The city of Dytikástro firmly behind them, along with its trappings of wealth, along with the threat of violence that trailed eternally after the Amazons’, the heroes could only glance over their shoulders nervously. Some such as Corin were furious, his jaw clenching and eyes blinking furiously with thinly concealed emotion. The shame of having left his daughter as a hostage in the house of Prithia, in spite of the assurances of her younger brother Stamatios weighed heavily upon his shoulders. Bardulf and Connor for their part were equally sullen, both having come to hold Daegan in high-regard, from what Indulf could discern.

  Troubled by this, along with the strange sullenness that had overcome the Elves, who were as divided as any members of their troupe were, Indulf could only look between them all. Perplexed, he felt his irritation only grow. For nigh on two weeks, he had longed to reunite with his friends, and now that it had come to pass, he wished them gone.

  Only a few of them such as Lyr and Colwyn appeared to be in gay spirits, keeping up their torches of hope burning, as only men who have been tried under the most gruelling of sorrows could. Both of them leaders’ by nature, they embraced the burden of leading them now, with both men deeply worried for Wiglaf.

  This was not to say that Lyr for example was without, consternation for what lay ahead of them, murmuring to Wiglaf as they journeyed on horseback thither, in the direction of the north-west. “I must warn you Wiglaf, Gallchobhair is different from how you remember him.”

  “He will not have changed so much as all that,” Wiglaf maintained sharply, his face twisted into a grimace of pain, from his drake-inflicted wound. There was an attachment, a bond there that lay unspoken in his voice.

  It made Indulf want to believe as fiercely as him, in the druid-sorcerer of the tower of Iaranntùr.

  Lyr though did not appear so easily convinced as him, saying firmly, “My father exiled him for intriguing against him, eight years after he came to the throne.”

  “I am sure that Gallchobhair had his reasons,” Wiglaf said persisting in his blind-faith in his great friend from ériu.

  “Rotten ones if you ask me, for he was always since as long as I could remember a snake. One who thought himself wiser than my father,” Lyr declared furiously, losing what little control he had over his temper.

  It took some sorting on the parts of Bardulf and Colwyn, to soothe the fury of the two hot-tempered men. They were assisted in this regard by Kyrenas, of all of them, the elder-Elf keen to assist in the restoration of order. His aid was the greatest source of shock to Indulf, who could not help but feel a little curious at the change that had been inspired in the stoic, previously perpetually miserable Elf.

  *****

  They crossed the hilly plains of Hylonome, over the course of a week. Travelling as swiftly as they could, they would encounter few local people. They were assisted by the Wilder Elves who were to employ their skill as scouts and rangers, by scouting out ahead, or trailing behind them, bringing back with them the occasional horse or boar carcass, to feed the rest of them. Without having to pause to hunt, or to ask for directions, as the Elves saw to those tasks without needing to be directed, they made headway faster than ever before.

  The mountains of Dòraican soon loomed up ahead them, leagues away with the last of the Amazonian farmers’ homes leagues behind them.

  It was as they advanced thither towards those magnificent peaks enthroned upon the mightiest highlands that any of them had seen (saving those of Caledonia), when conversion picked up once more. It was led by Fergus who spoke in a teasing manner, to Corin.

  “Sir Corin, I must ask how is it that you came to have such an effect upon the lady Otrera,” He asked of the Gallian who gave him a withering look.

  “Oh tush feline,” Corin growled back evenly, “I have no desire to tell you any such tale.”

  “He may not, but I certainly do,” Colwyn answered gleefully, always keen to embarrass his companions.

  “Please do not do so,” Bardulf moaned visibly displeased at the prince of Gwyneira keenness for humour.

  “But I must,” Colwyn retorted at once with an airy laugh, this served only to further exacerbate Corin’s fury not that this concerned the younger man.

  “What might you know about the lady Otrera?” He asked irritably, making a visible effort to keep his anger from releasing completely and entirely.

