Prelude

Neman Forest¹

‘Stop fussing over the seating plan’ said Gwyneth, glaring at her sister as she entered the hall. 

Bronwyn put her sheet of paper down on the long table and looked up. She was surprised and not particularly pleased to see her twin. Gwyneth walked over to join her and Bronwyn wondered briefly where she might slip the paper to hide it, but there was nowhere.

At first glance the two women were identical, their bright red hair even cut in approximately the same style, but if anyone observed them even for a few seconds they could never be mistaken for each other again.

They were standing in a forest glade, a part of the woods that had been gently coerced into growing its trees into a vast tunnel of interlocking branches. The canopy vault was made up of the three species of evergreen oak, the green, the brown and the purple, that formed the majority of the trees in the north west of Eth. They were perfect for the task of providing a suitable council chamber for the Hybitor, although it could be a little chilly in the winter.

‘That’s what we have Laurence for’ continued Gwyneth, ‘to worry about all of that’

Bronwyn nodded, a little sadly

‘I really don’t mind helping him…’ she said, ‘Is he here yet?’

Gwyneth nodded dismissively and made a grumbling noise. She walked over to the table and picked up the plan.

‘Everyone just sits where they feel like anyway’

‘True, I suppose, but it’s nice to have at least given it some thought’

Gwyneth picked up Bronwyn’s quill and scribbled rapidly on the paper. She dropped the sheet back on the table. Bronwyn’s heart sank.

‘There are only two rules, Bron: annoy Celia and Owen by putting them at opposite ends of the table, and sit the two old fogies together so that they can reminisce quietly without disrupting everyone else’

‘You’re cruel, sister’ said Bronwyn, making a face.

Gwyneth ignored this.

‘If you want to do something useful, dear sister – go and find Laurence. Where’s he got to anyway? I want to go through the menus with him. That’s where a council meeting can stand or fall – by what you put into their stomachs’

‘I’ll go and see. I want to congratulate him on the White Cloak thing…’

Bronwyn hurried out into the main, built, part of the complex, which connected directly to the wooded council chamber. This was made up of a series of low grey stone buildings covered in ivy, honeysuckle and other creepers. Sometimes it was hard to find the doors among all the foliage.  

Halfway down the corridor Bronwyn met Hardacre walking briskly in the opposite direction, towards the council chamber. He had two young men and a young woman with him. He was talking rapidly, explaining in precise detail what he expected from each of them. He stopped immediately when he saw Bronwyn.

‘Miss Preece’ he said, bowing his head slightly as he approached her, ‘I trust that all is going to plan?’

Bronwyn, unable to conceal her delight in seeing him in her house, alive and well, ran over to embrace him. It was only halfway through the process that she remembered what he was like and by then she was too far into the hug to abort it. She had had to close her eyes so as not to see, for too long, his look of horror as she bore down on him.

He separated from her rapidly, looking unusually flustered. She laughed very quietly and then forgot that she hadn’t answered his question.

‘I have the seating diagram….’ she blurted out. This was the last thing that she wanted to discuss.

Hardacre raised his eyebrows.

‘Well, councillor, that is certainly a small but undoubtedly significant start. May I see it?’

Bronwyn passed it over to him with some relief. Hardacre scanned it. A momentary scowl passed over his face.

‘Has your sister annotated this?’

Bronwyn nodded and smiled wanly. She lowered her head slightly.

‘I thought we had an agreement, Miss Preece…’

‘I’m really sorry, Laurence. I thought she was in the guest quarters and then she appeared in the chamber completely unexpectedly. I had nowhere to hide it’

Hardacre shook his head, folded the plan, and put it into his pocket.

‘This will take some time to sort out. We can’t possibly have Mr Floyd and Miss Franklyn seated apart and we really don’t want to put Mr Buckwhistle and Mr Blackwood together, do we. This whole plan seems to me to be potentially problematic’

Bronwyn agreed with Hardacre, but felt her loyalties being divided. It was time to change the subject.

