It was after twelve notches had been scored into the soft wood of his bed that everything changed. He felt it in the air as he first awoke, his wandering eye glimpsing shades of malevolence in the carved walls where there had previously been none. It was there still as he bathed, the shifting canopy of leaves seeming to whisper words of warning. Even the peaceful serenity of the gardens felt blighted, the air burdened as though before an approaching storm. But the air itself was unchanged. It still carried the sweet fragrances of the garden, the exotic trilling of birds beyond its walls. The sky was a clear powder-blue and gave no hint that it meant any violence.

No, this was something altogether different.

A feeling deep inside his gut told him that forces beyond his control were beginning to act. Like a great hand pulling the strings of a thousand latent threads, he felt the relative calm about to break.

He assumed he was not alone in this sensing, for when he ate with Bettiny that afternoon she could barely bring herself to meet his gaze. For the first time, her conversation felt forced, as though she were attempting to avoid a topic far less pleasant.

His ever-present shadow, Torrinth, now clung rigidly to his every movement; his former passivity transformed into a hunter stalking its prey. On more than one occasion that morning, James had turned to find the old warrior watching him intently; his shrewd eyes fixed upon his own where Bettiny’s had so feared to rest.

The huge sun was setting beyond the walls of the house when the doors to the courtyard were suddenly thrown aside. James flinched as three dark figures swept into the courtyard. They strode through the livid green of the garden towards them, passing not along the meandering path but directly through the ornamental shrubs which shook at their passing. James staggered to his feet and looked to the old man, who merely folded his hands at his waist. He recognised the three men as those who had presided over his interrogation two weeks before, but they were now greatly changed. Their dark armour was covered in grime, and in places marked with jagged cracks like egg shell beaten with the back of a spoon. Their pale faces were likewise travel worn; a dull patina of dust marring their elegant features.

He braced himself to be once more man-handled by rough hands but as they neared, two of the three ignored him completely, making instead for the great tree which they promptly ascended. The third man came to a halt beside them; the tall soldier who had stood at Lord Galen’s side during his interrogation. The man’s previous intimation of violence lingered within his rigid posture, but it was a curious uncertainty that now held sway upon him.

‘We are returned,’ he said, his voice strained. ‘Lord Galen will meet with you shortly. You are to ascend to the observation platform at once.’

Nodding belated greetings to Torrinth, the man promptly followed his companions, bounding between the protruding stairs into the heights above.

James had little time to consider what was happening before Torrinth’s hand was pressed to his back, propelling him on towards the waiting tree. Drawing nearer, he watched the staircase dwindle into the sky above them. The stairs looked precarious and fragile, but as reluctant as he was to follow in the other man’s footsteps, the old man pushed him forcefully on.

James began to climb. His legs felt ungainly beneath him, but somehow his feet found purchase upon each of the narrow steps as they came. Pressing his body to the vast trunk at his side, he tried to avoid the temptation to glance at the vertiginous drop that grew with each step. But as petrified as he was, he couldn’t resist stealing a glance at the view now expanding before them.

The house was far larger than he had imagined. The pitched roofs of the building wove between the trees, occasionally encircling gardens hidden away within cloistered courtyards. Beyond the outer walls were what appeared to be vast nurseries; clearings filled with row upon row of carefully tended saplings. In the failing light, he saw dark forms walking the rows; though if they were gardeners as he suspected, they carried no discernable tools.

Distracted by the sight, his foot stumbled on the next step and with a yelp he pitched to the side. The view of the house and its expansive grounds yawed to one side and he screamed in alarm. But just as he was about to topple from the heights, a strong hand closed upon his shoulder and yanked him back against the trunk. With his heart hammering in his chest, he sank to the stair and angrily shook his head at the old man.

‘I can’t do it!’ he shouted into the quickening breeze. ‘I just can’t climb any further!’

Torrinth’s greying hair fluttered about his head, momentarily hiding his gaunt face. But when the grey curtain finally parted, he replied with typical brevity, shaking his head just once. With his hand still painfully attached to James’ shoulder, the old man pushed him on.

James closed his eyes and gulped air, his clumsy feet labouring across steps already tread upon by his groping hands. All the while, the seething rattle of leaves bombarded his senses making him deaf as well as blind to the climb.

It was a long time before he finally felt a flat surface settle beneath his hands, but the promise of solidity made him scramble eagerly forward. A decorative arch loomed at the end of the platform and he gratefully pitched himself inside it like a mouse bolting for its hole.

The three men who had ascended before them were nowhere to be seen, but James could hear quiet conversation from behind a closed door. In the centre of the room a small fire quietly flickered, enclosed within a curious ring of dark shapes, like the burnt husks of banana skins. The room was otherwise bare, except for four buff-coloured mats placed equidistantly about the fire. A large oval window in the far wall filled the room with the fading light of the setting sun.

Panting from the exertion of the climb, James looked up at the impassive face of Torrinth. Despite the sinister orders given to the old man by Lord Galen, James had come to think of him as something close to a friend; albeit a friend who never spoke, and never once offered as much as a flicker of emotion to the various one-sided conversations he had attempted over the past week. Still, his presence calmed him, like a piece of familiar furniture placed within a strange room.

