WritersShowcase

By David Burrows

Wake up, said the voice.

He didn’t want to. The pain was too great. He had fallen, how far he did not know, but he was sure something was broken. His head hurt. A low moan escaped his lips as he moved his hand to his temple. His fingers traced the outline of an egg-sized lump. Pain shot through his skull, making him yelp.

He was awake, but something was not right. His eyes were open yet he couldn’t see. His breath came in short gulps

He was blind.

He moved his hand in front of his eyes but couldn’t see anything. Groaning he tried to rise. Pain instantly lanced through every limb. Bright lights danced before his vision and he felt faint and nauseous.

Lying still he tentatively moved each limb, starting with his hands. Both arms were painful and he assumed bruised. His legs were worse and his left side an agony. He was lying on something that jabbed into already sore ribs. His hands found his bow, or rather the remains of his bow. He must have broken it in the fall. Grimacing, he placed his arms under him and arose like and old man, so painful did he find it although he was sure now that no bones were broken.

In a crouch he sucked air into his lungs, wincing as he did so. His ribs were aflame. He tried to calm himself by examining his weapons. Firstly he removed the carrying harness for his bow and reluctantly set it down. It had been a fine bow that he had owned it for many years. The arrows and quiver were gone.

It struck him then. Apart from the knowledge that he had fallen he had no other memory. His past was a blank. However, that was the least of his concerns at the present. Why had he fallen and where was he? He was panicking again so he examined his other weapons, his knife and sword. He drew each in turn and felt their blades for damage. Both were sound.

Who was he?

With relief he noticed a faint glow from the corner of his eye and he turned, trying to locate its source. The light was elusive and he thought at first it was a trick of his imagination. Then it became more perceptible, like watching the coming of dawn. He wasn’t blind then, relief flooded through him although it was temporary. He was still badly shaken from the fall and his brain did not immediately register the view. He shook his head, trying to clear his befuddled, fog-filled mind then full realisation of what he was seeing hit him.

He was standing apparently on thin air and beneath his feet was a fearful drop that disappeared into the darkness below. With the shock his mind wailed out in terror and his legs suddenly buckled beneath him, refusing to bear his weight. By sheer will power alone he remained standing as his mind convinced the rest of his body that he was standing on something. He forced himself to bend down to feel beneath his feet. He felt a cold, hard surface. His mind screamed with fear, but somehow the loss of memory and absurd position he was in helped. He refused to believe what he was seeing and that ultimately saved his life as he was to realise later.

Desperately he looked around for something that might make sense of his present predicament. The simple task required considerable will-power to ignore the formidable drop beneath him.

He was within a building of sorts and circular stone walls were about twenty feet from him in every direction: so near and yet so far. His eyes followed the walls upwards and he was astonished to see that they disappeared into the darkness, above. If he had fallen that distance then, by all rights, he should be dead. He shut his eyes tightly for a moment, praying to the Kalanth. The name jogged a memory. The Kalanth were gods and somehow their name gave him strength of purpose.

Slowly he twisted around, afraid to move too far in case whatever supported him disappeared. Relief of sorts flooded through him when he saw an open narrow doorway framed in the wall behind him. A sudden urge overcame him to turn and run for the doorway and the safety that beckoned mockingly beyond.

"Be calm," he urged, hissing into the void about him. Once again he risked looking down. Instantly giddiness threatened to make him topple. He extended his reach either side of his feet and found that the invisible surface continued. He probed further. Without warning his groping hands felt an edge to the support and his heart beat wildly as he nearly slipped over the sudden drop. He laid down, a very peculiar sensation lying on apparently nothing, and reached down to see how deep the hole was. It was deeper than an arm’s length and he shuddered as he realised that if he had run to the door, as he first wanted, then he would have fallen further and he could only guess how far that was.

Sweat stood out on his brow and his hands, too, became sweaty as fear and dread threatened what little sanity remained. He felt the invisible support to his left and found a similar drop, to his right he felt a cold hard surface. Slowly, with great patience he crawled away from his goal and followed the invisible platform. To his frustration, the path took a few more turns, but eventually it headed once more towards the door.

Within a few yards of the opening an eerie shriek echoed from the shadows high above, instantly freezing his blood. He jumped at the piercing cry and froze as the echoes reverberated around him, confusing his senses. He concentrated hard on the door ahead, too afraid to look up into the tower to locate the source of the terrifying scream the distance was still too great to jump and he tried to recall the last few turns, trying to decide if there was a pattern.

His mind blanked as another, louder, scream reached him. He looked up to see a black winged shape detach itself from within the shadows and start to lazily glide down towards him.

Frantically he scrambled forward, his hands searching desperately for a path while trying to fight his vertigo. Without warning the path again disappeared under his fingers and he fell forward flat onto the surface, his arms dangling over the precipice.

The door was barely six feet beyond him when another scream, even louder than the first two, sounded, causing the hair on the nape of his neck to rise. Quickly he scrambled into a crouched position and curled his fingers around the edge for balance. With all his strength he launched himself at the doorway, trusting that its shape was real and not an illusion.

