“Your bitterness mirrors my own,” he told the big man. “I have argued with the spirits, telling them that, if they cling to their inaction, the humans will die out. But it has fallen on deaf ears. They do not see the world as you and I see it, my friend. Theirs is the long view. If we as a race disappear, the Earth itself will go on. It is the world that they care for, Malcolm, not one individual species. They will lend us their eyes, to spy on the enemy's troops, but that is the extent to which they will go. It is not direct, physical aid, of course, but it is certainly better than nothing.”

  Malcolm sighed and pushed back his long braids.

  “Yes, I suppose so. What's the old saying? Beggars can't be choosers? Well, that's us. We'll take what we can get and move forward. What else can we do?”

  Tamara walked over to join the two men. Sebastian and Chao had left the hall.

  “If you two gentlemen would like to continue your conversation, I'll head out,” she told Magnus and Malcolm. “I have some work to do before I turn in.”

  “If you're interested, I'd be happy to take you on a tour of our defenses,” Malcolm told the shaman.

  “Thank you. I would like to see them,” Magnus replied. “I've never been in a castle before. And as this is mankind's main settlement now, I'm eager to see what it is like.”

  “In that case, I'll bid you both good night,” Tamara told them. “Magnus, you have my gratitude for your efforts on our behalf. We've set aside quarters for you to stay in while you are with us. Malcolm, just ask any of the staff for directions when you're done with your tour and they will guide our guest to his rooms.”

  “You have been very kind, Lady Tamara,” the shaman said with a polite bow. “I hope that I can continue to help the people of Nottinghill going forward.”

  “I am sure that you will. Good night, gentlemen.”

  Malcolm wished her a good evening and Tamara strode off, leaving the two men alone in the large hall.

  “If you're ready, sir, then come along and I'll show you around,” the big man said.

  “Call me Magnus, please,” the shaman said with a smile. “Sir makes me feel even older than I am.”

  Malcolm chuckled and they walked across the hall and out into the corridor.

  “As you wish. So, you've never seen a castle before? Never took a castle tour back in the days before the dragons came?”

  “Small town boy, remember?” Magnus said wryly. “I never left my home town until after the world had fallen.”

  They walked past several of the castle's staff members, who watched the two large men with wide eyes. Between the towering form of Malcolm, with his dark skin and long mass of braids, and Magnus with his buckskin clothing and feathered braids, they made an exotic pair.

  Both men exchanged an amused glance as they saw the reactions of others, but neither of them mentioned it. There were more important things on their minds.

  Outside in the shadowed courtyard, with its flickering torches blowing in the gusty wind that swept through the area, Malcolm guided his guest toward the nearest set of stairs that led up to the ramparts.

  “Watch your footing,” he told Magnus as they began to ascend the steps.

  The shaman keep his eyes on the stairs, which were hard to see in the darkness. The torches from below did not illuminate the steps at all and Magnus kept his left hand on the wall next to him as he climbed.

  On top of the wall, the ramparts opened up and the shaman stopped and stared around in surprise.

  “It's amazing,” he told Malcolm. “How wide is it?”

  “The ramparts are about a dozen feet across for the entire length of the wall,” Malcolm replied as he smiled at the shaman's reaction. “We've widened sections of it to accommodate the ballistae that we use against airborne attacks.”

  “Remarkable.”

  Magnus followed as Malcolm began to move along the walkway.

  “The ballistae are set up every fifty yards or so,” he told his guest. “The dwarves gifted us with our first ballista not long after the castle was rebuilt and our blacksmith and his tradesmen copied their design and produced their own machines.”

  They stopped at the first missile thrower and the three-man crew saluted Malcolm while they looked at Magnus curiously.

  “Relax,” the big man told them with a grin. “This isn't a formal inspection.”

  “Good to know, Commander,” one of them, a short woman with arms like steel cables, said with a smile. “I haven't gotten my hair done in days.”

