Matas edged around the rock hiding the small cleft leading to his home. He had never met the monster himself, but he knew it was fearsome, and despite his strength, Matas didn’t think he could kill. He had first overheard wanderers talking about the monster with an air of restrained terror when he had been drawn to a rare glow of campfire long ago.

The way by his passage clear, he carefully stepped out, keeping his ears wide for sounds of any other wanderer. Wanderers came sporadically, and one could never tell how the Madness would take them. Many tried to harm Matas, and he learned early to be wary of them, even before Alec came to help him.

Matas’ used his wide-set eyes very little. The glow of fungus-light or touch of firelight only augmented the information he gathered through the echoes of the tunnels around him. Sometimes in his dreams, he remembered another world of light and color, but it seldom troubled him when he was awake. He had been in this place since his memories had dawned and had long since learned to adapt.

He walked the familiar passages past the mound of rocks where Alec lay. Gradually, the earthen tunnels became stone. His mind kept track of the turns automatically. He walked this way often to gather the soft fungus Alec had said tasted like “bread”. He could not gather more than a day’s worth at a time or it rotted with a fetid odor, but the vast cavern in which it grew was no safe place to hide. Therefore, he made the sometimes-dangerous trek every day, alone, now that Alec was no longer there to help him.

A sharp scrape alerted him to the presence of another. Immediately, he froze, carefully judging the source. Sometimes sounds that seemed distant were close while others sounded right in his ear from tunnels away. His throat closed in fear and excitement. There had been few wanderers of late. Perhaps this time, he would meet the monster at last.

Shrinking against the side of the cave, he waited; his face flushing and heart pounding. Gradually, the sound resolved itself into quiet footsteps, coming closer. It must be a wanderer! Maybe this one would finally be his friend as Alec had been, teaching him to make shapes with clay and stone and keep track of time with deep slashes on the wall. He had become very lonely in the hundreds of sleeps since Alec had gone. As the steps grew closer, Matos’ hopes faded as he scented panic and fear in the air that flowed through this part of the caves. His heart sank. The caves had a way of making most strangers go mad, Alec had said. He wouldn’t explain why. Matos knew that this stranger would probably be like most of the others.

Suddenly, a harsh glow of torchlight shone against the damp stone of the corridor. It crept along the wall, bright enough that Matos squinted his eyes against the glare. A trembling boy-man appeared, holding a sputtering torch. When he saw Matos, he screamed shrilly, leaping straight into the air, turning, and tearing off back the way he had come.

Matos, seeing the Madness in the boy, followed after, shouting, “It’s okay! Calm down, I can help!!!” But it was no use. The boy kept running, darting down the leftmost passage. The panic began to affect Matos, too, as he realized where the boy was unknowingly going.

“Not that way! STOP!!!” But the boy increased his speed. Frowning, Matos followed, trying to overtake the boy before it was too late. Pounding around a left corner, he reached out his long arms, swiping for the boy’s coat, but it was too late. With one final, pitifully thin scream, the boy tripped and tumbled down, down, down and over the lip of the Deep. Matos braked just in time, nearly tumbling himself in his attempt to save the boy. It was too far to hear the boy hit bottom, but Matos clapped his hands over his ears anyways, wincing.

So often it ended that way. The Madness overtook them and they fell down a hole or got lost beyond Matos’ ability to find them. Someday, maybe, he’d find one who could overcome the Madness as Alec had done. Though he could never help Alec with finding the way “out” he longed for, Alec had helped him with so many things. He always wished he knew this “out”. Alec had spoken of kings, heroes and gods, sun and sky and stars. It had sounded like a glorious place.

Returning to the fungus cavern to gather his meal, Matos felt exhaustion come over him. He found his way around the twisting tunnels to his secret hole, eating as he went. He squeezed through the cleft and entered it gratefully, exhausted and discouraged. He stopped at the holding wall where all his delicately formed clay figures were, removing the one of Alec and the one of himself and holding them despondently. He lightly touched the sharp curve of horn on the head of the figure of him, and then touched his own smooth horn. Alec had no horns, but he was so small he could probably never have held them up with his tiny head. At least Matos had his secret hole. Here, he was safe from the monster.