He hit solid ground with a thud, his sword rattled against stone as he landed and his momentum caused him to roll. With a jar he hit a wall a few feet from the opening where he came to a bone-wrenching stop. Behind him he heard an ominous dry flapping, like that of a great bat. Frantically he sought his dagger, which was the quickest weapon he could bring to bear.

Framed within the doorway he had just left was the creature he had heard. It was a creature born from his wildest nightmares. It hovered in mid-air, its wings frantically beating at the fragile air. Its eyes were fixed intently upon him with piercing malevolence so that his heart quailed.

He cried out, "By the Kalanth, save me!"

The creature’s forehead wrinkled as its mouth opened to emit another ear-splitting scream of rage, revealing rows of razor sharp teeth that gleamed wickedly in the half-light. He wanted to cover his ears. This close the sound was full of evil and hatred. He was too afraid to do anything but stare at the creature. Flight seemed futile as he daren’t turn away from it for an instant less it attack.

For several heartbeats it hung there, a great bat-like creature whose dark skin partially obscured it in the difficult light. Finally, its razor-sharp claws sliced through the air as though in frustration and then suddenly, with a flurry of wings, it turned to disappear into the darkness that welcomed it like a long lost friend. A final scream of frustration followed and echoed into the distant recesses of the tower.

His heart hammered in his chest. He sat with his back to the wall with his knife held protectively before him like an icon. His mind kept refusing to accept what he had seen, and yet his mere presence within the alien environment served to confirm his fears.

The doorway through which he had just left opened into a dark, dank tunnel that led away into the distance to his left. Scrambling quickly to his feet and keeping his back to the wall he backed away from the door and the malevolent creature beyond. Why it hadn’t followed him he did not know, but he was grateful that it seemed unable or unwilling to cross the threshold. Half-stumbling, half-running he fled from the nightmare, glancing back at regular intervals and expecting to see the dreaded creature following.

He felt far from alone in the tunnel, as though hundreds of ghostly eyes were mocking him. He started to wonder where the tunnel led: of one thing he was certain though, he dare not go back.

The tunnel soon became quite spacious, it was wide enough for two people to walk abreast and much taller than himself. It was made from stone and beautifully crafted with polished surfaces and joints so fine that he doubted he could get a hair between the blocks. Ahead the tunnel turned abruptly and it was with relief that he lost sight of the doorway behind. Gradually however the light about him dimmed, but he could still see in the half-light.

A few more turns soon meant that he had lost all sense of direction; not that it would have helped him anyway, and the further he went the colder and damper the air became. He sheathed his dagger, realising at last the futility of such a puny weapon, and drew his sword. Doggedly he continued his slow progress through the dark corridor, occasionally glancing warily over his shoulder as he went.

After a while he sat down on the stone for a rest. His fears at once assailed him. Upper most in his mind was the blank that was his past. Who was he and why couldn’t he remember. He glanced back lest the creature be silently following him but the tunnel was mockingly empty. He felt again the lump on his temple, wondering whether the damage was enough to cause hallucinations. Nothing seemed real. Again he felt eyes watching him and he shuffled swiftly in a complete circle. He couldn’t see anything threatening but continued to feel as if something was.

He wanted his memory back. That would comfort him at least. Was this hell? Was he dead?

A sob escaped his lips and he rose in haste to his feet, almost stumbling as pain lanced through his legs and ribs. His vision swam and for a moment he was forced to remain motionless until the feeling of weakness and pain passed.

For some time he continued with no change in his surroundings. Then abruptly, somewhere ahead, he became aware of a faint glow and he paused for a moment, uncertain as to what it meant. It was not the sort of glow he would have expected from a window, this light was too blue. The sight triggered a memory of an ancient legend: flames were supposed to burn blue in the presence of a demon. Jumbled thoughts tumbled through his mind, but he had no choice but to continue and face his fear. There was no point going back the way he had come. Silently he cursed. His options were too few and he felt as though he was being manipulated towards some terrifying ordeal. Cautiously he made his way towards the mysterious light, holding his blade before him like a talisman.

The blue light increased in intensity and faintly he heard an ominous rushing noise which grew louder the further he went. All at once the reason for the light became evident: blue flames completely blocked the tunnel, leaping apparently from the tunnel floor to disappear into the ceiling above. At this distance there was no heat, but the roar from the flames assured him that the fire was burning intensely. His heart sank, he couldn't go back and the way forward was blocked!

He sat down wearily on the cold floor and stared forlornly into the flames as if seeking an answer to his dilemma there. He again considered going back, but dismissed the idea. The creature had been terrifying and there had been no other way out from the room with no floor. He was trapped then, he realised with growing despair. He felt a growing anger at the futility of the situation.

Then he realised that the stone floor was cold and that, combined with the fact that the flames seemed to pass through solid stone, was suddenly too bizarre to accept. He frowned and tentatively probed the stone floor ahead of him, finding that it, too, was cold even though he was quite close to the fire. Uncertainly he arose and walked towards the fierce flames with his hand outstretched. His frown deepened as he realised there was no heat.

