#amwriting Last fifty pages still need work and that is just the 200 pages of ideas with fifty to go

One of the problems of losing stuff is that it destroys your chain of thought.

I've re-invented the first hundred pages and managed to recreate the next hundred but Mi Kee's introduction was never meant to be more than a series of ideas and needs a lot of work.

I need to come back and re-write the first hundred pages after I have now re-written/edited them and that is because they are just a shape, thoughts, ideas.

The whole thing is just a mis-mass of ideas, thoughts and various possible plots. Some extended, some don't even start at all.

Some of the starters for interest.

Dave

She dropped the horse from a height of a few feet and the horse took off at a gallop, leaving her facing Taren Roc, Mioned, Rona, Bonnie and Brunie as the spell started to take place.

Grisalda, as usual, ignored everyone and continued reading the scroll, “Mordunt, Gazia, Etplna—”

“What have you—?” Stefen’s voice slowly died as nothing seemed to happen. He ran out of the room and to the top of the tower. Nothing seemed to have changed. The sun had set and he could hear the noise from the kitchens. The sentries were still patrolling. The dogs were howling in hunger – Drufus’ spells had failed yet again but there was a shimmer in the air above the castle. All he could were suns in the sky magnified and red lights hurtled towards the castle as the ground rip up into the air in front of his castle with a bubble created around the castle.

Stefen’s mouth moved as he watched but words failed him as a mountain of earth descended upon the bubble darkening his vision and now he truly sank into the depths with only light from the bubble surrounding the castle and town as everything descended and the colours vanished as the land descended.

Stefen could now see his land and it stretched as far as he could see and that wasn’t very far. The light from the bubble seemed to have some radiance but there was no sun, just a glow. Grisalda plunged into everything into the ground whether she had the faintest idea of the results of her actions or not and now she plunged his kingdom into the ground.

Stefen remembered Drufus promising him that he would not be hurt and that a last spell at the end would be for Stefen which was a pity as Drufus was the only consistent Magic Scroller to continuously screw up his spells and the final spell moved Drufus not Stefen as it took Ascan into four hundred years of sleep and transported Drufus to the Du Storme castle but it did, in a localised form, give four hundred years sleep to isolated areas and isolated people including the horse bearing his scrolls.

Mona Roc had risen again to follow the horse and now crashed down – no else apart from Rona had moved and now Rona froze in the stirrup high grass as she followed the path beaten down by a frightened horse that had been given some flying lessons by Mona Roc.

Yes, Drufus delivered magic code that obliterated half the world but his problem amongst others was his inability to actually write decent magic code that did exactly what it said on the scroll. Some still outside the area he decreed still had the protection of four hundred years in a bubble but stayed above ground.

Drufus forgot to matched his spells together so some places sunk beneath the ground, others didn’t. Some Dwarfs and others slept for four hundred years but others didn’t and not everywhere sunk into the ground and for Drufus himself it was completely different.

Chapter XV - Arrival

Drufus arrived at the Du Storme castle and the Du Storme castle was unusual.

The only piece of it really above ground was the Gate-tower abutting the Storme inlet leading down to the Storme sea. A bad pun but Du Storme’s were bad at everything.

Drufus, spinning through the air arrived to find himself between a lake, a town and just outside the entrance as he froze into a sleep although anyone knowing Drufus would have trouble differentiating the difference.

In this case the soldiers picked up his immobile body, carried it into the castle and left him leaning against a wall with his arms sticking out – they would be good if you were passing and wanted your back scratched and handy for hanging rags on.

Sir Facid wandered below ground. It wasn’t difficult. Apart from the entrance everything was underground with light filtering in and everything stank.

Sir Facid’s castle had been buried even more in the turmoil but it did allow for extensive planting and already the corn, vines and woods were feeding the demand for food, drink and furniture for a large area and that fed his treasury and the troops he needed to defend his treasury and paid a bonus for the damp and smell.

Sir Facid possessed harbours to the north and south; if he and Sir Charles could stop fighting over the northern harbours but as Sir Charles had little money, few troops and the need to buy food from Sir Facid, the degree of control and his relations with the new King Machael of Ascania were a little touchy but Sir Facid, for some reason, paid a visit to his frozen Dwarf every week as if he was a personal ornament.

The Dwarf arrived outside the castle some four hundred years ago and had been guarded ever since. Sir Facid often found himself staring down at the immobile Dwarf to try and understand the expression on his face. Both of them stood immobile, almost trying to outdo each other.

According to the Guards, Sir Facid won every-time but you didn’t become a Knight by being out-stared by a frozen Dwarf although his clothes were now very ragged with the two cats that often slept at his feet and added to his state, but the Dwarf was hardly any better dressed either.

Sir Facid didn’t know the name of the Dwarf but couldn’t imagine what would send him into a trance for four hundred years although the smell was probably enough to send anyone to sleep. Sir Facid’s nose could not turn up any more if he tried. There was also the smell of the castle which had been underground for too long.

With the ploughing and seeding above there were few times the roof could be opened and when it was usually rain, snow and freezing ice came in, however that almost seemed a relief as it penetrated the castle and the smell. Wine went off – often with an appropriate explosion.

Grain and meat went bad, cider became vinegar – Sir Facid might as well have inherited a burial site instead of a castle.

He looked at the Dwarf’s expression of puzzlement and realised he would never know why he looked puzzled when suddenly the Dwarf’s eyes open and he spoke, “this place stinks – can’t you find a window to open … perhaps … I know a spell to take out the smell?”

“Who are you and why have you been stood here for four hundred years?”

