwhelm 
the rest of the surrounding lands?" 
"No." This was all news to Brandon. 
"How long have you been here?" asked Tobiah incredulously. 
"I confess, I do not know. I would guess a few weeks. The first snows had 
fallen the day I entered these caverns." 
"Rut 'tis now autumn! Have you then been here nearly a year?" 
Brandon looked surprised, then he shrugged again. "Time has little meaning in 
this place, and I am in no special hurry." 
"Well I am! And you, master dwarf, will use your knowledge of these passages 
and caverns to take me where I must go. There are things that must be done, for 
your sake as well as for the rest of our peoples. When all is done, Valaii will 
be grateful - in gold!" 
The promise of gold seemed to overcome any doubts Brandon may have had about 
getting involved in Tobiah's enterprise. He took a flickering torch from a wall 
bracket, strapped the harp on his back and strode purposefully towards the exit 
opposite the staircase. "Follow me." 
"Is the torch wise?" asked Tobiah. 
"Yes." replied Brandon firmly. He was tired of being lost in the dark. "But 
don't worry about orcs. I could hear one at a thousand yards." 
Tobiah was not entirely reassured by the dwarf's confidence and kept his 
sword poised as they walked. 
Brandon stumped solidly on. He reasoned that orcs were orcs, and that their 
Demon Lord, whatever he might be, would certainly be no better. Therefore, the 
path from the dungeons to the Black Tower would be well worn and probably marked 
by trails of blood. lt was not a cheerful thought, but it seemed to be paying 
off. Their route took them along passages and up stairways that grew steadily 
wider and higher. At last they reached a junction with a broad highway lit by 
torches all along the walls. It stretched away in both directions, as far as the 
eye could see. Both ways were equally well worn, and both splattered with 
patches of dried blood. Brandon came to a standstill. 
"I think we should go to the right." Tobiah suggested, sensing a great force 
of evil in that direction. 
"Definitely not! lt's this way." The dwarf could also feel it, and was not 
going to argue about the way. He set off to the left, then almost immediately he 
stopped and turned. In the far distance he could see a group of orcs marching 
towards them. He pointed them out to Tobiah. "Perhaps you are right, fair lord. 
Let us hurry on this other way." 
They ran swiftly until the orcs behind had fallen from view and the far end 
of the highway was in sight. It opened out into a great cavern, and a massive 
ornate stairway could be seen on the opposite side. There were orc guards on the 
stairs. 
"Master dwarf, it's time to unstrap your harp again. Play it as we walk the 
last mile." 
Brandon nodded his agreement and made ready. "What shall I play?" he asked, 
but got no reply, for Tobiah had already blocked his ears and gone on ahead. The 
dwarf swung into 'There were four vicious orc soldiers' and followed at a 
distance. His caution was not necessary, and before they had reached the cavern 
the guards had lain themselves down on the stairway and fallen into a deep 
sleep. 

17 
Tobiah stood at the end of the passage. Though the immediate danger of 
discovery had been removed, he was reluctant to go further. The air in the 
cavern was so heavy with menace that it pressed upon him with a physical force, 
and evil shimmered on the stairway. Brandon came and stood by him, then 
shuddered. "I think my harp is of no further use here, my lord. If you don't 
mind, I'll await your return in that little storeroom we have just passed." 
The prince nodded and spoke leadenly. "Thank you, master dwarf, for all that 
you have done. I shall look for you on my return." He gritted his teeth and 
forced his way forward. 
That last short distance across the cavern and up the great flight of stairs 
seemed infinitely long, his feet growing heavier with each step. The evil bit 
into his body, chilling him to the bone and numbing his brain. No ordinary 
mortal could have made that journey, but Tobiah of Valaii was no ordinary 
morfal. In his veins flowed the blood of ancient kings, and he had inherited 
their strength in full measure. The flame of his inner self flickered and dimmed 
but never stopped burning. 
At length he stood before a pair of massive doors of ebony studded with 
silver. They were closed firm, but slivers of light showered around a wicket 
gate within the left-hand door. Tobiah moved to it and slowly pushed it ajar. 
