The days had shortened into autumn, and still Gryph continued his learning. One day in six he was allowed some free time, most of which he spent wandering the countryside and hunting if a target presented itself. He had become quite proficient with both crossbow and normal bows but didn’t consider either a proper weapon. He had also been working on the blayta pelt, finding a thick but soft layer under all the loose skin. It had taken many hours to get it halfway usable, and Skyrae teased him about his folly, saying he could have done ten pelts from another animal in half the time. But Gryph wouldn’t be put off. There was something about the magical creature he couldn’t describe, but it made him persist with the skin.

His training with Skyrae had advanced quite a way. Recently, she had introduced him to armour. He was surprised there were so many different types, and how each needed its own considerations when fighting. The lighter ones became his favourites, leather mostly, with mail joints and studs or plates added for extra protection. Skyrae had once produced a gleaming set of full plate armour from her extensive collection, a complete suit of metal including gloves and boots. It took quite some time to put on, was very heavy and restrictive, but gave an enormous feeling of invulnerability. But when the visor clanged shut and only a slit of light reached his eyes, Gryph almost panicked, yelling at Skyrae to get it off. They never tried that one again.

Today was a day Gryph had been looking forward to for some time. He had learned each weapon in turn, from quarterstaff to a massive two-handed long sword. Then he had tried various combinations of armour and shields, and combined the two. But today Skyrae had said he could choose his favourites, the weapons and armour that would become his own. At last, he would be a warrior, with his own fighting style, his own kit to look after, his own man.

Gryph was fairly sure of the items he was going to choose but hadn’t made up his mind one hundred per cent. This was an expression he had got from Tundy, he was quite proud of it and used it a lot.

Skyrae had opened her stores at the back of the cave, the door hidden behind a huge pelt. As it threatened rain she was bringing out a few items at a time. Gryph stood in the centre of what had become the training ring, a circle of bare ground produced by the many hours of practice. He was wearing a full suit of light leather armour, over which he wore a mail shirt to give extra protection to his chest and back. His hands were clad in similar leather gauntlets with metal strips down the outside. He wasn’t sure about the gauntlets, but the rest fitted him quite well without being heavy or restrictive. There were two matched short swords he liked but was also considering a longer sword and a dagger. Both had advantages and disadvantages. For instance, he could use a shield with the longer sword, and quickly pull a dagger if the shield broke or snagged. Of course, with the two short swords he could inflict twice the damage. A voice pulled him from his musings.

“Hello Gryph. So this is where you live.” Kayelyn stood a few paces behind the warrior, a small basket in her hands.

Gryph glanced towards the door, where Skyrae stood holding the short swords. She looked to the mage, then to Gryph. “How does she know you then, Gryph?” She demanded, in a very unwelcoming tone.

“She’s my friend. I visit sometimes.” He mumbled. After all this time he had managed to keep each a secret from the other. He knew what they’d say if they found out, were about to say.

Skyrae looked swords and daggers at Gryph. “You visit sometimes, like every afternoon? And why would that be, why would you need to visit this mage every day?”

Kayelyn stepped forward. “I shouldn’t have come, but I have some spare eggs you see, from my chickens. I thought someone might like to barter something.” She seemed nervous, yet Gryph could sense her anger and disappointment building. “I’m sorry.” She said to Skyrae. “It all makes sense now. That first day, something was worrying me. He was running, training of course. I just didn’t realise he was one of yours. Tired, I suppose, from the journey.”

Skyrae looked Gryph up and down. “Well, show me then. Show me some magic.”

Gryph began to mumble under his breath.

“No, come on, show me some of the magic you’ve learned!” She was yelling now, birds startled from the trees all around.

Gryph took a deep breath. No need to summon any emotion, there was plenty in him already. Holding out his hand he held his finger and thumb together and slowly widened the gap, letting the emotion form the energy that would spark across like lightning.

Nothing happened. He tried again, tried to steady his nerves but hold the feelings. Nothing.

