The Warrior's Tale

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usic and memories. Borix was beginning to think they were stronger than swords and spears. The Minstrel's rendition of the Death of Sir William had been good. It had brought back lots of memories. He looked down at the fiddle that lay on the table next to him. It was a fragile thing. He could snap it like a twig if he wanted to but ... he didn't want to ... he wanted to hear more music, more of the old songs that told of heroes and honour.

The Minstrel had left it lying on the ground near the fire in his rush to talk to the woman. Silly place to leave such a valuable item. Borix had rescued it and the Minstrel's cap before someone accidentally kicked it into the coals and now he hoped that the Minstrel would reward him with another of his favourites. He hoped that the Minstrel would not notice that he would be paying for the song with the same coin that he had put in earlier. Times were tough for an honest sell sword.

"Here's your stuff ... safe," said Borix as the Minstrel finally made his way back to the table.

"Thank you," said the man distractedly. He kept looking into his cupped hand.

Borix held up his purloined coin and said, "Can I have another song?"

"Lunch first please, I didn't have breakfast today and I'm hungry. Can I buy you a drink instead?" said the Minstrel catching the eye of one of the serving maids.

Borix simply smiled picked up his tankard of water and downed it in one long gulp. The offer of a free drink was something he never refused.

The Minstrel smiled back and ordered cold meat, cheese, bread and a bottle of wine to be brought to the table, enough for both of them. He gave the girl something from his cupped hand and told her he was wanting a room as well. She smiled and want off to bring them food.

The Minstrel sat down across the table from Borix and took out his purse. As he added coins to it he said, "Thanks again for looking after my violin. I'm afraid the sight of a pretty girl can make me quite the fool. And that priestess, what a corker, eh?"

Borix shrugged. What use was it chasing after a woman who was unavailable.

"So what's your name," asked the Minstrel extending a hand.

"Borix. Yours?" said Borix, accepting the proferred hand.

"Paul," said the Minstrel flexing his fingers tentatively. "So your a professional bone breaker, are you?"

Borix didn't understand.

"A joke. That was a joke. You have quite a grip there, my friend" said Paul.

The serving girl interrupted them with the bottle of wine and two wooden cups. She favoured the Minstrel with a smile and a chance to look at her cleavage as she poured wine into their cups before she left to get their meal.

"Your health," said Paul.

Old habits like old soldiers die hard so Borix replied, "The King," and emptied his cup down his throat.

"So. Your a King's man are you?" said the Minstrel filling Borix's cup again and topping up his own.

"Used to be," said Borix.

"Sounds like a story to be told there. Want to tell it?"

"Nope," said Borix.

"Fair enough," said Paul and raised his cup in apology.

They both drank in silence for a while then Borix said, "You sing well."

Paul looked relieved and said, "Thank you. It's nice to have an appreciative audience, and one with such discerning taste. Don't often get asked to sing the Death of Sir William any more."

"Knew the man," said Borix. "You sung him proud. Thanks."

The Minstrel looked at him strangely, "You must be older than you look if you knew Sir William. He died a long time ago."

Borix shrugged and the arrival of their meal stopped further conversation as they both tucked into the food. The Minstrel ordered another bottle of wine to help with the eating.

By the time the meal was finished Borix was in his cups. He had never been able to hold his liquor and the wine was stronger than he expected. Paul had done most of the talking, which was fine as far as Borix was concerned as he was more of a listener anyway.

"Gotta go water the flowers," said Borix as he stood up.

Paul nodded and went back to talking to the serving girl on his knee.

Borix weaved his way towards the back door, his condition causing him not to notice a number of young men, farmers by their clothing, roughhousing. One of the big men staggered into him and Borix pushed him back towards his fellows.

The man turned on him. "Who are you shoving?"

Borix looked at him, shrugged, and tried to go pass. The man grabbed his arm and acting instinctively Borix pulled away, his unexpected strength dragging the bigger man off his centre of balance. Borix's right foot came forward causing his opponent to trip and Borix followed him down to the floor driving his knee into the man's left kidney.

The farmer's drinking companions both amiable and amicable looked down at Borix in stunned silence. It had all happened so quickly. One second their companion was on his feet the next he was writhing on the ground.

Borix got to his feet and said, "Sorry. Shouldn't have done that. If he starts pissing blood take him to a healer."

The Warrior then walked outside to relieve himself.

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he feeling of the cold water washed through him chasing away sleep and the effects of last night's alcohol. Borix forced himself to count to ten before he brought his head out of the horse trough. He rubbed the water from his face and close-cropped hair with his hands and then turned to his new friend.

"You want to go where?"

"Umm," said the Minstel and rubbed the back of his neck. "The Prophetess here," he turned and indicated the woman standing in the entrance to the stable, a look of vague disfavour on her face, "She wants to go to the local Market," he said lamely.

"She feels nervous about it," he went on to explain. "She thinks I can help but if there is going to be any danger then I think we need someone, like yourself, to come with us ... She sees the future you know," he added lamely.

Borix looked at his new friend Paul and then glanced at the woman — she has him wrapped around her little finger, he thought. Still the man had bought him food and drink and sang him songs of the old days. Him he owed.

"Okay."

Borix turned and walked over to the stall where he had spent the night and most of the morning. He quickly pulled on his trews and tunic and strapped on his sword — his only possession of any value. Then, after quickly stowing away his things, Borix shouldered his pack and stepped back into sight, "Whenever you're ready," he said.

Paul smiled at him and then turned and grinned broadly at the Prophetess.

* * * *

Borix poked his stick into the embers of the fire and enjoyed the moment. Something akin to prayer or meditation, the relaxed state of awareness while on watch, had become one of Borix's favourite times of the day. Something he practiced even when it probably wasn't necessary, like right now. Their makeshift camp on the grounds of the Market, shared with the other buyers and the sellers and the providers of sundry services that could always be found at such places of commerce, was so large as to be uninviting to any danger from without the Market and there were many more appetising campsites around for those predators that were already within it.

He looked at his slumbering companions rolled up in their newly purchased sleeping blankets and wondered about what was ahead of them all. Perhaps the Prophetess with her gift was already seeing something of that future. He shuddered at the thought. He had enough difficulty dealing with memories of the past to want to think about things which might be. No, he preferred to live for the moment and deal with the future as it came.

The journey to the Market had proved uneventful and even a little boring for Borix as the Prophetess and Paul had spent most of the time talking quietly to each other. It was clear that the Prophetess was not particularly wanting of his company and it was only at Paul's insistence that he had been invited. Though perhaps that would change now that it had been decided that the two of them would be accompanying the Prophetess on her journey. Where that might be Borix did not know and really didn't care as it was Paul's company that he preferred.

Borix looked at the burnished curves of the new Helmet that Paul had purchased for him — the polished steel cap reflected the firelight redly. It was not the best Helmet he had ever owned but it was the thought that counted. Paul had said that he should have a hat to protect his head from the fierce afternoon sun. Borix had wrapped a cloth around his head in the style of the desert bandits and thought nothing more about it until Paul had presented him with the Helmet as a gift. After that saying no to the proposition would have been extremely ungrateful and when Paul had asked his opinion on what type of sword he should purchase for himself Borix was only too happy to oblige as it was always a shame to see someone carrying an unsuitable weapon.

Perhaps he was being used, but so what, one place was as good as another to him at the moment. He would stay with them until something better came along or until he was no longer wanted. Borix stirred the fire again and listened to the noise of the sleeping Market. Stars wheeled overhead and the future both dreamt and being planned awaited the coming of the morning for the chance to come to pass.

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heir path took them into the deepest part of the Woods where huge trees with pillar-like trunks towered overhead. Borix had travelled this way before but he'd always felt uncomfortable in this spot which was why he was not impressed when the Prophetess had called for a rest break. He had immediately taken up a watch position on the highest ground while the Minstrel had started preparing food for them to eat. The Prophetess had sat somewhat apart and closed her eyes.

"Borix?" said Paul the Minstrel looking at the ground beneath Borix's feet. "Those stones beneath your feet look far too square to be natural. I think your sitting on the remains of an ancient building."

"Lots of old ruins in these Woods," said Borix.

The Minstrel handed him up a piece of hard bread and a waterskin.

