Draconnic Shenanigans - Episode 40

Chapter Forty: The Witch of the Mountains

(Artwork not mine, from the video 'The Twisted Myth that Hard Work Pays Off'

by Beasts of the Olde World, depicting Habetrot, fairy queen of the spinners.) 

"Come here girl," the old crone lifted a beckoning finger. Alina sighed and bowed her head, stepping forward. Estella took hold of her wrist, gazing at the crone with narrowed eyes, something like scales and claws swirling just below the surface of the windows into her soul. Kaelin tensed, expecting a curse or something worse to come flying Estella's way but instead the crone actually smiled at the younger girl, a look that said she was pleased about the concern for Alina's well being. Alina herself smiled, slightly sadly it must be said, patted Estella's hand and slipped out of her grasp. She walked across the turf to stand before the old crone. The old woman lifted Alina's chin with surprisingly gentle fingers and tugged down the scarf, revealing the poultice smeared over the bruises that were beginning to turn green at the edges.

"Ah," she observed, "So it's like that is it?" 

 Alina bowed her head, a tear sliding down her cheek.

"You aren't the first girl," the crone tapped the ground with the butt of her staff, "And like as not you won't be the last. At least you'll have me to help you out, as well as your ma and pa. I didn't, I had to do it all myself and let me tell you, with your ma that was no easy feat. I swear that girl lived to have her toe right on the line." She shook her head at the memory and turned her attention to the King's Special and their allies.

"I must thank you for finding my grandchild and seeing her returned safely to us," she nodded to them, her voice slightly cracked by years of work and effort but still strong and fierce. Old age had not enfeebled this one but rather toughened her, making her as hard as her hobnail boots, able to march through the storm, cross the ice field and still look the gods in the eyes on the other side and dare them to say that they could have done a better job of it than she had done.

"We only acted as any right thinking person would have done," Ulrich dismounted from Peter's back and bowed with an elegant flourish, "But I have to admit that I for one am curious as to the identity of her attacker."

"If you mean that you suspect that it was me, then I would say that you are not as right thinking as you think you are," the crone said, but she said it with a slight smile that said she was all too aware of the monsters in the world that could make others look aslant at family members and wonder if the greatest dangers came from where people should be the safest. Estella lowered her chin and peered at the crone more, trying to judge whether this was friend, foe or something else, some combination of the two.

"Alina is the only grandchild I have been blessed with, therefore I treasure her," the crone shifted how she lent on her stick, "For us mortals our children are our immortality, therefore we should guard them much better than we do." She looked at Estella and inclined her head. Estella straightened, suddenly knowing that this crone really did see more of her than just her face. She looked at Alina and remembered all the times Alina had patted around her head without touching her and the fact that Valodrael had felt her gestures instead. In an instant Estella understood that the trait was inherited.

"Unfortunately to live is a risk every day," the crone continued, "And like as not it is invariably from other people our greatest risk comes. Still I dare say that there is one less risk in the world today, isn't there? Your great Aunt kept you safe?"

Alina nodded solemnly, grey eyes sad.

"There you are," the crone nodded to Ulrich, "In this family we look after our own, always. Now, are you going to gift me with the names of your squad or am I to just guess?"

"You must think me churlish," Ulrich bowed again in apologises, "I assure you that I am not usually this much of a ill mannered yokel. I am Ulrich Brekka, gentleman adventurer. My three companions of the elvish persuasion are Quenril, Tasnar and Sabal, loyal warriors and my sworn guardians. My big, green companion is Thorian Vandervast, loyal, brave, strong and true. Then we have Kaelin Sans Name, a lady of a puca born line, a breaker of chains and changer of family traditions."

"That is not always looked upon with favour," the crone inclined her head, a knowing look in her eyes.

"Well some family traditions need to be changed," Kaelin said bluntly.

"The well built gentleman riding upon the cyclopean dragon is Dumpy the Wizard," Ulrich continued.

"I beg your pardon!" Jeremiah thundered, face like a storm cloud and the air darkening around him.

"Sorry, good friend, just my jest as I know you like a good laugh as much as anyone," Ulrich winced as the image of another dragon flickered into view behind Jeremiah. Ulrich suppressed a shudder but still had to swallow back the sour taste of fear, even after the sight had faded from reality.

"Sorry, my good lady," he apologised to the crone, "I am afraid that sometimes my own good humour over takes my senses."

"A man of great wit but little wisdom," the crone observed blandly.

 "And lastly with have the lady Estella Blackstar, a companion who joined us at the same time as our Ash Elf friends and who holds hidden depths, including one that holds a very dear friend of ours -Softy the Dragon," Ulrich completed his introductions.

"Softy!?!" Valodrael spat, his voice dripping from Estella's lips, both of her eyes the colour of the Void.

"And our very good friend, aren't you?" Ulrich smiled broadly. Estella's face twisted, her mouth opened... and her gaze turned to look at the crone, who stood impassively but with an air of power about her. Growling and snarling, Valodrael receded, grumbling all the way.

"Would you mind not provoking him like that?" Estella asked Ulrich, "It isn't exactly comfortable for me when he starts crawling up my throat, makes me feel like someone has just punched me in the breast bone, again."

"Ma'am, I apologise," Ulrich  bowed to her, "I truly did not realise that there was discomfort involved in your symbiosis. I will endeavour to keep my friendly banter and wry jesting to a minium if he finds it is beyond him to enjoy my gentle attempts at humour and teasing."

"It maybe gentle teasing to you sir," Estella smiled, "But as you yourself pointed out yesterday, dragons enjoy the idea that they are of a higher order than us mere mortals and you rather tried to savage his pride at the water meadow yesterday. At the moment, he is in no mood to appreciate your jabs and jibs. Maybe another time, if you judge your moment better." 

"I will bow to your higher knowledge," Ulrich bowed again and turned back to their audience, who was smiling gently as if she was amused by the scene before her.

"And what brings you into our mountains?" the crone asked, more curious than confrontational.

"We are attempting to return to the town of Nether Wallop to complete our mission for King Tatsuya of Portasia," Ulrich informed her, "But I am afraid that a long spell of travel within the bowels of the Underworld has left us rather confused as to the direction we should go. I dare say that I am presuming upon you but I did assume that you may have experience of this land, would you by any chance know of the direction we need to take?"

The crone frowned.

"Describe the place, I am unfamiliar with the name," she commanded.

"A large, rather muddy port town on by the East of a great lake large enough to be called a sea and backed by the mountains," Ulrich reported, "There's an Ash Elf running the place as Governor."

"Oh Lord," the crone raised her eyebrows, "You are out of your way. I haven't been to that side of the mountains since my daughter met her man, I wasn't about to make them move while things were decent for them and I wasn't about to leave my daughter to struggle with the weight I was left to struggle with." She thought about it, her hooked nose bending down as she pursed up her mouth, chewing something over.

"And him?" she pointed at where Tikrumpdel watched the proceedings with interest, the river swirling and gurgling around his bulk, Weatherall tapping near to pinch and pull a flap of badly shed scales off a haunch, "Is he travelling with you?"

"Indeed he is," Ulrich smiled, "We have come to a mutually beneficial agreement where we are transporting his horde in return for the use of one of the items as he has decided that he wishes to change its location and take a more active role in the world at large again."

"Well," the crone quirked an eyebrow and tried to suppress a smile. Alina covered her mouth as she didn't suppress the smile very well.

"Well," the crone bit her lip to say it levelly, "Well, it appears that taking a more active role has come none too early."

Tikrumpdel grinned and shrugged, sending waved sloshing against the banks of the river.

"Guilty as charged," he rumbled, "I will admit that I became too friendly with the food bar and not friendly enough with the use of my wings after Gaudis died." He slumped low in the water. "There just wasn't a point to anything any more so why not eat? It was the only thing that half way filled the hole. It wasn't like I could go back to Nablahal. Even without all the extra padding, I wouldn't have got through the doors and there wasn't anyone else who trusted the word of a red dragon as old as I was then and I am now." He looked mournfully at the crone. "Can a small folk like you understand that?"

"Oh aye," there was a misty look to her eyes, "I right can. 'Tis hard when the world seems to be hammering you on its anvil and if you have no one to live for it is so easy to just slide down the path towards seeking some form of oblivion."

 "Oblivion," Tikrumpdel nodded, "Oblivion is the word for it. Been trying to sleep myself into it but its just left me feeling crabby and cramped and restless, so now I'm going to try travelling. Can't be any worse and it might just shift some of the flab." He reared himself up and shook, his hide rippling like a sack full of jelly. "That and this great lake sounds interesting. I've found that deep water makes moving easier so it might make a fairly comfortable den."

The crone hummed and nodded at that, thinking something over.

"I think I need to discuss some things with my family," she stated and pulled a small whistle from the folds of her shawl. She puffed her cheeks and blew it until she flushed but no sound came out. Thorian frowned, a sort of tickling in his ears. He screwed a finger tip into one, trying to firkle the fly out.

Kaelin winced, gritted her teeth and then flinched, opening her mouth reflexively. The whistle was making her teeth buzz. Ulrich frowned as he watched her reaction and then he smiled.

"If Ma'am would like a counter point I have a little tin whistle some where in my pack that I am fairly good at turning a tune upon," he suggested.

"You dare and it will go where the sun don't shine!" Kaelin spat, hackles up, lips rippling back from her teeth as the wolf stood up and snarled. Alina took a step back, her eyes wide with shock but the crone watched with calm eyes and a knowing look.

