The Theft of the Crown of Bodran
Or
The Band of Brothers
R.M. McLeod
Published by Red Panda Press at Smashwords 2012
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any events, persons, alive or dead is purely coincidental. The characters are fictitious products of the writer’s imagination.
Copyright R.M. McLeod 2004/2012
Cover C. Ross and J. Askew
Cover Copyright C. Ross 2012
The Charlie Braithwaite Stories
The Witches of Lewthan Mountain
The Escape of Athelwan
The Theft of the Crown of Bodran or The Band of Brothers
The Revenge of Botan (Coming soon)
Also by R. M. McLeod
The Ghosts of Badger Wood
Drop Zone
The Time Flyers
Charlie is in class, listening to a boring geography lesson when his old friend, Argetlám the wizard, suddenly appears before him. Invisible to both Charlie’s teacher and the rest of the class, the wizard quickly tells his young friend that the much coveted and prized crown of the elfin King Bodran has been stolen. He also tells him that he would like Charlie’s help in finding the thief and recovering the king’s stolen property.
Thus begins yet another adventure for our young hero. This time, as with The Witches of Lewthan Mountain, Charlie has to venture deep into the Cumbrian Darklands, a strange and dangerous dimension dominated by hostile witches, giants, goblins and other dark forces of evil. His journey takes him via the Cumbrian lake known to humans as Wastwater, but better known to the wizard as the Mere of Ffion; home to Queen Ffion, sovereign lady of the water nymphs who dwell there. Whilst at the lake, Ffion presents Charlie with a sword that has strange magical and healing properties and once owned by the young Sir Galahad of Holy Grail fame. It is from there that they cross into the awesomely dangerous dimension of the Darklands where they immediately stumble across elves and goblins fully engaged in a battle to the death and it is then that Charlie’s third, great adventure, really does begin.
The Theft of the Crown of Bodran
or
The Band of Brothers
R.M. McLeod
"This story shall the good man teach his son;
And
Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of
the world,
But we in it shall be remember'd,
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he
to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he
ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think
themselves accurs'd they were not here
And hold their manhoods
cheap while any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's
day."
King Henry V, Act. IV, Sc. III
William Shakespeare 1564-1616
1
The Crown Goes Missing
It was turning into one of those days for Charlie Braithwaite. The weather was foul, Mr Shawcross, his form teacher, was in a foul mood and all Charlie wanted to do was go home and get to grips with his new computer game. Bored almost totally out of his brain with the geography lesson, his eyes began to wander, aimlessly, around the classroom. He looked through the window but it was raining and therefore, like the rest of the day, boring. He glanced across at Harry Carpenter, his best school pal. Harry was so bored he seemed to be falling asleep; in fact, he was falling asleep. He cast a sly glance at Rachel Brampton, the brightest pupil in the form, he was certain that even she was asleep too. Then, as his eyes moved back towards the teacher, he saw something that, suddenly, mind-bogglingly and joyfully, snapped him back to full consciousness. Sat on the teacher’s desk, grinning from ear to and waving at him impishly was a very, very old, white-bearded man. Charlie rubbed his eyes thinking he was seeing things, but when he opened them again, and to his great joy, the white-bearded old man was still there. The visitor was dressed in a long, black cloak, wore a tall, battered, wide-brimmed pointed hat, which, like his cloak, was covered in golden stars, quarter moons, bolts of lightning and all manner of other strange and magical symbols.
‘Argetlám!’ shouted Charlie happily, before, too late, he realised his mistake.
The old wizard, noting Charlie’s expression of horror, merely grinned even more. ‘Don’t worry Charlie,’ he shouted, above the voice of the teacher. ‘You’re the only one who can see or hear me and no one has heard you shout my name.’
‘Thanks goodness for that,’ replied Charlie, as he watched the wizard ease himself off the desk and amble towards him. ‘Anyway, what brings you here? Not that I’m not glad to see you of course, you’ve no idea how mind-shreddingly boring old Shawcross is being today.’
‘Shawcross?’ said Argetlám, who had now sat on Charlie’s desk.
‘My teacher,’ helped Charlie, ‘he’s even duller than usual today.’
‘Ah,’ replied the wizard, nodding with understanding, ‘well, in that case, how do you fancy a little adventure?’
‘Try me,’ replied Charlie, eagerly. ‘What is it this time, goblins, witches, evil sorcerers or all three?’
‘At the moment even I don’t know,’ said Argetlám, scratching his chin, thoughtfully. ‘However, this could be your most dangerous adventure yet.’
Charlie grimaced. ‘Sounds exciting, where are we going?’
‘Probably, back into The Darklands, Charlie; into the realm of those who’ve chosen the Left-Hand Path, the way of evil.’
‘What’s the problem?’
Once again, the ancient wizard looked thoughtful. ‘In order to answer that question,’ he began, making himself more comfortable, ‘I think I’d better start at the very beginning. Many, many centuries ago, Merlin the magician presented the king of a certain tribe of elfin folk a magnificent crown, made of the finest Welsh gold. It was a work of art, forged in the ever-burning furnaces of the Light and worked to perfection in the workshops beneath the great mountains of Wales. For months, only the most skilled and trusted of craftsmen and women were allowed to work upon it. The Welsh gold was burnished to such a hue it almost outshone the brilliance of the sun and the huge, flawless, blood red rubies with which it was liberally decorated were like no others ever seen by immortal or humankind alike. Finally, it was lined with the highest quality, purple-dyed, Chinese silk and as I said earlier, when, at long last it was finished; Merlin presented it, in person, to King Bodran, the sovereign lord of the elfin tribe of Merewan.’
‘Why?’ asked Charlie. ‘I mean, what did the king do to deserve such a gift?’
Argetlám smiled, smugly. ‘King Bodran and his brave warrior elves saved the life of one of the greatest wizards Britain has ever known,’ he replied.
‘Merlin,’ said Charlie, immediately.
‘Merlin’s most successful apprentice and his deputy grand wizard,’ corrected Argetlám.
Charlie shook his head and frowned. ‘I don’t think I know him.’
‘Of course you do!’ growled the wizard, angrily, ‘It was me – of course!’
Charlie saw the look of anguish on Argetlám’s face and began to chuckle. ‘Sorry,’ he replied, ‘I should have known, but I thought that you were immortal.’
‘Not then and yes you certainly should have know who I was talking about,’ agreed Argetlám, still looking far from happy. ‘Haven’t you been listening to anything I’ve told you during our other adventures?’
‘Sorry,’ said Charlie again, ‘but, you’ve still not told me what the problem is; or how you came to be saved by the elves.’
