Marc Chadbourn - The Devil in green

Covered in snow from head to toe, they clambered out into the wide expanse of the outer bailey, but their guide didn't slow. They hurried behind it to the site of the old cathedral, the ground plan visible in the stumps of walls protruding through the white. Down rotting wooden steps they stumbled, into a regular area that had once been the cloister, and then into a room that lay lower than the surroundings. Once there, the golden figure soared high until it disappeared.

Mallory felt uneasy; there was only one exit from the room. A fizzing in the snow near his feet attracted his attention.

'There's something in the air,' Sophie said, shaking the snow from her hair. 'Power… danger… The whole place is charged.'

Squinting, Mallory could make out coruscating blue energy just beneath the snow cover. He squatted down and brushed aside the flakes to reveal a faint sapphire arc crackling across six inches. The urge to touch it overwhelmed him. Sophie rested a hand on his shoulder for support.

It felt cool and soothing; strength flowed into his limbs. He closed his hand around the energy flow, then made to stand up, expecting his fingers to pass through it like water. Instead, the Blue Fire came up with him, more of it rising from the ground in a regular structure: two uprights connected by a crossbar that lay just beneath the arc.

When he withdrew his fingers, it continued to rise until it stood just over six feet high, the energy painting the snow blue all around and throwing dancing shadows across their faces.

'What is it?' Mallory said in awe.

Sophie slipped an arm in the crook of one of his, transfixed by the light. 'It looks like… a door.'

Mallory shrugged. 'Well, we can see what's on the other side. Maybe we should…'

They stepped through together.

It felt as if warm rain was on their skin, even beneath their clothes. When their feet fell on the other side, they jolted; everything had changed.

They could taste the air, a thousand complex flavours stirring their senses at once. The quality of light made their heads spin; it felt like the seaside on a steely bright morning. The landscape was the same — the ruins of the cathedral, the snow — except for the figures standing silently all around, or squatting on the broken masonry, watching them.

At first, they appeared to Mallory like blurred shadows, an aberration that he could blink away. He had an impression of tall, slender figures oozing golden light. But then they diminished, became more squat.

A voice sounded like broken glass, the echoes rolling out across the plateau. 'This is how you see us now.'

And then everything fell into relief. The figures were barely more than three feet tall, though fully formed adults. There were men and women, young and old, dressed in medieval-style clothing in shades of scarlet and green. Their eyes glittered horribly. From most, Mallory felt contempt and threat potent enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand erect. Others appeared curious, a few, amused.

One stepped forwards on to a pile of stone that had been the wall of the north transept, a few feet above Mallory's head. He was younger than most, long golden hair falling down from a high crown; his features were cruel, his regard cold.

'We will grow in stature again,' he said icily.

Mallory's eyes darted around. He felt particularly uneasy about the ones unseen at his back. Sophie, though, was concentrating on the matter at hand. 'Greetings,' she said. 'How may I address you?'

The spokesman bowed his head slightly, though his mood did not thaw. 'You may call me by the name known to your kinsmen: Abarta.' He nodded as he surveyed them. 'I see you are a Brother and Sister of Dragons. In some quarters that standing commands respect.'

But not here, Mallory thought. Under his cloak he moved his hand on to the hilt of his sword, though he knew he could do nothing if they attacked as one.

Abarta smiled like a sneaky child. 'This is our cathedral now. The ground is unconsecrated… disempowered.' He motioned towards the expanse of the outer bailey. 'Welcome to Sorviadun. That is how your people knew it once. The fortress by the gentle river.''

'Thank you for allowing us into your home,' Sophie said with studied deference. 'We come to you with a plea for help.'

'We heard your call. There are few who know how to bridge the wall between worlds. You have a fine ability… for a Fragile Creature.' A ripple of cold, contemptuous laughter ran through the assembled group. Mallory watched one of the men sitting cross-legged on the top of a stone column, cleaning his nails with a long curved knife. He smiled dangerously when he saw Mallory looking at him. Abarta eyed Mallory curiously. 'The sword, Llyrwyn, has long been lost to your world, and here it is in the hands of a Fragile Creature. I hope it has chosen its new champion well.'

The setting was so alien, fraught with so many potential dangers, that Mallory wasn't comfortable speaking; he felt instinctively that the slightest word out of line could bring the strange, threatening creatures on them in a frenzy. Sophie, though, took the lead confidently.

'We ask for your guidance,' she began. 'There is a force loose in our world that has tormented our people, attempted to destroy those of a spiritual nature… taken our children…'

Abarta stayed her with a dismissive wave of his hand. 'That will come later. First, let us examine this role of yours, Dragon-Sister. You are both still bright. It would seem to me that the responsibilities of your office have only recently been laid on your shoulders. Is this so?'

'I have no idea what my responsibilities are,' Sophie replied carefully in case there was some hidden trap in his words. 'I only learned of my… office… second-hand and still do not truly understand what a Sister of Dragons is.'

Abarta mused on this for a moment. 'Then you have much to learn, yet you are deprived of a tutor. Let me aid you: Existence demands five Brothers and Sisters of Dragons. In times of hardship, as now, when one group passes another must be formed. The king is over the water — all Fragile Creatures await his return — and the other Dragon-warriors now have new responsibilities. So Existence called to you to take up the mantle. Do you understand?'

Sophie nodded, but her mind was clearly on other matters. She made as if to speak, but Abarta silenced her with a finger.

'The old stories are locked into the very fabric of Existence,' he continued. 'They repeat themselves as the seasons turn. The kings have different names, or different weapons, but they have the same role. They are all the same king because Existence has a need for this role to be filled. If one king fades from view, another must arise to take his place.'

The conversation was rambling, yet the beings remained intent and filled with anticipation. Mallory prickled, trying to read the meaning behind the surface. It was only when Sophie began to attempt to lead the talk back to the matter at hand that he realised: Abarta was seeking to distract them. In that place the sun was still high in the sky, but in their world it would be almost gone.

At that realisation, Mallory became anxious and attempted to catch Sophie's eye, but she had already decided to stop any more dissembling. 'I thank you for your guidance on this issue,' she began, with a little more curtness in her voice than she probably intended, 'but I wish to return to the questions I brought with me-'

'Oh, but there are so many things yet to discuss,' Abarta said, placing the tips of his fingers together. 'Of your roles and responsibilities, of the states of our respective worlds, of wars fought and ones yet to come-'

'Please. Time is of the essence.'

'Not here.' His eyes flashed sparks of annoyance at being interrupted. 'In your world, alignments may take place that have repercussions here in the Far Lands. But in our place, there is no then and might be, or not in terms that you might understand, and so no echoes or alignments.' He paused, ready to launch into another rambling discourse. Tension spread across Mallory's chest. Abarta tapped a finger on his chin in thought, then began, 'Now-'