“So you see,” Prince Casimir said grimly, as he finished relating Kalman’s story of Malfior and the giants, “we must get rid of this … this Malfior. If what Cri’achan Mòr said is the truth, then it’s hidden inside Firestar.”
“But is it the truth?” queried Lord Alarid, sitting back in his chair and waving a hand casually. “I mean … the whole story sounds totally fantastic!”
“Prince Kalman must be mistaken,” Lord Alban frowned, shaking his head. “We know, indeed, that the giants have risen but how could any evil thing grow within Firestar without its knowledge?”
“Quite impossible!” Lord Dorian declared. “I don’t believe a word of it! Firestar would sense it immediately!” At this, there was a murmur of agreement from the other lords. Prince Kalman’s tale, they decided, eyeing one another understandingly, was no more than a faery story.
Lord Alarid voiced the general opinion. “How can you think that we’d ever believe such a tale, Casimir?” he said, his voice rising slightly. “We sit here, relaxed and happy, and you come along, deliberately, it seems, trying to spoil our pleasure! It has been a worrying time for all of us — but now that the force that attacked us has been destroyed, we have nothing to worry about. Like you,” he declared forcefully, “we feel Firestar’s relief within us.”
“But surely it would be in Malfior’s interest to have us think that?” the MacArthur pointed out, looking to Lord Rothlan for assistance, wondering if their thoughts had been working along the same lines. Amgarad flapped his wings and even Arthur looked interested.
Lord Rothlan eyed Lord Alarid grimly, his brain working swiftly. He believed Kalman’s tale implicitly and, like the MacArthur, could see the cunning of Malfior at work. It had obviously succeeded in lulling the lords into a false sense of security. “The MacArthur’s right,” he said. “Don’t you realize, Lord Alarid, that Kalman’s story is the truth. He’s not telling lies! Not making anything up! What happened to him was real. This … this Malfior is a threat and Firestar is in danger.”
“You are quite mistaken, Alasdair,” Lord Alarid began, “we all know that … that …” He didn’t finish the sentence, however, but halted stumbling in the middle of it, as a strong wave of surprise and anger swept over him.
Firestar had, at last, woken to its danger and was taking a hand in matters. It had no hesitation in making its feelings felt, either, for it instantly washed away their comfortable feeling of false security, leaving them worried, anxious and more than a little afraid. Nevertheless, there was also a reassuring sense of grim determination. Firestar had put itself on a war footing. It was going to fight the enemy.
In no doubt, now, of the gravity of the situation, the Lords of the North looked at one another in fear and amazement. How could this have happened?
“I apologize, Prince Casimir,” Lord Alarid said, still looking slightly stunned at the turn of events. “I should never have doubted you. Please forgive me … I don’t know what I was thinking of …”
“You’re not to blame, Lord Alarid,” Lord Rothlan interrupted swiftly. “Malfior was influencing your thoughts — all our thoughts, if it comes to that!”
The MacArthur nodded in agreement.
“Looking back on things,” Lord Rothlan continued, “I can see now that Malfior’s been fooling us as well as Firestar.” He met Lord Alarid’s thoughtful gaze. “Why didn’t you listen to Prince Casimir when he told you how important it was to stop the Cri’achan?” he demanded.
“I … I … well, it didn’t seem important at the time …” Lord Alarid’s voice trailed off.
“Exactly,” Lord Rothlan said. “It didn’t seem important.”
“You’re right, Alasdair,” Prince Casimir added, sitting up. “It must have been Malfior all along! And looking back on things, I’m sure it frightened the hobgoblins into doing nothing about the spider icon as well. And I,” his hand slapped the arm of his chair in anger, “I let myself be influenced by them!”
“Don’t blame yourself, Casimir,” Lord Dorian interrupted. “We were all affected.”
Prince Casimir suddenly looked less sure of himself. “There is something else I haven’t mentioned,” he said, looking at Lord Rothlan hesitantly. “Kalman also told me to ask you, Alasdair, to rid us of Malfior.”
“Me?” Lord Rothlan looked at him in complete surprise.
Casimir smiled wryly. “I know that you have always been rivals in the past … enemies, even,” he added, “but Kalman has never doubted your competence.”