‘Congratulations, by the way’, she said

Hardacre looked baffled.

‘For what you achieved with John and the others in Melloreis. Excellent work…’

Hardacre looked even more uncertain.

‘The whole thing was a total mess’ he said, ‘we were very lucky to escape with only a single loss of life. All very disappointing’

It was Bronwyn’s turn to be taken aback. She studied Hardacre’s face. How could he feel like this? Against the odds they had defeated Whitecloak, one of the most powerful of the enemies of the civilised world. Hardacre had led the explorers for most of the time and had been exceptionally brave and resourceful.  This wasn’t the response from him that she had expected at all. And now she couldn’t really think of anything else to say.

Fortunately they were interrupted by one of the young people who were with Hardacre.

‘Should we be getting on, Mr Hardacre?’ he asked, eagerly.

Hardacre nodded and made to move away again towards the council chambers.

‘No point in dwelling over our past mistakes, I suppose’ he said to no-one in particular, ‘because thankfully one is always presented with an opportunity to begin again and to try to make amends’

It was only now that Bronwyn realised that Hardacre’s helpers had shears, secateurs and rakes with them. Hardacre bowed politely to her and strode on with his little group.  He addressed them briskly.

‘And let’s start by tidying up all that foliage, shall we?’
 

---

1 Neman Forest – a large evergreen forested area in northern Eth, making up the majority of the county of Neman, the least populated area in Eth.

Chapter one

Amansk²

At the beginning of November the wind blows cold across Lake Berren, flattening the reeds and encouraging the otters to retreat into their winter dens. The autumn storms strip the leaves from the trees everywhere, except around the lakeside where the alders hang on to their foliage for a little longer. For the occupants of Amansk, the low pink-cream city nestling neatly on the south side of the lake, this is the beginning of the coldest part of the year.  It is often said that the wind that blows, frozen, over the mountains is sent by the Tlaxacans, in the far south east, who somehow malevolently cool their hot tropical air before throwing it at their northern enemies.  But this ignores the realities of both geography and geopolitics: the wind flows down from the sea along the valley of the great lakes, and the Tlaxacans care almost nothing about the tiny human habitation protected from them from by the huge peaks of the central range. 

On the lake’s southern shore, Lily wrapped herself in her big coat and shivered ostentatiously. Lily’s governess, Miss Victoria Jenkins, frowned at her for the twentieth time on their walk. She had taken her down to the lake shore to provide her with a ‘brisk final seasonal walk before winter really establishes itself’ and her charge was very bored. Bored as only a restless fifteen-year old can be: bored by her provincial life, by her parents and most of all by her mostly stuffy, mostly foolish, governess.

She had dawdled behind Victoria and she wasn’t walking fast enough for either of them to feel warm. Their Sunday walk was always achingly long: three miles along the shore, two up the wooded hill to the north west of the city and then two more down through scattered farms back to the residency.   On a warm summer’s day the walk was at least enlivened by plants and animals, but this late in the season there was nothing to see, and so there was nothing to do except trudge and stamp along miserably.

Victoria waited for Lily at the base of the hill, tut-tutting and making an impatient face.

‘Hurry up, Miss Lily, or we’ll run out of daylight’

As Victoria turned to climb up the hill, Lily made a very specific two-fingered gesture at her. Her timing was superb; her hand was back by her side a split second before Victoria had turned back to her, expectantly. She was hardly ever caught.

They slogged their way up the hill and away from the raw wind. Victoria made a half-hearted attempt to continue telling her charge about the history of the north barbarian states, but even she was too cold to summon much enthusiasm up for the topic.

‘How much of that do you remember, Miss V ?’ asked Lily, trying to divert herself.

‘None of it’ said Victoria, ‘that was more than a thousand years ago. I’ll clearly have to set you a lot more history assignments…’

Lily glared at her governess’s back.

