The Minstrel's Tale

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he Tavern was unusually full for so early in the day so the Minstrel had already made enough for a hearty midday meal and one of the serving girls had smiled at him, which boded well for his having a free bed and a roof over his head tonight.

Still the mood of his audience was a strange one and he'd had many requests for some of the ballads from the bad times. Morbid stuff, normally used for sobering up an audience but there were none here that far gone. Certainly the burly warrior who had asked him to play his last piece, 'The Death of Sir William', was stone cold sober. His tankard had not been touched since he purchased it.

The Minstrel played a lighter piece to try to lighten his own mood if not that of his audience; the speed of the music had his bow sawing across the strings of his violin at a frenetic pace. So intent was he on his playing that he did not see the latest visitor to the taproom until after he finished playing. So captivated by what he saw was he that he put down his instrument and picked up his drink so that he could get a good look at the beautiful young woman who had made her way over to the gaming tables. He almost choked on his drink when he realised that she was wearing the robes of a priestess.

What a pity ... What a waste, he thought and watched as she confronted one of the gamblers. Then someone came and threw a coin into his hat and asked for a song so he was kept busy for several minutes and had no chance of hearing what they talked about. He did however see the tears in her eyes as she turned and walked towards the door. He finished the piece in mid-chorus and with an apologetic look towards his audience and hardly understanding why, he moved to intercept the priestess.

Presenting her with the clean handkerchief he kept for just such situations he asked, "May I be of assistance, Milady?"

She looked at him blankly and brushed past, obviously overwrought, and headed up the stairs to the rooms above. He turned and looked across the room into the eyes of the man who had caused those tears. The old Gambler sat there shuffling cards, his face a perfect mask.

Whether it was chivalry or curiosity that made him walk across the room he didn't know but the kindly smile that appeared on the old man's face made him pause.

"Some fine playing there son. I would put a coin in your cap ..." said the old man.

Realising that he had left his cap with his hard-earned coin on the floor where he had been playing the Minstrel glanced over his shoulder. The fighting man who had paid for the ballad earlier nodded to him patting the cap which was now under his guard along with the Minstrel's violin. He turned back to the Gambler only to find a gold coin on the table in front of him and the man dealing a hand.

"Double or nothing?" asked the man.

"Sorry!" stammered the Minstrel. Such largesse. This must be some sort of trick.

The old man did not wait for him to look at his cards but resolved the game himself flipping both sets of cards.

"Your queen of hearts beats my pitiful hand. I will play you for your winnings," said the man placing another golden coin beside the first. He then gathered in the cards — the hands that shuffled the deck were deft and sure.

"The Priestess," said the Minstrel breaking his confused silence, "What did you say to her?"

"Nothing. I was speaking to my daughter but she wouldn't listen either." Cards flicked across the table and then the dealer said, "Show me what you've got."

Confused the Minstrel didn't move and once more the old man flipped both their hands.

"King of hearts this time. Your luck is good today my friend." Two more golden coins moved across the table followed by a challenge. "How far are you willing to push it?"

Four gold pieces was a lot of money but they couldn't really be his, could they? Perhaps if he let the old man play his strange game he would talk less cryptically.

"Deal the cards and let the Devil take his due," said the Minstrel in jest.

The quick hands stopped and the old man looked up. "Careful what you ask for son. These are troubled times and if I were you I wouldn't be calling on assistance from his infernal majesty."

Shocked at this reponse the Minstrel watched as the deal resumed and his hand accumulated on his side of the table. He reached forward to carefully touch the cards. His opponent smiled with approval at his action and kept his smile when the flipped cards revealed the magus of diamonds. Four more gold coins crossed the table when the dealer revealed another inferior hand.

"Lady Luck's the person you should be calling on," said his opponent slowly gathering up the cards. "With her luck and your skills you stand a chance. But you gotta look out for her now. Treat her right and don't let her come to any harm now. You hear me, boy."

The Minstrel nodded his head not sure what he was agreeing to.

"Now get out of here," said the Gambler, "Game's over for you. Let a poor old man earn enough to keep him warm in his dotage."

Numbly the young man picked up his winnings, felt their heavy gold weight and turned away. Something strange had just happened, something he didn't understand. He walked away half expecting to be called back.

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lush with funds Paul, now in mufti, was enjoying a lavish breakfast for once. Why had he never done this before? The takings here were much better than in the City and the serving staff more generous, he smiled with the memory of last night's dalliance.

True, it was unlikely the windfall he had received from the crazy old gambler would be repeated but he was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He smiled again as his latest conquest poured him another pitcher of breakfast ale out of sight of the landlord and then went about her duties with a knowing wink.

A tasty dish, he thought as he bit into the last of his bacon. Perhaps seconds would be in order, tonight. Paul continued to amuse himself with his culinary allusions applying them to the beautiful priestess he had seen yesterday thinking of her as a mouth-watering desert or, even better, forbidden fruit. His smile left his face as he suddenly realised the object of his fancies was now standing in front of him.

"Priestess," Paul stammered, spilling some of his drink as he bumped the table in rising. "Can I help you," he asked as he wiped ale from his trousers.

"I do not know, but I think, perhaps," she said cryptically frowning slightly with her thoughts.

"Well then, please take a seat," he said indicating the opposite side of the table. "And would you perhaps like a cordial?"

She sat but shook her head at the offer of a drink. Paul dashed his hand once more at this wet trousers and then sat himself down uncertain as to what was happening or what was expected of him.

"I dreamt of you last night," said the Priestess, "and I was wondering if you are familiar with the ins and outs of the marketplace."

Paul was nonplussed at her admission and so answered her question truthfully, "I grew up in one, milady. My mother, may Good keep her near, ran a market stall in the City for many years. And I learnt the basis of my craft from some of the street performers that worked there."

"Good and better," said priestess, "Are you of the faith yourself?"

"Yes," he admitted, "but I have not been to church for a very long time. Work such as mine does not lend itself to either evening or early morning services."

She smiled at him and he once again realised how beautiful she was.

"Are you available this morning? I believe I have need of someone with your experience. I cannot pay you in coin but perhaps your soul would benefit from being mentioned in my prayers."

"Certainly, milady, I am at your service," Paul found himself saying. "I am not in desperate need of coin at the moment but perhaps my soul is in need of a few of your kind thoughts. Where are we off to?"

"There is a market some little ways off. I must travel there but fear the consequences. In my dream you were my guide. Call it a woman's fancy but I have learnt to trust my dreams."

