The Wizard's Tale

Prologue ...

he setting sun cast a baleful light over the tumbled gravestones of the old graveyard. Long shunned by the local populous the place should have been deserted but this afternoon voices disturb the quietness, voices coming from the entrance to a sunken crypt.

"He is dead ... finally," said a male voice.

"Are you sure?" replied a woman's voice.

"Yes. Are you sure?" came a cold whisper.

"I am sure. I can feel the magic of the Throne of Power working, distributing the talismans across the realm. The Crown of Command is ours for the taking if we move quickly."

Silence met this observation. All those present knew that the Crown of Command could only have one wearer. All were willing to take the chance that it would be they who reached the Throne of Power first. Co-operation only went so far when the rulership of the world was at stake but co-operation at the beginning could be useful in reducing the competition.

"Sybil. You know your task. Be about it," said the man.

"You promised me gold. I will need gold to gain the help we need," said the woman with a whine to her voice that suggested that she thought no gold would be forthcoming.

"Here," said the whisperer, "and let none say that I have not given my share."

"You shall get your share of the reward, Vlad," said the woman. "Though I suspect your sacrifice means little to you." There was the sound of jingling coins and the woman laughed a laugh that became a cackle.

"This should be more than enough to buy their services. I will see you both across the river at the King's castle as soon as I have found our unwitting allies."

Cackling once more the Sorceress left the crypt leaving the man with the thing that whispered in the dark.

"And you demon? Are you ready?" said the man.

"I hunger," came the whispered reply. "Tonight I shall start my journey and if you have any pity left in those twisted bones of yours pity those that I might meet on the road."

The Wizard did not reply, instead he turned and limped from the crypt back out into the last of the sunset. His task was a more cerebral one. The enemy had power too, but his must be supreme. Tonight he would attempt to regain some of the power that he had kept hidden all these years.

* * * *

Later that night the Wizard sat and watched the heavens wheel over his head. He could not sleep so he waited for the new day to dawn. His congress with the infernal powers had been successful and he was now prepared to bedevil the forces of goodness that he knew would also be preparing themselves to try to gain the crown. A cruel half-smile played across one side of his face touching not the side of his face that had been deadened the last time this game had been played. The time for revenge had come.

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Turn 1.1: The wizard to be effective requires greater craft points, life points and better spells. I decided that he would not move this turn and instead use the Graveyard to try to better his starting position. He rolled and gained a spell because he already had two spells he then had to discard a spell.

n the centre of the Graveyard the regular array of the gravestones and memorial shrines has been corrupted. At this spot — the centre of the place's Evil — there is a space surrounded by five statues of demonic appearance. These statues define the points of a star and encompass a place where the forces of Evil can be invoked by one with the knowledge of such things.

Alastor the Wizard had spent the last twenty-four hours or so ranging far and wide with his farsight looking for signs of the enemy. He had felt the Shrine come into existence. So close — too close. He could not allow such a place to exist so close to his own seat of power. Already the Shrine had been used and with his Wizard's farsight he had discovered that a meddlesome Druid had found the site. Well the Druid would regret his discovery. Now that the sun had set Alastor was ready to do something about the Shrine; and if the Druid was killed in the process ... his satisfaction would be all the sweeter.

He invoked the infernal spirits and cast a most powerful spell, one strong enough to destroy the very stones of the Shrine itself. His hope was that he would trap the Druid under the collapsing roof of the building. With his farsight he saw the dark clouds forming over the shrine, saw the Druid realise his danger and its cause, saw the Druid invoke a spell of his own, but much too late to prevent the destruction.

The Druid's spell surged back along the path of his own sending and the Wizard tried to bolster his defences against the attacking spell, but too late. Power bathed his form and there was a moment of agony that became exquisite ecstacy as bones, long twisted, straightened and popped and the dead side of the Wizard's body was reborn.

For many long minutes maniacal laughter rang through the Graveyard.

* * * *

The Wizard exulted still. He stood tall and proud and spoke the words of invocation over the magical pentacle in the heart of the Graveyard. Surely his rejuvenation was a sign from his infernal masters that he was their chosen one — that he would be the bearer of the Crown of Command. He wove his spell quickly eager to have this confirmed by a direct communication.

All of a sudden the temperature plummeted and a darkness, that the fires he had lit could not penetrate, formed in the middle of the pentacle.

"No!" shrieked the Wizard. "Come not in that form," he cried scared and confused that his summoning should be so answered.

Unhindered by the protective circle, a dark mist stole from the blackness and enveloped the Wizard. He felt his body stiffen, his newly enlivened limbs grow cold and unresponsive once more. His lips formed to either protest or scream, but no sound came forth.

Paralysed, the Wizard was still mentally alert and very much aware of the meaning of the message he received. In no uncertain terms he was told that he had not gained the favour of his masters. That the Shrine could also have been used by the followers of Evil and that he should think more carefully in the future.

When the voice in his head finally left him in peace he was so mentally and emotionally drained that he would have collapsed where he stood had he not still been paralysed. The long night passed slowly and the growing discomfit of his limbs kept him awake and it was only with the warmth of the rising sun that the Wizard was finally able to collapse to the ground. Finally at rest he fell even further into a deep sleep.

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he hot midday sun woke Alastor from dreams full of night and demonic figures. But the harsh light of day forced him to shut his eyes tight with its brightness. He could feel that the sun had already burnt the side of his face that was uppermost but for the life of him he could not turn this head — in fact, he could not move at all.

He suffered all through that long dry afternoon. Ants and other insects crawled on his body and flies buzzed around his face but what concerned him the most were the crows. They came and sat on the gravestones and looked at him with their beady eyes. Some were even so bold as to land on the ground in front of his face and stalk about, looking as if they were just waiting for the right moment to seize a tasty morsel. Fortunately, the blinking of his eyes and the thin keening sound he could make was enough to scare off the avian scavengers. He could do nothing about the insects.

Considering his situation it is hardly surprising that memories he had not visited for many years came to him. Memories of how he had once subjected another to this very same torment. Memories from the last contest for the Throne of Power.

It was in the last throes of the struggle. Erenfor the Elf and his wife had been in his power. The woman he had offered up as sacrifice to the dark powers in a last ditch attempt to gather power to his cause. Erenfor, had been forced to watch, immobilised as he himself was now. Alastor had planned to show mercy, kill the Elf, and allow the lovers to be reunited in whatever afterlife elves had, but fate had intervened in the form of the thrice cursed Druid, Filz.

The Druid had reached the Throne of Power, gained the Crown of Command and used it on Alastor, used its power to cripple him, and finally forced him to submit or be killed.

Cold sweat broke out on Alastor's body. If Erenfor came upon him now he would be helpless. He remembered the vow of revenge Erenfor had made against him and how it had been the Crown Bearer himself who had stayed the Elf's hand, forcing peace on both Good and Evil for the length of his rule. He hoped the Elf was still far away and that he would have the time he needed to prepare against his coming.

All afternoon Alastor mentally railed against fate and his infernal masters for the predicament he was in. His magical senses had insured him that the paralysis was only temporary but he cursed the delay to his plans and how vulnerable he was in this predicament. It wasn't until the sun set that Alastor found he could move his limbs again but by then the tribulations of the day had taken their toll and all he could do was slake his thirst, fill his belly and sleep.

His plans to take over the world would have to wait until tomorrow.

