Meanwhile, eight hundred miles away, on the sixteenth level of Battleaxe tower, Captain Resalintas was interrupted in the middle of weapons training by a knock on the door of the practice room. He called for the person to enter, knowing that it must be important because he'd left standing orders that he was not to be disturbed while in training for any trivial reason, and a nervous looking messenger crept in.

     "Pardon me for interrupting you, Sir," said the Private, "but you said you were to be informed at once if there was any news regarding Corporal Drake."

     Resalintas was immediately interested, and waved for the two Sergeants he'd been practising with to leave. "What news?" he demanded as soon as they were out of the room. He'd been concerned over Drake's fate ever since Gallit and the others had arrived back without him. He'd been furious when he'd heard that the Corporal had remained in the Blackwater Marshes to help a tribe of apparently friendly lizard men, but couldn't fault his actions. He himself would have done the same thing. For it to have happened now, however, when they needed every man in the city, was very bad timing. He just hoped that he'd finish whatever he was doing there and get back as soon as possible. Week after week had gone by, however, with no word or sign of him, and he'd begun to think that he must have died in the swamp.

     He'd searched the area for him using the scrying mirror, but without success. The trouble was that the mirror could only lock onto locations, not people, so he could only find the young Corporal if he knew exactly where he was, as he had during that bit of trouble in Eastglade, or if he was lucky enough to spot him while sweeping his point of view to and fro across the swamp at random. Since the marshes were flat and relatively featureless, there was a fair chance that he could have spotted him that way, and his failure to do so had aroused an uncharacteristic feeling of regret in him. That lad had shown promise, and now it looked as though it would never be fulfilled.

     Now, however, some news of his actions and whereabouts had apparently come to light, and he waited impatiently while the messenger reached inside a leather pouch and produced a white envelope.

     "This just came for him, Sir, delivered by a messenger from Calmany. It's addressed to Corporal Drake, but since he isn't here, the duty Sergeant told me to bring it to you. A strange jar of resin came with it, which is being kept in the lost property office until we know what to do with it."

     "Good," said Resalintas. "You may go now."

     "There's one thing more, Sir," said the messenger. "Reports have come in of another outbreak of Lycanthropy, this time in Silverlode, and there have been more sightings of zombies in the Overgreen Forest."

     "More werewolves?" said the Captain grimly. "That's the third outbreak this month."

     "It's wererats this time, Sir. At least a dozen of them."

     "Very well, you may go now,"

     The Private saluted and left, and the Captain returned to his own quarters, deep in thought. Werewolves and zombies. Few people who hadn't seen one could imagine how frightening zombies could be. The sight of a walking corpse could have an effect on a sleepy forest town totally out of proportion to its real danger, spreading panic and terror and severely damaging their ability to resist the Shadowsoldiers when they eventually came. Lycanthropes were even worse, and now there were wererats, an epidemic of them.

     Resalintas grimaced with distaste, he had a particular dislike of wererats. Almost all large cities had them, living in the sewers and slum districts while in their feral forms where they attacked anyone unlucky enough to cross their paths. Joining gangs and acting as enforcers and bodyguards while in their ‘human’ forms, which were considerably larger and stronger than most ordinary humans. They were filthy creatures that spread disease wherever they went. Stole, murdered, created a general atmosphere of malaise that caused the human citizens to become sloppy and aggressive, callous and uncaring. They were like a cancer that could eat a city from within, and it was almost certain that there were already more than a few right here, in Fort Battleaxe itself. Not part of the Shadowarmies, just part of the city’s criminal population, but encouraged by the growth of evil that they could probably sense in the outside world.

     And now there were more on the way. Not just diseased gangsters but actual Shadowsoldiers, acting under the orders of the Shadowlord to erode discipline and destroy morale. All part of a softening up operation, preparing for the invasion, and with a triple moon now only two days away, some hard decisions had to be made. They could change into their animal forms at any time, but when the three moons were all full at the same time the change was irresistible. Their power was greatly increased, and only a contingent of soldiers could prevent a major bloodbath in the affected areas.

     They were undermanned as it was, though, and sending men out of the fortress city was tactically dangerous. The enemy was undoubtedly trying to lure them out from behind the protection of the city’s walls, where they could be ambushed by the small forces of Shadowsoldiers that had almost certainly crept in secret to within the borders of Ilandia. Also, they would be weakening the city’s defences, and for all they knew there could be twenty thousand Shadowsoldiers hiding in the forest right now, spying on them and waiting for the word to attack.

     He put these thoughts out of his head as he reached his rooms and sat down in a chair to read Drake's letter. He felt not the slightest twinge of guilt as he ripped it open and removed the single sheet of paper inside, not the slightest regret at invading his privacy. Priests of Samnos had no privacy. This letter might contain clues to the Corporal's whereabouts and recent actions, and that was all there was to it.