All this talk of dreams gave Paul cause to think. Was this priestess the famous Prophetess from the Chapel the other side of the Crags? She of the prophetic dreams and miraculous powers. He started to have second thoughts about his promise. Important people like her did not involve themselves with common Minstrels such as himself and if she had fears, perhaps they were founded in truth.

"If one such as yourself is in fear of the consequences of a little shopping," he said, suddenly uncertain as to whether he could fulfill his side of the bargain. "Perhaps we should avail ourselves of a stalwart travelling companion and I know just the man."

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weat glistened on the Minstrel's bare torso as he repeatedly lunged and stabbed with the long epee in the manner the Warrior had shown him. The early morning sun had more heat to it than he'd thought and such a simple exercise more strenuous than he had expected. The Warrior had said that he should get used to the weight of the sword and using it in its most effective mode of attack.

Not for the first time Paul wondered at the impulse that had made him want a weapon. He was an artist who had previously wielded nothing more dangerous than a violin bow. He stopped and wiped his brow, at the same time sneaking a surruptitious look at the Prophetess who was sitting by the fire making tea for them all. She was pointedly not looking at the weapon exercises he and the Warrior were doing but she was the only one in the immediate vicinity of their campsite that wasn't watching them. Fortunately, the obvious muscles and expertise of the Warrior, had kept the number of jokes about the Minstrel's clumsiness down to a minimum.

The Warrior — after telling him that it was a bad idea for him to carry a weapon in the first place as it only invited trouble — had finally suggested the epee as the best weapon for him to buy as it allowed him to use his height and long arms to attack the enemy from a distance. It was also light enough so that he could wield it effectively; trying to hold Borix's broadsword at arm's length had been a humiliating experiment.

Despite his misgivings about Paul using a weapon it was clear that Borix expected trouble on their mission to take the Prophetess back to her home at the Chapel. Paul was glad to have the Warrior along but wondered at his motives. He was not a follower of Good so had no obligation to the Prophetess, like Paul did. He would have to make sure that they stayed in Borix's favour as they needed someone with his experience and combat skills.

Guiltily, Paul threw Borix a look and got back to his exercises. The Warrior hadn't said anything but Paul knew that if he didn't pull his weight they ran the risk of losing his help, and that would be bad.

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hat the Prophetess had dreamt of the location of some more gold had only slightly mollified Paul's reaction to her news that she no longer wanted to go to the Chapel. She had told them while he had been preparing breakfast and he'd almost spilt the porridge. The sudden thought of losing this adventurous life that he had been drawn into had been distressing. He was not sure why, but he knew that he liked this new twist his life had taken. A good friend, a lovely woman, the hint of danger and involvement in matters beyond the humdrum; these were the things he sang about in his ballads and that he himself was involved had obviously meant more to him than he realised. Now she wanted to go to the Temple, which was just across the river. That would take days rather than weeks and once there the little group would break up and he would have to go back to being just a plain Minstrel again.

Paul restoppered his waterskin and went back to searching through the thick undergrowth. They were looking for a stone with a particular glyph carved on its face. A stone the Prophetess had seen in her dream. Before yesterday Paul would have laughed that someone could tell the future through dreams, but she had been right about the location of the first lot of gold and about how to destroy the shadowy magic that protected it.

The Warrior worked near him using his sword to cut down some of the larger of the low hanging branches. Borix had been non-commital about the Prophetess's change of plans and if not for the concern that had been on the man's face yesterday when he had charged after her in the underground ruins Paul would have thought him uncaring. Not for the first time Paul wondered what drove the man who he would like to call, friend.

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amping where they had in the forest would have been impossible if not for the little stream that the Minstrel had discovered. It wandered its way quietly through the forest a little way from their camp and was barely noticeable except for the dark moss that grew on the rocks on its banks. He had already used its unsullied waters to replenish their waterskins before getting down to the dirty task of scrubbing the porridge pot and bowls.

He'd unfortunately let the porridge burn to the bottom of the pot this morning while listening to the Prophetess tell them that she had not dreamt of any more gold — apparently she'd had a dreamless night. He was now having to pay the price for his lapse of concentration by having to scrape the bottom of the pot with his spoon. It was when he stopped his pot scrapping that he heard the murmur of voices.

"Hallooo," he cried to attract the visitor's attention. The voices stopped and there was nothing but silence. Paul began to wonder if his calling out had been wise. He turned towards his own camp and saw Borix coming towards him.

"What's up, Paul?" asked the Warrior.

"I heard voices, but when I called out they stopped. That's not good, is it?"

"Not usually," said Borix, putting his hand on the hilt of his sword and eyeing the dim vastness of the forest beyond the stream. "Back to camp," he said after some quiet deliberation and picking up the waterskins moved back to where the Prophetess was waiting. The Minstrel gathered up his dishes and hurried after him.

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is violin hadn't been taken from its hardened leather case for several days. This fact occurred to Paul as he packed up his gear for the journey back to the Market. He would have to do something about that. Tonight at the Markets he would play for any who would listen; yes, a free concert.

Paul was glad to be leaving the Woods. Since the Prophetess had been unable to find any more gold and the scare about their unknown visitors the darkly brooding trees had started to oppress him. Give him fresh air and lots of people any time.

After strapping on his epee he picked up the violin case and slung it on his shoulder. The Prophetess was ready and Borix was scattering the ashes of their campfire to make sure it didn't start a fire.

"Shall we go? If we hurry we can reach the Market while the food stalls are still open so you won't have to put up with my cooking this evening." Neither the Prophetess or Borix made a comment for he was the best cook of the three of them, but that was not saying much.

The Warrior lead them away from their campsite back the way they came and things became quiet once more in the little clearing they had made. With the noisy interlopers finally leaving the Woods would be able to resume the destruction of the ancient civilisation that they had conquered.

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ater swirled gently around the Raft as the Minstrel and the Warrior polled their way along. Fortunately the Storm River was at its gentlest here near the Tavern where it became broad and narrow as it entered the arid lands adjacent to the desert. The main danger was from submerged snags so the Prophetess stood at the front of the Raft keeping a look at for sunken branches and the like.

Paul had already decided he would pray at the Temple when they got there but was unsure as to what he would do afterwards. He would have liked for them all to stay together as a group but that seemed unlikely. No doubt the Prophetess's religious duties would split them up soon. Paul had had romantic inclinations towards the beautiful priestess early on in their association but she had never shown any interest in him and so he had given up those idea. Still he thought there was at least friendship between them as he hoped there was between him and the doubty Warrior who plyed the other pole.