"I thought I saw a cave back there," said the Minstrel gesturing back the way they had come. "Perhaps it was a partially collapsed building. I might go and have a look, see if I can find some ancient relics."

The Prophetess's eyes snapped open and she turned to look at them both.

"Best not," Borix said, not liking the feel of the situation.

"No," said the Prophetess getting to her feet, "I think you should. I will come with you." Paul gave Borix a quick, cheeky smile and went to show the Prophetess the way.

Borix drank from the waterskin then bit off a chunk of bread and chewed it angrily. He didn't like surprises. He didn't like being mucked about with. However, he was the one responsible for their safety. He swallowed, put down the food and jumped from the wall to follow after the Minstrel and the Prophetess.

The shadowed cleft in the side of the vegetation-covered mound was indeed an entrance into a set of ancient, rubble-strewn chambers. Huge roots from the trees that towered overhead had forced their ways through cracks in the walls making the footing unsure and the passageways cramped. Dim light filtered in through the cracks in the walls allowing the Prophetess to lead the way deeper into the gloomy interior.

Paul looked at Borix and then at the back of the Prophetess who had taken the lead almost as soon as they had entered the complex of rooms. She seemed possessed and, more than that, she seemed to know where she was going. Paul motioned for Borix to proceed him. Borix did so and hastened to catch up with the woman.

"Priestess — wait. There could be danger," said Borix drawing his dagger; his sword would be useless in such a confined space.

"In there," she said, pointing to a rubble-filled doorway on the right. "You will find gold in there. There is something in here I must see to."

Borix looked into the room she had indicated and indeed saw a glimmer of the precious metal; he heard Paul gasp behind him. When he looked back to find the Prophetess she was gone. He moved forward to find her. There was the sound of something crashing to the ground and shattering and a blackness suddenly engulfed him. He barely had time to slash instinctively with his weapon before the unnatural darkness was gone apparently without causing any ill effect.

Still on his guard Borix moved to where he had last seen the Prophetess only to meet her coming back. "You should not have gone off like that," he said.

For the first time since he had met her she smiled at him. "Do not worry, Warrior. When it is a foe you can fight I will let you take the lead." She patted him on the arm and gestured to the side chamber. "Come, let us collect the gold, I think it is high time that you were both recompensed for your services."

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orix had been clearing undergrowth for several hours and was beginning to doubt the Prophetess had dreamt correctly this time. There was ample evidence of the ruins under the vegetation but nothing of any value had been forthcoming. Lots of stonework, pottery shards and even some verdigrised copper jewellery, but no gold. Suddenly Paul let out a cry. Borix turned, ready to rush to his friend's aid, but his cry was one of success.

"I've found the stone!"

Borix and the Prophetess converged on the Minstrel, who raised his arms aloft clutching fistfuls of golden coins.

"Yes!" he crowed, dancing around in a little circle. "You were right Priestess. I found the enscribed stone and the coins were there ready for the taking."

Borix was pleased for his friend. They had not discussed sharing and they had both searched long and hard for the stone; finders keepers was the tradition.

"There you go, Borix" said Paul, thrusting a handful of coins at him.

Borix was both shocked and pleased. "Thank you," he said touched at the gesture.

Paul grinned at him and then turned and looked at the Prophetess. She was smiling at his good fortune. Her looked turned to one of surprise when he thrust the other hand of coins at her.

"For you Priestess," he said, "For giving me something more valuable than gold — good friends and the best of times."

Borix and the Prophetess looked at each other in embarrassed silence as Paul hugged first one and then the other.

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orix pushed aside the wall of creepers and looked at the stream of water issuing from the stone beast's mouth. Their mysterious visitors had been here too. No doubt to replenish their water supplies. The water looked cool and inviting. He put his cupped hand under the flow and brought some to his lips. It smelt clean, so he sipped it and let it sit in his mouth long enough to determine there was no strange taste to it. He let the mouthful slide down his throat and then took some more. It was, in truth, very refreshing.

"Paul, over here," he called and then took another drink.

Paul the Minstrel led the Prophetess closer, his weapon at the ready and a tense look on his face.

"Relax, lad. Your mysterious visitors are long gone," said Borix and pulled out his waterskin to fill it. "Sweet water here. Come and drink."

The Prophetess suddenly took the lead and came up to where Boris stood. "Beware, there is magic here", she said.

Borix looked at his waterskin and flung it down as though it were a venomous serpent. "What is it that I have drunk?" he demanded.

The Prophetess didn't reply immediately but studied the stonework and the flowing water. Eventually she said, "Well 'tis not Evil at least. How do you feel?"

"Fine — actually I feel quite good — the water has cleared my head. Might it be good magic?"

"It could be," said the Prophetess and looked at the Minstrel who was staring at the Warrior.

"Are you well, Paul? What's wrong? Have I changed colour or something? Why are you both looking at me that way," asked Borix with growing concern.

Paul shook his head and spoke. "I think you have said more in the last minute than you have for the whole rest of the morning. If the water is magic then it has certainly given you the gift of speech."

Borix fell silent realising the truth of what Paul had said. He turned back to the stonework and cleared away some of the accumulated detritus of centuries revealing words printed on the stone.

"Can you read that," Borix asked the Prophetess. When she shook her head, he said in a quiet voice, "I can ... It says, drink of these waters and grow wise. You know what this is, don't you?"

The Prophetess gave a start and then said, "The Fountain of Wisdom!"

"What's the Fountain of Wisdom?" asked Paul.

"A gift from Good. It brings wisdom to those who are of the Good faith who drink from it," said the Prophetess.

Borix turned and looked at her. "I think your church claims too much credit. I have heard it plays no favourites and gives its boon to any who drink from it. And I am proof of that. I am not of your creed."

"I'm Good," said the Minstrel. "Will it make me smarter if I drink from it?"

"It has not hurt me, so I cannot see the harm in it and it tastes very sweet," was the reply from the Warrior.

Paul looked at the Prophetess who shrugged her shoulders. Reaching forward he took up a handful of the water and after sniffing it drank it down. A second handful followed and then he put his mouth to the thin stream.

Borix let him drink for a few seconds and then pulled him away, "Where are your manners, let the Priestess drink."

Paul stood stunned for a few moments and then gestured for the Prophetess to take his place. "What a wondrous draft ... You must drink," he urged.

The Prophetess did not hesitate for a moment. Despite the evidence to the contrary she had been taught that this magic was beneficial to those of her faith and therefore the Fountain must have been put here to aid her in her duty to Good. She filled and drank from her hands many times before the water suddenly stopped.

"No! What has happened?" cried the Minstrel, who moved forward to probe at the mouth of the beast from where the water had poured. The spigot was dry and long clogged with silt.

The Prophetess and the Warrior looked at each other and then the Warrior spoke, "It is a magical fountain and it has done its task. It will appear again some where, some when, so that others may benefit from it. However, its appearance bodes ill for the realm, as it only appears when the great game is played. This means the Crown Bearer is dead and those of power will now vie with each other to see who next wears the Crown of Command."

"What?" said Paul, unbelieving."

"It's true," said the Prophetess placing her hand on Paul's forearm. "And it means I must get to the Temple as quickly as possible."

She placed her other hand on the Warrior's arm. "Will you both help me, please?"

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orix sat with his back to the Market and stared out across the dark troubled waters of the Storm River. It was late. They had reached the Markets in good time and after pooling their money had purchased the Raft they would use to cross to the Temple. It had been too late to make the crossing this afternoon so they had settled in for the night camped close to the River bank.

The Minstrel in close proximity to a potential audience had decided to give an impromptu free concert for any who would listen and had played for several hours to an appreciative audience. The strains of his music had long since finished and no doubt all reasonable people were long ago tucked up in their beds, but it's the unreasonable ones you have to look out for, which was why Borix guarded the Raft.

The Warrior sat at the water's edge and though he looked at the lights of the temple on the far bank his other senses were attuned to the sounds of the sleeping market behind him. He liked the quietude of the night watch. It helped soothe away the troubles of the day and he would sit and let his mind empty itself of all cares and thoughts and simply sense the world around him — this was the closest he ever got to forgetfulness unless he drank himself into a stupor — and that was something he only did when it was safe to do so.

He was the perfect watchman and always volunteered to do the late night watches. Well experienced in interpreting the normal sounds of a place and noticing the unusual he was rarely caught unprepared. It also helped that he never slept.