‘I meant to say – I’m amazed by how much you remember of what you were taught. I suppose that you must be very clever’

Victoria smiled.

‘Yes, I really am’ she said, ‘but the world doesn’t seem to have realised it yet’

Lily scrambled up the hill a little faster. Miss Jenkins was a tall, broad-shouldered, woman and her body heat was substantial, particularly when climbing a hill. Getting a bit closer might be the only way to get a little warmer. Lily imagined her hands slowly turning blue under her sheepskin gloves.

 ‘So why don’t you have a job in Eth then, Miss V, teaching someone with a lot more cash?’

This wasn’t the first time she’d been asked this question, or the last time that she’d lie when answering it.

‘It’s hard to find a good job teaching a lady of quality these days. All of the ducal families have long established family governesses’

‘So, I count as a ‘lady of quality’, do I Miss V?’ asked Lily.

‘Yes’ answered Victoria. She paused.

‘In Amansk, anyway’

Lily sped up past Victoria so that she could look at her face.

‘Was that meant to be witty, Miss V or horrid?’

‘It was meant to be funny, I suppose. But it was certainly more witty than your childish quip about my age’

Lily hated most of her lessons, and so, by definition she hated all of her tutors, but Miss Jenkins, who was her permanent governess,  did often make her laugh, which was certainly a saving grace. Also, she would tolerate a small amount of teasing.

‘You can’t be a day over 60, Miss V’

It was Victoria’s turn to glare.  Lily laughed.

 ‘Do you want me to have to talk to your father again, Lily

‘It depends what you’re going to say to him. Anyway, he’s too busy being king. If you’re anything like me then you’ll hardly get a chance to talk to him anyway’

‘He’s not a King’ explained Victoria patiently, ‘you know that. He’s the Praefectus, that’s more like a prince – a prince of the Confederacy of Oket and a client of the Emperor’

‘It’s all very dull, anyway, as far as I’m concerned’

‘No it’s not. It’s a very important job and your father does it well. And you are second in line to inherit the title. If anything happens to your brother, then you’ll be in charge’

Lily laughed at this thought.

‘Something happen to Toby? Never – he’s as strong as an ox and he can’t wait to take over. He’ll be there when Daddy dies, even if it has to be as a ghost’

Victoria sighed. They had reached the thickest part of the woods. The trees were grey and skeletal, but the visibility here was still poor. At least it was all downhill from this point on.

They began to plod down the long hill that led back into town. Victoria was too tired to respond to Lily’s latest rudeness about her brother. They lapsed into silence, both of them imagining a warm sitting room and hot tea.

A man stepped out of the trees. He loomed into their space with the low sun behind him, and for a split second they couldn’t see him at all clearly. He bowed low. All that they could see of him now was a shock of greying jet black hair. 

‘Who are you?’ exclaimed Lily, her stomach suddenly falling into her legs.

The man straightened and smiled – they could see him very clearly now – he smiled a very broad smile which was attractive for all the wrong reasons. He was dressed entirely in black: cape, jacket and culottes. He was one of the tallest men that either of them had ever seen. This was striking, but perhaps even more diverting was the very sharp sword that he held in his left hand.

‘My name is Gerard Hoffmann’ he said in a broad Formorian accent, ‘and I am delighted to meet you both’

Victoria instinctively reached for her short sword and then realised that this might well have worked, but only in a distant, much earlier, life. Of course, here and now, she had no sword. Gerard hesitated, examining her gesture with interest, but then chose to ignore it.

‘What do you want?’ asked Victoria, making herself as large a target as possible. Lily sheltered behind her.  

Gerard pointed the sword at them. His broad grin flickered slightly and his deep blue eyes blazed. He leant forward to address them as if about to ask one of them politely for the next dance.

‘To kidnap you, dear ladies. Why else would I go to all this trouble?’ 

