The Necromancer
He was swaying back and forth. A pungent odour assaulted Kirk's nostrils but he ignored it, forced open heavy eyelids and found that he could see nothing except matted black hair on a muscular back. He swore softly as the memory of his humiliating capture returned. The ogre had run through the edge of the wood until it had reached a roadway and with an arrogant ease that still infuriated him, it had tied Kirk hand and foot and slung him over its shoulder.
He took stock of his situation. He was bruised, there was blood on his hands and he traced its source to his forehead. There seemed to be little damage, perhaps a graze, and relieved he attempted to clear his thoughts. Where is Evilsbane? He lifted his head slightly but his long hair obscured his vision and, restricted by his bonds, he was unable to toss the heavy strands aside. 'Damn! Why didn't I tie it back?'
He dismissed his futile anger and tried to reason it out. The spear wouldn't tolerate the touch of such evil creatures. Has she been left behind? If so then Ayrond's prophecy would never be fulfilled. Kirk sighed and schooled himself to patience. Once the ogres stopped it might be possible to escape, but knowing their brute strength it seemed difficult prospect.
As the stench intensified, he tried not to gag. He heard a second ogre speaking to its companion and Kirk closed his eyes to shut out the blur of the passing terrain beneath him. He breathed slowly and evenly knowing that this was a time where meditation might be beneficial. He had learned something of the discipline from Spock, and attempted to apply his friend's teachings, however where a Vulcan could have managed under such circumstances it was difficult for a human. In the end, though, he achieved a small measure of success and calm descended upon him. Exhausted from all that had occurred, he finally fell into a fitful doze.
He sensed danger and was awake in seconds. He was roughly dragged from his captor's back and gasped as pain streaked along his spine. As it eased he glanced around to find himself lying on rocky ground in a small arid valley. Hills sparsely covered with withered vegetation rose on either side. Ahead lay a narrow pass and standing menacingly at its entrance were two creatures who closely resembled his captors. Kirk struggled to a kneeling position, shook his heavy hair back, and watched as the ogres raised their clubs and challenged the newcomers. He blinked the sweat from his eyes and looked for any sign of Evilsbane. The ogres wore nothing except their loincloths but a large leather pack lay discarded on the ground several metres away. Had they managed to bring the spear?
Kirk watched his abductors warily as he inched his way across, but all their concentration was on the challengers and they paid him no attention. He grimaced as his bruised back ached, gritted his teeth and crawled towards his goal, praying that Evilsbane would be there. There was an almost imperceptible movement from inside the pack; a faint humming and Kirk breathed a sigh of relief. The spear called to him from her prison. He didn't know how she had been taken but, yes, she was there and awaiting rescue.
Battle cries echoed through the valley as the newcomers charged. Long straggly hair swinging wildly about their brutish faces, they advanced brandishing giant clubs. Kirk's captors howled but stood their ground, passing their weapons from one hand to another. The combatants met with crushing force and Kirk edged back out of harms way.
This encounter might offer him, his only chance of escape. He crawled over until the pack was a few metres away but the fighters now barred his path. He swore with frustration and concentrated on staying clear of the vicious battle between the hulking creatures. Nauseated, he watched as one of the challengers had its head beaten to a pulp. The stench of its blood filled the air and Kirk turned his face away as the victor lifted its victim's hand and proceeded to bite off each finger and crunch them. Unable to stop himself losing whatever food still remained in his stomach, Kirk retched dryly and painfully. Why had he escaped being these cannibals' supper?
He tried to think over past events. He had killed their companion but instead of retaliating they had carried him a fair distance. They had risked taking Evilsbane despite knowing how deadly she was, so could they be under orders to bring him to Medrikhor? Certainly the Evil King knew of his presence and exactly what he looked like. Kirk recalled the moment beneath the pool when that nightmarish face had stared at him and Spock. His worry over his friend, repressed since Spock's disappearance, clawed at him. Was Spock in Medrikhor's clutches, suffering torture at this very moment? Where was his crew? He felt so helpless.
'Damn Ayrond and his meddling.'
He tossed the unsettling thoughts aside. His first priorities were to regain the spear and get out of here. No easy task for one who had his hands tied in front of him and his feet hobbled together. He turned to see the other two still fought a short distance away. Now was his chance. There was nothing in his path. He stole a glance at the disgusting sight of the feeding ogre then stealthily edged towards the pack. The humming grew louder and that encouraged Kirk to continue until he was able to touch it. The spear's vibration was a welcome sensation. He fumbled with the bindings but they had been tied with strength far beyond his own and he could scarcely budge them. He persisted, though; adrenaline coursing through his body as fear of discovery loomed ever closer. Silently cursing he egged himself on until one of the knots began to unravel and, encouraged, he carried on with the task.
A deep grunt alerted him. An instant later a large filthy hand grabbed his tunic, yanked him away and he found himself staring into the ogre's face. Blood dripped from the fetid mouth, pieces of bone clung to the hairy chin, and the smell was overpowering. Was he now looking death in the eye, about to become an ogre's dessert?
He was hoisted over the creature's back. Kirk swore and kicked viciously with both feet at his abductor's thigh. The blow made no impression on the tough hide and, with a laugh, the ogre lifted the pack and, leaving its still fighting companion behind, sprinted for the pass. Kirk flailed until exhaustion and the realisation of the futility of his struggles penetrated his fury. Evilsbane was so close and he couldn't touch her, but she sang to him and somehow lulled by the gentle sound he, at last, fell into a fitful doze.
Night fell and still his kidnapper ran. Kirk could not see a thing now but the ogre seemed to know exactly where it was going. Resigning himself to his situation, for the moment, Kirk tried to rest as much as his uncomfortable position permitted. He had a hunch that he would need all of his strength for the ordeals ahead.
***
Kirk was jolted awake by the sound of many voices. He lifted his head and, as a breeze blew his hair aside, attempted to view his surroundings. They were in an encampment with many tents crowded together, stretching as far as he could see. All types of creatures sat around cooking fires and as the ogre passed them, they stopped their activities to stare and their murmuring grew in volume until it reached an excited peak. The ogre raised its fists and yelled its triumph to all. Kirk's ears rang as the watchers cheered. He licked at his parched lips and braced himself against the noise, forcing his hungry, thirsty, pain-wracked body to relax.
"Is this the daring King of the Prophecy?" A mocking voice sliced through his calm. "Put the king down, Vakhrak." As Kirk was dragged from the broad shoulders it added, "Gently."
He was placed on the floor and lay slumped without the strength to even lift his head. He could almost hear the silence that hung in the still, warm air and with an effort forced himself to look up and note his surroundings. He was in a luxurious pavilion. Its walls were decorated with lush purple drapes and the floor was strewn with colourful cushions. In the centre, an iron brazier with dark red coals emitted a floral scent.
'Where the hell am I now?' he wondered.
He took a deep breath and concentrated on finding some energy. He had lost all sense of time and had no idea when his last meal had been. It seemed like days since he had talked with the amiable farmer Pwyll. A wave of nausea swept from stomach to throat and he lowered his head, forcing himself to control it.