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lastor the Wizard woke early from a dream where the vengeful Elf Erenfor stood over his paralysed body with drawn sword. It was a dream, a reliving of his tortured thoughts of yesterday, but Alastor resolved to do something about the Elf as soon as possible. He closed his eyes again and sent his consciousness out looking for the Elf. He soon discovered Erenfor and the meddlesome Druid from the Shrine he had destroyed — they were travelling together now — heading this way. Both of them had reason to hate him and together they could be a problem.

With the aid of his farsight Alastor attempted to curse the Elf — for Alastor saw him as the more dangerous adversary — but it seemed that his masters had still not forgiven him for past events for the spell did not work as intended leaving the Elf stronger rather than weaker. Concerned that the Graveyard was now cursed against him Alastor packed up his belongings and fled. He would find Vlad the Ghoul and together they would take on this avenging pair.

* * * *

Deep in the forest that lay beyond the Graveyard Alastor stopped to rest. He had not yet fully recovered from yesterday's tribulations and though his master's punishment had not included the reversal of his fortuitous rejuvenation, his many years of reduced physical capabilities had left him unused to such strenuous physical activity.

His brain however was still as nimble as ever and while he had been walking he had been going over in his mind what had gone wrong with his attempt to curse the Elf this morning. He'd decided in the end that it was the nature of the curse used that was at fault. It was too random to be reliable in all but the most extreme situations and perhaps he had panicked. Now, with a full day's thinking about his situation behind him he felt he had a far better plan with which to try and thwart his pursuers.

His plan was to use the magic of the Graveyard against his foes, especially the worrisome Elf. Alastor knew that the Graveyard was anathema to his kind; even entering the site would drain him of vitality. So if Alastor could Immobilise the Elf within those unholy grounds, perhaps the Elf's vitality would be sapped sufficiently for him to be no longer a threat. The Druid was another matter but Alastor wasn't too concerned about the Nature priest as his magic required significant preparation which he didn't believe the man had had time to do.

Alastor leant up against a tree, closed his eyes and sent his consciousness out of his body again to find his foes. They still travelled through the Fields; the Elf having to match pace with the Druid. The fool Elf had sacrificed speed and surprise for a doubtful ally.

Suddenly the Wizard's farsight was shattered as a huge hand grabbed the front of his robes and lifted him skywards. Alastor brought his consciousness back to the here and now with a jolt to find himself staring into the hideous face of an Ogre.

"Little man pick wrong place to sleep," said the Ogre astutely.

Alastor flinched away from the creature's breath which seemed strong enough to blister paint. Damn. The spell he'd meant for the Elf he would have to use to get himself out of the clutches of this ugly, misbegotten creature.

The Ogre's understanding of the situation was purely limited to the physical realm and so he thought he literally had the upper hand. He laughed when the Human that dangled from his fist started speaking in a strange language and pointed his finger at him.

The laughter stopped in mid-guffaw as the Ogre became statue-like. So immovable was the creature that Alastor had to use his belt knife on his own robes to cut himself free of the creature's grip.

Cursing at this forced changed to his plans Alastor picked up his belongings and moved away from the unmoving Ogre. He would have to rethink now. The new spell he had at his disposal required a lot more preparation and was of such power that he would have to think carefully of the ramifications of his using it. He did not want his infernal masters to become even more angry with him.

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he stairway that crosses the Storm River and climbs up into the hills of the Middle Region was well known to Alastor the Dark wizard. Therefore he was extra careful when he approached it as he had a great deal of respect for the one who guarded it and the type of person who tried to win their way past the Sentinel to cross the bridge. And he definitely did not want to find himself in the middle of such an attempt. One set of enemies was enough.

There appeared to be but a single campsite close to the bridge with a single occupant. Alastor spied on the owner of the camp from the brush and noted that the man appeared to be a scholarly type, no doubt a spell caster of some type. A smile came over the dark Wizard's face as he recognised the medallion the man had around his neck — the man was a healer.

Better and better. Alastor stepped out from his hiding place and approached the camp. "Hail the camp," he cried. "Be there room for another at the fire this night. I am wearied from my trek through the Woods."

The man's welcoming smile fell from his face as he took in Alastor's apparel. He obviously recognised the trappings of a dark Wizard. However he put on a stoic face.

There is a place for all who need succour at this campsite. Are you injured? I am a Healer."

"Thank you kindly for enquiring, but I am hale. Though the smell of your stew reminds my stomach that I have not eaten in a long while. If there were any spare it would be greatly appreciated."

The Healer got out a spoon and a second bowl and proceeded to fill it from his pot. He might not like this visitor but his creed meant he should treat all equally.

Alastor sat down next to the fire and took up the bowl eagerly. Smiling his thanks he started to eat. Conversation was not forthcoming from the Healer which suited him fine. He had some thinking to do and plans to make.

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lastor woke early and after luxuriating in the fact that he'd had a long and undisturbed sleep he closed his eyes and sent his mind out of his body. His spirit flew back the way he had come to look for the body of his enemy, Erenfor the Elf, who he hoped ahd been slain by the Ogre that inhabited the Woods.

Unfortunately he found the Elf before he found the Ogre and the Elf was hale and hearty and still heading in his direction, presumably still intent on seeking his revenge.

Alastor withdrew to his body and then changed his mind sending it flying in the opposite direction; he needed the physical capabilities of the Ghoul to once and truly kill the Elf. By now, he reasoned, the creature should have reached the Chapel and destroyed its inhabitants. He headed there at the speed of thought only to be stopped by the sight of the accursed Priest kitted out as if for a long journey leaving the Chapel grounds headed in his direction. The Ghoul had failed him as well.

Aghast, he fled back to his body and sat up. The curse that sprang to his lips brought a disapproving glance from the Healer who was brewing up an early morning cup over the revived fire, but he didn't care. The forces of Good were closing in. The time for drastic action had come.

He must perform the spell he'd carried in reserve for several days. He would use it to slow down the Priest and hopefully with his energies freed up he would be able to use other magic to escape the Elf. First, however, he must get away from this place of tea and sympathy. The spell he was about to cast was one that warranted a stark place of seriousness without a trace of kindness.

The Wizard did not bother to answer the kindly asked question about his health and scowled at his soon-to-be-former camping companion as he packed his few belongings and left the campsite. The Healer was potentially far too valuable to waste, but Alastor would have dearly like to wipe that sympathetic look off the man's face.

A rock jutting above the rushing waters of the Storm River was the appropriate place for him to cast his Hex and after mentally surveying the ground between himself and the Priest he decided on enchanting the line of Hills that separated them. Now anyone who set foot in those Hills while the enchantment held would lose part of their life essence. He hoped that such a display of his power would make the Priest think twice and send him running back to his Chapel like the dog he was.

With the spell that he had been holding in reserve for several days now gone new magic flowed into him from his infernal masters. Alastor was staggered at the capability that they gave him; the ability to speed up his own personal time.

Realising that they must have something they wanted him to do he cast the spell immediately and as the world around him dimmed and slowed he received the means to find out what his own special speeded up future held for him, a Divination spell.

Feverishly he cast this new spell as well and visions of possible futures swam before his eyes. He saw devilish Imps and mighty Dragons and a traveller on the back of a Mule. The image of the Dragon scared him and he thought perhaps his masters showed him his doom, but the traveller held the key to the puzzle and when Alastor saw what hung around his neck, it all became clear.

