The Lord of Necrond

Tudwal's army! The words jolted Caspar's thoughts. But that was good. If Tudwal raised an army then he and Cymbeline must have been rescued. All must be well; his father must have returned from Farona and organised a search party for the prince and princess.

No doubt Prince Tudwal mustered the army to rout out the outlaws who had ambushed him and his sister, Princess Cymbeline, and slaughtered the major part of her escort. Princess Cymbeline had been on her way to marry King Rewik of Belbidia and the Ceolothians had blamed the Belbidian escort for the loss of the precious princess. King Dagonet threatened Rewik with war if his precious daughter was not quickly returned in good health. But his thoughts strayed quickly from the politics as more and more beasts, mainly rangy hobgoblins now, emerged from the black tower that was the entrance to the long tunnels that led to the mines of Kalanazir.

He trembled at the sight of the monstrous beasts, fearful as to how they came to be in this world. May had been in possession of the Egg for a dangerously long time but it was still difficult to believe that she could have unwittingly summoned so many beasts. Should he now wield Necrönd to send them all back to their exile in the Otherworld?

The thought of May brought him out of the dark confusion that swirled around the Egg. Every day that passed, the thing becoming more alive, less of an inert artefact but something with life and power of its own. He must get it away from all these people, away from everyone. He must cross the sea and find a vast wilderness. He turned and ran, pushing his way through the crowd.

"There! You! Hey you!" came a sharp yell, the voice horribly familiar.

Caspar instinctively knew the cry was aimed at him. He glanced over his shoulder and ducked. Mamluc! Mamluc, the slave trader! Amongst all these people he had to be seen by Mamluc!. Head stooped and shoulders hunched, he dodged amongst the crowd and ran for the eastern exit to the square only to find himself in a maze of streets. No one road led straight and, again and again, he was confronted by canals blocking his path or roads ending in a congestion of huts and crumbling houses. Middens steamed in the streets. Dogs growled, their coats straggly from mange, patches of scaling bare skin showing through the matted fur. Soon he was completely lost amongst dark alleyways twisting between the backs of tall windowless buildings.

As he stood staring helplessly around him, a boy trotted up to him, his face as muddy as his clothes, red toes breaking through the rags that bandaged his feet.

"The way out! How do I get to the east gate?" Caspar fetched in his pocket for a coin. Without even looking at it, he tossed the urchin a gold piece.

The boy's mouth dropped and his eyes brightened. "You're in big trouble, mister." He looked gleefully at the glinting coin. "Follow me!" The boy, who could have been no more than ten, had the eyes of an old man. "This way," he said, leading him over a broken gate at the back of a tall derelict building and through into a dark alleyway beyond. Caspar could hear the strike of galloping hooves on cobbles and raced alongside the boy. He hoped it was not Mamluc on his trail.

"Already this week, I've got four men away from the slave-masters. This is a good way," the boy reassured him breathlessly as they ran on. "Here we are!" The alley spat them out onto a broad sweep of open lawn that footed the great black walls, skirting the city. Caspar stopped short. Looking from across the hundred yards of open grass, he saw no way to scale those black walls.

"The canal." The boy pointed to his left. "It slips under the wall. You'll have to get wet. The bridge in the wall is low and the water high at the minute but it's the best way out of here and as close to the east gate as I can get you."

Caspar smiled his thanks and scurried along the edge of the ramshackle houses towards the stone-walled canal. The water stank. A deep murky brown, it was littered with debris. He looked ahead along its length to where it slunk beneath the great black walls. No light emerged. The walls must be thirty foot thick at least and he hoped the water was low enough to allow him room to breathe. He dropped down the banks of the canal, thankful to find a ledge that he could work his way along rather than immediately plunging into the water.

He was nearly at the walls when he heard shouts and the sound of the boy's voice yelling in Ceolothian. He didn't need to translate to know that his little helper had turned traitor and sent his pursuers after him. Caspar rued his innocence. When was he going to learn not to trust people?

He fled on until he reached the arching stones that bridged the canal and supported the great wall above. There was no more than a six-inch gap between the surface of the water and the underside of the bridge. He shuddered. He was not a great swimmer.

An arrow sloshed into the water and another thudded at his feet. He gave it no more thought but ripped off his bearskin, holding the hem and neck together, reasoning to use it as a balloon to trap air and so help him float. He plunged in, swimming for the middle point of the canal where the airspace was greatest.

As he paddled, his body rose and fell, his head grazing on the water-worn stones beneath the wall. But the bearskin worked and he hoped that, so long as he was only in the water a short time, it would not become waterlogged. He was thankful that at least he hadn't dragged May out this way and prayed that Perren had led her safely back to Reyna and found another way out.

Shouts rang out from behind. Hooves pounded turf. Then came a splash as someone plunged into the water behind him. Caspar redoubled his efforts, gasping in air and kicking furiously. Something snagged his ankle. He kicked back and connected with flesh. The hands scrambled for him but evidently were not quick enough to catch him. Then he heard the bark of a dog ahead. His heart sank: they were waiting for him on the far side of the walls.

Men shouted. Mixed in with the excited yells and the angry barks of a dog were the painfully shrill howls of some animal that Caspar did not recognize by its cry.

Cursing the wretched boy for betraying him, he swam on, preferring to face the danger ahead rather than struggle in the water with his pursuer; he doubted his chances in the water.

Daylight washed down on him and he didn't even need to go to the effort of pulling himself up out of the canal. Someone hooked his belt with a billhook and hauled him out, the weight of his bearskin dragging at his arms. He was rolled over onto the ground and looked up at the long feathered legs of a great war-horse. Caspar knew the breeding well; such clean lines, the deep chest: it was a foal out of Demon Black, one of his father's best stock stallions and, no doubt, exported several years ago. Such fine horses raised and bred on the beautiful soil of Torra Alta brought to this dark land, it was tragic!

Caspar's gaze slid upwards. Long feet dressed in thong sandals dangled from golden-coloured calves. A lion's tail, discoloured and loosing its hair, swung down alongside. Caspar looked up at Mamluc whose squinted eyes, one black, one pale green, only half looked back at him.

Behind the slave master stood a squat furry animal with human hands. Its eyes glinted red just like the eyes he had seen looking up from the bulging, broken floor beneath the palace.

Mamluc's mouth twisted into a delighted sneer before growling at the eight men about him, "Don't let him get away! Keep him with the girl."