Flash-click-hissssss

Sal clamped her eyes and waited until the afterglow disappeared behind her eyes. She woke the same way every morning and she never knew what each day would bring. Gingerly, she opened her eyes, wishing she could remember clearly the lingering remnants of her dream the night before.

She stood within a clearing of a dense forest, a single track leading out and into the woods. Everything around her was grey and ill-defined; a cool breeze brushed her cheek and she could hear birds calling in the branches, their tenuous cries shrill and desiccated. Walking along the winding path, she knew her first task was to find the food he had hidden nearby. She was certain whoever had control of her situation was male; some of the tasks she had been given were practically Freudian torture, and she was convinced that no woman could ever be so perverse. On her second morning she had woken completely naked in a maze of mirrors; when she had escaped, she found herself in the thick of a monochrome carnival, and had to bargain and steal her clothing back whilst being smothered by lecherous eyes and hands. By third day, when she found herself in a dilapidated house, her rage against her captor was so great she lashed out, trashing everything in sight until her fingers bled from the splinters. The forth morning her hands still smarted, but she had gained a vital clue: that night, as she slept uneasily from the pain, she had woken in the middle of a dream, only to find her nocturnal visions replicated the very next day. It was only a matter of time, she assured herself as she walked along warily, before he slipped up once more . . .

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At the massive desk in the centre of his lab, the Academic watched his subject on the grainy projection on the wall. She had progressed well, but he felt she was growing complacent. Soon she would reach that dangerous point where she will have let herself deeper into her own mind and she would be vulnerable. Slowly he followed her through the labyrinthine passages of her unconscious; she would eventually drag up memories so horrible they had remained buried for years, and if he could keep her alive they would reach a place within the human mind untouched by the external or psychic sciences, and he could present his results with confidence to the Guild.

He rolled up the sleeves of his ill-fitting labcoat and tilted on his chair, playing with the glass sphere that held the miniature physical body of his subject. The girl on the wall had now reached the stream. His breath stopped as he waited and watched: her breakfast was on the other side of the brook, but the nebulous faces below the water presented both a mental and tangible barrier for her to overcome. As predicted, her first reaction was to scream and run.

As the girl on the projection hid behind a tree, he studied the box of black-and-white photographs collected during his research, documenting her journey. Every night, as she slept and her dreams projected themselves on the wide, white wall, he would load a fresh flashbulb into the camera and wait. Catching the right moment could be difficult; once the camera went off, he would have two hours until she woke and had to work quickly. Challenges would be written and necessary alterations to the photos made before he could transfer the scenario into sphere via the energy field he had established that controlled her external reality. Once loaded, her reality became that of his construction, though her physical body remained frozen - diminutive but alive - suspended in the glass ball.

Despite the tightly controlled conditions, he felt uneasy that his current subject was more intelligent than his last, and he worried that he would be thwarted again. He was four weeks into his previous experiment when that one had dreamt of sitting on the balcony of a tall, luxurious hotel with waiters in cummerbunds; it wasn’t until she hurled herself over the balustrade and the tiny representation in the sphere flashed and disappeared that he realised that he should have been more careful.

Turning back to the projection, he watched the images dissipating in the water as his subject swirled a stick through the brook. He smiled as she waded through, proud that she had come through yet another challenge, and he slid his manuscript and inkwell across the desk to record his observations to present at the weekly Guild meeting that evening.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On the opposite bank she replaced her shoes and her socks, wishing her feet would dry quicker. Behind her, the brook trickled quietly, free of the horrid, rotting faces that had frightened her moments before. It didn’t take her long to find the little lunchbox on the other side, a sandwich and apple within. Looking around, hoping he was watching, she grabbed the food and threw it into the stream. He might have hold over her dreams, she reasoned, but she still held control over her conscious mind, and she was determined to show him that her will was stronger.

Kicking the lunchbox as she walked along the path, her stomach empty and her mind strangely serene, she continued on, waiting for the next challenge.

I rose early from a restless sleep.