The man was camped in the Woods at a location Alastor had seen during his own passage through those trees. Around the traveller's neck he carried one of the most valuable items in the entire realm, a Talisman. A Talisman against fire, this magical device would protect its wearer in the Valley of that element which lay about and protected the Throne of Power. With this in his possession Alastor would be able to ascend the throne and seize the Crown of Command. At last he would achieve his destiny. He must have that Talisman.

Seizing the Talisman from its unsuspecting owner would be easy but it would mean risking a confrontation with the Elf who was also in those same Woods but his masters had already thought of that because the magic that flowed in to him to replace the Divination spell was a spell of Invisibility which would allow him to evade the Elf if it came to a fight. Alastor smiled and got to his feet he had some distance to go and he did not have infinite time at his disposal.

* * * *

Many hours of subjective time later Alastor once more stood under the green leafy boughs of the Woods. Fortunately the traveller was still where the vision had placed him and although he wore a Talisman it was obvious he did not know what it was that he had because, when Alastor attacked him with the non-physical power of his mind the man died instantly though he took many seconds of Alastor's time to fall to the ground.

Alastor's enhanced time frame now worked against him because the Talisman stayed rigidly attached to its own frame of reference. Despite the fact he could have easily fled the Woods and got beyond the Graveyard even in his enhanced state the Talisman, which he would not leave, would not have allowed him to move it at such speeds.

There was nothing for it. He must wait until the spell wore off.

Conscious of the demands his unworldly activity would be having on his body Alastor took the opportunity of the dim light to sleep. He woke refreshed with the sun still in the sky and his victim the centre of activity of a colony of ants. The man had fallen onto their nest and Alastor watched in fascination as the scurrying creatures swarmed in slow motion over the corpse.

Still Alastor had to wait, for his spell was a powerful one. Once more he slept and this time he woke to a prolonged night. He made a short trip to a clearing near the River and spent a long time observing the heavens wheel slowly above him before returning to the scene of his crime and once more sleeping.

He woke once more to the early morning light and was ravenously hungry and thirsty. The little food and drink he'd carried with him had been exhausted in his own personal all-night yesterday. He became worried that he would die here in his own personal time. Surely this could not be his master's intentions.

Tired and hungry Alastor left his physical body and spent the day ranging as far a field as he could in his astral form. His enemies were all about him. It was a great risk he was taking but worth it if he gained the Talisman. When he returned to his body with its raging thirst and hunger pangs he took a sleeping draught that he carried hoping that he would be able to sleep away the rest of the spell. If it hadn't finished by the time he woke he would be forced to summons his masters to aid him and they didn't take kindly to weakness or stupidity. He shuddered at the thought of his recent paralysis after they had punished him for a mistake he hadn't even known he'd made.

Alastor woke once more to the sound of a hideous braying. It was the most beautiful sound he'd heard in a long time. The Mule, that had belonged to his victim, was calling its dissatisfaction at having been tied up for a day and a night. Smiling Alastor briefly enjoyed the sound and the other little movements that indicated he was now back in time with the rest of the world. Then his hunger drove him over to the dead man's belongings and he ate and drank his fill of the ant-covered supplies caring not if he ate any of the small scavengers in his urgent need.

Then he approached the body. It had already been preyed upon by the small scavengers and the stiffened body was still covered with them. Carefully Alastor lifted the Talisman on its bronze chain from around the neck of its former owner and after brushing off the few ants that clung to it hung it around his own neck. He exulted in the feeling that came over him suddenly.

"I am the Talis Man," he proclaimed. "The realm shall be mine."

The Mule brayed indignantly and he would have destroyed it then and there if it hadn't been so useful to the rest of his plans.

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sing his invisibility spell to evade the Druid had probably been a waste. It was such a useful spell and the Destroy Magic spell his infernal masters had given him to replace it was such a double-edged sword that he could not see the sense in his having it. He could only hope that their renewed faith in him meant that they had some plan in mind. Who could hope to fathom the thinking of such powerful beings.

Alastor drove his Mule hard. It had been very hard not to stop and teach the stupid Druid a lesson, but that would have been foolhardy. Now that he had a Talisman he had to reach the Throne of Power as quickly as he could.

* * * *

The Wizard stood in his circle of protection in the middle of the Graveyard and thought about the omen he had been presented with. Before he could make use of the pentacle he'd had to remove the remains of almost a dozen dead crows from the area. The birds had torn each other apart; it was most mysterious. Was summoning his infernal masters was such a good idea?

* * * *

Several hours later the Wizard was still uncertain about the wiseness of his act. The summoning had gone ahead as normal but accept for a sudden tingling feeling he had received no response. Still he knew from direct experience it could have been far worse.

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lastor lay coughing on the top of the steps at the entrance to the crypt. He was covered in a layer of fine rock dust and had almost been caught by his own trap, only barely having gotten out of the way when the pre-weakened lintel had snapped and all the stonework above the door above had come down. His trap had worked well though he had expected an incoming foe to set it off rather then he having to use it to trap someone inside the underground chamber.

Blearily he looked at the collapsed entrance. Even though he was still half asleep he could see that only part of the structure had collapsed and that it was likely that his attacker still lived. Even the entrance was not fully sealed but at least it would slow the accursed Druid down.

He groped inside the front of his robes and reassured himself that he still had his Talisman. He hoped his Mule and equipment were still in the small grove of trees outside the Graveyard — the Mule having not wanted to enter the grounds. The lucky act of leaving the animal and all his travelling equipment hidden there had probably prevented him from losing it.

Anger well up within him. That's twice in the span of a day that the Druid had tried to kill him with a sword. What had gotten into the man? And why was he using a weapon rather than magic? He would have liked to teach the man a lesson for his temerity. Teach him what a real master of the mysteries could do and strike him down with the power of his mind, but caution made him wonder where the Druid's companion might be. If the elderly Druid was here could the much more nimble Elf be far away.

Alastor got slowly to his feet and carefully moved away from the collapsed crypt expecting to be attacked at any moment. The Graveyard was almost silent after the noise of the collapse but every little sound had Alastor jumping in expectation of the onslaught of the revenge-ridden Elf.

* * * *

Alastor lead the still protesting Mule through the night, its braying enough to wake the dead of the Graveyard they had long left behind. There had been no further attacks, but by the time he had decided that the Druid was acting on his own, he had lost the opportunity and dared not go back. Anyway it was the time for speed. Now that he had a Talisman he must reach the Portal of Power as quickly as he could.

The sudden smell of brimstone brought the Wizard up short and the Mule almost yanked his arm off as, with a flash of fire, a small, winged and tailed, figure appeared on the road in front of them.

"Back foul creature," he cried and gave a gesture of warding against the creature that stood before him. "I am a servant of your own infernal masters and am not to be preyed upon by the like of you."

"Who are you calling a chicken?" returned the malevolent, but not very erudite creature.

The angered imp raised its arms as if to cast some sort of magical doom on the Wizard, but a small bolt of lightning that lanced up from below and struck him in his own personal nether regions made him suddenly stop, stand up straight and lose all animosity.

"The boss said to give you this," it said sulkily and drew a long object wrapped in cloth from underneath one of its wings.

The Wizard cautiously approached the infernal messenger and took the object from its hands.