He had no choice, it was neither bravery or courage which forced him on, but a deep desire to survive. He walked right up to the very edge of the flames and briefly thrust his arm into them.

Nothing.

No heat. No burns.

More slowly he pushed his hand into the flames and for several seconds kept it there. He registered a blast of air that tickled his palm and in awe he turned his hand over, marvelling that there was no heat. With a brief backward glance he stepped into the deep rich blue blaze.

Immediately he felt a rush of air, which almost threatened to lift him from his feet. Ignoring this as best he could he continued forward a few steps. His skin felt alive and vibrant as if the flames were purging his body, all aches and pains from his recent fall seemed to vanish, as did his recent doubts. His ribs felt mended and the bruises gone. He felt his temple and the lump, too, was gone.

With growing confidence he walked further into the embrace of the flames; his ears ringing with the rush of air. He breathed in deeply; his lungs tingled and felt intoxicated by a rush of well being. In awe he lifted his arm in front of him looking carefully at his hand and the unblemished skin. He shouted out loud in glee, but the roar of air swallowed his voice.

On he walked and the flames continued, causing a faint nagging doubt. The situation was confusing his senses so that he was no longer sure if he was walking in a straight line. For all he knew he could now be within a large room rather than the narrow corridor.

Suddenly from the corner of his eye he saw a brief flicker of orange amongst the blue. His fear mushroomed and he started to run through the roaring flames with his hands and sword held forward like a blind man. Suddenly he imagined heat and his body responded. He felt his skin smouldering. He was burning. His sword was almost too hot to hold. He tried to cover his head with his arms as more and more of the blue flame turned orange.

Then, without warning, he was in a corridor, free of the surrounding flames. He yelped aloud in agony and ran forward while frantically tearing at his jerkin in an effort to remove the garment. He tossed his sword ahead as he struggled with his jerkin that smouldered against his flesh.

Tugging it off he threw it after his sword and he kicked these ahead as he continued to run, shielding his head with his arms. When the heat was more bearable he slowed to a walk and turned to look back down the corridor. It was completely blocked by fierce orange flame. The heat, even at this distance, was intense. He couldn't believe he had just come from that raging inferno; there was definitely no way back now he mused as he bent to retrieve his still smouldering jacket and sword which was still uncomfortable to the touch.

He had succeeded in closing two doors back the way he had come and was irrevocably committed to continue along the frightful passage. He shook his head as despair washed over him. Wearily he turned his back on the raging holocaust to continue his reluctant journey, occasionally glancing back as he walked along a straight narrow corridor until finally only a faint white speck remained in the distance.

Why was he here, he wondered? He had considered this to be hell but if it wasn’t then where was he? Where he was made no sense, it seemed to be one contradicting event after another. It started to matter to him why he was here though. What had caused him to be in this terrible predicament?

He realised that he was in complete darkness. His musings had distracted him. Panic-stricken he turned around and to his relief he could just see the tunnel behind. To his front though was impenetrable darkness. He had to go on. There was no way back. Feeling the stone floor ahead with his foot before trusting his weight to it. The darkness was terrifying, the worst ordeal by far, and he held his sword out protectively in front of him, using the blade to feel his way ahead.

Without warning his blade struck something hard with a thud in front of him. He was immediately fearful that the way was blocked and he quickly groped in the darkness to see what impeded his path. His fingers traced the outline of a wooden door and he located a handle

With resolve he turned the handle and cautiously opened the door that swung easily inwards, revealing a soft pale luminance. A vast cavern stretched before him across a giant lake. Immediately to his front was a small sandy beach and at the edge of that water lapped ominously; it looked cold and deep.

He was getting nowhere he realised; all too often the way forward was blocked. Miserably he sat down on the sand and looked at the distant darkness across the water. Again he wondered if this was hell. He shook his head trying to dispel such a gloomy thought. He looked for a way around the lake, but could see none. The cavern ceiling disappeared somewhere overhead, lost in the shadows, while the dank-looking walls of the cave arose steeply either side of the beach.

He gripped the hilt of his sword more tightly. The pain was reassuring for at least that was real. Other than swimming there was no way forward. Should he return? He remembered the fire and knew that he could not possibly return that way. He still felt better though than after his fall. He checked his arms and legs but all the bruising seemed to have gone. It couldn’t be hell if something good could happen. The thought buoyed him somewhat.

His resolve to continue and find a way out of this maze became stronger. He removed his boots, jacket and sword and scabbard and made a bundle of these. He could use the bundle as a float to help swim across the lake. Determined to continue now he stepped into the icy water that caused a sharp intake of breath.

He waded forward a few feet and the water rose to his chest. After the heat of the flames the cold was welcome. However it was with some reluctance that he slid deeper into the brisk water and he was soon swimming. Kicking hard to dispel the cold.

A moment of exuberance and defiance caused him to yell out without thinking. His voice echoed across the still water. The sound terrified him. What madness had caused him to yell out so? What creature might he wake up in the cold depths of the lake?