“My name is Drufus and I need your jakes and urgently!”

“Then Poofus is probably a better name—”

“I need the jakes!”

“Fine. Go west; south; follow you nose for fresh air … the sea, rocks and mountains await you”.

Drufus quickly found himself facing strong winds and a stormy sea as he caught up on a hundred years. It was some time later that he finally returned and explained to Sir Facid his history. The look on Sir Facid’s face indicated that he might as well have saved his breath.

It wasn’t helped by Sir Facid’s joke that he owed him four hundred year’s rent, which to a race known to be extremely careful with their money wasn’t well received and Sir Facid’s final question to him, “do you really know magic spells,” imitated the descent of a lead balloon?

“I invented them but Dwarf magic means you must have spells written down and physically hold the scroll when you read the spell – I was taught magic at the temple of Druncheon.”

“From what I’ve heard you then used it to bury towns, castles and cause destruction on a massive scale that only now is starting to settle!”

“They killed Roseen. Grisalda is below ground as she should be. I would bury her mother – Griselda – if I could.

“You are too late Drufus; a guard killed her, but her daughter Laseith follows on in the family tradition, so kill her instead.”

“You seem to be unscathed, Sir Facid. Your castle does not seemed to be touched.”

“Yes, Drufus – a computer glitch built this castle underground, whilst other castles were built above ground but all of them are impervious to your spells. The towns and people were the targets of your spells not the computer built castles. We are lucky that most of our castle is underground so we can farm above but we did receive a large amount of land deposited on top of us. The good point is that we did not receive great waves – the rocks protected us from that but virtually the whole of my castle and rooms might as well be in my deepest dungeons. If you can write a spell to clear and perfume the air, I am sure we can come to some arrangement for your future which currently looks extremely bleak.”

“I would appreciate a bath and a change of clothes, first, Sir Facid; if that can be arranged, but I am sure I can write some magic to clear the air?”

“I am sure we all would appreciate that, Drufus. Especially as you have been there for a hundred years. My people will attend you and perhaps the spell could be written? Haste would be appreciated.”

Chapter XVI - Horsing About

The same could not really be said for Rona, Mona and the horse they were following, especially the horse. They were now on an island and it was an island that you could enjoy but Mona wasn’t enjoying anything as thoughts crossed her mind and their minds … food was the first thought but angry distant thoughts were demanding justice and the din was deafening – both Taren and Mona looked at each other. The thoughts might be distant but the clamour seemed all too close – it didn’t feel like a welcome after four hundred years from your brethren.

Lakes, cornfields, trees abounded. Perhaps freedom beckoned although given the size of the island it was not likely to be waving flags. What didn’t seem to beckon to them was hundred year old food. It might have been protected along with them but it seemed to have aged more than they had and right now all they wished for was privacy.

Mona and Taren Roc rid themselves of waste as they flew without caring where it landed. Rona and Mioned on the other hand … on the ground … behind some trees and some large leaves beckoned her urgently. Age has no respect! Bonnie was already following them. Brunie was making his own arrangements.

Rona and Taren made their way back as Mona Roc landed and threw a bone from her beak into the cornfield before heading for a tree where she decimated a branch as her beak cleansed the remains of breakfast cum lunch.

The mental note sounding in Rona’s mind from Mona said, “We can’t find the horse. I know I put her down somewhere but I can’t find any trace of her?”

“That was four hundred years ago, Mona. If she is alive she’s probably hiding from you. She thinks you want her for a meal?”

“She couldn’t have got far?”

“Assume she was swept into the sea and woke up in water?”

“I’ll check, Rona.”

Some miles away the horse finally left the lake. Like everyone else it wanted a bath and seeing the Roc in the air it went as near underwater as it could manage – finally climbing out on the West side of the lake and heading for some fresh grass. It could smell more water to the north and could see some shrubs and made it’s way to a pond with grass, fresh water and over on the other side of the pond with some trees to hide in. No Roc was picking her up again – not even for a date.

Mona Roc and Rona, after a good hour and several things finally decided to look for hoof prints … just one small problem – everything had been washed out and in the case of her clothes, to have been worn out – there weren’t any clothes but yet again, just rags and she was wearing them.

They needed to explore the island and once again Rona wanted to be first.

Rona climbed up onto Mona Roc.

Taren almost reading Mona Roc’s mind sent a message – just wait.

“A male Roc doesn’t tell me what to do,” shouted Mona Rocs as she spread her wings and took off. Rona felt pleased for once to be free and there hadn’t been anything for her to eat so there was nothing there to bring up.

She wasn’t pleased however when Mona Roc suddenly descended into a screaming dive and launched herself on a small deer leaving Rona’s hands blood soaked as she struck, “Sorry about that Rona but it was too good a chance to miss. If you skin it, build a fire and roast it, you can eat and that male Roc can go hungry!”

“How do I do that, Mona. The castle cooks did that; I don’t cook!”

“You’d better learn if you wish to live.”

“I don’t even have a knife!”

“I have a beak, Rona. Call it skinning,” Rona turned her head and put her hands over her ears as Mona Roc attacked the deer’s carcase, “now build a fire and roast it.”

“How do I do that, Mona?”

“Gathering wood would be a good start, Rona.”

“Can’t you do anything, Mona.”

“Can’t you do anything, Rona. I’ll have a look around for a large branch,” and Mona Roc took off again and flew towards the small lake to the east until out of the corner of her eye, amongst shrub and grass as she saw something and swooped down. The saddlebag lay there or the remains of it did. Scrolls lay tangled in the shrubs. Mona Roc took one look at them and took off again to gather Rona who was still trying to work out how to light a fire, “leave those large branches alone, Rona. I’ve found scrolls in better condition than the saddlebags they were in. It looks like they have some kind of coating that preserves them.”