"As much as I am sure that your offer is most generous," she said with a wry tone, "I must politely decline, for the sake of your team if nothing else and someday I will be interested in finding out the full story of how come such different people and different stories wound up sharing this travel together. Now then," she shifted her staff and laced the fingers of both hands around the top, "The river you are following, it will lead you astray. Oh it will guide you through the mountains, for a way. Then it will peter out in the bowl of a mountain's hand where the land is steep and rugged and the air is cold and wet. It will take you half way across the east to west line but no further. And it will also leave you about five hundred miles north of where you need to be."

"Er, is that a lot?" Thorian asked.

"Master Thorian," Estella said, "Remember your counting lessons? A hundred is ten groups of ten."

Thorian frowned and started counting on his fingers, lips moving as he counted to ten for every finger he touched.

"My dear Thorian," Jeremiah called, "Really there is no need for you to risk brain damage over this. Why not just accept that you don't have the intelligence needed to understand what people with greater intellects are discussing and leave it at that?"

Thorian frowned deeper, screwing his eyes shut as he concentrated on his counting. He tapped his last finger.

"That is a lot," he said slowly, "Five lots of that would be even more."

"About fifteen days of walking," Ulrich calculated, "Ten if we really push it, more likely twenty at least as we have to consider the fact that we will run into set backs, poor weather, broken roads, attacks. As we get close it is going to be out right ambushes. That puts us well outside Kaelin's time limit on the forfeit. We must be pushing the limit as it it."

The crone sniffed.

"Well seeing as my family owes you for the life and safety of our youngest member, " she said, "If my children agree to a move we maybe willing to help guide you through these mountains, although we will have to discuss the pace you want to set." She cast an eye at Tikrumpdel, who looked sheepish as he rolled the massive layers of blubber over his shoulders.

"The other thing I want to know is why is this town so important to you all," the crone demanded.

"Despite its layer of mud, which is difficult to avoid when you are in a very wet climate," Ulrich explained, "It is a charming little town with a close knit community and the largest production base for the East side of the lake. The people there are hardy and have give their all to earn their place as the bastion of Portasia, guarding that stretch of the boarder along the mountains. All in all, it is a place where a mixed bag like us can make a home as long as we don't go out of our way to annoy our neighbours."

The crone sucked her teeth, obviously considering the description in the light of her growing conviction that it would be safer for her family to move on but then her eyes narrowed.

"Personally I wouldn't mind settling there once our King releases us from our duty," Ulrich picked up the warning signs and dropped the other shoe, "Assuming that we can lift the siege that it is currently experiencing."

"Under siege?" the crone lifted her eyebrows, "Siege by whom?"

"Unfortunately a conclave of Ash Elves and werewolves," Ulrich came to attention, hands locked in the small of his back, "The very worst sort of werewolves."

"Worst?" the crone asked, striding over to look at Quenril, to prod and pock and glare, "How can you have something worse than the infectious mess they already are? They defile the blessed rest granted by the moon mother and then hide from the judgement of her sister, the cleansing sun, so how can you have worse than that?"

"Because these ones are intelligent and they are being led by one who is not only intelligent but also warped in his values," Ulrich explained, "They have been researching some form of magic that counters the werewolf change only they haven't used it to cure the condition. Instead they have locked themselves into the werewolf form but have kept a degree of human intelligence while they are in that form. They have also been experimenting with blending their forms with other creatures and monsters to create more specialised versions of the werewolf form."

"You said that they are allied with the Ash Elves as well," the crone noted, giving Sabal a none too gentle tap with her staff. He flinched and frowned at Ulrich, wondering how he should respond. In the time before he would have had his sword out and buried in her sternum before she could blink, now however he wondered how he should treat this woman of another race, particularly as the feel of her power still shifted and moved around her.

"Why then are you travelling with a trio of them?" the crone continued, her dark grey eyes glaring at Tasnar, who held very still, wondering if she was about to bite him or something.

"The Ash Elves, despite all previous knowledge of them are not a monolithic culture," Ulrich explained, "Instead they are divided into clans. Quenril, Tasnar and Sabal are of the Snake or Serpent Clan, whom have become our allies and without their help we might very well be still trapped within the depths of the Underworld."

The crone narrowed her eyes at the three Ash Elves and slowly, cautiously Quenril lifted his right hand to show the serpents head tattooed upon his palm, his brother and cousin copying the gesture.

"The clan that has allied itself to the werewolves are of the Bat Clan, a renegade house driven out of Ash Elf society and even the Underworld for experiments that went some what awesomely wrong," Ulrich continued, "You can recognise them by the fact that they have their noses cut and reshaped to resemble those of bats as part of their initiation rites to adulthood."

"Ah," the crone took a step back and nodded, "So you're having trouble with that bunch as well. That explains a lot of things. We had trouble with them here nigh on a year ago. They used to like playing nasty little games, cattle theft mostly, sometimes vandalism, a few disappearances. Then they got more bold all of a sudden, affecting the land itself, twisting the ley lines all out of wack. I had to call in some hefty favours to send them packing before it turned to raiding and slaughter and it has taken me too long to set things straight. If I hadn't been so preoccupied with setting things to rights within the land I might have noticed the undercurrents gathering around my granddaughter but too late now as it is said. So this is civil war and the other side is playing rough, calling in things that shouldn't be allied with?"

"That does just about sum it up," Ulrich admitted, "It is our job to..."

He trailed off.

Jeremiah was still sat upon Nanny Tatters head, gazing off in the other direction, trying to decide just how he would return the insult the Ulrich for that disgraceful name. He tugged at his beard, muttering and mumbling through his teeth, dark thoughts curdling in the air around him. There had to be a way of bringing Ulrich low without jeopardising his position in the King's Special. There was also the fact that from what the witch was saying they were outside of the boarders of Portasia. Should he take now as the golden opportunity to leaving the King's Special? There again, he looked back over his shoulder, the forest gave no indication as to any civilised life being out there, save for that slight grey haze on one point of the horizon. Jeremiah gritted his teeth. Elf country. He hated elf country. No roads, no proper cities, no stupid, easily lead humans that would listen to his words and could be swayed by his speech. And the magic, he nearly spat at the mere thought of it. Thinking of it now, there was that elf diplomat that had stayed at the Abbey eighteen months before his arrest. It must have been that pointy eared, stuck up snob that had snitched on him and started those ungrateful peons interfering with his business. Jeremiah turned back and shut his eyes. Ulrich and elves, both of them deserved some form of pay back, he just had to decide how it would happen.

Unnoticed by him, sunk deep as he was in thoughts of vengeance and retribution, the sight that had struck Ulrich dumb came flapping closer. It wasn't flying. Instead it was running, its long back legs thudding three toed, horny nailed feet on the turf as it flapped its wings of wooden shutters, its beaked head waving on the end of its long neck.

Kaelin's mouth fell open. The thing slowed as it approached its Mistress, huge eyes of clay turning to stare at the King's Special as its head turned and turned on the end of its long neck. One would say that the structure it carried was on its back but it seemed that it was more like it was part of its back, a domed shape reminiscent of a straw woven bee hive with a gothic arched doorway and small windows. Railings on stilts edged narrow walkways that turned the dome into terraces and other than the wooden parts, the whole thing was green, plants in abundance erupting out of its surface in a profusion of cut and come again crops.

"Whoop," it clucked, turning its gaze to look at its mistress, "Whoop."

Thorian stared up at it as the different form of china golem towered over them, quite unlike the giant turtle forms they had seen down in the Underworld.

"I think that would rival the governors palace back in Nether Wallop," he observed.

Ulrich raised his eyebrows but kept quite. His half brothers had spent years tormenting him with stories about the witch of the mountains who lived in a hut that ran around on bird legs, hunting for unwanted children like him to feed into the witches boiling pot for dinner. He had grown up and discarded such notions, believing himself to be too old to be tricked by some old bed time story. Finding out that there was some truth behind...

"You have to be kidding me," Kaelin said loudly, "It's the chicken witch!"

"Oh gods!" Ulrich exclaimed, sinking his face into his hands, "Kaelin if you ever join the King's diplomatic core, please tell me so I can be somewhere, anywhere, else!"

Alina laughed and then coughed, a dry raking sound as her throat protested at the abuse. The old crone twisted her lips in what could have possibly been a smile.

"Pardon our companion's complete lack of tact," Ulrich bowed low to hide his pained expression, "But may I presume that we have the honour of standing in the presence of Yaga Tuf, the... Lady of the Mountains." There, he'd saved the title at least.  One of these days he was going to instruct Kaelin on the finer forms of social grace and posse. He was going to teach her how to be more than just a ruffian.

The crone laughed, a cackle that echoed all his childhood bedtime fears and Ulrich had to suppress a shudder as chill licked up his spine.

"So you've heard all the old stories, have you?" she grinned, showing teeth that had gaps in them, "The old hag, Yaga Tuf, in her unnatural house, be careful or she'll eat you alive? Or may, go to bed right now or Yaga Tuf will take you away and boil you in her cauldron?" Her grey eyes sparkled.

 "Um, something like that," Ulrich rubbed the back of his neck as he admitted it. She laughed again.

"People never change," she shook her head as the hut started lowering itself to ground, legs folding up like a chicken brooding its eggs.

"Whoop?" it questioned.

"I take it that those stories are a complete fabrication then," Ulrich tried to do his most winning smile.

She half turned to her hut still smiling.

"I like children," she admitted, "But I couldn't eat a whole one."

"What about half?" Thorian asked. Ulrich and Estella looked at him with faces that were half disgusted, half horrified.