‘I was coming to that,’ snapped the wizard, ‘please try to be more patient, Charlie. Now where was I? Ah...yes,’ he continued, holding up a finger, ‘now I remember. It was while I was on a secret mission, for no less a person than Merlin himself. I was alone and trekking my way through the Great Forest of the North when, suddenly and quite out of the blue, I was set upon by a couple of dozen of Athelwan’s ugliest and most aggressive goblins.’
‘Oh I remember Athelwan,’ said Charlie, ‘he’s the sorcerer who escaped imprisonment, the one I helped you recapture in our last adventure.’
‘The very one,’ agreed Argetlám. ‘Anyway, these goblins were nasty little brutes; all armed with short, pointed swords and cudgels. I have to admit that they took me completely by surprise and were it not for the timely intervention of King Bodran and his elves, who were out on a hunting trip, I’d undoubtedly have been a goner.’
‘So that’s why a grateful Merlin presented the king with the crown,’ observed Charlie. ‘As a sort of “thank you”, for saving his most “successful apprentice”.’
‘Correct,’ agreed the wizard. ‘It was also where I met Darawan for the first time. You see, I was badly beaten and the king instructed Darawan to attend me.’ Argetlám, remembering those far off days suddenly smiled. ‘The faithful, elfin bowman has been with me ever since.’
Charlie nodded, after two unbelievably exciting adventures with Argetlám, he too had come to know and respect the loyal elf the old wizard was obviously so fond of. ‘So, what’s happened to the king’s gift?’ he asked.
Argetlám’s expression became grave. ‘In a nutshell, the magnificent Crown of Bodran has been stolen.’
‘Stolen!’ gasped Charlie.
‘Stolen, Charlie; thieved, robbed, pinched, filched, whatever, these days, you young people call taking something that doesn’t belong to you. Yes, I’m afraid it has indeed been stolen.’
‘Who took it?’ asked Charlie.
The wizard shook his head. ‘I haven’t got a clue, nor unfortunately has King Bodran.’
‘You mean he’s absolutely no idea?’ asked Charlie.
‘None,’ confirmed Argetlám, ‘what makes it even worse is that the old king very rarely wears it these days. Normally the crown is kept in the strong room of his palace and only used on very special ceremonial occasions, such as the times when he has a VIP visiting. You know; someone very important, such as another king or queen. Apparently, the last time he can remember wearing it was over two years ago, when Mornina, the queen of all the fairies, paid him a call.’
‘Two years ago you say,’ gasped Charlie, ‘that means the trail of clues will be___’
‘Stone cold,’ cut in Argetlám, ‘so, if we’re to recover the crown we’ll have to start with a very cold trail I’m afraid and, as we near the lair of the thief, one that will be fraught with immense danger for all of us.’
‘Why’s that then?’ asked Charlie.
‘Because my young friend,’ began the wizard even more seriously than earlier. ‘Because, the Crown of Bodran is, as I indicated earlier, a very precious possession. You see, it’s quite unique and totally irreplaceable.’
‘Why?’ asked Charlie, his eyes wide with wonder.
‘Because the wearer of the crown can make himself, or herself, invisible.’
‘You mean that no one can see you when you’re wearing it?’ gasped Charlie.
‘I think that’s what being invisible means,’ replied Argetlám, before frowning at what he considered a very, very, silly and quite unnecessary question.
‘Why does Bodran wear a crown that makes him invisible when he’s entertaining visitors?’ asked Charlie. ‘It doesn’t make sense.’
‘Because, unless one uses the secret spell of invisibility, that goes with the crown, the wearer will not be invisible,’ replied the wizard. ‘In other words, it will appear just like any normal royal crown.’
‘That’s a relief,’ observed Charlie, ‘I mean, without the magic words, the thief won’t be able to make himself invisible – will he?’
‘Or herself,’ corrected Argetlám, ‘however, as far as that point is concerned, I’m afraid the thief now has the magic words, or so it would appear. Although it’s taken, he or she, over two years to find them, we now have conclusive proof the crown has, at long last, been used to make the wearer invisible.’
‘How conclusive?’
‘Very conclusive and for two good reasons; firstly, five days ago, one of my spies heard of just such a happening.’
‘Where?’ asked Charlie.
‘Quite near here, on the shores of what you know as Wastwater but which is better known to the fairies and elfin folk as – the Mere of Ffion.’
‘Who told you this?’ asked Charlie.
‘I heard it by way of a message from Ffion herself, the queen of the many water nymphs who dwell in the great depths of the lake,’ replied the wizard.
‘Water nymphs?’ said Charlie.
‘Exactly so,’ replied Argetlám, ‘nymphs are beautiful young women who, in ancient and more civilised times, your human ancestors worshipped as goddesses. Anyway, it seems that five days ago, there was a great disturbance of the mere. Huge ripples were sent streaming into the dark depths of the lake, in so doing causing great distress to the peace-loving nymphs who dwell there. Upon investigation, Ffion located the source of the disturbance to the activities of someone who was virtually invisible. Someone who was standing on the lake shore, someone, however, that Ffion could sense was dark, evil and sinister.’
‘Did she see who it was?’ asked Charlie.
‘Not properly,’ replied the wizard, ‘when she swam to the surface the thief, upon seeing her, immediately began making a run for it. All Ffion could make out was a vague blur moving quickly on the shore. Unfortunately, water nymphs cannot leave their abode, they must always remain in their watery domain and therefore pursuit of the criminal was quite out of the question.’
Charlie suddenly shivered. ‘Sounds as though the thief was testing something,’ said Charlie. ‘You know, perhaps he or she was trying to find out if the water nymphs could sense his or her presence.’
Argetlám shook his head. ‘While I think you’re right about testing something, Charlie, I rather fancy it had nothing to do with Ffion or her friends. I think that he or she had been dwelling by the shores of Wastwater for some considerable time. Hiding there amongst the rocks of the great screes while all the time trying to discover the secret words.’
‘And five days ago, he or she eventually found them,’ put in Charlie. The wizard nodded. ‘But you said that two things had happened,’ continued Charlie, ‘what was the other one?’
Twenty-four hours ago a party of elfin folk, who also dwell near Wastwater, were returning from a hunting trip when they were set upon by an invisible entity. They were all badly beaten, robbed of many of their precious possessions and left for dead.’
‘So, even if we get near the thief, we may not know it,’ observed Charlie. ‘I mean, if the thief is wearing it, we won’t be able to see him – will we?’
‘Or her,’ added the wizard, again, ‘whilst what you say is generally true, Charlie, I should still be able to sense the presence of someone nearby, even if they had put on the crown and used the magic words.’
‘How?’ asked Charlie.