Perhaps he and Borix could visit the King's castle; they would be on the right side of the River after all and with the Game of Ascenscion well underway it would become full of tourists waiting to see who would be going through the Portal of Power. It would be a good place for him to work and Borix had said he had not been to the Castle in a long time. He would bring up the idea after the reached the other side.

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aul entered the Temple through the towering ornate bronze doors. The building was nearly empty with just a few worshippers clustered around one of the shrines along the wall. A lay servant, a eunuch by his soft features, approached him and silently gestured for Paul to hand over his dagger — weapons of any sort were not allowed in the Temple proper. Paul did so and then turned towards a priest who was about to leave.

"Father, may I speak with you?"

"Of course," said the priest, "but I am just a brother, not a Priest. How may I help you?"

Paul rubbed the back of his head self-consciously, "I came here earlier today with a friend. One of your sisters ... ummm, no, sorry ... she's a priestess. Anyway I can't find her now. She must be still inside the Temple somewhere and I was wondering if I could talk with her or somehow get a message to her."

"Can you tell me the name of this priestess?" asked the priest.

"Ummm, no," said Paul at a loss. "But she's famous. She's the Prophetess from the Chapel beyond the Crags."

"You will come with me, please," said the brother, all trace of congeniality gone from his face. He stepped away from Paul expecting to be followed.

"Why? Is there something wrong?" said Paul following, fearing that the Prophetess had been hurt.

"We must talk privately," said the brother and then asked, "Were you not blessed today?"

"Yes," said Paul, trying to match the brother's quick step.

"Good works in mysterious ways," said the brother sparing him a glance and then hurrying on.

* * * *

Several hours later Paul was regretting not listening to the Warrior's warning. Borix had told him about the mysterious disappearances that occurred at the Temple. About how every year many people came to the Temple as pilgrims and how some of them were never seen again. He had rejected the story as rubbish, but now he was not so sure.

He had blindly followed the brother out a side entrance into the inner grounds where the brother had men-at-arms garbed in the uniform of the Good church take him into custody. No one had answered his questions as to why and he had shortly found himself in a narrow little cell with only a bed and a bucket as furniture. They had even stripped him of even his belongings, including his precious violin.

He could not understand it. He had asked time and time again to be allowed to talk to the Prophetess but no one had said anything to him beyond orders he had to obey.

Had the same thing happened to the Prophetess? Surely not, she was a priestess, but what if it had? What if she were in a similar cell to him just paces away from him? He considered calling out but thought it unlikely his calls would reach other ears, the walls looked too thick. What if she had been similarly captured? If even she were at risk then there would be no chance for him to talk his way out and so Borix was his, perhaps even their, only hope.

The last words he had said to Borix had been angry. He had not believed the doubty Warrior and had demanded his right to talk to the priests. The ever patient Borix had not tried to stop him. Had simply asked Paul to leave him his sword saying that it would be better kept in his hands than left at the door. He had obviously suspected something like this would happen.

Why, oh why, hadn't Paul listened to his friend.

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aul sat anxiously awaiting the return of his friend Borix. The doubty Warrior had snuck onto Temple grounds to free him but Paul had begged him to find the Prophetess and see if she was safe. That had been an hour ago and Borix still hadn't returned. Paul hoped he hadn't sent his friend into danger.

"Paul," came a whisper from the door.

"Borix!" Paul ran to the door. "I'm so glad to hear your voice. How is she?"

"She's fine," grunted the Warrior, lifting the bar off the door and opening it. "Now can we leave this place?"

"Where is she?" asked Paul as he left the cell.

"Come," said Borix. "I'll take you to her."

* * * *

Outside the walls of the Temple there has sprung up a city. A tent city of pilgrims and other hopefuls who await the piety or the charity of the priests within. Under the desert moon the long established tents don't look as dirty and dilapidated as they do during the day. Paul wonderer why the Warrior had brought him here.

"Where is she?" Paul asked again.

The Warrior pointed out into the desert.

"Sorry, I don't understand," Paul said, after looking long and hard in the indicated direction.

"She told me that we must wait for her here."

"What?" said Paul, confused.

"She would not come with me. She said that Good needed her to find someone in the desert and that we were to wait here for her."

"And you let her go? Alone? Why?"

"She said something about travelling there by magic and that we could not come with her—" He held up his hand to prevent Paul's interruption. "I could not dissuade her. She said we had to trust her and that she would be back in two days and that we are to wait for her."

Paul couldn't believe what had happened. He questioned the Warrior again and again trying to understand fully what had happened but in the end he had to accept that for the moment he could do nothing.

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aul felt guilty. Not because he entered the Temple with suspicion in his mind about the Priests who lived and worked there. Paul felt guilty because he had stolen away from his friend, the Warrior Borix, without telling him what he was planning to do. Borix was content to wait for the Prophetess to return from the desert. He seemed to have the patience of a saint as he sat there doing whatever it was he was doing with his equipment.

Paul was not so stolid. He had tried to occupy his mind and time by playing his violin for the faithful — those who waited outside the walls of the Temple on the desert in the hope of a miracle or a blessing — but that was not enough. He could not forget that moment in the Temple when he had been touched by greatness. Surely his capture had had nothing to do with that. There must still be Good in the Temple and it must had been that divine force which had granted him his new-found Strength.

Paul moved towards the altar circumspectly keeping as far from those priests who were talking with the faithful. Finally, when he was a close to the altar as he could get without calling attention to himself he knelt and began to pray.

USE IT WISELY, MINSTREL
 

The voice that boomed in his head was accompanied by a flood of power and knowledge. Preservation magic flowed into him. His was now the power to control the fate of a single life.

Paul prostrated himself on the floor and gave his thanks.

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evelations. Mysterious Black outs. It was all getting very strange as far as Paul was concerned, but one thing was for sure; he needed to make sure that the Prophetess was safe. She had returned from the desert and he hadn't been there to meet her; he'd been drinking in a tavern trying to come to grips with the revelation and subsequent blackout he'd had yesterday.

Paul walked up the steps that lead to the Temple. The Prophetess had been brought here by the pilgrims who had seen her walk out of the desert and collapse less than a hundred paces from their tents. Although now very familiar with area Paul was still uncertain about it. The Temple was a place of contradictions. Twice he'd had revelations from Good that had permanently changed him: his strength had been increased so that it now rivalled that of his well-muscled friend the Warrior. He had even been granted the ability to preserve a life. So why then had he been imprisoned the one time he had come here looking for the Prophetess? He was beginning to think that the goals of the Priests were at odds with the goals of Good. He would not listen to the Priests any more.