A shadow passed across the doorway, and then Lord Galen was standing before him. Like the other men, he bore evidence of a hurried and troubled journey. A dark splatter of what looked like dried blood decorated him from shoulder to waist like a ghoulish sash. Galen’s eyes were intense, almost fevered, as he looked down upon him sprawled upon the floor. Even so, he managed a thin smile and extended his hand.

Cautiously, James reached up and let the other man lift him back to his feet. Galen nodded once to Torrinth, and the old man promptly departed into the adjoining room.

‘Please, be seated,’ Galen said, motioning towards one of the mats beside the fire.

James shuffled across the small room before awkwardly settling himself upon the floor, choosing the mat that lay furthest from the other man. Lord Galen’s smile had already left his face as he too descended to the floor beside the flickering flames.

In the silence that followed, James tried to meet the other man’s gaze as the fire slowly crackled between them; the great tree creaking and groaning beyond the thin walls.

‘We do not have long,’ Galen said suddenly, causing James to tense beneath his silk robes. ‘I must ask of you some questions before we may proceed any further.’

His voice was measured and graceful, like the last time they had spoken, but an unnerving uncertainty had since crept into his features. James shifted uneasily upon the woven mat, his heart pulsing at his temples.

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‘I have asked this question before, but I must now ask it again,’ Galen said, his eyes aflame from the setting sun. ‘How was it that you came to our land?’

As apprehensive as he was, Galen’s question angered him.

‘I’ve told you everything I know!’

Galen continued to stare at him from across the fire, his expression demanding he continue.

‘All I remember is the dream of flying! I was flying through the clouds and then I came down into the forest. Your daughter shot me with an arrow and now here I am in your company. You know the story, it hasn’t changed!’

‘Were you aided in any way by another? Or was it entirely your own will that brought you to our world?

‘Think carefully Jame, for the answers you give now will bear heavily upon how we proceed from this room,’ Galen said, his long fingers templed together above his lap.

As though bidden by the Lord’s question, the memory of the dream he had experienced in the bathhouse splintered back into his mind. It had only been three days ago, but already its fragile grasp on his memory seemed to be slipping. He remembered the voice, as fragile as a moth’s wing, as shrill as a wailing banshee. The final word he had screamed amidst the storm made him shiver now with its implications.

Magician…

Despite his recollection, a feeling deep within his gut told him that to speak of the dream would be folly. Galen’s newfound uncertainty spoke of unfounded fears and drastic actions. Inwardly, he winced, hoping that Bettiny would not have divulged the ambiguous questions he had asked of her.

Finally, after an awkward pause, James meekly muttered his reply.

‘I was alone.’

Galen sighed and closed his eyes as though suddenly exhausted.

‘Then, what do you know of the Kloven? The sun-worshippers of the Klovelli Mountains?’

‘Is that supposed to be a joke?’ James said with an incredulous smile.

Galen regarded him gravely, and then spoke a word as though it were his last hopeless attempt at preventing catastrophe.

‘Kloven-Perrin.’

James’ face went slack.

Perrin.

‘You know the name!’ Galen replied in a hushed whisper.

The word was familiar to him because it had been inside his head when he awoke in the waiting room of the hospital. At the time, he had dismissed the dream as a product of his over-stressed mind. But now, he realised with dismay that it had likely signalled the beginning of this horrific hallucination he was now forced to live through.

‘It’s the name of the little boy,’ James muttered.

Galen continued to regard him from across the fire, but his eyes had narrowed in confusion.

‘Kloven-Perrin,’ Galen continued, ‘is the name of an old monk, who, for the past ten turns, has lived under the protection of my brother.’

He paused, for the first time smiling as he had the first time they had met.

‘And other than yourself, he is the only other man not born of the Gelding to ever speak our language. This, I feel, cannot be mere coincidence.’

Galen’s body seemed to relax somewhat, as though unsteady scales had at last found balance. He settled more comfortably where he sat, his smooth hands seeking one another within the sleeves of his dirty robes.

‘These past days, I have sought council with my brother, Lord Balen, Custodian of the Forest Citadel. The Citadel is the last of the great forest strongholds, situated on an island at the centre of Lake Kellan. It is a place many leagues from here, and has of late become a most perilous journey.’

He paused, glancing down at his soiled robes as though in explanation of his dishevelled appearance.

‘You have been kept in the dark about the events unfolding within our land for good reason. But, I may say this much to you now… we are living through the most desperate of times.

Galen’s stare hardened, his voice grave with foreboding.

‘A great evil has come into being, and even now prepares to engulf the land like an ill tide. Were it just the threat of arms ranged against us, the situation might not have been as bleak. But alas, I no longer believe that to be the case. Therefore, your arrival, not to mention the manner it took, was a matter of great concern for us.’

The lord’s fevered eyes flicked to the window above James’ head.

‘My brother believes a war approaches, but I believe it is something much worse. For, what is a war that cannot be fought?’