A pair of booted feet came into his line of vision. They were tiny, even delicate by male standards yet the voice had certainly been masculine. He looked further and noted the richly embroidered multicoloured hem of a heavy brocade robe. 'Is this Medrikhor?' Kirk wondered as he was untied. He tried to flex his fingers but on discovering them to be numb, he instead stretched out to ease the agonising cramp in his legs.
"Who are you?" Kirk asked, as he was solicitously lifted and placed on a nest of comfortable cushions. He continued to exercise his fingers until some feeling began to return to them. The speaker knelt and for the first time Kirk saw him properly. "Who are you?" he repeated.
"I am Medrawt, sire. I am honoured to meet you."
Medrawt appeared to be a young human. His blue eyes were large and framed by long lashes; his perfect nose, high cheekbones and sculptured lips made him almost pretty. His waist-length blond silky hair rivalled any woman's and when Medrawt smiled he revealed perfect white teeth.
"Why have I been brought here?" Kirk asked.
Medrawt bowed his head. "All in good time, sire. You require a physician and are in need of refreshment. I regret that your journey was an uncomfortable one." He stood up and faced the towering ogre. "Vakhrak, you have done well and will be rewarded. Leave the backpack and begone."
The brute obeyed. With a charming and totally false smile Medrawt clapped his hands. A group of female attendants scurried in carrying trays of steaming hot food. They were all young, beautiful and dressed in flowing garments of the finest silk. "Summon the Priestess Sera," Medrawt ordered.
Kirk caught his breath. 'Is Sera not the name of the healer who tended Pwyll then sent him to safety in Arbara? How is she here?' He rubbed his aching forehead. It was difficult even to think straight after the ordeals of the past days but he must gather his wits together and find some way to escape. Medrawt was too unctuous to be trusted.
"You didn't answer my question, Medrawt," he said.
"Forgive me, sire. I will answer once you are tended to. Here is the finest wine." He held out a gold goblet.
"No wine, but I will accept water," Kirk said. The wine could easily be drugged. 'So can the water,' an inner voice warned but he reasoned that he should be able to taste anything unnatural in the water.
Medrawt smiled. "Very well." He filled a glass from a crystal decanter and offered it to Kirk.
"Thank you." Kirk accepted it and sipped slowly. The liquid tasted pure and he relaxed, hoping that his assumption was correct. As he assuaged his thirst he noticed that the other's attention often strayed to the backpack. There was no doubt that Medrawt knew about Evilsbane. Kirk wondered if it was possible to overpower the slightly built man, but appearances could be deceptive and there was an indefinable aura of power from him.
The tent flap was lifted and a dwarf entered dragging an old grey haired woman with him. Kirk sat up but his head spun and he clutched at the cushions. "Leave her alone," he demanded but the guard ignored him and shoved the woman forward. She stumbled and fell onto the floor at Kirk's side. He clasped her arms and helped her into a sitting position. "Are you all right? he asked.
She looked up at him and there was curiosity in her faded blue eyes. "You are injured, young man. The cut on your forehead could become infected."
"Treat him," Medrawt ordered. "He is a valuable prisoner."
Sera stared at him contemptuously. "I will heal him, Necromancer, but not because you wish it." She opened the pouch that was strapped to her waist then turned to Kirk and examined his forehead. With practised skill she cleaned the wound with fresh water then smeared a sweet smelling paste over it. She lifted his tunic and before he could protest had pulled it over his head and was checking him for injuries as expertly as McCoy would. "Nothing broken," she muttered. "You were lucky. Bruised though. Painful I'll warrant. My unguent will dull the pain and promote healing."
He smiled. "Thank you Lady Sera. A mutual acquaintance has told me about your healing skills."
She frowned. "And who would that be?"
"Pwyll the farmer."
Her eyes widened in her aged face and she almost imperceptibly shook her head in warning. "Don't know any Pwyll. I'll be back to see you this evening. You'll need more treatment."
"You remind me of a friend who is also a healer," Kirk said touching her thin arm. The blue dress Sera wore was ragged but he could see it had once been of the finest material.
She shrugged and helped him on with the tunic. As she did so her hand caught on the inner pocket that held the gold circlet. She frowned and looked closely at his torque and armbands. She touched them reverently, a look of wonder passed across her features, and a tear slipped down her withered cheek. Kirk gripped her hands and she bowed her head in acknowledgement.
"Leave, Sera," Medrawt commanded. "You may attend the Lord King later."
Her eyes sought Kirk's and there was happiness mixed with concern in their depths. "Lord King, beware the Necromancer. His beauty is but illusion."
Soft laughter greeted her words. "Old woman you are a fool. Guard, take her away."
The dwarf returned and after a reassuring glance at Kirk, Sera calmly accompanied her guard. Kirk stared at Medrawt. "Do you enjoy imprisoning harmless old women?"
The Necromancer sat down and offered him a plate of food. "She is a skilled healer. Most of her kind are dead or in the master's power. I needed her for myself."
Disregarding the chance of them being drugged, Kirk began to eat the meat and vegetables. He craved sustenance and logic suggested that Medrawt needed him to be alive and well. 'Logic,' he said silently, stifling a surge of anxiety as the word reminded him of his closest friend.
"My king will be pleased I have caught you," Medrawt said.
"You serve Medrikhor?" Kirk asked.
"I am his war chief. Even now I lay siege to Elvenhome with my army. Before summer has gone the refuge of the elves will be razed," Medrawt boasted.
Kirk was horrified. "Why, Medrawt? Surely they can do you no harm now."
A smile spread across the handsome face. "Ah but elves age slowly. It is thirty years since the great battle and if some children of Aelwen and Valdrin still live it is possible that they have reached maturity. Our spies have discovered that the elven-kind prepares to fight us." Medrawt's long tapering fingers stroked his silken hair. "They will be destroyed because you are my prisoner. There will be no one to lead them against Medrikhor. Instead your strength will be mine. I will draw your very essence into myself, your spear shall cleave to me and none will match my power."
Kirk shivered in dread. "You won't absorb me, Medrawt. Evilsbane will never be yours."
He launched himself forwards but before he could tackle the necromancer, a sharp ache lanced through his head. He cried out in shock and tried to clear the red mist suddenly blocking his vision, but another spasm of pain streaked along his nerves. He struggled in helpless rage as a silken cord wrapped itself around his wrists and ankles.
The leering face swam in and out of focus. "Ah Lord King, do not seek to grapple with Medrawt the Necromancer. I command the dead as well as the living. I draw the very souls out of those who displease me. Here, sire, is a taste of my displeasure."
The pain was a living thing, coiling around his mind, eating away at all that was James T Kirk. He struggled to keep the necromancer out but he was no match for such power and knew that his memories were being searched. "No," he cried as the warmth of the link he shared with Spock began to twist and stretch and thin. The attack was causing its very strands to strain to stay together.
Suddenly, the pressure ceased and he looked up to see Medrawt staring into space. "Whose thoughts are these who search the world. Is it an elf? No. He is the halfling. How interesting! This link you share is like nothing I have seen before. It is a binding of souls."
Kirk gasped. Ice gripped his heart. Usually the only sign of the link's presence was the wellbeing it generated. It could not be broken, could it? It had formed between them over the years, an unique awareness of one another that had made them the best command team in the fleet. Was the necromancer so powerful that he could affect it? Could he harm Spock? An intense hatred rose in Kirk. He gathered his remaining strength and threw himself at Medrawt, landing a good left hook to the other's jaw. The necromancer shrieked and scurried out of the way. Kirk smiled to himself. At least he now knew that Spock was alive.