‘Normally, the magical energy needed to make someone invisible is enormous and such a large amount of force, being concentrated around one person, would send ripples the size of tidal waves throughout the cosmos.’ Charlie nodded in understanding. ‘However,’ continued the wizard. ‘So cleverly made was Bodran’s crown, that the disturbance is reduced to an absolute minimum and therefore, the only way the wearer could be detected would be by him or her becoming too close to someone with years of training in the sorcerer’s art.’
‘You mean someone like yourself?’ said Charlie.
‘I do,’ replied Argetlám.
‘But I thought you said the magic crown created a huge disturbance in the Lake of Ffion,’ put in Charlie.
‘I did; you see, water magnifies any magical disturbance by as much as tenfold.’
‘So, what happens now?’ asked Charlie.
‘First thing tomorrow I go to Wastwater,’ replied the wizard, ‘to meet with my old friend Queen Ffion and to ask her some questions. Although my spy is usually very good, he sometimes misses the odd piece of crucial information; especially if he’s hungry, which by the way he always is.’
‘Can I ask who the spy was?’ asked Charlie.
‘Can’t you guess?’ asked Argetlám.
Charlie thought about the question for a moment then grinned, broadly. ‘You don’t mean Bucket,’ he said.
Argetlám also grinned. ‘Who else?’
Charlie laughed, loudly. ‘Good old Bucket,’ he replied, thinking of the ever-hungry and always moaning goblin, ‘how is he?’
‘Still moaning,’ laughed the wizard, ‘and still always hungry.’
‘It’ll be good to see him again,’ said Charlie. ‘So, what time do we start tomorrow?’
‘Four-thirty in the morning,’ said Argetlám.
‘Four-thirty!’ replied Charlie, horrified at what he had heard.
‘Correct, as it’s June the sun rises early and so must we so I’ll pick you up at home. You also need to bring some items with you. A toothbrush, some food, a couple of changes of clothes and a warm coat; at the moment I’ve no idea how long our mission will take.’
‘Four-thirty in the morning,’ repeated Charlie, grimacing at the very thought of the hour.
Argetlám sighed. ‘Well, I must be on my way now and warn Darawan and Bucket that tomorrow we begin our quest to discover who has stolen Bodran’s crown.’
‘But, Argetlám, you can’t just leave me here listening to old Shawcross rattle on about the great rivers of the world. Not now, not after you’ve got me all excited,’ complained Charlie.
The old wizard frowned. ‘But, Charlie, you know how important education is. I’m sorry, you’ll just have to grin and bear it.’ However, the expression on Charlie’s face was one of such desperate disappointment that he finally relented. At least, he half relented. ‘Very well then, what’s Mr Shawcross’s hobby?’
‘He’s a keen footballer,’ said Charlie, ‘just like me.’
‘Does he know a lot about the subject?’
‘Oh yes, when you get him talking about it he’s better than an encyclopaedia.’
Argetlám nodded, looked at the teacher, and clicked his fingers. ‘There, that should do the trick,’ he said, ‘see you tomorrow.’ Then, quick as a flash, he disappeared.
‘Braithwaite! Braithwaite!’
Startled by hearing his name called, Charlie looked at his teacher. ‘Yes Mr Shawcross?’
‘Are you with us today?’ asked the teacher.
‘Yes, sir,’ replied Charlie.
‘Then please pay attention,’ continued Mr Shawcross. ‘Now then,’ he continued, thoughtfully, as though he had completely forgotten what he had been talking about, ‘where was I? Oh yes, I remember, I was going to tell you all about the great and noble history of that most famous and glorious of football clubs – Manchester United.’
Very quietly, Charlie chuckled under his breath. ‘Thanks, Argetlám,’ he whispered to himself. ‘Thanks very, very much indeed.’
2
The Hunt Begins
Despite the quite unearthly hour, Charlie was ready for Argetlám in plenty of time. It was a good job he was for, as promised, the wizard materialised in his bedroom at precisely half-past four.
‘Are you ready?’ asked his friend.
Charlie nodded. ‘I take it that, as with our previous adventures, no matter how long we’re away no one will know I’ve gone?’ he asked.
‘Of course,’ replied the wizard, ‘no matter how long it takes to catch the thief and recover the crown we shall return at exactly the same time and date that it is now. Your parents will never have a clue you’ve even left the house. By the way, how did the lecture on Manchester United go?’
‘Great,’ replied Charlie, ‘we just couldn’t stop him; he went from the beginning right up to the present day.’
‘I once came all the way back from an international conference on wizardry, in China, just to see Georgie Best play,’ said Argetlám, thoughtfully.
‘Heck!’ exclaimed Charlie, impressed by his friend’s devotion. ‘How long did the journey take?’
‘Oh about a second or so,’ he replied, nonchalantly.
Charlie frowned. ‘Are Darawan and Bucket here?’
Argetlám nodded. ‘They’re waiting outside in Bregon’s old vintage car.’
‘Bregon’s vintage car!’ gasped Charlie. ‘Why?’
The wizard shrugged and gave him one of his impish grins. ‘Because, my friend, this morning we’re driving to Wastwater.’
‘Why?’ repeated Charlie.
‘Because it’s going to be a lovely morning and I fancy a drive, with the hood down, through the Lake District. Also, if we use too much magic to arrive in Wasdale then the thief, if he or she is still about, may sense our coming and make a run for it.’
‘Can you drive?’ asked Charlie.
‘Certainly not,’ replied Argetlám, ‘but Bregon can; he learnt while he was in the RAF.’
‘So Bregon’s definitely here?’ said Charlie, happily.
‘Of course, we couldn’t go on another adventure without him, now could we?’
‘Err, don’t you think we’ll attract too much attention?’ said Charlie. ‘You know, driving through the Lake District in an open-top car with two wizards, a goblin, an elf and a small boy. Have you considered what people might think if they see us?’
Argetlám dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. ‘Oh no, no, no my young friend, it’s far, far too early for anyone to be out and about and anyway,’ he tapped the side of his nose with a finger, knowingly, ‘I’ll make certain no one can see us, we’ll all be invisible you see.’
‘Oh,’ said Charlie, sounding far from convinced.
One minute later, after creeping downstairs, Charlie and Argetlám walked out of the front door and onto the drive of the house. As the wizard had promised, all three of his other, faithful followers, were waiting for them. Bregon, five-hundred years old, so incredibly nervous of exams he could never pass them and therefore still only an apprentice, was sitting in the driver’s seat of his beautiful, open-top, vintage Bentley. He was dressed in a very similar fashion to the old wizard himself, but instead of a beard, he sported a very old-fashioned, handlebar moustache, proudly grown when he was a Spitfire pilot with the RAF during the Battle of Britain.