He blamed it on his father's side of the family. His mother had been an innkeeper in the City and of common stock, in all the ways that counted. His father had been a one night stand according to his mother and a man of mystery who had left nothing but a bag of gold and an apparently immortal son to remember him by.

That had been centuries ago and he had thought he had forgotten his angst about his heritage. Now drinking from the Fountain of Wisdom had brought it all to the surface again. And for the first time in decades he wondered if somewhere in all the realm there was another man sitting up, unsleeping, communing with the stars this night.

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he others had gone into the Temple to pray to Good, so once again the Warrior was stuck guarding the Raft, but he didn't mind. This time it was probably necessary as the number of beggars and other poor people who lived on or near the banks of the Storm River below the Temple walls was large. He didn't trust that their craft wouldn't be stolen despite the nearness of so much piety and after having paid so much for the thing that would be a waste of good gold.

The afternoon wore on and the Warrior kept the curious and opportunistic alike at a distance through the simple efficiency of sharpening his sword with a whetstone he carried specifically for this purpose. The only people who came near him were the smaller children and they were too shy to talk and so he enjoyed the warmth of the sun idly wondering what the future would bring. The sun was about a handspan above the horizon when the Minstrel finally reappeared, a broad smile all over his face.

"Hello, Paul. Any luck getting a place for us to stay?" asked Borix who was becoming disenchanted with the River bank by this time.

"Good news, Borix!" exclaimed Paul. "I have been blessed by Good."

"That's lucky. Does this blessing include a room for the night?"

"No! You don't understand," said Paul who showed him a severly mangled length of metal rod which he then proceeded to bend and unbend with a huge smile on his face and a look of determination in his eyes.

"Your right ... I don't understand," said Borix, shaking his head.

"I prayed in the Temple and I had a visitation," said the Minstrel his face alight with the memory. "A glowing figure came down and placed its hand on me and told me I was being rewarded, that I would be made stronger, so I could continue the Good fight."

Borix didn't like the sound of this. "Where's the Priestess?"

"Ummm, I don't know," said the Minstrel straightening the rod again with an effort. "She left before I did. Didn't she come here?"

"No, she didn't," said Borix as he started gathering up his gear. "Get your things, son. We need to find her."

"Why? What's wrong?"

"I hope I am wrong, but I have been here before and things aren't always what they seem."

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he Temple is a huge walled edifice on the edge of a River that flows between ancient wooded foothills and an even older tractless waste. It is a place of the most holy piousness and the most horrid perfidy. It is also a place of pain and a place of peace. The cloisters between the Priests quarters and the novice's sleeping cells is one of those places of peace.

Borix moved quietly between the pillars hoping that the late evening prayers would mean that he would have the grounds to himself and that he would have the opportunity to talk to his friend. For most of the day he had been perched in an ancient oak tree overlooking the residential area of the Temple. When Paul had argued with him about the true nature of the Temple's activities and left to go and enquire with the Priesthood itself the Warrior had removed himself to this place of observation. Had seen Paul escorted under guard to one of the more remoter novice's cells. Had seen the traffic that passed through the area and assessed when the best time would be to enter the grounds. Unfortunately he had seen no sight or sound of the Prophetess.

There was no light coming from under the door of Paul's cell and no guards either. They had left a little while ago going to the service or to sleep but either way the coast was clear. Borix knocked on the door to the cell.

"Paul? Wake up. It's Borix. We have to talk."

Vague sounds came from within and then ... "Borix? Is that you?"

"Aye, lad. Do you believe me now?"

"There must be some mistake. I can't understand what is—

"No time," whispered Borix who had heard some movement in the distance. "Do you know where she is?"

"No. Do you think she has been locked away as well? Surely they wouldn't do this to one of their own."

"I wouldn't put it past them, lad. Now listen and don't interrupt. I will get you out, but not right now. It would be best to get you both out at the same time. So I want you to be ready to act immediately I come to get you, understand?"

"Yes," said the Minstrel. "Find her. Find out what has happened. If we then have to escape, I will be ready."

The Warrior slipped away into the darkness.

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good soldier learns quite quickly in his career that a lot of what goes on in any campaign is, waiting. That is the time when one cleans your equipment and hones swords and skills so that they are not found wanting when action does occur. A good soldier looks at these quiet times as an opportunity. The Minstrel was not a good soldier.

"Two days!" Paul exclaimed once more. "What are we supposed to do for two days? She could be in all kinds of danger and here we sit twiddling our thumbs."

Paul was not twiddling his thumbs. He was pacing up and down on the small patch of sand they had claimed as their own amongst the tents at the edge of the desert. The effect was the same though, the Warrior thought, as he inspected Paul's epee. He had already thoroughly cleaned and inspected his own equipment and Paul hadn't even noticed him pick up his sword — a good soldier would have.

The man's enthusiasm and vibrant personality were his strengths. With correct training he could be a leader of men. These were traits that Borix recognised he was lacking and it was refreshing to be around them again. Still without that training he was like a piece of loose canvas in a wind storm.

Paul stopped pacing and came and stood before the Warrior. "What are you doing with my sword, Borix?" he asked.

"Something constructive," he replied. "Why don't you do the same." Borix reached over to his companion's pile of gear that lay in a confused pile on the ground. He extracted Paul's violin case which Borix had been fortunate enough to find while he had been searching for the Prophetess in the Temple and passed it up to its owner.

Paul stared at the instrument and smiled ruefully. "Better this than the sound of my voice, eh, Borix."

The Minstrel open the case and took out the instrument and its bow. He dropped the case back on his kit and bowed a mock salute to the Warrior. Then putting string to bow he started playing a haunting tune of the desert.

Borix listened to the strains of the music, its passion, its complexity. a leader of men, he thought to himself and went back to his task.

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weat poured off Borix's skin as he pushed himself to do his swordplay routine yet again. The sun and boredom had driven his onlookers under cover and away over an hour ago but still he strived, not for perfection, that was useless. Borix strived for understanding. Understanding how the various moves and countermoves could be used in a fight was all important. It was what kept you alive.

Borix also found the repetitive exercise focussed his mind which he needed for there were a couple of things that had been bothering him. He and the Minstrel still waited for the Prophetess to return from her urgent mission in the desert. He had taken the opportunity to clean and repair his equipment. The Minstrel was a more impatient soul and despite the fact that they had held him prisoner he had stolen away to go and pray for guidance at the Temple. He had come back spouting some nonsense about having been given some sort of power by the forces of Good. Why would he, a simple travelling player, be given such a boon? Borix decided that he must bring it up with the Prophetess when she returned.

Of more concern was the strange blackout that had occurred yesterday afternoon. Suddenly everything had gone black and then just as quickly everything was right again. Except for panic that had ensued he would have thought the blackout was some sort of personal attack against him, but no. People were scared and many screamed. People had been robbed and many became angry. A mob had formed quickly and beaten to death a man who was apparently caught red-handed with lots of stolen goods. Borix was convinced that the man died because people were more afraid than angry and thought he was responsible for the blackout.

He decided that the event must have been the work of some Evil magician, though what it had achieved he could not guess. What worried him more was how the Prophetess could hope to prevail against such powerful enemies. If Evil claimed the Throne of Power he could not see the Prophetess or even the Minstrel surviving. Their allegiance to Good would be a death sentence for them. The thoughts of his travelling companions dying was not a good one.

The Warrior wiped the sweat from him brow and despite the ache in his muscles started his routine again. His friends would not die if he had any say in the matter.

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orix met Paul on the stairs to the Temple. Too late had he heard about the Prophetess's return from the Desert. How she'd stumbled and fell just a stone's throw from the tent city that surrounded the walls. Now with helmet on head and sword at hand he was prepared to take on all the Evil in the Temple in an attempt to get her back.

"Borix!" cried Paul. "I was shown a vision of the Prophetess covered in blood; she is bleeding to death somewhere here in the Temple. You must help me find her."

"Aye, lad," said Borix thrusting the young man's epee into his hands. He had left it with Borix for safekeeping the night before when he'd set out for the drinking house. "Don't worry we'll find her. And it will be death to anyone who stands in our way."

The crowd of faithful who had gathered to watch scattered like sheep out of their path as they continued up the steps. The two guards at the entrance to the Temple came to meet them, spears at the ready.