     The letter was from a Calmanian alchemist called Barchollus, and was in reference to the jar of resin Drake had brought out of the Blackwater Marshes. Resalintas was pleased. So, Drake hadn't died in the swamps and had made it to Calmany, which meant that he should be back here very soon. Good. Then he saw the date at which Drake had visited the alchemist, more than six weeks ago. He should have had ample time to get back by now! "Where is he?" he roared, furiously. "What in the name of Samnos is that lad doing?"

     The young priest had apparently asked an alchemist to analyse the resin and find out what the Pakin-Kho had wanted it for. The alchemist had been unable to do so himself, however, and so had sent it off to Barchollus, a far older and more experienced alchemist, who had now completed his analysis and sent back his findings.

     It made alarming reading. Apparently, it could be used by a sufficiently powerful wizard to make a potion that endowed anyone who drank it with the power to summon and control Moel Ni-Strohms, a powerful and extremely dangerous species of water elemental. What was more, there was enough resin in that one jar to make over twenty potions, and if what Barchollus said was true, the pakin-kho had several times that amount.

     Resalintas jumped up and hurried to Colonel Vento's office. As he went, he reflected on what a good thing it had been that Drake had stopped to help the lizard men. What had been intended as merely a good deed, one person helping another in time of need, had resulted in their acquisition of an important piece of intelligence. Reports had come in suggesting that the pakin-kho were allying themselves with the Shadowhosts, which would put every nation and city on the coast of the Great Lake in danger. Drake's discovery seemed to reinforce this conclusion, since it suggested that the aquatic creatures were preparing for a military action of some kind. If the people of the Great Lake could be warned in time, they could take steps to defend themselves and thousands of lives could be saved.

     Once again, the Captain wondered what had become of the young priest, not in anger this time, but with concern and worry, emotions he hadn't felt for many years. Now certain that he was still alive, he knew that he had to be on the trail of something important, or else his sense of duty would have brought him back to the fortress city long ago. Whatever it is, he thought, I wish you luck and the blessings of Samnos. May He grant you victory, and return you here as soon as possible, preferably before the invasion comes.

☆☆☆

     The next day, Drake and his eight travelling companions came across a line of low hills running from north to south, very similar to the ones they had crossed coming out of the Ghost Ocean. Most of them were quite ordinary in appearance, but one was larger than the rest. Suspiciously regular in shape and had a circle of standing stones on top, dull grey in colour.

     "That must be Greystone hill," said Shaun. "There couldn't be two hills like that. It's even got stones on it!"

     "Let's go up and have a look," said Drake.

    The sides of the hill were steep, but a narrow path spiralled up it and an hour later they were standing on top, inside the stone circle. As they stood there, wondering what to do next, Janice told them what she knew about the place, mainly superstition and folklore since almost no-one ever came here if they could help it. Apparently, the stones had been there for many thousands of years, and had been erected by a race of creatures that had inhabited this part of the world long ago, before being driven out by the coming of man. No-one knew why they had erected the stones, or how they could have moved them such a long way from Mesmeria, the only place where they could have found this kind of rock, well over a thousand miles away. All that was known was that this was an evil place. A place that no honest or decent person should go anywhere near. The nearest village was twenty miles away, and a road that connected it with another village on the far side of the hills took a wide detour through treacherous wetlands to avoid it. No animals ever approached the hills, and even the grass growing on it was sickly yellow and stunted, with strange fungi growing among it, their bone white heads growing to an unnatural size and filling the air with the sickly, rancid smell of death and decay.

     The stones themselves were between six and ten feet high, and were carved from rough, greenish grey granite. They might once have been rectangular, with flat faces and sharp edges, but thousands of years of erosion by wind, rain and frost had worn them smooth and round, with lumps and grooves in odd places, so that they now looked vaguely like a dozen old men standing in a circle, staring at the thirteenth stone in the centre. This stone was larger than the others but lay flat on the ground, and the barest traces on some ancient inscription could be made out on its sides. It radiated cold, so that it was permanently covered by a layer of icy condensation, and cooled the entire area, chilling the nine people who stood there.

     "Your legends are right," said Diana unhappily. "This is an evil place, even you must be able to sense it. This is a shrine to Molrot, there's no mistaking it."

     "Well, we're a day early," said Thomas, looking up at the largest moon, almost full, and the gibbous second moon, down near the horizon and half the size of the first. Kronos, the smallest moon, was also up there, racing past them and actually crossing the face of the largest moon as the young wizard watched in fascination. "The triple moon isn't until tomorrow night. What do we do until then?"