‘Charlie old chum,’ he said, in a very posh voice, ‘good to see you again.’
‘And you,’ returned Charlie, wringing his outstretched hand.
Behind Bregon, grinning broadly, were seated Darawan and Bucket. Darawan was an elf, little more than seventy centimetres high, he had shoulder-length, black hair that swept back at the sides and tied in a pony tail, revealed ears with points as sharp as the heads of the numerous arrows he carried in the quiver on his back. His clothing consisted of brown, gold-buckled shoes, green tights, a hooded brown shirt, leather jacket and a bicorn hat, decorated with long, red feathers. Slung across his shoulder was a very powerful bow that Charlie knew from experience the elf could handle with the deadliest accuracy.
‘Hi, Charlie,’ said the elf, shaking Charlie’s hand, ‘have you been good?’ he asked, grinning impishly.
‘I’ve been seriously bored,’ replied Charlie, turning towards Darawan’s companion. ‘Hi, Bucket,’ he said, ruffling the goblin’s bright, red and extremely short, spiky hair. The green-eyed goblin was only a metre tall, his legs, arms and face fat and wrinkled. Bucket was wearing a yellow shirt, a pair of old fashioned baggy trousers, held up by a thick leather belt into which were stuffed a wicked looking cudgel and a short, pointed sword. Bucket, although once a servant of Nemetona, the Witch Queen of The Darklands, had joined Argetlám after meeting up with the comrades during a quest they had made into that most evil and inhospitable of places. Then they had been trying to rescue Charlie’s cousin, Joanne and recover two priceless books of spells written by Argetlám. The books had been stolen by a familiar of the witch queen and after many brushes with witches, goblins and dragons, they had eventually been successfully recovered and his cousin rescued. In recognition of Bucket’s contribution to the success of that mission the old wizard had rewarded him with companionship for life. The small, forever moaning and always hungry goblin, had been a close follower and faithful disciple of Argetlám’s ever since.
‘Hi, Charlie,’ said Bucket, looking glum, ‘have you had breakfast yet?’
‘Not yet,’ chuckled Charlie, ‘don’t tell me you’re hungry already, Bucket.’
‘Always ‘ungry I am,’ said Bucket, unhappily, ‘missed me breakfast this mornin’ after ‘avin’ ter get up so early.’
‘We’ll eat on the shores of Wastwater,’ said Argetlám, ‘as guests of Queen Ffion. Now Bregon, give the engine a try.’ Bregon nodded and pressed the starter button. Instantly, without so much as a cough or splutter, the huge engine roared into life and as Charlie, Darawan and Bucket began to clap excitedly, the apprentice wizard drove the car towards the gate.
‘Hop aboard, Charlie,’ said Argetlám, who was sat in the front passenger seat. ‘Bregon, please take us to the Lake of Ffion.’
***
They had travelled some five miles of their fifteen-mile journey without seeing so much a single soul and Charlie was beginning to think that Argetlám had been correct in suggesting that they were far too early for anyone to spot them, even if they could see them. Then, at the next village they saw, and were instantly seen by, a milkman. If any of the companions had thought they were invisible, such silly ideas were immediately put out of their minds. For, within two seconds of seeing the Bentley and its most unusual occupants, the milkman, open-mouthed in amazement, crashed his float into a hedge. Charlie was about to mention the incident to Argetlám when he noticed that someone else had also spotted them. However, this someone was wearing a dark blue uniform, a white-topped flat cap and was driving an unusually coloured car; a car with large, flashing, blue lights on its roof.
‘Oh dear,’ said Charlie, as the policeman began to follow them. ‘Now this could just be a little difficult to explain.’ Then, as he heard the sound of the police car’s wailer, added. ‘I think he wants us to stop, Bregon.’
‘Oh that’s boring,’ said Argetlám, ‘it really is, I was just beginning to enjoy the drive.’ The powerful traffic car was now coming up fast behind them; the policeman flashing the vehicle’s headlights indicating for the driver to pull over to the side of the road. ‘I suppose you’d better stop, Bregon and see what he wants,’ sighed the wizard.
Bregon immediately pulled across to the side of the road and pulled on the handbrake. A few seconds later the policeman walked up to them. ‘Hello, hello, hello,’ he said, looking at the occupants of the Bentley, suspiciously, ‘been to a fancy dress party – have we?’
Argetlám shook his head, impatiently. ‘Certainly not, officer,’ he began, indignantly, ‘if you must know, we’re on official business.’
‘Oh yes,’ said the policeman, sounding totally unconvinced, ‘and what official business might that be then?’
‘We’re on an urgent mission to discover the identity of a thief,’ replied the wizard.
‘A thief,’ said the policeman, sounding interested, ‘have you reported this theft to the authorities?’
Argetlám shook his head. ‘Certainly not, this is hardly a matter that can be investigated through the normal channels.’
‘Oh can’t it?’ said the policeman, producing his pocketbook. ‘Why not, might I ask?’
‘You certainly may,’ replied Argetlám. ‘You see, we’re in pursuit of a special thief, a thief who has stolen the crown of, well...none other than – King Bodran himself.’
‘Really?’ repeated the policeman, his eyeballs rolling around in their sockets. ‘And who might this King Bodran be when he’s at home then?’
‘He’s the king of a tribe of elfin folk,’ replied Argetlám, matter-of-factly.
Once again the policeman’s eyes started to roll. ‘A king of elves you say.’
‘It’s perfectly true,’ put in Bregon. ‘Right now we’re on our way to the Mere of Ffion, to see the queen of the water nymphs. ‘She had a very bad experience yesterday you see. The thing is, the thief was wearing the crown on the shores of the mere and he frightened both her and the other nymphs who live there.’
‘Oh did he?’ said the policeman, by now totally convinced the occupants of the ancient car had escaped from a hospital. ‘And did this queen of the water nymphs get a good look at the culprit then?’
‘Oh no,’ said Bregon, quite seriously, ‘you see, he, or she, was actually wearing the crown and because he or she had discovered the secret magic words was invisible.’
The policeman leaned on the door of the car and looked Bregon in the eye. ‘Have you been drinking, sir?’ he asked.
Bregon was thoughtful for a moment. ‘Err – well – yes, I had a large glass of milk this morning.’
By now the policeman was rapidly losing his patience and he frowned, angrily. ‘I mean, have you had a drink of alcohol, sir? Beer or whiskey, that type of thing.’
Now Argetlám was also becoming angry. ‘Officer, I know you have a job to do but would you be kind enough to tell us what we’ve done wrong?’
‘Nothing, yet, but as this is a very old car I have to make certain that all your paperwork is in order.’