  “Simply that she it was who threw herself against you when you slew that slave-trader. It was she who you defeated first, and might well have slain ere you realized who it was. What is more is that when taken before her aunt, you lied to protect her from Pithia’s fury so that the fair maid of Dytikástro could not but help to adore you, despite her aunt seeing through your lie.” Colwyn replied with a delighted chortle one that Indulf felt it difficult not to join in. For once the man’s teasing ways were not directed against him, and the princess Bérénice.

  The principal difference was that where Indulf felt embarrassed and was highly conscious of the fact that the princess, was of the highest of ranks. Corin was hardly fazed by such things, and appeared to only grow all the more exasperated at the mention of her. He was a man who did not think of such things by nature, with the Amazons also valuing achievements over birth-rights. Or so Corin had recounted repeatedly to the local children of Glasvhail, when they were little more than children, having long ago he had said, come to clash with Amazon sell-swords.

  “I merely wished to avoid trouble, I know how stern the Amazons are,” He stated steadfastly eyes on the horizon, his voice stern and confident as always.

  “I still think it quite humorous the lengths to which you will go to shield her, from harm,” Colwyn remarked.

  “You would find such things farcical though it does no one any amount of good,” Corin accused bitterly, “You who never takes any of what we are about and doing seriously.”

  The heat behind his words brought some heat to Colwyn’s own cheeks and made his shoulders tense with fury. He might well have resorted to violence or harsh words, had it not been for the intervention of Kyrenas.

  It was he who pointed far to the north, “Enough of such nonsense, look! There yonder, I do believe it is Cormac and the others!”

  “What?” Corin asked genuinely surprised at the same time as Indulf who was far more enthusiastic in his utterance of that one word.

  *****

  It was exactly as stated by Kyrenas; Cormac, Meallán and Sister Marian were off in the distance, headed for the mountains intent upon them. Distant though they were, they were near enough for them to reach in but a few hours. Calling out to them, they convinced them to wait for them near to the mountains.

  The reunion was a joyous one, with Cormac moving gingerly as though he had been wounded, with the lad and Marian to stare in shock at Indulf’s facial scar. This made him feel embarrassed, until Meallán commented upon it. There was also a sense of sorrow about the three of them, for they had as their friends to discover buried a Unicorn. And such a tragic duty was never a joyous one. It had left the three of them marred by sorrow and grief as they had it could not be denied laid one of the most beauteous of creatures that had ever lived to rest. Words could not described the pain, such a gesture must have instilled in them.

  “It appears you have become a man,” Meallán muttered respectfully.

  “It makes you look striking,” Cormac said tentatively, which drew a smile from his friend.

  Looking from him to the wounded Wiglaf, who appeared to be visibly struggling Marian stepped forward to offer her assistance.

  This was discouraged by the sorcerer, who told her, “It would hardly be proper Sister, for you to sustain these wounds. With respect, given I am a man, and likely could better endure them than you could.”

  “Are you certain?” Marian asked not unkindly, she conceded the moment he persisted in his refusal of her aid.

  Corin for his part threw himself off his chair to embrace Cormac, who returned the embrace at once. Both of them moved and pleased to see one another once again, the Gallian was to when he pulled away notice the slight grimace of pain on the youth’s face.

  “Where are you hurt, lad?” He asked of him in Gallian, speaking from between his clenched teeth to the embarrassment of Cormac.

  “I am quite well, just a slight ache,” Cormac said only to insist a little more forcefully a moment later in the same language, “Really Corin I am quite well, there is no reason to worry!”

  Corin stared in astonishment, with Marian intervening there as well, saying as she did so, “Just a little pain left still in his bones from when he fought off the Erde-Wyrm for my sake.”

  She said it initially in Gallian, only for Lauma to squawk in shock, understanding the language if slightly (she could hardly speak it). It was the eldest of Arduinna’s daughters who translated the nun’s words for the rest of those around her, who could not understand the old tongue of Gallia. This much to the disconcertment of the blonde-youth himself, for he was as shy about his own deeds as ever, with each of his companions keen to hear his tale. The most curious of all of them was Indulf, who worried if briefly so about his friend’s injuries.