---

2 Amansk – city and independent state within the Oketian Federation, formerly a province of the Visneorian Empire. It broke free of Imperial control in 104 PS after command and supply problems in Gorodnikov, the regional capital.

Chapter two

The Proconsul’s Palace, Ortia 

The elf and the human had been waiting outside the Proconsul’s office for twenty minutes. They were both getting restless, but they expressed their feelings in different ways. The taller elf shuffled, hopped and flexed, as if she were preparing for a running race, while the slightly shorter human moaned on.

‘Why didn’t she ask us to come thirty minutes later if she knew she going to be this busy?’

Potentilla stopped fidgeting, just for a second, to consider this. She shrugged and shook her head.

‘Yes, she should have done that, I suppose’, she responded, smiling, ‘I’m sure that she’ll be here in a moment’

‘Are you? I’m not’

Potentilla started to drum a repetitive, but not particularly stable, rhythm on the wall beside where they were standing.  She didn’t seem to think that Kath’s comments required a response.

‘Where’s Vee? I bet she’s already in there. I bet she knows what Marthian had decided already’

Potentilla continued drumming until Kath stared sharply at her.

‘Sorry, Kath’ said Potentilla, ‘What was that? I wasn’t really listening properly’

‘Why can’t you concentrate?’

Potentilla widened her eyes and put her hand on her cheek. She looked at Kath rather gravely.

‘Because I’m excited’

‘Excited? Why?’

‘We’ll be off soon and I’ll be able to show you and Vee the west. You’re going to absolutely love it!’

‘What about the huge wall that’s bang in the middle of the road we have to take in order to get to the west?’

‘Oh, we’ll find a way through that, or round it… or maybe over it… Anyway, I’m sure that we will’

‘What about the enemies on the way? Remnant Tlaxacans, Elves from Portalis, really big wolves…’

‘We’ll travel in a substantial convoy, at least a hundred troops, I’d say – Marthian wouldn’t send us unguarded, I’m sure and she’ll want to provide an impressive military presence for the Emperor’

Kath shook her head to free herself from this snowstorm of optimism. She should have known that she’d be unable to get her friend to join in with her grumbles. She had to be satisfied with adopting a particularly irritated frown and holding it. 

 

Five minutes later a young female elf that they didn’t recognise opened the door to the proconsul’s office. She smiled and gestured them in. She was dressed in Ortian military uniform.

‘You must be Lieutenant Potentilla and Dr Fielding’ she said.

They both nodded.

‘Please come in’ said the unknown soldier, opening the door fully.

They walked into Marthian’s office. Kath noticed, with mild irritation, that, indeed, Captain Viola was in the room already and obviously deep in conversation with the proconsul across Marthian’s big oak table.

Marthian smiled broadly and stood up as they entered.

‘You’re both very welcome’ she said, ‘I hope that you haven’t had to wait too long?’

Kath’s irritation immediately dissolved now that she had finally got into the room. Both she and Potentilla made noises that indicated that they, really, hadn’t been waiting very long at all.

Marthian glanced across the room, assessing who was now present. She gestured with her hands for everyone to sit down around the table. As they did, she suddenly realised that she had done things out of order and that they would probably have to get up again almost immediately. Her gesture briefly reversed itself, so she looked like a choir mistress encouraging her choir to sing louder, but she then gave up and just plonked herself back into her large wooden chair.

‘I need to introduce you to my deputy intelligence officer, Lieutenant Campanula’ she said, indicating the newcomer.

Kath and Potentilla made as if to rise to greet Campanula. They had been sitting for not much more than a second.

‘No need to get up’ said Marthian, firmly, ‘you can just wave to each other’

All concerned raised a hand a fraction. The moment subsided awkwardly.

Kath glanced at Viola, surreptitiously, and they both smiled fleetingly.  The proconsul was very good at some things, but punctilio really wasn’t one of them.