“Then we can burn the Scrolls – I’m hungry, Rona!”

“Then come and look in the saddlebags after you gather up the scrolls. I’ll pick wood but the saddlebags should have some means of lighting a fire, even if you don’t have any idea. Let’s look at those scrolls! Climb on my back.”

“I’d rather walk, Mona. I don’t have enough food left to be sick with.”

“In your thoughts of distance, a mountain range is in the way of direct path; forests adjoin the small lake – to save a long conversation, Rona – get on my back!”

“I can’t face another flight, Mona Roc … I really can’t.”

“I will fly gently. You need to eat and the smell from that place is evil. Let us find those scrolls and then you must read them and find those of our people still live. They will probably attack and kill me but I need to try and ensure these words are not forgotten … my beak is not suitable for catching scrolls … deer I can catch, so climb up, you catch the Scrolls and then we will learn.”

“Please go gently, Mona.”

Mona Roc’s flight was an upwards ascent.

In later times, had Rona known it, it was like an express lift that only stopped as your food met the roof.

Having climb enough to rise above the trees and mountains, Mona Roc then realised her friend had fallen off.

Mona Roc spun on her wings to look for a distant falling spec of something in the sky.

She had bonded with Rona but failed to pay any attention to her bond-mate as she rose far beyond any height she needed to be. Too late she cast her mind to her bond-mate and now she plummeted down to try and find her, hurtling down after a speck still falling and at almost tree high she managed to get her claws underneath the body and slow its flight with her large wings beating madly as she tried to avoid both of them plummeting into the ground.

Poking a body with a claw was never a good idea. The body was too soft and the claw too hard. She waited for Rona to show some signs of life.

Chapter XVII - Mutter Gutters

King Peter Jamesson passed on and Laseith and Arturo were finally freed. King to-be Machael Jamesson, despite loud screams, threats and demands from Laseith was released from Stasis and showing a degree of intelligence often missing from King Peter moved Arturo and Laseith as far from him as possible although not back to a dungeon – their rooms were on the roof with an easy drop.

In a misguided attempt to buy loyalty, he adopted Laseith and Routani into the Royal Family and those disagreeing with that statement wouldn’t be raising their right hands – unless they could find them.

Apart from the barbarian attacks from the north and north-east, things were settling down although more and more King Machael was now wearing armour in bed to protect himself in all ways.

It was about this time that Sir Marcel Droga had an unfortunate accident. He was dead at the time although timing was once considered a virtue however times change and Sir Charles Dastry was still blowing on the ink when he was anointed king surrounded by a ritual burning of the Stasis coffins.

The mature Princess Laseith, now a witch with latent powers and unless you were blind looking to create a dynasty with herself at the helm and more lovers than she could shake her armoire at, took off, wending her broom to those she thought would support her and against those who thwarted her however Princess Laseith felt she was wearing out more than the broomstick visiting her fools cum lovers and travelled to the farthest lover first so she and the broomstick were feeling more than a little stiff when she finally landed and met Sir Gregory de Bowed.

Sir Gregory, at least had raised a platform just above the entrance area to allow her an uneasy landing with a walkway taking her to the first level and main entrance hall. Laseith seldom felt uneasy but as she looked at the sculptured altar in the main entrance hall an understanding, as it often did with Laseith, failed to force its way into her mind but instinct said, “do not accept Sir Gregory’s offer to look at his altar knives”. Sir Geoffrey brushed off her comments about his altar and knives laying ready; they’d been there for far longer than he had! He lived on an island so small that no one had ever bothered to name it although the natives took umbrage, when they finally understood that; their name for it was, ‘our island.’ Sir Gregory was poor and on this small island mirrored in the main how the native tribes lived.

They disputed ownership with Sir Gregory – sometimes violently – and whilst Sir Gregory lived in the West, the North and South were occupied by the natives with a rock formation occupying the East – Sir Gregory was going nowhere and apart from Princess Laseith, no-one else was visiting.

About the only options Sir Gregory had were to earn money from chopping trees down and learning woodworking. His Guards were so few so he would have to do the chopping.

There were only nine habitable rooms in the tower and that included the entrance hall; a twisted and bent corridor leading from the entrance hall to another large room, and the bed-chamber a little further on.

All were secret rooms according to Sir Gregory or to tell the truth; apart from his bed-chamber they all led into where his six Guards gambled, slept and did little else. The entrance hall and his bedchamber had tapestries on the wall with most looking more like tattered carpets but at least he’d tried to make the castle more habitable although for who, was another matter. Princess Laseith stayed with him for the night before pleading state business and making sure she headed for Ascania and did not change direction until she was out of his sight and Laseith finally broomed into Sir Facid’s castle.

Princess Laseith was then surprised to be met by Sir Facid and a Dwarf called Drufus.

Laseith prided herself on knowing everything about everything and usually killed anyone who disagreed with that statement but there was no favour in her actions – she would kill anyone in her way or who disagreed.

Sir Facid controlled almost as much land as King Machael did – the only differences being that he didn’t have to fight for it as most of his castle was underground and the land he controlled was above it.