My breath formed white clouds in front of my face as I walked over to the fire, where Flit and Twigleaf were arguing as usual. I warmed my hands and watched them as they bickered, passing a parchment map back and forth.

"We're at the Crossroads of Snip, here," said Twigleaf, stabbing his finger at the map's tattered corner. "We crossed through the Realm of Ghosts last night, and now were at the Crossroads."

"It wasn't the Realm of Ghosts," Flit replied. They were referring to the horrible passageways through which we had traveled the previous evening. The haunted wailing still echoed in my memory. "That was the Hall of the Damned, here." He grabbed the map and pointed at a rendering of a serpentine path. "Which means we're in the Courtyard of Sorrows."

It had been like this for weeks. Like many bands of elves seeking riches and glory, we had ventured into Falmouth's Folly, the infamous stone labyrinth created by the wizard Fortescue Falmouth many years earlier. Legend has it that while traveling in the Underworld, Falmouth discovered a treasure so magnificent that after gazing upon it, you could never be sad again. He placed it at the center of a vast maze full of deadly traps — and then he disappeared.

No one who entered Falmouth's Folly had ever come out again. We aimed to be the first, for we were in possession of the maze's only map, which Twigleaf had recently stolen from the village archives. However, we had been wandering for nearly a month and were hopelessly lost. Our rations were running low, and six members of our party were already dead, killed by the unspeakable traps and monsters that lurked around every corner.

"We already passed through the Courtyard of Sorrows," said Twigleaf. "Don't you remember, the place with all those statues, and every time you looked at one you felt like weeping?"

"No, no," said Flit. "That was the Foyer of Forlorn Figures, remember?"

"Oh, that’s right. Bah! I can't keep track."

"You're the one who promised to keep a travel journal."

"I already told you, we ran out of toilet paper. What else were we supposed to use?"

"Stop your quarreling," I interrupted suddenly, and they both looked at me in surprise. I don't have a reputation for talking, let alone issuing commands.

"Cast that map into the fire," I said. "It's useless. This is an impossible quest."

Flit and Twigleaf gasped in unison. "How dare he ... why, the very nerve!"

"Impossible," I repeated. "I have become convinced that Falmouth was a madman, and a wicked one at that. Who but a wicked man would create such treacherous traps? If his treasure is so wonderful, why hide it, why not share it with the world? We are doomed, my friends. There is no treasure, there is only this terrible maze that can never be solved. Let me lead us out of here, for to forge ahead is lunacy."

"He has lost his mind," Twigleaf said, drawing his knife. "Seize him. Bind him and remove his tongue, before his insanity infects the others."

I fled, plunging deeper into the maze. I knew they dared not follow, for they would never be able to find their way back, but still I ran as though pursued by demons. I climbed ladders and ducked through tunnels and weaved down narrow corridors, not knowing where I was going, not caring.

After what seemed like an eternity, I came upon a large chamber. Struggling to catch my breath, I saw that I was surrounded by skeletons dressed in moldering clothes — elf bones, troll bones, goblin bones, all littering the ground among discarded weapons and gear.

In the center of the chamber, a series of steps led to high pedestal, upon which rested an ornate box. The lid was open, but I could not peek inside from where I stood. Beside the pedestal was a crude sign:

Whomever finds this, I beg you, do not look inside the box. It is not a treasure but a cursed thing, an object so beautiful that if you look upon it, you will never stop. You will sit and stare until you wither to dust. Only by uttering an arcane and dangerous spell was I able to look away, and doing so has left me badly weakened. I do not have much time. After I write these words, I will construct an immense puzzle around this box, a meandering maze that will deter all but the most foolhardy. I will devise an enchanted map that will reveal the proper route only to another wizard, in the hope that someday a much greater sorcerer than I will find the accursed box and smite it from the earth. Gods, forgive my arrogance. I remain

Your humble servant,
Fortescue Falmouth IV

After reading the good wizard's sad final words, I knew what I must do. I must get out. I must escape Falmouth's Folly and warn others. I will make it my life's work to ensure that no one else sets out on this meaningless errand, and I will travel to the Great City to find a sorcerer clever enough to make his way back to this place and break the curse forever.

