The female elf’s attention is on her fallen comrade as I drop down towards her. I blink away the last of the glare from the lights and bring my boots down on her head. At the last second, some sixth sense alerts her to me, and she turns. But it’s too late and, now looking up at me, all she succeeds in doing is getting kicked in the face. She crashes on her back and I land next to her, my sword in my hand. Instantly, she is on her feet, blinking away a concussion, her hands already pulling her weapon from her back. It is the same abomination that the three elves who attacked me in the forest wielded. If she takes aim, I’ll die in a hail of its deadly rain. I move forward, bringing my sword down hard on the weapon. Metal clangs against metal. The elf loses her grip on the weapon which thumps to the soft earth. I take another swing at her, but she nimbly darts away, her hands readying for hand-to-hand combat.

  Bare hands against a sword. She’s brave, I’ll give her that.

  She’s focussed now. Ready. This is no juvenile. Her almond-shaped eyes stare deeply into mine, trying to read what my next move will be. This is a fully trained warrior and not to be underestimated. I feint left, so she leaps right, but I’m already there and I slice her flesh above her waist. A line of dark red blood blossoms through her vest. She winces but does not cry out.

  She makes a move for her weapon, which is a few feet out of reach. It’s a hopeless maneuver and one I easily block. However, in doing so, I fall into the trap she has laid for me. She has successfully placed herself beside her fallen comrade, who is clutching the shaft of the arrow which protrudes from his shoulder. She crouches next to him and unsheathes the blade strapped to his calf that I had not noticed. It’s a serrated knife, not a sword, but still a formidable weapon.

  The odds have evened. She’s favouring her left side, protecting the wound on her right. She passes the blade from one hand to another to hide her next attack. She feints and then strikes. It’s a bold move, one that forces me onto the back foot. Quicker than I thought possible, her boot is in my gut and I’m toppling back. Her knee is on my chest and her blade at my throat. Her face looms over mine, silhouetted by the bright lights above us. I may not be able to see her face, but I hear her voice clearly in my head.

  So the Warlock King has sent his false son to find his heir.

  ‘I am his heir,’ I spit through gritted teeth, ‘He needs no other.’

  Her blade presses down on my throat. If this is the final verse of my half-sung song, so be it.

  And then the blade is lifted from my neck and the weight of her knee disappears. She’s pulled up into the air as if pulled on a wire. I turn and see Raylee at the end of the forest, one hand on the trunk of the tree, the other reaching up into the night. The warrior elf is suspended halfway between the ground and the lights. Sharv comes out of the trees, his bow ready, an arrow trained on her. I have been fighting the elves since I was a youth, but to make target practice of her is against all the rules of war. I’m about to demand he hold, but it’s too late, his arrow strikes her in the gut. Raylee yells out a protest, and distracted, lets the enemy fall to the ground.

  I turn on Shrav. ‘She was defenceless!’

  He stares at me. ‘I saved your life!’

  ‘What was she going to do? Spit on me?’

  ‘Drath, look out!’

  Raylee is running forward, pointing behind me. I turn and see the female elf running into the tunnel. Without waiting for the others, I charge into the darkness after her.

  The air in the tunnel is colder, both musty and damp. The walls are bare earth, with wooden support pillars at regular intervals. I’m running as fast as I dare, aware that I have no idea what lies ahead of me. The further inside I go, the darker the tunnel becomes. There’s no sign of the enemy, but this not my terrain, she could be lurking in the shadows, preparing to ambush me. The tunnel veers right, falling into almost complete darkness. Over the sound of my breathing, I hear a voice crying out with exertion, and beyond that, something I have never heard before. A drone. A low buzzing. Like a thousand insects.

  I slow as I round the corner, coming to complete stop as I take in what is ahead of me. A wooden door takes up the width and height of the tunnel has been staked open. Beyond it, I can see a forest. A forest in winter. Spindly black trees and snow on the ground. How is there is a forest in the middle of a mountain! A whole moon hangs low, silhouetting the bare branches of the trees. But what is even more unsettling is that its light does not reach into the tunnel, which remains dark. It is as if a picture has been hung across the passageway, but one from which the sound of insects carries and birds sing on the branches of the trees.

  The warrior elf is trying to pull out the stake which is holding the door open. She sees me and redoubles her efforts. The stake seems ancient, this door has not closed in years, and it does not want to yield to her. Dark blood soaks her vest and fatigues. Despite facing her death, she is entirely focused on her task. I move forward, raising my sword.

  ‘What is that?’ I ask, bewildered.

  The elf continues to heave at the stake, crouching down for leverage, both hands around it. The dark patches on her fatigues spread as her exertions force the blood from her body. I’m too shocked to attack her and she seems too close to death to fear me. But this is my mistake. With a final desperate cry, she loosens the stake and wooden door begins to close of its own volition. The elf spits at me and then hurtles through the doorway and into the winter forest, her boots leaving deep footprints in the virgin snow.

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  I grab the blade of my sword as it were a javelin and launch it at the space between the door and the frame. I’m hoping to bury it in the wall, but it bounces off and clatters to the ground. But blind luck comes to my rescue, as the hilt jams between the door and the wall, leaving it ajar. Darkness envelops me. I sink to my haunches and take a moment to get my breath back. I hear movements in the passageway and press myself against wall, but it is the Chieftain with his horde. He carries a torch with a green phosphorus flame. I count nine.