From where he stood, he could not see that black sorceror and Demon Lord, 
the evil genius Agaliarept, but the shadow of his robed figure loomed high on 
the wall beyond. A giant, menacing shadow dancing a sombre dance of death in the 
vivid red light of a fire that seemed to rise and fall at his command. And his 
voice! So cold, so harsh, hissing venomously, it cut through his consciousness 
like a jagged knife. What was said made little sense to him, yet would not be 
forgotten. But to whom did he speak? Tobiah could see no other shadow, hear no 
other voice. 
"...but not yet. Let them sweat for seven more days. Fear will make them weaker 
yet and our victory so much easier...
"Bangara! You have found the Amulet? I will not have failure!" The shadow of a 

robed arm swept across the wall. Its long talons slicing through the air. "...You! 
What is your name? Well, Talak, you have charge of this miserable crew. 
Throw this body to the wolves, then go! md that talisman! I must have it!..."
"Tobi! Tobi! Come away boy!" Another voice, kindly and warm, pushed itself 
urgently into the prince's mind. "Come away! You must not linger here!" 
Tobiah drew his eyes from the unholy sights within and turned towards the 
voice. Jarnac stood beside him, tugging at his sleeve, pulling him away from the 
door. "Come quickly! Soon he will sense me, then all is lost!" The young man 
resisted, transfixed by the black power beyond the doors, but slowly Jarnac 
overcame him, drawing him step by step away. 
Then the Demon Lord returned from his visionary travels and sensed the 
presence of the two, sensed that he had been betrayed, or had betrayed himself 
somehow, and a great shriek of rage rent the air, echoing down the stone 
staircase. That scream released Tobiah from the grip of his power. "The Amulet! 
He seeks the Amulet," the prince whispered. 
"The Amulet of Life! Of course! What other talisman could resist the magic of 
the bane fire that he commands. Come quickly, Tobi! Our mission here is done." 
The wizard led the way down the staircase at the run. Before they made the final 
turn that would bring them insight of the cavern, he thrust Tobiah behind a 
tapestry and told him to wait. Then he continued on alone to face the orcs 

below. 
They had heard the great shriek and now cowered fearfully, wondering what it 
had meant. When Jarnac appeared, there was a ragged cheer and hoarse sighs of 
relief. 
The wizard said nothing, but stood to one side, and gestured to the orcs to 
pass him. Grok's eyes gleamed brightly, his nostrils quivered with the false 
scent of success. He swirled his scimitar above his head and shouted to his 
troops. "Come on! 'E's ours now!" 
The orc rebels charged swiftly up the staircase, and when they were past, the 
wizard called softly to Tobiah. As they ran together across the great cavern, 
they heard from above the screams and cries of the orcs as they burst into the 
Chamber of the Bane Fire and were met by the Demon Lord's great anger. 

18 
"My councillors, my friends..." the old king looked around the table, his 
face full of sorrow. He spoke on, with quavering voice. "This morning an 
ambassador of the enemy did approach the gates of the city. He bore this 
message." King Astuin opened a scroll with shaking hands, and read to the High 
Council. "My Lord Agaliarept calls upon you to surrender. Even now his armies 
are sweeping towards you and cannot be defeated in battle. If you surrender, 
you will be permitted the boon of death with dignity; else if you resist it will 
be the worse for you when you are overcome. You have one week in which to 
decide." 
He raised his eyes from the scroll. "I am not a fighting man and never have 
been - though in our long years of peace that has been of little account but I 
will not give up my people to slaughter by this tyrant. If we must die, we shall 
die fighting." Pride and a strong sense of duty had overcome the fear felt by 
the king, and he made his pledge with dignity. He turned then to his council. 
"Well, Eliglas, what of our armies? And Verdin, what have the wizards to say?" 
The marshall answered first, summing up the current state of the campaign. 