‘Oh I see,’ said the wizard, ‘I’m sorry, I don’t drive myself and Bregon here hasn’t driven for over fifty years. I suppose that means we’re probably not quite in full compliance with your modern regulations.’
‘Fifty years!’ exclaimed the policeman, appalled by what he had heard. ‘Do you have a driving licence, Mr Bregon?’
Bregon frowned. ‘What’s one of those?’ he asked, as Charlie tried to make himself smaller and smaller on the back seat of the car.
The policeman’s face now flushed bright red with anger. ‘Do you have a current MoT Certificate and proper insurance?’ he spluttered.
‘An MoT certificate, what’s one of them?’ asked Bregon, innocently.
The policeman was just about to explode with rage when Bucket, unable to contain himself any longer, predictably entered the conversation. ‘Err, excuse me, occifer,’ he began, muddling up his letters whilst looking very, very, serious, ‘you don’t happen to ‘ave a butty in yer pocket do yer? Or even better, a nice pork pie. Yer see, I’m right ‘ungry I is, in fact, cos I missed me breakfast this mornin’, I’m starvin’ ‘ungry, I mean, I really, really am.’
Now the full force of the law’s wrath was turned upon the hapless goblin. ‘And who are you?’ growled the policeman.
‘Oh I’m Bucket I am,’ said Bucket, casually. ‘I’m a goblin yer see. Anyway, as I were saying like, ave yer got anythin’ to eat? Anything at all, just ter stop me puckerin’ up, yer know – with ‘unger like.’
The policeman’s patience finally ran out. Snapping shut his pocketbook he began shouting at the top of his voice. ‘Right then, I’ve had enough of this, I’m arresting the lot of you, every single one of you can get in my car and come down to the station with me.’
Argetlám, who for the last few minutes had been sat quietly in the passenger seat, groaned. ‘Oh dear,’ he began, sadly, ‘it all started as such a pleasant day. Anyway, officer, as much as we’d like to oblige, I’m afraid we couldn’t possibly come with you right now.’
‘Oh, and why’s that then?’ growled the policeman.
‘Because – well you see – your car’s full of monkeys, constable,’ replied the wizard, casually. ‘In fact, if you turn around, you’ll discover that not only is your car absolutely completely full of monkeys, they’re also on the roof as well.’
The policeman merely laughed. ‘Oh sure, your only telling me that so I’ll look the other way while you lot try to escape. Well think again, I’ve heard them all before.’
Charlie, who had turned to look at the traffic car suddenly gasped in amazement. ‘It’s true!’ he cried, ‘look, they’re even trying to drive it away!’
Suddenly, the traffic car’s powerful engine burst into life and quite startled, the policeman turned towards his vehicle. Sure enough, sat on the roof and grinning broadly, from hairy ear to hairy ear, were two, very large, chimpanzees. A third one, smaller than the rest, was screeching with pleasure whilst swinging wildly on one of the car’s aerials. But it was the huge, seriously hairy gorilla, alternately taking puffs on the constable’s pipe and eating his lunchtime sandwiches that worried the policeman the most. For he was in the driver’s seat and between butties and puffs, was pressing every knob on the dashboard and pulling every single lever he could find. As the officer stared, open-mouthed in horror and disbelief, the primate at last succeeded in switching on the car’s blue lights and wailer. Then, after smiling and waving goodbye to them, began backing the car, at high-speed, down the deserted lane.
‘Right then,’ said the wizard, as he watched the yelling policeman chase after his vehicle as fast as his legs could carry him. ‘I think we’d better make good our escape; Bregon, take us to the Mere of Ffion and whatever you do, make sure you don’t exceed the speed limit.’
3
The Mere of Ffion
They had been driving for only a little over five minutes when Bregon, glancing in his driving mirror, noticed Charlie’s gloomy expression. ‘What’s the problem, Charlie?’ he asked. ‘You look as though you’ve just lost a week’s pocket money.’
Charlie shook his head, sulkily. ‘I’m not happy about the way we dealt with the policeman,’ he replied. ‘I mean, well he was only doing his job, he’ll probably get into all sorts of trouble for what those monkeys have done to his car.’
Argetlám turned around and chuckled. ‘Charlie, how long have you known me?’ Still unhappy, Charlie shook his head. ‘I don’t know, I can’t remember.’
‘Well you’ve known me long enough to know that I’m not going to let one of the good guys get in trouble through me, now haven’t you?’ This time Charlie nodded. ‘Listen,’ continued the wizard. ‘There was no way we could allow ourselves to be detained any longer than we were, not if we’re to get to Wasdale and onto the still warm trail of the thief. As for the policeman, I can assure you that within two minutes of our leaving he had his car back in perfect condition and that all the monkeys and the gorilla had gone.’
Charlie, now feeling a little foolish, managed a weak smile. ‘Well, what about us being invisible, Argetlám? I thought you said no one would see us.’
Suddenly embarrassed, the wizard coughed and cleared his throat. ‘Ah...yes...I might have said that but, well...unfortunately, I forgot to cast the appropriate invisibility spell. However, not to worry, I’ve done it now.’
Charlie grinned and for the rest of the journey to the mere felt much more relaxed.
***
As the companions, entered the former glacial valley of Wasdale, Charlie groaned with delight. It was now full light and, thought the young adventurer, one of the most beautiful mornings he had ever seen. Wastwater, known to Argetlám and his followers as the Mere of Ffion, was the deepest lake in England and guarded not only by the great screes of loose grey shale, that came fully down to the water, but also by England’s tallest mountain, Scafell Pike.
Not so much as a breath of wind disturbed either the air or the surface of the great lake and as Bregon parked the car at the edge of the mere, Argetlám opened his door impatiently. ‘My, my,’ he began, standing at the water’s edge and gazing admiringly towards the majestic mountains of Great Gable and Scafell Pike. ‘It’s many, many years since I’ve been here, but as ever, it seems so beautiful and peaceful.’
‘How do we contact Queen Ffion?’ asked Charlie, joining him and looking across the apparently deserted lake.
‘Oh she’ll soon know we’re here, Charlie,’ he replied, putting a fatherly arm around his shoulder. ‘Nothing much escapes the attention of the nymphs of Ffion.’
Once again Charlie scanned the surface of the water, looking for the merest ripple, the slightest disturbance that may signal the imminent appearance of the legendary fairy, but, look though he did, there was nothing. Then, at the far side of the lake and immediately beneath the great screes, he saw a splash and a sudden foaming of the hitherto flat calm of the water. ‘Look!’ he cried excitedly and, expectantly, everyone stared in the direction of his pointing finger.
