With a deafening crash, another bolt of lightning sheared through the boiling night sky. For a moment the blasted heath around me was brilliantly illuminated and through the driving rain I caught sight of shelter at last, but it was not the monastery. It was merely a few trees huddled together on the barren moor, stark against the horizon. Through the sounds of the storm, I could make out the howling of wolves, broken occasionally by a banshee wail. With renewed determination I found the strength to start running again over the sodden earth. The blood pounded in my ears.

As I neared the copse, I picked out the glow from a small campfire among the trees. Someone had already taken shelter from the storm there. Cautiously, with one hand on the hilt of my sword, I stepped towards the fire. The figure seated beside the fire slowly looked up as I approached. "No need for that. I am unarmed." The silhouette of a man reared up, with a serpent like grace. Thunder rumbled across the moors, and the next flash of lightning reveals the man's face. His face was haggard, as if he had already seen a lifetime of hardship. But his eyes glittered as he drew back his lips to bare his teeth at me in a smile. "Step into my parlour boy – that is to say, my shelter. Please do. You will find that all your cares are ended. Forever." He gave a hollow laugh. "On such a night as this, evil things prowl. You might see one at any time." His voice was strangely high-pitched and nasally.

At that moment, I gave a start as I heard a rustle in the branches of the trees, but it was nothing, or so it seemed.

"What brings you out on such a night as this?" The stranger asked.

"I am Jemmy, the Warrior," I answered. "I passed the three tests of a warrior – the test of strength, the test of sensitivity and the test of virtue. I left my home city of Coltbridge to make a pilgrimage to Hollowell – the site of the blessed spring. When the storm broke, I left the road, but am now lost on these desolate moors."

The stranger bared his teeth. "I too am a pilgrim and I have been caught in the same predicament. I found this copse before the storm grew too bad… but from here I do know the way to Redstone Monastery. It is a place where holy men lead pious lives. Secluded from the trouble and wickedness of the mundane world. Why don't we travel there together? They welcome pilgrims. If we run into wolves or bandits, we have a much greater chance of fighting them together."

We left the cover of the trees, and ran flat out for half an hour. The wind and rain pelted my face. It didn't seem to bother the stranger, however. We came to the top of a rise and saw the road leading down to the collection of red, sandstone buildings that make up Redstone Monastery.

Then there came a scream. A scream to chill my blood. I looked up to see dozens of grotesque demons bearing down on us from the turbulent skies. Creatures with bulging eyes, writhing tentacles, vicious talons and slavering jaws. They screamed and gibbered with excitement as they sped towards us over the heath. I hurtled down the kill towards the Monastery, the stranger keeping pace easily beside me. He bared his teeth in a smile.

When I reached the door of the Monastery, I banged on the solid oak with all my might, shouting out the word 'sanctuary.' A heavy bolt was drawn back and I fell into the space beyond. The stranger stood silhouetted in the doorway. He was hesitating. Why? The demons were bearing down. "Come inside!" I yelled in exasperation. He stepped over the threshold, baring his teeth as if in a victorious smile. The door slammed shut and a monk bolted it. One last chill gust of wind was all that remained of the gale outside. I picked myself up and surveyed the men surrounding us. We were in a low-ceilinged hall, and the men were all monks. They were dressed in plain brown habits. I explained what we were doing here. The stranger was oddly silent. He'd drawn his hood down over his face, but I didn't think to question why.

One of the monks nodded. "Pilgrims are welcome here, to shelter from the storm. For we are the monks of Saraton. Come to the guest hall where the other pilgrims sleep."

The guest hall was a wide, stone room, with flat straw hassocks to serve as beds. A statue of the god Saraton stood at one end, a noble man with sweeping robes and beard, holding out his arms in a gesture of his benevolence. There were other men asleep there. I shut my eyes, but I couldn't sleep. I opened my eyes to see the stranger creeping furtively from the dormitory. This was weird. There was something about him that made me uneasy. I wanted to dismiss these feelings as uncharitable and groundless, but now my suspicions were aroused. Why exactly did he want to sneak around the Monastery in the middle of the night?