  This left all those around them stunned, with Connor pronouncing it a majestic deed, Lyr appeared a little envious but praised it. It was Colwyn who teased the youth for it, which drew an irritated growl from Bardulf who did not much like his humour.

  The Wilder Elves for their part, had their share of embraces shared with Cormac, notably Glarald and Calandra. Both of whom, were visibly relieved to see him in good health, while Kyrenas gave him a stiff nod, with a slightly pleased look in his own eyes.

  “It appears that you have quite the tale of heroism to tell us,” Glarald remarked genially to his friend with a wide white-toothed smile.

  The two tales of the quarrels with the dragons led to many awed words from each of the companions. Those who had journeyed south-west from the lands of Sweyn spoke in glowing terms of the courage evinced by Cormac in the battle of the Whitewoods.

  “I have never seen such courage in all my years,” Meallán remarked full of admiration, and warmth for the youth who flushed red, his face red.

  This news left Indulf in equal parts a little shown up and awed by his friend. As always he thought to himself ruefully, just as Daegan tended to say, one man accomplishes something and Cormac does far more.

  Any other man might well have been full of envy at that moment, but not Indulf. Though he had gotten himself and by extension Wiglaf, wounded he held that he had not performed any less favourably, when he glanced down at his right-arm.

  For their own part, those of Cormac’s group demonstrated equal admiration and awe for Indulf. The most awed was Cormac who had withered a little after Corin’s lecture about recklessness just before the other lad’s tale was told.

  “Incredible Indulf, I shan’t imagine what I might have done, were it myself in your place,” Cormac murmured sincerely.

  “Likely much the same,” Corin grunted disapprovingly, sounding and looking all of a sudden rather like Kenna.

  Cormac only scowled, evidently annoyed by this cold response, his own reaction one that bemused Indulf who watched him with a fast-growing smirk. It pleased him to think that friend had begun to learn to stand up to his parental-figures. No one could remain a lad forever.

  *****

  When all the tales had been recounted, and all knew all there was to know regarding their adventures, and Lauma had returned from where she had gone west to scout for them. She had left shortly after they had begun their exchange of tales, ere she returned to inform all of them that she had seen disturbing news about the Dòraican valleys.

  “It is strange,” Lauma reported genuinely mystified by what it was that she had seen.

  This served to bewilder her companions, were it not for the restrain Bardulf showed when Glarald and Kyrenas went to hurry thither to espy what she had seen. “Wait! Wait the both of you; we need not send any further scouts.” He glanced at Lauma, “I do believe we ought to trust in the lady Lauma, she has not failed us thus far, as a scout.”

  Lauma flushed scarlet as Cormac had done before, visibly pleased at his words. Her pleasure tripled when she noticed the pride on the faces of Calandra and Glarald.

  “What was so strange, about what you saw?” Ronald queried intrigued if apprehensive at her words.

  Now Lauma became serious, “It appears evident to me that they are building great walls, rather akin to that of Kadrian the Ogre, from ancient times.”

  Her words chilled Indulf’s blood, as they did those of the rest of his companions.

  “Is it a wall a wood or one of stone?” It was Lyr now who asked, experienced in war as with the construction of buildings and walls. His father had put him in command, of the north of ériu, the lands that had once belonged to the dark realm of Amadan. He was given the task, in those lands to oversee the building of strong holdings, the dispensation of justice and building irrigation. This had attuned him to a great deal of the intricacies of both materials and the process of architecture. “And how high have the walls been built up to?”

  Lauma answered these questions in extended detail as best she could, her keen eyes and ears of great usefulness to the heroes. “The wall in question appears to be entirely made of stone, with only the heavy gates being built of wood, with the walls almost one hundred meters high and appear to be only half-built. I have also observed that the vast majority, of those in their service are humans and Colubar.”