Sir Facid was rich, for a given value of rich, however he was one of the few that had not suffered when the stars darkened and the waters flowed over the lands … his castle had been taking water for a long time, it was used to it – it passed through and drained off to a fair degree although the glug, glug, glug and lack of fresh air was becoming more of a problem as the damp seemed to be remaining these days. It was a good-sized castle but more like an underground labyrinth, still it in good order, as his lands were – rich and well tended and despite King Michael’s boasts it possessed excellent harbours and with most of his castle almost underground it was difficult to invade. There seemed to be only two entrances and one fronted a deep harbour to give plenty of warning of an invading fleet.

The other exit was some 250 yards to the East and virtually unusable. It was essentially an emergency exit where Death would help you out in more ways than one. Sir Facid would be there first for an interesting experience if he thought about it but Laseith never changed, “Why have you greeted me with a Dwarf, Sir Facid? Jewellery, I can accept, but a Dwarf?”

“Laseith, they seem to be in short supply. I do not give people away as gifts and he is too important for me to ever give away!”

“Don’t shout at me, Facid. I am your lover and not an object to be admired by a Dwarf!”

“My Lady Laseith – you are a Dwarf. You already have a Dwarf – Arturo, I believe. Drufus might be a Dwarf but he does know a few spells. One, I asked him to prepare for you will allow you to move without using a broomstick but I strongly suggest you test the spell out before you use it. Some of the spells Drufus has created do not always do, ‘what is says on the scroll’; quite amusing, however. It keeps my staff on their toes; once they have managed to get to their feet”.

“When are you going to manage your kingdom. This whole place smells.”

“Drufus is working on the smell but his spells have a habit of going wrong and the last one removed a few other things besides the smell and I now insist that any future spells have the ability to be reversed and don’t kill people.”

“I’ve told you to organise your kingdom!”

“Drufus is working on it!”

“And what of the invasion!”

“What invasion, Laseith?”

“Gregory is building forces to invade, you must ready an army!”

“Laseith; Gregory is too busy scratching out a living to invade anything. What games are you playing, my neurotic friend. What neighbour are you trying to fry as you use others for your games?”

“I am not playing games …? I am trying to help you, Facid. If you do not want my help; I won’t take up any more of your time.”

“Well, I will help you. Drufus, here, wrote magic scripts that almost destroyed the world, so he should be able to write a travelling spell?”

“Yes, my —”

“—Sir is enough, Drufus. I don’t need flattery?”

“As you demand, Sir …?—”

“—Get on with it before we spend the next four hundred years waiting!”

“Sir Facid, I was only thinking where to start—”

“—Then start, damn you, start, and Princess Laseith can leave.”

“Princess Laseith; I was born four hundred years ago. I wrote magic scripts and I copied them as a safeguard and swapped them so the original scripts left the castle. For revenge for their killing my love I changed the copied scripts and altered them so they would destroy the Matira’s as well as the world. The original scripts were put on a horse and I went up to the battlements to enjoy my death. I then saw Princess Rona with a gigantic bird but I just stayed there to enjoy my last sunset. Princess Rona climbed onto the Roc’s back and took off. Where the scripts ended up I don’t know but the Roc snatched the rider and then swooped on the horse … I’m not sure what happened after that but it was east of the castle, and then high in the air but I saw something fall …? What? I don’t know … I was too busy watching my last sunset?”

“Can you ever get back to the subject, Drufus …? Now!”

“The original scripts were in the horses’ saddlebags. Every piece of magic I’d ever written. They could be in the sea; on a mountain – I don’t know … I really don’t know!”

“You must have some idea, Drufus. You stood them and watch the bird and not just your sunset?”

“I can only say, ‘it was in the distance, and an hour’s wings for a Roc’. I wanted to end my life and watch the sunset. I didn’t give a hatchet about a Roc carrying some woman off and picking up a horse to eat, which it then dropped!”

“There you are, Laseith. Find the scripts and you have the original magic of Drufus: if you can work out where it is and remember how badly he writes magic …?”

Sir Facid stopped at that point. Let her really find out how badly Drufus wrote his magic and that he never tested it first. Sir Facid learnt that, along with various people he had valued, who were no longer with him.

“And that is all you have to give me, Facid?”

“I cannot give you anything, Laseith; no matter how you demand it. Drufus has his uses when he is not destroying the world we live in, and he is constantly surrounded by my Guards and a lady priest of Astoron but his magic apparently came from Druncheon? Is that tender enough fruit for your taste, Laseith – all the scrolls that destroyed the world?”

“I pluck fruit that suits my taste, Facid. You, ‘no longer have that quality or taste’!”

“How tart, Laseith. I see you haven’t mentioned King Machael’s royal wife giving birth within the next few months; I will be at the birth, and so will Sir Charles Dastry but I doubt Sir Gregory will have managed to invade the King’s property by them.”

“Her time is due, Sir Facid, and so is yours if you ignore the King’s request for assistance. You have the Guards – more than the King will ever have!”

“My Guards are farmers. They till the soil, not swords. I could raise levies but the invaders of yours don’t invade my lands, and my farmers would not thank me for killing them for something that doesn’t concern them. I am not the only one you visit with tales of invasion and war and I suggest you follow your suggestion and depart; Drufus has the scroll proffered to you that will: or so he claims; allow you to travel without a broom, and I wish you luck in using it.”

“I have the power, Facid, to destroy you!”

“No, Laseith. If you could have done that by now, you would have done it.”

“You have the lands and power, Facid, you could rule Ascania.”

“I don’t want to rule Ascania, Laseith, despite your pleasures; you are on my grounds and in my groin but I must with a hearty feeling say goodbye, Laseith and please leave now as Drufus is due to use one of his smell clearing spells and I would hate for you to suffer.”

“I offer you co-operation, Facid, and you reject that.”