I can only wonder what terrible and beautiful visions await the one who beholds the contents of the box. I must confess ... I am sorely tempted to sneak the briefest glance.

I was stuck in a maze of twisty little passages, again. It was, after all, what I did for a living. I hoisted my sword to ready and began to explore. This time the walls were a smooth black rock that reflected the light of the torches on the walls so that I could barely tell what was real and what was reflection. O joy.

As a maze runner you learn quickly that you don’t solve a maze by standing still. You also don’t last long running around without a plan either. I started moving ahead at a medium walk. I can cover a lot of ground but still stop on a drachma. I was glad I chose the slower pace as almost immediately my sword clanged into a wall. The black was playing havoc with my depth perception. I tried walking with one hand on the wall, but that didn’t help much either.

I stopped for a moment and tied a kerchief over my eyes. It is sometime useful to shut out one sense and let the others take over. I had been blind for years before my sponsor had found me. Running mazes was a good way of repaying him. I kept in shape – she got rich. We were both happy.

Blindfolded, I could immediately feel the air moving. I followed it cautiously. There aren’t many creatures that are completely silent, but there are a few. A change in the air would be my only warning. I was in luck. I could hear a clicking sound from up ahead. Giant spiders looked scary, but were easy to deal with. I could kill one blindfolded. I approached slowly, listening to the scratches of its feet on the stone. When then stopped I crouched and thrust the sword up. The spider impaled itself. A twist and a step away and it was done. I paused a second to listen for a second one. Nothing. So on I went.

I had been moving slowly but confidently through the maze for about an hour when I felt the change in air currents. It was a matter of a second to rip the blindfold off, and put my back to the wall. I looked in the mirror bright surface of my sword and saw the basilisk. A lot of runners hated basilisks, but they weren’t that bad as long as you didn’t look directly in their eyes. They were one of the few absolutely silent creatures. I sidled up to the lizard and with a rooster crow stunned it long enough to position my sword where it would see itself.

The walls were still black, but no longer reflective. I left the blindfold off and continued. Maze running is like that. They will start you with one thing, and if that isn’t tough enough they will keep switching it up until it get interesting. Interesting for them that is. A runner is only interested in surviving. Ever since Theseus the gods have pitted men, and women, against their mazes. Since my sponsor brought me into the game I have run more mazes than I can count. Win free of the maze and I win treasure. Lose, and well let’s say you never lose more than once.

I moved away quickly to find that I was in a huge arena. Another runner faced me holding a black sword. He looked at me with withering contempt.

I didn’t speak but circled slowly. This was new. He suddenly leaped toward me and slashed with that sword. I rolled back and instinctively blocked the thrust that I knew was coming.

“Not much honour in killing weak little creatures, is there?” He tried a feint and thrust. “You don’t look to ready for a real opponent.” Another slash and the point of his sword sliced across my eyes. I tried not to scream at the pain, and the fear. It was reflex that put my sword between us. He laughed. “I thought you were supposed to be good.” I felt the air currents moving and turned to face him, my sword wavering uncertainly. He began to play with me moving one way, then another, never quite dealing a lethal blow.

I had one chance; if chance you would call it. I waited until he was in front of me, then stumbled and fell to my knees. I knew what I would do. I heard his foot slap on the floor as he lunged forward. Leaning to one side, I felt the cold bite of his sword. I gripped his arm and using it as a guide thrust my sword into his heart.

My sponsor fussed as she repaired the damage. I just lay in my paralyzed body and waited for my next chance to live.

The sorceress and frog were waiting outside the cavern mouth when the wizard and the dragon arrived.

“What do we owe this pleasure to, m’lady?” he said.

“My people are coming under attack from the orcs in this mountain. The attacks are becoming more frequent and deadlier. The scrolls portend if we take this obsidian to the proper receptacle in the mountain, the attacks will be stopped.”

“Do they say why, or where the receptacle is located?” asked the wizard.

“No to both.”

“What we will be facing? What kind of orcs are attacking your people?”

“Regular orcs, afraid of sunlight, nasty disposition, and like to smash things.”