"Out of my way, dogs!" roared the Warrior as the first guard's tentative stab was knocked off its mark by his sword. His momentum carried him within striking distance of his other arm and a mighty blow to the chin threw his foe backwards to the steps, unconscious.

The Minstrel faced the other guard and it was he who was at the disadvantage. His reach with his weapon was less than that of a spear and the guard used his higher ground advantage well. Paul's uncertainty would have surely been his undoing if the Warrior had not used the flat of his blade on his opponent's helmet.

"Come on Paul, this way," shouted the Warrior as he continued on up the steps. "We have the advantage of surprise. Let's use it."

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he chest of drawers he had used to temporarily block the door of the room was shoved aside with the thrust of a booted foot and Borix, holding his hostage before him as a shield, moved up to the door. There were voices outside the door, counting, as if in preparation for a concerted push. For a moment he was tempted to let them make their rush and take advantage of their confusion when they met no resistance — but no. If he could finish this without innocents being injured, he would.

"Parley!" he shouted. "Parley. I wish to talk."

Confused muttering came from without and then a leveller head replied. "The Priest. Surrender the Priest as a sign of good faith and then we will talk."

"Done," said Borix. He looked at Paul to see if he were ready and saw that he now held the Prophetess in his arms wrapped in a bedsheet. "Stand away from the door and I will bring him out," he cried.

"The doorway is clear," came a voice from outside.

Borix spoke to the Priest. "You will open the door. Try to escape me and you will be the first to die. Do as you are told and your fate is your own."

The Priest opened the door and Borix pushed him out while keeping hold of the back of his robe. There were now ten men-at-arms outside standing in a semicircle around the door.

"You men," said Borix looking around but keeping his sword close to the Priest's throat. "You are all faithful to Good, but you serve Evil in the guise of your Priests." Good. That got their attention, he thought to himself.

His captive Priest began to squirm in his grip so Borix let his well-honed blade gently touch the skin on the Man's neck. A small trickle of blood welled up from beneath the blade and the man stilled his wriggling.

"What nonsense is this!" came a new voice and an elderly priest stepped into sight from where he had been hidden behind a pillar. The newcomer had greying hair and a stoop, but his voice was that of an orator and commanded respect.

"Hold Priest," said Borix moving his blade closer to his captive's adams apple. "I have one of your own here and I have no compunction about shedding his foul blood."

"You sir, are deluded," said the old Priest. "This is a Temple of Good. Hand over your hostage and give yourself up and we will show mercy on you if you show us just cause for your grievous attack."

"Grievous attack!" replied Borix angrily. "My companion was shown a vision in the very Temple itself by the powers of Good. We have had to invade this place to rescue one of Good's Prophets from the torture being inflicted on her by this Evil snake in Priest's robes."

Taking his queue Paul stepped into sight, the face of the woman in his arms almost the same colour as the sheet she was wrapped in.

Borix turned his attention back to the fighting men of the Temple guard. "So you think your Priests are Good do you?" he said and suddenly spun his captive round and hooked his free hand into the front of the man's robe.

"No!" cried the Priest as Borix tore the front of his robe down. As one, a gasp came from the guards at the sight of the symbol of Evil that was tattooed there. It was only partially covered by the large piece of jewellery that hung suspended on a leather thong from the man's neck.

"Good preserve us," said the grey-haired Priest.

"Here's a bit of luck," said Borix and tore the Talisman from the man.

While the guards and the elderly Priest stood in shocked surprise Borix caught the eye of Paul and indicated with his eyes that he should take the Prophetess and leave. He waited until Paul had cleared the area before thrusting his captive at his astonished audiencem he then followed after him while his former captive began desperately trying to explain.

* * * *

An hour later the three companions were in the Woods that lay on the upland side of the Temple. Their escape from the Temple had been relatively uneventful after the Warrior had thrown the Evil Priest to the guards. He'd only had to fight off two other guards, latecomers who had not seen the Evil mark on the skin of the Priest, and they had been like the rest of the Temple's men-at-arms — more impressive than competent or thoughtful.

The Prophetess had woken only a little while ago and had insisted on walking. She had not been able to walk far and she had called a halt under the gnarled and knotted branches of an ancient oak tree. Still, Borix thought it unlikely that they would be followed. the Temple would be in an uproar for a long time as the Good fought with the Evil hidden in their midst.

"I want to thank you both for saving me," said the Prophetess with a weak smile. "Though I feel your efforts were for nought. I have lost the Talisman I was given at the Oasis."

Paul looked confused. "Talisman? What Talisman?"

Borix just smiled and drew the item in question from the front of his tunic. "Never fear Priestess. Borix is here. I thought this might be yours," he said with a smile as he presented the Talisman to her.

"Where did you get that?" asked the Minstrel, incredulous, as the Prophetess accepted the gift.

"The fool was wearing it," said Borix. "Just plain dumb luck ... or perhaps Good making up for the bad time you've been having lately, Priestess."

"Yes, but you knew what it was and ... I am humbled by this generous gift," said the Prophetess with tears in her eyes.

Silence hung in the air for several moments and then the Prophetess said, "I hesitate to ask this because I don't want to belittle your gift, but would you like some gold ... to pay you in some small way for my rescue?"

The Warrior looked at the Prophetess and then said finally, "Yes, that would be nice, but I'm afraid we couldn't find your clothes or belongings."

"I had noticed," said the Prophetess tucking the sheet she was wrapped into more tightly around herself. "However, I havr dreamt about this tree and stopped here on purpose. If you explore that knothole up there I believe you'll find something very interesting."

Intrigued, the Warrior got to his feet and reached a hand into the hollow and pulled out a mouldy old leather pouch. He upended the bag onto his hand and out dropped gold coins.

"Priestess," said the Warrior. "You are a wonder."

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lue. The Bandit's eyes were blue and they were the only feature of the man's face that could be seen between the black scarf wrapped around the lower part of his face and the brown broad-brimmed hat he wore on his head. Most of the rest of him was hidden as well. Hidden behind the body of the Minstrel, who was being used as both a hostage and a shield, the blade of the Bandit's sword under his chin.

"I said, your money for his life. Don't make me kill him." The Bandit shuffled round in response to Borix's slow flanking manouver.

The fool thought the sickly-looking woman in the homespun dress sitting under the tree was a non-combatant and believed it safe to have her at his back. Borix saw the Prophetess smile as she guessed his plan. He resisted the temptation to smile back. Instead he concentrated on keeping the man's attention away from her and on himself and his drawn sword.

The Bandit had been crafty enough. He had laid a trap which had caught the Minstrel because of his curiosity and innate goodwill. While Borix set up camp he had gone to see if there was anyone in need of help at the apparently abandoned camp up near the standing stones on the hill. He had been brought back at sword point.

"You know that you will die in seconds if you harm him," said the Warrior wanting to instill some caution in the man.

"So little man," replied the Bandit, obviously unimpressed. "You think yourself good enough to take me, eh. How about I slit this youngun's throat and we see just how good you really are."

Paul grimaced, his eyes growing wide with fear, but the man said nothing more. In fact he stopped moving completely.

"It's safe now," said the Prophetess, looking, if anything, even paler. "He has been immobilised."

"What did you do to him?" said Paul carefully easing out of the Bandit's grip.

"Magic," said the Prophetess passing a hand over her brow. "Could I have some water please. I'm feeling faint."

The Warrior moved up to the Bandit and removed the sword from his hand. "I will bind him and we shall take him to the Castle. Can't have riff-raff like this endangering travellers on the road so close to the King's Castle."

"She's fainted," said Paul and ran to the Prophetess's side, the waterskin forgotten.

"I feared this," said the Warrior joining him at her side. "She has still not recovered her strength from whatever devil-work those damned Priests did to her in the Temple. We must get her to the Doctor in the Castle quickly."

They looked at each other in shared concern and the Warrior spoke again, "I will carry her, if you bring the rest of the gear. It's not far and I fear that the morning might be too late."

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orix wasn't impressed. Things had certainly changed since he'd last been at the Castle, and not for the better. What had happened to charity? And she was a priestess to boot. Borix had hoped that as a representative of the Good church the King's Doctor would have treated her for free. He slammed his two bags of gold down on the Doctor's desk.