A faint splash from somewhere in the distance caused him to start. He was unsure even if he had heard it, but the thought was enough. He felt very vulnerable floating in the vast subterranean lake which judging by the cold could well be very deep. The gods alone knew what creatures lurked in its depths. His legs started to tingle with the thought and foolishly he tried to swim higher, trying to keep as much of his body out of the water as possible while peering into the murky water. His bundle of clothes, wrapped by his leather jerkin did remain water tight so floated, albeit marginally. However, holding the bundle in front of him was weary work and his legs were growing leaden.

Swimming became impossible and he realised that he could not continue this way. He tried to relax and swam more strongly. To his relief he saw a faint smudge in the distance which looked like the distant wall of the cavern. His heart was racing as he increased the urgency of his stroke, willing himself out of the water and praying that this was the way out of this hellish nightmare. He saw a small beach in front of the cavern wall that rose steeply from the cold water; the beach looked very similar to the one he had just left and his heart sank, but at least he would be out of the water.

So convinced was he that this was the same beach that he put his feet down, thinking that he should be able to stand. The water swiftly closed over his head as he disappeared beneath its dark surface. Frantically he fought his way back to the surface, coughing up water. He continued swimming and all too slowly the beach came closer. He risked putting his feet down again and he felt soft sand beneath him. Rising from the water he stumbled onto solid land.

For several minutes he sat trembling looking back at the still waters he had just crossed, hardly believing the time it had taken. The beach was different to the one he had set off from: this one was wider and there were more rocks. He felt more comfortable knowing that he had indeed crossed the lake, but would it prove to be the right decision?

A faint sound came from somewhere across the lake and for a second his heart stopped. He held his breath so that he could hear any faint noise and in the distance he heard a plop again, this time it had been unmistakable and he watched the flat surface just in front of him. Suddenly a swirl of water a few feet from the shore caused him to jump in alarm, a shiny black shape broke the surface and glided along for a few yards before finally disappearing once more into the depths. He kept his gaze fixed on that point as he scrambled away from the water's edge.

What manner of creature it was, or its size, he couldn't be sure, but just the thought was sufficient to cause him panic. The waves lapping onto the beach assured him that whatever he had witnessed was real and he continued staring out into the lake for several minutes with cold water running from his wet hair into his eyes.

The thought that this might be hell came back unbidden to his mind once more and he shuddered involuntarily.

A Most Strange Meeting

Orlastor.

It was a name he realised. Was it his name? He thought so but wasn’t sure. Somehow it felt wrong, unfamiliar. Was it someone he knew then? Two names he knew then. Kalanth and Orlastor. The fog that was his past remained just that. It frustrated him not knowing who he was or more importantly where he was. If he could make sense of that he would feel better, he thought.

"I am Orlastor," he said softly. Naming himself felt good. He felt that he belonged to a real world at least. He knew though that he had to go on. He had to escape this place, wherever he was.

Rousing himself from his stupor he turned from the small beach. Immediately behind him a dark opening beckoned within the rock wall, pausing before the tunnel entrance he unwrapped his clothing and with considerable difficulty put his wet boots on. Next he strapped his sword about his waist before slinging his jerkin over his shoulder. He entered the tunnel and hope came flooding back; this passageway at least sloped gently upwards.

Perceptibly the incline gradually increased and in response he quickened his pace. However, after a while he started to find it difficult to grip, his calves were soon aching with the strain. The slope continued upward until all at once he felt himself sliding back and he had to grab the wall for support, painfully grazing his fingers on the rough surface as he steadied himself.

Somehow the slope had become severe both in front and behind him. He doubted that he could go on and yet it did not make sense that the slope behind could be so steep. Angrily he removed his dagger from its scabbard and put the point into the ground to try to get a better grip. Slowly he tried to climb the slope, but it genuinely seemed to be getting worse.

For the moment at least, he had a purchase on the slab floor but he dare not move far. He had to try to reason out the situation, was the tower somehow feeding on his fears? He remembered the flying creature from the first room and realised he had been in a similarly difficult situation when it had appeared. He had to do something. He wedged himself tightly into the corner between the wall and floor and gripping the stone as best as he could with his left hand he started to scrape out the mortar between two of the stone blocks immediately in front of him.

It was a desperate act more out of defiance than anything else, but as he dug the mortar fell away easily until he had cleared most of it from around one of the slabs. He had contemplated making handholds to help him climb from this hell-hole, but as he dug he realised he might be able to remove one of the slabs and gain access to whatever lay beyond. He suddenly became hopeful.

He jumped and nearly slipped as a fearful and eerie groan floated up the tunnel. Looking down he saw what looked like a man coming towards him up the slope as if it was no more than a gentle incline. He renewed his efforts to free the block, but could not get a purchase with his fingers. He pushed the tip of his dagger into the gap between the stones to try to lever the stone out, but to his frustration it stuck fast.

The man-like creature was coming nearer, its clothing hung in tatters from its misshapen body and burns and sores were clearly visible on the exposed flesh. The creature, for he could not bring himself to think that this was a man, carried a sword which, either due to a trick of the light or sorcery, seemed to glow eerily, faintly illuminating the tunnel walls about it.