  Grateful to her for her having trod close enough to hear the conversations of the Colubar. Indulf also felt a wave of gratitude for the courage; she had exhibited as a scout. Any other scout might have been unnerved by the thought of treading too close to the men hard at work, she was not.

  He was not alone in this regard, as a great many of those present at hand praised her.

  It was Corin who expressed apprehension about treading any further, “I do not think it wise to continue to advance.”

  “Surely you do not propose that we turn back now, do you?” It was Indulf who barked out this statement, disgusted by the apprehensive way he had spoken.

  “Aye, we have come too far to turn back now,” Bardulf agreed at once, of a mind to continue as were the vast majority of them.

  “If we do not seek the aid of this Gallchobhair, Wiglaf will die,” Cormac piped up at once with a worried frown in the direction of the grandfatherly old man, he revered so very much.

  Breathing haltingly the sorcerer appeared visibly affected by his wound, and was leaning forward quite a bit upon his horse.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  This decided the matter for them, though Corin continued to appear doubtful of the wisdom behind this decision. This was not to say that he was alone, in expressing uncertainty and hesitation regarding the lack of routes to the tower of Iaranntùr available to them.

  It was Lyr who complained, “I would not speak out against the need to rescue Wiglaf from his wounds, I do not think we shall be able to move past those walls. I also suspect that if they are building here, Gallchobhair is liable to build a wall near the northern valley.”

  They had thought him unlikely to still be wholly conscious, given how he had dipped and was ill with pain, Wiglaf for his part objected to this statement. “I do not know why you refer to Gallchobhair as being responsible for the construction of those walls. He is a man of great nobility, and would never consort with the enemy of men.”

  Lyr opened his mouth to object, angered by the haughty tone of the sorcerer.

  Thankfully for all those who wished to avert an argument, Corin intervened between the two of them, his tone one that was as measured as always. “If we shan’t go around the mountains, we must go another way.”

  “Which way is that?” Glarald asked curiously, gazing upon the blacksmith with open fascination.

  “We must scale them,” Corin stated with finality.

  *****

  The decision was carried through in spite of many arguing against his proposal; fearful for the health of the sorcerer, to whom they had all become ever so attached to. It was Cormac though, who tied his own horse to that of the old man, and who stayed nearest to him. Glarald moved swiftly meanwhile, to find them a path up a mountain, thereupon he led them up the side of the mountain. Visibly affected by the discomfort and agony of Wiglaf, it was Cormac who dismounted as they had to advance one at a time, and he who tugged and pulled at the reins of his horse. He had volunteered at once, for this task, in spite of the dangers that they currently faced, in the scaling of the mountain side.

  Wiglaf, along with Connor were the only ones who remained a-horse, as they scaled up the slim-path. The former due to his injuries and the latter due entirely to the size of his feet, which he was not confident, made it possible for him to walk up the side of the mountain, even if he pressed himself against the face of the mountain. Utterly terrified, he began to shake the moment they began to scale the mountain.

  Where the Caleds felt little fear of the mountain, and moved with confidence just as Colwyn and Bardulf did, the érians were nowhere near as confident.

  “This is madness!” Lyr shrieked hours after they had begun their strange mixture of walking and climbing.

  After some time, outraged by the mockery poured on him by Colwyn, Lyr attempted to push his way past the crowd behind him, with his attempt to jostle past Ronald, who was directly behind him. Stepping along with great care behind the Tigrun, Indulf was to back away instinctively with his horse doing much the same, so that it near stumbled into Bardulf who let out a great shout.

  “Stop!” Colwyn yelled, “Lest we both fall, from this wretched place!”

  “But we shan’t continue to scale this place!”

  “What is the matter?” Meallán asked from the rear of their group, busy with leading Ronald’s horse by the bridle, a little ways behind Marian who was as in the case of Cormac, directly behind Wiglaf and Cormac.

  He could not see what Indulf could which was just how close Ronald and Colwyn came to tipping over the side of the mountain. Terrified of what might occur, they took turns screaming obscenities at the heir of Bradán.