Paul slipped into the Temple and once more made his way to the altar avoiding the Priest whose jobs it were to interpret the prayers of the faithful. Finally he took his opportunity when all the Priests were occupied and he fell to his knees and prayed to Good for guidance.

Instantly a great warmth swept over him and his eyesight swam with swirls of light. Light that coalesced into a vision — a vision of the Prophetess and blood. He was to save her. Save her from the perfidious ones who worshipped Evil here in the very home of Good. To help him the strength of Good flowed into him boosting his life force for the trials ahead. He was to be the champion of Good. He must rescue the Prophetess and then make his way to the Throne of Power and claim the Crown of Command for himself — for the Good of the Realm.

Paul came too with both Priests and worshippers gathered around him in concern for his health. The Priests wanted to take him away to see to his health but he pushed them away with his unexpected Strength and made a dash for the door.

One man alone could not hope to succeed. He needed his friend, the Warrior's, help. Together they would come back and storm this bastion of Evil and free the Prophetess and then all three of them would make their attempt on the Throne of Power.

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he Warrior was like a whirlwind and Paul was having trouble keeping up. They were now in the Temple grounds and their speed was their biggest disadvantage. That, and the complacency of the Temple guards, even Paul could tell that they weren't prepared to face a real challenge. Borix was even taking it easy on them; having yet to do any permanent damage.

Paul, who was doing little more than threatening people with his sword, suddenly saw a Priest he recognised. It was the man who had taken him off to be enslaved the first time the Temple had revealed its true colours. Action came instinctively and he rushed at the man and backed him at sword point up against a wall.

"Where is the Prophetess?" he asked, the tip of his sword pointed at the man's throat. The man was no hero and after desperately looking around for help that was not forthcoming pointed off towards the cloisters.

"Take him as a hostage," said Borix who had just rapped the pate of another incompetent man-at-arms after summarily disarming him.

Paul raised an eyebrow at the Priest and gestured for him to take the lead with his sword. The man spluttered his indignity but lead the way into the grounds.

* * * *

By the time they reached the room where the Priest said that the Prophetess was being held the guards had started to get organised. Half-a-dozen followed them now, though they still held back in face of the Warrior's obvious fighting superiority. None of them wanted to be the first to die.

"Its locked," said the Minstrel in defeat after trying the door.

Borix glanced at the door and then at the men-at-arms who were still at some distance. Suddenly, he turn and rushed at the door, shoulder first. The wood around the lock splintered as his impetus carried him into the room.

Paul looked at the door, the Priest, and at the guards who were now rushing towards him. He grabbed the Priest and pushed him into the room. Borix slammed the door shut and pushed a chest of drawers over against it.

On the bed lay the Prophetess looking as white as the sheet that was pulled up to her neck. What had they done to her? He thrust the Priest at Borix and moved over to the bed to ensure himself that she still lived. She did but was obviously very weak.

"She's alive," he said. "Thank Good."

"You'll never get away with this, you know," said the Priest plucking up some courage. "Your trapped in here. If you let me go I'll arrange for your safety."

"What are we going to do?" said Paul to Borix ignoring the Priest.

"Time for us to leave," he said and walked over and grabbed the front of the Priest's robes. "Get her ready to leave; carry her if you must. Meanwhile the Priest and I are going to guarantee our safe passage."

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n the darkness just before dawn the Minstrel left the camp and headed back towards the Temple. Borix had been awake of course; Paul didn't think he actually ever slept. In hushed voices they had talked about the Prophetess's clothing problem — the fact that she had none — and eventually the Warrior had agreed that one of them should take a little bit of his money and find some suitable clothes for her.

Paul was not surprised when Borix accepted his offer to do the job. He didn't think Borix had much experience in woman's clothing. However, he was a little surprised that Borix stumped up the money and would not hear of it being considered a loan.

He hadn't needed to go far. Not far along the road he had come across a farmer's wagon pulled over under a tree. The farmer, who had obviously had too much to drink the night before, was sleeping it off in his wagon. His horse, still in its traces, calmly stood and waited, occasionally cropping some of the lush grass in the place where it had stopped. Paul got the impression that the horse had done this before.

Paul's interest was attracted to the wagon because of the pile of clothing that lay exposed on its tray. He had promised Borix that he wouldn't take any unnecessary risks and amongst the clothing were several sturdy dresses of plain design and make. Why go to the Temple if he could buy one of these dresses from the farmer.

The horse looked at him as he approached but obviously thought he looked trustworthy as it went back to tearing at the long grass and did not react when he pulled on its owner's sleeve.

"Excuse me, good sir," he said loudly. He was rewarded by the opening of a bleary eye, which then closed again.

"Whadda ya want?"

"I was wondering if you were interested in selling me a dress?"

The eye opened agained and looked at him questioningly.

"Not for me," said Paul quickly. "One of my travelling companions has torn her dress and is in need of another one to tide her over until we get to the Castle. I couldn't help noticing that you had several on the back of your wagon?"

* * * *

The Prophetess was awake when Paul arrived back at the camp and although she looked askance at the homespun dress when he presented it to her she thanked him for his kind thought. She then excused herself and disappeared behind a tree to get dressed. She had come back into camp looking a little less like an invalid. She was however still deathly pale and would probably not be fully recovered until after she had received proper treatment at the Castle.

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omething dark stirred in the heart of the Minstrel as he struggled to keep up with the Warrior. He had been left to bring their equipment while Borix carried the Prophetess. Now, trailing behind the doubty Warrior who seemed utterly driven in his need to carry her to safety, Paul realised that he wanted to be the one to carry her, he, the one she wanted to believe had saved her.

I'm Jealous, he thought as he shifted his burden to a more managable arrangement, yet again. He banished the thought as swiftly as it had come, ashamed. She's a priestess, for Good's sake. Neither of us can have her.

He stopped to pick up Borix's bed roll that had fallen; he cursed and almost left it where it lay. No. Borix is my friend. He dutifully picked it up, dropping something else in the process. It wasn't so much that his load were heavy, just cumbersome. There were too many separate things and he had nothing substantial enough to wrap it all in.

Borix had gotten ahead again; the man was a machine needing no rest. Paul gathered his burden to himself again and set off. It wasn't far now. He could see the silhouette of the Castle in the distance against the stars.

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violin is an amazing instrument. It can bring either pleasure or pain to an audience and in the hands of a good player it can bring coin plus room and board for the night. Paul sat in the Castle's kitchen and helped himself to another slice of the fresh-baked bread and honey to finish off his breakfast. His friend Borix sat across from him nursing a mug of breakfast beer, his brows furrowed in thought.