“The problem, Laseith is that Sir Charles and myself hold onto our lands. That, for some reason protects us. You take your stories to King Machael but destroying us in our homes with invading armies is a joke. I suggest you return to King Machael and work your magic on him to cause wars whilst Sir Charles and I will concentrate on our lands and our own problems, and nothing else.”

Laseith and Laseith’s broom were on overtime as she took off to see yet, again, another lover – Laseith felt she worked for the greater good, and everyone knew that! Self-confidence was not a crime but she didn’t really need a broom to launch herself into the air with the frustration and anger she felt but it was not a time to forget her destiny.

Sir Charles’ main barracks were intentionally away from the Manor House although the Guards on duty were within easy call and distance of his bed-chamber and the baths.

The villages were some distance away although that didn’t seem to stop his soldiers from visiting and he made sure there was enough of everything to keep his parishioners happy – including money for weddings – as his soldiers seemed to be supplying more and more potential workers and soldiers – given healthy births – than he needed. Sir Charles was slow-moving but he’d learnt from that and he also saved his machinations and spleen for those activities that would enrich him with either money or property.

Disagreeing with Princess Laseith, when she was holding her broom, was not, as he had realised, a good idea. An errant blow from Laseith before he’d learnt of her temper had broken his leg. Now he made sure there were bowman hidden in each room and a priest from Astoron – Womry – to protect his health …?

He often wondered how rich the temples of Astoron were becoming as their priests and priestesses seemed to be in every castle these days. He’d also found other castles and Lords prepared to contribute to the Temple of Astoron for its, and their protection – especially from Princess Laseith as word of her spread between castles, still it was better to stay on her good side if you could find it.

When Laseith finally arrived – in no better mood than when she’d landed – he tried not to react to her; making certain her broom – still extremely wet, along with Princess Laseith as she dripped all over the floor – was safely escorted somewhere to dry off and hopefully burn.

Sir Charles, however, was always full of courtesy to Princess Laseith – even without a broom her temper was liquid fire. He called immediately for hot baths and servants to attend the bedraggled Princess and refused to speak to until she been looked after and fresh clothing supplied. Princess Laseith ignored him, demanding and brandishing her still wet broomstick at Sir Charles, shouted, “why do I always land in your pond?”

“Perhaps you broomstick loves water, Princess Laseith?”

“My broomstick works perfectly - your property needs rebuilding!”

“I think your broomstick does as well, still it is nice to see you again, Laseith and of course your broom, providing it stays well away from my legs! So what are you up to this time and who are you trying to kill?”

“I am not trying to kill anyone, Charles and I should be able to fix your leg but there is some magic here that stops me.”

“Well, I’m grateful for that but I have no idea what magic stops you, Laseith or re-directs you to my lake although I think I am grateful for it as your broom shattered my leg and left me crippled.”

“That is over and done with, Charles; I need you in Machael’s court.”

“Why do you need me, Laseith …? My court is already more prosperous than King Machael’s so why would I want his worries? Why would I want his court?”

“I can offer you many things, Charles!”

“You already have a lover, Laseith.”

“Arturo was of use to me … He might feel he is a lover – I don’t!”

“A show of temper, Laseith but I wasn’t talking of a Dwarf. Is that bloodied broom of yours near me?”

“It protects me.”

“And what protects everyone else from it.”

“You are frightened of my broom? I visited the wrong castle!”

“Laseith, I am sure you have much to hide. Why are you here?”

“Don’t you know, Charles?”

“Alluring as you are, Laseith, I don’t know.”

“What are your problems, Charles?”

“Your temper for a start, Laseith – I tire of it and your arrogance. No doubt as you offer, others, your temper may drift into the background but I have enough of your machinations.”

Sir Charles Dastry watched Princess Laseith storm off, flourishing her broom … at least she was storming off before the kitchen prepared his evening meal which did have some large hunks of meat, potatoes and a range of spiced vegetables. He wondered what she was up to in Ascan and Matira?

His own informants informed him that King Martan’s concubine was with child and he’d made certain that Routani knew that before she married Martan, which should spoil Laseith’s plans but he felt a little personal attention would ensure matters were settled appropriately. With an accident in the field for Martan, Princess Routani would need a strong hand to withstand her sister and then the deep grief as Routani succumbed to a brief illness but the last thing he needed was a child born outside of the blanket from King Martan. That would have to be dealt with. Let Laseith play with Ascan – he didn’t really have the forces or land to challenge Facid and to attack Machael would require him to invade Facid’s land first and there was little he could do against both of them but to establish him in Toshonia meant he could then invade northwards; building up his land and armies and then attack Ascan with his own Guards attacking Facid and crushing them both, leaving him with both Toshonia and Ascania and both Laseith and Routani dead but it needed his personal attention.

He had his own brooms to fly and one was already being made ready. It was a very short space of time before Sir Charles Dastry took off for Charguar in the north-west of Toshonia or Matira or whatever they called now – it didn’t bother him although at some point they would remember his old family of Droga.

Laseith’s broom was still steaming when she finally landed at Ascan, and it wasn’t an easy landing with the buffeting wind that kept taking her everywhere but Ascan.

She and Arturo would be having strong words and winds as she was sure he was behind the winds preventing her landing.

Laseith headed directly to King Machael’s chambers using her broom, once again to force a way through until she reached the door where two emailed warriors and a priestess did not fear her broomstick.

“Let me through if you want to live, dross. I am Princess Laseith.”

A voice from inside echoed, “I’m done with you, Priest! Let her and the Guards enter!”