Once more fear drove him on as he renewed his efforts to free his dagger and remove the stone block. To his chagrin, the blade snapped suddenly with a loud and sickening click causing him to very nearly lose his grip. Rather than try to pull the stone out he pushed hard against it; to his surprise it slid effortlessly inwards.

By now the macabre beast was almost on him. Deliberately it raised its sword. It was too late to draw his own weapon and fighting on this slope would have been impossible anyway. With all his strength he pulled on the stone on the right hand side of the small opening. Suddenly it came away from the wall as with a crash it fell into the tunnel. With a heave he gave it a shove on to the slope where it swiftly gathered speed.

The stone block hit the creature's shins with a dull meaty thud. Its eyes widened in alarm as it toppled forward; dropping its sword that clattered noisily onto the ground as it fell. The creature, block and sword gathered speed as they slid down the slope where they were swiftly swallowed by the stygian gloom below. Orlastor closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief.

Recovering swiftly from his recent shock he looked into the hole he had just made. It was barely large enough for him to enter and inside he could see a room beyond. It looked like an armoury and an assortment of weapons was stacked in disorganised piles. A large dais dominated the centre of the room. In the far corner a slither of diffuse daylight filtering through a partially opened door: the light lifted his flagging spirits.

With some difficulty he crawled through the opening, catching his scabbard on the rough edges as he went. When finally he was in the room he shivered miserably. He was still wet from his experience in the lake. His attention was drawn to the dais and cautiously he strode towards it. A sword and an ornate jewel encrusted scabbard had been reverently laid there. The sword was unlike any other weapon he had ever seen before and the others within the room paled into insignificance by comparison.

The handle was bound with leather and was narrow at the hilt and flared gently towards the pommel that was weighted with an adjustable semicircle of steel inset with a clear pale blue gem. The ends of the cross-guard flared out to protect the owner's hand. The blade was of a dull jet black which seemed to trap what little light there was. He peered deeply into the cold hard metal in wonder.

He was compelled to look closer at the magnificent blade. As he drew nearer to the weapon he became aware of fine gossamer runes that were inlaid into the sable metal and which shone dimly against the black background. It was an exquisite piece of workmanship and he was very tempted to take it, but after the past few events he was cautious. His concentration was fully on the marvellous sword when he suddenly heard a voice behind him, which caused him to jump with fright.

"Do not touch it!" the voice warned.

It was pure instinct that made him grab the sword and spin around with the point of the weapon raised against whatever new devilry the tower had conjured. A figure stood unmoving within the shadows like a statue carved from granite, but he could see by the eyes that it was a living being. Why had he not noticed it earlier? He frowned at his apparent lack of observation. The figure detached itself from the shadows and came slowly towards him.

An old man leant heavily upon a long wooden staff as if he was bearing the world's woes on his frail shoulders. The old man’s eyes seemed to be focused on a point above Orlastor’s shoulder as he approached so that he had to refrain from turning to look just in case there was something there. Keeping a wary eye on the old man he levelled the dark sword at the newcomer's chest. The old man walked methodically and his staff swept the ground before his feet. The old man was blind.

"Too late, I suppose," the blind man admonished gesturing toward the blade. A disarming smile creased his face and Orlastor felt somewhat comforted. He lowered the blade fractionally.

"Then again maybe you are right to take the weapon," he continued matter of factly. "It is an Eldric blade, you know, and it served its previous master well." He seemed to be unafraid of Orlastor who was uncertain whether the blind man was addressing him or not. With the mention of the sword, however, his attention returned to the blade. The balance was perfect and yet it felt odd in some way; it was almost as it was alive and he recalled how quickly it had seemed to come to his hand. Momentarily he considered dropping it, but instead he gripped the leather hilt more firmly.

As he looked back at the old man he saw that his attention was fully upon him now and he was momentarily stunned by the intensity of his gaze. "Lower the sword," the old man said. "As you can see, I am unarmed.'

Orlastor kept the weapon raised and took a step backwards. "If there is one thing I have learnt within this evil place it is not to trust what I see." he stated bluntly.

The other man smiled and continued to look intently at Orlastor. "You are a sensible fellow to be afraid of the tower. However, I mean you no harm. Now put down your sword so that we may talk more freely.'

Orlastor lowered the weapon, but kept a wary eye on the small man who sighed at his apparent mistrust and turned away from him and slowly started to pace the cluttered room as if searching for something amongst the weapons. He tapped his staff in front of him to feel his way. He stopped before one of the large cluttered mounds.

"Where am I?" Orlastor asked. He had a hundred other questions but this one was paramount.

"An Eldric city called Tanel," the old man returned.

"Eldric?"

"Have they been forgotten already?" the old man answered.

"No. I’m not sure. My memory has gone and I cannot recall anything apart from being in this hell-hole," Orlastor said.

"Really. But then I should have known that. To answer your question, the Eldric were a race of people from across the sea. They came here and built many fine cities. An example of course is this…," he gestured with his hands. "Tanel."

"Fine city? This is a hell-hole. I have been assaulted at every turn."