“What’s the matter Gryph? Having problems? It doesn’t work you stupid boy, don’t you know, it doesn’t work.” Skyrae threw the two swords into the mud and stormed off into the house.

Gryph was aghast, his mouth dropped open and a tear formed in his eye. Kayelyn moved closer, she was visibly upset, but a little more patient. “It’s the metal Gryph, take off the metal and your magic will come back. Didn’t you know? I thought everybody knew. You can be a warrior, or you can be a mage, you can’t do both. You can see why she’s upset. All these months of training, and now you have to choose, which means one or the other loses you and has wasted their time.” As she turned away, a tear escaped her control and ran down her cheek. She left without another word or glance.

All Gryph could do was watch her leave and whisper over and over, “The coin, what about the coin?”

Sometime later, as the last of the sun’s light faded, Gryph found himself in front of Kayelyn’s cottage. The armour and weapons were all gone, although he couldn’t remember where or when. There were tears in eyes again, and his right hand was clutched around the coin on its leather thong around his neck. A light flared inside the house. Looking through the open door, Gryph saw Kayelyn sitting on one of the kitchen chairs. An oil lamp burned on the table, its orange glow shining up into the mage’s face, making her look older than her years.

“I wondered if you’d come. Does this mean you’ve chosen me and come to stay, or is this the goodbye part.” There was a catch in her voice as she spoke the last few words.

“Neither. I’ve come to ask you something, and show you something if you’ll let me?”

“Come in, sit down. You know we mages are fatally curious.” Kayelyn waved a hand in the general direction of the other chair but didn’t look Gryph in the eye as he entered and sat down.

“You know Skyrae then.” Gryph began.

“Of course, we’re neighbours, sort of. I don’t know her well. Mages often travel with warriors for mutual protection, but I’ve never worked with her.”

“Oh.” Gryph nodded.

There was a long pause whilst each got control of their emotions.

“Well?” Kayelyn said, a little sharply, “what is it you want to show me?”

Gryph realised he was still gripping the coin. He pulled his hand away. The image of the coin had impressed itself in his flesh. He studied the reversed image for a moment, and suddenly it all seemed so pointless. In a few minutes, the image would fade as his skin recovered its shape, and the picture would be gone forever. He’d based his plans on the flimsiest of coins, a sliver of silver found in a bird’s nest. An ancient and no doubt imagined image of a warrior mage.

“It doesn’t matter, I’ll go. Thanks for teaching me. I’d better leave, I’m no longer welcome at Skyrae’s so I’d best get my stuff and leave.”

Kayelyn didn’t make a move to stop him as he stood, just watched as he went towards the door, then said, “What’s that then, around your neck?”

Gryph removed the thong and handed it over to Kayelyn.

She turned it around a few times, examining the front and rear sides by the lantern light. She laughed, not unkindly. “So, this is what you thought, magic and military skills and you’d rule the world?”

“No, I don’t want to rule anyone. I just want my life back.”

Kayelyn studied Gryph for a while. Then she seemed to soften. “Sit down Gryph, it’s too dark out to go anywhere. Stay here tonight, you’ll have to sleep on the floor though. But I need to explain something.” She waited until he had sat back down and replaced the coin around his neck. Her voice was softer as she spoke, warm and caring like Marsa’s used to be. “Like I said before, it’s the metal. No one knows why, some of the greatest minds have worked on the problem and found no answer. Any mage touches metal, or even goes near it if there’s enough of it, and whoosh, no more magic.”

“What about little pieces, what about my coin, and that knife you carry?”

“Small amounts are fine, depending on the metal, but above a certain limit and no more power. Silver seems to be fine, in quite large amounts, but you can’t make weapons with silver, too soft. Gold is bad, as is iron, although strangely this new steel is better. Brass is fine too, bronze is pretty middling. We’re still talking small amounts. I saw a mage once, he was a prisoner. He was clapped in manacles and chained to a block. When it came to his turn to go before the magister they took the chains off and left him with just the iron manacles. He stood up and as the magister began to speak he zapped him right between the eyes with an enormous bolt of lightning. Of course, the soldier behind him just ran him through with his sword and that was the end of him, but it proves my point. Any large amounts of metal and a mage is powerless. Just what that limit is depends on the mage, but you can be sure your limit is far, far less than a chain mail shirt, never mind the sword, the dagger, the axe head, the gauntlets and the quiver full of arrowheads and the coins in your pocket.”

