Three hours into their trek, Ashraf called a halt. No-one was unduly tired and the magic dagger was unwavering, their target a hundred yards or so ahead, yet he felt compelled to stop. No-one argued with him, not Sherak the scout or even Ishak, evermore the idiot.

The desert dwellers merely sat in stunned wonder, enchanted by the unfamiliar and extravagant greenery. Their Captain too was captivated by the colourful foliage. This forest was so old and otherworldly, he thought, and that worried him for some reason.

The previous month of October must have been one of fire, many leaves burned magma-red, hot-orange or fever-yellow. Now, in early November, the sun was wan, failing to warm the skin, sprinkling down only weak lances of light. The sun-spears couldn't reach here in the sooty heart of the forest, eerily still in the shade of the three biggest trees, Ashraf had ever seen, still half a furlong ahead of them.

As the minutes dragged on, his mind drifted a full circle coming back to the mission. It was relatively simple and safe enough - or the Emperor's nephew would never be risked - just retrieve a single sapphire their Emperor had his greedy heart set on.

Finding that particular needle in the haystack was made child splay by a magic artefact Sherak wielded, which could track the target anywhere.

Ashraf signalled his scout and was handed the silver ceremonial-dagger. He stared, fascinated, at the shining stone set in its hilt. A pulsating light within the diamond glowed bigger and brighter the nearer it got to its sister stone... Distractedly, Ashraf aimed the dagger at various landmarks. As he did the light within shifted itself to the whichever facet was now nearest their original target... Apparently it was amidst the huge trees ahead...

Flipping the dagger over revealed a slot for its sister sapphire on the other side and also snapped Ashraf out of his trance, spooking himself in the process. He shuddered and tossed the blade back to Sherak, glad to be shod of the evil thing.

Taller than the towers of the imperial palace at Arnuz and almost as thick and foreboding, Ashraf felt the three trees could - and would- fall on him at any moment. Butted-up behind the behemoths was a steep, snow-capped conical mountain, the smallest by far of a dozen jagged peaks scarring the skyline...

Yep, definitely a dead-end in that direction, despite the dagger's glowing insistence otherwise.

As time marched relentlessly on, Ashraf struggled to stay still. Antsy, every second he felt increasingly sure he should leave. So he did. He just upped sticks and left. Relieved, the rest of his troop eagerly picked up their gear and jogged after their leader. A few minutes later, he felt a lot better, but why? Everyone else was blinking as if a spell on them had been broken. Had a spell on them been broken? He called another halt. Was all that weirdness witchcraft?

To find out, he would be forced to do to do something he'd never considered let alone done before.

Against his every soldiering instinct, Captain Ashraf Serkan drew a deep breath and asked his subordinates how they felt. Firstly, about their new experience of forests in general, then specifically about the spot they had stopped before. The short question and answer session confirmed his long held suspicions.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

First and foremost, asking junior soldiers for their opinions about anything was simply wrong. And without question - literally - an exercise never to be repeated. Secondly, they had all been ensorcelled and there was a wall of witchy magic screening their enemy. Ordering his men to about turn and "run straight through it without bloody stopping", salvaged him a modicum of mana. Sherak was the scout. He held the dagger, so he was designated to bell the cat by leading the charge. But Ashraf swore he would be hot on Sherak's heels no matter how conflicted he felt about it inside.

--------------------------------

Jak was right. His gran did know something. She knew something was wrong. No sooner had he yanked open the front door into their lounge than her frail arms were hugging him with surprising strength and intensity.

"Thank the gods you're home," she said, smothering him again. "Evil is afoot and approaching fast."

She waved vaguely at a collection of orc and goblin bones strewn across the sturdy oak table in the centre of the room. Jak snorted. As if some superstitious nonsense could prove her claims beyond any reasonable doubt .

How could anything be coming? Usually Jak unstrung and hung his bow on the hook beside the door, but today he bunged everything by the fireplace to sort through later. Better keep his boots on too, until he got to the bottom of what was worrying his normally unflappable gran.

They were untouchable in Grey Grove, the glade that held and hid their home. Known locally as the Lair of the Fairy Forest Witch, their home was actually a charming cottage, sitting snugly inside a trio of giant elven redwoods at the base of Goblin Tooth mountain - a chipped tooth, ending abruptly in cliffs abutting their backyard. The Foster house was hidden, fully enclosed within natural barriers and entirely safe. Or so he'd thought.

His gran swept the bones into a heap with her forearm then seized them again in clawing fingers. She stared at her fist, shook it thrice then scattered the runed shapes across the table again.

"Bah," she spat, scanning the face up runes one by one. "Many come...Strong magic... Portents of growth and change....Danger... Death..."

Jak refused to believe a bunch of old bones, Not his gran just what she was saying. He couldn't see how they had been found for a start... The house couldn't be seen for their huge trees. The only three giant elven redwoods north of the elves themselves. The three trunks' exteriors doubled as the interior walls for the front two rooms -the lounge and the kitchen-cum-workroom - of their cosy home. In the backyard behind the two single bedrooms were his gran's gardens and an outhouse - all blocked off by the forbidding mountain cliffs.

Jak stared hard at the only entrance. A heavy oak-door wedged between two of the redwoods. It didn't move. It couldn't even be seen within the grove itself, camouflaged and curtained-off from prying eyes by a stand of spruce saplings Jak had planted for that specific purpose. It may have been possible to see the forest for the trees but not their home

Meanwhile, his gran was dashing from pillar to post plucking items in panicky snatches. Her tall angular frame rendered her actions almost risible, resembling a frantic praying mantis at times . Normally serene grey-green eyes roved restlessly. Her usually surgically-steady hands groped and grabbed in manic movements. She was frazzled. The Fae Witch was frazzled. Jak could barely believe his lying eyes.

While Jak took pride in his many security measures, they were merely window dressing. The heart of their defences were his gran's wards, spells which daunted and befuddled beasts and humans alike...

His own spell was broken by his gran grabbing him by the shoulders.

"Hurry along and fetch your things," she ordered, then resumed rifling through a cabinet drawer. "Only what you can carry..."

Gran pointed to where she'd stacked her own stuff - her herb box and two huge books - in a pile on the corner of the table. She began sorting cutlery in the scullery when suddenly the clamour of her alarum startled them both. Now Jak couldn't believe his ears. Grey Grove was being invaded.

Suddenly, a swarthy man was darkening their now open doorway. The beak-nosed intruder pointed an ornate silver dagger with a glowing white jewel at Jak's gran. Jak was stunned, the sneering man was as Sarkian as the carpet Jak was stood on. One from Westcott's shoppe, the carpet and the man. He snarled at Jak and barked back at his countrymen still milling outside.