"Too noisy," Yaga Tuf stated as the hut finished settling itself and folded its wings so that they formed a set of stairs down to the turf, "And I can't stand how they wriggle."

 "Did you find her?" a voice called suddenly, "Is she alright? Please tell me she's alright?"

Stood at the top of the wing stairs, at a gap in the railing that ran around the lowest level of walkway, a lady with dark hair beginning to grey at the temples stood, her whole body tense until she saw Alina standing there, waving sheepishly.

Jeremiah narrowed his eyes, looking from Alina to the new woman to Yaga Tuf, seeing the family resemblance between all three. Behind his beard his lip curled. The maiden, the mother and the crone, what a pretty picture. A coven of witches stood right there on the turf, as bold as brass and twice as ugly. His fingers curled as he took in the sight, knowing that the old one, the matriarch, was watching him back as the lost member was welcomed back into the fold. The flames should have claimed them all as they hanged from the gallows, them and their foul magics, as worthless and depraved as their rotten souls and their depraved rites that they practised, worshipping things that had no right to exist without the permission of men. Nature wasn't to be worshipped, it was to be subdued, punished, broken to the lash, the whip and the harness as the disobedient beast that it was. And these three witches, these three hags, these... these women! He fought not to spit. They stood there proud of their power, their bargain with the forces that should beg for mercy, beg for the permission to exist. These women stood there proud, defiant, when they should kneel, subservient, obedient to the will of their men. It didn't take a genius to work out what had happened to the youngest, this 'Alina', if that was even her real name. She had seduced some upright and proper young man, tried to drag his soul to hell, he had broken her hold and then tried to cleanse the world of her filthy presence only her unholy powers had interfered. Jeremiah drummed his fingers on Nanny Tatters' head, looking away from the scene. They should have left her in the river or better yet finished what had been started. The fire was a better way, more sure, but a witch's power couldn't cross water so drowning was a method to drive their evil, their spite and their magic out of the world. Drowning and then burial in a black marked coffin so that all the angels and saints would know of their perversity on sight, would know that here was one unworthy of even being given a trial before the gods, that here was one who's soul was more demon than human, fit only to be immediately thrown into the Pit to suffer and burn for all eternity from the moment that it was found. They...

Jeremiah nearly choked. Spearing through the sky came another, with neither wing or sky vessel, unnaturally riding the air currents by the means of a stick. A stick! And it was a man! A man fallen to the perverted ways of these crones. Jeremiah was nearly sick at the sight.

"You silly girl!" the new woman was saying, her tone fierce even as she embraced Alina, "You silly, silly girl! Of all the daft things to do! Just what were you thinking?" She was smiling and crying all at once. "Of course you could come home! Did you think that your father would be that angry with you!?! Do you think I'd marry a closed minded bigot like that?" She was trying to hug Alina and shake her at the same time.

"I think you'll find that Alina didn't run away out of choice," Yaga Tuf tapped her staff upon the ground, her crabbed mouth even more wrinkled than ever. The new woman looked at her with concern and then the rest of the King's Special spotted what Jeremiah had already seen as with a roar of displaced air the man riding the flying stick braked to a stop just above the turf. He threw himself off the staff before it had fully stopped moving and flung himself at the pair at the bottom of the steps to the walking hut. The hut turned its head to watch him enfold both of them at once. For a long while he didn't say anything at all but his arms shook as he held on like a man afraid that he would drown if he let go.

At last he eased his hold.

"Don't ever do that again!" he whispered fiercely, "Don't ever do that again! No matter how much trouble you think..." He trailed off. Alina closed her eyes as his thick fingers tugged down the scarf around her neck. Alina's mother drew in a sharp breath but her father just looked, his lips pressed tighter and tighter, a terrible expression in his eyes.

"I liked that boy," he admitted, "I thought he was on the level. No more. When I catch up to him he'll wish that he never even looked at you."

"I don't think you have to worry about that," Yaga Tuf said with a level gaze, "I think that he has already been taken care of, particularly if Alina followed my advice and made sure she was close to the water when they last met." Alina looked at her grandmother and nodded. Her father took several long breaths to calm down and then turned to the King's Special.

"I suppose we need to thank you for making sure Alina got home safe," he said, holding out his hand to Thorian, his blue eyes shadowed by the hours of worry, "We've been looking for her for two days."

Thorian looked and like what he saw. The man was slim but his forearms were lined with the rangy muscle of someone used to hefting heavy weighs repeatedly. That and the burn scars spoke of someone used to the flying sparks of the forge and anvil. Thorian enveloped the man's hand in his mighty paw and felt the resistance of the man's grip. Thorian smiled.

"You are welcome," Ulrich nodded to the man, noting the fine bone structure of the man's cheek bones and long chin beneath the mop of walnut brown hair. There was some more than human in that face, a slight touch of something else. Ulrich frowned as he realised the man's hair covered his ears. "We were happy to help someone in need."

"Yeah we did," Thorian gave the guy's hand a hard shake and then let go, "We got her out in one piece. Thankfully she don't breath none of it in."

Alina's dad smiled at Thorian, impressed with his grip and then his expression faltered.

"What do you mean?" he frowned, lines of worry coming back in his face, "What do you mean got her? Breath what in?"

Thorian bit his lip, knowing he'd once again said something he shouldn't have done. He looked at Ulrich, hoping his friend wasn't too upset about him winning the competition, that he'd be willing to help out right about now.

"I'm afraid Alina took a tumble in the river," Ulrich explained, "We found her down stream over a day ago but as you see, we made sure her health was restored as we brought her home and she has returned the favour. One of my companions was beaten around the head quite badly by a water element and she has worked wonders relieving his headache."

Alin'a father didn't seem to be hearing Ulrich's gratitude, consuming by the knowledge of what dangers lay in the river and that his child had nearly been consumed by them. He closed his eyes, mouth working to hold it in, his hands trembling. Again Ulrich nearly had what else was mixed into his inheritance. Something that made him resemble... No, it was gone again.

"Well," Alina's father said, once he had a handle on his fear, "I thank you once again. I take it that you are travelling through the area?"

"That they are and we might be wise to join them on their travels," Yaga Tuf said. Her son-in-law frowned at her but her daughter took a seat on the ankle of the china golem, beside the bottom step that lead up to the hut upon its back, pulling Alina down to sit beside her.

Yaga Tuf turned to look at the head of the hut on legs.

"We need a kettle now," she told it, "Hot as you can make it."

It cluck at her and half closed its eyes, making muffled noises in its throat then it curved its head round to lay its chin on the ground and opened its beak. On its tongue sat not only a steaming kettle but also a tea pot and a collection of tea cups and mugs.

"Right," Ulrich nodded slowly, "I did not expect that."

"This house has many surprises," Alina's father smiled, "I'm not entirely sure any one save its creator knows them all. I'm Altan by the way. I don't think we had time for introductions."

"Ulrich," Ulrich took his hand and shook it, suppressing a wince. The man's grip was strong. "Thorian, Kaelin, Estella. Quenril, Tasnar and Sabal. The gentleman on the cyclopean dragon is Jeremiah and our large companion in the river is Tikrumpdel."

"Tikrumpdel?" Altan raised an eyebrow as he looked as the dark red dragon, lazing in the water, "The Tikrumpdel? My grandmother told me stories about him."

"I am afraid the stories are a little out of date," Ulrich admitted.

"He was last seen nearly four hundred years ago," Altan said, still gazing at the lounging dragon, "Even some of the younger elves have half a mind about whether or not he was real."

Tikrumpdel turned his head to peer at the ones discussing him. After a moment he lifted his head, peering more closely. There was something about this new human he recognised, something similar to someone he had known before he had gone into hibernation. He frowned, trying to dig the memory out of where it was hiding. He wasn't the only one peering.

Estella creped closer to the staff that Altan had flown to them on. It had stood itself upright as it had been left to its own devices and hovered there, waiting for physics to follow it, rather than it follow physics. Estella peered more closely at it. It peered back. It had no eyes to peer with but she could feel it looking back at her.

"You're talisman wood, aren't you?" Estella whispered. It did not reply but her talismans started chirruping and dancing through the air around it, daring to perch on it and then spin away, their thrilling voices sounding like laughter.

"Well I've never seen that before," Altan noted, "I didn't know he liked to play."

"Let them play," Yaga Tuf stated, "We have more important things to talk about." She finished pouring out the cups of tea and Alina carried the tray round, offering them all one. She left one the tray for Jeremiah but Nanny Tatters stayed resolutely on the other side of the river. Yaga Tuf took her place perched on the steps that led up to her house, Alina sitting to one side, sandwiched between her mother and father on the house's ankle. The house held still, listening in as Yaga Tuf gestured for them to seat themselves on the turf. Without discussing it they formed a loose semi circle before her.

"Here's the way I see it," Yaga Tuf stated, "The young man who should have been staying at Alina's side declined the chance most forceable. He has paid the price for that. He could have just said no and walked away. It would have not been pleasant for Alina, as well I know but he took it one step further than that, trying to erase what he saw as his mistake from the world. Why? Well who knows how the minds of some work? I have my suspicions but we will not be ever asking him to say, seeing that Alina's great aunt put pay to his efforts. That leaves us in a very... delicate situation. Despite the evidence there on Alina's neck the villagers are going to blame us for what has happened to that young man." She paused and sniffed at that. Alina's mother held her hand tight, her mouth a flat line. "Now we can either try and stay here and weather out the storm but I, for one, do not think that this will be a healthy place for the baby."