“And that is what we have to defeat?”

“No. What we have to defeat is 128 War Orcs. Apparently they know about that receptacle.”

“Where did you come up with that exact a number?”

“That is the usual compliment of orcs for four stone gollums.”

The dragon took a deep intake of breath. “Do you know how much you have to heat stone gollums to destroy them?”

“I assume that is what we brought you for.” The sorceress pointed out.

“Out in the open, yes, the dragon could take them. But not in a confined passage. It is one of the reasons you never see a dragon in them.”

“The problem would be?”

“One, she has to reduce in size to fit. That reduces the firepower. Second even dragon fire requires oxygen. She can suck a passage clean of oxygen in no time.”

“Seems like that would help with the orcs.” the soceress pointed out.

“With them, yes, but we are going to be in the passage too. Plus Stone Gollums do not breath oxygen.”

The dragon flamed the cavern ahead of them. “No use leaving scouts.”

“Nor guides,” the sorceress said. “I had two waiting for us inside the cave.”

“Not human I hope?” asked the wizard.

“Orc. They volunteered for what it is worth.”

“We are about to find that out,” remarked the wizard,

They entered the cavern. Inside were two well-done orcs. There were also a couple of dozen more dead behind false walls.

“Score one for the dragon,” the frog observed.

The dragon reduced in size, and they picked a passageway that led downwards. This one was cold and dank, and soon came to a small fetid body of water. An armored alligator type creature challenged them there.

“This one is mine,” said the sorceress, and filled the passageway with lightning, including the pond. The beast and about two dozen small fish surfaced, dead.

They moved further down the passageway, and were faced with three more choices of routes. There were two going down here, one with rustling, the other ominously quiet.

The sorceress cast a light spell down the quiet one. “Ah, I thought that looked familiar. That was the old mine before the troubles. It dead-ends, but there are traps into it.

“That narrows it down,” remarked the wizard, and they started down the rustling passage.

The rustling proved to be caused by hundreds of ravenous bats, who first attacked the dragon.

“Those things are actually causing damage to my scales,” the dragon said, ineffectually swatting at them.

The wizard conjured up an ice spell, which stunned the creatures. The dragon had no compunctions of squashing them one-by-one on the floor. “Say, when is hop-a-long going to carry his weight?” the dragon asked.

“He is here to think, not to fight,” the sorceress chided.

“Boy, are we in trouble,” remarked the dragon, as they started down the path again.

The journey downward was uneventful, save for a couple more decisions on which tunnel to follow, but there seemed to be one that always beckoned to them.

“It is the obsidian,” the sorceress realized. “That is what is guiding us.”

“Whatever works,” muttered the dragon.

They arrived at a chamber divided by a river of lava. There was a bridge over it, but it was much too hot to cross.

The frog sat and thought. “This must be a defensive position. The orcs cannot cross it either, though the gollums can. There has got to be a way to drain it, and it isn’t going to be from this side. He looked at the other side, and noticed a lever. “Dragon, can you cross over and lower that lever?” he asked.

“That could set off an alarm,” the wizard pointed out.

“It can’t be helped. We need to get to the other side, and that is the only way to do it.

It did sound an alarm, but it lowered the lava, and they hurried across. Their destination was just in front of them, right behind an army of War Orcs and two gollums. The other two appeared behind them.

“Trapped!” said the dragon.

The receptacle was right behind the gollums, but it might as well have been on the next planet. The frog grabbed the obsidian and leapt over the defenders, placing it in the receptacle.

The mountain began to shudder, and orcs started running everywhere, ignoring the intruders.

“In here quickly!” said the frog.

The party entered the room, just as a heavy stone door shut tightly behind them. Then the mountain proceeded to blow up. When it was done, a portal opened in front of them, and the party exited to safety.

“Score one for the frog,” observed the dragon.

Pwal shook his head in frustration. Fingers had yet again failed. The lizard just didn’t have the strength to manipulate the workings in the giant’s maze. They were stuck in a maze of twisty passageways, all alike. One of these days he would learn to listen to the elders…..