Moments later, Medrawt had recovered. A strange paralysis crept through Kirk and he slumped back. Unable to fight now he felt a tug in his mind. The pain was like red hot pincers inside his skull and he cried out. Spock!
For one moment he seemed to touch his friend's questing mind then there was a sudden ripping. Kirk screamed as the link he had known and relied on snapped then mocking laughter filled his head and the sense of the Vulcan's presence was gone. Overwhelming grief filled him. Spock. No....
Medraut gloated as he made some signs in the air. "Sleep, Noble King," his silky voice said. "I shall deal with you later."
Kirk knew that Medrawt was casting a slumber spell. "You bastard," he muttered just before it took effect.
***
Kirk woke with a start, found himself still unable to move but could not feel any physical bonds. He controlled his apprehension. He needed to determine why he was immobile but could only surmise that the restraints could well be magical. Necromancer was a term which was vaguely familiar to Kirk, from old legends, as being a sorcerer who spoke with the dead and Medrawt had confirmed this. If it were true how could he fight against this arcane power?
Kirk's head pounded and his heartbeat doubled at the memory of Medrawt's violation of his mind. There was a deep void and a raw ache where the link had been. If he felt this way then what would it do to a telepath? Kirk shuddered and forced calm on himself. He would survive this blow, as would Spock, for the prophecy told of them both being instrumental in Medrikhor's downfall. They would deal with any difficulty and continue the fight to free Arigol. Of that, he was certain.
The power that held his head immobile was suddenly lifted and he was now able to open his eyes. His body was still bound, after all, but at least he could now see his surroundings and the sight was not a pleasant one. It was night. He was standing upright, tied to a stake on a small platform in the centre of a tree-lined dell, surrounded by tall figures swathed in dark robes and hoods. Beyond them, the starlight allowed him to see glimpses of weird creatures whose identities he could scarcely guess but whose hostile behaviour clearly labelled them as minions of Evil.
"Are you such a coward that you won't show yourself, Medrawt?" he asked insolently.
Soft laughter greeted his question and one of the figures pushed its hood back to reveal the necromancer's too-handsome face. "We shall see how long you can prevail against my power, King of Prophecy," Medrawt scoffed.
Kirk lifted his chin in defiance and stared out across the dell. In the shadow of the trees there was a flash of colour and for a moment he thought that rescue was at hand. His hopes were dashed as a chanting began. It grew in volume, slicing into his mind like a sharp knife. Medrawt's laughter wove itself into the chant, his voice silkily calling on Kirk's very soul to abandon its home. No. He would not give up any part of himself to this evil creature.
It is so easy, the persuasive voice continued. Leave this useless shell of flesh. Be part of my force. Join with us and experience the ultimate pleasure of Evil's lust.
Kirk gathered every ounce of determination and grit he possessed and wove them into a shield. He clutched memories of his ship, crew, family and friends to him like precious jewels and added them to the fabric. The enemy's pressure increased and the barrage continued. Knowing himself to be weakening, Kirk concentrated his thoughts on his Vulcan friend. If only Spock were here. I could laugh at this and with his mind-power joined to mine the odds of overcoming Medrawt would be considerably higher. He clenched his teeth and bore the assault. Medrawt won't overcome me, he repeated, forcing himself to believe it.
Suddenly the intensity of the attack diminished and finally faded away. Medrawt's face was red with fury. "So, King of the Prophecy, your strength lies deep. I should have taken your soul when you were weak and unprepared. " He suddenly smiled. " Luck is with you. Urgent matters claim my attention and I must leave you until the morrow. Ah well, my final victory will be the sweeter."
"Don't count on it," Kirk sneered.
The necromancer laughed loudly. "Take him away," he ordered.
Three of the hooded figures dragged Kirk to a small tent and roughly threw him onto the hard dirt floor. He lay there gasping, trying to recover from all he had endured and, after a time, sensation began to return to his body.
Good, perhaps I'll find a way of escape now.
He rested for a time, rubbed at his numbed legs and listened intently for any outside noises which might give him information. There was a regular marching of booted feet around the perimeter of his prison; guards no doubt. Now all he had to do was attract their attention. He had to attempt escape now while it was still dark.
"Help, I'm dying!" He groaned as if in agony. Seconds later two dwarves entered the tent, their stone axes menacingly poised. Kirk rolled around, clutching at his stomach. "The pain!" he cried.
"What ails you, human?" a guard with shaggy grey hair asked.
Kirk screamed, stiffened his body for a moment then abruptly went limp. He held his breath, feigning death as the dwarves came closer to inspect him and when they were near enough, he launched himself at them, wrestled an axe away from one, and struck him over the head with it. The dwarf collapsed but the second one attacked and Kirk retreated because, still weak from the spell, he could now scarcely lift the axe. What little energy he had been able to muster had been expended. The dwarf approached, his green eyes full of malevolence.
"You can't kill me. Your master would be furious." Kirk forced his axe up, feigning strength he did not possess. "Your punishment would not be pleasant." Those words stopped the dwarf, and the weapon was lowered slightly. "That's it. Now just stay out of my way and I'll be gone."
Kirk slipped under the canvas flap and out into the dimly lit camp. He glanced around trying to get his bearings but it was difficult for he was surrounded by scores of tents. The sound of voices close by caused him to back away around the other side of his former prison. Now was the perfect moment to escape; he might never get another chance.
He turned and stopped dead as he saw the gloating necromancer, spellfire hovering above him, standing nearby. Medrawt raised his hand, a heaviness slid through Kirk's arm and with helpless frustration he watched as the axe fell from his nerveless fingers, was swept up and whirled through the air to settle in the sorcerer's grip.
Damn!
"An excellent attempt," the necromancer commented, "but doomed to failure." He snapped his fingers and two black-haired dwarves appeared from behind a nearby tent. "Watch the prisoner well, or the House of Yonsm will suffer the fate of these curs belonging to the House of Igmega." He pointed to Kirk's former guards who had now emerged to cower by the flap. "Approach me."
The two dwarves slunk forward, and their terror was so apparent that Kirk felt a sudden sympathy for them. "It wasn't their fault," he said, but Medrawt gestured and the new guards grabbed Kirk, dragged him out of the way and held him still. They were more than a head smaller than he but their bodies were muscular and strong and there was no way he could break their grip.
The necromancer's smile was vicious as he eyed his servants. "You have failed in your duty, brothers of Igmega. Prepare to accept your punishment." The axe flew from his hand and with a resounding crack, embedded itself in the skull of the nearest dwarf. Kirk closed his eyes as the sharp edge sliced the creature's head in two. He fought to control his roiling stomach as he heard a second crunch and Medrawt's vicious laughter.
Kirk was bundled back into his prison. He should not feel guilt over the deaths of those minions of evil. However the indiscriminate taking of life was abhorrent to him and he had been the instigator of that terrible punishment. What kind of monster was Medrawt?
The next day passed slowly and the heat was becoming intolerable in the close confines of the tent. He was not given any food or water and suspected that Medrawt wanted him weakened further before the next attempt at soul stealing. He tried to think of other things, anything except the raging thirst now tormenting him. He had gone without food for longer but these circumstances were worse than any he had ever experienced before. Now was the time to engage a Vulcan technique of self-detachment taught to him by Spock, but it was impossible to find the necessary concentration.