Estella nodded, her suspicions confirmed as Alina bowed her head. Well, Alina wasn't the first and neither would she be the last. For some reason, when these things happened it was nearly always the mother who was blamed and not the father. Anyone would think that a woman could start a new life by herself and just involved the man as a side note.

"Now these good people need guides to get them through the mountains within the time limit they have," Yaga Tuf continued, "Seeing as their efforts might just put a stop to the disruptions that are happening to the ley lines I am willing to help them. What say you all?" She looked at her family.

Alina's mum sighed, her eyes down cast and smoky, the grey of them marred and uneven.

"I don't like it," she said, "We built a good thing here, we built a good home. I met my husband here. I thought we were welcome. Now I wonder if we were just useful, if we were just easy to have around. We thought that being liked was being safe."

Alina bowed her head again and began to cry, silent tears that rolled and dripped. Her father put his arm over her shoulder and gave her a gentle squeeze. If anything it made her cry harder.

"Now I think that being liked made us just easy to use," Alina's mother continued, a hardness growing within her gaze, "We made ourselves fit what these people need from us and that made us easy to be used. Used to make life more comfortable, more pleasant, more fun. Only now there is a price tag attached to that pleasure, that fun and they don't want to pay. It appears being liked is a fragile currency and now we are bankrupt because we asked for something back, we set a boundary and asked to be respected, seen for our souls and not just our bodies, not just how useful we can be. " She paused and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. "I will not see my daughter and her child pay the price for no longer being the nice one where it is easy to forget she is human too. I will go."

Yaga Tuf nodded and looked to her son-in-law as he held up his daughter.

"My family comes from a world of witch hunters," he stated, face hard and older looking. Tikrumpdel tilted his head. He knew that he knew this one but the name wouldn't come into focus. He sank back, chewing it over.

"I know how this will play out," Altan continued, "The flock turns on its guardian when the guardian is no longer convenient, no longer conforming to the little space they were allowed to lay down and call their own. I will need to fetch my tools from my workshop. I will not leave the gifts my grandfather worked and sweated to provide for his son, my father, for some half wit to use and break and discard as if they were just things, just as I will not allow my daughter to be a thing in someone's eyes."

Yaga Tuf nodded again and turned to the King's Special.

"It is decided," she nodded, "We will go with you as your guides and seeking our own new place in doing so."

"As I said," Altan stood, "I want to retrieve my tools before we leave."

"We can help with that," Thorian grinned, lacing his fingers and then pushing them outwards until the joints popped, "And if some people decide they want to play rough, well, I can play rough."

"Tell us what you need us to do," Ulrich stated, standing and setting his cup back on the tray. Yaga Tuf grinned and Ulrich suddenly understood where the horror stories had come from. Yaga Tuf was a witch who saw to doing what needed to be done, that didn't mean that she was nice. She had chosen to protect this place but the villagers had thought that just meant from the threats from the outside, they hadn't thought that she would protect them from the small minded, the baleful, the cowardly, those that would do a wrong thing and call it right and worse, warp the minds of their children over until they believed the same thing.

"I think that they need a little discipline on the way out," she said, grey eyes sparkling, "If nothing else it will discourage those that would follow us with either punishment or detainment on their minds."

Thorian grinned back at her, his tusks gleaming.

"I can manage that," he said.

"Sure, why not?" Ulrich said with more restraint, "The great tacticians do say to limit the living enemies you leave behind you."

"Maybe not that far," Yaga Tuf said, "I do not want anyone dead. Despite their resent behaviour, I do not believe that they had warranted that. After all if people are going to be killed for being stupid we'd have to kill nigh on the whole damn world. Besides dead people are not fun and I think this calls for some fun."

"Mother," her daughter admonished. Yaga Tuf laughed unashamedly.

"My dear," she smiled, "The whole world knows me as the wicked witch of the woods. Allow this old hag her moments of fun by playing up to what they think of me."

"I like the sounds of this," Thorian grinned, walking down to the river and seizing a drift wood log. He chose one of the branches and wrenched it off, bashing it on the rocks until all the rotten pieces flew off. He came back with it propped over his shoulder, Quenril flinching from the sight of a club guaranteed to give a few people a headache.

"Those of us who would like to may ride with us," Yaga Tuf invited and turned to walk up the steps to the walkway of her house.

"If you don't mind, I'll fly," Kaelin shook out her pinions.

"Of course," Yaga Tuf half turned to look at her, "I am not one to put the bird in the cage until it sings. Spread your wings, my dear, learn to fly while you have the chance."

She turned back to climbing the stairs, her house watching her and occasionally muttering 'whoop'! Ulrich and the others followed.

"You coming?" Ulrich called to Jeremiah as he reached the railings.

"I prefer my own transportation," Jeremiah folded his hands inside his sleeves, his face turned away from the sight.

"What's got up his robe?" Thorian asked as Ulrich shrugged and stepped up on to the walkway.

"No idea," Ulrich shrugged.

"Probably the sight of three women of power, who are unafraid to stand proud and tell the world 'it's your problem that you don't like us being here, deal with it'," Estella stated, "That and the fact that there is a man strong enough to not be frightened by that power. Jealousy is a compliment disguised as judgement. When they can't control you, they try to discredit you, when they can't match your power, they mock your power but all the time they crave to have a drop of that might, the stuff they pretend to hate because they know in a month on Moondays they'll never be worthy of it."

Yaga Tuf turned sharply to look at her.

"Are you sure you are not one of us my dear?" she questioned. Estella smiled and held out a hand. The red cardinal flew to her fingers and sang a liquid trill.

"I maybe," she smiled.

"Maybe indeed," Altan smiled, holding out his hand. His staff flew to it with a solid smack. He held it like a quarterstaff and not a walking aid, something of a manner of a wizard in his stance. Once again Ulrich almost, almost knew what the extra in Altan's heritage was but it slipped away once more. "I have not seen such detailed beings made in the wood before. Just how did you grow them?"

"Grow them?" Estella asked as she followed up the staircase, "I carved them. I am surprised that you quickened the wood while it was still in its raw state."

"Not I," Altan stated, twirling the staff, "This was my grandfather's work, made out of grief and pain and brokenness, made when he realised that there are some things that cannot be fix and some times we can love someone with our whole beings only to find what we thought we had was just an illusion. He did say, though, that what he learnt, later, was that when your dreams run out of your fingers like dust then your hands are left empty to find another dream."

"That sounds like quite a tale," Ulrich observed as he bowed to Yaga Tuf for opening the door for him, "Perhaps sometime you could tell it to us. Now I'm sorry that with so many of us that we are going to make your house some what... crowd... ed..." He trailed off as he entered the house and had to remember to stand aside for the others to follow him in.

 "Wow," Thorian  noted as he followed the three Ash Elves in.

The hut of Yaga Tuf was larger on the inside than it was on the outside, light streaming in through windows that were some how bigger on the inside than they were on the outside. The walls where smooth and white, broken by doors that should lead only to sheer drops, the domed roof at a comfortable height above them, bundles of dried herbs hanging from hooks drilled into the ceiling along with strings of sausages, skeins of wool and flax and dyed thread, several sacks of grain and plaits of onions and garlic.

The furniture, in comfortable worked wood, was curved to fit the walls of the room and the heavy table sat solid in the middle of the room, its legs apparently growing out of the floor. It wasn't the only thing growing. Every where around the room, growing directly out of the walls where plants, some flowering, some leafy, some good to eat and ones higher up which would be dangerous if not prepared properly. In some places you could barely see the white clay.

"I wonder what that is for," Tasnar peered at the edge of the table, where the wood had been raised up as a sort of lip. Quenril looked around and saw that all the work surfaces had a similar lip to their edge.

"You'll see," Alina's mother guided her daughter to a chair and sat her down, setting about unwrapping and cleaning her throat.

"I also notice you have no fire," Ulrich looked around, "May I ask how you kept the place warm in the winter?"

Altan laughter and strode over to a door in the curve of the wall beside a big, black box of iron that seemed to be studded with lots of doors that were bolted shut. The door opened to reveal a wood room that should have been physically impossible. He grabbed a couple of pieces and bolted the door shut, swiftly going to the largest, central door of the black box. He unbolted the door and opened it to reveal a smouldering fire. He pushed the pieces of wood in and bolted the door shut again, opening up a little grill below it. After a while the warmth started rising from the black box and he set a pan in one of the holes on the top of the contraption while his wife fetched down herbs and roots from the ceiling bundles.

The King's Special suddenly stumbled as the whole room lurched, Yaga Tuf's house getting to its feet. As it started walking the room tilted slightly from side to side, like a ship on the sea, making anything on the side boards slid slightly back and forth.

"Mother always did say the only problem with this house was that you had to put the fire out before it could move," Altan's wife smiled, "My husband was clever enough to fix that problem. One of the reasons I married him."

Altan looked affectional at his wife.

"A man of many talents," Ulrich complimented, "But forgive me, my good lady, but I fear that I did not catch your name. May I know it?"

"How rude of me," Altan slapped his forehead, "People, may I introduce my wife, Milena."

She bobbed a curtseyed as Yaga Tuf came through the door but left it open, kicking a wedge into place behind her.

"No need to shut out the fresh air," she stated, "That and it would rude to shut out the rest of your friends. Now, unfortunately we are not going to have room enough for all of you to sleep indoors, but the vanes of the stairways form a fair shelter from the rain and you'll be surprised how long the heat radiates from this crockery pot after the sun goes down."

"Whoop!" said crockery pot protested. Yaga Tuf smiled and chuckled.