"What ails you Borix?"

"Do you think we are ready to attempt the Portal of Power?" said the doubty Warrior. "I have heard tales of what lies beyond that make me wonder."

"What can possibly go wrong," said Paul trying to sound more convincing than he felt. "The Prophetess has Good on her side."

"What about us?" was the Warrior's reply.

"I wouldn't want to sit upon the Throne of Power ... Would you? Though, I wouldn't miss the attempt for the world. Just think of the stories we will be able to tell our children."

The Warrior's eyes tightened and he took another swig of his drink. "I've already got far too many stories as it is," he replied enigmatically.

The Minstrel continued on caught up by his own thoughts. "I will write ballads of our journey. You will be immortalised, my good friend. Everyone will know the name of Borix the Warrior who helped Good claim the Throne of Power."

Borix smiled at last. "That'd be a first. Mostly those in power forget about the ones who helped them get there."

The Warrior got to his feet and apologised, "Sorry Paul. I'm just too anxious about tomorrow to appreciate your mood. Look, I'm just going to go for a bit of a walk. It'll clear my head and allow you to enjoy yourself without me bringing your mood down. I'll see you later."

Paul raised his cup of hot tea in a toast to Borix and watched as the other man left the kitchen. As soon the Warrior had gone his smile left his face. He was also anxious about tomorrow and he could not fool himself with his false bravado.

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"hich way do we go?" Paul asked the Prophetess hoping she wouldn't say, 'to the right'. Just the thought of entering that enormous Crypt was making the hairs on the back of his neck rise up. In truth the other way didn't look very safe either but that was to be expected. They were in the inner region of the realm on their way to the Valley of Fire.

The Prophetess looked both ways along the dusty track and then turned her attention to the distant Mine. "That way," she said and pointed.

Paul breathed a sigh of relief. Borix looked at him and gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder before setting out in the direction the Prophetess had indicated. Doesn't anything bother that man, thought Paul and then fell into step behind the Prophetess as she moved off after the Warrior.

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ishes? How come he always had to do the dishes? The Minstrel picked up another handful of sand and started scouring the metal pot Borix had used to cook the stew they had had for their supper. With all the major bits of leftover food removed from the pot he dipped it into the small runnel of water they had found and camped next to. He sloshed the contents round and then threw the slurry into the darkness.

Borix and the Prophetess were deep in conversation. Something to do with keeping a double watch tonight. This did not appeal to the Paul at all. It had been a hard day's march. He was tired and the thought of staying up a large part of the night was not appealing.

Come to me strong one.

A movement out in the darkness caught his attention. His first thought was to call Borix's attention to it as he had been told, but then he realised it was a person — actually it was a girl. Was she in trouble? Paul put down his pot and without a backward glance stepped over the small stream and walked into the night.

You will be mine, forever.

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awn found the Minstrel sitting staring blankly into the ashes of their campfire. They had run out of fuel for it and both the Warrior and the Prophetess had vetoed his idea of going to collect more of the dry bushes and twisted trees that grew in the area. Paul was now very cold and every now and then found himself shivering.

They hadn't needed the fire to keep vigil. Even before the sun had come up there had been enough light coming from the fires on the horizon for them to see. Paul had needed it for its heat and even the heat of the strong cup of tea Borix had made with the last of the wood had done little to warm him.

"Can we go now?" he said breaking the silence that had descended over them all. "I need some exercise to get my blood pumping."

Borix got to his feet and looked at the Prophetess. "Yes. I would like to move on now as well. The sun's up. It should be safe now, shouldn't it?"

The Prophetess yawned and nodded and also climbed to her feet. She turned and looked at Paul. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

"I'm fine," said Paul for about the tenth time. "Nothing that a good hearty breakfast and a warm suit of clothes wouldn't fix." He smiled slightly and also got to his feet. "Though at the moment I'd settle for a heel of bread and another cup of tea."

They broke a meagre fast and then set off towards the glow on the horizon — the Valley of Fire.

* * * *

The sun was almost directly above when Paul almost stumbled into the Prophetess. He had been day-dreaming and automatically following close behind her. Now he looked up to see the Warrior standing alert several yards ahead of them a hand raised in warning.

"What is it?" asked the Prophetess in a whisper.

"We're not alone," hissed the Warrior as he slowly drew his sword.

Paul drew his sword also and then upon hearing a sound turned back to look at the way they had come. All of a sudden a wild yipping cry broke out from all around them and Paul froze in horror as a green-scaled monster dressed in armour and wielding a wicked-looking blade rose up from behind a nearby boulder. They were being attacked by fiends straight from the pit.

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hen the Prophetess had screamed Paul had turned to see her helpless and about to be cleaved in two by one of the Pit Fiends. Instinctively he had flung up his free hand and allowed the miracle that he had been imbued with in the Temple to flow out of him and create a protective barrier around her that the Fiend's Sword could not penetrate.

Now he had to save her from any further attack. Forgetting his own attacker he threw himself at her enemy. As he ran he brought up his weapon.

'FUD' went the point of the epee into the eye of the Pit Fiend — a lucky hit for Paul — the point punctured the thin bone behind the eye and the creature died almost instantly.

Paul let the body slide off his Sword as it fell to the ground and then turned towards the Prophetess.

"Look out," she screamed.

Paul had indeed forgotten about his own attacker and the Fiend, who had chased him, swung his arcane blade at the Minstrel's side. A meaty thunk and a spray of crimson told of the hit and Paul staggered away from the blow.

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nother feminine scream — a scream of pain this time — made Paul look up from the ragged red wound in his side. All thoughts of his own pain and possible death through loss of blood disappeared as he saw that the same monster that had injured him now had its Sword stuck into the shoulder of the Prophetess. Somehow, mysteriously, his weapon had disappeared, but he had to do something to stop the Fiend, so he jerked himself into motion.

The monster was so engrossed with the torture of its victim that it had forgotten about him. He stepped over the body of the the first Fiend — the one he had managed to kill — and grabbed the monster's chestplate from behind. He heaved mightily, hoping that his magically enhanced Strength would be enough to drag it away.

With a cry that was part anger and part agony he threw the creature bodily to one side and then turned to face it, prepared to give his all to protect the woman he loved.

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aul sat upon a rock holding his hand to his side; blood welled from between his fingers and the makeshift bandage underneath was already sodden. He and Borix had been following the Prophetess who, despite her own grievous wounds, had set off toward the Valley of Fire almost immediately after the last Pit Fiend had fallen. Paul hadn't been up to it. They had only gone about fifty paces before his faltering steps had made Borix insist upon seeing to Paul's wounds; Borix had used his own cloak to make the bandages.