Gryph sat silently for a while. He was rubbing the coin between his fingers, obviously in deep thought. “So,” he said after a while, “What about the coin?”

Kayelyn stood and disappeared behind the curtain that divided the cottage in half. There came some odd noises, the jingle of coins, then she re-appeared.

“These are just a few I’ve collected over the years, on my travels. Not quite worthless, but no good in this realm. Here, look.” She placed several coins of various metals and sizes on the table in front of Gryph. “Look, here’s one straight off.” She tapped the coin. “A three-headed dragon. Ever see a dragon, with any amount of heads? No, heard stories, but that’s all they are. And this one. How can an animal with a neck that long eat its food? And this one, look at that nose, impossible to breathe through. And look at this one, a handsome and noble king, no doubt he’s good to his people as well. See, it’s just a picture, anyone can draw a picture. I could draw one now of me flying through the air, doesn’t make it true.

“I’m sorry Gryph, but you can’t do both, you will have to choose, one or neither, there’s no third choice.” Kayelyn reached out and gripped his shoulder, then stood and turned away to replace the coins.

When she returned he was gone.

Gryph wandered around under the light of a half-moon. His thoughts were in such turmoil he was having great difficulty keeping the lid on the jar. It threatened to burst open any moment and drown him in fear and anger. Some internal routine had led him subconsciously to the bottom of the hill on which sat the oak tree. Looking up at it he remembered the first time he had ran this far, only to fall on the steep hill. He’d had to crawl the last part, but he’d made it.

Tonight, he wandered up the hill, over to the tree and leaned his back against it, looking out over the wide meadow. So it had come to this. He could return to Skyrae and apologise, and continue his lessons. Or he could return to Kayelyn and become a mage. And be forever fearful of mages, or frightened of warriors. And that’s how it was. Fear, that was the thing. He had intended never to fear anyone again, mage or warrior, he was to be better than them all. Then he would open the jar, then he would see what crawled out, never to return.

His hand stole up to the necklace. Gingerly he touched the coin, felt its familiar shape against his chest. His anger rose, it was all a lie, a damn lie that had given him false hope, hope now cruelly dashed. Gripping it he tried to pull it from his neck, he would throw it away, as far as he could. He wanted no more to do with it, or any other Black Essence tainted metal.

He stopped, the leather strap biting unnoticed into his skin. Get rid of the metal, that was the thing. A huge wave of relief left him weak kneed and sagging against the giant bole. That was it, he could do both, just get rid of the metal!

The next morning Kayelyn was awoken far too early by a knocking on her door. The chickens, which she still kept inside at night, set up a fluttering racket enough to wake a deaf mage. She was surprised, not to see Gryph, but to see the broad grin on his face.

“I have a plan, but you need to help me convince Skyrae.”

“Do you know what time it is?” Kayelyn asked, rubbing her eyes. “Mages need their sleep you know.” She motioned him in and went behind her curtain. Gryph listened carefully until he heard the sound of boots clumping on the floor. Then he relaxed, she was getting ready to go out. Kayelyn soon emerged, dressed and booted, but to Gryph’s dismay, she sat down at the table. “Draw off a couple of tankards of water and bring that half loaf of bread over. Then sit here and whilst I have breakfast you can tell me all about the plan.”

Gryph sat down, took a deep drink of water, then told Kayelyn of his idea. When he’d finished, Kayelyn sat thinking for a while. She took two or three more mouthfuls of bread, swallowed them down and said, “Of course, it’s not me you have to convince. Yes, it sounds good to me, but I’m just the mage. You say you can do without the metal, fine. But what if there are reasons we haven’t thought of? After all, as far as I know, Skyrae has been a warrior since she was old enough to stand upright and attack somebody. You can’t expect her to make you an expert with the passing of a few moons.” She held up her hand to forestall Gryph’s next remark. “But yes, I will. I’ll go with you and discuss it, but if she thinks it can’t be done, then you have to go back to her. No arguments.”