"You are in but one tower within Tanel. Believe me, the city beyond, in its day, was the finest in the land. It is deserted now, but you will find that out, no doubt"

The old man walked away from Kaplyn and his stick pocked at an untidy pile of weapons. Axes, Orlastor realised, looking closer. "The dwarves would be interested in these," the old man said. "Although what they truly seek is not here," he said softly sighing while pausing to lean wearily once more upon his staff. "I feel sorry for the dwarves, very sorry." The old man said sadly, shaking his head. "Already their ordeal has begun and I fear that they will suffer greatly in the coming years."

"Who are you?" Orlastor asked in an awed whisper.

The old man turned to face Orlastor and smiled absently. "Ah, I was forgetting. Old men tend to ramble, or so I am told. Now where were we?" He paused, lost in thought. Orlastor was about to ask again when the old man brightened.

"That's right. We cannot have this." Before Orlastor could react the old man leant forward and his fingers gently brushed his forehead. The sudden move and the old man’s speed surprised Orlastor. He jumped back, raising his sword protectively between them.

"It's all right," the old man assured Orlastor. His eyes were sympathetic and his tone suggested that he should be trusted. Orlastor felt ashamed. What harm could he do? Once more he lowered the weapon.

'You carried the mark of a demon upon you," the old man said, wiping his hand on his robes as though they were contaminated.

"Demon! That is impossible," Orlastor stuttered, the old man was not making any sense.

"Oh be assured, demons exist." The old man replied.

Orlastor decided to ask a question of his own. "Do you live here?"

The old man looked about the armoury with the faint trace of a smile on his lips and he slowly paced about the disordered room. "No. Only ghosts inhabit Tanel and now no one dares to live here. Once, long ago, many lived here. Then it was thriving but the Krell Wars put an end to that. Perhaps you should find the Eldric and the city will awaken to the sounds of happy voices once more."

The old man stopped his pacing and looked up at Orlastor expectantly, but Orlastor was at a loss for words. The old man studied the younger man for several moments. "It seems only fair to remind you of why you are here. You are in search of a pendant," he said as though he had come to a decision. "You will know it when you find it. Continue on your quest through this tower and you will be assured of finding it. Do not fail though, for the tower is unforgiving and you may end up becoming part of what you see.'"

"What am I seeing?" Orlastor asked glancing around the room, "Is this place real?"

"Yes it is real," the blind man replied seriously. "It exists in another plane to your own world. Long ago, the Eldric in their wisdom decided to hide their cities and all their works for they could not bring themselves to destroy that which love had built."

"Where are the Eldric now?" Orlastor asked.

"Gone," the old man replied simply. His voice carried an incredible note of sadness and when Orlastor looked up he was no longer there. Orlastor was shocked and he searched the room in confusion, but he was alone.

He went to the door to see if the old man had gone that way, but the room beyond was empty apart from several pieces of furniture, which were coated thickly in centuries of dust. This room was much larger than the armoury and was the first room to show signs of inhabitation; old ornate tapestries hung at odd angles upon the walls and high above, set deep in the thick walls, narrow windows allowed warm spring sunlight to stream into the room.

Briefly he considered the windows as a means of escape, but he suddenly felt more resolved to finish the quest. He decided to re-enter the armoury and explore the stacked weapons thinking that perhaps the pendant was amongst them.

Most of the weapons were showing signs of rust that somehow made the Eldric seem less god-like. He paused by the axes and for some reason took one. It seemed right to do so, but he couldn’t think why. He selected a large double-bladed weapon with a smooth ebony shaft. Fine Eldric lettering was carved along the handle’s length, but Orlastor could not understand what it said, having never learnt to read Eldric.

Using twine from one of the many bows inside the room he secured the weapon about his shoulders so that he could move more freely. He decided to keep one of the bows to replace his own. The twine was old and brittle, but perhaps he could replace it later. It was unlike any bow he had ever seen before, but it suited his needs. He also took the scabbard from the dais, having decided to keep the Eldric sword. He kept the weapon drawn as a precaution and tucked the scabbard into his belt.

He searched about the room for arrows and found several full quivers buried beneath a pile of rotting tapestries. He pulled back the ancient material, coughing as he disturbed the dust that had settled on them over the long years. Selecting one quiver, containing about thirty brightly decorated arrows, he slung them across his shoulder alongside the heavy axe before allowing the tapestries to fall back into place. For a while longer he continued to search the room, but there was no sign of a pendant and so he decided to look in the next room.

Looking for the pendant seemed to have become an obsession. It was like a dream and he felt that if he could find it then the journey through the tower would end. He didn’t question why he looked for it, or why the old man had told him to seek it.

The adjacent room, apart from the door behind him, had no other exit. He searched the furniture, brushing aside the cobwebs and carefully opening the thin drawers, but found nothing. Not really knowing where else to look he slowly made another tour of the room.

Cautiously he lifted the edge of one of the tapestries on the wall with the blade of his sword. The tapestry depicted a scene of dragons in flight over a large grassy slope dotted with small stubby trees. The cloth was very ancient and fragile and it fell from the wall as he lifted it creating a great cloud of dust as it disintegrated. He was forced to step back, choking and brushing the dust from his eyes as he waited for the air to clear. A door stood behind the tapestry and remembering the previous traps he carefully checked around the frame before trying the handle.