I waited until he had gone, then followed him through the deserted stone passageways. At last we came to a room which the strange man entered, closing the door behind him and locking it. Suddenly there was a cry from within the room and then a crash. My heart hammering, I beat on the door with my fists, but to no avail. I had to bust the lock with my sword. I burst into the room, just as a group of monks filed in through another door. We were in a library and the body of a monk lay face down on the floor beside an overturned writing desk. I felt sick to my stomach then, oh good imp and sweet witch-girl. What had the stranger done? Who was I really dealing with? And where had he gone?

A monk pointed to a flight of stone steps beyond yet another doorway. "Down there."

I ran down the steps, followed by the monks, and burst into a small, dank, musty smelling room lit by a single flickering torch. Against the far wall, the stranger knelt beside a massive, oak chest that now lay open. In the torchlight, I saw him holding a huge tome, bound in black leather. At the sound of my footsteps, he rose to his feet with the grace of a serpent.

"My good friend…" he cackled and pointed at me. "Without your invitation, I could never have re-entered this place. Now I must leave you, for I have much to do."

Then the room was plunged in absolute darkness. The torch was out, but this was not a natural darkness. It was enveloping, suffocating darkness. And then, just as suddenly as it fell, the veil of darkness lifted. The stranger and the massive book were gone, but something else was here. A swirling cloud of noxious smoke filled the room. I choked as the stench of brimstone invaded my nostrils. A terrible shape formed in the cloud of sulphur smoke. The shape of a monstrous demon, with scales blazing red, and talons razor sharp. It has huge, serpent eyes, fixed on me. Its gaping maw, ringed with fangs, hung open and the reek of sulphur belched forth. It lurched towards me and the icy claws of terror gripped my heart. But I remembered my training. I focused on what I had to do in this moment. No time for regrets. I had to defend the monks. But the demon lunged at me, claws reaching out and the reek of sulphur was overpowering. I trembled with fear. No ordinary weapon can harm a demon. No Tira, don't panic, if I hadn't survived, I would not be here to tell you the tale, remember?

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As the beast came for me, I dodged sideways. The bloated thing was too slow to catch me in its claws and as I dodged, I scored a hit on its side, piercing the scales. It roared and stumbled. I had wounded it. Ichor seeped through its hide. Of course! We were on holy ground, so the demon was weak. My mundane weapon could hurt it, after all.

The demon came for me again, and I slashed at its claws and it roared as they were sheared off. It retreated, then lunged again and this time I was ready with a special move I learned during my combat training. As the scaly beast flailed its clawed appendages, I thrust my sword past them, into its heart. It roared and hissed, and collapsed, and as it expired, a cloud of sulphur burst from its gullet.

The monks cheered and led me to the infirmary to check me over, praising me that I was not hurt, although I did feel nauseous from the reek of sulphur. The monks then took me to their Leader, Father Dunstain. He was an austere looking gentlemen. Someone to mind your Ps and Qs with.

"I commend you for smiting the brimstone demon," he said, his voice cold and sharp. "But this is just the first of our troubles… the intruder who murdered Brother Tetronymus stole a dangerous tome, one of infernal magic. The Book of the Beast. The tome is indestructible, so it was locked away here, on hallowed ground. But now it is stolen."

Something was off here… "The villain knew precisely where the book was, and he clearly knew his way about this place and knew about your order," I pointed out. "Do you know him?"

Dunstain nodded. "Very shrewd, boy. Yes, we know him and he has been here before. His name is Nazek. He was a member of our Order, a holy man, like us, rejecting all connections to the outside world in pursuit of piety. But this wasn't enough for him. He was always causing trouble and despite my efforts to apply correction-" Dunstain picked up a whip, an awful looking thing, with nine knotted tails, "despite my efforts to correct him, he went terribly wrong. He has dabbled in infernal magic. He deserted the Monastery on a night such as this. He traded favours to that evil demon to gain powers and now tonight, he returned. Thanks to you, boy."