Darawan, whose eyesight was as keen as that of a hawk, shook his head. ‘It’s only a duck,’ he replied. Disappointed, Charlie looked again and sure enough, even at the distance they were from the newly surfaced bird, he could just make out the distinctive colours of a mallard. ‘But – if you look to your left’ continued the elf, grinning broadly, ‘then you will see something very special.’
Charlie took Darawan’s advice and was immediately rewarded with the most unlikely, yet spectacular scene he had ever witnessed for, walking towards them, on the water’s surface and from the centre of the lake, were seven, blonde-haired maidens. They were all at least six feet tall and dressed in long, white, flowing gowns. One, whose hair was the length of her back and who wore a crown of burnished gold, was in the lead. The rest, all carrying hampers filled with what Bucket hoped was food, followed in pairs behind her. As they drew nearer, Charlie marvelled that not only were they walking without effort on the surface of the mere, their movement appeared to have not the slightest effect upon its glass-like surface. Not even the faintest splash or the weakest of ripples was made by the movement of their naked feet and as they drew ever nearer to the companions, Charlie’s gaze turned, once again, to the leader of the small procession and to the face of the great and beautiful queen.
The young, would-be wizard, gasped in awe and admiration; for the queen of the nymphs was indeed a woman of the most incredible and flawless beauty. Now that she was less than ten metres away from the companions, he could also see that her dress was made from the finest, snow-white silk and that around her neck she wore a garland of fresh, deep-blue, spring flowers. However, it was the queen’s eyes that most enchanted him; for not only were they also the colour of a cloudless summer sky, they were warm, kindly and filled almost to overflowing with love and affection for those upon whom she gazed. At last, at the water’s edge, the procession stopped and as Argetlám and the rest of his friends bowed low to the royal personage, Charlie, very woodenly, followed suit.
‘Greetings and felicitations Your Majesty,’ said Argetlám, slowly straightening his back. ‘I trust you are well?’
Queen Ffion smiled at him and Charlie thought it the nearest thing he had ever seen to the glowing warmth of mid-summer sunshine. ‘Greetings wizard and sincerest felicitations to you also,’ she replied, in a soft, musical voice. ‘We are very well, thank you, but what about yourself?’
The old wizard chuckled. ‘Not getting any younger I’m afraid, but apart from that I’m keeping quite fit, thank you.’
Now the nymph turned her eyes to the companions. ‘Ah, Bucket,’ she said to the nervously shaking goblin, ‘thank you for delivering my important message so promptly.’ So overwhelmed by the majesty of the queen’s presence was he, that the normally always complaining goblin could only bow once again and grunt something quite incoherent. ‘And the ever faithful Darawan,’ she continued, eyeing the elf with welcoming eyes. ‘I trust that you are also in the best of health, my elfin friend.’
‘Yes, Majesty,’ he replied, ‘I’m very well, thank you.’
‘We heard a rumour that you may be marrying soon,’ said Queen Ffion, a mischievous glint in her eye. ‘Tell us, is there any truth in it?’
The news that his friend the elf was thinking of marriage made Charlie’s jaw drop and the normally fully composed elf blushed to a bright, crimson red. ‘Err...I...err...’
‘I think that, with respect, ma’am that is a subject best left for the moment,’ put in Argetlám; coming to the rescue of his red-faced companion.
The queen laughed. ‘We are sorry, Darawan,’ she continued. ‘We’d really no idea it was such a touchy subject.’
The elf managed a wry smile and, in order to change the subject, turned towards Charlie. ‘May I introduce, Charlie Braithwaite, Your Majesty? Although a human he has, of late, become a good and loyal friend to all those who follow the pathway of the Light.’
The queen looked with interest at Charlie who, like Bucket, suddenly became quite nervous. ‘Greetings to you my young friend,’ said the queen, ‘it is a rare day indeed that we have the pleasure of a meeting with humankind.’
‘Greetings to you, Majesty,’ returned Charlie, ‘I’ve heard a lot about you.’
‘And we have heard much about you,’ she returned. ‘Indeed, we hear that you’ve had some quite interesting adventures recently. In fact we’re told that you helped Argetlám destroy that most wicked of witches – Nemetona; also that you were instrumental in helping him, once again, defeat the evil warlock – Athelwan.’
Charlie shook his head. ‘Oh my part in their downfall was very small,’ he replied, modestly. ‘The credit for both victories belongs to Argetlám, it really does I can assure you.’
‘It belongs to all of us,’ put in the wizard. ‘Everyone played their part, however large or small. But I can assure you, Majesty, that Charlie’s role in the defeat of Athelwan was one that showed great courage and may have been vital in the warlock’s final humiliation, even the ultimate safety of our island.’ As once again Charlie found himself blushing, this time upon hearing the praise of the great archwizard, Argetlám turned to Bregon. ‘However, ma’am, you’ve not yet met the last of our little band, therefore, may it please Your Majesty to make the acquaintance of my long-standing and ever-faithful apprentice, Bregon of Wales.’
‘An honour, Your Majesty,’ said the apprentice in his poshest Welsh voice and while bowing so low his hat fell off and landed in the mud at the side of the lake.
The queen grinned as Bregon tried to regain both his hat and his dignity. ‘We have also heard much about you. We hear you helped the side of the Light, during the Battle of Britain.’
‘It’s true that I took mortal form during that conflict and had the honour to fly Spitfires with the RAF,’ he replied.
Queen Ffion nodded approvingly. ‘War is a deadly and most unpleasant affair,’ she said, thoughtfully, ‘something that should always be avoided whenever possible. However, we fear you fought a just war, Bregon, one that had to be won against the dark and evil forces of the Night and we congratulate you for your unfailing courage and fortitude.’
‘Thank you, ma’am,’ said the apprentice, bowing low again.
‘And you hail from the fair and beautiful land of Wales, we hear,’ continued Queen Ffion.
‘I do indeed, Majesty,’ said Bregon, smiling proudly.
‘But your accent is hardly that of my dear cousins, who dwell in the peaceful depths of the crystal clear lakes of Snowdonia.’
‘Ah, I think that my time as a mortal, with the RAF, had something to do with that,’ he replied.
‘Hmm, perhaps so,’ she agreed, thoughtfully. ‘But now to business,’ she continued, looking at Argetlám. ‘What do you want of me, wizard? How may I and my people be of help in your quest?’
Argetlám leaned heavily on the long stick of hazel that Charlie noticed he had recently taken to carrying and looked thoughtfully at the nymph. ‘As you’re aware, I received the message you sent with Bucket, about the disturbance of the lake; however, is there anything else you can tell me? Anything at all, even the smallest clue may help us eventually find the thief and return the stolen crown to its rightful owner.’