"Now, let's see to that throat of yours," she sobered. Alina closed her eyes and tilted her head back to allow them to unbind the scarf. The bruises where worse than they had been the day before.

It was not long after Yaga Tuf had finished cleaning her grand daughter's skin when the house came to a rocking halt. Milena stepped out on to the balcony formed by the lowest walk way.

"I can see the smoke columns from the village," she reported, stepping back into the house.

"As well you might," Yaga Tuf sniffed. Thorian looked out of the window at the river sliding by down below.

"Why we stopping here?" he asked.

"I need to talk with my sister," Yaga Tuf busied herself gathering some bread and honeyed treats, some fragrant herbs and smoked sausage, "And Alina needs to say her thank yous."

Alina did not look happy about this prospect, hands gripping the arms of the chair harder than they had done when Yaga Tuf had been washing her neck.

"It will be alright," Thorian patted her shoulder, "We'll be safe, Ulrich will see to that."

"And just what am I being volunteered for?" Ulrich demanded, "And more to the point why?"

"Well," Thorian sniffed, "You are the one with all the people who are willing to follow you about and serve you. You have Quenril, Tasnar and Sabal, as well as Marmaduke." He nodded to the automaton where it was stood in the corner. Marmaduke inclined his head back with a slight grinding noise. "Not to mention those two giant bugs, Peter and Weatherall, who are picking through the garden outside. You also talked Estella and Valodrael to work with us so you are the one who keeps getting us new friends. I don't seem to have the knack for it."

"Well I do suppose that I am a hero," Ulrich smiled, striking a posse, "A man among men."

Estella rolled her eyes, noticing Milena doing the same. Kaelin didn't bother with the eye roll, looking totally bored inside. Yaga Tuf smiled indulgently, a mother faced with her errant, overly enthusiastic son.

"Aye meant to big you up," Thorian protested, "Not grow your ego! Its big enough already, it's bigger than this house. I'll not do that again."

Altan and Milena looked from on to the other.

"I thought you were friends," Altan said slowly.

"They are," Estella assured, "But they are the sort of friends that take the mick out of each other just about all the time. About the only one who can't take a joke is the priest with the one eyed dragon."

"Yeah, well that's because he's a selfish, murderous basket who has issues with any one who doesn't bow down and worship both him and his god," Kaelin said and then grunted. Something had flickered in the corner of her eye and it had looked unpleasantly like the god of a certain over weight priest.

Yaga Tuf banged her stick on the floor and snapped a stream of words, fingers flicking a pinch of crumbled herbs into the air. Kaelin jerked and then breathed easier.

"Thank you," she said, "I don't know what you just did but..." Her tongue was stilled as Yaga Tuf ceased her chin and glared at her face.

"You've been marked," she stated, stepping back as she released Kaelin. She glared at Thorian and Estella but stopped once again at Ulrich.

"You," she stated, "He's marked you as well."

"After I was injured by a werewolf slash," Ulrich admitted, tugging down his collar to show where the scar traced over his collar bone, "I have been trying to find if there is a god that might be able to counter his grip."

"Not likely," Yaga Tuf crabbed her mouth, shaking her head, "You need to be careful around him and if you can find a god that is willing to listen to you then believe in them, believe with all your heart and all your mind and all your soul. The god your priest is worshipping is not one that should be trusted. He would have the whole world for himself and even then it would not be good enough. Nothing was ever good enough for that one."

"Could that be..." Milena hesitated, "Could that be what has been bending the ley lines out of alignment?" 

"If he is worshipping one of the judgemental gods then surely then that is a possibly," Altan looked between his wife and his mother-in-law but Yaga Tuf shook her head.

"No," she stated, "What ever is affecting the ley lines is something not mortal but not a god either. Whatever is touching the ley lines is something that crawls through the caves of madness and ambition. That is a darkness all its own and one that will have to be dealt with in its own time. Now turn, time to go and visit my sister." She turned to the door as the hut sank to the floor.

They walked down the wing vanes to the forest floor, the thick layer of pine needles muffling their foot steps as they walked between the trunks of the trees, pushing passed the branches of the species that had foliage lower down the trunks than most. The sound of the river became loader and then a band of trees of a lighter green came into view. The small rounded leaves of honeyberry trees surrounded a forest gale were the river had filled a deep depression in the ground, creating a pool of dark, still water bordered by whispering reeds and sedge grasses. There was a broad mossy band of grass between the water and the trees that cast their fluttering shade over the water. It looked, like the sort of place a young woman and her sweetheart would meet to be away from parental eyes.

Thorian looked around, scratching his ear, wondering why they were here. There was a rustle and Nanny Tatters pushed her front half through the ring of trees on the opposite bank, looking down into the water, her single huge eye blinking and winking as she gazed at her reflection. Jeremiah smacked her one as she threatened to tip him off and she levelled her head out so he could sit comfortably.

Ulrich frowned as he looked around. It should have been a pleasant place, it should have been the sort of spot where an artist set up his easel to sketch the young lovers as they strolled by but there was just something slightly off about the atmosphere of the place, a slight chill in the air, a slight shadowing to the pool that was darker than it should have been.

Kaelin's nose was working over time and the hair at the nap of her neck was rising. There was something here, she could sense it, she could feel it. There was something here and it was watching them all of them. Her lip started lifting as she glared round, fingers spread wide, claws pushing through her finger tips. She knew she was right the moment Tikrumpdel came crawling up the river and froze at the edge of the pool before pushing himself back a little. She backed away, fighting not to snarl as Yaga Tuf and her family gathered at the edge of the water. Someone brushed Kaelin's arm. Ulrich stepped passed her towards the water.

"What are you doing?" she hissed come growled at him, human and wolf mixing in her throat.

Ulrich didn't reply, peering down into the water.

Someone was looking up at him. He blinked.

She was beautiful, jet black hair drifting in the current, eyes like a cloudy day just below the surface of the water. Her lips, plump and kissable, parted in a smile that was dazzling. Ulrich felt his weight shift, trying to answer the siren call of that face but part of him, a part that knew when not to push his luck, when to reign in his need to be reckless, fought back.

"My lord?" Quenril called, "Sir Ulrich? Is something the matter?"

Ulrich remembered that searing kiss at the gates of the Snake Clan Hold and took the step but he stepped back.

"That's enough sister," Yaga Tuf smacked the surface of the water with her staff, sending ripples chasing across the pool, shattering the image, "He is not on the menu. None of them are." Her voice was hard and authoritarian.

 "Menu?" Ulrich demanded, "What menu?"

The surface of the pool, eight feet out from the bank bubbled and surged, splashing and seething. The thing rose out of that disturbance. Ulrich backed further away from the edge of the bank.

She, for it was most definitely a she, was clad in a trailing gown of a creamy cloth that was stained and streaked with water damage and sediment, water weeds trailing from her sleeves and tangled in her hair. Her face was still beautiful but it was also terrible, beaded with water, waxy with death but still moving, still blinking, still alive in some horrible way, her gaze glassy and fixed. When her lips parted in a smile it was no longer the smile of a joyous, welcoming lover but rather the grin of a predator sighting its prey. A sound bubbled and popped in her throat as she stared at Ulrich.

"Oy Ulrich," Thorian grinned, "Looks like you have a new girlfriend."

She smiled at Ulrich again and he felt again that awful compulsion to step into the pool, to walk into her arms.

"I am taken," he held up his hands, forcing the words out around the block in his throat, "I am taken and I'm going over there now." With that he turned his back on what ever the Perdition that thing was and walked right back up to the tree line, making sure Quenril and the others were between him and it before he turned back round. He was sweating cobs and didn't want to admit it.

"You're brave one," Thorian noted, eyebrows raised. Orc kin that he was, he still knew that there were some things that you should not turn your back upon and this water women fitted the bill if anything he ever saw did. Oh he'd seen dead things that ought to know better than to get up and walk around again but this one? He wasn't sure that his sword would actually even do any damage or whether she'd grin as she caught the blade and then use it to tug him into the water.

 "Either brave or stupid," Ulrich managed to grin but he still smelt like a man ready to bolt to Kaelin's nose, "There is but the narrow edge of the coin between the two."

"There are not many who can take a step back once they have seen my sister," Yaga Tuf seemed to be impressed by his refusal, "Usually men see her and stop thinking."

"As I said," Ulrich smiled and bowed his head in respect to Yaga Tuf's water weed wearing sister, "I am already spoken for and my good lady would be extremely upset if I played her false."

"That has never stopped men before now," Yaga Tuf observed.

"Young men tend to be flighty creatures," Ulrich admitted.

"Not just young men," Yaga Tuf snorted, "Old men who should know better than to stray from hearth and home are some of the worse."

The water woman drifted closer to the bank,  her head tilted over slightly, her lips parted in puzzlement.

"Good lady of the lake," Ulrich bowed, "As much as you are radiant beyond all compare I must regretfully decline the offer of your affection, tempting though it is. I will not betray my lady's trust in me."

"Not to mention the fact that her brother's would skin you alive if you did," Kaelin muttered.

Ulrich bowed to hide his frown. Was Kaelin trying to get him killed? The water women drifted back from the bank, apparently impressed with Ulrich's loyalty and willing to leave him alone for it. She turned her waxy face to Yaga Tuf.

"How are you keeping sister?" Yaga Tuf asked. The water woman smiled terribly, her grey eyes turning black, her teeth suddenly sharp. She made no sound.

"I thought as much," Yaga Tuf stated, "Did you drag him in or did Alina make him fall?" The water woman lift a hand and tilted it back and forth.