"Hope it backfires on you," sniffed the little devil and was gone, leaving a cloud of sulphurous smoke behind.

The Wizard, left very much in the dark by the lack of light and the confusing nature of the gifting, coughed and fought his way free of the reeking cloud. He then conjured a small magic light to look at what he had been given.

The long hard object was wrapped in silken cloth of a dark material and the object itself was black in the low light. Hesitantly he touched its slick surface and as new magical power flooded into brain he knew instantly that he now held the fabled Wand of Talis.

A poacher from the Village was walking home with his early morning catch of fish from the River when he heard the sounds of laughter coming from the Fields. However, these were not the merry sounds of a young couple in dalliance which often distracted him from his path. No they were the sounds of a madman in triumph. The man hurried on his way all of a sudden very much aware of the dark and his aloneness.

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lastor stared down at the Druid where he lay on his back still winded from the explosive discharge that had blown him off his feet when his pathetic sword had met the Wand of Talis. The man was mad and Alastor had had enough — time to finish it.

The Wizard strode closer and brought the full power of his mind into focus on his downed foe. The Druid looked up and saw his doom in Alastor's eyes and brought his own, not inconsiderable will, to this defence. The struggle took almost a minute but in the end the Druid's defence was insufficient. With a strangled gasp he threw his head back in defeat and collapsed back onto the road — he did not move again.

Alastor had felt the Druid give up the ghost. Good riddance, he thought. He plucked the Druid's sword from his unresisting hand. The blade was covered with a rainbow of colours and was sufficiently interesting enough for the Wizard to take. The rest he would leave for the carrion eaters. Probably something that the Druid would approve of and appreciate. A grim smile played across the face of the Wizard as he resumed his journey.

* * * *

The Wizard had not been able to make the Village before it became too late for him to enter without drawing suspicion for himself. He had business to attend to there and so he bedded himself down in a hayrick to await the coming day. He had just fallen asleep when he was roused by a tremendous stirring in the ether. He woke with all his magical senses spinning and felt his magic spells get stripped from him by the etherial force that passed over him leaving as quickly as it had come.

Stunned, he reached out for his Wand and was immediately rewarded with a new set of spells. Was this why his demonical masters had given him the Wand? Had their preventative act foiled an attempt by Good to strip him of his magic? If this was so then he should expect another attack from the forces of Good. An attack which they would think he would be helpless against. It could only be the Elf and with the new spells he had been granted he was now prepared against such an attack. He smiled and chuckled to himself feeling confident but despite this he did not get to sleep again.

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lastor looked down at his foe where he lay in the dust of the road. The Elf's blood pumped freely from the hole the rainbow-hued Sword had punched through his tunic and his rib cage. The fool had thought him an unworthy foe and had announced his attack, no doubt to appease his own over developed sense of honour, whereas what he should have done was attack with surprise on his side. It was the only way he might have had a chance against the magical power Alastor now wielded.

"Stupid Elf. You should have stayed in your forest," said the Wizard.

"I'll kill you yet, foul Wizard," gasped Erenfor propping himself up on one elbow. "Bicele must be avenged."

"I hope you meet your wife in the afterlife, dolt," snarled the Wizard. "Then you can explain how you failed. How you were killed by the next possessor of the Crown of Command."

Alastor then brought the full power of his mind to bear on the Elf in an attempt to crush his foe in Psychic Combat. However, his foe's need to revenge his wife murder hardened his resolve and made the battle difficult. Neither moved for almost half a minute before the Elf gave a single cry of failure as tears of blood sprang to his eyes and he fell back dead.

Alastor brought his hands to his head and rubbed his aching temples. The Elf had been a tougher foe than he had expected, but finally it was over. Now hopefully he would have a chance to relax and make some plans for his march on the Throne of Power. His enemies had been after him, relentlessly, for days. Now, at last they were dead.

And the first thing he needed was money. Evil and magic were powerful but sometimes it was easier to use greed to get what one wanted. Alastor began searching the body of the Elf looking for valuables.

In the end it was only the two Swords that were of any worth. He sniffed at the waste of such a long life for naught and buckled them onto the back of his Mule.

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he unnatural darkness swept over the Wizard and all around him but because he was aligned with its Evil essence it left him untouched and illuminated as to the helpless state of yet another of his foes. The Priest was at this very moment helpless in Wizard's very own Graveyard — his place of power. Now was the perfect time to strike. Dragging his stupified Mule after him he hurried back the way he had come. Today was turning out to be very busy.

* * * *

The Evil Darkness filled the sky making the realm a dark and dismal place. The graveyard was like a place out of nightmare and it took quite some searching amongst the pallid gravestones to find the Priest where he lay hidden and asleep as one dead. Alastor hoped to make the condition permanent.

The Priest's unnatural state of slumber left him helpless so Alastor dragged him into the centre of his summoning circle and with a mighty downward stab pinned him to the ground with the Elf's ancestral Sword Pierced through the belly the Priest screamed in torment but could do little that did not bring him more pain.

Alastor smiled ignoring the pitiful calls for mercy and divine intervention. To the Evil Wizard it was fitting that the Good Priest should suffer under the blade of one of his allies but even more fitting would be for him to be sacrificed to the forces of Evil come midnight. He left the Priest writhing in agony as he went to make his preparations.

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lood. The spell required blood. Without a sacrifice he would need to use his own. The dagger blade sliced into the ball of his thumb and the Wizard gritted his teeth at the pain. Thick red blood welled out of the wound and he let it drip into the pot that contained the molten metal. There was a flash and a bang and the red hot metal of the two swords was replaced two gleaming piles of gold coins — magic beat alchemy any day of the week.

The meddlesome Priest was tougher than he had expected. He'd pulled the sword from his own stomach and been able to walk from the Graveyard on his own. Alastor was impressed. He hadn't thought the old man would have had the guts.

Alastor smiled. But not at his own grim joke. No. Alastor smiled at the new Spell the Wand had given him — Divination. With all his enemies either dead or crippled he would be able to do some proper planning.

Seeing the future with magic takes a long time. Not as long as living it first hand of course but, the sun was rising by the time the Wizard had finished. The omens for the new day had not been good for travel so he decided to spend this day resting and catching up on some much needed sleep. Tomorrow he would travel and perhaps even get across the River.

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t was a beautiful morning. Alastor the Wizard walked along the road toward the Village enjoying the sunlight and the way it danced on the water. He was half hoping that he would come across Raft as he's seen during his Divining. He certainly didn't expect to see Raiders of Ghosts. That was why he had spent yesterday off the road. And a Devil. Well he normally had to summon them up, so having one come to him would be a first.

Suddenly a darkness descended over the land and the temperature dropped. Alastor's first thought was that the Evil Darkness had returned but then he smelt the distinct smell of Brimstone and knew that this was something new.

"Wizard?" said a voice that made the hair on the back of Alastor's neck stand up.

Alastor turned and saw a dark hulking figure with eyes that glowed redly. His first reaction was one of fear for in front of him was one of the Devils of Evil; normally he only faced beings such as this from within a Circle of Protection.

"You have done well," said the Devil. "You have defeated many of the forces of Good. However, you are far behind in the race for the Throne, so now you must hurry to reach the inner region."

"Can you help me?" asked the Wizard.