  She was wearing a helmet that covered her head completely and her fellow guardsmen laughed uproariously at her remark.

  Both Malcolm and Magnus chuckled and moved on.

  “Your people seem to be in good spirits,” the shaman observed.

  “Yes, they are a plucky bunch. Almost all of them have seen action against the enemy, but it's made them even more resolved to protect the castle. And veterans tend to live in the moment. If they aren't in battle, they relax somewhat. They're still disciplined, of course, but they are not nervous. As their commander, I prefer it that way.”

  “I can understand that. Nervous people tend to make mistakes.”

  “Yes, and if they are warriors, those mistakes can be fatal.”

  The wind blew fitfully across the ramparts, bringing a salty tang to the shaman's nostrils.

  “Is that the sea I smell?” he asked Malcolm.

  The big man nodded.

  “Yes. It's too dark right now, but you can see the English Channel from here in the daylight.”

  “Hmm. I've never seen the ocean before,” the shaman told him. “I'm looking forward to seeing it for myself.”

  Malcolm smiled, the light from the moon illuminating his features.

  “Before I came here, I hadn't either,” he said. “I remember as a kid dreaming about one day sailing across the ocean. But instead, a wizard Gated me from one side of the world to the other. I've never actually been in a boat, even now. Strange how things turn out, isn't it?”

  They stopped and stared out at the darkened forests that stretched out in all directions, just beyond the open fields where crops were growing.

  “I no longer even attempt to guess at what the future holds for me,” Magnus told him. “This world is not the world of my youth. My people are all gone. Our race is on the brink of extinction. And every day, some new threat seems to appear on the horizon.”

  Malcolm nodded as he rested his forearms on the parapet facing the darkness.

  “Yes. It's mad, isn't it? There are barely a thousand of us left. The elves' population is even smaller than that. Only the dwarves have the numbers to battle the goblins and their vast forces. And if we lose the anchors now, we could be wiped out before the dwarves could even respond to a call for aid. It's a weird way to live.”

  A four man patrol marched by. All of them saluted Malcolm, who nodded in return.

  Magnus watched them move off and glanced at his companion.

  “Calm but alert, just as you said,” he commented.

  “Yes. Let's continue, shall we? I'd like to do a complete circuit of the wall.”

  “Of course.”

  When the two men had reached the arch built over the main gate that led into the courtyard, they stopped and Malcolm gestured at the portal.

  “We used to have two reinforced doors blocking the entrance,” he told Magnus. “But even with thick beams locking them in place, they weren't strong enough to stop a battering ram. Now though, we've added a portcullis to the gate. It's made of heavy steel and a series of pulleys allows us to lower it at night or in the event of an attack. And the gate itself has been made thicker and stronger, with steel bars embedded in the ground behind it that can be raised up to help block it.”

  “Impressive,” Magnus said as he stared down at the gate. “And you can attack anyone assaulting the gates from up here.”

  “Exactly. The parapet shields our archers and allows them to shoot at attackers.”

  “It's all very medieval, isn't it?” the shaman said with a smile.

  “Very. Who would have guessed that one day we would be forced to use simple mechanics and heavy gates to defend ourselves against our enemies? That a civilization which once created the atomic bomb, that went to the moon, that had world wide communications, could be reduced to this? And yet, this is where we are now. There are days when I wonder if this isn't all some twisted dream that I've been trapped in for years.”

  “You're not alone in that,” Magnus replied. “I am a shaman, but in the modern age, many of my people had very little time for the old ways. Our young people spent a lot more time on the internet than they did consulting with the spirits.”

  He smiled sadly.

  “And now I get my information from the spirits and my people are all gone. Ironic is too weak a word to describe it.”

  Malcolm watched him sympathetically, but before he could reply something caught his attention, a movement out in the darkness, and he turned to stare out at the shadowed road that stretched away from the main gate.

  Magnus frowned at him.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “I don't know. Something is coming.”