Still, the voices from inside the room reverberated as Laseith forced her way in; or maybe the broomstick did; still talking to itself and almost fighting with Laseith to be heard.

Facing King Machael, Laseith thought, what had Arturo said?

King Machael looked at both of them, “I don’t trust either of you an inch but I never have”.

Laseith watched the eyes of both King Machael and Arturo.

King Machael’s eyes seemed bright; Arturo’s eyes were muddy areas that lacked focus.

“We’ll will leave you …?” Princess Laseith looked into the silence from King Machael.

“King Machael, I ask permission to leave your presence?”

“To say you have pretensions would be an understatement, Laseith …? Your other qualities I just wish I could find. You have my permission to leave our presence and the next time you barge into my councils, I will personally throw you and your broom out!”

“We need to leave, Arturo. We have a world to find, King Machael!!”

“Anything you find, Laseith, and you, Arturo with your potions and promises, will be something I won’t waste my breath on.”

“Laseith. He has accused me of killing people; plotting against his kingdom and planning to kill him!”

Laseith grabbed him by his beard and dragged him through the door which was now open and carried on pulling until they were on the stairs, when she finally let go of his beard.

“Do you ever think, you idiot. You studied magic … or at least tried to; Drufus wrote magic – original magic and you are both dwarfs so you should understand each other. We leave for Dagril – once I have some decent food? There is a clear blue sky and a chance for you to be away from King Machael.”

The next few hours were hastily spent as Laseith and Arturo filled their bellies and packs until Arturo struggled both packs to the top of the tower; strapping them onto the broom which complained non-stop.

There would be no refreshments on this flight.

Ascan as a town was unfortunately spread over two major barbarian routes and with ports – new, as well as old – it was an easily ravaged target but they didn’t go far beyond Ascan, leaving Sir Charles and Sir Facid untouched.

King Machael’s dreams were usually none he cared to share. He was often woken up; sweating yet again, until he realised it was another bed and he still wore his armour, and it was one of his generals waking him.

His dreams haunted him as men encircled him that he should trust … his bowmen were now firing at him: his ‘horsemen’ should be sweeping in from the east to take out the bowmen but now shield-men died sacrificing themselves for their king, as allies turned against, yet again. Lower your shields was his command: allow the betrayal; watch the arrows rise and fall, and die for what, ‘some belief it would be better.’; they could hang him if that were true and save his people; it seemed to be more than he could. Once again he awoke covered in sweat.

Laseith and Arturo flew slightly to the west. The broomstick still appeared to have problems flying over water. This part of Ascania was mainly grassland and miles of it but Jablax was a short hop after that and then a turn to the East brought them via another short hop to Dagril. Drufus’ description of where the Roc landed was to the East side of Dagril and Laseith and Arturo intended to land where the mountains stopped by the short lake.

The scrolls were supposed to be in saddle bags and coated in some solution to preserve them – the horse – was someone else – the saddle bags being leather would had fallen apart but the horse would have the bubble and live; but where – so the scrolls should still exist, even if the horse didn’t …?

Arturo wondered where the ‘immortal’ they were. With the upheaval and tidal waves probably swept out to sea along with the horse. Still at least they could test out Drufus’ travelling scroll but Arturo dare not read the scroll on the broomstick. If the scroll left the broomstick, Laseith would have him following the scroll downwards to retrieve it.

It took about 3 hours before Laseith saw the mountains of Jablax approaching and veered to the East; leave Arturo’s stomach to the west and landing them in the trees on the west side of a very small island. There was some smaller vegetation nearby but Laseith chose to avoid that and took them into the trees on a downward slope. The trees were obviously not informed of the potential landing and didn’t move.

Arturo’s stomach had been so informed and so had his arms ready as he found himself hanging from a tree branch as his stomach erupted in various ways and grim death seemed an understatement. He was just grateful the trees were there. A small mountain range rose in the middle of the island – it was a pity Laseith disliked shrubs – they were a lot closer to the ground.

Taren Roc, Mioned, Bonnie and Brunie watched the broomstick travel over their heads as it headed for the large trees to the north-east of the small lake. It appeared to be having trouble as it turned to the west to avoid flying into the mountains and finally made the trees.

It takes a short armed Dwarf a long time to reach the ground and by that time the broomstick and Laseith had eaten everything, leaving Arturo to the pleasure of in-flight snacks when you are travelling Dwarf-air. Arturo finally made a landing and a voice shattered his pain, “get off your backside. You’ve had your exercise. I need the camp built!”

“I need a knife thought Arturo but that ‘bloody’ broom won’t let me near her!”

“All you have to do is read the words of the scroll, Arturo.”

“Then give me the scroll to read, Laseith! You know a Dwarf holding the scroll must read it – give me the scroll to read!”

“We need to find the rest of the scrolls, Arturo. You find them and I want to know each scroll you find?”

Arturo watched a sun rise and the beauty of life and being alive delivered some feeling of the trees to his west; the mountains looked impenetrable to the north although he could see a gap between two sets of mountains as he peered between some small trees which hadn’t grown too well in the rocky soil. To the west were more trees for the broomstick and Laseith to explore; preferably without him.

A small lake only a short distance beckoned him for the drink he needed, if nothing else as he felt something very strange. He could feel magic and yes, he’d used magic, knives, axes and hatchets to kill for Princess Laseith as he clawed his way out of the depths she had plummeted him into.