Gryph didn’t need to think, he answered without hesitation. “It’s a deal.”

Kayelyn looked surprised at his eagerness but said nothing. She arose, opened the door to let the chickens out and gestured for Gryph to follow. The chickens were allowed loose now, as there were more of them. She had allowed each hen five chicks. The fluffy yellow bundles were growing rapidly and beginning to sprout real feathers. During his visits to Kayelyn, Gryph had made woven fencing panels and erected them all around the garden as part of his daily chores routine. So far these had kept all the ground-based predators out. The chickens were too large for the local hawks, and Kayelyn had provided little tent-like shelters for the chicks to dash into when the cockerel gave the alarm.

Kayelyn and Gryph left via the small gate, making sure it was securely fastened behind them, and set off to Skyrae’s. Barely a word was spoken on the journey, Gryph rehearsing his words, and Kayelyn seemingly deep in thought.

The distance was soon covered and Gryph found himself knocking on the door of his own home. Skyrae quickly appeared. “Oh, it’s you two. Better come in.” She didn’t wait for them but moved back through the cave and into the main room. She was standing by the fire with her back to them when they caught up with her. “Come to get your things, have you? Decided to be a great mage?” There was a bitter edge to her voice.

Before she could go too far Gryph spoke up. “No, I’ve got a plan, I can do both, I think, with your help.”

Skyrae turned. A tear ran down her face. “No, Gryph, you can’t it’s been tried. I’m sure your little mage has explained it to you.”

“No, listen, we can just do without the metal. Or most of it. I can have small amounts. Kayelyn says it will work, should work, we just have to use other things.”

Kayelyn moved beside Gryph. “I’m no expert on these things Skyrae, but it sounds possible to me.”

Skyrae wiped her face, then moved over to a chair and slumped down. She was obviously tired, maybe hadn’t slept all night. She looked straight at Gryph, took a breath and said, “So, instead of mail you wear what?”

“Leather. Like that two-piece set with leggings and top, but without the mail vest. Then a thicker leather chest and back piece.”

“And what do you fight with?”

“The bo sticks of course, and the quarterstaff. I can get away with a small dagger, and the arrowheads shouldn’t be a problem. Then leather boots and thicker gauntlets. Possibly a war hat with a few metal strips, if I can.”

“You’ve thought it through then?” Skyrae’s voice was softer now, much to Gryph’s relief.

“Yes.”

Skyrae stood and walked over to the pair. “What I want to know is why? Why is this all so important to you? Anyone else would be content to be one or the other. You must have put so much effort into all this. Working from dawn to dusk, then studying with Tundy in the evening. What the Black Essence did they do to you in that castle that’s making you do all this?”

Gryph flinched, but soon got control of himself. “I’ll tell you at Tundy’s, later. All of you. I’ll open the jar.”

“What jar?” Kayelyn and Skyrae asked simultaneously.

“I’ll tell you that as well. But for now, do you agree that it might be possible and that it’s worth a try?”

Skyrae looked at Gryph, then at Kayelyn. “Are you in on this?”

“Yes, he’s convinced me. But then the mage bit is easy. You should see what he did to my garden the first time.” Kayelyn smiled.

“Tell me something,” Skyrae said turning suddenly back to Gryph. “Why not study martial skills, then magic? A year of one, then a year of the other.”

“What good would that be, I could still only do one at a time. I can’t just shrug off my armour halfway through a battle to throw a few fireballs around.”

“True. Fine, if that’s what you want.”

Gryph smiled broadly. Then his face fell when he remembered what he had said. Tonight, not only would he open the jar, he would smash it to dust.