Again, the word magician came unbidden into James’ mind, causing him to squirm uncomfortably beneath his robes. Lord Galen’s words always seemed to trace the outlines of some larger truth, leaving gaping holes to be filled by despair and doubt. Could he have been brought to the land by its enemy? Was the message he had received within the oily waters of the bathing pool intended to draw him back to this great evil?

As though in recognition of these dire possibilities, Lord Galen’s expression suddenly hardened. His jaw set firmly, and with a resigned sigh he continued.

‘My brother’s advice was that you should be executed at once.’

James’ body stiffened, and he scuttled backwards until the wall thudded into his back. If Galen noticed his reaction, he did not show it, his eyes now firmly fixed upon the fire before him.

‘What I love about my brother is his ability to cut through the noise of each problem, to arrive at what is vital at its core. My own mind has always craved to exist somewhere between, and therein often lies my failing.’

‘No, please, don’t! Spare me!’ James begged, squirming against the wall as though attempting to pass through it.

Only now registering his distress, Galen looked up in alarm, his hand quickly raised in placation.

‘Jame, you have nothing to fear from me,’ he said, his open palm flickering with the light of the fire. ‘I have decided to spare your life.’

When Galen next spoke, he looked suddenly pained, as though a great weight had just climbed upon his shoulders.

‘Sometimes it is important to deal in absolutes. Sometimes the situation demands it. But, on this one occasion I had to disagree with my brother. The disagreement was unpleasant, and sadly we did not part on the best of terms.’

Galen stared back at him, the light of the fire hardening his gaze like burning brands.

‘However, I hold true to my conviction that the correct course of action does indeed lie “somewhere between”. I can no longer doubt that you are, as you say, of another world. The only question that remains to be answered is whether the powers at your disposal are for good, or for ill?

‘This is madness!’ James shouted. ‘Who the hell do you think I am? After everything my mind has done to create all this and trap me within it, I’ve been left as useless and pathetic as I ever was in my own world. What can you possibly see of any worth in me?’

Lord Galen seemed to ponder the question for a moment before directing his eyes back to the fire.

‘I admit that what I see before me is unclear at this moment. But the evidence of one’s eyes cannot be all that is set within the balance. Every fibre of my being tells me that you are important to the outcome of the coming struggle. For once, I must have the strength and faith to follow my convictions.’

Galen turned his eyes from the fire, but despite his resolute words his face was marred by the previous blight of uncertainty.

‘You must go forth this night and set out for the Forest Citadel. There you will meet with Kloven-Perrin, this monk of whom I spoke. It is my belief that he is the key to unlocking the mystery of your coming here.’

‘But I want to stay here!’ James protested, cowering against the wall.

‘So, you wish to fight for us after all?’ he said, smiling grimly.

‘No, of course not! I just want to remain here and be safe!’

Lord Galen now stood tall, the setting sun igniting his robes in crimson, the dark stains like ragged wounds across its surface.

‘You will find no safety within the walls of Galendar. Not anymore.’

Raising his hand, he pointed straight ahead.

‘They were sighted this afternoon, descending out of the mountains. Before the great crescent moon reaches its zenith, they will be upon this house.’

Remembering the window at his back, he slowly turned, pulling himself to its sill. The view beyond the mottled glass took his breath away. He reeled for a moment, caught between sickening vertigo and incredulous awe at the vastness of the space beyond the small room. The row of crooked mountains he had first spied from the window of Galen’s house rose immense and black against the darkening sky, like the charred remains of a giant ribcage; the monstrous sun once more melting amongst its distant peaks.

But these were sights that no longer troubled him, for something much worse was making its way towards them. Upon the wide plain, pinned between the mountains and the stunted trees at the edge of the forest, a formless black mass was inching its way towards them like a bloated leech crawling stubbornly across the bottom of a pond.

‘There are more than three hundred warriors marching across the plain,’ Galen said, his voice sounding as though from far away, ‘and, I believe that they are coming for you, Jame.’

‘This is impossible! Impossible!’ James wailed, returning his gaze to the creeping black stain. His eyes lost their focus, and he watched instead the dull red reflection of his own face in the mottled glass. His hair still lay close to his head, his jaw darkening with two weeks growth of beard. In the putrid light of the dying sun, a red skull seemed to sneer back at him.

‘Who are they?’ he pleaded. ‘What do they want with me?’

‘Explanations will have to wait, we have wasted time enough. All you need know for now is that the timing of their arrival is no coincidence. Somehow, the enemy has learnt of your presence within my home.’

There was the sound of movement from behind, and when James returned his gaze across the fire, a number of dark figures had assembled behind the robed lord. They seemed to all be watching him, like some grotesque line of actors preparing to take a final bow before an empty theatre. He noticed amongst them the gaunt form of Torrinth, and the familiar pale face of Leander scowling from out of the shadows.

‘When do we leave?’ James heard himself mutter, returning his gaze to the window.

With sinking inevitability, he heard Galen’s voice drift across the fire like an affirmation of his impending doom.

‘At once.’