For the moment Paul sat alone. Borix, his own face horribly scarred and still bleeding from the teeth of one of the three Pit Fiends he had slain, had suddenly realised that Paul's Sword was missing and had gone back to look for it. The Prophetess had walked on, drawn inexorably towards the Valley of Fire by her devotion to the cause of Good. Paul looked down at the trail of blood drops she had left in her wake.

Their quest was no longer a fun adventure. It had become very real and very dangerous. They had come so far and faced so much, were they doomed to fall at the last hurdle? This was the question that plagued Paul's mind while he waited for Borix to return.

He turned to look once more at the distant figure of the Prophetess and then looked down at his wound again. He remembered the first time he had seen her in the Tavern. She had looked so beautiful that he had fallen hopelessly in love with her at that instant. It had been a shock to him when he'd found out that she was a priestess and therefore denied him. Still he had devoted himself to her and her cause on the spot ... and look at what it had brought him ... and she hadn't even enquired after his health after the battle.

He raised his eyes up to look at her once again ... perhaps for the last time. Where was she? She had fallen. She was not moving.

Paul struggled to his feet and staggered off towards the Prophetess as fast as his wound would let him. All thoughts of leaving having vanished at the thought that she might need him.

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limbing the sides of the pinnacle was harder than walking upon the flat in the Valley of Fire and Paul experienced agony in his wounded side every time he had to support his weight with one of his arms. He wondered how the Prophetess managed it? She was as badly hurt as he, perhaps worse, but her face was calm and serene.

Borix reached down to take Paul's hand. Solid dependable Borix. He was leading the way now. Choosing the safest path. Supporting them both at times with his great Strength even though both blood and sweat dripped from the wound on his head.

"Come on Paul. You're almost there," said the Warrior. "One last effort and then you'll see what its all been about."

The Minstrel set his teeth against the pain and let the Warrior bodily lift him up to the next ledge. The lyrics from an old song passed briefly through his head: 'its a long way to the top if you want to rule the realm'. But then all thoughts of doggerel were banished as he realised that they had indeed made it and that what he saw in front of him was the great rock-carved throne of Talis, and that the object that lay forlornly upon that throne was the remains of Talis' last ruler and that the drab grey object that sat upon the corpse's withered brow was the Crown of Command.

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aul turned towards Borix the Warrior. The side of the man's head had been laid open by the fangs of a Pit Fiend. Blood and gore stained the man's neck and the side of of his jerkin. He too had lost a lot of blood but his eyes were as calm as ever. This was a man who could prevail against all sorts of odd. Not a man to give up if he believed in the cause he fought for.

"Borix, my friend. Have you had enough? Wouldn't you prefer to be putting your feet up in some Tavern somewhere. Say the word and all this will be a thing of the past, another tale to tell over a tankard."

Borix smiled. "Nice to hear that there is some of the Minstrel still in you, Paul," he said and the shook his head. "No this battle is not over yet and I'm staying until it is, one way or the other."

"Good," said Paul looking at them both. "Then there is something I would have you do." He waited until they had both nodded their willingness and then continued, "On the plain below the Tower where we met the vampire there is camped a fighting man, a Mercenary. He could be of assistance to our defence and a detriment to our cause if the forces of Evil buy his services. I want you to go and hire hire and bring him back here with you."

Paul pulled a purse from his side and handed it across to Paul. "I'm afraid I don't have any more but at least it will get him to listen to you. Once he understands the full situation hopefully he will back our cause."

"I'll believe that when I see it," said the Warrior, as he took the proffered purse. "I know the type and they believe in naught but gold."

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is mind flew like a bird over the earth, backtracking the arduous path they had walked looking for the Evil that he knew was his greatest threat. On the far side of the Mine-riddled hills he found them and with the true sight given him by the Crown he evaluated their threat.

The male magician was perhaps the most dangerous; he carried powerful magic and had a strong aura. He also carried the signs of recent injury and so hopefully would be more readily persuaded to submit. Paul focussed in on this man and made himself known to him.

Evil one, boomed the Minstrel into the his mind. The man started but then drew himself up proudly.

I am the ruler of all Talis, thought Paul. You're attempt is too late and doomed to failure. Submit to my will now and I will not kill you.

The man smiled and as his colleagues gathered round in confusion at his actions he spoke and through the magic of the Crown Paul heard him say, "So ... it begins ... and no suggestion of reconciliation. Good at least we know where we stand, unlike last time."

Paul was taken aback. Last time? he queried without thinking.

The Wizard laughed and said, "You are far too young and inexperienced to be ruler of all Talis. I — No," he made a gesture that encompassed his companions. "We ... We shall take the Crown from your dying body and someone more worthy, will rule Talis."

This was not happening how the Crown had shown him. This man would never submit to his rule. Well so be it. 'Do your worst,' cried the Wizard as Paul used the full power of the Command spell on him.

The man cringed expectantly and then recovered his composure and his dignity. "Is that the best you can do?" he scoffed. "We are coming for you Crown Bearer. Your days are numbered."

Paul withdrew in consternation. That hadn't gone at all well.

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ith the power of the Crown of Command Paul watched the Warrior embrace Trudi. She had done what was required. She had used her magic to destroy the Mercenary so that the forces of Evil could not hire him. But it had been at a great cost to her. She needed comforting ...

Paul wrenched his point of view away from them and instead sought out someone more worthy of the sudden feeling of anger that flared up in him. Instead he sought out the enemy.

There they were, still staring wonderingly at the puff of smoke that rose above the landscape several miles in front of them. Now, he would see if he could add the fear of his own power to their fear of the unknown.

The Wizard had proved unflappable, and perhaps untouchable, so he chose the eldest of the group's warriors. Perhaps he would be all too aware of his own mortality at the moment and might decide that discretion was the better part of valour and by leaving weaken the force against the threat of the Pit Fiends that lay ahead of them.

Submit to my will and I will leave you alive. Resist and you will feel the power of the Crown on Command, he thought at his chosen target.

The man, who had flinched at Paul's mental onslaught, recovered fast and swore mentally at him in defiance before alerting his companions of the danger.

Who is this man? He is no common warrior, Paul thought to himself as he unleashed the Crown's power on the man. The man doubled over in pain but even so his defiance remained strong and the feeling of growing hatred and the lust for revenge that Paul felt along with his own disgust at the pain he was inflicting made him desist and break contact.