"My liege, members of the High Council. As you know, our troops under Field 
Captain Ellyett have been acting in concert with the armies of surrounding 
kingdoms. It is now over a fortnight since they decamped from the plains below 
the city and marched north. The enemy hosts were met some forty leagues off, by 
the borders of the Great Forest. The couriers tell of a series of engagements - 
running battles, for they are heavily outnumbered and cannot risk a standing 
fight. Ellyett commends the valour of our troops but reports that they have 
suffered many casualties. The last message told that the line of retreat to the 
city had been cut and that they were seeking the shelter of the earthworks at 
the base of Mount Suwi. That was four days ago. Whether they got there or not, I 
do not know. It should have been possible, but by all accounts the enemy shows 
great tactical ability and an alarming capacity for anticipating our every 
move." 
The marshall laid down the handful of scrolls to which he had been referring 
and picked up another set. "I also have reports of a second army, equipped with 
siege engines, now marching down the northern road towards the city. Our 
estimate is that it will be three to four days before they come into sight of 
the walls. That will give us sufficient time to complete the strengthening of 
the city's defences and to bring our people and stores of food in from the 
outlying farmlands. I have every confidence in our ability to hold the enemy at 
bay for many weeks if not months." 
"Marshall Eliglas, you had every confidence in the army's ability to defeat 
the enemy on the field of battle." pointed out Kerrinan the merchant. "But even 
assuming we could hold out for months - who would then relieve us? Are there any 
forces left that could come to our aid?" 
"It won't be a matter of months." said Verdin dourly. "This Demon Lord is 
but playing cat and mouse with us. If he chooses to spread his power he 
could enter the city today. No army can withstand him. Only by destroying 
the base of his power within the Black Tower can we hope to resist him." 
"Could we attempt that, Eliglas? Do we have forces to spare for the venture?" 
asked the king. 
"If the wizard speaks truth, my liege," he replied, "we had best send an army 
of wizards to attack the Black Tower!" 
All eyes turned towards the Royal Wizard. "Well, Verdin?" The king prompted 
him. "It's time the Wizard's Guild did something useful." 
The wizard thought deeply for a few moments, recalling his past conversations 
with Jarnac and piecing together what he knew of Agaliarept. "Not an army of 
wizards," he said at length, "but a single wizard could perhaps slip beneath his 
gaze and enter the tower." 
"So be it. Call your guild council together and put this in train 
immediately. I hold you responsible for its success, Verdin. The Guild failed to 
see the onset of these dark times. If they fail in this venture, you will not 
live to see its end." The king spoke harshly and dismissed the wizard with a 
flick of his hand. "And Eliglas, let us at least try an assault on this Black 
Tower." 
"It shall be done, my liege." 

19 
Brandon cowered in the little storeroom off the highway and waited until he 
had heard the orcs' feet tramp by. He eased the door open a crack and peered 
through. The orcs were all gathered at the foot of the great staircase in the 
cavern beyond with their backs turned to him. Deciding to retreat further down 
the highway ready for a quick escape, the dwarf slipped out and crept away 
stealthily. No-one noticed him. 
He had gone only a few hundred yards when Agaliarept's blood-curdling shriek 
set the stone walls echoing. Brandon didn't wait to find out what had happened. 
He fled. He ran without stopping and without looking back until he came to a 
major crossroads. He knew that the passage along which he had come led from the 
Black Tower to the Orc's Head, and that this gatehouse would always be heavily 
guarded. He guessed that the cross passage led down and right to a second and 
little-used exit to the west, while in the opposite direction the passage would 
lead to those great chambers where once dwarves had held banquets, but now the 
dragon stored his gold. 
"I've got the harp. I'm still alive. I'm off." Brandon told himself severely 
and headed to the right. The passage had some sharp twists in it and began to 
rise steadily upwards, so that the dwarf soon wondered whether or not he had 
made the right choice. And then, a hint of roast vension came to his nostrils, 
and he knew he must be approaching the outside world where dwarves and men 
hunted deer, ate well and lived without fear. "I shall sing for my supper!" said 
Brandon gaily. 
The gleam of sunlight at the end of the passage and the rich meaty smells now 
flooding towards him filled his heart with joy. Brandon shielded his eyes 
against the brightness and ran. He burst out of the passage and cried "Hello!" 