Later that night, when Gryph left for his usual visit to Tundy, Gryph had Skyrae and Kayelyn with him. He was already sweating, and tangles of mixed fear and anger writhed in his stomach. Tundy was waiting for him as usual in her swinging chair, and as usual, Gryph waited until she opened the gate to let him in. She didn’t show any surprise at the extra guests, instead greeted them both warmly by name. Then she led the way inside and over to a big table next to a bigger bookcase. This was his classroom, the familiarity of it helped his nerves. There was a quill sitting in a bottle of ink, a few parchments, some books for tonight’s lesson and the usual platter of food. Gryph moved over to his chair, but remained standing, and left the food untouched.

Kayelyn and Skyrae sat on a couple of chairs on the opposite side of the table to Gryph. Tundy left the room, soon returning with a jug of herbal drink and four cups.

“Gryph? You have some news, very important news I think. I hope you aren’t leaving us yet, I’d miss you, young man.” Tundy smiled fondly.

“No, not yet. Remember all the times you asked me about my past life? Well tonight I’m going to tell you, not all of it, but enough, and then you will understand my need, and then I hope you will help me with my plan.”

They all nodded but didn’t speak.

Gryph took a deep breath, then another. “I don’t know where to start.”

“What about this jar, Gryph?” Skyrae asked.

“Yes, the jar. No. First I want to say I don’t wish to be called Gryph anymore. It was Ishula who gave me the name, as I didn’t have one at the time. But I want to choose my own. Skyrae, you asked me once about Marsa.”

Skyrae nodded.

“Marsa was a cook in the castle to which I was sold by my mother. She looked after me, raised me and protected me. She was the only family I had and they killed her. They tried to make her run the laps, around the castle. She wouldn’t run, not for their entertainment. She could have, she might have been alive today. She died, ripped to pieces by the shadowhounds. They laughed, all of them, called her stupid. She died because she tried to save me.”

Gryph sat down, his knees were weakening, and tears forced their way out of his eyes. “I don’t know how, but the Underlord’s son found out, he even knew which way we’d go. He told his father and they were waiting for us. We were dragged back to the castle, she was blamed, they said she’d stolen me, and that as they’d paid money for me as a baby I belonged to them. They split us up, and the next time I saw her it was to watch her die.” He dried his eyes and steadied himself. “So, now, in her honour I want to be called Martan, which is the man’s version of Marsa, where I come from.”

There was some quiet conversation as the three women talked this over. He didn’t hear much of it, he was trying to still his heart and control his rising anger.

Now was the time. Mentally he held the jar and began to remove the lid. He didn’t trust his legs to hold him, so he stayed sitting.

He looked at the three women. Skyrae was sitting at ease, but her attention was on him. Kayelyn was less comfortable, but nonetheless attentive. Tundy was upright, rigid, as though she knew, or suspected what was to come.

It was now or never, he thought, open the lid, let the jar fall to land where it would, to scatter its contents at random.

“Do you know what a catamite is?” He began simply.

Skyrae and Kayelyn shook their heads. Tundy lifted her hand to her mouth and gasped.

“I didn’t, at the time, but now I do, thanks to Tundy’s books. It’s a version of a prostitute, a young boy, used for pleasuring men with a taste for that sort of thing. ‘Used’ being the right word. I wasn’t given any choice in the matter, I was taken to the guest room in the tower and locked in. Then the lord would bring men, important men who he needed a favour from. All I got from it was fear, self-loathing, and finally anger. But I remember them, every last one, and I’m going to kill them, face to face, tear them apart like slaughtering the animals they are.” Martan’s fist slammed against the table, fizzing with lightning.

The three women jumped, Kayelyn the most, as she knew what he was capable of. With some effort, Martan calmed himself. He didn’t have the benefit of the jar now and was forced to let the anger crush the fear.

“That’s why I need to learn to fight, to do magic, so I can face these men, face them and get my life back.”

“Do you think it will?” Kayelyn asked, “Restore your life? Do you think killing a few people will make you any better, happier?”

Martan looked at Kayelyn. Without hesitation he said. “Yes.”

“Why? Why will taking someone’s life improve yours?”