After finally drinking some water he stood and looked at some more trees to the east but the problem there was again mountains that also settled on the end of the lake and the trees were beyond that with the mountains proving a barrier unless he swam across the section of the lake which narrowed to about 30 foot at this point, still it would move him away from Laseith and that broomstick and he now looked around for some …? The magic was in the trees – high up in the trees, and he needed to swim across and then climb into the conifers to …? Well, stripping off and climbing nakedly up conifers was not his idea of pleasure and especially climbing for Laseith but he might do it for the broom which petrified him, but all that boomed apart as Laseith, complete with broom started shouting, yet again, “where are the scrolls? You are no use, Arturo …? Just take yourself somewhere else; do it now!”

“Where, Laseith?”

“I don’t care, Arturo; nowhere near me,” Laseith for some reason seemed frightened and that was unusual, given her arrogance and self-belief; Laseith had some magical qualities but they are seemed nothing without her broom.

Arturo might think of himself as a Dwarf rising but that was usually just before he became a Dwarf falling and vomiting after the broom attacked him. He needed to think: he needed to see Drufus and understand a Dwarf who could write magic scrolls and whether there was any that could destroy Laseith.

He moved to face, Laseith and ducked as the broom swung at him, forcing him away. Arturo looked at her taunting face and the broom; took the scroll out from inside his jerkin and started to read the scroll.

“What are you doing, Arturo! I didn’t tell you to read that scroll! What are you doing you slimy little rat-faced Dwarf! You’ll die slowly for this!” Laseith and the broom both launched themselves at Arturo with Laseith falling over the broom which had move first and both lay in a heap.

Arturo finished the words and felt magic fly from the scroll and for a moment he seemed to be in two places at once as an explosion launched bolts of lightning at the shore and Arturo learnt there are worse things that brooms for travelling as his feet seemed to touch his head and then unwind and he travelled and so did the broomstick, Laseith as Drufus’ code screwed up once again or did it?

Drufus had made sure only a Dwarf could read the scroll and a captive spell generated moved the Dwarf to where to where Drufus was. Drufus had listened to the imperious tones of the Matira’s that he hated.

He’d not forgotten the death of his love by Grisalda. He’d made sure the Dwarf who read the spell was safe but incorporated his own magic into the spell to try and destroy Laseith however, once again, Drufus got it wrong – yet again!

Chapter XVIII - Awakening

Mona awoke still holding Rona in her claws. Mona could see some signs of life in Rona but they were few and feeble. Bonded to Rona, Mona sat there.

This wasn’t a castle or walls; just rocks.

To the north was green. Behind Mona was water and beyond that, more rocks and more water. In front of her she could see smoke rising and decided it needed life and what she hoped, were humans? At the moment she didn’t think of anyone else.

She could see smoke rising to the west of the trees but they were Old Folk and the Roc’s tolerated them, but little else.

She picked up the body and flew towards the smoke; settling down to the west of the village and laying Rona down beside a path and then rose up into a thick tree to watch.

Mona Roc could feel her kind near her and this would take a lot of ancient time explaining. She was now an interloper and her kind killed interlopers but her only crime was time. She already sensed them and opened her mind to the minds seeking her as she watched and waited.

The trees around moved as Rocs appeared and settled. She tried to portray what had happened and the bonding that made her flee instead of warning her tribe … that was a death penalty before she thought of anything else and Taren Roc would face the same – failing to warn her tribe; putting a mind bond with a human before her tribe – two death penalties and if she was judging, she would not have hesitate to enforce the penalty; now she waited for judgement as Kyle Nonsat found Rona Matira.

Kyle looked at the body … he thought the Dwarf woman was still alive and he should take her to Jacque and Mari but there was no love lost and he was threatening her life and Jacque and Mari would help but they should not be touched or contacted without permission of the Woman’s Council.

He needed his wife for this – she possessed skills he would never have but Tare wanted to be pregnant and was like a wounded animal if he approached her unless to procreate – to say she was touchy around other women, never mind men wasn’t something you said to Tare if you wanted to live and they were trying to produce a child … sometimes … he was surprised to crawl out of the house.

The direct route was not an easy one but if Kyle left her for the wolves, the Woman’s Council would hang him upside down for the wolves to play with although being a Dwarf they might hang her and him.

If he approached Jacque and Mari, it would be even worse but luckily the village was the closest and Kyle with immense reluctance picked up the body; put it over his shoulder and made his staggering way through the smaller trees shouting, “woman here; hear me; still breathing; need help!”

He didn’t have much breath to shout anything else because no-one crossed the woman’s council and stayed in the village; especially not a man who allowed a woman to die because no woman heeded his cries – they would blame him for not shouting loud enough.

Mona Roc waited.

Someone had taken Rona Matira and that at least paid for her stupidity.

How long had she waited to really fly high and then sacrificed her bond mate.

Mona felt she deserved to die at least three time: one for deserting her brothers, sisters, family; her tribe; she knew magic was there when she took off but her care for her tribe and also for her bond wasn’t there. She had cared for nothing else but for herself and for that she felt she deserved to die.

To herself and to the Roc’s watching and judging, she said, “I left my tribe to die and never thought of anything else; I abandoned everything for a young girl and then I abandoned the young girl for the pleasure of soaring. I abase myself. I deserve death – to be ripped apart and eaten until only old bones wither.”

The Court of Roc’s justice sat in the trees. The Roc’s Courts sat in groups of eleven. The highest never really sat in judgement but she, who was the highest, knew, as did every Roc, that justice was in the mind but some minds never knew justice or would accept it and then, known as Matron Roc, she was forced to interfere and direct justice. Sheria Roc ruled over the nine: Daried; Petro; Angil; Oline; Joc; Salean; Majeen; Roam, and Shewan. They sat in judgement but they also sat to administer the law, not change it. Matron Roc with Sheria Roc would decide on the law if there was a failure to uphold it.