  Indulf was the first to desist when Glarald who was just behind Bardulf was to shout over them all. “Cease your shouts! Lyr, do not look down, and hurry thither up the path lest you really will fall… along with the rest of us.”

  The Elf could not have known what sort of effect his powerfully spoken words might have, upon the man. He balked at this notion and appeared to shrink within himself, growing paler than ever before until his skin resembled the snowy-peaks of the very mountains they strove to conquer then. The bald truth that lay within the words of the centuries-old Wilder-Elf was one that none of them denied and none of them contradicted.

  He could not see it, nor could any save Calandra who moved a little ways ahead of Kyrenas, who was himself ahead of Lauma (herself ahead of Cormac), he shone with pride then. Ashamed of his son for his immediate fondness for Aragwyn, the eldest of the Elves smiled as radiantly then as the suns, his face alight with joy for the first time in centuries.

  *****

  Their advance continued, with Lyr trembling and shaking, just as Lauma and Calandra did, with Bardulf almost as nervous as they. Glarald kept them focused upon the path before them. It was he who urged them on, with encouraging words. It was he who sang the song of Sevarath, the great warrior of the Mountain-Elf who fathered Selvan of the Sagndar and him who kept their spirits high.

  “Thrice did Sevarath the Reaver strike north,

  Thrice sent he the Sagndar forth,

  Thrice did he make those of Norléans weep,

  Thrice did he send away the Colubar to their dark keep,

  And thrice-times that did his people he kept safe

  Twice did Arnaud attack south,

  Twice did he give a great shout,

  Twice did he hunt about,

  Twice that he stormed and was made to foam at the mouth,

  Thrice did Sevarath the Reaver strike north,

  Thrice sent he the Sagndar forth,

  Thrice did he make those of Norléans weep,

  Thrice did he send away the Colubar to their dark keep,

  And thrice-times that did his people he kept safe

  Many-times did the Colubar storm southwards,

  Many times did Sevarath the Hero strike northwards,

  Many-times did he their evil ward,

  Thrice did he send away the Colubar to their dark keep,

  And thrice-times that did his people he kept safe.”

  His clear and beautiful voice resonated across all the tops of the Dòraican Mountains. The lightness of his spirit and cheerfulness permeated each of them. So that all relaxed little by little, and most sang along with him.

  In spite of how he was not one of those who sang with him, Indulf was amongst those most frightened. In defiance of his feelings, he preferred to grit his teeth and grip his pendant of Ziu’s sword.

  When night began to menace them, Lyr discovered a hole in the side of the mountain. Seeing the cavern he let loose a great cry of joy, and threw himself forward into it. When they had all joined him, in the large cave entrance that did not at first glance to appear to lead further into the mountain, they gathered what fire-wood they had brought and lit a fire.

  “This is how man should live, if in such a horrid place,” Lyr proclaimed after he had eaten his fill of salted-fish, they had cooked.

  “Glarald, if I may,” Lauma spoke up from where she sat to the left of the prince of ériu, a hint of suspicion in her voice. “Where did you learn that song?”

  This was a question that Indulf had also asked himself, earlier shortly after it had been brought to an end some time ago. Curious about it, as it had not sounded like the other Elvish songs he had heard them sing during his sojourn in the village of Arduinna.

  The son of Kyrenas remained silent, stone-faced.

  “It was quite nice, are there any others that you know of?” Cormac questioned eagerly.

  “I should hope not,” Lauma snapped hotly, her words made not only Cormac but several of the others’ faces fall. They had hoped she might leave the subject be, and accept the intervention of the gold-haired youth.

  “Leave it be Lauma,” Kyrenas said wearily, “Glarald did well to-day, he rescued us from many possible falls from the mountain. We should rest now I think.”

  Lauma was prepared to argue, when her sister announced her own readiness to sleep. Seeing the pleading look on Calandra’s face, she reluctantly gave way to her relatives’ wishes.