*****

“It’s OK, Pwal” said the lizard. “You will figure it out. You’re the smartest parrot I know.”

“I’m the only parrot you know.” Retorted Pwal, but he was comforted anyway. “Let’s go over what we have done.”

“You mean besides ignoring every rule of both our tribes? We were told this place was forbidden.”

“We flew in and the wall closed behind us. Nothing we do makes it open again. There are other walls that open and close and it has something to do with the stumps on the walls.” Pwal had learned that by accident. He had landed on one and felt it twist under his. He had taken off with a squawk and a section of door had swung open. They had amused themselves opening doors and watching them close by themselves until Pwal had slipped and strained a wing muscle. He could probably fly, but he didn’t want to strain push it until he had to. In the meantime Finger had been trying to turn the stumps himself with no luck. “This place was built by the giants in the picture beside the moving wall with no stump.”

“The one that leads out.” Said the lizard

“The one that leads out.” Agreed his friend.

“We need something different.” Said Fingers.

“Different?”

“Well what we are doing isn’t working. So we need something different.”

“You are the smartest lizard I know.” Said Pwal. “Let’s look for something different.”

The friends set off down the hall illuminated by the same diffuse light that had shown them the picture of the giants at the first door. Pwal didn’t like walking nearly as much as Fingers like flying, but he wasn’t about to say anything. The passage turned and weaved like a vine in the jungle. The moving walls were scattered at irregular intervals. They walked for what seemed like hours until Fingers darted under one of the doors.

“Hey, this one doesn’t touch the ground.” He yelled from the other side, his voice fading as he moved away. “There is all kinds of weird stuff in here. Hey maybe this will work.” The lizard came out from under the door backwards pulled a thin vine like thing.

“Maybe you could climb up this vine to the stump to make it turn.” He said.

“It is worth a try. Take it up and wind it around the stump a few times.” The lizard took an end of the vine in his mouth and ran up the wall to the stump. In a matter of seconds he had it wound around the stump. Pwal tried climbing the thin vine, but never left the floor. Instead he pulled the vine down. It twisted the stump as it came and the door swung open. This one stayed open Pwal cautiously looked into the jumble of things in the room. One of the things that hung way up on the wall he recognized from the picture at the first door.

“Can you push them off for me?” He said indicating the shiny ring of even shinier objects.

“Why do you want them?”

“They were in the picture by the first door. They might be important.”

“I think you want them because they are shiny. Don’t birds like shiny things?” Fingers ran up the wall and pushed on them. They swung on the tiny twig they hung on, but wouldn’t fall.

“Try the vine again.” Suggested Pwal, so Fingers ran up the wall with the string and wrapped it around the thing. With both of them working it slid of the twig and clattered to the ground. Pwal picked them up in his beak.

“Let’s go back and look.” He said. Fingers sighed, but brightened up when his friend suggested he could as easily ride while Pwal walked as flew. They quickly made their way back to the first wall. It had no stump, but an odd shaped hole instead.

“I wonder if one of these things will fit in that hole.” Fingers looked at them carefully then ran up the wall to peer at the hole. He came back down and pointed to one of the things.

“This one might, but I can’t lift it.”

“If I fly up, could you push it in?” For an answer the lizard jumped up onto the bunch.

Pwal set his beak and half jumed half flew up to the hole. Fingers pushed one thing after another into the hole. Finally he found one that fit. Pwal gripped it with his claws and twisted. It turned and the wall swung open. He dropped to the ground and walked through the gap.

“I guess we are walking home.” He said.

“That’s a long walk.”

“The walk’s the easy part.”

“What’s the hard part?”

“Convincing our elders to let us come back.”

“Winter mornings can be so beautiful.”

“I know.”

The last hour before sunrise is when the flow of magic between one world and another is at its strongest. For that reason, I had suggested we wake early, and prepare for the trials that the day would bring.

Icewyrms danced over the peaks of distant mountains, flooding the landscape with a soft blue light. Dawn was fast approaching. From our window, we could see the tops of a thousand trees, blanketed with snow that had fallen during the night. Soon, the sun would rise and the forest would come to life. The white powder would melt, sending showers of slush onto unsuspecting travellers. Carollers in long, bright cloaks would fill the streets with song.