"Thanks to me?" What did he mean?

"A follower of the Beast cannot enter holy ground without an invitation, and you invited him, or so I hear. Just speaking the words of an invitation to cross the threshold was enough."

I felt sick. That dreadful man had lied and tricked me, and it was my fault he got into the Monastery again… killed a poor monk and prepared to unleash a terrible evil on this world. It is very kind, Tira, that you want to hold my hand. I fear I do not deserve your comfort about this.

"You must set things right," here Dunstain jabbed me painfully in the chest. "The fate of the world rests on your young, shoulders. A terrible mission lies before you. Even if you succeed, you probably won't have that fresh face anymore. You will be worn and haggard, as it should be."

The monks allowed me some little time in the library. I quickly looked for anything useful to read in preparation for my quest. I found An Astronomers Algamest, where I read about Shekka's Moon, that night when the Dark Goddess' influence is strong in the world. I see you know about this Tira. I did indeed read about it. The book says it is the night where she can transform any willing maiden, matron, or crone into one of her creatures – a witch with magic imbued in her blood and heart. Yes, I know you must have undergone this rite in order to become a witch.

I also read a Demonological Dissertation which detailed the denizens of the Infernal Pit. Hidden in the text was a demonic word of command, an incantation to drive certain demons away.

Just as I was about to leave, I stopped in the herb garden, which had been badly damaged in the storm. The gardener was one, Brother Trefor.

"Don't let Father's words depress you, boy, I believe in you," he said clapping me on the back. He had ruddy cheeks and twinkling eyes and a matted, grey beard.

He let me have one sprig of herb as a souvenir. I chose Aramance, which is said to ward away disease.

Then I left the Monastery and made my way up the hill to the hallowed spring of Hollowell. Ut was a sad sight, seeing many poor souls making the pilgrimage, seeking miracle cures for their ailments. The pillared entrance was lined with beggars, some blind, some missing limbs… one poor old man, whose skin was almost completely covered in ulcers and open sores called weakly to me, "show a poor wretch some charity. Spare but an iron piece. I'm slowly dying." Yes, Tira, I don't wonder that it makes you want to cry.

I did better. I threw him a silver piece. "I only wish I could do more, but the weight of the world rests on my shoulders," I told him. "I have to stop the rise of the Infernal Beast."

He managed a toothless smile. "May Saraton look more favourably on you than he did me, boy."

The waters of the spring emerged from a boulder and collected in a rocky basin. I held out my crystal flash and as water filled it, the water glowed with a golden light. The spring favoured me. The waters it provided are of great virtue. Another man visiting the spring also had better fortune than the beggar, for the waters cured him. He had been covered in red blotches and wheezing, but at the touch of the waters, his sores began to close and he breathed more easily.

I congratulated him on his good fortune.

"Good fortune, my boy? Is it? I am the sole survivor of the party who set out from Arrill to find a cure for the plague. Just weeks ago, a shadowy stranger, a man with pointed, rat-like features arrived there, playing an eerie melody on a set of enchanted pipes that summoned forth a swarm of rats. The rats invaded the cellars and sewers and brought with them the plague! I see you are a swordsman. If you can, save Arrill!"

A dire warning, indeed. And what does he think a swordsman can do against a plague of rats? Would that something could be done to help those people and stop another such calamity from happening elsewhere…

As I left the town, I passed a man sitting cross-legged by the road. He was swathed in a cloak, his face hidden by a hood, and on his shoulder there perched a black rat. He was playing on a pair of pipes and as I passed, his tune changed and became weird and dirge-like. I felt my head spinning as I became mesmerised, but then I thought of that man who was a survivor from Arrill. This was all too coincidental. I blocked my ears and yelled to break his spell and at that moment, the rat flew from the piper's shoulder and tried to bite through my leather armour. It failed. I dragged the horrible beast off and crushed it underfoot, but the piper hissed with anger, and dropped the pipes. He pulled a dagger from a sheath on his belt. He ran at me, and I could see his eyes burning red with fury from under the hood, and his pointed rat like features…!