‘Anyway, Lieutenant Campanula was just leaving’ Marthian waved her hand at Campanula, ‘she has a lot of tasks to complete’

‘It’s been a pleasure to meet you all’ said Campanula, as she excused herself and left the room.

They all waited for the lieutenant to leave before resuming the conversation.

‘The lieutenant is my temporary replacement’ explained Viola.

Potentilla’s face lit up. She couldn’t resist saying something to Marthian, even though strict military etiquette required her to wait for the proconsul to ask her to speak.

‘Does that mean we’ll be going soon, ma’am?’

Marthian narrowed her eyes, briefly, as if she was going to say something sharp to Potentilla, but then her face softened, and she smiled.

‘One thing at a time, Lieutenant’  

Potentilla flushed and looked down at her knees. She mumbled something incomprehensible, which they all decided to treat as an apology.

‘The reason why I have appointed Campanula, as you all know, is because Captain Viola will be accompanying you…’ Marthian nodded at Kath and Potentilla, ‘…accompanying you two, to Visnea, to make contact with the Emperor’

 ‘I’m sorry, proconsul’ she said, ‘I think that I distracted you from what you were saying’

Marthian looked relieved and nodded at Kath.

‘No not at all’ she said, leaning forward and returning to where she had been before.

‘General Aurelian and I have now made plans for your journey. We have recruited a small force to accompany you of twelve guards, picked from what is left of the mounted reconnaissance group; that is those elves who patrol the outlying areas of the province’

Potentilla’s face fell. Kath shot her a look that said, ‘I told you so…’, but without satisfaction.

Marthian couldn’t help but notice Potentilla’s expression. She really hadn’t attempted to hide her feelings.

‘This must seem a very small force to you’ said Marthian, ‘but it really is all that the General is able to supply. We have less than five hundred able bodied elves in the army at present, and so the number we have committed is a relatively high proportion of our total capacity’

Potentilla continued to look glum but she nodded her agreement to Marthian anyway. 

‘Maybe we’d be better off without the guards’ said Kath, ‘after all Rem and I got all the way from the wall to here without any’

Kath still missed Rem painfully and often wondered how he was doing. She hoped that every  now and then he thought about her too.

‘Well, you did get captured, of course…’ said Viola

‘Yes, by you lot’ responded Kath, ‘and an extra dozen soldiers on our side wouldn’t have made much difference then, either. You had a bloody witch!’

 ‘Technically you were trespassing…’ pointed out Viola, with a sudden edge in her voice.

‘That’s not fair and you know it!’ said Kath, equally sharply

 Marthian stood up from her chair and waved her hand across the table in a cutting motion.

‘I won’t have friends arguing in my office’ she said, ‘and I’m not proposing to allow you to wander off back to West Visneoria all on your own’

Viola and Kath both looked sheepish and shut up.

‘We’ll all have to make do with what we’ve got’ said the proconsul

She sat back down and sighed.

‘So’ she said ‘let’s make some plans’ 

Chapter three

The Hybitor Council Chambers

By three pm on the first day of the meeting the tree chamber was already filled with debris. Tea cups were spilled, plates were hidden in the most extraordinary places, and people seemed to shed coats and jackets without any concern for finding them again. It drove Hardacre mad.

He tried to calculate how much rubbish was being generated per hour of talking and extrapolated in his mind to the traditional thirteen hours of the first session. After a few seconds he forced himself to stop thinking about it: it was too depressing to contemplate completely. Fire fighting meant slipping in when he could, to mop up the most egregious stain or retrieve the many pieces of broken crockery. Worst of all, when he appeared the council members would insist on quizzing him about his recent experiences. This was bad housekeeping compounded by bad etiquette. 

They had congregated around the circular table, broadly following Laurence’s seating plan. John sat in the very slightly larger oak chair reserved for the coven leader. Either side of him sat the twins: Gwyneth on his right and Bronwyn on his left. Kathleen, Bronwyn’s closest Hybitor friend, sat beside her. Next to them were Celia and Owen, the tall blonde woman and her shorter companion with his jet black hair. Celia had somehow got some buns and they were sharing them; she was passing them under the table to Owen from a small wicker picnic basket. 