The queen shook her head, sadly. ‘We fear there is little I didn’t tell the goblin,’ she replied.
‘You said you thought you saw a moving blur on the far shore,’ said Argetlám’. The queen nodded. ‘In which direction was it heading?’ he asked.
Ffion looked to her right. ‘Towards the sentinels and guardians of Wasdale, towards the great mountains that humans call, Great Gable and Sca Fell Pike.’
‘Forgive me,’ began the wizard, ‘but you’re quite certain of that?’
‘Quite certain,’ replied Queen Ffion, managing a small but knowing smile.
Argetlám, now looking worried, nodded. ‘I thought as much, I’ll wager that the thief, whoever he or she is, will be heading east and north. Once arriving at his or her chosen destination to earn a reward for his or her thieving ways.’
‘Of one thing we are certain,’ said the queen, ‘the thief is most definitely a she.’
‘She is?’ said the wizard, sounding surprised.
‘She most certainly is.’
‘But...but how can you be so sure?’ asked Argetlám.
‘Because we sensed it was a she,’ said the queen, matter-of-factly. ‘Remember, Argetlám, my senses are more acute than anyone’s, whether mortal or immortal. I also spoke with the mountain sprites, they too saw a stranger pass, a stranger that was not cloaked with invisibility but who, nonetheless, carried a jewel-encrusted golden crown. A stranger who walked in the dimension of the Darklanders, a stranger who emanated such evil that she actually terrified the peace loving sprites of the mountains.’
‘Ah-ha!’ exclaimed the wizard. ‘Such information is news indeed; did the sprites give you a description?’
‘Alas no, they were too frightened to talk much about her. So, wizard,’ she continued, eying him carefully, ‘how shall you find this thief?’
‘I do not yet know,’ he replied. ‘But I think that, later, after we’ve passed into the dimension of the Darklanders and moved safely through the dangers that lurk in the mountains, we may have to enter the Great Forest of the North.’
The queen, looking grave, nodded. ‘Argetlám, we fear your search for this mischievous thief may well be one of the most dangerous that even you have ever undertaken. We trust that you will take the greatest care during your quest. We should be truly sorry if anything unpleasant should befall either yourself or your companions.’
The old wizard glanced at his friends before, with a beaming smile he looked back at his royal, fairy host. ‘Ma’am, I have the most faithful, trustworthy and courageous of all travelling companions. No wizard could ever have been in the company of more loyal and gallant followers.’
The queen nodded. ‘We are certain you are correct, wizard,’ she replied, looking once again at Charlie. ‘But I see that your young human friend travels without a weapon to defend either himself or you.’
‘Ah...yes,’ agreed Argetlám, suddenly embarrassed. ‘I’m afraid we embarked on this journey in such a hurry I quite forgot about arming Charlie.’
The queen nodded, eyed Charlie thoughtfully, then turned and signalled one of her followers to come forward. As she did so, Charlie noticed the nymph was carrying a small sword, encased in a heavily jewelled, leather scabbard. The queen took it from her, then signalled for Charlie to move forward. ‘This should keep you safe,’ she began, drawing out the blade. ‘It’s been looked after by my family for – well – let us say centuries and leave it at that. It is a truly noble sword, Charles, once worn by a brave and loyal friend of mine. Wear it at all times when you are amongst the Darklanders. Its purity will be a shield to help protect you from harm, its lethal blade a deadly weapon of defence, should harm still find you. But remember what we said, it was once worn by an extremely honourable man, therefore use it honourably and only in the fight against evil. Do as we say and it will always serve and protect you. Fail to heed my warning, use it carelessly and without respect for its provenance and...’ She paused, frowned, shook her head, then smiled. ‘We are certain we don’t need to warn you of the consequences of abusing the powers of the sword, from what we’ve heard you seem far too sensible to even think of such stupidity.’
Overwhelmed by the offering, Charlie accepted the gift and marvelled at the craftsmanship that had produced so fine a weapon. The hilt was made from highly polished deer antler, fine rubies were set into the guard and as the early morning sun caught the edge of the highly polished blade, Charlie could see that it was inlaid with burnished gold. Overall, the effect was quite dazzling.
‘Thank you, Your Majesty,’ he replied, buckling the sword around his waist. ‘I am most grateful, thank you very, very much indeed.’
The queen nodded and smiled, clearly more than pleased at the way he had received her gift. Her eyes now moved from Charlie’s to the rest of the companions. ‘But for now,’ she said, ‘allow me to offer you all our hospitality, for your journey into The Darklands will be long, arduous and fraught with unknown dangers.’ Then she turned to her retinue of aides. ‘Bring on the banquet to our guests, for heroes such as this should dine as would befit a king.’
‘Oh food!’ cried Bucket excitedly, as the queen’s followers began laying their hampers on the shore. ‘Food! Food! At long last – food!’
***
It was two hours later, after eating as though there was no tomorrow, that the companions eventually took their leave of the royal queen and her retinue of helpers. They had enjoyed a truly sumptuous feast of foods that had included fresh salmon, fruit, crisp, crunchy bread and the finest English cheeses. This all washed down with large quantities of home-made ginger ale, the like of which Charlie had never tasted in the whole of his life. Queen Ffion had agreed to look after Bregon’s car, which they could no longer take with them and after waving goodbye to their hosts, Charlie turned to the wizard.
‘Why does Queen Ffion talk in such a funny way?’ he asked.
‘How do you mean, funny?’ said the wizard.
‘Why doesn’t she say I, instead of “we” all the time?’
Argetlám grinned. ‘Have you never heard of the royal “we”?’ he asked. Charlie shook his head. ‘Well, that’s what kings and queens do, I mean, they have to be different, don’t they?’
Charlie, feeling the answer to be far from satisfactory frowned then changed the subject. ‘Where exactly are we going?’ he asked, as they moved deeper into Wasdale.
‘We must now enter The Darklands, Charlie,’ said the wizard, ‘and if we’re to have any chance at all of finding our thief, then we must do so with all haste.’
The prospect of once again entering The Darklands made Charlie shiver. He had been there once before, when trying to rescue his kidnapped cousin and retrieve a book of spells written by Argetlám and stolen by a goblin in the service of Nemetona, an evil witch queen. Charlie knew The Darklands to be a perpetually gloomy, ungodly place where the sun never shone. A place infested by witches, goblins, fire-breathing dragons and other, evil forces of the Night. He also knew that, normally, the only way to move into that realm, a region that existed in yet another dimension, was through a special portal. ‘How are we going to enter from here?’ he asked.
The wizard pointed to a small church at the end of the valley. ‘That’s Saint Olaf’s,’ he replied, ‘so called, it is said, because this area was once a Viking settlement. Some say it’s the smallest church in England.’