The hinges complained as the door opened. The adjoining room was a similar size to the one that he was in but the outer wall curved gradually in on itself so that he knew he was indeed within the circular tower once more. A partially open door was at the other end of the room. This room had probably been a dining room. A large wooden table filled the room and twelve ornate high backed chairs stood silently around it.

There was little to search in this room and so he went over to the door, tightly gripping his new sword and holding the dark blade protectively before him. This room was much brighter. There was a window at last and sunlight streamed through it making dust motes visible as they floated in the air. The window was too high to escape from, but the sight of daylight raised his spirits. He noticed also in the light of day that the silver runes along the sword glowed with a faint blue sheen.

This room was smaller than the dining room and had probably been where the guests retired to after the meal. A fine display of antique weapons was mounted upon the walls and more tapestries adorned the walls. An exquisite chandelier hung from the ceiling and beneath this was ornately carved wooden furniture. Again a coating of dust covered the furniture, however, Orlastor noted with some foreboding that the dust on the floor had recently been disturbed.

He then noticed a golden object on one of the desks in the centre of the room. With mounting hope he crossed the room to look more closely. It was a pendant. Sweeping it up he examined the small round talisman and the markings upon both sides. On one side was a map and on the other fine writing which he assumed to be Eldric. He could not decipher either the writing or the map, although the latter prompted another memory. Allund. He was in Allund. More importantly he was from Allund. The new information pleased him greatly. It gave him ownership of where he was from and a sense of belonging.

Not wanting to delay any longer he looped the pendant about his neck and tucked it into his shirt before turning to leave.

Through the next door he had a shock. Sitting upon a window at about head height was a man. He was on the point of lowering himself to the floor inside the room, but what was bizarre was that there was a hole in the floor just below the window. Why the man was about to lower himself at that spot was ludicrous.

"Stop!" Orlastor cried urgently.

The other man jumped nearly out of his skin. He looked up and a broad grin lit up his face.

"Stop!" Orlastor repeated more urgently, "Do not move. Stay where you are!" he warned, quickly crossing the distance to the big man. The other man looked back uncertainly, but clambered back so that he was sitting on the sill with his legs dangling into the room. He was clearly puzzled by Orlastor's shouted warning, and Orlastor looked concerned as he came towards him, stopping several yards short of the wall which added to Lars’ confusion.

"Where have you been?" the big man asked, relieved to see Orlastor once more. "You have been ages. I thought that you were lost."

"You know me?" he asked.

"Of course I do," the other man replied.

"Thank the Kalanth," Orlastor said. "Let’s leave this place. I have a terrible urge to be out of the city before sunset." However, at that moment his attention was fixed upon the hole beneath the window and the unfathomable darkness within.

"What are you staring at?" the other man asked.

"The hole in the floor."

"What hole?"

Orlastor was shaken. "You mean you do not see it?"

The other man shook his head. Orlastor then realised that the sight of the other man hadn’t triggered any memories. "Who am I?" he asked.

"Kaplyn, of course," came the reply.

"I have amnesia," Orlastor said. "I am Kaplyn, then?" The other man nodded. Again no further memories came, but the name suited him. He felt right. "Then who is Orlastor?" He wondered, more to himself.

He looked back at he hole in the floor. Picking up a chair he threw it into the hole. The other man nearly fell off the window when he saw the chair vanish as though by magic as it apparently seemed to go through a solid floor.

"Did I come in through that window,?" Kaplyn asked. The other man nodded.

"Then I did fall," he said, but again no further memories came. "Come, let’s get out of this evil place," he urged. Skirting the hole he pulled himself onto the window ledge. Without waiting he jumped down onto a cobbled street and marvelled at the feel of sunlight on his face. There was a loud thud and the other man landed besides him.

He was a big man. Broad chested and wearing a long blond beard, streaked with ginger. Kaplyn removed the axe he was carrying and gave it to the other man. "This is for you," he said. It seemed right, but he didn’t know why.

The other man took the weapon and his eyes shone as he examined it. "Did you find the pendant?"

Kaplyn nodded.

"What on earth took you so long. I was frantic with worry. I had to go back to get a rope from the city wall we climbed. It’s really spooky walking through the city. I felt as though eyes were watching me."

"You should worry. You should hear what happened to me, and what would have happened to you if you had jumped down that hole in the floor."

Kaplyn looked around. They were in a magnificent city. The buildings were stone-built and tall. With the tower at his back, streets radiated away from him in every direction. "How do we get out of here?"

"This way," the other man said and he started walking along one of the streets.

"Who are you, by the way?" Kaplyn asked.

"Lars," came the reply. "You really don’t remember me, or Vastra?"

"Vastra? Where is he?"

"He awaits our return at our camp site. He paid us to get the pendant."

Kaplyn shook his head. Nothing was making sense. He asked many more questions as they made their way back. They climbed stairs leading to the battlement on the city walls and to his horror they would have to climb down ropes to leave the city.

"Are we thieves?" he asked of Lars.