At last night fell and Kirk knew it would not be long before the guards came for him. As he waited for the inevitable he vowed to give the necromancer a fight to remember. Kirk took a deep breath as he heard the guards approach. They gripped his arms as they hustled him through the camp, and many of its inhabitants turned to watch their passage. A small form suddenly appeared in front of them and tripped one of the dwarves. He grunted, struggled to his feet and yanked the small woman in his way to her feet. Kirk's eyes widened as he recognised the old priestess.
She stumbled into Kirk. "Forgive me," she murmured. He felt her hand reach for his and give him a small hard object. Quickly he clenched his fingers around it.
The dwarf scowled and backhanded Sera on the jaw, then grasping Kirk's arm again, led him away. Kirk looking behind him, saw the priestess lying on the ground. He struggled. "She's a helpless old woman," he yelled. "You didn't have to hurt her."
There was no reply from his surly minders and within a short time, he was dragged onto a large stone altar. Before he could be bespelled into immobility again, he tightened his grip on the object Sera had given him. 'It feels like a ring! Perhaps it can help me to fight Medrawt.' He didn't dare look at it. There were too many eyes upon him for that, but he could feel it pressing against his skin with a comforting warmth.
The necromancer approached. "Well, sire, are you prepared to give me your soul?"
"Go to hell," Kirk responded.
"I have been there. It is my home. Soon it will be yours."
Lethargy spread throughout Kirk's mind and body. ' No. I won't let you,' he warned. 'No-one messes with my mind.'
A dark presence loomed within his thoughts, beating at him with giant wings, trying to delve into his innermost being. From somewhere, fresh strength surged through Kirk, enabling him to raise a mental shield and fight off his attackers. He knew that Sera's gift was the catalyst and he thanked her with all of his heart for her timely assistance, however even with its help his exhaustion began to show as the first signs of dawn reached the sky. As Medrawt continued to batter against his mind, Kirk could scarcely keep his barriers in place. One moment of weakness and a sharp probe burrowed beneath his defences to reach its target with slimy feelers. It pulled and Kirk felt the essence of who he was, his very soul, begin to unravel. The pain was excruciating as he fought with every ounce of strength he still possessed.
The pressure suddenly ceased. Kirk, sweating profusely with the effort he had expended, opened his eyes to a sun-filled dell and the malicious gaze of his tormentor. Medrawt scowled then suddenly grinned. "Ah, Noble King, you are a worthy opponent. None before have given me such pleasure. But your battle is lost. You have given me a fraction of your soul. Tonight you will truly be mine."
Kirk smiled in a way his enemies would have recognised as dangerous. It infuriated Medrawt who slapped Kirk hard across the face. "You can't hurt me, Medrawt," Kirk taunted. "You don't have the guts,"
"Until the fall of darkness, sire," Medrawt said insolently. "Then we shall see who is master."
He was returned to the tent and once alone studied the object he had clutched during the long night. It was a small ring with an unremarkable colourless stone. Occasional flashes of gold illuminated the gem's depths and Kirk wondered what magic it possessed? He was certain that without its power he would have succumbed to Medrawt's assault on his mind and would either be dead or a living vegetable. Next time he might not be so fortunate.
He was more than exhausted; he keenly felt the absence of the part of his essence that Medrawt had stolen and was afraid that he might be permanently damaged by the sorcery. He must avoid a repeat of the last two nights. There had to be something he could do. If only he had Evilsbane in his possession once more.
The ring warmed his hand. It was comforting, somehow, and Kirk wondered if he might better harness its magic if he wore it. He looked at his own large fingers then at the tiny band that seemed more like a child's ring, but impulsively Kirk tried to put it on the little finger of his left hand. To his amazement the metal softened, the ring easily slipped on and adjusted itself until it was a perfect fit.
Kirk did not question the ring's ability, for it felt right against his skin and he trusted his instincts. He slept the morning through and woke up groggy in the early afternoon. He tried to shake off the lethargy and gazed into the now milky depths of the stone. 'If only I had Spock's ability to work magic.' The idea struck him. 'Perhaps I can. Maybe if I focus on the ring it'll boost my chances of drawing Evilsbane to me.' He sat cross-legged, stared into the stone and thought of the glowing, elven spear. 'Fly to me, Evilsbane,' he murmured over and over again.
Nothing happened. Night would soon be upon him and these could be his final hours as a rational, thinking being. His thoughts turned to his missing crew and he wondered what had become of them all, but dared not dwell too long on it for he knew that worry would affect his ability to continue.
A faint scuffling sound alerted him. There was someone in his tent.
"Sire," a voice whispered. "We are friends. Quickly there is not much time."
Kirk turned and found a crouched form near him. 'A Vulcan? No it's an elf!' he corrected himself.
The newcomer's long black hair framed his aquiline face. "We must make haste, sire, before the enchantment fades."
"Enchantment?" Kirk asked dully. He could not understand what was happening.
"We have put a glamour upon ourselves to enter this place. We will place you under its protection and then leave for Elvenhome."
"A glamour?" Kirk asked.
"An illusion. It projects an image, to others, not of our true form but as one of them. We cannot maintain it for long. Please, I beg of you, come with me." The elf placed a hood over his head, but his green eyes shone cat-like in the dim light.
Instinctively trusting his visitor, Kirk agreed and followed the elf to the outside where two tall hooded figures stood beside the dwarves talking to them in their own rough tongue. It was obvious that the guards believed themselves speaking to their own kind. Kirk moved away with the first elf and after a moment the others followed. None of the camp's inhabitants seemed to notice their presence and Kirk began to breathe more easily as they headed away from his prison.
They reached Medrawt's ornate pavilion and Kirk stopped as a familiar presence within silently called to him. "Evilsbane," he whispered.
"Hurry, sire," the leading elf said.
"I must have my spear, Evilsbane. She lies in that tent."
The elves looked at one another then the leader nodded. "Medrawt is asleep. The rigours of his sorcery have taken their toll. However it is still very dangerous to enter."
Kirk acknowledged the elf's concern. "I understand but Evilsbane is essential for the final battle. I cannot leave without her."
"We will stand guard."
Kirk braced himself, lifted the canvas flap aside and entered the richly furnished interior. The cloying smell nauseated him and as he waited for his stomach to settle, Kirk glanced around looking for the ogre's backpack. At the back of the tent in a bed-chamber partitioned by a gauzy curtain, Medrawt lay sleeping. Kirk controlled his surge of hatred for the necromancer, continued with his search and saw the pack lying open in one corner of the tent. He crept over and as his hand gripped the hilt he wondered what price the ogres had paid for imprisoning the spear. Or had they been impervious to the pain she would have caused? Had she permitted her capture in order to remain near him? Had Medrawt tried to lure Evilsbane to him after his success at gaining that fraction of Kirk's soul?