Torture. Why did the Crown of Command have the ability to inflict torture? Especially when it was all for naught. The man he has just abused had not been cowed at all. Surely this could not be a Good thing. Confused, the Minstrel withdrew his mind to the Throne of Power and his own body to think.

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aul sat and stared at the flames for a long time. It was harder to be the ruler of Talis than he had suspected. Particularly when there were people like the man he had just maimed out to take his place. Did he have what was required? Could he use his power to force submission to his rule? Could he kill to prove his power?

There was only one way to find out.

He sent his mind winging out again to the region of the Pits. There they were, three of the forces of Evil whose goal was to take his place on the throne of Talis, no doubt they were all capable of killing him without compunction. Could he do the same to them?

Then he realised that he would have to try. Between he and they stood the Prophetess and the Warrior. These Evil ones would kill his friends to get to him.

Not if he could help it.

He focussed his thoughts on his victim and spoke into the man's mind. Submit and I will spare you. Resist and I will kill you. What do you say?

The man, his hand already maimed and twisted, gritted his teeth and swore his defiance.

Nothing happened.

Paul tore his perceptions away from the man in confusion. What had happened? Why had the Crown not punished the man for his defiance?

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he ruler of all Talis sat in his Throne of Power and felt jealous. With the power of the Crown of Command he could see anywhere in the realm of Talis and at the moment he was viewing into the depths of the Valley of Fire. He did not like what he was seeing.

Borix, he thought at his friend, making the Warrior jump. This is no time for dalliance. The forces of Evil are almost to the Valley. You should be preparing your defences.

Not being able to bear the sight of the two of them together any longer the Minstrel moved his omniscient view point back to the region of the Pits where there were people he could vent his anger upon. He found that the Evil ones were under attack by Pit Fiends. Already two of the villains had been injured and the third was at the bottom of a Pit at the mercy of one of the Fiends.

He focussed in on the woman who had just pulled a jagged blade knife from her leg. Submit woman, and I will spare your life. Resist and I will hurt you and the Pit Fiends will take you. They feast on their victims, you know.

The woman, a Sorceress of some power from her aura, made an obscene gesture and the power of the Crown activated in response to Paul's answering flash of anger.

She would never make the same gesture again, at least not with the same hand.

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aul looked at Trudi and wondered about missed opportunities. He had seen her kiss Borix. Had seen him respond. Did he feel jealous? Should he worry at all about such things when the fate of the Realm was in the balance? True the forces of Evil had lost one of their own and seem to be at a disadvantage against the Pit Fiends, but were he, Trudi and Borix and the rest of the Realm of Talis truly safe until the Evil ones had all been forced to submit to the power of the Crown?

He looked at Borix. The Warrior had proven a good and loyal friend. He could hardly be denied a chance at happiness, especially when it appeared the Prophetess only had eyes for him. Paul would not deny his friend that.

"Borix," Paul said. "Stand ready. I will tell you when they enter the Valley of Fire. If we can defeat them there it will all be over."

The Warrior nodded and turned back to look down into the flames.

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aul's feelings about Trudi handing over her Talisman to Borix were mixed. The man was ready to enter the Valley of Fire alone to protect him and the whole realm of Talis from Evil. However, his heart ached at the concern and tenderness that was in Trudi's voice and his brief hope that the Warrior might not survive the encounter shamed him.

"They are two against one," Paul said, relaying the visions that played themselves out before his mind's eye. "But they are badly injured. There is a chance they might retreat instead of advancing."

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"hey are now one less," proclaimed Paul, bringing his attention back to his friends, Trudi and Borix, where they waited with him on the pinnacle. "Their Wizard has just died and the one remaining is in dire straits. I would offer him a chance to escape, if I could."

"And you can't do that while we are here," finished Trudi. She turned to look at Borix. "Should we leave? I'm sick of all this death and dying. If Paul can get them to submit it will be over and we can all go home."

Not all of us, thought Paul, but he said nothing.

The Warrior broke his quiet contemplation and turned to them both.

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"he other two were users of magic and they were definitely Evil," said Paul. "Their magic was tainted with it. The survivor ..." He concentrated on the man with his mind's eye, "I cannot say. A lot will be said by his next action."

"If he were a follower of the others he will turn back, hopefully," said Borix looking round. "That would be good. It will give us time to fortify this position ... Come to think of it. I wonder why it never has been?"

With sudden certainty Paul knew the answer. "Because it must be accessible by all," he heard himself say.

Trudi looked at him and her eyes went wide with surprise. "Your eyes ... They are glowing."

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sudden swirling of colours tore Paul's perceptions from the pinnacle at the centre of the Realm of Talis. One moment he was talking to the Prophetess, the next he was looking down on a stark hill covered with rune-covered upright stones where a man cowered before a figure who radiated immense power.

All Paul could do was watch helplessly as the two spoke of Evil and damnation and then the bright figure turned and smiled directly at him before disappearing. With a sinking feeling in his stomach Paul realised that the great game was not over yet. Evil had a new player.

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aul looked up at Borix and said, "No my friend. I'm afraid its not over yet." He rubbed his eyes. "Mephistopheles himself has shown his hand and sent one of his greatest servants against us."

Borix stood up straight and said, "Then we will face it."

"Yes," said Paul. "But we can not face it together, old friend. You must take Trudi and leave the pinnacle so I can attack this new threat using the Crown of Command. Hopefully I can weaken it enough so that you will be able to finish it off."

"Where? Who is this Evil?" asked the Prophetess coming up to Paul's other side.

"It is a man, but he has been gifted by Mephistopheles himself, so his Evil will be strong. Fortunately for us, he has not yet passed through the Portal of Power."

"So you wish us to go and fight him," said Borix.

"No. I need you to finish him off. I will wear him down with the Crown. He will be weakened by the time you reach him." Paul grasped the Warrior's arm. "Will you do this for me?"

"Aye," said Borix.

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t last Paul could do something about the Evil that had been sent against him. Strangely enough, it appeared that that Evil had its own problems. He found Mephistophele's human agent in a common drinking house near the Castle in combat with a Dwarf. This was the perfect opportunity.

Do you submit? Paul thought at the man the Dwarf had accused of being a Thief.

The man shouted his defiance and the Crown's power flared. Paul saw his victim turn pale and slump into a nearby chair, Sword and Shield hanging uselessly at his sides as the Crown's power twisted in his chest.

Now Dwarf, while he's down, he thought at his victim's enemy. Kill him.