  Nodding his head when Marian declared firmly that they all ought to sleep now, Indulf might have liked a few minutes alone to speak with Cormac. But as he yawned, he noticed the younger lad, preparing gathering his fur-cloak about his shoulders, and placing his pack near to the fire. Evidently he wished for sleep.

  Strangely, it was Corin who called to him from one side of the cave, his face directed outwards, his eyes distant, “Indulf.”

  “Aye?”

  “I would speak with you, as you appear to wish to say something to Cormac,” Corin said to him quietly, “I may not be quite like him in nature, but mayhaps I could listen to you for a little. It strikes me that in all the time I have lived in Glasvhail, I have rarely if ever exchanged more than a few words with you. Why is that?”

  The question was one that Indulf could see the blacksmith had never considered before that moment. It was one that the youth had pondered several times, and that he had observed that Cormac and Daegan had never questioned either.

  If he was honest, Indulf would have admitted then that the reason for which he had avoided, the older man was due entirely to his fear of him. It was not simply Kenna who had inspired him, to be afraid of the blacksmith. He could not quite explain it. Trygve and Solamh had never feared Corin and had always found him thoroughly fascinating.

  “I can wait until the morrow,” Indulf murmured quietly, not sure how the father of Daegan might react were he to admit to his fear of him, and that this was why he had never spoken to him.

  “If you will not speak, I will,” Corin said to him with a warm expression in his eyes, “I fear what the morrow holds for us.” This admission startled the youth, who stared at him, for which he was rewarded with a small chortle. “What did you think? That I fear nothing and that I am unable to fear heights as the rest of you do?”

  “It is not that exactly,” Indulf confessed to him admitting reluctantly when prompted, “I simply never knew you feared anything at all.”

  Corin studied him, admitting with a small embarrassed look on his face, “I must confess that I despise speaking of my past, but looking at you Indulf, you remind me of myself at your age.”

  “How so?” Indulf queried curiously. “Not Cormac?”

  “Cormac? Why he is nothing like I was at his age, I was quite angry and keen to prove myself,” Corin explained looking outside up at the stars, looking as though he wished to tie them together. “I do not think him capable of the great fits of wrath that come so naturally to a man such as yourself.”

  Indulf quite agreed, with this latter sentiment, “I quite agree… though if I may ask; why were you filled with wrath when younger, Corin?”

  Corin did not answer this question, preferring to bid him a good-night. “It is time I think you slept, I shall take up the first watch.”

  Indulf opened his mouth to object only to reconsider it. It did not feel as though, the two of them were far apart from one another, as they previously were, he felt he had over-stepped the mark.

  Yawning, he stretched himself out not far from where Cormac had lain himself down for the night. Staring up at the ceiling of the cavern, his last thought was to remind himself once more, as he so often did on such nights of the source of his resolve; avenging Inga’s death. Shivering, he felt grateful when in spite of the cold; he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  *****

  Indulf was awoken abruptly as were several of the others who had accompanied him up the mountain, by an explosion of cries of alarm with several blasts of fire and thunder ensuing from Ronald’s staff. The burst of light from these actions illuminated the whole of the cavern without ever striking those whom had descended upon them.

  Quite why was a mystery to Indulf, who did not succeed in quite catching a good view of those who had seized a hold of them. The bellows and cries of those present at hand did not fade quite so quickly as the flames and thunder of Ronald.

  Seized and dragged into the cavern before he could properly formulate a plan to escape from their brutal captors.

  Hardly able to see a single thing, in the darkness Indulf was however among those who winced as he heard what sounded akin to horrid shrieks. Just a little ahead of him, the Elves fell to their knees, screaming in agony and weeping for this reason due to each of the cries. Their cries were unlike aught else that they had ever heard before in all their lives.

  The reason was made evident, when they reached the end of the cavernous labyrinth within the mountain, to find themselves standing before a large stone-throne. It was occupied by a hulking figure who was at least seven feet tall, muscular and easily the most hideous figure that Indulf had ever seen.