Kirk did not know any of the answers but he exulted in his success. Evilsbane vibrated as she was lifted from the pack and hummed with contentment. She settled into his grip and Kirk smiled as her power tingled through his body. Medrawt slept on, oblivious. Kirk knew that there might never be a better chance to rid Arigol of Medrikhor's war leader but he shuddered. No matter what Medrawt had done, he could not find the resolve to walk over to the curtained alcove and drive Evilsbane into that evil heart. The spear seemed to concur for it pulled him towards the opening of the tent and without a backward glance Kirk left the oppressive atmosphere and sped into the twilight.
The elves looked at the spear. Their vivid eyes deepened to rich emerald and showed glimmers of emotion. No-one spoke but the leader gestured and Kirk moved into line behind him as the small group headed, single file, towards the northern boundary of the camp. The glamour held and none barred their way as they maintained a fast pace to the small timber wharf by a deep, sparkling river. A simple raft was attached to a stake by a thick rope.
"Be silent, I beg you, sire. We can mask your form but if you speak all may be lost," the elf leader murmured as they were approached by the soldiers who guarded the area. Kirk nodded and stayed back as the elf stepped forward and called, "Ho there, we be on an urgent mission for the Lord Medrawt. Prepare the ferry."
A small, hunched, dwarf with a lined face, black bushy eyebrows and straggly hair waved his crude, stone axe in the air. "Aye, cousin."
Kirk watched as the delicately built aristocratic elves, in their finely spun leaf-green cloaks, tunics and hose, exchanged jocular crudities with the boorish dwarves. They didn't seem younger in appearance than Emrys but there was something about them that spoke of immaturity although Kirk could not pinpoint what it was. He stayed out of the way in case he blew their cover but a hard thump on his back sent him flying and he landed clumsily on his knees. He swore under his breath as harsh guffaws rasped in his ears and he looked up to see the highly amused perpetrator of his embarrassing fall standing beside him. Behind the dwarf the elves laughed too, but there was a warning in their stance which Kirk, despite his annoyance, immediately accepted. He sat back on his heels and watched as the elf-leader slapped the dwarf's shoulder, then led him away towards the raft.
The other two elves helped Kirk to his feet and stood protectively at his side as the preparations were completed. It was difficult not to act in the charade but he knew that any disruption on his part might ruin the elves' precarious control over the glamour. Inaction was always the most difficult course for him, and he took deep calming breaths as he waited to board the ferry. The hunched dwarf grinned widely and Kirk could not resist returning an insolent smile.
Watched by the beady-eyed soldiers, his guardians guided him onto the raft. The elves took up the long poles and, helped by the fast-moving current, were soon moving downstream. It started to rain and Kirk stood, being soaked, on the seemingly insecure structure of logs on which his life now depended. He swallowed his nervousness, remembering that he had survived more perilous journeys than this, but he was used to the hull of his ship about him not this openness to the elements.
As the wharf receded into the distance and his companions drew the long poles aboard, Kirk sensed their relief. The downpour stopped. The raft continued on its journey, guided now by magic, and the elves left their posts and turned to Kirk. Their clothes, unlike his, were completely dry but he was pleased, in a childish way, to see that their skin had not escaped the drenching.
"We go to Elvenhome, sire," the leader said. "There you may rest and tell us of your adventures."
Kirk smiled. "Thank you for rescuing me. How do you know who I am and that I was Medrawt's prisoner?" The elves sat on the rough, wet logs. Kirk joined them and tried to ignore his discomfort.
"Forgive our ill manners, sire. Allow me to introduce myself and my companions. My name is Iestyn and these are my cousins, Aithne and Evric."
Kirk bowed his head in greeting. "My name is James Kirk."
"A strange name," the musical voice of the elf introduced as Aithne said, "but it has a noble ring suitable for the King of Prophecy."
Kirk looked more closely at Aithne and his eyes widened as he realised that she was not a youth but a young woman. "Thank you, Aithne."
She stared at him with serious eyes and did not reply. Iestyn placed a hand on his cousin's arm. "Aithne is little more than a child, sire. Please forgive her frankness."
Kirk grinned. "I suspect all of you are little more than children."
Iestyn lowered his head for a moment but when he raised his eyes to Kirk his expression was proud. "Most of the warriors are dead or missing. All who remain in Elvenhome are children, youths or elders. Those of us who are of an age to fight defend our demesne against Evil as best we can. After it was known that the Arch-Mage had brought you and your companions to Arigol all rejoiced for we knew that the Time of the Prophecy was at hand. When informed that Medrawt had captured you it was decided that three of us would attempt your rescue. You must lead us in battle against the necromancer, Noble King. Once he is defeated we can join with all of Arigol against Medrikhor."
Evric drew a flask out of his pack and offered it to Kirk. The taste was unusual but delicious, similar to honey-flavoured tea. It allayed hunger as well as thirst but he did not have the time to question its qualities. His mind turned to other matters. How was he to lead an army of the young and very old against the Evil King? Yet had not these three successfully made a daring rescue right under Medrawt's nose? Maybe it would be possible after all . The raft drifted onto the far bank of the river. Kirk and his companions disembarked then followed a trail to a wooded hillside. The sky darkened, it began to rain again, and Kirk muttered under his breath as he was, once again soaked to the skin. The others glanced at him curiously. He coughed to hide his ill temper and trudged on through the increasingly stormy conditions. The foliage dripped water and as they climbed the hill, Kirk felt sure he would never be dry again. He reached the summit and although his companions had the benefit of weatherproof clothing, they were just as weary as he. Their hoods had been blown back and rain whipped their hair about their faces. Kirk brushed the heavy, sodden strands from his forehead and looked out over the bleak valley below.
"Elvenhome," Iestyn said.
Kirk nodded wearily and replied, "Lead on."
They scrambled down the rugged slope, the elves' urgency intensifying as they neared the bottom. Kirk followed as best he could and by the time he had reached the valley floor, could scarcely catch his breath. 'I'm getting out of shape,' he chastised himself but on recalling what he had been through decided that he probably was being too harsh on himself.
"Sire, it is not far," Aithne encouraged. "Soon you will rest."
Kirk did not dispute her words but as far as he could tell, the land ahead was almost a wasteland. He could not blame the adverse weather now for disguising the beauty of Elvenhome but if it was sanctuary to these youngsters then perhaps they saw it differently. His head down against the driving wind and rain, he tramped along behind them, his mood black. He was going further and further away from his friends, his shipmates, with no idea of how they were faring.
A sudden feeling of being turned inside out stopped him in his tracks and he shuddered and looked up to find himself in a bleak grey terrain. "Where are we?" he asked.
"We travel through the barrier," Iestyn said. "Do not fear. It will not harm you."
Kirk shook his wet hair back and walked on. Suddenly Evilsbane pulled him forward. The spear obviously knew where she was going and, almost running now, Kirk burst from the greyness into a green valley dotted with brightly painted picturesque houses and flower filled gardens. He stopped and stared at the beautiful sight before forcing his gaze away to look up at the blue sky with its occasional fluffy cloud and bright golden sun shining down. Where was this place? How could it be day? Had the rain-soaked landscape been a smokescreen for this? If so, how did the elves maintain it? Magic like Emrys' glade? Yet it had to be an even more potent enchantment than that.
His companions clustered around him. "This is Elvenhome," Aithne said. "Now you are safe."
