Two

Adalon scooped up some water to wash the blood from his cheek.

'Are you all right?'

Adalon realised that Simangee had just repeated herself. 'My tunic is sodden,' he said. 'I have a cut on my cheek and a few grazes. I should count myself lucky, I suppose.'

Simangee snorted. 'Or you could simply say "Thank you".'

Adalon smiled. Simangee was one of his oldest friends, a Crested One he'd grown up with. Her lighthearted but thoughtful manner made her a perfect balance for the serious, stolid Targesh, Adalon's Horned One friend. 'I am grateful, you know. If you hadn't come along . . .'

Simangee sighed. 'Is nowhere safe? I thought this place was a haven for us.'

Adalon nodded. 'It is, but we mustn't forget that it once belonged to the A'ak.'

'That thing, that stone monster. Do you think it was one of their leftovers?'

'You'd know more about magic than I would, Sim. But "leftover"? I don't know.' Adalon wiped his hands. 'Speaking of magic, that was an impressive potion you used. From the chamber of power?'

Simangee sighed. 'There are hundreds of bottles in that room, Adalon. I've been testing and cataloguing them for weeks, but it's going to take forever.'

'I know, but we're going to need that magic,' he replied. 'How did you know I was in trouble?'

'I'd been working in the chamber for some time when I glanced at the mirrors.'

Adalon's tail twitched uneasily. The chamber of power contained rack upon rack of potion bottles in a variety of materials, shapes and colours. It was the mirrors, however, that drew the eye. Twelve plain silver frames held looking glasses that did not reflect the room but instead had scenes flitting across them dizzily, places familiar and exotic – and some that Simangee swore were not in Krangor at all.

'One of the mirrors showed you fighting a monster made of stone,' Simangee went on. 'I wouldn't have known where to find you but the mirror changed its view. It was as if I were watching through the eyes of a bird swooping through the corridors of this place, showing me the way.' She spread her hands wide. 'I grabbed some potions and here I am.'

'And I'm glad you came.'

Simangee huffed a musical burble. 'Well, we'd better find out what the monster was guarding.'

Before Adalon could stop her, Simangee splashed to the inner door, holding her lantern high. He shrugged and followed her with a rueful smile. Sometimes he thought that Simangee's curiosity would lead them to disaster.

She pushed, and despite its massive appearance, the stone and metal portal swung without a sound.

Adalon followed close behind, alert. Once over the threshold, he stopped, open-mouthed at what they'd found.

At first, he thought it was a cave, but as he gazed around he saw tool marks on the crude pillars and walls. This was the work of saur.

Adalon ran his hand along the rough stone and peered through the shadows at the ceiling, which soared high above their heads. Crystals caught the light and glittered back at him in a multitude of colours, small stars in a rocky heaven. It wasn't a large space, but Adalon was as moved as he had been in the vast Throne Hall in Queen Tayesha's palace in Challish. He wrinkled his snout. The air smelled stale, old in a way that reminded him of the deepest chamber in his ancestral home of High Battilon. That chamber rested on bedrock, the bones of the land. This place was ancient, clawed from the earth in times undreamed of, hewn from the bones of Krangor itself. Adalon was humbled by the age and rough splendour of the place.

A special bond existed between the saur and the land. The many saur races respected the land, tilling its soils, mining its hills, always conscious of the debt they owed it. The rulers of the saur were granted extraordinary powers by the land in return for becoming its stewards. Ordinary saur respected the land and used its gifts as wisely as they could.

After the murder of his father, Adalon had sought the depths of High Battilon, his castle home. There, he had made a vow. Placing his hands on the bare rock, he had sworn vengeance against Queen Tayesha, promising to stop her mad plan for immortality by becoming ruler of all the seven kingdoms of Krangor.

Standing in this chamber in the Lost Castle, Adalon was reminded of his vow. His promise had been witnessed by the land and in its patient way it was reminding him of it. He once again felt the presence of Krangor, vast and enduring. He knew the power in this old, old place – a power that was aware of him, too. He knew that this was power above and beyond magic – older and more primitive, serene and remote.

Simangee turned. 'Targesh!'

The massive Horned One stood in the open doorway. He grunted and looked around, his eyes widening. 'What is this place?'

'It feels like the Foundation Room at High Battilon,' Adalon said.

'It's the heart of the Lost Castle,' Simangee said in a low voice. She reached out to the rough stone of the wall. Her face was solemn, respectful. 'We can touch the bones of the land here.'

Adalon nodded, but he wondered about the bond between the A'ak and the land. If the old stories were true, it was not a happy one. 'They didn't want us here,' he said softly.

'What?' Simangee said.

'The A'ak. That stone creature of theirs. It didn't want anyone entering this place.'

'Stone creature?' Targesh asked.

Adalon told his Horned One friend about the magical guardian. As he did, the narrowness of his escape came to him again, and he felt a chill.

Targesh frowned. 'Danger within, danger without.'

'Danger without?' Simangee said. 'Do you have news, Targesh?'

'The Queen's Army. It's moving again.'