  By this time his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, so that he could see that the pitch-black skinned figure with dark-hair with crimson eyes that glowed white and red at times horrified him. His jaw was long and ears were large not unlike a bat’s, with the man’s head notable also for four spikes that jutted out from his forehead, his teeth sharp as daggers and nose was hooked like an eagle’s beak. In all, he was truly hideous, his loin-cloth and royal robe were woven from dark wool with his wings clasped together just below his neck so that they appeared to form a cloak. His bat-wings were clasped together via the claws that topped them, with the large king wearing atop his head a crown which was topped with bronze, copper and Goblin-bones and Colubar teeth.

  This man was a Gargan or Gargoyle as many others may know them in the vast majority of languages of the world. Hulking, demonic looking figure they were a nocturnal folk, who often called themselves the ‘guardians of the night’. Once they had striven to live by the ideals attached to such a title. Since then they had regarded surface dwellers as betrayers, and had come to regard them with scorn, and as little different from Goblins or the Colubar.

  This figure for his own part was a king who had earned his title by virtue of his people’s will and had come to guard his title and dominion jealously.

  *****

  “Why have you come here, to my dominion?” the king of these dark figures who knocked each of them from their feet, so that they knelt.

  This drew a snarl from Indulf, until he was struck in the back of the head with a fist that made his head spin and drew a short-cry from his lips. It took him a moment from where he lay, for his vision to clear enough for him to see that Cormac and Connor had also been struck.

  Cleverer than they, and far more capable of seeing in the dark, Ronald addressed this king, “King of Gargans, we had no knowledge that the cave we took refuge in belonged to you.”

  “Aye, if you will King Gargan,” Colwyn spoke up, with all of them keen for him to speak out for them, as their most eloquent member.

  The blow that struck him in the back of the head shocked and alarmed each of them. When it came, it did so from behind the prince, knocking him to the ground with the force, of a club.

  Still recovering himself, from the blow to his own head Indulf could not understand how it had come that the Cymran had come to lay upon the stony floor beneath them.

  Fierce and harsh by nature, the king of these people scowled down at Colwyn, as he rumbled, “I did not give you permission to speak with your dirty tongue, human.”

  Stunned by this brutal treatment, he raised his gaze to those of the Elves whom he indicated with a single claw, “You say you are not here to invade my realm, yet you have brought Sagndar hereupon my mountains!”

  His voice was deep as the caverns which he ruled over, and his fury was thrice as boundless.

  To one side Lauma whimpered out of fear, and Kyrenas cringed clutching at his skull as though it ached from within.

  His words drew a series of exchanged looks from some of the heroes, wherefore Ronald sought to restore peace between them. “King, we must reach the tower of Iaranntùr-”

  “I knew you were an advanced force for Gallchobhair!”The impulsive demonic figure pounded a large fist upon the stone arm of his massive chair, his muscles bulging.

  “What do you speak of?” Bardulf asked of the larger figure, having been one of those who had refused to object to kneeling as the Caleds had.

  “I speak of how Gallchobhair wishes to push us steadily from the north of the Dòraican Mountains, which were ours since ancient times before the coming of men upon this isle.” The Gargan growled infuriated by the fate that had befallen his people. Hot-blooded by nature, the Gargans had always been a people prone to action ere any true rationale thought; they were the opposite of the Elves in this regard.

  “That is not like Gallchobhair, he is a man full of wisdom,” Wiglaf objected at once, outraged by the implication that his old friend was aught else but a good man.

  “See? And you claim to not be allied with him?”

  Things might have continued in this manner, until the King at last commanded them to their deaths, were it not for the sudden arrival of his Queen. His consort appeared with a hiss and a series of screeches that made the Elves cringe and the rest of them glance up as she swept in from somewhere above them.

  She was dark-fleshed though slightly greener than her consort, with dark-crimson hair that was blacker than that of Daegan and yet redder than the King’s. She was dressed in a strange woollen dress that was dark as his garb, and that covered from ankles to her throat, along with her arms. Her hair was tied up in a bundle atop her head so that she appeared almost feminine.