The nine would judge and after lengthy mind images put their decision in Mona Roc’s mind, “This is our verdict, Mona Roc. Your decision is death but postponed. You must die for your actions – your sins must be repaid – you will die but binding and the bonds must always be honoured. You will live until you die although any Roc may kill you, but not under our decision.” The Tribe must be repaid for your treachery; your bond to Rona must be honoured. Kyle Nonsat also has a sentence of death. He prowls amongst our weak and kills them – you must stop this and his life depends upon you. We will not kill either of you unless we have no other choice! You will honour your people. Stop him killing our weak; you will bond to him. You will work until we, nature or a Roc decides your death. You will never leave your bonds with Kyle Nonsat or Rona Matira unless in your death. Those of our number who die in their shells may be used by Kyle Nonsat and no other but you will him stop killing our weak and infirmed – their death is a matter for the Great Roc, not a human. That is our judgement under this Court of Roc’s. This Court has judged – do Matron Roc and Sheria Roc wish to speak?”

The silence was broken as Matron and Sheria Roc raised their wings and rose into the sky.

Kyle heard the wings but staggering on his way he couldn’t watched more Rocs that he had ever seen before rise into the sky; he needed help and it wasn’t there. He laid Rona down and shouted yet again; still waiting for an answering call – he gave up and picked up the failing body, trying to force his way through small conifers towards, what it his village – at times he didn’t know. There were some 15 homes in the village but no-one seemed to be paying any attention to him and that to a degree summed up his own feelings. He didn’t belong and nor did Tare but they tolerated him for Tare’s ability to cure and his ability to kill wolves and bring back Roc eggs.

To the north-east were two small farms and Jacque and Mari to the north-west but Jacque and Mari did not exist as far as the villagers were concerned unless they needed some medicines for things the women’s council could not provide – Jacque and Mari were old – old stock …? Different, but to who – not those you knew in the lights of the more stringent women council members eyes; nevertheless, they were the most ardent buyers of those packages left amongst the trees and never touched by anyone yet they seemed to vanish … how else would you describe the old stock.

They did nothing and to the villagers, did not exist and that was the Women’s Council’s decision; often thought of as meeting their supplies so they could claim the solution although that never stopped villagers making their way to fish by the small spread of Jacque and Mari who kept hawks and other things and were often carrying fish they had never caught however no-one discussed their fishing expeditions but to the north was wood-cutting and joinery, and a small source of income for the village. There was also some wood and marble cutting to the south and the farms supplied wheat, fresh vegetables to all and some managed to hew stone and wood for the houses.

For a small villages it was survival on a small scale … not enough to attract attention but enough to survive. Merchants did stopped to buy but the wolves in the rocks to the east were a menace – attacking their horses and when hungry even people; the merchants often came and left at speed.

The Rocs did do some work in keeping the wolf pack numbers down but the tended to kill them if they went near the rocks to the west and left those to the east for the merchants to fight.

Kyle often went to the west and produced Roc eggs for a feast night but to some of the villagers, this seemed stupid when the Rocs were protecting them. Now people saw Kyle walking towards them with something slung over his shoulder and immediately they thought of food. They’d heard Kyle shout earlier and thought he found some really good meat; now they realised the meat was a girl and she must be alive if he had brought her back. If Kyle expected to be welcomed, he was in error. The women’s council almost pounced on him, “What have you done to this poor girl, Kyle Nonsat; where are these Roc eggs you were bringing for the feast tonight?” As if carrying a woman’s body and Roc eggs at the same time was feasible.

Toshon Village looked towards the south, north, east and the west and in fact it look everywhere since there was very little else to look at. Kyle saw the village as he tried to look everywhere else. The wolves weren’t the only ones hunting for something new at the moment and as they took the body out of his arms he made his way towards the western path, away from the women.

If the Women’s Circle were going to behave like that he didn’t want them near anything he cared about. He and Tare were trying for a child and the Women’s Council around his house again with their advice and instructions were enough for him to stay childless and single – it was bad enough with the bandits and wolves; at least he understand them, which is more than he could say for the Women’s Councils. They seemed to be running shifts to harass him and from the look of these women they were prepared to take off their shifts and strangle him with them. If the bandits ever faced these women, they would run but the women never appeared when the bandits did. He made his way down to the south and the small inlet from the sea. He’d cast some nets there yesterday and with luck his pots and nets would have something in them as well.

Kyle was born to a difficult life. Kyle’s father beat him until he could fight back. When he could, he was dragged off his father by men from the village – something they didn’t do when his father was beating him.

Looking up at the blue skies he could see very little hints of wind. Ideal for rock climbing if the Rocs weren’t around and he could get at the eggs. He’d almost been here earlier until he found the body and took it back.

Now he made his way past the trees to the east and onwards up to the rocks and the inlet. Again conifers were in the way but there were gaps in the trees and his traps were tied to the trees as were his nets … if there weren’t enough fish he’d try climbing the rocks and face the Roc’s anger.

Kyle didn’t feel he wasn’t despoiling; he might be trespassing but if the eggs weren’t hatched then the Rocs weren’t producing good eggs and he was keeping the species clean but he shouldn’t have been was surprised when as he leant forward to look at his nets, a voice spoke in his head, “I am instructed to bond with you, Kyle Nonsat. I am Mona Roc and I am part of your mind. I will direct you to dead eggs but you do not touch a Roc egg without my permission. I am also bonded to Rona Matira, who you carried back. You will look after her and I will know that you do.”