"Some and some, huh," Yaga Tuf leaned on her staff.

"When.." Alina whispered, "When... he started yelling and shouting... I remembered you saying that if I was ever in trouble then I should get in the water. I was running to the river when he grabbed me and started... Started..." She put a hand to her bruised neck. Her terrible great aunt smiled at that, water trailing from the corners of her mouth, miming grabbing and pulling.

"You grabbed me?" Alina went paled, "I thought that... that I imagined that. I just remember something pulling me over backwards and hitting the water... and he... he still had... his hands..."

She started crying again, tears that trailed and trickled, as she shook.

"Well if he wasn't so damned determined to finish the job then he wouldn't have wound up as fish bait," Yaga Tuf said, the 'own damned fault' unsaid. It didn't have to be said. Alina drew a sharp breath and stepped forward, laying out the bundle of bread and other treats right on the edge of the water. The water woman gestured and a wave rose out of the river, washing the offering into the stream but they sank much faster than they should have done, pulled down by something other than the flow of the water.

"We are moving on," Yaga Tuf stated, cutting to the chase of what they were there for, "It has been decided that what we thought was respect was being useful, that we were only liked while we were useful. We were so busy holding up everyone else here, making sure life went right, turning ourselves into what they needed that now they don't want to give when we need something in return."

Alina looked away, shame and anger chasing themselves over her face. Estella stepped over and took her hand. She knew too well that feeling, the feeling of shame for what had been done to her and the anger that she felt that shame. The shame that she had been fooled, the anger that she had been fooled over and over again. The monster had been invited inside her home by another and yet she was the one shamed. Alina gripped her fingers back and straightened her spine. She had believed it to be love. Why should she be the one shamed for finding out the hard way it was a lie?

In the pool, Yaga Tuf's sister inclined her head as she accepted the family's decision to level so soon.

"Do you want to come?" Yaga Tuf asked bluntly. The old witch of the mountains had obviously reached that age when she was going to say what she thought in the shortest and bluntest way possible. Small talk was not her forte any longer. Kaelin liked that.

The water woman smiled again, a more pleasant smile and nodded. Yaga Tuf smiled back and produced a glass jar with a lid that was held on by wires that interlocked to hold it shut. She set it down on the edge of the water and stepped back. The water woman drifted forward, the pool bubbling and surging. She bent and dipped the fingers of one hand into the open mouth of the jar. She liquefied, turning into a column of blue green water that poured into the jar, some how fitting its huge mass into the jam jar sized vessel. The last of it landed in the jar with a splash.

Yaga Tuf bend down and snapped the lid shut, sweeping it up.

Jeremiah ground his teeth as he looked at the jar. The water within it was unnaturally black as it a piece of the ocean from the depths were the sightless white eyed things swam had been drawn up to the surface and somehow remained as lightless and cold as it had been down in the depths of the abyss. He knew it was unnatural, as unnatural as the crone who held it, her grey eyes challenging and condemning in equal measure. He clenched his fingers and hid his fists within his sleeve.

Ulrich frowned as Yaga Tuf turned to give the jar to Milena and instruct her as to where she wanted it stored. The black water in the jar didn't seem to be black because it was full of sediment and he had the feeling that something was wanting him through the glass walls.

Kaelin narrowed her eyes. The water in the jar was dark and deep but she could see something inside the jar hovering near the centre of the water mass. She peered and then the face of the water woman was there right against the glass, her huge grey eyes dark and cold, water weed trailing down her forehead. The water woman smiled, a cruel smile and pressed a finger to her lips. Kaelin pressed her lips together and the water women laughter soundlessly before her face turned and she dissolved into the black water around her. Kaelin rubbed the back of her neck to lay the hackles flat again.

Tikrumpdel lowered his snout towards the surface of the pool, sniffing and snuffling at the water, brows wrinkled with puzzlement.

"Is it safe for me to go through now?" he asked.

"Aye," Yaga Tuf nodded, "And thank you for waiting."

"Don't mention it," Tikrumpdel shrugged expansively, "I'll give respect where respect is due." He stepped into pool and the water sloshed over their shoes as it rose up over the bank. The river gurgled and gulped as for a moment it ran backwards to fill the hollow back up as Tikrumpdel hauled himself up and out on the other side. Yaga Tuf also started pacing down the embankment, thumping along with her staff.

"The village is not far now," she stated, "We'll be seeing the road soon. Milena, you are to take the house round to the north and wait for us on the road to the mountains. Altan, you pack up your smithy and meet us there. Alina, you are with me. You, Estella isn't it? If you would go with Alina to her mother's house to pick up what is important once things start it would be appreciated, especially if your dragon friend can make sure nothing untoward happens to her."

"Sure, I..." Estella stopped, "You know about Valodrael?"

"Of course I know," Yaga Tuf smiled, "Wouldn't be much of a witch if I couldn't see what is as plain as the nose on my face. I'm not sure that I approve of him as of yet, he smells too much of the thing that is bending the ley lines out of order but that is not all he smells of so I'll keep my judgement until later."

"Are you not taking a great risk with your grand daughter's life then?" Jeremiah called, "If he smells of what is damaging the ley lines what is to say he won't damage your grand child?"

"He hasn't so far and he had two days in which he could have done so with out me being any the wiser to what he had done," Yaga Tuf called back, "I would have thought a great man of learning like yourself could use logic on occasion." Her tone was bland and her expression mild but Jeremiah turned away with a face of thunder and glared at a tree until it started dropping pine needles in self defence.

"What do you mean when things get started?" Thorian asked with a frown.

"Oh there is going to be some push back when we get to the village," Yaga Tuf thumped along as Milena and Altan turned back to collect the walking hut, "I am quite sure that things will start off with a bang at some point. The people of the village will find that their neglect in the raising their sons is going to bite them and rather than sitting down and having a long hard look in the mirror they will try and blame someone else for their troubles. People are always people and most of them are stupid and selfish. Or selfish and stupid, either way round."

"So I might get to use this?" Thorian grinned tapping his club on his shoulder.

"Well you might," Yaga Tuf agreed, "But I want no killing. If we kill people for being stupid, we'd have to kill the whole world. However, if your dragon friends want to cull their herds a little then they are welcome. My family has been the source of their prosperity for years, ha, decades now and the attempted murder of my grand daughter was our thanks. It is time they are reminded of the anger of the Witch of the Mountains. If they won't listen to kind words or firm words then the birch stick will come out of the cupboard."

"I see," Ulrich smiled as he sauntered along, hands in his pockets, "Old reliable it is."

"I'm wondering how big their herds are," Tikrumpdel rumbled as he pulled himself up the river, smoke curling from the corners of his mouth, the water shivering with his voice.

"Now I know that live stock is always such a temptation for dragons," Ulrich called, "But just remember that you want to lose some of the extra weight so best not to forget about the diet."

Tikrumpdel growled and then hit a gravel bar that he had to galumph over.

"Oh alright," he grumbled as he splashed into the the deeper water behind it, "I'll try and keep it down, maybe just one or two."

"Well you can always keep in mind that if you do then it will make that mountain thunderer taste even better when you finally get it," Ulrich suggested as the trees began to thin out again.

"That is true," Tikrumpdel admitted as he pulled himself along, the river gurgling and muttering in protest, its gravel bottom sluffing off the last shreds of badly shed scales from Tikrumpdel's belly.

The King's Special and their allies curved away from the river as Yaga Tuf guided them towards the logging road that lead in and out of the forest. Tikrumpdel stayed with the river, confident that it would lead him to the village in the end.

Moseying along the road at the pace set by Yaga Tuf's staff, Ulrich saw the walking hut emerge from the forest and begin picking its way around the south end of the fields that now replace the trees. The out lying farm houses were squat but sturdy buildings, their walls painted red, the roofs steeply pitched almost to the ground, already piled high to the eves with split logs. Small windows up high in the apex of the roofs revealed that they were actually two storey. In the yards chickens clucked while pigs rooted in sties.

"Yeap, those are pigs," Ulrich heard Estella mutter and he glanced at her to see a look of interest crossing her face, an expression he was fairly sure was not hers but rather her passenger.

As they walked further, people in the fields started lifting their heads and looking. Some were curious, some where hostile, glaring at the old witch as she thumped along at the front with her staff, Alina trailing a step behind her. Alina would flinch from people's gazes and then straighten her spine and lift her chin, displaying the bruises that lined her neck. Estella saw the knowing look enter the eyes of a few of the women. Some were judgement, the expressions saying 'it's her own fault' speaking louder than words but there were some, some who's bodies slumped with exhaustion, whose broods of sons scampered around their feet while their daughters worked at the cooking and the cleaning, who's eyes saw and understood and accepted the truth. There were several families where the menfolk came hurrying from the field to stand at their women's sides as their children watched the strangers walk on by.

"Stupid boy," Kaelin's sharp ears heard one of them say, "Stupid, stupid boy. He's brought judgement on us that is for sure."

As they got closer to the village the faces were more and more the judgemental kind but Alina had shed shame now and was walking tall, with her injuries on show. That and after glaring at her, the judgemental twerps were then looking towards the river. What they saw there immediately caused them to turn tail and dash back into their houses, barring the door and putting up the shutters. Ulrich was trying not to grin, he really was trying.

As they reached the village proper a plump man in rich clothes and rings stood in their way. Clustered around him the village guards in their wool arming doublets and tin pot helmets handled their pole arms nervously, looking first at Yaga Tuf, then at the King's Special and then at the dragon wallowing in the river.