On the other side, sitting next to Gwyneth was Huw, the youngest and newest member of the council. He had originally plonked himself down to the right of John, in Gwyneth’s traditional place. The others had waited with considerable interest to see what would happen next.  Fortunately, Hardacre had just happened to be in the room at that time, dealing with the fires, and a whispered private conversation between him and Huw was enough to put everything right.

Next to the temporarily settled Huw, was Angharad, playing with what looked like some sort of clock or barometer on the table in front of her. Beside her, Dai sat frowning, his back straight, his arms folded. The two oldest council members, George and Stephen, were sitting close together by him, comfortable in their long-shared companionship.   

These made a contrasting pair. George seemed to personify old age, with his doddery voice, white beard and shabby old cloak. Stephen, on the other hand, was still a dapper little man in a smart new brown jacket and a red tie, in the manner of an Ethian businessman or minor functionary. 

The last two council members were equally unalike. Myfanwy was dressed in full orthodox witch regalia – the layered clothes that she wore were in complimentary shades of green, from lime to dark olive. She looked like a walking plant, and generally talked as you might expect a plant to talk, if it could. There was a very obvious physical gap between her and the last of the council members, Elizabeth, who was very smart in a black dress. The two women generally didn’t talk to each other. This pairing was caused by Huw’s repositioning – normally Elizabeth would be next to Gwyneth, her close friend and ally.     

Hardacre was regretting Huw’s impetuosity – he hated a gap. Several years before he had insisted that the table had to be round because it was impossible to get thirteen people round a rectangular table without leaving a gap, for some reason.  At least now no-one was stuck at one end. Under no circumstances should anyone feel left out. 

There were no latecomers, or absentees, not even George, who often sent apologies at the last moment, particularly if the agenda looked a little thin. This time, however, the agenda was essentially, ‘how John and Laurence helped to kill Whitecloak’. How could anyone stay away?

They were able to start at noon, as was traditional, with the expectation that this first session would last thirteen hours, ending at one in the morning.  Most of them were already wondering when lunch would arrive.

Gwyneth, as always, stood to greet them and spoke very briefly, introducing their new member and then laying out what they were going to discuss.

Then she passed the chair on to John. He proceeded to describe the story of Kath’s expedition to reach Melloreis, the diplomacy of Laurence, their intervention in Ortia and finally the exploration of Melloreis and the triggering of the alarm cloud that summoned Whitecloak from Tlaxaca. He then turned to his own travels in the Outer Void and Belenor Helios and the final confrontation with Whitecloak, leading, eventually, to their enemy’s death.

He told the story mostly himself, but he also asked a very reluctant Hardacre to clarify particular points. He purposefully left out the contribution of two council members – Celia and Owen – because he knew that their story might well fill up a lot of time. That would have to wait.

Finally, at two thirty, when they were all exceedingly eager for lunch, he summed up.

‘We were very fortunate to overcome Whitecloak and his horde, but that threat has at least now been removed. However, more concerning is the strong evidence we’ve uncovered that Whitecloak was in some form of an alliance with the CRS’

He waited to let this fact sink in. The Hybitor had been formed explicitly to counter The CRS.  

‘Perhaps even more worrying is the depth of our ignorance about the very structure of our world and the ones surrounding it. Can anyone shed any light on what I’ve recently found out?’

There was a longsilence while everyone racked their brains.

‘I’ve heard some of this before’ said Stephen,  eventually, ‘my old tutor, Macrocephalos, taught a course on advanced cosmology in Kinspit back before most of you were born. George may well have had the same tutor’

George nodded once. He had been listening intently but hadn’t said anything yet.

‘Anyway’ continued Stephen, ‘he said that the universe was thought by some to be split into three parts, often represented as the stages of a day: daylight, twilight, night’

John nodded; his eyes bright with sudden understanding.