“Do you know what it’s like to be afraid?”

“Of course I do.”

“But do you know what it’s like to be afraid all the time, of everybody, every loud noise and sudden movement? Do you know what it means to hear the dreaded sound of soft shoes on a polished wooden floor, or the noise a lock makes when it’s opened? Do you know how a man says ‘I won’t hurt you’ in that quiet little voice that means that’s exactly what he’s going to do? Do you! Do you!” Tears ran hot down his red flushed face.

Tundy leaned over and patted his hand, making calming sounds. Kayelyn looked away, not able to look in his face. Only Skyrae returned his glare. “I know revenge, Gryph…Martan, I know that fire, not as hot as you of course, but I’ve been there. But afterwards, there’s only emptiness. Not a place I’d like to go again. But don’t worry, you need to know, I’ll teach you.”

Martan was touched by Skyrae’s feelings and hoped the other two would follow suit. Kayelyn and Tundy both sat quietly for a while, until Skyrae nudged Kayelyn with her elbow. “I’m sorry Martan but I don’t see how murdering a lot of people is going to help you gain peace.”

“It isn’t murder, it’s justice.” Martan hissed through gritted teeth. He was having a hard time controlling himself with Kayelyn’s attitude. This was his plan, he had thought they would all be willing to help.

“Then take your grievance to the Overlord. Get justice, not revenge.”

Martan laughed. “Go to the Overlord and complain about one of his favourite Underlords? I’m more likely to get sent back to the tower than get their kind of justice, and I’ll see myself dead before that happens!”

The room fell silent again. For some time only the sounds of breathing and the crackle of the fire could be heard.

Tundy spoke finally. “We need to talk, all things can be resolved if people will just talk with a will to agree. First, Gry.. sorry, Martan. You tell us what you plan to do, then we will each give our opinion and hope to meet at some common point, hopefully near enough to you, Martan to suit your needs. Kayelyn, Skyrae. Notice I use the word needs, for this is what they are. This is a young man’s future we talk about. Whilst we can’t let him do anything to shorten or make that future worse, I’m sure we can agree something needs to be done.”

Kayelyn and Skyrae nodded. Tundy smiled at them then at Martan. “Go on then Martan, tell us your plan.”

Martan stood now. He was full of energy, mostly provided by the fear and anger that once again warred inside him. Rocking from foot to foot, and tapping his hands with nerves, he began.

“These visitors, these men that the Underlord delivered to the guest room, I made a point to remember them. I didn’t know why at the time, but I do now. I will find them, track them down, and look each and every one in the eye. Then, when they have remembered me, and what they did, I will kill them. Slowly. I will make them afraid instead of me, and then I will fear no man ever again. Then I can live my life my way, in peace. Most of the men are just men, some are ex-soldiers or fighting men, one is a mage, one might have a mage guard, that’s why I need to learn from both of you.”

“Do you need to kill them?” Kayelyn said, “Will not making them afraid be enough? What if they drop to their knees and beg for their lives? What if they apologise and offer recompense? Will that be enough?”

“Maybe. I won’t know until it happens.”

“But it’s something to consider?”

“Yes.” Martan agreed reluctantly.

“And if I made it a condition of my continued tutoring?”

“I would have to think about it.”

“But where does he draw the line?” Skyrae interjected. “What’s enough groveling and how much is sufficient recompense?”

The argument heated somewhat then, so Tundy left, returning sometime later with more drinks, ink, quill and parchment.

Finally, Martan agreed to allow each man one chance to save his own neck, if he didn’t look contrite enough or take him seriously, then Martan would kill him. Kayelyn agreed to carry on tutoring him in magic, and Skyrae said she’d teach him a few dirty tricks. This latter said with a glint in her eye.

“So now,” Tundy said when all seemed mostly settled, “the list.” She slid the ink and paper across to Martan and handed him a fresh quill.

Martan dipped the nib and immediately began to write. He wasn’t a quick writer but he was neat, his letters formed almost exactly like Tundy’s own, mostly straight lines and square corners, who’d learned the style from her mother.