“I don’t want to do this.”

Normally, when we spoke, she met my eyes. Then again, most mornings she woke with a smile. I could tell that she was troubled, and I could not find it in my heart to blame her. The last three months had been the most difficult of her young life.

“You’ll do fine,” I whispered, drawing the girl close in a comforting embrace. Pushing me away she ran from the room, sobbing quietly but profusely. I considered following but decided against it. She would come back in her own time, and I had other duties to deal with.

The Icewyrms, reptilian gods of the night, had settled to sleep for the day, and that meant time was running short.

I pulled Salantha’s half-finished dress from the drawer. I examined the shining rag, and estimated that it would take me eight hours to finish--manageable, but difficult.

Sunlight broke the horizon and gilded the landscape. On the streets below, workers carried crates of supplies back and forth. When they spoke, their breath became billowing mist that rose and dissipated as quickly as it had emerged.

I was about to thread the needle when a soft click signified Salantha’s return.

“Aunt Ersime?”

I whipped around to administer a sharp word, but the anger died on my tongue. Her face was red where tears had marked it.

“You shouldn’t run off like that.”

“I just came back to say that I won’t be at the festival tonight.”

“What?”

“You heard me. I don’t want anything to do with this place.”

I could not find the words to express my disappointment, but knew that she could see it reflected in my expression.

“ I cannot choose your path for you. However...I would advise you to think before you act.”

“I don’t care if you exile me!”

“Salantha,” I whispered. “Please.”

In silence, the young woman once again swept from the room. I chose to ignore the event. Whether or not she returned I wanted to finish the dress. That way, if she failed to appear, she would have only herself to blame.

As the final stitch fell into place, the song of the icewyrms rang out over the kingdom. Dusk had arrived, and the first guests would be gathering at the gates.

I had been careless, had allowed myself to lose track of time. If Salantha wanted the dress, at least it would be ready. A part of me still hoped that she would.

I folded it and left it on the bed.

A crowd stood at the gates of the garden. Children clung to the bars, alive with fascination. Many of them had never seen such an ice sculpture before. It was an intricate maze, a white crystalline construction with a smooth surface and low, curving walls.

In the centre of the maze, chairs stood around a podium of black stone. It was upon this that Salantha was expected to give a speech, accepting her duties as heir of the Searion family.

Salantha was not the prettiest of her three sisters, and rumours suggested that she was spoilt, avaricious and cruel. While that might have been true once, she had changed, and I hoped that she would have the chance to prove herself.

The gates swung open, sweeping aside vast swathes of snow, and the crowds descended upon the centre of the garden. Before long, all of the seats were taken, and only one person was missing.

A few faces turned my way angry or exasperated or merely curious. My stomach tied itself in knots.

In one movement the whole crowd turned to a figure approaching from the house.

It was Salantha. She had washed the dye from her hair, which was tied back in a simple ponytail. Rather than the dress, which I had spent so many hours creating for this very occasion, she had chosen to wear practical clothing.

Silent astonishment followed her onto the platform. No one dared to breathe.

“I am here to make an announcement.”

My heart leapt into my throat. What was she thinking?

“From this moment on I am no longer a part of this community.”

Several members of the audience cried out in disbelief. Some rose from their chairs in fits of rage. It was chaos, but when she spoke again they all listened.

“ I will not disclose my reasons for leaving this place. I will say only this. One day you’re going to wake up, and realise that you never got to change the world...or even yourself. And by then, it will be too late.” She turned her dark eyes to the ground and a tear tracked down her face. “That is why I cannot stay here.”

The darkness descended and three heroes stood undaunted at the entrance to Lord Baldazar’s Imperial Palace. With valiant grace Sir Henry, the King’s most loyal and trusted servant, lead the intrepid clan through the heavy steel doors. While Hugh De Luc (a bawdy and ferocious French peasant, loyal to all God’s creatures), who was defending the rear of the party, stepped on to the cold, uneven stones of the Palace, the doors slammed shut with a horrendous echoing clang; forewarning all the horrors within.