  The light of the almost full moon broke out from behind some clouds and lit up the surrounding countryside. Magnus could just see where the dusty dirt road disappeared down the hill that the castle stood upon, leading to the fields below. There was movement there in the dim light and the shaman narrowed his eyes, trying to identify what he was seeing.

  “People,” Malcolm growled. “Two of them.”

  “How can you tell?”

  The big man glanced at Magnus, who was startled to see that his eyes were glowing eerily.

  “My 'condition' gives me certain advantages,” Malcolm said dryly. “I can see quite well in the darkness. And what I am seeing are two people. One is quite tall and thin, while the other one is much shorter. But that is all I can make out from here.”

  “Enemies?” the shaman asked as he stared at the distant blur of movement.

  “I can't say. But whoever they are, they are slowly moving this way. Come with me. We have to get down to the gate before they reach it.”

  Malcolm hurried back along the wall with Magnus close on his heels. They reached a set of stairs and descended into the courtyard, Magnus moving much more slowly than his companion as he tried to avoid falling off of the steps.

  Once on the ground, they both ran across the courtyard toward the main gate. The two guards stationed there saluted as Malcolm appeared in the torchlight that lit up the area.

  “Good evening, sir,” one of them said in surprise. “Is there a problem?”

  “Possibly. I'm going out through the side door. Keep the gate closed until I get back.”

  “Um, yes sir,” the guard replied, with a puzzled glance at the other guard. “Do you need any help?”

  Malcolm frowned in thought and then nodded.

  “Yes. One of you tell the ranking officer on duty to send some archers to the section of the parapet above the gate, just in case.”

  “In case of what, sir?”

  “In case our visitors aren't friendly,” Malcolm said with a grim smile. “Come with me, Magnus.”

  As the shaman followed the big man toward a narrow reinforced door on the right side of the closed gate, he heard one of the guards speaking to his partner.

  “We have visitors?”

  “Shh. Just go and tell the watch commander. Hurry up!”

  Magnus smiled to himself as Malcolm pulled back a thick metal bar and shoved the door open with a squeal of stiff hinges.

  “Hmm. I'll have to get someone to oil those,” the big man muttered as he slipped through the doorway.

  Magnus followed him and Malcolm closed the door once the shaman had stepped out of the way.

  The two of them moved to stand in front of the towering gate protected by the portcullis and Malcolm cursed softly as the moon disappeared behind some thick clouds.

  “Damn it, I should have brought a torch with me,” he said irritably. “Even I can't see in total darkness.”

  “Not to worry,” Malcolm told him.

  He chanted under his breath and from the darkness, tiny points of light appeared and moved toward him. Hundreds of fireflies flew out of the shadows and began to hover over the heads of the two men. Their little lights flickered and flashed, but together they lit up the area around them with a soft, yellow glow.

  Malcolm looked up at them with delight.

  “Amazing,” he exclaimed with a wide smile. “I've never seen so many fireflies gathered together before. Thank you, my friend.”

  Magnus chuckled as he stared down the dirt road, looking for any movement.

  “Don't thank me,” he replied. “The spirits don't always answer my pleas. They are looking kindly on us this night, which is a good omen.”

  “Then thanks to the spirits,” Malcolm said. “Now, where are those people I saw?”

  The two men waited under the twinkling light of the fireflies. The glow did not extend very far from where they stood and the strip of beaten dirt that was the road faded into the darkness a dozen feet from the gate.

  There was no sound but that of the whistling wind blowing across the hilltop, humming as it passed through the bars of the portcullis.

  “I see something,” Malcolm muttered after a few moments. “The smaller figure is wearing something pale that is rippling in the wind.”

  “And the other one?”

  “That one must be wearing dark clothing. All I can see is a pale oval high above the shorter person. A face, I assume. Stay alert. They're getting close.”

  “Shouldn't you have a weapon of some kind?” Magnus asked the big man, as he realized that Malcolm was both unarmed and not wearing any armor.