The Lords of the North looked at one another with raised eyebrows at this remark. “I think we would all agree with the prince on that,” Lord Alarid smiled, “and … and …” he paused as a sudden, strong tide of feeling washed over them all in a wave of strength and goodwill. “Firestar …,” he echoed everyone’s thoughts, “Firestar seems to be telling us that he knows of Malfior and is seeking him out.” His eyes shone with sudden relief. “Firestar is with us!”
Motivated by the sudden feeling of elation they sat up, their eyes turning to the crystal.
“Perhaps we could have a look at what the giants are doing?” the MacArthur suggested, rising to his feet. “You never know, they might well be re-forming …”
It was then that Lord Rothlan stood up and bowing low, took his leave of them. Let the others take care of the giants and the glen, he thought, making for the stairs that led down to the vast hall where the machine was housed. His smile as he descended was somewhat rueful. Trust Kalman to land me with the job, he thought ruefully. Nevertheless, he acknowledged that it was a wise choice for none of the other lords would have had a clue how to go about it. It was up to him to access the mysterious icon that Malfior had left behind on the machine.
Rumbletop turned as he approached, looking apprehensive.
“Milord, what news of the giants?” he asked anxiously.
“They’re still being held behind the protective shield, Rumbletop,” Rothlan replied. “Now, let me have a look at this spider icon of yours. We’ve got to get rid of it!”
The hobgoblins looked at one another worriedly. “We were afraid to touch it,” Rumblegudgeon admitted, looking more than slightly ashamed.
Rothlan didn’t bother to explain. “It’s a virus,” he said shortly, “and it’s inside Firestar. We have to get rid of it before the giants get to the mountain.” And with that, he slid into the chair and, looking at the monitor, clicked on the spider.
The screen promptly turned green and started to roll off reams of numbers and letters that went on and on until they realized that they were being sidetracked.
“Let me try,” muttered Rumbletop, “I know something that might work. Come on, Firestar,” he muttered desperately as he tapped away at the keyboard. “Do your stuff! The giants are in the glen, for goodness sake!” He scanned the screen anxiously and pressed his lips together in frustration as nothing at all happened. Although the great machine continued to work smoothly with only an occasional hiss of displeasure as he frantically tried to alter its settings, they made no progress whatsoever in accessing Malfior.
“If only Firestar would realize that the satellite had left something behind,” Rumblegudgeon muttered despairingly, his tendrils growing longer by the minute.
“I think it does, Rumblegudgeon,” Lord Rothlan said, scanning the screen. “It’s trying to help us. It just doesn’t know how.”
“Nothing! Nothing at all! Just all these numbers and stuff,” Rumbletop looked despairingly at Rumblegudgeon and the other hobgoblins that crowded the hall.
“Lord Rothlan,” Prince Casimir called from the staircase, “Lord Alarid would like to speak to you.”
Hearing the urgency in his tone, Lord Rothlan looked at Rumblegudgeon. “Keep trying,” he instructed, as he got to his feet. “Do anything you can to get rid of the spider.”
“What’s happened?” Rothlan asked as he climbed the stairs to the Great Hall.
“It’s the ghosts from the castle.” Casimir said. “They say that Powerprobe has come to life. Chuck’s on his computer again!”
Lord Rothlan emerged from the staircase with Prince Casimir in his wake and striding hurriedly through the hall, joined the group that clustered anxiously round the crystal. Lord Alarid glanced at him. “I don’t know if it’s good news or not, Alasdair,” he said, “but Rory tells me that Chuck’s on his computer and he thinks he’s in touch with the satellite.”
“I wonder if Firestar had a hand in that,” Rothlan muttered, trying to calm his racing mind as he rapidly calculated the possibilities. “What do you think, Casimir? I have the impression that Firestar’s trying to help us despite Malfior putting blocks in the way.”
Fired with sudden hope, he returned to the machine but although he worked on it all night, neither he nor the hobgoblins managed to get any nearer to finding Malfior.
Dawn found him exhausted and dispirited — and the news that the giants had re-formed sent his spirits plummeting further. Fear gripped him as he was forced to face the horrifying reality that perhaps he wouldn’t be able to destroy Malfior; that perhaps it was too clever for him; that perhaps the giants would succeed … and claim Morven as their own.