Yaga Tuf's staff thumped down in the dust with a unmoving  finality that made several village guards lick their lips and shift nervously.

"Yaga Tuf, witch of the mountains," the mayor proclaimed but did not step forward, "You are disturbing the peace. You are commanded to go back to your place in the wilds and stay there. As for that... personage beside you, she is to be taken into custody to answer for the disappearance of Jonus Volkov."

"I'll answer right now," Alina rasped, "I asked Jonus to commit to what he had promised me, to build us a home and earn us a place in the village on the foundation I would build him. He refused. I did not ask for much, I did not chose a first son from a family here because I knew that none of the families would accept that, despite the fact that it was their son's choice to ask me. I was realistic, I refused those I knew I would not be allowed to have. Jonus, Jonus I thought I would be allowed to have." Her voice faltered as tears came to her eyes but she did not bow. "He refused. He refused and did this, trying to erase me." Her finger jabbed at her throat. "We both went into the river. I survived because of the kindness of these strangers. If Jonus has not returned that is his affair, not mine."

"So you admit to the seduction and murdered of Jonus Volkov," the mayor had heard only what he had wanted to hear, "Take her." Several guards fidgeted but they went to take a step forwards.

Yaga Tuf's staff thumped down in the dust. The guards froze.

"Andrej," Yaga Tuf stated, her stare bracketing a young guard who was suddenly sweating cobs, "My daughter dragged you from your dame's belly after a thirty six hour labour. Thanks to her you both survived.  Filip, your wife swears that she never had an easy labour before Milena came to this village. Dusan, again, you would have died even if your mother had survived, the cord wrapped around your neck twice as you fought your way out into the world. Milena has seen to half of your births and helped the wives of the rest of you deliver your sprogs into the world and this is how you thank her?"

"Casimir Volkov is a powerful man..." one of the guards muttered.

"Casimir Volkov  buys his power with bits of metal," Yaga Tuf spat, "When has he fed you? When has he nursed you? When has he helped pull new life into the world? And when, for that matter has his son? How many of you have taken the punches from his eldest son? How many of you have been cheated out of your earnings by his second son? How many of you are honestly surprised that the youngest of the brood turned out to have a darkness in his soul that would stoop to murder when he was thwarted?"

Her voice carried, people in the village square behind the mayor looking at one another guiltily. Several maidens looked at Alina, nodded to her and then turned walked away, ignoring their family's protests, some yanking themselves free of parental grips to do so. A couple of mothers also turned and hustled their children away, ignoring any reprimand from husbands, although one or two husbands went with them.

"As for my son-in-law," Yaga Tuf was on a roll and was not going to be stopped, stepping forward as the mayor stepped back, the thump of her staff a judgement, "He has made your ploughs, he has made your nails, he has shod your horses, he has physicked those horses when they have become ill and this is how you repay him? Well, no more. It is painfully obvious that we cannot rely on being the kind ones, being the ones you rely on to cure your ills, clear your heads, to comfort you when you were broken. No more. We are leaving this place and we won't be coming back."

"You... you can't do that!" the mayor protested, his voice a sudden squeak, "They are their own people, you can't order them..."

"Who do you think made the decision, you half witted ninny-hammer?" Yaga Tuf exploded, "The only reason I'm the one delivering the message is that neither of them want to see you ugly faces ever again!"

"They can't leave!" the mayor squealed.

"They can, they will and they are," Yaga Tuf stated, a dry old tree that defied the farmer's axe to break it, her roots dug that deep into the ground that you'd have to break the world to up root her.

"But they... they..." his brain seemed to have ground to a halt on the fact that two of the most important people in the village were upping sticks and leaving. "They can't leave! I won't allow it! What are people going to do if they can't get their tools repaired?"

"I would say that perhaps you'll have to pay your neighbours to see if they'd be willing to sell you any of theirs," Ulrich drew his sword and gazed down the length of the blade before flipping it in his hand, passing it round behind his back and catching it in his other hand.

"What?" the Mayor blurted.

"You're neighbours," Ulrich repeated, with slight smile, sending his sword back the other way in a reversal of his previous trick, "I assume that if this Casimir Volkov is as powerful as these guards say it is because he trades with the outside world. Therefore, the conclusion is that what you need in the way of metalwork you are going to have the buy in from now on." He held his sword in the up right position and put the finger of his other hand on the tip. Like he had suspected, the blade was flexible, whippy almost.

"We can't do that!" the mayor gasped, "It will beggar us."

"Well you see," Ulrich smiled, stepping forward as his finger bent the blade back a little more, "The thing with that, the thing with that is that it really does seem to be..." His finger let go, the sword blade snapping back with a satisfying tang. The mayor yelped as the flat of Ulrich's blade smacked him in the face, making his nose go crunch. "To be your problem."

"Why you..." the mayor straightened up, the red trailing from his nose. The guards hefted their weapons but there was a thump as the metal head of one of them smacked into the dust of the road.

"I won't be trying it on," Ulrich smiled, his sword batting the now headless pole away, "Not today. You see, we are professional adventures, we live for this sort of life. Making a mess of someone's day is just bread and butter to us and Yaga Tuf here has engaged our services. Therefore, it is our job to make a mess of you lot if you interfere with either her or her family, in whatever they try to do. Tell me, do you want to be made a mess of today? Is that really how you want to go to bed tonight?"

Behind him Thorian grinned and stepped forward, lifting his club from his shoulder and smacking the thick end of it against his palm. The guard watched the motion of the club with the fascinated gaze of rabbits watching a weasel dance. It was unsurprising because what was a 'little club' to Thorian looked like a war ready skull cracker to a mere bunch of human guards.

Of course there is always those who carry their brain more in their biceps rather than in their skulls.

"You think you are tough guy, don't yar?" a local bruiser marched up. One look told Ulrich that some where close by was his gang of mates eggs him on as well as a will to impress the now humiliated mayor, "A big tough man with a sword? Get rid of that fancy piece of metal, what are you? A toffee nosed prig who hasn't ever earned anything, just stolen it from people who worked for it!"

"For your information, boy," Ulrich stated, "I am not a brigand and I am employed by the King of Portasia to bring justice to the likes of a young man who will take his fun out of a young woman and then turns to murder when the piper comes for his fee. But if you think you can take me on..."

Ulrich put his sword away and held his arms wide.

"When you think you are ready."

The young tough frowned, confuse and then lifted his knuckles. He came in blazing. Ulrich leaned back, leaned sideways, appearing to flinch away from the blows but it just made the young tough punch harder, lean further and... A grab, a twist, a yank and a knee applied to the appropriate place resulted in the young tough laying on the floor, moaning and holding on to himself.

"Don't you people have some where more important to be?" Ulrich asked the guards with a pleasant smile. They hesitated.

The ground suddenly shuddered, making everybody stumble and throw their arms out wide. There was a squeal of terror from the pig pens nearest the village, ringing out over the thumps and bangs of an extreme weight rippling over the turf. Tikrumpdel had given up waiting for the little people to finish their dicker and had decided to help himself. The pigs bawled in terror as his massive head loomed in their vision.

The guards looked at one another and charged towards  the threat to their pig supply, pole arms lifted high. Yelling and screaming they struck the massive dragon's sides, jabbing and stabbing. Tikrumpdel's scales deformed under the poking of their puny weapons, dimpling deep before bouncing back the moment they released the pressure. He grunted in barely an acknowledgement of their efforts and just keep galumphing towards the now screaming pig pen. The guards slashed and gouged with their weapons but again, Tikrumpdel's hard scales defeated the edges of their weapons while his layers of fat absorbed the energy and then bounced it back. There was a splintering crack as several pole arms gave up the fight as broke in the middle, then the squealing redoubled as Tikrumpdel's head plunged down and came up holding a plump sow who wriggled and squealing in the grip of his teeth. His teeth flexed and she fell silent as the crack from the back of her skull rang out. Tikrumpdel sucked in a couple of breaths and then the fire roared, a long tongue that licked heat across the sky and brought the smell of roasting pork. He flicked his head back and the spit roast pig vanished down his throat. He dipped his head again towards the pig herd that was trampling round and round the pens.

"My pigs!" the mayor screamed, red in the face but not charging forward to help.

"I'd say you are having a bad day," Estella noted in a friendly sorted of tone. The mayor stared at her in confusion, as if he truly hadn't seen her standing at Alina's side all this time, then his expression twisted into a glare that snarled. His hand whipped back to slap her with all his strength.

Thorian dived forward to intercept it but for the first time in ages his feet betrayed him, proving once again that he could be clumsy enough to have fallen on someone and nearly squashed them flat. The move that should have put him between the mayor and Estella instead sent him careering, head first into the water butt outside the door of the nearest house with a resounding crack that split the side of the butt from top to bottom.

"Ow!" Thorian said straightening up, rubbing the bump growing on his forehead, his front soaked with the content of the barrel, "That hurt." Behind him a gruelling, gruesome sucking, tearing , ripping sound oozed through the air.

The mayor looked up in horror as the dragon that had erupted out of Estella finished twisting into its solid form, supernova crawling across its hide, eyes the colour of dying stars glaring down at him from where it had him pinned to the ground. Valodrael snarled and the mayor went the colour of paste. Valodrael flicked open his wings, blocking the sight of the sun from his prey and then roared with full volume in the mayor's face, jaws gapping wide enough so the only thing the mayor could see was the black depths of Valodrael's throat. He went from pasty to a strange purplish colour and his lips went blue. Valodrael studied the man's twitching, gurgling face for a moment and then stepped aside, releasing the man's wrists. The mayor promptly clutched his chest and made gasping, gagging sounds as he twisted in the dirt. Valodrael nodded with satisfaction and looked about. Tikrumpdel was helping himself to yet more of the mayor's pig herd and he didn't feel up to challenging for a share, the first shocks of his condition rippling through his flesh, bringing with them the burning, stinging pain that promised to rapidly build to screaming agony within moments.