"No. Well not really. Vastra summoned the city. When we arrived it was nothing more than ruins. He is a wizard or some such. I wouldn’t have believed it until we saw it happen."

By now the sun was setting and the horizon was a mixture of fiery oranges and reds. Kaplyn removed his leather jacket and wrapped the Eldric sword and scabbard inside. For some reason he didn’t want Vastra to know that he had the weapon. He briefly explained his actions to Lars.

Kaplyn took a moment to look at the view both before and behind him. Beyond the city was countryside. Low gentle hills stretched before them as far as he could see. Inside the city the streets radiated like spokes of a wheel back towards the tower. It didn’t look dark or dangerous from their vantage point, but Kaplyn knew now its dark secrets.

Finally he grasped hold of a rope and started to climb down. They had to climb down to an outer wall before climbing down from that. Shortly they were outside the city walls and were walking towards some horses and a lone figure sitting on the ground someway into the distance. They were surprisingly motionless. Lars stopped and before him a large circle of air seemed to shimmer. The campsite beyond almost looked like they were looking through a telescope.

"We have to pass through this barrier," Lars said.

"Barrier?"

"You’ll see. It is like walking through treacle. You have to push hard to get through, but we managed once so must be able to do so again."

Lars was right and as soon as he stepped in to the circle he felt as though his limbs were turned to stone. Panic set in immediately and he struggled hard. Suddenly he was through and abruptly Lars was by his side.

Together they walked towards the camp. Kaplyn realised then that all around him were the sounds of life. Birds were singing and insects droning. In the barrier everything had been silent. He shivered and glanced back at the Eldric city.

Before they arrived at the camp the figure sitting there sprang up. He was a young, stern looking man dressed in dark sombre clothing.

"That’s Vastra," Lars said. "I don’t trust him," he added in a whisper.

Excitement was reflected in Vastra’s eyes as he came towards them.

"The pendant do you have it?" he asked, approaching the pair.

Kaplyn nodded, smiling at Vastra whose elation clearly showed.

"Give it to me!" he demanded, extending a thin arm urgently towards Kaplyn. His fingers were shaking with excitement.

At that moment Kaplyn was not sure that he was willing to give the pendant up; he had been through too much.

Vastra’s smile vanished in an instant and his eyes suddenly reflected anger. "Give the pendant to me!" he repeated icily, taking a menacing step forward.

Vastra’s attitude made Kaplyn even more reluctant to hand it over. By his side Lars looked anxiously at his friend.

Vastra looked at the two men and then his mood seemed to lighten. "Of course, your gold!" he reached into his robes and removed the heavy purse. "Two gold pieces each, as I promised, and of course the silver calder," he continued, untying it and fishing out four gold coins and several silver pieces. He looked up hopefully, but Kaplyn remained where he was and made no attempt to give up the pendant.

"I'll double it," Vastra continued. "It is more than a fair price.'

Kaplyn reached inside his shirt and brought out the pendant, but he did not offer it to Vastra and instead fingered it uncertainly. "We could have died in there!" Kaplyn accused.

In the orange glow of the firelight Vastra's look was one of thunder. "You agreed!" he hissed in exasperation. "Look!" He tipped the contents of the small bag onto the grassy sward for the pair to see. Bright gold coins bounced on the soft grass before coming to rest. "Here is the gold; now give me the pendant.'

Kaplyn defiantly shook his head with his eyes fixed intently on Vastra.

"It is worthless to you," Vastra said in disbelief. "What is wrong with you?"

"He has amnesia," Lars said.

Vastra snorted. "What?"

"I can’t remember anything, apart from my time in the tower," Kaplyn confirmed.

This seemed to amuse Vastra. "Come, sit by the fire. Tell us about the tower."

Vastra had some food prepared, a stew that had been simmering in a pot over an open fire. They shared this out and ate. As they did so Kaplyn recounted his tale. He omitted telling them about the Eldric sword and the old man.

When he finished his tale the other two men were clearly impressed and Vastra asked him to embellish on some aspects.

"What about my memory though?" Kaplyn asked.

"That will probably return in time," Vastra said.

"You know, I have had a thought," Lars interrupted.

"Don’t strain yourself," Vastra said.

Lars frowned, but continued. "Some parts of Kaplyn’s tale remind me of the prophecy you told me about, Kaplyn."

"Prophecy?" Kaplyn asked.

"You know, Thallin’s crown and all that."

Kaplyn shook his head. Lars continued, "There was a part in the prophecy about being born of air, fire and water."

By their side Vastra sucked in his breath. Kaplyn saw that he didn’t look happy.

"Your journey through the tower reminds me of that. Rather than born of air fire and water, you were certainly baptised. And with your memory loss you could argue that you were born from it?"

Kaplyn frowned. He couldn’t remember the prophecy so none of this made sense. Even Lars went quiet as though the statement was rather lame.

Vastra though seemed agitated. "Who are you?" he asked looking at Kaplyn.

"Kaplyn," he shrugged.

"No, who are you really. Are you hiding something from me?" With that Vastra grabbed Kaplyn’s wrist. A pain shot through Kaplyn and he cried out. Blackness engulfed him.