"I will help you in the fight against Good," said the Devil and gestured at Alastor who felt a sudden vitality rush over him. "But you must make the journey yourself in your own way. But tarry not or the game will be over before you can join the players."

With that the Devil was gone and the sun shone down brightly on Alastor once more as if nothing had happened. The Wizard turned his footsteps toward the Village again and hurried on, a new sense of urgency to his steps.

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he Mystic stopped at the entrance to his cottage and looked at the dark clouds that streamed overhead. Every door and window in the Village had been closed as he'd walked through it, they had been since yesterday when the bodies had been brought it. People hid in their houses afraid, cowering in fear, frightened of the Evil that had been done so close to their homes.

Inside he closed his own windows and shutters and put more wood on the fire; it had suddenly got cold. The Mystic had had to bury the Elf and the Druid by himself. That had been hard in more ways than one. The Druid had been a friend.

Outside the storm began to rage. There was wind. There was lightning. There was thunder. There was no rain. Inside his cottage the Mystic wrapped himself tightly in his coat. There was something unnatural about this storm — it felt Evil.

* * * *

Alastor the dark Wizard revelled in the storm. He loved the feeling of unbridled power that came from the swirling clouds and the wind. He loved the feeling of danger brought by the lightning and thunder. He hated the rain so it was time to get inside.

The Village was deserted. Everyone was inside hiding from the storm. The Wizard smiled. The inn would also be empty and he would get good service and if he didn't he would demand it.

* * * *

The Innkeeper of the Village of Talos knew he was in for a quiet night. The recent deaths and now a storm meant that he would have no customers tonight. He poked at the fire and put another log onto it to help warm the tap room, just in case.

Suddenly there came a pounding on the door.

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ested and well fed for the first time in days, Alastor the dark wizard took his time leaving the Village of Talos. He'd had the inn to himself last night and the innkeeper so scared that he'd not been asked to pay for the large amounts of food and drink he had consumed. So, all-in-all he was feeling pretty satisfied and was even enjoying the walk through the Fields. The only problem he had at the moment was the wet grass he had to walk through on his little expedition off the road.

On a whim he had decided to pay a visit to the location of the Shrine he had destroyed. He had been punished by this dark lords for wasting such a precious resource and he was curious to see if there was anything of value remaining in the blasted ruins.

He reached the site and found nothing, nothing at all. He could tell that something had been here once as the turf was damaged but there was no tumbled stone or broken statuary. It had all faded away back to whence it had come — such magic was beyond mortal command or ken. He scratched his beard in thought and then waved away an insect that buzzed past his ear.

"Don't like you. Your Evil. Go away," came a tiny voice.

Alastor looked around for where the voice had come from and saw a tiny glowing figure — a fairy, on the wing. "Oh, no," he groaned and drew his sword.

"That's right. Hit a helpless Fairy. Prove how big and tough and Evil you are," taunted the small winged figure nimbly staying just out of the Wizard's reach.

Furiously the Wizard batted at the little pest, but it was too small and too fast. It buzzed around him berating him about how bad he was and how, if she were bigger and allowed to, she would teach him a lesson.

The Wizard eventually gave up trying to hit the little annoyance and got onto his Mule and rode away from the area as fast as he could. Fairys are very territorial but it wasn't until he got close to the Forest that it finally left him in peace.

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"choo!"

Alastor had never suffered from hayfever in his life before but there was something about this damned Forest that was not only causing him to sneeze uncontrollably but it has also given him a splitting headache and put him off his food.

"Achoo!"

He stumbled on. He would have liked to lie down and have a nice sleep, but this was not the place for that. Brigands, druids and elves lurked in this Forest and they either lead people astray or waylaid them for their money, some poor travellers were never seen again. And sleep wouldn't solve his problem anyway. He needed to get away from whatever it was that was bringing about this reaction.

"Achoo!"

He hoped that once he reached the Plains that lay beyond the Forest he would start feeling better. The Ruins were ahead and they could be dangerous, so he wanted to be in top form before he reached them.

"Sniffle!"

The dark Wizard stumbled on, his nose dripping and his eyes running. It's a wonder he didn't become lost.

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he sight of a feminine hand holding a large lance free of the waters of a pond in the middle of a grassy plain is not something you see very often. Alastor the Wizard however, was not intrigued, instead he was concerned for he knew that the Holy Lance was one of the greatest of Good's weapons. Did this mean that one of his enemies were close by? Should he lay in wait for them to prevent their gaining such a powerful weapon? Or was speed his best choice? Make it hard for whomever the Lance was for to be able to find him.

His good mood of the last several days evaporated. This portent told him that even though he had destroyed several of Good's champions, the game was not over yet and that he would only be truly safe when he had ascended the Throne of Power and caused all those who came against him to submit to his will. To do that he needed to reach the Inner Region of the realm, still many days travel away at the rate he was travelling. Somehow he would have to increase his pace. He had been delayed long enough. Perhaps even now the forces of Good were daring the Plain of Peril.

He marched on, forcing himself to a faster pace.

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mighty roar resounded through the still standing stonework of the Ruins. Alastor's Mule flattened its ears, bared its teeth and stopped walking which also brought him to a sudden stop as the reins with which he was leading the beast went taut. Alastor cursed. The Lion had seen them on the Plains and had been following them ever since presumably intent in having Alastor's mule for a meal.

"Move you stupid Mule," he said tugging futilely on the reins. "The Lion will get you if we don't stay ahead of it."

The animal would not listen to reason and started backing away. So strong was it that him dragged him along with it.

"Go on you flea-bitten animal," he said giving up and letting go of the reins. "Get eaten. See if I care."

The Mule turned and trotted off as fast as it could. Alastor looked after it regretfully. He knew that losing his beast of burden would make his travelling harder. What he didn't know was the danger he himself was in until he heard the pad of running feet behind him.

Time went into slow motion for Alastor. Driven by a sudden premonition of doom his hand went to the Sword at his side and he drew it as he turned. The Lion launched itself at him from three body lengths away and either did not see or could not avoid the brightly coloured Sword until blade met flesh.

The great beast's weight was its own undoing as it impaled itself through the throat. It was that same weight that dragged the sword out of it again leaving a great gaping wound. It was also that weight that sent Alastor spinning away end-over-end and crashing into the remains of a wall fully ten paces away from where he had been standing.

* * * *

When Alastor woke it was dark. At first he thought he was dead and then he decided that perhaps he hurt too much to be dead. Then he changed his mind again as a ghostly figure rose from the ground in front of him.

The creature screamed something at him silently and swept towards him. Alastor instinctively threw up the magical defences he knew that worked against such creatures but he was too slow. A sudden cold gripped him that chilled him to the bone before the creature was repulsed by the magical protection.

Alastor spend the rest of the night huddled within his ward as the ghostly creature threatened him and railed against his magic in the hope that it would fail. And it was only with the rising of the sun that the foul spectre faded away and he was at last finally able to get some rest.

Noon came and went and it was only with the realisation that after the afternoon came the night that Alastor found the will to get to his feet; the thought of spending another night in these ruins was more than he could bear. He set off in the last direction he had seen his Mule. Hopefully it had not strayed far and was now going to be more amenable as he was in sore need of it as a mount.

A silence, broken only by the squabbling of carrion birds fighting over the carcass of the Lion, fell over the Ruins. But it was an expectant silence, a watching silence. This place was not as dead as it seemed.