  ‘The enemy is no more,’ he says, and bows.

  I acknowledge his sacrifice with a respectful nod.

  Raylee and Sharv appear behind the remaining horde.

  ‘Where did she go?’ Raylee asks.

  I grab hold of the door and heave it open, revealing the snow and the trees and the moon beyond. A tiny bat flutters through the wood, through the open doorway and into the tunnel, where the shadow of its wings stretches and flickers in the torchlight. Even the Chieftain takes a step back as the bat darts over us and disappears further down the tunnel.

  Sharv takes a step forward and peers into the forest. ‘What kind of training exercise is this?’

  I kneel in the doorway. No line or boundary appears to divide the rough rock of the passage to the snow-covered forest floor, but despite this, no moonlight appears to be able to pass into the tunnel. I tentatively reach my hand across the threshold.

  ‘Aradrath!’ Raylee warns, but I don’t pay any attention to her.

  The moonlight turns my hand an icy blue. The air is colder on the other side of the doorway. I cup soft, freshly fallen snow in my hand and carry it back to the tunnel, where it shines green in the goblin torchlight. I let it fall to the ground, where it quickly begins to melt.

  ‘Well?’

  Sharv looks at me, shocked. ‘You’re not seriously considering going in there?’

  ‘We have no choice,’ Raylee interrupts, ‘If we are to complete my… training exercise.’ Before I can stop her, she steps over threshold and into the forest, where she immediately starts to laugh. ‘It’s freezing!’

  It is typical of Raylee to ignore the chain of command, but I can’t be too irritated with her. She’s right, there’s no way we can complete the mission if we don’t cross into this other realm, wherever it turns out to be.

  I order the Chieftain to leave as many of the horde as will be required to maintain control of the tunnel. The rest will accompany us. I follow Raylee over the threshold, immediately my boots crunch on fresh snow. The air is cold, but it is not the crisp fresh air that follows snowfall in Albion. It has a bitter aftertaste, which reminds me of the smoke that billows out of the enemy’s metal wagons. Behind me, I’m amused to see Sharv gingerly step into the forest. On this side, the wooden door is attached to a crumbling outhouse, its roof fallen in. I can see the tunnel within, stretching impossibly beyond the back walls of the shack itself. The emerald glare of the Chieftain’s torch is visible, but it is not reflected on the snow.

  ‘Make sure the door does not close on us,’ I tell the horde that remain behind.

  ‘Why?’ Sharv asks, worried.

  ‘The warrior who fled, wanted to close the door on me. She wasn’t worried that I would be able to open it again. I suspect, once it closes, it will remain closed.’

  ‘Great!’ Sharv exclaims.

  The Chieftain brings two of the horde with him, leaving seven behind to protect the way home. I catch up with Raylee, who has moved further into the forest. The incessant sound of buzzing is louder in this part of the wood. And not only louder, but deeper – not just a whine but a growl. Occasionally, higher pitched sounds briefly join the chorus, coming nearer, more intense and then fading away. I look to Raylee, but she shrugs, having no more idea than I do.

  ‘What’s that taste in the air?’ she asks. ‘I’ve never known anything like it.’

  We move forward through the trees. The warrior elf’s boot prints are easy to follow in the snow. She ran in the same direction as the noise, which grows as we walk alongside her footsteps.

  ‘How will we find the target?’ Raylee asks, choosing her words carefully, as Sharv is within earshot.

  ‘We won’t,’ I reply, ‘We’ll let the enemy leads us to him.’

  ‘You think she’ll be going to him?’

  ‘Why else come here?’

  ‘What if we can’t find her?’ Raylee persists, but I hold up my hand for silence. The noise is loud now. The woodland ends abruptly at a wooden fence. I climb over and find myself at the top of a ridge, which slopes down to what I first assume to be a grey riverbed. But it if it is a riverbed, then it has been flattened by awesome power. Near us, metal wagons hurtle in one direction, where on the far side of the riverbed, they speed in the opposite direction. These horseless wagons are different from the green boxlike ones I have seen the enemy drive. These are more streamlined, colourful and a great deal faster. The noise is as unpleasant as it is deafening. The air displacement hits my chest and I feel my body demanding to flee from the danger they represent. But the stench, the stench is intolerable. The fumes stick in my throat and coat my teeth, like a gritty metallic poison.

  On the sloping bank, a huge metal stand overlooks the monstrous riverbed. Strange, rounded symbols are lit from underneath. I call over Sharv and indicate the symbols.

  ‘Will the inheritance work here?’ He asks, a quiver in his voice.

  ‘Let’s hope so, this is why I brought you.’

  Shrav finds a small shrub, growing randomly out of the sloping bank. He kneels down takes hold of it, and then closes his eyes. The symbols on the stand start to shimmer. I know that it is my understanding that is changing and the material world is unchanged, but it appears to me that the symbols are turning into the common tongue of Albion.

  Sharv gets to his feet and brushes dust from his hands. The shrub is withered, its bristle like leaves have disintegrated entirely. It seems the rules of our world still function here. The stand has become a sign offering directions. What I had taken to be the trunk of a tree with branches diverging is an image of the monstrous path ahead of us. According to the sign, it is possible to stay on the path to London or take the fifth junction onto the M25.

  Sharv looks at me bemused. ‘I know what it says, but what does it mean?’

  I turn to him. ‘I have no idea.’