They walked along the wide pathway through the village. Tiny pointy-eared children ran up to them, chattering excitedly. Kirk grinned, thinking that Spock must have once looked as cute as these little elves who pointed at him, staring at his rounded ears visible between the clumps of his soaked hair. After a few moments, the youngsters scampered ahead to a large building almost hidden behind a grove of majestic trees. The doors opened silently and Kirk accompanied Iestyn Aithne and Evric inside.
The interior was drenched in sunlight that blazed through the ground to ceiling windows. The floor was carpeted with sweet-smelling rushes and finely crafted wooden chairs were arranged in a semi-circle at the room's hearth. Ten adult elves walked towards them. Six were of great age, white haired and stooped, but still showed vigour in their movements. The others were youngsters like Iestyn and his cousins.
"Lord King, you are wet through," an elderly female said. "Permit us to give you fresh clothing."
"I'd be most grateful, Lady," Kirk said with a slight bow.
Iestyn led Kirk to a marbled washroom where a deep sunken tub with hot scented water, imbued with healing spells awaited. The steam rose, caressing his chilled body and placing Evilsbane down, Kirk undressed and immersed himself in the water's embrace. He sighed with contentment, as the heat helped chase away the rigours of the cold journey, closed his eyes and drowsed as the benevolent enchantment soothed his aches and pains away.
"Sire," Iestyn called.
Kirk opened drowsy eyes to see the elf holding out a robe. "Oh, I'm sorry. How long have I been here?"
Iestyn smiled slightly. "The healing pool is difficult to leave."
Kirk grinned, forced his languid body to its feet, and stepped out onto the cool marble floor.
Kirk grinned, forced his languid body to its feet, and stepped out onto the cool marble floor. He donned the robe and followed Iestyn to a bright sleeping chamber where the elf indicated a pile of clothes. As Kirk dressed, he glanced longingly at the bed that stood in a narrow alcove. Its warm red quilt reminded him of the coverlet in his own quarters.
Iestyn shook his head. "First you must eat and restore your energy. Then later you may sleep, sire."
Kirk tried to clear his head, a difficult task after the hot bath, and studied the silver frame of a full-length mirror. He admired the stylised carvings of unicorns and horses adorning it. The artist who had done such work was truly a genius. "It's beautiful," he said.
"I thank you, sire. It is yours if you so desire."
Kirk stared into the gleaming mirror at the young elf. "You did this?"
Iestyn bowed slightly, "Aye, Lord King. It is said that I have a little talent in the craft."
"I'd say a great deal of talent," Kirk said. He studied his reflection. His low cut, sleeveless tunic was made of a radiant purple silk and was laced down the front by a gold cord; a starry pattern was finely embroidered at hem and neckline. Black leggings and soft, comfortable boots completed the outfit.
"Do you approve of your garb, sire?" Iestyn asked.
Kirk smiled, aware of just how much the colours and style suited him, but curbed his touch of vanity and nodded. "Yes, I like it." He picked up a delicately carved comb and tackled his damp, tangled hair.
"I retrieved your circlet from the other tunic, sire." Iestyn picked it up from a half moon table of unpolished wood and placed it on Kirk's forehead. "If you are ready please accompany me."
Kirk adjusted his torque, armbands and headband more comfortably, then grasped Evilsbane and followed Iestyn back to the main chamber. Tables laden with food were now placed in the centre and a tantalising aroma permeated the air. Iestyn showed him to a chair, Kirk stood Evilsbane against the table and, joined by the elven council, was served the most delicious food he could ever remember eating. It was purely vegetarian fare and he thought of how much Spock would have appreciated it. He drew a veil over his concern and concentrated on doing justice to the food.
The elves watched him, their attention often straying to the ring and spear. Eventually replete, Kirk sat back sipping a delicious apple drink and only then did one of the elders rise to her feet. "Greetings King of Prophecy. We are honoured by your presence among us."
"I'm pleased to be here and must thank Iestyn, Aithne and Evric for their bravery in rescuing me. If not for them, I'm sure that Medrawt would have destroyed me. He almost succeeded last night." Kirk sighed as he thought of the old priestess who had helped him. What had become of her?
"Nothing can prevent the fulfilment of the prophecy," a familiar voice rang out.
Kirk jumped to his feet and spun around in the direction of the speaker. "Ayrond!"
The mage bowed deeply. "Sire, I am pleased to see you relatively unharmed by your ordeal."
Kirk grimaced as several twinges chose that moment to remind him of his remaining bruises. "Well, it depends on your point of view. How did you get here, Ayrond?"
The mage pulled up a chair next to Kirk and studied him with his wise old eyes. "It is a simple tale, sire."
Kirk re-seated himself. This reunion was a pleasant surprise despite the way the old man had manipulated them, and Kirk could not find it in himself to condemn him. There had been too many shocks lately. He was sick of them.
A young elf approached carrying a flagon. "May I refill your goblet, sire?" he asked.
Kirk accepted the drink. He glanced round at the silent elves then returned his attention to Ayrond and lowered his tone. "Medrawt snapped my link with Spock. I don't know if he..." A wave of grief almost prostrated him but he fought it and leaned back in the chair.
The mage's expression grew troubled. "I am sorry, sire, but the Halfling Prince is a powerful mage. He will survive."
Kirk shook his head. "How do I know if he's still alive. I don't know the whereabouts of any of my crew. Do you?"
"Fear not for their safety, my liege. You will be reunited with them at the proper time. I will tell you what the scrying stone revealed to me. The Healer and the Queen of Beasts search for the herbs in the Forest of Fear. The Caring Lady, Swordsman and Youth seek the dragon's lair. However I regret to say I know nought of the Halfling's whereabouts." The old man bent his head. "I have brought you much grief by bringing you to Arigol. I ask your forgiveness, sire".
With some relief, Kirk placed the goblet down. "There's no point in recriminations. You did what you thought was right. Now tell me what happened to you after I was kidnapped."
The mage slid his hands into the sleeves of his surcoat. "Sire, I lay stunned by the attack and saw you, like a young god, spring to my rescue and kill one of the ogres with Evilsbane. The unicorn, that brave and magical creature, fought at your side, destroying another of the monsters with her hoofs. Pwyll and his men froze with fear until they saw you being carried away. They tried to follow but the foul ogres were too swift. Pwyll helped me to my feet and away from the deteriorating bodies of the slain ogres. Sire, he is full of remorse for having failed you."
"They owed me nothing," Kirk commented.
"They do not believe that. They have taken your inspiring words to heart and have vowed to raise an army in your name. Pwyll has begun by sending out his men to places where the people lie hidden. He is an honourable man and will keep his word."
"I wish him success, Ayrond, but it seems to me that more than an ordinary army will be needed to fight Medrikhor," Kirk said. "What of you, Ayrond? How did you get here so fast?"
The mage smiled. "Ah, Lord King, I may be advanced in years but I can still ride and the secret ways into Elvenhome are known to me."
"Where did you find a horse?"
The mage smiled. "A steed appeared from the depths of the Wood of Wonders. I believe that the Unicorn Queen summoned it. Chladagh saluted me and she and her foal departed. I thought the ogres might take you to Medrawt, for they are his minions, and I made haste to Elvenhome. Once within its safety I used the scrying stone and beheld your plight. I conferred with the elven council and the rescue plan was formulated."
