The storm lasted all that day, and the teamsters spent the time catching up on their sleep and exchanging anecdotes regarding the adventures they’d had before they’d met. Only Naomi remained silent, and after she’d politely declined to answer their questions the others agreed to respect her privacy and not to enquire any further into her younger life. The black girl relaxed in relief, closing her eyes and trying to get some sleep, but Thomas thought there was a guilty, furtive look on her face and wondered what she wasn't telling them.

     The next day the storm was gone. There was still a light drizzle from the evenly grey, overcast sky, the sort of rain that didn’t seem heavy but would soak you through to the skin in no time, and they grumbled to each other as they emerged from the cave, all wrapped in oilskins except Naomi, who didn’t seem bothered by wetness. The water just ran off her body and her tiger skin, and when the sun came out she would be dry in no time. That was the big advantage of leaving your clothing to a minimum, she told the others with a big grin as Teasel led the way into a wide, shallow valley between the foothills of the Majestic Mountains.

     “How long do you think it’ll take the carpets to get back to Belthar?” asked Dennis to no-one in particular.

     “It took us five days to get here,” replied Thomas as cold rain trickled down the back of his neck, “but we stopped every night. If the carpets fly back non stop, they’ll get back in half the time. Say some time tomorrow.”

     “So we may get to the Ruby Keep to find Resalintas’s been there before us and got the scrolls,” said Dennis. “So why are we bothering? We’re on a pointless quest which will achieve nothing. We should have gone back with the carpets.”

     “Not at all,” replied the wizard. “The carpets may not survive the trip back to Belthar. There’s all kinds of hazards in between, not least of which Shadowriders on wyverns. To tell the truth, I was a bit nervous about the trip down here, having to pass over Ilandia which is full of Shad aerial patrols. We were lucky to get past without any trouble.”

     The soldier grunted a reluctant agreement and said no more.

     Around midday the rain finally stopped, and shortly after that the cloud cover began to break up, allowing the suns to shine through. They took off their oilskins in relief and packed them back in their backpacks, turning them wet side inwards so as not to soak their sleeping blankets. That night, they would take them out again and lay them out on the ground to dry.

     Teasel estimated that they were about a hundred miles from the Ruby Keep as the crow flies, but that they’d have to walk about two hundred miles down valleys and around mountains to get there, a journey of about ten days. Most of the way was through uncivilised country, inhabited only by a few tribes and villages of goblins, buglins and spallows, eking out a precarious agricultural existence in the hard, rocky soil supplemented by the occasional raid or ambush on each other.

     Shaun was surprised to learn that the tiny, vicious creatures actually grew their own food on occasion, but Dennis confirmed it with a nod. “They don't like grubbing in the dirt,” he said. “They think it's beneath them. They much prefer to steal what they need, but they’ll be farmers when they have to be, if you can find a place around here good for farming.”

     There was one small valley in the area with a wide, flat floor and deep, fertile soil, though. A place where a small community of nomes made their home. It was a little out of their way, but Teasel begged them to go there so that she could post a letter to her relatives in Pastora, the westernmost of the two main nomish nations, telling them about her shipwrecked brother. It would also give them an opportunity to restock on vital supplies and learn something of what lay ahead. The others agreed straight away. There’s no point having a guide if you don’t listen to her.

     They reached Noklin Valley just as the yellow sun was sinking behind the mountains to the west. There was an overgrown cart track leading south, linking the valley with Pastora, from which the inhabitants of the valley had come and with whom they had occasional trading links. They followed it north until they came to the dry stone wall the nomes had built across a narrowing of the valley to keep out goblin attacks. A small garrison of nomes dressed in slennhide armour and carrying miniature ironwood swords and crossbows challenged them, and Teasel went forward to talk to them.

     The others hung back and tried to look friendly and harmless while the nomes kept them covered with their crossbows. Thomas called the words of the shield spell to his mind and edged his way forward so that he was standing in front of Diana and Naomi, just in case things turned nasty. Nome crossbows looked like toys in the hands of humans, but they were just as capable of killing as the strongest Beltharan longbow.

     Things went well, though, and the Captain of the nome garrison welcomed them in with a warm smile. “It is always a pleasure to meet friendly strangers,” he said as the heavy wooden gate was opened. “Even biggers. Do you have any new songs? Songs we haven’t heard before?”

     They looked at each other in amusement. None of them had shown much of a talent in that direction in the time they’d known each other, and the idea of any of them suddenly bursting into song was not one that could easily be imagined. “I know the words of a few songs,” said Thomas, whose wizardly memory enabled him to memorise any sequence of words after hearing it once or twice, “but I’m no singer. Perhaps if I write them down someone else can sing them for you.”

     “Of course!” exclaimed the Captain happily. “Perhaps I could sing them for you. I have something of a reputation as a mid range baritone, you know.” The teamsters glanced at each other again and struggled hard to suppress grins of amusement.

     They had to leave their weapons in the garrison, which they did happily enough, not expecting any trouble in the small nomish community, but the Captain stared at Thomas suspiciously. “You’re only carrying one small dagger,” he said warily, his eyes narrowing. “Why don’t you carry weapons and armour like the others?”