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lastor caught himself before he fell off the Mule's back. He had dropped off to sleep again and it was only that inner sense of balance we all have that had saved him from a fall to the dusty road. The Mule walked along steadily unaware, or perhaps uncaring, of its rider. Fields of golden grain spread out all around him and the sun, though not hot, was very bright. A very sleep-inducing environment after the last twenty-four hours he had had.

A nap sounded like a very good idea and now that he was nearing civilisation it should be safe enough. Alastor started looking for a shady spot in which to have a rest but his attention was immediately drawn to a single figure walking down the road towards him. The man was dressed in robes and had the look of a practitioner of the occult arts so Alastor became instantly alert. Was this a threat from the forces of Good? If so they would not take him napping. He guided the Mule to the side of the Road and surreptitiously prepared himself for a magical duel.

For a moment Alastor thought that the man would pass him by without stopping. Then the cleric stopped and spoke, "Good traveller. Have you recently passed close to the Ruins?"

"Aye," said Alastor cautiously. He did not want to kill this fool if he could help it. The less attention he drew to himself the better.

"Did you hear, see or feel anything amiss while you were there," said the elderly man who leant heavily on his walking stick.

"Worse," said Alastor intrigued by the direction the conversation was taking. "I was attacked by a Lion and later that night bedevilled by one of the spirits of the dead. I will not be going back there if I can help it."

"A spirit," said the old man. "Then the stories are true. I thank you good sir."

"This is not news, then?" said Alastor intrigued.

"I am an exorcist," said the man standing up a little straighter. "The inhabitants of the little hamlet that lies further along this road have paid me to exorcise a Spectre that inhabits the Ruins where you were accosted. They say it has been affecting their business, but they didn't mention a Lion."

"The Lion is now dead, as is the Spectre of course, but the latter is still dangerous. How do you propose to destroy this undead creature?

"With this," said the exorcist pulling a battered wooden cross from a fold in his robes. "It is a magic item that make me invincible against such creatures."

"Really," said Alastor becoming very interested. "Does it protect you from magic as well?"

"No," said the man and then realised his mistake.

It was the last mistake he ever made.

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he door to the Tavern opened to reveal a crowd of drinkers and early eaters simmering in a sauce of hub bub. No one bothered to look up at him as he surveyed the tap room, which was fine as far as Alastor was concerned for it was food and sleep that he needed more than anything else. He enter the noisy room glad that it only seemed to be the landlord whose attention he attracted.

Later, with a warm meal in his belly and a glass of decent wine at his elbow, he surveyed the room. It was still busy despite a lot of the locals having left to go to their own supper. He would have liked some sort of entertainment but there was none to be had and he was feeling a bit left out. Everyone else seemed to be involved in conversations which seemed to be mostly about the accessation. It seemed that some Priestess of Good was already in the inner realm. This disturbed Alastor until he realised that the inhabitants of an out of the way Tavern in the outer region of the realm would have little chance of actually knowing what was going on. This was a rumour — nothing more.

The only form of entertainment that was on offer appeared to be an old man who had set up a card game in one corner. Bored, Alastor stood up and sauntered over to the table and sat down.

"Well, old man," said Alastor. "Are you going to deal or what?"

"A bag of gold is the wager. Don't mean a thing if you don't risk something," came the reply from the stony-faced old card player.

"Don't want to gamble," said Alastor. "I don't want any old fortune. I want my fortune."

"Magic don't work if you don't place a wager."

Alastor sighed and drew out a purse. He would let the old codger have his fun. He had no intention of handing it over, win or lose. "Deal the cards old man," he said.

The man dealt the cards deftly and then reached across to turn over Alastor's card. Alastor swatted his hand away. "My cards. My fortune. And I'll read it myself," he said.

His cards were the Magus of Daggers, the knave of clubs and the six of clubs. Good hand, he thought to himself. A winner probably because of the Magus. With regard to his future it rang true as well. He was obviously the Magus of Daggers and the other two cards being of the same colour were complimentary to him, but what they represented he could not tell, yet.

The old man flipped his first card without looking at it. It was the Queen of Hearts which beat his knave but not his Magus. The second card was the King of Hearts. A very strong card, but Alastor's Magus was still the winner unless another court card was revealed. The old man flipped his last card to reveal the Knave of Gems. "I win," he said.

Alastor didn't notice the old man reach across and take his purse. He was far too interested in the metaphysical meaning of the two hands. The cards seemed to indicate that his future was fated to be thwarted at the last by the forces opposed against him. He sighed. The future was by no means immutable, but it did mean there was going to be significant opposition against him. Now to get his money back. He looked up only to find the old man, the cards and his money all gone.

Alastor got up and looked round the room but there was no sign of the Gambler. Alastor chuckled. The old man was more than he seemed. But money? Really. There were more important things in the realm than money.

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"ou old crypt robber. What are you doing out of the Graveyard, Alastor?" The voice was deep and despite the jocular language it employed would have sent shivers down the spine of an ordinary mortal.

Alastor turned towards the voice and brought his free hand up in a defensive magic gesture.

"Hold!" said the voice from out of the darkness of the corridor. "There's no need for that. I come in peace."

"Sneaking up on a person is not a friendly act, Pericelsas" said Alastor not lowering his hand. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

"Some thing told me you were tipping your hat at the Crown again," said the dark and hooded figure that stepped into view from the stairwell.

The flame of the Tavern keeper's candle Alastor held in his other hand did not illuminate the figure but the absence of reflected light made it visible against the dim wall behind it.

"I might be," said Alastor feeling a little more relaxed now that it seemd his visitor just wanted to talk. He lowered his hand and opened the door of his room. "Now if you want to talk you'll have to come inside. I don't feel like confronting a bunch of torch-wielding peasants tonight and that's what will happen if we aren't more careful."

Once inside the room the wizard known as Pericelsas dropped his various glamours. In reality he was a weedy individual with a glass eye and halitosis. Alastor had never been impressed by his colleague.

"You do know that one of the main players for Good is already in the inner realm, don't you?" said Pericelsas. "That jumped up priestess they call the Prophetess passed through the Portal of Power several days ago. Having a Druid on the throne was bad enough, but a Good priestess. No thank you. What can I do to help?"

Alastor was taken aback somewhat by this outward sign of cameraderie. Practitioners of Evil rarely cooperated and since his own little cadre appeared to have lasted only a short time he had assume that he was well and truly on his own — some help might indeed be useful.

"I need to get to the inner realm as quickly as possible," he said shrugging his shoulders. "That's the long and short of it."

"You mean you have one already? A Talisman?" said the little man a strange gleam coming into his eye.

Alastor thought quickly. "I plan to take one off the Prophetess's corpse. There's more than one to find a Talisman."

"Yes, yes, of course," said the man rocking backwards and forwards where he sat on Alastor's bed. "But you have so far to catch up. Can you do it?"

"Can you help me?" countered Alastor.

Pericelsas' eye lit up again. "Yes, yes. I think I can. I know the location of the Magic Portal. That could take you directly to the Plain of Peril, if you are as good as they say."

"The Magic Portal," said Alastor starting to feel some of Pericelsas' enthusiasm. "That could indeed do the trick. Where is it?"

"Its a couple of days travel from here," said the other wizard and Alastor's hopes faded. "But I have a scroll of outer region teleportation that can get you there instantaneously.