"There! Now heal her, leech."

The Doctor did not react to the Warrior's insult. Instead he swept the bags into a drawer and got to his feet. "I will see what I can do for her," he said and rang a small bell. A white-robed woman entered the room in response. "Now, if you don't mind, my nurse and I will take her into the infirmary and see to her needs. If I were you I would try to find rooms; this might take a while."

Having been summarily dismissed the Warrior turned to the Minstrel and turned out his pockets. "Time to tune up that fiddle of your's. We need a place to stay and I'm out of gold."

"Singing for my supper, as usual," said the Minstrel. "Not a problem."

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he large crumbling ruin of a once magnificent building lies nestled in the hollow of the mountain. Its days of glory long gone this building is still important, for if one dares these ruins — which are rumoured to be haunted by the ghosts of past adventurers — one will find a massive door of wood which appears set into the very stone of the mountain itself. This door is the Portal of Power and all who wish to vie for the control of the realm of Talis must pass through here on their way to glory.

The Warrior led the way through the ruins his sword at the ready. The Minstrel, also with sword drawn, followed. The Prophetess brought up the rear. All three were on the alert because the Warrior had discovered evidence of a camp in the outer ruins and suspected ambush by an Evil contender for the Throne of Power. After all if someone wanted to try for the Throne but lacked the necessary Talisman this would be the perfect place to lie in wait for someone who had one.

"That must be it," said Borix when the Portal came into sight.

"Yes. That's it," said the Prophetess moving closer, a far away look in her eyes. "I have seen this door in my dreams many times, but I never realised what it was."

"Oh no," groaned Paul the Minstrel. "There's a keyhole. Don't tell me we were supposed to find a key as well as a Talisman?"

"It's a test, I believe," said the Prophetess. "The door is magical and can only be opened by either the Strength of one's convictions or the Craft of one's hands. At least that's what the book I read said."

"And that means?" asked Borix, taking off his helmet so that he could study the door properly.

"Well I suspect the first bit means that the Prophetess could open it easily," answered Paul, "She being a Priest of Good an all ... But perhaps it also means that you can pick the lock."

The Warrior and the Prophetess looked at each other and then looked at Paul who smiled sheepishly.

"So I had a strange upbringing. Could I try, though. At the moment I'm feeling a bit useless and would like to do my bit to contribute."

The Prophetess smiled and motioned for the Minstrel to move up to the door. "From my dreams I believe it works the opposite way to normal," she said cryptically.

Paul looked at her and nodded his understanding then he bent down to look into the keyhole of the large lock. After a while he took out his belt knife and inserted the point of the blade into the lock.

"Borix, I want you to try turning the ring, okay?" Paul looked up at his Warrior friend who took hold of the large iron ring that was the door handle. "You will need to turn it counter-clockwise and give it a bit of a shake so I can better feel the insides of the mechanism with my blade.

"Right," said the Warrior and started rattling the ring in its fixture.

There was a suddenly clunk and a sharp snikt and the Minstrel said, "Aha! I think we've done it. Open her up Borix."

The Warrior could now turn the ring easily and pulled open the door. The three of them stood back in amazement at the sight that confronted them on the other side of the door. Instead of the insides of a mountain what they saw before them was a desolate plain — the Plain of Peril — the first trial they would have to pass through on their journey through the inner region of Talis. A hot dry wind blew out the door.

The Warrior turned to the Prophetess and in a solemn voice said, "After you, Priestess."

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he first inkling of the problem they faced was a sign post. It lay several hundred paces from the pock-marked hillside and all it said was 'To the Throne of Command'. It also had a arrow which pointed in the direction of the hill. However the arrow did not line up with any of the number of paths that diverged from this point. Each path went to a hole in the hillside. Which was the one they wanted? Did all of them lead to the Throne of Command? Or none?

"Which one do we take?" said the Minstrel a concerned look on his face.

"I cannot say," said the Prophetess. "My memories of this dream are vague and I cannot rightly remember any caves or tunnels at all. Perhaps we should look for footprints. Someone must travel this path regularly and the most beaten path will be the best guide.

The Warrior looked dubiously up at the hillside, a frown on his face, then he began to speak, "I know that this place is ruled by magic and that the most obvious answer need not be true ... but would we lose anything by climbing the hill and taking a look from the top."

The Prophetess and the Minstrel looked at each other and then back at Borix.

"We need to make our way to the Valley of Fire, don't we?" enquired the Warrior as if testing his own hypothesis. "As we can see the light of its flames in the distance. I suggest we climb to the top of the hill and look to see if we can see the flames themselves. If so we can take a bearing that way."

Neither the Prophetess or the Minstrel could think of any point against this argument so in short order the party moved on stepping off their selected route only when they had reached the hillside where the fumaroles on the side of the road gave way to tumbled slopes of scree.

Many hours later the three at last reached their goal — the top of the hill. They were tired and the Prophetess and the Minstrel with their less robust footwear bore the wounds of many a misjudged step. However before them lay a vista which included their destination — a bright red line on the horizon — the Valley of Fire.

"Great idea Borix," said the Minstrel who sat on a rock taking a much needed rest. "I was none too keen on the idea of going into any of those mines."

"Yes," said the Prophetess who was rubbing a skinned ankle. "Our way looks clear, from here."

"Clear," rumbled the Warrior gazing into the distance. "But perhaps not uncontested. Look. See that Tower on the mountain over there. See how it dominates the roadway on the plain below. I suspect that we will be meeting the owner of that Tower as we pass along the road. And considering the nature of this place I suspect the meeting won't be a pleasant one. We must be on our guard at all times from here on."

Once more the Prophetess and the Minstrel looked at each other and then at the Warrior. His was the sage knowledge and experience that would get them through this trial, so for the moment at least, he had become their leader.

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"here's Paul," said Borix, talking across the Prophetess's comment.

They both looked to where the Minstrel had last been — cleaning the pots and plates from their evening meal — and then hurriedly got to their feet.

The Warrior drew his sword.

The Prophetess called out, "Paul?"

"Quick! We must find him," said Borix and ran in the direction of the stream to look for footprints on the hard ground.

The Prophetess peered into the darkness and then cried out, "That way. I saw a flash of colour in that direction," she said pointing into the darkness.

They ran as fast as they could and soon found themselves cresting a small rise. A short distance away stood the Minstrel his head craned forwards as though listening to dark secrets being told to him by the short dark figure that stood in front of him.

"No," cried the Prophetess.

The figure turned — its dark hair swinging aside to reveal its pale child's face, blood-smeared lips and chin. Any thought that the creature before them might be human was dispelled by its glowing red eyes.

The Warrior charged down the hill, his sword raised high. The creature moved to meet him almost faster than Borix could see and stopped his forward movement with a tiny hand to the base of his chest. As the breath rushed out of him he felt a grip of iron close on the elbow of his sword arm. Then as he desperately tried to draw in his lost breath he was lifted bodily off the ground and thrown aside like a rag doll.

"Begone, foul creature of darkness," shouted the Prophetess tracing the symbol of Good before her; the air glowed where her finger passed.

The creature hissed its defiance but could not bear the sight of the symbol of Good. It turned and disappeared into the darkness.

The Prophetess ran towards the Warrior, but he waved her away and pointed at the Minstrel who had collapsed to the ground now that his hypnotic compulsion had been removed.

Paul stirred as she reached him and opened his eyes. "Is it my turn to go on watch already?" he asked blearily, unaware of the blood that continued to flow from the wounds on his neck.

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cry of warning came from behind him. However, the Warrior could not respond for two attacking figures had suddenly erupted out of the ground in front of him. They were green-skinned Fiends dressed in brightly polished armour and wielding strange esoteric swords and it was only the strange premonition that had made him draw his own blade that allowed him to block the downward swing of the first of the monsters.

Many life times of training came to his aid as he automatically used his enemy's strength to push his own body into a pivot away from the stabbing attack of the other attacker. This action put the second of his foes at a disadvantage — he was now blocked by his fellow Fiend — and was such an unexpected move that it momentarily confused his first attacker.

This was an advantage the Warrior put to good use by continuing his spin and bringing his sword round parallel to the ground in a devastating cut into the monster's middle. Steel met lizard-like scale just below its chest armour and won; the creature's reeking and steaming guts spilled out along the Warrior's Sword. Unfortunately for Borix the weapon became lodged under the collapsing Fiend's armour and he had to break the momentum of his attack to pull it free.