     Thomas briefly considered telling a white lie, but then decided that the tiny nome, who only came up to his waist, deserved better. “I’m a wizard,” he said with a straight face, looking the nome straight in the eye. “My hands and my voice are the only weapons I need.”

     The nome nodded. Evidently he’d already guessed it for himself. “Do you give me your word not to cast any spells while you’re in our valley?” he asked, using the same tone of voice he’d have used to a small boy caught stealing apples from the local orchard.

     Thomas could understand his feelings. Nomes were somewhat limited in their ability to use magic, although they produced the occasional talented individual capable of casting illusion or divination spells, such as their former companion Jerry, the nomish illusionist. They tended to be fearful and suspicious of wizards, therefore, and Thomas vowed to reassure them as much as possible. “I promise to use magic only in self defence,” said Thomas therefore, “and I don’t expect to need to defend myself amongst such friendly and hospitable people as yourselves.”

     The nome frowned, but then he nodded. “Fair enough,” he said, and then he was beaming with jollity and humour again as he invited them in.

     The valley was about a dozen miles long and a couple of miles wide at its widest point. It was surrounded by icecapped mountain ridges on all sides and had a gurgling stream of ice cold, crystal clear water running down the centre, widening at one point to form a respectably sized lake that shone and sparkled in the sun.

     Along the northern side of the valley the soil had been piled up into grass covered ridges up to ten yards high and thirty yards wide, meandering like the ridges of a fingerprint pattern. Each ridge had rows of doors and windows in its southern slope, facing the centre of the valley, all painted in bright cheerful colours. They had clusters of chimney pots at interval from which curls of wispy white smoke rose and were separated by carefully tended gardens divided into separate properties by white picket fences.

     Most of the valley floor was covered with orchards and farmland, though. It was barren and bare at the moment, it being the end of autumn and the beginning of the long winter, but a few nomes could be seen digging in the gardens, turning over the dark, heavy soil to be broken up by the winter frosts. Others were giving the grass covering the ridges its final cut of the year with sharp ironwood scythes that they skimmed an inch above the ground. It was a tranquil, almost idyllic scene. A scene that had probably remained essentially unchanged for hundreds of years and that might remain unchanged for centuries more if only the Shadowarmies could be defeated.

     They had barely got to within a hundred yards of the village when they were spotted, and within moments they were surrounded by dozens of nome children, laughing and prodding at their clothing with innocent, fearless curiosity. Thomas could only laugh in delight as he fended off short, stubby fingers prying into his pockets and pouches, and Diana only just managed to rescue her silver caroli flower as it was almost torn from around her neck. The adults arrived a few moments later, muttering apologies as they grabbed their children and cuffed them about the ears, but the youngsters continued to grin and laugh and Thomas felt a tingle of apprehension when he saw the look of mischief some of them were giving him. It slowly began to dawn on him what they might be letting themselves in for. Uh oh, he thought, grinning nervously. Nomes...

     Teasel talked to the adult nomes in their own language, explaining that they were just passing through and asking if they could buy or trade for a few travelling supplies while they were there. The nomes agreed immediately and the teamsters were grabbed by eager, excited arms and guided towards one of the dwelling ridges. It was one of the largest, weaving its way for well over four hundred yards along the valley to where the two ridges on either side of it drew close together, leaving no room for it to continue further.

     The doorway they were taken to led into a section of the ridge that was higher and fatter than the rest, with seven red brick chimneypots clustered on top. Nomes began running in all directions in what seemed to the teamsters to be almost frantic excitement, yelling at the tops of their voices, and other nomes from further up the valley began to come running. The entire population of the small valley seemed to be dropping whatever they were doing and hurrying over to welcome the newcomers.

     “Visitors must be an uncommon out here,” said Diana. “An event to be celebrated.”

     “You are the first people of any other race to come here in over five years,” said the nome, holding her hand and pulling her almost at a running pace through the immaculately kept gardens. “We’ll have a party to celebrate! You can sing all your new songs and you can tell us all that’s happening out in the big, wide world.”

     “We can’t stay long,” said Shaun, however. “We’re in a hurry to get somewhere.”

     “You’ll stay overnight, won’t you?” insisted the nome. “Stay overnight and make an early start tomorrow morning. It wouldn’t be hospitable to send you away any sooner than that. I don’t want anyone saying that we’re not hospitable to our guests.”

     “I don’t think there’s any danger of that,” said Shaun with a grin.

     They had to crouch over to get through the small doors, even Arroc, the trog scowling unhappily at the reminder of his height. The interior of the nome home was snug and cosy, with wooden beams up the walls and across the ceiling and with rugs laid here and there on the polished wooden tiles of the floor. There were paintings on every wall. Portraits of eminent nomes and landscapes of pastoral scenes, and little china ornaments covered every available surface.

     The humans pulled themselves in as small as possible in case they knocked anything over as they were led through rooms and corridors to a hall in the very centre of the ridge; a hall that appeared to be shared by the half dozen homes adjacent to it. The ceiling was a little higher than the other rooms they’d passed through, allowing them to stand upright, but even so the nomes urged them to sit in the small padded armchairs spaced around the hall, explaining that it wasn’t polite to leave their guests standing. Thomas lowered himself carefully into the chair he was led to, wincing as it creaked under his weight, but it held and was surprisingly comfortable, even though it hugged his hips closely, giving him no room to shift about.