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he Minstrel fumed. He'd weakened the Evil one. If only that damned Dwarf had finished the job. Now he would have to try another strategy. Fortunately, it seemed that Good had provided.

Father, he thought at the Priest. The man and his charge were invisible, but that spell did not work against the farsight of the Crown. I am the Crown Bearer and a man of Good. The Evil one from which you hide must be stopped. He is the greatest threat that faces me. Will you help me?

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e had sent the man to his death; the Thief has beaten him so easily it had been like sending a lamb to the slaughter. Through a veil of guilt and building rage Paul saw the villain proclaiming his victory out loud. He didn't want to hear the crowing and so he didn't concentrate enough on the man to hear what was said. Instead he concentrated on the Crown of Command trying to find the way to activate it so he could use it to hurt his enemy.

Paul watched with growing frustration as the man and his Gnomish follower easily beat the lock on the Portal of Power and stepped through the dimensional gateway to the Plain of Peril and the Inner Realm. It was then that the Crown bloomed into life.

Do you submit? he screamed at the Thief; his anger now a palpable threat.

The man threw up his head in immediate defiance and then staggered as the power of the Crown hit him. Then the Evil one collapsed to the ground, his body jerking uncontrollably as the Crown tried to twist and deform it.

But the man did not die — and try as he might the Crown would not let him talk to the man's follower or prisoner — so Paul had to watch on as the Gnome tended to his master's predicament.

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he Minstrel woke and immediately sent his mind questing out across Talis to the Plain of Peril. The man he'd struck down yesterday was no longer there. Instead, he found the Dwarf and the Unicorn that had defied him at the Castle when the Dwarf had staid his hand against the Thief; The two were just finishing their morning meal.

Dwarf? queried the Minstrel. The Dwarf's head jerked up and he reached for his Axe. Do not do this, Dwarf. The Throne of Power is not for the likes of you.

The Dwarf scowled and said, "Yee'll have to stop me, Crown Bearer. I won't be frightened off with just threatening words."

Very well then. Submit! thought Paul at the Dwarf.

The small man stiffened and then relaxed. Ignoring Paul he turned to the Unicorn and said, "Come on Frella. Time's a wasting. I think we'll go that way this time."

Paul looked in the direction the Dwarf was pointing and much to his consternation he saw that it was not towards Borix and Trudi. The Dwarf was pointing towards a large collapsed ruin at the opposite end of the Plain of Peril, a place the power of the Crown told him was only known as the Crypt.

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ith the farsight ability of the Crown of Command, Paul was able to see the Thief cast his spell and the effect it had on the Dwarf. He smiled. The Evil one, fool that he was, was undermining his own best chance of success. Paul had been concerned when the Dwarf had tried to form an alliance with the man, but now that would never happen — he would make sure of that.

Borix, thought Paul at his Warrior friend.

"Yes," came his comrade's instant reply; he was on watch at their campsite on the Plain of Peril. The Prophetess slept, turning uncomfortably on the stoney ground.

You must go through the Portal of Peril back to the Middle Realm. thought Paul. In the Portal Room you will find a Dwarf. You must tell the Dwarf that his malady is a curse placed on him by the Thief he gave the gold too. This will drive a wedge between the two of them and hopefully make the Dwarf switch his allegiance.

Borix thought for a while before replying. "But is this true?" he said.

Yes, thought Paul, surprised that his friend doubted him. You must trust me, Borix. It is for the greater Good.

The Warrior turned and looked at the Prophetess where she lay by the dim embers of the fire. "We will go at first light," he said. "She needs the sleep and I would not leave her alone in this terrible place."

Paul relaxed. Good speed, Borix.

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here was now no chance that the Thief and the Dwarf would cooperate; the Thief had seen to that himself. And now the Thief was on the run with Borix the Warrior and Trudi the priestess hot on his trail. Paul turned his attention to the Dwarf who was still in the drinking house recovering from the spell the Thief had cast.

Well? Have you learnt your lesson, he thought at the Dwarf. This is a dangerous game. Best you were out of it. Do you submit?

The Dwarf stopped rubbing the life back into his limbs and frowned. Paul felt a palpable tension begin to build up in the Crown while the small man carefully considered his reply and was not surprised to feel the Crown discharge the punitive power of the Command spell at the first indication the Dwarf was going to defy him.

He watched the Dwarf clutch his chest and collapse and wondered how the Crown chose the areas of the body it attacked? Perhaps the Dwarf's heart was his weakest organ? Paul sighed and hoped he would never use the Crown enough to find out.

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he Thief stood defiant amongst the Runes his Sword drawn and ready. His injury though grievous had been bandaged tight and his Shield was also tied into position to provide at least some protection. The man obviously knew what was coming and was ready to make a fight of it. No doubt his victory over the Dwarf had given him confidence.

Paul switched his attention to Borix and Trudi. They were only scant miles away from the Runes. Borix was a doubty Warrior, but still ... could he prevail against the Thief with his superhuman Strength? Paul had his doubts.

He looked once more at the Thief. He had delayed as long as he dared in using the Crown hoping that it would build a killing charge. Now was the time to try. Villain. You shall not kill my friends. Submit or die.

The Thief's reply was a sneer, but that was enough of a response for the Crown and Paul felt the power stream out of it with savage force. The man screamed denial but no words could stem the blood that suddenly began to stream from his eyes and ears.

The man's Strength, or perhaps it was his fear of death, was prodigious. He staggered against one of the standing stones and lashed out with his Sword. The blade bit deep into the rock before shattering into shards from the force of the blow. Then the man's Strength suddenly left him and he collapsed to his knees and then fell forward onto the grass to lie still. Paul felt the life go out of him.

"Yes," cried Paul on his Throne at the centre of the world. It was over. The last of Evil's threats had been defeated. The Realm was safe at last.

Back at the Runes there was but one to mourn the passing of the Thief, a Gnome called Basilly, who wiped away a tear before he began looting the body. It was time this Thief at least went home.

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aul smiled at Trudi's exclamation, little did she know. It would be far better that she arrived home foot sore but with her share of the spoils than have him use the Crown to teleport her home. The Crown's penchant for stripping its victims of all their belongings would be embarrassing, to say the least, if not detrimental to her reputation as the new senior cleric at the Chapel.

No. She would have to get home the hard way. Fortunately she had the best of protectors. Paul turned his attention to Borix. How could he repay him for everything that he had done? Their quest would have failed in the Pits if not for the Warrior. Then again, considering that he was going to be the one to see Trudi home, perhaps Borix already had recompense enough for his troubles.

Take care of her Borix, he thought at the Warrior.

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