Seated on silver thrones in the halls of the Lords of the North, Prince Casimir talked anxiously to Lord Rothlan and his wife, Lady Ellan, who had just arrived from their castle at Jarishan. There had been a wonderful display of fireworks over the mountain to greet them and now that they had paid their respects to the old Lords, they were anxious to get up to date with what was happening. Amgarad, Rothlan’s great eagle, perched on his shoulder and listened attentively to what was being said for never before had there been such a crisis in the world of magic.
“And the stone giants?” queried Rothlan later, when they’d finished discussing Firestar. “What’s brought them to life?”
Casimir shook his head. “I just don’t know, Alasdair,” he said frankly. “This attack has upset everything. Nothing is as it was before — and now that the Cri’achan are awake and walking the mountains, it makes one wonder what else might have risen from the depths of the earth.”
Amgarad, perched on the arm of Rothlan’s chair, hunched his back and made an indescribable noise. Rothlan dropped his eyes. “Not a pleasant thought,” he murmured.
“Exactly,” Casimir agreed, “and as for the Cri’achan … well, they seem to have changed, and not for the better.”
“Changed?” Lady Ellan looked at him enquiringly.
Casimir nodded. “They used to be quite peaceable in the old days but since they’ve risen, they seem to have become aggressive and they’re heading eastwards, you know — quite definitely in this direction. Firestar’s power must be drawing them.”
“I’m surprised that Lord Alarid hasn’t done something about them,” Lady Ellan interrupted. “I mean, we can all communicate with Firestar. We know within ourselves that it is well but it must also know our concerns about the giants. Alarid only needs to ask to have the giants put back to sleep again, surely!”
Casimir pursed his lips. “Don’t think I haven’t been pushing for it,” he sighed. “Believe me, I’ve tried a dozen times at least but nothing will shift him — and quite frankly, he’s in charge. I can’t override his authority any more than you can. He won’t do a thing about the giants,” he said grimly, “and that’s that!”
Lord Rothlan frowned. “That’s not like Alarid,” he mused.
“The news isn’t good, Alasdair. The ghosts say that the Americans are waiting for their satellite to make another strike and he can think of nothing else.”
Lady Ellan clasped her husband’s hand nervously at this but her tone, when she spoke, was determined. “That doesn’t mean that we should do nothing about the giants. They’re causing complete havoc. Glens are impassable all over the Highlands.”
“Something, somewhere must have triggered the giants off, Casimir,” Lord Rothlan pointed out. “They could never have risen on their own.”
“The only thing of any importance that has happened is the attack on Firestar, Alasdair. It seems to have upset the old way of things completely.”
“Hasn’t anything shown up on the machine?” queried Lady Ellan.
“The machine was affected,” Casimir said slowly. “Maybe we should go down and have a look at it. I had a chat with Rumbletop and he mentioned a strange icon on the monitor but as it doesn’t seem to affect the machine, he’s left it alone.”
“Left it alone?” Lady Ellan echoed sharply. “Shouldn’t he be doing something about it?”
“I think he’s afraid to mess around with it,” Casimir admitted. “Says he doesn’t want to trigger another attack.”
At this, Malfior, hidden in the depths of Firestar, smiled with ill-concealed glee and promptly communicated Casimir’s feelings to Lord Jezail. His master, he knew, was pleased with all the little tit-bits of conversation that he passed on and he preened himself at his cleverness. Lord Rothlan, too, would soon be under his control and obviously hadn’t the slightest suspicion that he was controlling the great Lords of the North. By focusing their fears on Firestar, he had quite successfully drawn their minds away from the threat of the giants. Indeed, if he was worried about anything at all it was that wretched icon. The last thing he wanted was the hobgoblins to access it on the machine and so far he’d succeeded in scaring the wits out them at the very thought. Apart from that, he reckoned, he was safe and in complete control. Why, even Firestar, the not-so-great power, hadn’t a clue that he was there …
“I might go down and have a look at that icon later on,” Lord Rothlan frowned, settling back into his chair. “It must mean something, after all.”
Casimir nodded. “Good idea,” he said. “Oh, and talking of the hobgoblins reminds me — they told me some news that will interest you. It turns out that Neil and Clara are staying at Glenmorven House with Shona … and Lewis is there, too.”
Lady Ellan sat up. “Neil and Clara? In the glen? And Lewis! How lovely!”
“Do they know about the mountain?” queried Lord Rothlan. “I don’t know that we ever mentioned it by name.”
Prince Casimir smiled. “They must have their suspicions by this time,” he said, “for they’ve already met a couple of our greedier hobgoblins. Apparently, they still scrounge cakes and biscuits from Hughie.”
“They must be wearing their firestones, then,” Lady Ellan observed.
The prince nodded in agreement. “Must be,” he said, “for according to Hughie, they’ve seen Red Rory and the MacTavish.”
Alasdair Rothlan raised his eyebrows and looked at him. “I thought you said the Americans had put the castle out of bounds?”
“Quite right,” Casimir agreed, “but the children have been exploring the old secret passage that runs between the castle and Glenmorven House. The Fergusons still use it from time to time — mostly when the weather’s bad, I imagine. Shona shows it to all her friends.”
“We owe a great deal to Neil and Clara — and Lewis, too, of course,” added Lady Ellan hastily, meeting Casimir’s eyes. “We really must invite them to meet the Lords of the North.”
Lord Rothlan eyed his wife fondly. “I agree, Ellan,” he said, “but this is hardly the time to land the Lords of the North with guests. Maybe later, when we’ve got Firestar sorted out.”
“You’re right, Alasdair,” Prince Casimir said, fingering his firestone necklace thoughtfully. “I’m worried myself. I only hope that Tatler is having some success with the Americans. You know that he’s trying to have them change the satellite’s orbit.”
Rothlan frowned. “Tatler knows his way round government circles both here and in the States,” he said, “and I’m sure he’ll do his best for us. But NASA, you know, can’t be classed as ‘government circles.’ It’s an organization in its own right with its own agenda. They mightn’t listen to him.”
As it happened, Lord Rothlan was correct in his assessment of the situation. Despite complaints from the British at Powerprobe’s orbit, NASA officials had explained that, for technical reasons, it was quite impossible to comply with their wishes. And even as George Tatler lifted the telephone to call Sir James with the bad news, Powerprobe struck again.