"Why are you helping me?" asked Alastor suddenly suspicious. "Why not try for the Crown of Command yourself."

"You know me Alastor," said Pericelsas, a whining note becoming evident in his voice. "I'm not a political animal and don't have the raw power that you have. I just want you to remember who it was that helped you to the throne."

His story rang true from what Alastor knew of him. Most of his magic was illusions, harmless if one knew them for what they were, and illusions just don't make the grade in the inner realm.

"Where's the scroll?" demanded Alastor. "I want to see it."

"I don't have it with me," said Pericelsas. "I'm not stupid enough to carry something that valuable around on my person. But I can get it and be back by dawn."

Alastor marched over to the door and opened it. "Go and get it, Pericelsas. If I make it to the Throne of Power before that damnable priestess then all of Evil will prosper under my rule."

A dark malignant shadow passed out through the doorway and Alastor closed the door and started pacing. It was a long chance but these were desperate times and who knows Pericelsas' plan might just work.

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here was a knock on the door of Alastor's room just before dawn. Alastor opened it quickly — he had not even tried to sleep — and gestured for the dark shadow that stood outside to enter quickly. Pericelsas stepped into the room simultaneously dropping his personal illusions and revealing the scroll that he held in his hand.

"Good. You have the scroll," said Alastor eagerly rubbing his hands.

"Are you ready?" said Pericelsas. "I think we should get to the Portal of Power as quickly as possible."

"We?" said Alastor.

"I told you I would help, didn't I?" said Pericelsas opening the scroll.

"Yes. Yes, you did," said Alastor. "But hold on a minute. I have a Mule in the stables that I don't want to lose. Follow me." He picked up his belongings and lead the way downstairs.

In the stables Pericelsas began to read out the arcane words on the scroll. Meanwhile Alastor was starting to have doubts about his companion. So, he wants to come with me, eh? Well, he can, but only as far as I want him too. Then there was a bright flash and suddenly Pericelsas, Alastor and his Mule were somewhere else. The Mule began to bray in panic and pulled itself free of Alastor's grip. He let it go, his attention totally captivated by the sight in front of him — the Magic Portal.

A thing of multi-coloured stone, its angles all awry, the Portal gave access to places not on its other side. Instead a succession of many different places appeared just a step beyond its threshold. The trick was knowing when to pass through.

"How long has it been here?" said Alastor.

"Not long. I found it on a return trip from the City. I didn't see it on my way there so, a week at the most," said Pericelsas with a shrug. "Do you know the secret of its operation?"

"I'll need to study it for a while, but I think so," said Alastor. "Can you get the Mule. I think we'll be needing it."

Pericelsas grinned and started off into the pre-dawn darkness after the frightened animal while Alastor pretended to look closely at the runes on the uprights of the Portal.

Alastor had always believed that night time would be the right time to use the Portal by guesswork. At this time the whole of the realm of Talis was now in darkness, except for those areas where the light from the Valley of Fire kept the night sky aglow. Stepping through when that glow could be seen must mean that you would end up somewhere close to the valley — at least that was his hope.

Pericelsas returned leading the Mule. The animal was so docile now that Alastor decided that Pericelsas had had to use magic on it. Good. That would make his own passage through the Portal with the beast easier. Now to get rid of Pericelsas.

"Well?" said Pericelsas and then froze in his tracks as Alastor used his Psychic Attack on him.

Alastor bore down on the hapless man showing mercy only at the last minute leaving him unconscious rather than dead. After all he had been helpful, and he might have even been acting with the right motives, but why take the chance that he might make a try for the Crown himself.

Alastor then took hold of the Mule's lead and dragged it toward the flickering Portal. Timing was everything now. Wait until the glow from the Valley of Fire could be seen and then step through quickly and trust the powers of Evil were still smiling on him.

Now.

He plunged forward through the Portal pulling at the Mule's lead but not caring if it didn't make it. As long as he was safe he didn't really care about the stupid animal.

Be it fate or Evil truly working in his favour his desperate attempt succeeded and he found himself upon a dire plain covered in smoking pits and standing before a portal mounted in a non-existent wall — the other side of the Portal of Power. He had made it. The somnulent Mule looked at him with vague interest as the Wizard's laughter rang out over the Plains of Peril.

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he Wizard opened his eyes to see the fumarole-covered expanse of the Plain of Peril. He had been checking out the lay-of-the-land in his spirit form and what he had discovered had been very interesting. As far as he could tell two parties had beaten him to the Inner Realm. One party was quite close, in the nearby Mines, but it seemed to be in disarray. The other had passed beyond the Vampire's Tower and even the Pits and must now be assaying the Valley of Fire. If that party contained the Prophetess then he would need some assistance to achieve his rightful goal as ruler of all Talis.

The party in the Mines included a potential ally — the Master of the Guild of Thieves and Assassins. It appeared that the man had ambitions beyond his station and while he had been useful in bringing about the death of the Crown Bearer, and still could be a useful ally, Alastor would have to make sure he knew his place.

However, before leaving this place he should really check for other potential rivals for the Throne. He got to his feet and walked across to the Portal of Peril which stood alone on the plain. He reached out with his hand and his mind and touched the door then pushed his spirit through the magical link that connected the door to the Middle Realm of Talis.

Working through the magical link was difficult and he couldn't do it for long, but he was able to do it for long enough. With a gasp he brought his mind back to his body and his hand up to his aching forehead.

So, the Sorceress, awaited on the other side with a henchman. More potential allies, However, if they hadn't been able to get through the door ... Still bodies were bodies and here in the Inner Realm there was indeed safety in numbers.

It was worth the risk.

Alastor, the Wizard went and got his Mule — fortunately it was still sedated — and then reached out for the handle of the Portal of Power. It opened easily and he lead the animal through into the ruins on the other side of the door. Behind him the Portal closed, inexorably. He hoped that it would open again just as easily.

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"es. I have a plan," said Alastor to the Sorceress and then thought to himself, Why does she do that? Surely she most know that it isn't very attractive.

"The Assassin Master and some of his men have also made it to the Inner Realm. Surely all of us, acting together, will be more than a match for any force of Good that might have preceded us. It takes time for the Crown Bearer to come into the fullness of their power and during that time we can prevail."

"And then?" said the Sorceress cocking an eyebrow.

"Sybil," said Alastor smiling slyly. "You've always known it would come down to which of the two of us wielded the most power at the time. Now I'm not saying that will necessarily be me, but I am saying that we won't have any chance at all unless we join up to claim the Throne in the first place."

"Just who are you two?" asked Alfonzo flicking his eyes between the two of them.

"Don't you worry, dearie," said the Sorceress casting her most beguiling gaze upon him. "You just let me take care of the thinking, okay?"

"We are wasting time, Sybil," said the Wizard. "Are you with me or not?"

"Aye, I be with you," said the Sorceress.

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ive stalwarts souls, four on foot and one on the wing made their way across the Plain of Peril towards the abandoned Mines. Evil they would be called, both individual and collectively, but for the moment they were just tired and footsore; the Plain of Peril is a desolate place of hard stone and hot stinking holes.

The Wizard longed to mount his Mule, to take the weight off his feet, but he had decided it would not be politic to do so and had instead allowed his fellow travellers to place their burdens on his beast's back. This was contrary to his normal nature but he had decided that he needed to be looked upon favourably by the lesser newcomers to the group if he was going to survive the leadership challenge he could see in their near future.