The second Fiend took this opportunity to press his own attack and swung a mighty overhand blow at Borix's exposed shoulder hoping to disarm the Warrior. Fortunately for Borix the Fiend's blow was poor and missed its mark glancing off his Helmet instead.

Borix backed away parrying defensively and shaking his head to clear it. He had been lucky. That could have been his head.

TO BE CONTINUED ...

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he Minstrel, reeling from the successful hit that had been scored against him by his own attacker, bumped into the Warrior who was retreating from the aggressive attack of his own Pit Fiend. Borix fended Paul off with his free hand and then blocked the attack of opportunity that his own foe aimed at the Minstrel's unprotected back. He called a warning for Paul to watch out and then went on the offensive. He had to get some room to manouever, otherwise they would be tripping over each other.

A feint at his Fiend's unprotected leg allowed Borix the chance to get in past its blade with his body and he used this opportunity to attempt a shoulder charge to push his foe away. Unfortunately the creature's wickedly-taloned feet meant that it had a good grip on the rock. And, curse it, it was stronger than he expected.

The two combatants stood breast to breast and pushed at each other with all their might. Neither gave ground but then the creature's head came round. It snapped at Borix's head with it reptilian jaws.

Fangs scraped across the metal surface of his Helmet and for a moment Borix thought it had saved him yet again, but then the Fiend's teeth found his right ear. The ear held for but a moment during which time Borix found the desperate Strength to hurl the monster from him. However as the two separated, the creature's teeth left their mark on his face and neck.

The two opponents staggered apart. Red streaked the creature's jaws and Borix could feel hot blood running down his neck.

TO BE CONTINUED ...

Meanwhile the Prophetess faced her own creature. The Minstrel was hurt and the creature was ignoring him in favour of her. Her only hope was her magic. She reached out her hand and acquired the Minstrel's Sword. Now at least she would have something to defend herself with. Paul, one hand desperately trying to staunch the wound in his side, shouted in consternation as he realised that he was now defenceless, as well as injured.

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snakelike tongue flickered out between the Pit Fiend's jaws and licked blood from its muzzle. The creature shuddered in ecstacy then maddened by the taste of the blood it charged, all thoughts of tactics and weaponcraft forgotten. The Warrior braced himself and took a two-handed grip on his Sword.

The Fiend brought its weapon up for a downward chop and the Warrior brought his own blade up to block angling it so that his arms were cross his body on his left. There was a clang and sparks flew as the two Swords met. The Warrior briefly matched Strengths with the Fiend then stepped forward with his left foot letting his enemy's blade slide down along his while he rammed the pommel of his weapon into the creature's eye socket. The beast hissed in pain and the pressure against Borix's blade lessened. He took the opportunity to bring his Sword quickly back, up and around — so that it stayed on his foe's blind side — and then down in a sharp killing chop to the Fiend's unprotected head.

Borix knew the fight wasn't over yet. Paul had been in trouble and he had heard the Prophetess's screams. He spun on his heel hoping that it wasn't too late. The Minstrel, weaponless, stood protectively in front of the wounded woman facing off against the last of their foes.

Borix and the monster started to move at the same time, but the Fiend was closer. He needed to distract it somehow or Paul was dead. He screamed at the top of his lungs; a challenge in any language. The creature heard and responded to his threat turning away from the Minstrel.

Borix's rush was calculated and unstoppable. He knocked the Fiend's Sword aside with his own weapon and the two came together with a crash. This time his momentum won through and his foe was knocked backwards off its feet. Therein lay its doom. Borix finished the fight by ramming his Sword into the Fiend's throat before it could defend itself.

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orix picked up the Minstrel's epee and wiped the Pit Fiend's ichor off its point on the scaly skin of one of the dead monsters. Paul had killed one of the monsters with his pig sticker and had then faced off against another one, weaponless. Borix wondered if he could have done the same. In admiration Borix looked up at his friend to see him hurrying off in the direction the Prophetess had gone; this despite his grave wound. Something was happening. Borix was needed. He broke into a run to catch up.

Both the Prophetess and the Minstrel had sustained major injuries. Borix's torn ear and bloodied face hurt, but they weren't life threatening. The Prophetess had been impaled by one of the Fiend's swords and the Minstrel had been chopped in the side by another, such that it was only Borix's cloak that was keeping his insides inside him. Yet they both insisted upon going on. Borix could do nothing but assist them. This was something more than bravery. This was a miracle.

The three, supporting each other in more ways than physically, struggled on towards the wall of flame that was their destination.

* * * *

The heat was intense but it did not burn. The flames were bright but they did not blind. The Valley of Fire let them enter, protected as they were by the Prophetess's Talisman, and it baptised them all in its flames of destiny.

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orix looked down at the corpse of the old man that lay untidily upon the throne carved from the rock of the very top of the pinnacle. The body had wasted some but still could be seen the signs of its passing. The dried vomit on the robes, the black stains upon the lips. This man, the Arch Druid who had been the ruler of all Talis, had been poisoned.

"We should perform the appropriate burial rites for his order," said Paul who stood by Borix's side. "Does anyone know them?"

"Aye," said Borix. "I've seen them performed. I'll do it. But first things first."

Borix leaned forward over the body and respectfully removed the dull metal circlet that lay loosely around the withered skull. He turned to where the Prophetess stood, hand up to mouth, and passed the Crown of Command into her keeping. He then turned back and reverently gathered up the remains and removed them from the Throne.

"This is not for me," he heard the Prophetess say. He lay down his burden and turned to look at where the Prophetess and Paul were standing.

Paul was clearly speechless. The Prophetess was holding out the Crown for him to take.

"I have never, in any of my dreams, seen myself sitting upon the Throne," said the Prophetess. "You, who have stuck by me through everything — without a thought for your own personal gain — you are the one who should wear the Crown."

"Me!" said Paul, finally finding his voice. "Me. What about Borix? We wouldn't be here at all except for him."

"That doesn't mean I'd make a good ruler," said Borix stepping up to support the Prophetess's decision. "I know my place, and though I'd do the job if it needed to be done, I agree that you are the best of the three of us here to sit upon the Throne."

"What?" sputtered Paul.

"We shall be your protectors," said the Prophetess. "Hopefully, with Borix's Strength and my Craft we will be able to stop the forces of Evil from reaching you."

She turned to look at the doubty Warrior standing beside her and smiled when he nodded in agreement.

"It will be your task to subdue them," she continued, turning back at Paul. "The Throne will let you see throughout the realm and the Crown will give you the power to force into submission those who do not agree with your right to rule. Then, when all are in agreement, peace will reign once more throughout the realm."

The Prophetess lifted the Crown up as high as she could with her injury and smiled gratefully at Borix when he leant forward to assist her. Together the two of them lowered the Crown onto the bemused and confused brow of the Minstrel.

"May Good guide you all your days," said the Prophetess in benediction.

Borix helped Paul sit down upon the Throne of Power and then he and the Prophetess stepped back and both got down upon their knees.

"All hail, Paul, ruler of Talis," they both cried as one.

Paul said nothing and as he sat there upon the Throne an all-knowing look came into his eyes as the loose-fitting Crown of Command slowly tightened on his brow.

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limbing down the pinnacle was harder than climbing up. It was especially hard for the Prophetess whose upper body wound was aggravated by the need for Borix to lower her over several sections of the climb. By the time they reached the lesser slopes she was looking very pale and her wound had started bleeding again.

"I thought you priests were supposed to be able to heal," said Borix as he put a new wad of cloth torn from his cloak into her dressing.

"Sometimes we can," she replied. "We get what Good believes we need."

"So what do you have at the moment? Seems like a healing spell is what you need."

"I have been given a spell of Destruction," sighed the Prophetess. "To tell the truth, I am loath to use it."

"Perhaps it is to prepare you for the battle against Evil that is sure to happen," said the Warrior trying to make sense of it all.

"Mayhaps, but it is not a combat spell. It is for larger things, far too dangerous to use in combat. That is why I have held it back, even against the Pit Fiends. It can't really be used in self-defence."

"Well, I no little of such things," said the Warrior and then he offered her his hand. "Are you ready?"