"You were taking a risk. They could have carried me straight to Medrikhor." Kirk shuddered at the thought then dismissed it. Ayrond was wise in the ways of his world. He had made the correct assumption and had engineered the rescue. "Is this siege of Elvenhome the one foretold in the Book of Prophecy?"
The old man shrugged his shoulders. "Noble King, this may be but a prelude to the final battle but Medrawt hopes to drain the remaining power of the eldritch people. The energy required for maintaining the barrier is immense and cannot be continued indefinitely. Something must be done to rout the evil army and soon. Only then can we lay siege to the Castle of Doom."
An old grey haired elven woman stood up. She wore a simple multicoloured linen robe but on her it looked like a regal gown. "Sire, permit me to speak. I am Eirlys, Leader of the Council of Elders. Ayrond speaks the truth. We have been under siege for many weeks now and do not know how long it will be possible to protect our demesne from Medrawt. We are too few and too weak. Most of our warriors are dead or imprisoned. Those who remain have trained the younger ones but we have no battle leader. We are aware of our responsibilities concerning the prophecy and will honour them if you will but help us."
Kirk's exhaustion was returning with a vengeance. He rubbed at his eyes and forced them to stay open. "Lady Eirlys, I'm a leader amongst my own people but we use a different type of warfare. I am not sure if I could effectively command your forces."
"You shall, sire. It is fated," the woman replied. She pointed to his hand. "How did the ring of Aelwen Elf-Queen come into your possession?"
Kirk looked down at the stone seeing how the sunlight fractured its facets into glints of gold, red and amber. "The Priestess Sera slipped it into my hand on the way to Medrawt's little torture session." He hesitated then continued, "I believe it helped me focus the energy to fight him."
"Aelwen gave it to Maran but it was lost during the last battle," Eirlys said. "We did not know of its location but were sure it was in Evil's hands. Sera is known to us as a wise woman. It is possible that she stole it from Medrawt knowing of its power to one whose destiny is to destroy Evil."
Kirk tried to work the ring from his finger to return it to them, for it obviously did not belong to him. It resisted and with scraped skin to show for his efforts he looked up at the watchers and smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry but it appears to be stuck."
"The ring wishes to remain with you, sire," Eirlys said with a touch of motherly tolerance.
Why did inanimate objects have personalities in this place? Kirk shrugged and reached out to lift Evilsbane with his left hand. Ring and spear touched and a beam of pure white energy shot from the stone to the high arched ceiling. There were gasps of astonishment from the company. Kirk dropped the spear and the beam dissipated, but he stared thoughtfully up at the mark that had been made.
'It has real possibilities as a weapon. What kind of energy is it and why did it happen?' There were so many questions and he looked to the Eirlys for answers.
She seemed stunned but understood his questioning look. "The ring is of ancient origin. It has been in the royal house since the beginning and is worn by our ruler."
"So Aelwen not Valdrin was the ruler."
"Valdrin ruled by marriage right alone. Aelwen was the daughter of our last king and the true heir. The ring acknowledges you in some manner we do not understand. The spear, Ayrond has said, was left in his keeping by Maran. It is a mystery to us, Lord King, for despite its eldritch origin Evilsbane is unknown to us. It did not accompany Aelwen into battle."
Kirk suddenly remembered Spock's impression of there being an intelligence within the spear. He stared at the ring then the spear and the answer hit him like lightning. He pressed his finger against the razor sharp tip. "You are Aelwen Elf-Queen. You transformed yourself into this spear to await the Time of Prophecy. If I'm right you won't draw my blood," he said, hoping that his sudden insight was correct or else he would have a very painful cut.
The spear shuddered and moved back a few centimetres.
Kirk grinned. "I've seen many unusual things in my life, including beings who can alter their shape. I don't know if it's a normal ability of your people but I think that your queen is right here."
The mage clasped his hands together. "Maran did not tell me. She only gave Evilsbane into my keeping but I suspected that there was secret lore involved."
Eirlys drew herself up to her full height. "Aelwen was a seer and privy to the secret ways of royalty. She had the power to alter her shape at will. The prophecy will come to pass and the saviours shall, with Aelwen's assistance, finally destroy the Evil One."
Kirk stood as the elves hailed him as their leader. They watched him with hope on their faces and he could not now dispute their conviction that his fate had been predicted in their dim past. Not after all that had befallen him.
***
Kirk's fitness soon returned and he was eager to plan the removal of Medrawt's army. His tactical training was useful and he wholeheartedly threw himself into the preparations. He had willing allies. The elves were a proud and noble species whose wisdom and integrity were impressive but they were also an ancient warrior people whose ancestral home was under attack. They were willing to do anything to defend both it and the world outside.
He watched as the young elves practised their archery and was amazed by their skill. Iestyn told him about the magical properties that enabled the arrows to pierce demon hide; something that human-wrought ones could not do. Kirk appreciated the elegance of these elf-made weapons but spared no time to try one, for his fate was tied up with the deadly spear that had once been a queen to these people. He could only guess at the sacrifice Aelwen had made. Could she think, and feel and hurt in that guise? Would she ever be released or was she condemned to remain a spear forever?
He sat with Ayrond, by the stream meandering through the village, and talked to Evilsbane as he tried to master the force she had given him. The ring had allowed itself to be transferred to the little finger of his right hand, where it could remain in contact with the spear. Using the strange power of the two objects, Kirk was now able to direct energy at a chosen target and had discovered various degrees of force were available to him. He had no doubt that if necessary it would be possible to summon a killing beam.
"But why I am not affected the way Spock was?" Kirk asked the watching mage.
Ayrond stroked his beard. "The power is Aelwen's, sire. You are its guardian and the one whom it is channelled through. The Halfling taps the magic at its source and that drains the body's strength."
Kirk nodded and continued to work with the power of ring and spear.
Five days after his arrival in Elvenhome, Kirk led his elven troop through the barrier. Iestyn, serving as his second-in-command, rode at his right and the mage at his left. They all wore long sleeved lightweight chain mail and Kirk had been assured that the finely knit armour had been reinforced by magic. The council had worked for many years to weave protective spells into the metal and it was hoped that the chain mail would resist Evil's attack. When Kirk had questioned its previous inefficiency the council had confessed that they had underestimated Medrikhor's strength.
Kirk reviewed his knowledge on recent elven history. During the last battles with the Evil Lord they had fought with chivalry and honour and had used only simple magic. The horror of their army's destruction had opened their eyes to the extent of Medrikhor's depravity and the few survivors had retreated and returned home. In the years since that defeat they had been ruled by an elected council in place of the lost royal monarchs. They had studied the Old Magic and honed their skills as they awaited the Time of the Prophecy. Those lessons had been invaluable when they had been besieged by Medrawt's army and had enabled them to keep an effective barrier in place. But it had drained their resources and it was only a matter of time before the magic would fail. The elves were a different people now. They no longer stood aloof. They would fight alongside the other inhabitants of Arigol, ready to die if that be the price of freedom.
As Iestyn scouted ahead, Kirk reflected on the similarity of these people to the Vulcans. The physical and non-emotional characteristics were obvious. Both species shared a pacifist philosophy and had access to great power - the Vulcan telepathy and the Elf-magic. Also, like Vulcans, the elves did have deeply hidden emotions and, when necessary, could be the fiercest of warriors.