In the centre of the trio stood Sir John of Wycombe, a very learned scholar who was most skilled in the arts of medicine and black magic. Although his meek stature (compared to his comrades) showed a weak and feeble man, the truth was very much the opposite. With the ability to vaporize a fleet of dragons in mid-flight, Sir John was not a man to be trifled with.

In silence each man followed the one in front. Sir Henry, who was slowly quickening the pace, came to a fork in the castle. To the right was nothing but blackness; to the left nothing but the despair of a solitary candle. Without a word or gesture each man took the path into the morbid blackness. Sir John, with an incantation of the Holy Spirit, proclaimed to all with ears the magical words, “In tenebra, verbero lux!” A ball of light hovered ten feet in front of the fearless heroes as they continued down the narrowing corridor.

The wet stone walls brushed against their shoulders until they could move forward no further. Sir John being the leanest in build went out ahead and scouted for a possible route. After a few minutes the passageway became so narrow that Sir John had had to begin crawling upon his stomach. Without any cause or forewarning the passageway back to his friends collapsed with an almighty crunch.

Almost immediately upon separation from his friends the passageway expanded. Sir John now stood in a cavernous passageway with his ball of light dimly lighting the path ahead. Muffled screams from above echoed all around, slowly their voices acquired the terrifying sound of proximity. Sir John quickly pulled out the Staff of Ovid and began to fire flames in the shape of Ovid’s beloved characters. A flame that appeared like the imitating-nymph hurtled towards a group of falling goblins. The goblins began clubbing the immolating nymph to no avail, who likewise clubbed the crowd of goblins. With each swipe of her club-like-flame she passed through the beasts with ease; they entered her burning club only to come out as pale white ash. The screams suddenly cut off and in silence their ashes fell upon the floor. The passageway behind Sir John opened and Sir Henry and Hugh De Luc resumed their positions at the trio marched onward into the passageway ahead.

They trundled down a thousand similar looking corridors; all claustrophobic and wet with the warm smell of damp wood. An hour had passed since their split up and nothing had threatened them. Even the silence was welcoming with the scurry of tiny mice gently soothing the intrepid trio into a false sense of security. With their guard partially down, for this was the most vulnerable Lord Baldazar could expect them to be, a beautiful maiden appeared up ahead.

She was clothed in white linens that stuck to the wet stone-floor. Black hair hung from pale, tender hands while shoulders bobbed up and down in ebbs of sorrow.

As they got closer Hugh De Luc froze in horror. “Sophie!” he cried out, “Sophie, can it really be? Is that you my love?” The pale beauty looked up in equal horror and surprise. When she saw Hugh’s rugged face, she burst into tears of joy and ran to him with her arms open. “Oh Hugh! It really is, Oh, it is you. I never thought I’d see you again.”

“Hugh!” Sir John shouted, “It’s a trap, it could be…”

It was too late; Hugh was already in his beloved’s arms bursting into tears. Without even a flinch of indifference the imposing shadow of Sophie began to grow from its tiny stature of Five-foot-five; six foot, seven foot. The growing began to slow until Sophie stood at Eight foot. With a sudden rage the shadow’s masque exploded from its gargantuan frame. As Sophie’s face fluttered towards the floor, Hugh De Luc followed it with his mouth gaped open and when Sophie’s lips landed on Hugh’s cheek the beast ripped of his head.

The beast turned towards the final two victims; “Yes it is I, Lord Baldazar and you two are trespassing!” Unmoved by Lord Baldazar’s attempt at humour Sir Henry and Sir John took up their positions. Again Sir John pulled out his trusted Staff of Ovid and roared, “In tenebra abis!” With ease and haste, Lord Baldazar said, “Speculum et statua.” The flaming character, this time shaped as a beautiful nymph with a head full of snakes, turned and crept slowly towards Sir John and Sir Henry. Unable to move or speak they stood there in awe of Sir John’s creation as it stepped slowly back to consume its creator. As the flames began to lick the faces of the frozen heroes, Lord Baldazar let out a maddening laugh over the hushed din of screams while the two brave knights perished in their own flames.