She sighed and took his proffered hand and used it to get to her feet. Then, still hand-in-hand, they turned and walked towards the wall of fire erupted out of the valley before them.

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he Valley of Fire behind them the Warrior and the Prophetess entered the region of the Pits. Borix walked alert, his Sword at the ready, this was a dangerous area and he was very much aware at how weak the Prophetess must be.

"Priestess," he said continuing to scan the surrounding. "I think you should turn around and go back into the Valley of Fire. I can travel faster alone and quite frankly I'm not sure I will be able to protect you properly."

The Prophetess wiped her brow and smiled grimly at him. "That wouldn't be hard, would it? Travelling faster, I mean. I have been slowing you down haven't I."

Borix nodded. "Please, priestess. You will be safe within the flames and when I bring the Mercenary back you can meet us and take us safely through."

"You can call me Trudi, Borix. You of all people have earned the right to call me by my real name."

Borix nodded again. "Please ... Trudi, go back. I won't be long, I promise."

Trudi smiled and said, "Let me think about it while I rest. I will need a rest either way."

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orix held Trudi close until the sobs that wracked her body had subsided. She had killed a man. A man who had done her no harm. A man who might not have even joined their enemies. Her act had no doubt saved them personally from a perilous trip — one he had had doubts about her surviving — and indeed might have even been for the greater Good. But even so it must have been a hard thing for her to do and would be an even harder thing for her to live with.

"We must go, Trudi," he said mindful that they might not be as alone as it appeared.

She looked up at him; a world of grief in her eyes.

"I think there may be more Pit Fiends about," he said. "We have to go back. They can't follow us into the flames."

Without comment she let him lead her back into the Valley of Fire.

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"orry? What did you say?" said the Prophetess, suddenly looking more normal.

"Good! It's stopped," said Borix. "What happened? You shouted something ... and then you went all strange and blurry — and your hand was shaking so hard I thought ... I was scared."

"Poor Borix," said the Prophetess and squeezed his hand gently. "I'm sorry if I frightened you. I was doing some magic. Look, I am all healed—."

She peeled off the pad of cloth and the rough bandage that covered the wound the Pit Fiend had given her just beneath the right collar bone. One-handed this was awkward and Borix turned his eyes away when too much flesh was accidentally revealed.

"—And also, I am now better prepared for the Evil ones who come against us. I have a defensive spell and know something of their abilities."

"How?"

"Magic, dear Borix — as I said — but, even more importantly, I have had a time of peace, a time to think."

A time of peace? thought Borix, confused, but very much aware that his death by incineration in the flames of the Valley of Fire was only a miscalculation away. "I think we should retreat back up onto the pinnacle. Having to stay in contact with you will hamper my swordplay."

"You're probably right ... but first there is something I need to talk to you about ..."

TO BE CONTINUED ...

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espite the fact that he stood amid the flames of the Valley of Fire Borix felt the temperature of his blood start to rise. He pulled the Prophetess into his embrace and drank deeply of her lips. She responded in kind and they stood awhile lost in passion as the flames roared around them.

Eventually she broke contact and breathing heavily said, "Didn't you want to move to somewhere more safe?"

"Aye," said the Warrior and drank in every aspect of her beautiful face, not really caring much about anything else at the moment.

"We should go then," she said. "Don't want to have the Evil ones find us like this do we?"

"No," said Borix. He still didn't move. Instead he drew her to him once more and they kissed again

Eventually, hand-in-hand they climbed out of the Valley of Fire. They continued to hold hands well after they had left the flames.

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"rudi," said Borix looking down into the flames of the Valley of Fire. "I would like you to give me your Talisman."

"Why?" asked the Prophetess bringing her hand to her throat.

"When the Evil ones enter the Valley of Fire it will be best if I go down alone to fight them, but for that I need to have a Talisman."

"I can help you in a fight, you know, said the Prophetess. "Good has given me a combat spell."

"But it likely won't be any use if you have to hold my hand. Likewise, I can't really fight if I am holding yours. I think the best plan is for you to stay here and protect Paul."

"What he's saying does make some sense," added the Minstrel. "However, as long as either of you are here you're stopping me from using the Crown. I was hoping that I could force some of them to submit before it came to blows."

"It's too late for that, Paul" said Borix turning to look at his friend. "If their Pit Fiends are anywhere near as dangerous as the ones we fought, and they haven't submitted to you before this, then I don't think you are going to change their minds."

The Minstrel thought for a moment and then nodded his head. "You're probably right. They didn't seem to be too impressed by my threats."

The Prophetess fingered the Talisman at her throat.

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orix extracted his hands from Trudi's grasp. He smiled at her and then put the Talisman over his head. It felt strange to have a woman express gentle feelings towards him. A lot of things had felt strange to him since he had partaken of the waters of that strange fountain in the forest. Not that having a woman love him was bad, but because of his chosen profession, he had never wanted any permanent relationship with a woman before.

Now. Now things might change. Trudi's feelings towards him were obvious. His feelings towards her were ... frightening.

Battle savvy learnt over more years than Borix could remember came to rescue him from these unaccustomed thoughts. "Excuse me, Trudi, Paul," he said drawing himself up to his full height. "But I must prepare for battle."

He turned away from them and went and sat on a rock overlooking the flames to clear his mind of distractions so that he could do what must be done. Too much thinking in battle could be fatal.

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"o," said Borix shaking his head. "In the long run it is better that Evil suffers as many casualities as possible so that peace will reign for a long time." Despite the effect his words were having on his companions, especially Trudi, he continued on, "And besides, who knows, perhaps the last of them is the worst. Perhaps they would start the whole thing over again."

"The last one is indeed a survivor," said Paul his eyes on distant happenings. "The last of the Pit Fiends has just died, and yet this man still lives and I fear is the stronger for it."

"Then he will come on, and I must be ready to face him," said Borix turning back to look down into the flames again. "We must show that we are strong, able to defeat all comers, or others will think they have a chance, and the fighting and dying will continue."

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he Warrior crouched behind a boulder and watched as the man came towards him. Borix had been right about which way he would come. The approach to the pinnacle from this side of the Valley had limited options and Borix had chosen the one he would have used under the assumption that this man posed more of a physical threat than a magical one and would therefore choose the least obvious path in an attempt to gain the element of surprise. He had been right in his assessment.

He let the man go past him and then followed him quietly. He was trusting that the roar and dazzle of the flames would help him take his victim by surprise, but even so he waited until the best moment to make his move. He then rushed the man from behind and used Strength to push him down onto the slope. With his greater weight holding the man down he reached round and grabbed the man's Talisman and brought it up so it could be seen.

"Who are you?" he ordered. "Answer quick, or burn."

The man under him froze at the sight of the Talisman in the Warrior's hand. "I'm a messenger," he gasped with what little breath he had.

"For whom?"

"The Princess."

"What's her interest in this?"

"Ahh," said the man. Borix pulled the cord of the Talisman tight. "She needs the Crown Bearer to know that her father has gone over to the side of Evil, but that she remains true to the cause of Good."

"Who are your companions?"

"Companions? ... Their dead. They were killed by Pit Fiends.

"Doesn't matter. Who were they?"

"I don't know. We travelled together because it was dangerous territory ... you know your crushing the fingers of my right hand. Could you move, please."

Borix eased his knee off the man's fingers and allowed him to twist his body a bit into a better position. This also allowed him to get a better look at the man's face. It was a face he recognised.

"I know you," he snarled. The man stiffened and then started to struggle. Borix yanked the Talisman away breaking the cord and then got to his feet as the man beneath him began to kick and scream.

Borix watched as the Assassin burned and when the body no longer moved he said, "That, was for Sir William."

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merging from the Valley of Fire, Borix made his way to the top of the pinnacle. It's over, he thought to himself. What now? was the next question. It had some interesting possible answers.

Paul and Trudi were quiet when he reached them. The Minstrel had that far away look in his eyes that meant his attention was elsewhere while Trudi's eyes were fixed on him, her brows were lowered with concern.

"It's over," said Borix as he handed Trudi the spare Talisman he'd brought with him from the flames. He looked at Paul. "It is over, isn't it?"

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orix lead Trudi back to the site where he had cached the goods he'd taken from the body of the man he'd killed. The body, or at least what was left of it, he had left at the place where the man had died. That was not a sight he wanted to inflict on Trudi's tender sensibilities.