‘Helios, Skiophos, Nux. Well, that makes a bit more sense. What else did he say?’

Stephen looked slightly pained.

‘It was all a bit mathematical after that so I lost concentration a little’ he admitted.

‘Can you remember the formulae?’ asked Huw, cutting across the flow of the conversation, ‘I might well be able to make some sense of it’

Stephen stared at him. His face screwed up uncertainly.

‘Who is this young man, John? Did you just introduce us?’

John was sure that Stephen knew exactly who he was.  He chose to let the questions pass without comment.

Angharad looked up from her strange clock device.

‘So, can you remember anything, Stephen?’ she asked, ‘I mean about the equations?’ 

Stephen frowned.

‘Long time ago…’ he mumbled, ‘…not much of a mathematician…I thought it was more theoretical than practical…I’m sorry’

Huw shook his head, disbelievingly and slumped back in his chair. Angharad smiled.

‘Never mind’ she said to Stephen, ‘Macrocephalos can’t be the only one who knows this stuff’

 ‘I don’t think he’s still at Kinspit, anyway’ said John, glumly, ‘I’ve not come across him’

Bronwyn leant forward and rested her arms on the table.

‘Could we not send a delegation to Helios?’ she said, ‘the Helians seem friendly enough’

It was John’s turn to frown.

‘At the moment, no’ he said, ‘the way through The Folds is blocked. I don’t think we could risk it’

‘You got through, though’ said Gwyneth, ‘so it must be possible’

John was disturbed by this question, even though he didn’t show it. He had no real idea how he got through The Folds that separated Helios from Skiophos. He had been almost stripped of his mind by the creatures that lived in The Folds, creatures that persisted in the matrix that seemed to surround everything. At his lowest point he had a dream of the Rhylan god, Ionadon, and in the dream Ionadon had led him to safety. Anyway, he wasn’t ready to mention any of that yet.

‘I think I was very lucky’ he said, ‘I certainly wouldn’t try it again’

Bronwyn wasn’t happy to give up this line of reasoning.

‘Well, we need to ask around intensively in Kinspit. There must be someone who knows about all of this’

‘Possibly’ responded John, ‘but I’m not sure how many of them will be willing to tell…’

‘Oh, that’s a bit disappointing’ said Bronwyn, flatly.

‘We can certainly try though’ said John, perking up slightly, ‘I have lots of contacts there’

The council murmured its approval of this idea, but no-one else came up with any more information. John glanced over at George. He was very surprised that the old man, who had always been his mentor and knew more about almost everything than anyone else in the world, had had nothing to say so far. John knew that he must have his reasons, but he couldn’t imagine what they might be.

Dai finally unfolded his arms.

‘What are the threats?’ he asked. His voice was slow, deep and gravelly, almost inaudible at the lowest frequencies.

John considered this.

‘Direct ones? I’m not really sure. The CRS seem to have established some contact with this intermediate realm, the Outer Void, and they seem to be able to bring the creatures into this world, surrounded by a shield of some kind. The rays that Whitecloak used were very powerful, but the Ortian army managed to find a way to destroy them ‘

‘That certainly sounds dangerous enough’ agreed Dai, ‘but it seems that they can be countered’

Celia interrupted eagerly, keen to contribute something useful.

‘Owen and I have…’

‘Later – after the break, Celia’ said John, interrupting with a wave of his hand, ‘it may be a bit easier to stomach after a hearty lunch’

This was a cue for everyone to talk about lunch all at once. Any further discussion would have to wait. Celia looked at Owen, obviously a little disappointed, but he laughed and pointed out that their story really would be better told after lunch, when they would have everyone’s full attention. They both glanced down eagerly at the long box that Owen had hidden under the table.

Hardacre, waiting for this moment in the kitchen, just inside the main buildings, ordered that the meal should be served.