  It was when Ronald gasped that Indulf who had by this time re-seated himself upon his knees, realized that the Tigrun recognised her. “Thalia!”

  “Who?” Connor whispered to him confused.

  “She is Thalia, an old friend of Mael-Bethad and I, she disappeared shortly after our adventure in the Highlands to slay Razenth and Comgain.” The Tigrun explained ere he called out to his friend, only to be struck from behind by the gate that stood behind him.

  Thalia was tall, not nearly as her spouse though far greater than the rest of them, with it Meallán that she stood nearest to. He also recognised her, from time he had spent in the Western-Isles of Caledonia. Old friends, as she was the most widely travelled Gargan in the archipelago.

  The dark-winged lady moved with a grace that could only be matched by that of the Elves. She however was hideous to behold, and gave no sign that she recognised Ronald.

  “Beloved, it has come to my attention that you have captured outsiders, may I know for what reason they are here?” She asked eyeing most of them suspiciously.

  At this question it occurred to her spouse that he truly did not know the answer, to that particular question. Anxious not to displease her, for in truth he adored her, he turned once more to the adventurers. “They came hereupon our mountains to conquer us, in the name of Gallchobhair.”

  “Really? Without an army?” Thalia asked amused, earning herself a scowl from the male Gargan, who ground his teeth together.

  Stupefied, the King was to snap at her, “They may as well be an army.”

  “But they are not,” Thalia argued evenly.

  It was then that Indulf could see what it was that she sought to do. She was slowly yet steadily cornering him, to egg him towards admitting that he had to release them. Hope sprung to life once more within him.

  His hopes were dashed to the ground, a heartbeat later when she was refused by the harsh natured monarch, “But that wizard mentioned the name of Gallchobhair! That is punishable with death, and I say that we will enforce our laws!”

  Thalia was prepared to continue to argue for she was argumentative by nature, as they were soon to discover, when Marian appeared from seemingly nowhere.

  The Nun appeared at that moment unlike she had ever appeared in their line of sight ere that moment. Garbed in white robes, her left arm upraised as she held up a shining gem or pendant, Indulf was not certain all he knew was that it lit up the whole of the cavern.

  Blinded each of the Gargans reared back, horrified and unable to endure it they all fell from their feet clinging to their eyes or turning away.

  Stricken many of them shrieked as the companions of the nun gaped up at the old woman. This drew a sharp hiss of fury from her, “Hurry! Away from here you fools’!”

  *****

  They fled then from the throne-hall of the Gargans, which was surrounded by cliffs as they soon discovered, with the hall large, with Lauma the first to come near to tipping over the edge of the cliff. For there were a great many cliffs all around them, as there were different areas held up by pillars hundreds of kilometres high with the floor twenty meters wide in some places, and about as long. The reason for this was a mystery to Indulf who could not imagine why this place had been built in such a fashion.

  “Look, stairs!” Cormac said pointing to a nearby staircase, to the left of the throne of the King of the Gargans.

  Hardly eloquent words they served to shock each of them into action, each of them almost pushing one another out of the way with Connor taking the rear alongside Meallán. It was however Lyr who struggled most, due to his injuries after of course Wiglaf. Ronald once he had picked up his staff was to with a word of power light up the crystal atop his staff.

  They stumbled and raced down the stairs for some time, just as madness seized the whole of the Gargans. Scouts were sent out in all the directions and storeys of the vast depths of the grand halls of the Gargans.

  “Hurry!” The heroes egged one another forward thither, deeper into the cavernous depths of the mountain.

  This they did for some time, with the Gargans aware of where they were, shrieking so shrilly that the Elves winced, wept and complained of pain once more.

  The sheer pain of the Elves both annoyed and startled Indulf who wondered, “Why do they continue to react so?”

  “It is impossible to know,” Corin snapped, “Hurry lest they should catch us once more!”

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