He spoke as he wrote:

Underlord Guamon. “He’s last.”

Dered Guamon. “He’s slowest.”

Selt Copel. “The royal tutor, my best customer.”

Beast Master Hellfin Zelo “He knows how to treat animals, told me so.”

His Grace. “If only his congregation knew what he liked.”

“Wait!” Kayelyn yelled. “‘His Grace’ as in the Anima Patra?”

“Yes.”

“Gryph, you must be mad, you can’t go around attacking soul chasers. For one thing, he’ll be well guarded, by proper guards willing to die, and another the people will riot, they’ll tear the town apart looking then tear you apart when they catch you.”

“Perhaps I should do him last then.”

Skyrae couldn’t help but smile, which she quickly covered when Kayelyn glared at her. Kayelyn shook her head as Martan continued, but said nothing.

“So, this is where you can help Tundy, the rest I don’t have full names for, but I hope you can help, with your vast knowledge.”

Tundy smiled modestly. “I’ll do what I can.”

“General Nedan?” Martan recalled.

“Yes, Bruth Nedan, quite a famous general in his day, retired now, lives not far from here. Wouldn’t have thought he was, well, you know.”

“He wasn’t the worst. Perhaps he should be the first, as he’s closest. Then a Skillmaster, Burking? I think he made blades. Unremarkable man, plain, liked his drink and always complained about the weather.”

“A blade smith Skillmaster, not many locally. If he was being courted by the Underlord it would have to have been someone like Tubakin, he has a cousin in the king’s retinue. Never met him but I heard he was a whiny sort. Did he wear any colours or arms?”

“Yes, crossed swords. But crossed near the tip, not half-way.”

“Yes, that sounds like him. Cochul Tubakin.”

“Another, a big man, hairy, just called him Pol. Rough hands, like a farmer. Always smelled of pine resin. Sorry, that’s all. I don’t remember any arms or colours, he mostly wore leather, the good stuff, soft, but still leather.”

“Umm, might have to come back to that one. Carry on.”

“Then there was Mason, although I did hear someone once say ‘the mason’, so I think that’s what he was, not his name. He was about my height, black hair and green eyes, spoke very quietly, like he was out of breath all…”

“Swen.” Tundy interrupted. “Family trait, famous for it. And most of them have green eyes too. And if the Underlord had him as a guest, it would be the head of the family, Tangate. Tangate Swen, mason and owner of the largest quarry in the country, so he says anyway. His father is dead and he only has daughters, five of them at the last count. So it’s got to be him.”

“Lastly the mage. Trezaphin something. Bright colours, lots of curly black hair, in love with himself, er…”

“Almoncot.” Kayelyn, Tundy and Skyrae chorused.

“If you only ever remembered one mage, and let’s hope you don’t, it would be him. The biggest show-off around, completely without morals or scruples, centre of everything when he’s around or he’ll be crying in his hands,” Kayelyn said.

“Even I’ve heard of him,“ Skyrae said, “Once, many years ago he was supposed to have saved the king’s life with some minor spell or another, and he’s been living on that ever since. Talk about someone who needs taking down a few rungs of his own ladder.”

“Even so, a talented mage, not one to be lightly faced.” Kayelyn warned sternly.

“None of these men should be underestimated. They will be guarded as well as being dangerous in their own right.” Skyrae warned. “These are very important men don’t forget, Skillmasters at least, and in tight with the Underlord. It won’t be just a matter of dancing around the countryside lopping heads off. And don’t forget we will have to escape and evade pursuit after each one.”

“Freon,” Tundy said, a large book open in her lap. “Freon Pol. He designs and makes siege engines. A very important man, a personal favourite of his majesty, so very popular. I don’t know why I didn’t recognise the name. My age I suppose. I really ought to write more things down.”

Martan added the name to the list.

“That’s it then, a complete list. Thanks Tundy, for everything. And you two.” He smiled at Kayelyn and Skyrae. “So, when do we leave?”

Next Chapter: Chapter Ten - General Bruth Nedan