  Malcolm chuckled deep in his throat; a chilling sound.

  “I am a weapon,” he growled menacingly.

  The shaman said nothing more. Instead he focused on the dimly lit road and waited for whatever was coming.

  Finally he saw what Malcolm had seen. Two people were approaching, walking very slowly. One was not much taller than a ten year old child, while the other towered above their companion. He or she seemed to be as tall as Malcolm, which was quite impressive to Magnus. He'd never met anyone as tall as the commander.

  “That's close enough,” Malcolm called out when the strangers had approached to within a dozen feet of the two men. “Stand and identify yourselves.”

  The smaller person was wearing a loose white blouse stained with dust, with baggy yellow trousers touching the ground. He or she had a shawl wrapped around their face and all that the two men could see were a pair of yellow eyes peering out at them.

  The tall stranger was wearing a black cloak that covered their body from head to toe. From inside their hood, a pale face seemed to hover in space high above the ground.

  With a graceful gesture, the tall one raised pale hands and pushed back their hood, exposing a man's face. He was gaunt and his eyes were sunken into his face. A mane of white hair streamed back from his head in the brisk wind.

  Magnus could feel the man's unseen eyes scanning him dispassionately for a moment before he spoke.

  “My name is Antoine Dubois,” the stranger said in a voice as cold as death. “I have come here at the bidding of my companion, to lend my aid to your cause.”

  “Have you?” Malcolm replied skeptically. “And where have you come from, hmm?”

  The pale stranger looked at him expressionlessly.

  “From the ruins of Paris,” he answered, the hint of a French accent now obvious in his voice. “I have been interred there since the city fell. My companion roused me from my slumber and set me on this path.”

  “That's an odd turn of phrase,” Magnus told Malcolm softly. “Interred? As in buried?”

  “Yes, I noticed,” the big man whispered. “There's something very strange here.”

  He raised his voice and looked at the smaller visitor.

  “And who is your companion?” he asked. “Why don't they speak?”

  Antoine did not reply. He simply stared at the two men, as immobile as a statue.

  The other stranger seemed to hesitate and then they stepped forward. With an impatient gesture, they unbound the scarf from their head to reveal the face of a young woman.

  Her skin was as pale as her companion's. She had small, elf-like features and long, fine blond hair, but it was her eyes that caught the attention of both men. They were immense and lemon yellow and they were slitted vertically like those of a cat.

  “Wow,” Malcolm muttered. “I've never seen anything like her before. What is she?”

  Magnus did not reply. To Malcolm's surprise, the shaman walked forward several steps and the hovering fireflies moved with him, enveloping the newcomers within their warm glow.

  “Sarah? Is that you?” he asked in wonder. “How can this be? What's happened to the others?”

  The young woman stared at him for a moment and then she smiled with pleasure and ran forward. Magnus knelt down and embraced the child-like figure as she flew into his arms.

  “Magnus! You're here. I knew it. I knew that I would see you again some day,” she said excitedly as she buried her face in his shoulder.

  Malcolm watched them in confusion, while the pale figure of Antoine Dubois remained still and silent.

  “Um, old friend of yours?” he asked as he moved closer to the pair.

  Magnus released the young woman and stood up again. He smiled at her and then looked over his shoulder at the big man.

  “You could say that. Sarah was one of the Changelings that I knew back in the ruins of Ottawa. She was a leader of that group. Sarah, this is the commander of the troops here in Nottinghill, Malcolm Deschamps. Malcolm, this is Sarah.”

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, young lady,” Malcolm said with a nod. “How strange to meet another resident of the old capitol city, here in northern England.”

  “Hi,” Sarah replied with a cautious smile. “Nice to meet you too.”

  “You two have something in common,” Magnus told them. “You have a mutual friend. Simon O'Toole.”

  Sarah looked up at Malcolm with wide eyes.

 

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