He added to his collection of gear the Sword the man had been carrying. He would have preferred a Shield, but as he was equally skilful with both hands, a second weapon had its advantages as well. He was not interested in anything else the man had been carrying. Trudi, who was at first resistant to the idea of taking from the dead, gasped in surprise when she saw one of the items he had rejected; it was a short rod made of some material immune to the flames. She picked it up and claimed that it was a potent magical item and said that she would take it so that it did not fall into the wrong hands.

Agreeing that that was indeed a wise move, Borix lead Trudi back along the path in the direction of the region of the Pits. If they were going to have any chance of heading off this new villain before he reached the Inner Realm they would need to cover a lot of ground very fast.

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he Mule was shivering with fear and Borix was sure that it was only because he and the Prophetess were the only Humans for miles that he was able to get close to the poor beast. The animal no doubt realised in some dim way that they were far preferable to the Pit Fiends that inhabited this Good forsaken region.

"Come here, you stupid beast," said Borix with a smile on his face as he slowly reached down and took the Mule's lead. "I don't want to hurt you. In fact, I'm going to let a pretty lady ride you — there are men who would kill for that privilege."

With a guilty start at what he'd said Borix turned and looked to where he'd left the Priestess saying words over the bodies of two people lying at the bottom of a pit. Grateful that she couldn't have heard his words he started walking towards her. The Mule, after a token resistance, followed.

"There are things in that pit we need," she said as he came up to her.

"What? Are you sure?" he said. "I'm not sure I want to go down there. It looks very unstable."

"Please," she said taking the Mule's reins. "I feel power. Good power, coming from down there. It may help us in our fight."

Borix scanned the surrounds but could see no immediate danger. Even then he almost said no, but the imploring look on her face melted his resolve.

"If you see anything," he said putting his hand on her arm to stress the point. "Anything at all. You are to tell me immediately. This is dangerous territory and I'm damned sure that there are still Fiends about."

At her nod he walked round the pit to the side where it had fallen in the most. Someone had climbed out of the pit at this point — which was a promising sign. Carefully he lowered himself over the side but in the end had to mainly slide to the bottom. Then, in a cloud of dust that made him cough he began searching the bodies.

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is concerns were left unanswered — there was no way they could be answered without retracing their steps — so the two of them continued on, each keeping their own council. Eventually they reached the place where they'd been attacked by the Vampire. There was no way they were going to be able to traverse the valley before night fell so about half an hour before sunset they set up camp for the night.

After their evening meal the Prophetess set up the Cross he had recovered for her in a prominent position next to their campfire. She then promptly went to sleep after telling him to wake her for her turn at watch.

Borix was not as reassured by the presence of the Cross so he let the Prophetess sleep and sat all night watching out for small children with long canine teeth — the morning was a long time in coming.

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e has not yet entered the Mines. I have been able to delay him for you. Paul's sending was like music to the ears of Borix. If they kept up their pace they just might be able to reach the other side of the Mines before their quarry. If they didn't then the chances of finding him in that confusing maze of passages would be slim. Borix turned to his travelling companion.

"Did you hear that?"

"Yes," said Trudi as she dismounted with care from the Mule.

"Feeling tender?" asked Borix.

Trudi gave him a tight smile. "I'm actually glad I won't be able to ride while we climb the hills," said Trudi stretching her legs one by one. "You look tired Borix. Are you coping?"

Borix shrugged. He was tired, but now wasn't the time to go soft. "One last push and then ... " He glanced at the Prophetess and saw the realisation of what they would have to do return to her eyes. "Here let me take the lead," he said gently. "I think you should stretch your legs for a bit before we tackle this slope."

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wo recent campsites. Did this mean there were two groups of enemies? Why hadn't Paul mentioned this? Borix was no Guide, but he thought one set of tracks lead off in the opposite direction from the Mines. The other ... there were signs from too many old camps, too many tracks, he couldn't say.

"So?" asked the Prophetess who was tending the Mule and their possessions.

"I don't know. I think we'll have to wait for guidance from Paul." Borix scanned the area and then pointed. "I suggest we make our own camp over there, behind the Portal of Power. Maybe we'll see anyone who comes through before they see us."

"All right, but this time you can set up camp and I'll collect the fuel for the fire," said the Prophetess handing the Mule's lead to him.

Borix shrugged and lead the Mule away. There were no easy jobs in setting up camp as far as he was concerned. Mind you he would have to dig a larger latrine this time. They could be here for a while.

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ccording to the Prophetess this was an opportunity she couldn't afford to pass up. However Borix, who was a man of action who had been called to action, fretted as the Prophetess carefully examined what remained of the walls in the small side chamber she'd lead him too.

"Trudi?" he asked. "Can't this wait? The Dwarf's life hangs in the balance." This was true. Paul had sent him an urgent message telling him that they couldn't wait until morning, that the Dwarf had taken matters into his own hands and had left his own camp in the middle of the night to confront the Thief.

"My dream was quite specific," she said pushing aside some small rocks. "There is gold in my future. Denying it would be like thumbing my nose at the powers that be. I don't know about you, but I'm not willing to take that risk." Then she straightened up; a dusty purse in her hand. "Here it is," she said and tucked it into her clothing, unexamined. "Okay, let's go. You said you were in a hurry."

Borix shook his head and let her lead him away.

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he Warrior sat in stolid silence as the Doctor stitched his wounds. He wanted to move — to tell the Doctor to hurry — as far as he was concerned there had been enough delays already. To keep his mind away from the thought of sharp steel near his eyes he looked across the room at Trudi where she sat trying not to fall asleep on a padded bench in the corner.

He winced as the thread caught on it way through his flesh. His skin had been deadened so he felt no pain, but the sound set his teeth on edge.

They had reached the Castle just before dawn and Trudi had insisted he see the Royal Doctor to have his wounds seen too. If he'd been on his own he would have pushed on, but a message from Paul saying that the Dwarf had won the first sally in his battle against the Thief, had changed his mind. That and the fact that it was clear that Trudi was having trouble keeping up with him. He hoped that her little rest would prepare her for the forced march to the Runes they would have to undertake as soon as the Doctor was done.

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aul had let them know immediately about the Thief's death but had urged them to hurry still because the life of an innocent was still under threat. Borix and Trudi had made good time and finally they'd reached the area known as the Runes where they'd come across a small group clustered around the dead body of the Thief.

Trudi turned away from the sight of the body; the man's head was covered in blood. It was not a pretty sight, but Borix was more interested in the living than the dead, so he took more notice in the three survivors. There was a Unicorn, a Maiden and what looked like a Gnome.

"It's mine," Borix heard the Gnome say. "He was my boss, by rights his stuff is mine."

Then the Unicorn spoke, its voice as low and menacing as the horn on its head, "You will stand away from the body or I will run you through. My mistress has suffered many indignities at your hand and now, with your Master dead, the time has come for a reckoning."

"May we be of assistance?" asked Borix drawing his Sword and scowling at the Gnome. "We are representatives of the Crown Bearer, the true ruler of Talis."

At this the young girl's face lit up with a smile. She walked over to the Unicorn and placed a calming hand on the animal's foreleg. "Everything is going to be all right now, Frella — you'll see."

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egrets? thought Borix in response to the Minstrel's question.

Yes ... a few, but we made the right choice. Putting me on the Throne was the sensible thing to do. I couldn't have done what you and Trudi did ... and because you both came through we are all three of us still alive. I'll happily live with that.

I'll see her home safely ... and then I'll come back. It wouldn't hurt the Crown Bearer to have a permanent guard. Borix resolved that his friend would not have to share the burden alone.

Permanent guard. Is that supposed to be a joke, Borix? Paul responded. I didn't think you had it in you ... Yes, old friend the Crown has revealed to me your curse ... There's no need to hurry. I'm young. Take some time and enjoy your time with her.

Borix turned and looked at where Trudi was talking with the Unicorn and the Maiden. A smile gradually appeared on his face.

* * * *

On the Throne at the centre of the Realm the Minstrel sat and gazed afar. His thoughts were muddled. He knew he was doing the right thing, but still he wondered what might have been if things had happened differently. On a whim he demanded of the Crown, Show me.

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