‘Is it?’ asked Charlie, thinking the holy place to be microscopic.
Argetlám only laughed. ‘I know of other churches, in Somerset and Derbyshire that may claim the same honour.’
‘Where’s the portal?’ asked Charlie.
‘In the churchyard, in the gap formed by two, arched yew trees.’ replied Darawan.
Charlie nodded with understanding. He could distinctly remember following Argetlám through the portal of his own church, when, on his first adventure with him, they had gone in search of his cousin and the wizard’s book of magic. Then, Argetlám had told him that many churches had been built by the ancients at the scene of such gateways into the Underworld, for by doing so, the very holiness of the building discouraged the followers of the Left from entering the domain of the Light.
Argetlám had insisted that everyone bring with them warm clothes, a rucksack containing food, a change of clothing and also a sleeping bag. As such, Charlie found it difficult to keep up with his companions and it was only when he complained that the wizard agreed to slow down the wearying pace.
‘Sorry, Charlie,’ he said, as they passed a group of hikers. ‘We’re nearly at the church now. Anyway, once we enter The Darklands we’ll have to slow down, it will be so gloomy.’
Charlie grinned as two hikers, blissfully unaware of their presence, walked straight past them. It was, he thought, great fun to be completely invisible to the sight of other human beings. Then, suddenly, they were inside the churchyard of the ancient place of worship.
‘Now don’t forget what I told you last time, Charlie,’ said the wizard, looking at him sternly. ‘Remember, The Darklands is the most dangerous place in the universe, populated by the most evil creatures ever to exist. Whilst there we stick close together and unless I tell you otherwise, nobody wanders off on their own, not for any reason. Is that clearly understood?’ Charlie nodded, followed by Bregon and Bucket. ‘Good,’ said Argetlám, ‘then follow me.’ With that, he marched smartly towards two ancient yew trees that were bowed together to form an archway; an archway that led into the always dangerous habitat of the Darklanders, the followers and disciples of evil. A second after he had passed through the archway, Argetlám disappeared. Charlie held his breath, closed his eyes and followed him.
4
The Darklands
As Charlie joined Argetlám, on the other side of the portal, he found the change in temperature sudden and dramatic. The wind was almost gale-force and with a full-blown blizzard in progress, his eyes were soon stinging as the wind drove hard-frozen snowflakes into them.
Argetlám, who was just in front of Charlie, turned and beckoned him forward. ‘Do you hear that sound?’ he asked, as he joined him.
Charlie could not and he shook his head. ‘I can only hear the howl of the wind,’ he replied.
Listen more carefully,’ commanded the wizard. ‘Concentrate and listen above the noise of the gale, then tell me what you hear.’
Charlie did listen, at first only hearing the mournful wail of the wind as it whistled through the leafless trees and tugged at his fleece. Then, above the whine of the gale, he thought he heard someone or something cry out into the Darklands’ gloom. Twice more he caught the noise before he was certain he also heard something else, something that resembled the clashing of steel on steel. ‘I think I can hear fighting,’ he shouted to Argetlám.
The wizard nodded. ‘You can, but the question is, who is fighting who or what?’
‘I can hear elfin voices,’ said Darawan, slinging his bow. ‘They’ve been ambushed by a party of goblins and are shouting for help.’
‘Elves in The Darklands?’ said Charlie. ‘Why are they here?’
‘They’ll be on patrol,’ replied Bregon, ‘on the watch for mischief from the forces of the Left.’
‘Or, as we are, in search of the thief of the crown,’ put in Argetlám. ‘How many goblins are attacking them, Darawan?’
The elf, whose hearing was as acute as his eyesight was sharp, held up a hand for silence. ‘About thirty,’ he replied, after a few moments. ‘The elves number no more than ten or twelve and they’re in a lot of trouble.’
‘Then we must help them,’ replied the wizard, taking hold of his staff. ‘He looked at Bucket, who was shivering, unhappily, behind him. ‘I take it you have no problem in fighting against your own kind,’ he asked.
The goblin shook his head, vigorously, before drawing his small but lethal looking sword. ‘None master, you’ve been good and kind to Bucket you ‘ave; kinder than anyone, except for my friends here and me old mam. I’ll not let yer down now.’
‘Good,’ said Argetlám, patting him on the head, ‘then comrades, follow me.’
Stealthily they moved forward into the snow-ridden gloom. Although Charlie knew that the sun never rose in The Darklands, thick, snow-laden clouds meant it was even darker than the last time he had entered the Underworld. At first the going was slow, the wizard trying to ensure they took the correct path, but so bad was the light that after taking less than two dozen strides, even Argetlám gave up. Turning, he waved Darawan forward and with the elf’s keen, hawk-like vision and acute sense of hearing now leading the small band of adventurers, the companions moved nearer the ever louder sounds of a pitched battle.
They came upon them suddenly; one moment the comrades were fumbling their uncertain way across the rough terrain, half-blinded by the driving snow and almost deafened by the storm that raged around them, the next they were looking down into a shallow ravine and finding themselves on the edge of an extremely violent and bloody conflict. Momentarily, Charlie was mesmerised by the scene laid out before him. No more than a dozen elves, already many of them wounded but all dressed much like Darawan, were engaged in a gruesome, desperate, battle. Sparks flew from swords and metal-tipped cudgels as some thirty or more goblins, their bright, green eyes filled with hate and loathing for their enemy, attempted to destroy the small, ever more weakened elfin patrol before they could reach the safety of the portal. For a moment Charlie thought the position of the elves to be quite hopeless. They were completely surrounded by the chanting, cursing goblins and although he had no idea how long they had been fighting, it was more than clear to him that the elves, outnumbered virtually three to one as they were, must surely be on the brink of collapse through exhaustion.
Charlie glanced across at Darawan; the elf had already strung his bow and, looking expectantly at Argetlám, was awaiting orders. Charlie reached for his new sword, hoping that he would know, when the time came, how to use it. Then the wizard held up a restraining hand. ‘That won’t be necessary, Charlie,’ he said. ‘Darawan, shoot the goblins in the legs, I hate killing them for they know no better, I also want to capture and question some of them.’
Darawan nodded, lifted the bow, took quick but careful aim then loosed his arrow. Almost immediately, Charlie heard a squeal of anguish from amongst the ranks of the attackers. Then another and yet another deadly missile flew from the marksman’s bow. On each occasion the bowman was rewarded with a scream of surprise and anguish and after five of the attackers lay writhing on the snow-covered ground the goblin leader, himself wounded and unable through the gloom and the blizzard to see the location of their tormentor, ordered the rest of his party to retreat.