The journey north to the Copper Mountains took two days. The trogs rode on mountain ponies, which were small but stocky and had great strength and endurance. Jerry had an ordinary pony, and Thomas and Lirenna rode on ordinary horses, hired for them by the trogs in the town, the cost being deducted from their wages. During the journey they chatted to the two smaller trogs whose names, they learned, were Jherek Tellerak and Rogil Firesteel. They were cousins of Shale, also descended from Redeye, but from his second and third sons respectively. Neither of them sported the prominent brow ridge that characterised the Granore direct line of descent, but they were prominent and wealthy nonetheless.

     They told the wizards some of the history of Dermakarak, about how it had been founded two hundred years before when Redeye had been on a prospecting trip and spotted a vein of gold bearing quartz, a rare find in a mountain range that had been mined and exploited for thousands for years by humans and trogs, and by other races before them. He had rushed back to Alka-Zarum to register his claim and had fought terrific battles with claim jumpers from another clan, the Stonedelvers. Both legal battles, as their rivals contested Redeye's right to that particular stretch of land in the complicated and interminable trog judicial system, and actual battles in which warriors of the two clans had met in the valley below the find. The Granores had won every battle and forced the Stonedelvers into a grudging retreat, but hostilities had never entirely ceased between them and plots and intrigues went on as the Stonedelvers sought various ways to weaken their rivals' hold on the valuable find.

     Redeye had died seventy nine years before, at the age of two hundred and eighty nine, young for a trog, whereupon his eldest son, Shale's father, had succeeded him as Manir. He was laid to rest in a crypt hollowed out of the solid rock of one of the village's corridor streets. The crypt was open to public viewing, so that friends and relatives could come and pay their respects, and the Proof of Mantellor, a family heirloom of great value and symbolic significance, was put on display in an alcove above Redeye's coffin, behind a sheet of unbreakable glass. For a while after the village's abandonment trogs had continued to visit, to pay homage to the great man, but when the goblins had begun moving in the place had become too dangerous and the visits had dried up. Old Redeye and the Proof of Mantellor were still there, though, waiting for the trogs to come and reclaim it.

     The mountains grew on the horizon ahead of them as they journeyed north, and the air grew steadily colder as the land steadily rose. They stopped for the night in the mining village of Clarrin's Claim, at an inn where Shale had rented rooms, and there they met the other members of the mercenary force they were joining. Most of them were trogs, about twenty of them, grim and battle hardened and with doubtful looks of faint hostility in their eyes as they regarded the three wizards, as if resentful of their intrusion into trog business. Fortunately, though, there were also seven humans among the mercenaries, and the graduates went to stand among them, hoping they'd give them a friendlier reception.

     Three of them were tough looking swordsmen, scarred and grim. Their clothes were ragged and worn, they clearly didn't care how they looked, but their scabbards had clearly been well looked after, greased and supple, and contained short stabbing ironwood swords that still had the vivid blue colouration of new wood, not yet darkened by years of regular oiling and sharpening. Thomas guessed that they had recently worn their previous swords out from heavy use, since ironwood blades rarely survived more than a couple of years of frequent use. Two of the men also had bows and quivers of arrows slung over their shoulders, and the third had a light crossbow strapped to his back, its metal parts oiled and shiny. The three were obviously members of a team that had been together for a long time and they sneered as the three wizards entered the room. One of them, his eyes on Lirenna, whispered something to the other two, who sniggered nastily, an exchange that the demi shae very pointedly pretended not to see.

     Three of the other four also seemed to be together, but they were a much friendlier looking bunch. Two of them were young men, also carrying swords and wearing worn slennhide breastplates, but it was clear from the first glance that they, unlike the first three, didn't earn their living that way. Thomas took them to be forest dwellers, like Darris and his family, who occasionally had to take up arms to defend their homes and families. The third, whom the men were standing protectively close alongside, was a young woman dressed in the simple robes of a cleric. Like Tikram, she wore a caroli flower on a chain around her neck, which proclaimed her to be another follower of the Lady of Healing. She stared at them in surprise, as if she recognised them, although none of the wizards recalled ever having seen her before.

     It was the seventh person, however, who caught their attentions and made them stare in amazement. He was a wizard. They could tell because he was wearing a long black overcoat and a wide brimmed pointed black hat, both covered with what they assumed were supposed to be arcane symbols sewn in silver thread, although they looked like no arcane symbols they had ever seen before. He carried an ornately carved wooden staff in his right hand, and wore a ring in the third finger of his left hand. He was massively overweight, with a huge stomach bulging over his belt and legs as big as treetrunks. He had a fat puffy face with three chins and drooping jowls, partially covered by a short bristly beard. His eyes were deeply sunk in pits of flab and partially obscured by the thick, bushy eyebrows that hung over them like untended bushes. His light brown hair hung in curls down to the base of his neck, hiding his ears.