A not so distant lowing caught his ear, his void black face twisting in that direction, then a serial killer grin parted his lips. His tongue flicked forth once and then he bounded away, pain pushed aside for the moment with the promise of relief. The lowing of the cow herd grew louder.

The mayor writhed in the dust, face warped and twisted with pain.

"Oh heck!" Thorian gulped, "Oh help! We weren't supposed to kill anyone!" He looked around looking for someone to tell him what to do. There didn't seem to be anyone looking in his direction, Alina, Estella and Sabal having hurried off to clear out Milena's house, Kaelin heading towards the forge and the mayor was now going purple. Thorian rang out his ears trying to think of what to do. Then he remembered seeing someone once in a similar situation.

None too gently he grabbed the mayor's hands and shoved them out of the way. He put the heel of his hand where he reckoned the human heart was and locked his elbows. The mayor flopped and bucked like a landed fish.

Yaga Tuf stepped over and knelt by the mayor's side, feeling for the pulse in his neck.

"You can stop now," she told Thorian and then looked back at the mayor, "You really don't deserve this but I will not stoop to your level." She jammed the neck of a small bottle into his mouth. He gulped and gagged, sitting up to spit. He went to yell at Yaga Tuf and then clutched at his ribs.

"You'll need to get those bound," Yaga Tuf stood, "No heavy lifting for six weeks, take deep breaths regularly, no smoking and sleep sat upright for the first two weeks. And that is more than you deserve. Oh and if you don't want your ticker to play up again you need to take a walk around the boundary of the village once a day, especially if it rains. The gods are in the rain and you need to get out in their blessings more often. You coming?"

The last was addressed to Thorian.

"Coming where?" he asked with confusion.

"Further on, further up," she said with a smile and turned to stump through the village. She didn't seem to notice the panicked herd of cows that came stampeding towards them and indeed the cows parted to go round her as if she was a pillar of stone. Behind them Valodrael came bounding, a wicked grin on his face. He jumped, seeming to almost bounce off the wall of a house, landing in the road way ahead of the leaders of the panicked herd. The cows turned, swirling back into the village and he pounced, swelling large as he did so. The steer kicked its legs as it started sliding down his throat, the bulging swells of other unfortunates already rippling under his hide.

Yaga Tuf smiled to herself as the villagers joined the panicking, swirling mass, some trying to reach the herd only to falter and run as the ebony dragon came leaping in pursuit. She seemed to be more than little pleased with the chaos thus sewn.

Ulrich with Quenril and Tasnar following him approached Tikrumpdel as he flame scorched yet another pig. The guards had given up and run away, joining the villagers trying to stop the cows bolting for the hills, although that just made it easier for Valodrael to pick out the ones he wanted out of the herd.

"Well I'm not angry," Ulrich folded his arms and slowly shook his head, "But I am disappointed."

Tikrumpdel paused almost mid swallow, his eye rolling towards Ulrich. He finished his gulp and looked down at the pig pen, a guilty expression crossing his vast face.

"Was that more than two?" he asked, shuffling on his massive belly, "Oh. Oops."

Ulrich looked at the pig pens where the smallest and youngest of the herd huddled at the back, squealing and shrilling in terror. The village would be able to rebuild the herd but they would be stuck on a mostly vegetable diet for many a year, unless the father of Alina's problem was willing to open the purse strings and buy in new stock. Some how Ulrich doubted that he'd do that.

"Just a few more than two," he said out loud.

"Oh, oh dear," Tikrumpdel shuffled again, a wriggle that rippled down the length of his massive sides, "I... um... I'll just be over there."

He shuffled round and galumphed towards the edge of the town where the walking hut of Yaga Tuf stood, its head turning back and forth as it watched the chaos and discord unfold before it, Milena's expression, where she stood on the balcony, the long suffering face of a daughter flinching at her mother's excesses.

"It might be a good time for us to leave," Thorian jogged a couple of steps to catch up with Yaga Tuf.

"Oh why?" she asked, stumping along, her gaze fixed on where she was going.

"Because Jerry's decided to come to town," Thorian said. Yaga Tuf looked over her shoulder at his tone and saw the cyclopean head of Nanny Tatters wavering over the river as she stomped through it, water sheeting up on either side of her strides. Even Valodrael turned his head at that noise, the back legs of another struggling steer sliding down his capacious throat. He swallowed and stood still a moment as his meal settled and then he turned and bounded out of the village by the shortest way possible, circling to his left to meet up with Estella at the side of the walking hut as they loaded what belongings they had thought necessary to take from Milena's and Altan's cottage. Altan was arriving with Kaelin, Kaelin lugging several sack loads of tools, her face saying louder than words that she wondered how she had been talked into this, while Altan carried the anvil, his face red with the effort of it.

Yaga sniffed as she watched Nanny Tatters begin pacing into the village and then turned her face to where her family was waiting for her. She picked up her pace, stamping along.

If it had been confusion and chaos before in the village, now it was terror, terror of the silent kind, people stumbling to a halt as the crone dragon began pacing up the main street. Several people had the go sense to run back into their houses and bolt the doors. The cows could always be rounded up later, retrieved from the forest or new ones bred, what was coming to town now was not to be faced any time soon.

Jeremiah smiled down on the fools still standing in the streets, their gormless faces an act of worship for his god. So they should look when they saw true power blessing them with its presence. Nanny Tatters footsteps were surprisingly quite in the dust as she paced down the street, her single eye blinking and winking as she gazed down her nose at those around her. Jeremiah looked as well and considered the fact that they weren't really afraid enough yet. Smiling he started muttering and mumbling, fingers twitching in his sleeves as he prayer to his god.

The villagers, the ones who hadn't already sort shelter and therefore where out of his line of sight, screamed almost in a single voice as the shadows groaned and shrieked and came alive, writhing up off the floor, screeching through their lipless mouths, their eyes leprous growths in their faces. Impossibly lanky bodies and hands that left sickly white patches on what ever they touched, patches that faded only slowly in the sunlight.

Jeremiah smiled as Nanny Tatters paced forward and chaos exploded all around the pacing feet of his mount and then an idea struck him, one that was delicious in its irony. He muttered again praying to his god to add another dimension to the manifestation of his god's will.

The villager's screams broke up, becoming disjointed, fractured, split by sobs and moans as the shadow creatures took on new aspects. A mother sank to her knees, begging forgiveness from the shade of her son as his shadow stated over and over again how he had tried to make her happy, that he had tried to not love the other young man he had adored, how he had tried to be normal until he no longer could and had reached for the rope. A father sobbed, faced again with the shadow of a daughter he had driven out when she had been with child and not married. Husbands faced the imagines of the wives they had mistreated, wives faced the men they had been unfaithful to, dark family secrets came crawling into the light and several just fell down in a dead faint, unable to accept what they were seeing.

Jeremiah rode above it all, well pleased with the mess, the books in his pocket glowing warm and sweet. 

Yaga Tuf watched him come up to where her family and the King's Special waited for Nanny Tatters. Yaga nodded but it was the sort of nod that said she saw and understood.

"You think that they will blame my family for what you have done here today," she stated, "And you are right, some of them will. A lot of them will."

"And did you think that they wouldn't when you have proved yourself to be the Witch of the Mountain, an  unholy thing that should be hanged at the earliest opportunity?" Jeremiah asked with a smile.

"Am I?" she asked, "If I am then what are you? You worship the dark dragon god, he who was cast down and imprisoned in the God War. He would have smashed the world asunder for not being perfect enough so what does that make you for worshipping him?"

"And why would I believe the words of a witch when she rails against the judgement of the One True God?" Jeremiah asked sweetly, the books still glowing warm in his pocket.

"You won't and you won't," she stated amicably, "Not until its too late and then, well it will be everybody's problem so you had better hope that they are willing to help you put right what you put wrong. I know a mind that is a steel ball when I see it. My son-in-law's grandfather was forged by fear and pain but in the end he listened before it was too late for his soul. You?" She shook her head, "Nothing is going in there unless it is stuff you want to go in there. None so blind as those who don't want to see and part of what you don't see is that some of them, not many but some of them will sit tonight, having a long deep think about those they have hurt and those they have rejected and they are going to be having a long hard think about whether or not they really were justified so did you really do all the harm you wanted to?" She smiled slightly at his glowering frown.

"So which way are we going now?" Kaelin asked.

"That way," Yaga Tuf turned and pointed up the road that led deeper and higher into the mountains, "Further up, further in and then we will see if some can listen or not."

"Whoop!" her walking hut spoke as it rose to its feet and stepped out before them. They trailed after, Valodrael pacing along on their right, stretching his wings in the sun, enjoying being able to spend some time out of his host and talk to her face to face for a change. Estella smiled a laid a hand on his shoulder as they walked. Behind them Tikrumpdel made the ground temple as he galumphed along in bursts, his sides rippling as he flubbered along, grunting with the effort.

"All in all, I'd say that went rather well," Ulrich said to no one at all. A wagon wheel, slightly scorched and smoking, rolled passed them and clattered over on to its side.

"Everyone's a critic," Ulrich muttered.