     "We prepare an ambush," said Drake. "Not here, where the aura of evil will weaken us and strengthen our enemies, but further down, on the road up here. Then, while they're on the way up, we'll jump out and slaughter them."

     "Good idea," said Petronax. "The sooner we get this business over with and get back to our real mission, the better."

     "Anyone got any better ideas?" asked the priest. Nobody had, so they left the evil, tainted crown of the hill to pick a good spot.

     They found a place where the winding path passed a tangled clump of bramble, and cut little hiding holes for themselves in the middle of it, while the women cut up a sleeping blanket to make nine sets of gloves and face masks. Thomas tried on the first set they made, found that the gloves were a little loose and that the eye slits in the mask were a little too far apart, so Lirenna made some adjustments to make them fit better. "Also, I'm not sure whether I can cast spells properly with these on," he said while the demi shae was putting a few more stitches in the left glove, trying to avoid his fingers. "I've never tried spellcasting while wearing gloves before."

     "You don't have to wear them," replied Diana. "Just remember what will happen if you accidentally make skin contact with the priest. I've seen what happens when the curse of Molrot is allowed to run its course, and it's not at all pleasant."

     "Besides," added Lirenna. "You can always take them off just long enough to cast a spell if you want."

     "Why don't you try casting a spell with your gloves on?" suggested Jerry. "Find out whether you can or not."

     "Good idea," said Thomas. He knew just which spell, as well. He'd been itching for a chance to try out his new mid level spell ever since he'd managed to copy it into his spellbook without Drake seeing. His only worry was that the priest might recognise it for what it was and realise he'd been tricked, but he didn't really think there was much chance of that. After all, what did a priest know of wizard magic?

     When the demi shae had finished making adjustments to his gloves and mask, therefore, he put them on and produced a small stick around which he had wound a cobweb and held it between the first and second fingers of his left hand, like a cigarette. He then made some complicated hand movements with his other hand and chanted a series of magic words, culminating it all by pointing the cobwebbed stick at Jerry. The stick glowed brightly, and several strands of sticky thread shot from it towards his chosen target. They should have wrapped themselves around the tiny nome, entangling him helplessly in a tangled cobweb, but instead they doubled back towards their caster and a moment later it was Thomas who was lying on the ground, vainly struggling to free himself, while the others were splitting their sides with laughter.

     "Is he all right?" asked Diana, struggling to control herself enough to speak.

     "I'm afraid so," answered Lirenna. "The webs will disintegrate within a few minutes. Don't touch him until then, however, or you'll be stuck to him."

     "Are you sure that was a low level spell?" asked Drake suspiciously.

     "Oh yes," said Lirenna, feeling only a small twinge of guilt at the lie. "Why do you ask?"

     "There are wizards in Fort Battleaxe, you know, and I became quite good friends with a couple of them. One of them had a mid level spell that was quite similar to the one your friend just tried to cast. If that was one of the spells from the sholog mage's spell chest that he managed to copy despite my attempts to stop him, it would be expected to backfire in just the manner that it did. Shologs do not make good wizards, as you know, and their spells tend to be unreliable."

     "The spell failed because I was wearing gloves, that inhibited the proper movements of my fingers," said Thomas, who had given up trying to free himself and was waiting for the spell to wear off. "It would have worked perfectly if I hadn't been wearing them."

     "Perhaps," conceded Drake. The young priest locked eyes with the wizard, and Thomas was suddenly certain that he knew he was lying. He had the uncomfortable impression that he could see right inside him, and could see the lie darkening his soul like a sunspot. He forced himself to maintain eye contact with the priest, however. To avert his gaze at this point would be an unmistakable admission of guilt.

     Fortunately, Drake looked away after only a moment. "I'm only thinking of your own welfare," he said. "Imagine if it had been a fireball."

     "I know, and I'm touched by your concern." The webs were beginning to lose their stickiness now, and Shaun and Matthew drew their knives to cut him free. He struggled to his feet, plucking a few last strands of dry web from his hair and clothing. "However, I know the risks far better than you. I’m a wizard. You're not. And you can trust me when I saw that I wouldn't do anything to endanger either my life or the lives of my friends. You have a very low opinion of me if you think that I would."

     "Actually, I have a very high opinion of you. You are a very intelligent and very caring young man. However, you are also very impatient to achieve the higher levels of magic, and willing to take risks to get there faster." He pointed an accusing finger at the young wizard. "Beware, Thomas Gown! Better wizards than you have been destroyed by a single, stupid mistake. Impatience is a fatal quality in a wizard."

     Thomas brushed off the last few traces of cobweb. "I'll take your advice into consideration," he said stiffly. Drake gave him one last stern glance before turning away, and he and Petronax returned to figuring out the details of the planned ambush.