     "Is that guy for real?" asked Jerry in amazement. Unfortunately, he spoke a little too loudly and the fat wizard overheard. His face turned pink, he hurrumphed, and he came striding arrogantly over towards them, the indignation almost visible as wavy lines radiating from his head as he swept off his hat and crushed it in his hand. "And who, may I ask, are you?" he demanded with a deep basso voice, putting his hands on his hips and glaring down at the tiny nome.

     "My name is Jeremy Blumintop," Jerry replied fearlessly, looking him right back in the eye. "These are my two friends, Lirenna Daliris and Thomas Gown, and like you, we are wizards. We're here to accompany you to Dermakarak, to help you get rid of the goblins."

     "Wizards, eh?" he said, stroking his chin. "Who did you apprentice under?"

     All three of them tensed up, the same thought in all their heads, and they unconsciously huddled together as if for mutual protection. Externum! A non-University wizard! One of the incompetent blunderers they'd been warned of throughout their five years of training. Jerry refused to be intimidated, however, and stepped half a pace forward, staring proudly up at the huge wizard. "We're graduates of Lexandria University," he said. "We graduated just a couple of weeks ago."

     The fat wizard stared at them, then laughed, making his stomach quiver in a way that made Lirenna feel a little queasy. "University wizards?" he said. "Book wizards. Think you're better than the rest of us, learned everything you know in a nice, cosy classroom. Got no idea how to survive in the real world. You stick close to me, maybe you’ll learn a thing or two about how real wizards do things.”

     Jerry bristled at this and opened his mouth to give an angry retort, but Thomas put a calming hand on his shoulder. “You're right,” he said to the older wizard. “This is our first time in the real world. The truth is, we're a little apprehensive about this whole business. It was the lure of gold that brought us here, but none of us has done anything like this before. Now that we're here, now that we can see who else is going, all these tough, experienced fighters, I think we're all suddenly worried that we might be in over our heads. It's quite a relief to find we'll be travelling in the company of a man like you, a highly experienced professional, just in case things get tough.”

     The older wizard puffed himself up, and a smile appeared on his face as he stared down at the younger man. “Also,” continued Thomas. “maybe we'll be able to learn a few things from watching you in action. No doubt there is much you can teach us that they don't teach in the University." He said it as sincerely as he could. It didn't help that he was talking to a man dressed more like a circus clown than a wizard.

     The older wizard looked at him suspiciously, perhaps wondering if he was being mocked. "Perhaps I can teach you a thing or two,” he said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “I had an apprentice a little while back, so I do have some teaching experience.”

     “Great!” said Thomas cheerfully. “May I ask where he is now?”

     “He died, sadly,” the older wizard said. “Wizardry is a risky business, as I'm sure your teachers told you. Even the best teacher loses a student occasionally.”

     “Of course,” said Thomas. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the tiny nome turning away to hide a scowl of anger. Poor guy, his expression was clearly saying. Probably never had a chance, being taught sub standard spells by a sub standard wizard. Thomas decided to reserve judgement, though. Even the University lost students occasionally, and even their teachers had admitted that the best externums were the equal of any University wizard. “May I ask your name, Sir?”

     "You have the honour of addressing Mikos the Magnificent, the greatest wizard between Tulverton and Callinia, and my teacher was none other than the great Boesky himself. No doubt you've heard of him, even if my own name hasn’t yet reached all the way to Lexandria valley.”

     “The name does ring a bell,” said Thomas truthfully, “but we’ve been a bit out of touch for the past five years or so. I seem to remember that name from my childhood, though, and since I come from Ilandia, which is quite a way from here, he must have been quite a big thing.”

     “He was a legend,” said Mikos proudly. “He fought in the Third Shadowwar, helped the Callinians drive the undead devils back to the Shadow. The Perfect of Callinia himself thanked him for his service.”

     Thomas nodded. “With a teacher like that, you must have had a great education,” he said. “It would be an honour to watch you work. We'll try not to get in your way.”

     “Just don't trip over your diplomas.” Mikos chuckled, making his belly wobble again, and then he strode away to speak to Shape Granore.

     “Nice bit of flattery,” said Lirenna, stepping closer to Thomas so she could speak in a low voice.

     “It was clearly what he wanted to hear,” replied Thomas. “A guy dresses like that, he clearly wants to be praised and worshipped. I just gave him what he wanted, stroked his ego a little. Seemed to be the best way of dealing with him. We don't want tension and hostility when we're supposed to be fighting the goblins.”