That there was going to be a challenge was inevitable. Initially he had assumed that he would automatically be the leader, but the Sorceress's actions in recruiting the Assassin to their goal, had smacked of resistance to his rule. And then there was the man himself — chief Assassin of a whole guild — he would find it hard to take a lesser role.

Alastor's plan was to woo the followers from his competitors through a display of reasonableness. And if that didn't work he would use magic — clandestinely — so that when push came to shove he would have the numbers on his side.

Still it would be nice to be able to ride his damned Mule.

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esmerising the Pixie had seemed like a good idea at the time. Alastor had used the little flying creatures in the past as spies and forward scouts and it didn't seem like the Assassin realised how useful they could be. What he hadn't realised was just how talkative the little insect was, or how annoying its shrill little voice could be.

"Pin! Shut up," said Alastor. They had exited the Mines and Alastor had used their well-earned rest break to gain control of the Pixie. But all Pin seemed to want to do was talk to him incessantly and in poetry. That cultural delight palled on Alastor very fast.

"If you have so much breath, make use of it. I want you to fly over to yonder Tower and see if anything is happening there. We will make our way down into the valley toward that defile. Hopefully there will be water there and we will be able to set up camp there for the night.

Even mesmerised, the Pixie hesitated before saying, "Okay boss." He flew off without any great enthusiasm and blessed silence descended on the hill side.

The Wizard turned to look at the Assassin and the Sorceress. Neither of them said anything but he could tell that they both understood that it was likely they would never see the Pixie again.

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lfonzo the Guide dead, Pin the Pixie missing and Harkold the Assassin badly injured ... Could have been worse, thought Alastor. Could have been me. The Wizard tightened the makeshift bandage on the Assassin's bloodied head. The Sorceress had been too tied up with looking after the body of her follower to tend to the living, so it had been up to Alastor to administer first aid.

"How does that feel?"

"How do you think it feels?" snarled the Assassin.

The Wizard smiled at the man's anger and watched as he one-handedly opened a paper packet and sniffed powder up his nose. This man was not a quitter.

"You still up for this?"

"Damn straight. I want to get the bastard who did this," he said holding up his twisted left hand.

"What about the Vampire?"

"She's just the latest on a long list of those who will get their comeuppance when I get round to it. But the most dangerous is the Crown Bearer. He's first."

"Good," said the Wizard. "As soon as the Sorceress is finished doing whatever she's doing we'll be off." He turned to look at the tower on the hill. "Best we get some distance between us and the Vampire before the sun sets again."

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lastor drew the strangely-coloured blade from its sheathe on his Mule just in time. The Pit Fiend hissed a challenge and charged. This spooked the animal and before he could do anything else it bolted back the way they had come braying in alarm.

Alastor turned to face his attacker and brought his Sword up into the ready position. The Sorceress scurried out of the way unnoticed by the Fiend, for it appeared to have eyes only for him. Briefly he regreted that there was no time for magic and then the creature was upon him.

It had charged at him with its wicked-looking sword held with both hands at one side ready for a mighty horizontal swing. Following instinct more than thought, Alastor thrust his own sword at the beast's head causing it to veer from its charge and swing too early. Alastor saw his enemy's blade pass under his arm and felt something pluck at his robes as he hastily withdrew.

The Fiend was now side on to him; the momentum of its unsuccessful swing having turned it thus. With desperate speed Alastor pushed his sword forward and down in a stab below the limits of his foe's armour and was lucky enough to hit. His weapon sliced deep into creature's leg just above the back of the knee.

Withdrawing hurriedly to avoid the return swing he was amazed to see the creature falter in its attack and go crashing to the ground; its injured leg had not been able to support its weight.

He moved forward for the kill. Placing one foot firmly on the beast's blade to disarm his foe, he rammed his Sword between its chin and breastplate. The creature twisted, ichor spurted, and there was an unhealty tearing sound before the body of the Pit Fiend finally relaxed in death.

Alastor looked down at the body, then at the huge tear in the front of his robes; he had been a hair's breadth away from being torn in two. Reaction set in and he started to shake and bile suddenly flooded the back of his throat. He turned away and spewed up the foul stuff onto the ground.

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he damn Mule took forever to catch but finally the Wizard rejoined the Sorceress and they made their way towards the Valley of Fire. Alastor was a little surprised that she had waited for him. He'd known that the Assassin had a Talisman and man's Helmet perched on her head was sure sign that she'd searched his belongings.

Damn, he thought to himself. I was hoping that she might soften up the resistance a little. And resistance there would be. Only one person could wear the Crown and so the others of the party of Good that had come this way must have either submitted already or lie in wait against other contenders like himself.

At the edge of the conflagration Alastor had to take control of his Mule once more to stop it from bolting again. He would ride it into the Valley trusting to his Talisman to keep the stupid animal from burning. He was hoping that being in the saddle would give him some small benefit of the high ground.

"I presume you won't be needing me to hold your hand, Sybil," said Alastor as he mounted his Mule.

"Sorry dearie. I'll be needing my hands free for the killin'," said the Sorceress. She cackled and then added, "Maybe I'll let you kiss me 'and when I'm wearing the Crown."

Alastor sniffed and replied, "To the victor the spoils."

TO BE CONTINUED ...

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t had been in the Valley of Fire that Alastor had been forced to submit to the Druid Filz. He urged his Mule on as fast as it would go in its stupefied state. He did not want to get so close just to have to submit again. This time he wanted to reach the pinnacle and at least come to grips with his enemy.

And where was his enemy? Alastor had been expecting to be called on to submit every second of his journey across the valley, but nothing had happened. Why wasn't the Crown being used against him? Surely he, Alastor the Evil Wizard, must be the greatest danger to the Crown Bearer. This lack of interest in him was starting to get on his nerves. He urged his Mule to greater efforts.

Finally, the land started to slope upwards towards the pinnacle in the middle of the valley. Gritting his teeth in frustration, Alastor slowed his beast and looked back for the Sorceress. If they had managed to get so close without being interfered with it was only right that she be here to face the foe as well. There was safety in numbers after all.

Faintly through the flames he saw her. "Hurry up woman," he cried hoping to be heard over the roaring of the flames. "This is our chance. We must strike now."

TO BE CONTINUED ...

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lood streamed from the large cut in his leg. The Warrior had knocked Alastor's Sword out of the way contemptuously, making the wound in his leg on the return slash almost as an afterthought. Alastor was seriously outclassed. If he were going to win this battle he would have to change it to a level where he had the mastery.

Alastor focussed his mind on the Warrior's. The Warrior's actions slowed and stopped as he fought off the mental attack. The man was strong of mind as well as body. Alastor realised that if he was going to finish this quickly he would need help.

"Sybil. Aid me. He is the Crown Bearer's last defence."

TO BE CONTINUED ...

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lastor's view of the world whirled in a sickening manner; he would have thrown up instantly if he'd still had a stomach. Similarly he felt detached from the bumps and cuts his head received as it bounced off the rocks. What he mostly felt in this, his moment of death, was outrage.

His anger was not so much that he'd been killed by a common Warrior, but that he'd been played for a fool by the Sorceress. He'd been dependent on her and she'd knowingly held back.

His lips were mouthing a curse as his head rolled into the flames.

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