"Ooh, hello again!" replied a familiar voice. "Did you find your music? 
You've been ever such a long time." 
Brandon lowered his hand and saw the dragon roasting a deer in its flames. 
In the firelight, the mounds of gold shone like the morning sun. "Sorry, 
no." Brandon replied, struggling to smile politely. "Someone must have taken 
my pack." 
"I hate thieves!" the dragon hissed. "I had an awful lot of trouble with one 
once." 
"Did he steal a lot?" Brandon was suddenly interested. 
"Ha! Don't be silly!" The dragon dismissed the possibility. "It was just that 
he gave me the most terrible stomach ache." It held the deer to its flaming 
breath, turning it gently in the fire until it was done. "Like a leg? You can 
sing to me after we've eaten." 
"Thanks, I love spit-roasted venison." 

20 
Tobiah stumbled to a halt just within the entrance to the broad highway that 
led from the cavern. "The dwarf! He is hiding here somewhere. We must save him." 
"No need." replied Jarnac, his keen eyes spotting a small figure running off 
in the distance. "He is already saving himself. You must tell me about him 
later. But hurry now." He urged Tobiah on, aware of the prince's great 
weariness, but also aware that they were still in mortal danger. The Demon Lord 
had sensed their presence and the threat that it posed. It might be that his 
anger at the betrayal of Grok's rebellion would for a while cloud his mind, but 
of this Jarnac could not be sure. 
"Good for you, Brandon!" cried Tobiah, and his heart lightened in the 
knowledge and his step grew more firm. "And the Woodman? Where is he? Where 
shall we meet him?" 
"He is safe out of here. Now hurry!" Time now for haste, thought the wizard, 
later for explanations. Jarnac knew that their comrade had died so that Tobiah 
might succeed, and he knew that his memory could best be served by making good 
their escape. He had deen the bloody carnage of the Woodman's stand when he had 
gone with the orc rebels earlier. Some had asked if there were others of his ilk 
at large in their domain. But Grok had had more pressing business and had led 
them past with little more than a glance. 
They stumbled and ran the length of the wide passage, going straight on at 
the crossroads where Brandon had misjudged his way, until they came once more to 
the stairs below the Orc's Head Tower. There Tobiah collapsed, exhausted by his 
long hard travels and the terrible strains of his closeness to the Demon Lord. 
>From far away behind there came a terrible howl of anger and revenge, that 
echoed and re-echoed down the stone-walled passage. 
"Come! Come! We are nearly there!" The wizard pulled him upright, but Tobiah 
slumped once more. "Save yourself, Jarnac. I am done!" 
The howl came again, terrifyingly closer. Jarnac knelt by his prince in 
despair and as he knelt, he felt a hardness at his thigh. "Fool that I am!" he 
cried, reaching into the deep pocket of his robe and drawing out a small flagon. 
"Drink this!" He poured the honey liquor down the exhausted man's throat and 
sighed his gratitude to Grok as Tobiah began to revive. 
The howl came once more, and with it the flickering edges of an icy shadow. 
"Come!" he cried and this time Tobiah staggered to his feet. They struggled up 
the steep and winding stairs and through the fanged mouth of the Orc's Head 
Tower until they stood on the bridge beyond. The shadow of the Demon Lord was 
now close behind them, and a long straight road and open plains before. 
"We cannot escape across there!" panted Tobiah. "No! This is our way." So 
saying the wizard took the prince's arm and together they leapt from the bridge. 
Down they fell into the rushing torrent and by the torrent were carried many 
miles. Over hurtling rapids they were swept, dashed against the cruel rocks, 
helpless in the surging force of the current until the river disgorged into a 
wider valley and the water grew calmer. They were washed up on muddy bank in the 
shade of an old tree and there they lay. 
"We have failed, Jarnac. We can never return in time to find those amulets 
that we need to defeat him." The prince spoke sorrowfully. 
"No, Tobiah. If I can but pass our knowledge on, then we will have succeeded. 
Our part is done, but there will be another who can complete the task."