The young elf speedily returned. "Sire, Evil's forces are on the river bank. They prepare to cross."
"So Medrawt's growing bolder," Kirk said. "Maybe my escape angered him. Very well, let's see if we can surprise him. How deep is the river?"
Iestyn's eyes sparkled. "It is deep but our steeds can ride on the surface. It is no barrier to us."
Kirk grinned. "Are you telling me that they can literally walk on water?"
"Of course, sire. Our magic and the co-operation of the river goddess will ensure it."
"All right." He turned to his small army. "We go forward to battle Medrawt. We must defeat him before the final words of the prophecy can come true. Be brave. You are the hope of not only your people but all of Arigol."
They raised their bows and swords in salute. Kirk lifted Evilsbane above his head, focussed on the energy at his command and a beam of light split the grey sky with a blinding whiteness. As if in answer a deep rumbling was heard in the distance. Kirk peered into the greyness and caught a glimpse of movement from the east. "What is it?" he asked. "Could it be some of Medrawt's troops?"
Ayrond rode closer to his side. "No sire. Nothing evil lives in the land of the horse-kin."
"Horse-kin!" Kirk exclaimed. His heart began to thump with excitement as the swift moving forms began to take shape. "Unicorns! Chladagh has rallied her herd." For one moment he had the absurd hope that Spock might somehow be with them but he dismissed it and awaited the arrival of the stunning creatures. Twenty in all, including the foal, they pounded towards them.
"It has been many years since the unicorns took to battle," Aithne said.
Kirk smiled. "Chladagh, the queen, has pledged her support to my friend, Spock, the Halfling Prince. He has ridden on her back and fought Medrikhor's demons. She joins our army and goes to seek him."
The elves surrounded Kirk and looked at him askance but they did not question his words as Chladagh reached them. She snorted loudly, and gazed at him with her intelligence showing in her eyes. The foal pranced up alongside his mother. It whinnied then butted Kirk's elven horse with its stub of a horn.
"Greetings, Chladagh Unicorn-Queen," Kirk said courteously. "We're grateful for your company. If only you could tell me what has happened to Spock."
The unicorn moved her head and the twisted horn came closer, reaching for the centre of Kirk's forehead. He sat perfectly still, only too aware of the deadly tip but the horn only grazed his circlet then retreated. At that gesture a sense of warmth spread through Kirk's mind and, reassured he smiled and waved his army on. She had communicated reassurance to him and his confidence over this venture increased.
They reached the river and saw the opposing forces standing on the far bank. Many different types of creatures such as humans, ogres, goblins, dwarves, and trolls were there. Behind them, on a hillock overlooking the river, Medrawt waited astride a black three-headed steed. Sharp horns protruded from the beast's foreheads, making it look like some kind of deformed unicorn. Chladagh screamed at it and pawed the ground.
Evilsbane vibrated under Kirk's hand. The spear was ready to fight; her power tingled along his fingers and wrist. Raising himself up and turning to his army, Kirk gave the signal to proceed.
With a silent plea to whoever looked over them, he urged his horse into the river. The animal's hoofs slipped under the waterline and a touch of fear swept down Kirk's spine. How could he believe that these horses would gallop across without sinking? He settled more comfortably on the saddle and gripped the reins tightly, ready to encourage the animal to swim across if necessary, when without warning a female form emerged from the undercurrent in a fountain of spray. To his surprise he recognised the creamy skinned face framed by its long dark masses of curls.
"Wynonna," he cried. "What are you doing here?"
The gleaming body of the goddess shone through her translucent garments. "Greetings, Noble King. This is my river."
Kirk was surprised but did not question her. The wood was a fair distance away and the waterway there had seemed so much smaller. "I'm pleased to see you, Lady. Are you here to help us?"
"Indeed, sire, but you are curious." She mounted his horse, behind him, and slipped her arms about his waist. "My river stretches through much of Arigol and has many tributaries, one of which runs through the Wood of Wonders."
"I see," Kirk murmured, slightly uncomfortable as the warm female form pressed against his back.
She laughed. "I have news for you, sire. I have but recently seen some of your companions."
Kirk froze. "What?" He turned his head to the side and found himself nose to nose with her. A little disconcerted, he eased back a fraction.
"The Queen of Beasts and the Healer have returned to the harper's glade. There is another with them, a beautiful prince from the past. The unicorn was also there, but I see she has joined you now."
"Are they well?" Kirk asked. He was delighted to hear about his crew and desperate for any further news of them. "Do you know what's happened to Spock or the other three?"
"The Healer has found the herbs and was treating the harper when last I saw him. I left to find my sister, Caireen, to investigate her treachery. Alas she has disappeared. I have heard naught of your other four companions."
Kirk sighed deeply. Well at least he knew about two of them. Hopefully he would soon be reunited with Bones and Uhura. He looked ahead at the silent enemy and, steeling himself for the coming battle, guided his horse on. Wynonna began to chant but Kirk shut it out and concentrated on gathering the power under his command as the horse now galloped across the surface of the river.
Medrawt's forces were uneasy. They were retreating and, as Kirk and his army reached the bank, many turned and ran. "Fight, you cowards," the necromancer cried. "It's only a trick." He drew signs in the air and a black cloud descended from the sky. It split into many parts, each re-forming into a small flying demon.
"Get ready to fire," Kirk shouted.
As the swarm attacked, Kirk gave the order and the elves released a barrage of arrows. Each demon struck by one, fell screaming to the ground where it was trampled to death under unicorn hoofs. Kirk sent potent bolts of energy at the creatures that shrivelled them into blackened husks while Wynonna slipped from her perch on the horse's back and into the river where she sent large waves to drag any low flying enemies under to drown. Kirk caught a glimpse of Ayrond, arms outstretched, his lips moving as he worked his spells.
Medrawt ordered his Evil army forward but only half the troops now remained. Ogres and dwarves brandished their clubs and axes; trolls carried crude hammers; humans wielded a variety of weapons. Behind them, Medrawt sat astride his demon steed, ferociously weaving spells, producing flying monstrosities to send against his enemies.
The stench of demon blood was nauseating but it slid from the elven garments and only stained Kirk's exposed skin. He wiped it away and with firm resolve he urged his mount through Medrawt's forces. Evilsbane killed all opposition, the energy that flowed through her more than a match for anyone, and all in his path fled at Kirk's approach, terrified by him and the magic weapon at his command. The horse covered the short distance to Medrawt's position and began to climb; its powerful legs easily coping with the steep incline. Once at the top of the hill, Kirk faced the sorcerer who had tortured him and realised there was no mercy in him for this evil being.
He raised the spear. "It's over, Medrawt."
The necromancer's face twisted and a yellow fireball materialised above his upraised hand. "Never," he screamed. "King of Prophecy may you burn in the flames of hell."
As the deadly fire hurled towards him, Kirk gathered all his strength and threw the spear. Evilsbane arced through the air. She pierced the flame, extinguished it, and then flew on towards the necromancer. Seconds before the spear hit him there was a flash of lightning and Medrawt's body slumped from his steed to land heavily on the ground. Evilsbane twisted in mid air, hovered for a few seconds, then sped back to Kirk's hand.
He slipped from his horse and approached the still form, but suddenly the demon-unicorn reared up in front of him; its three mouths screeched and the sharp tipped horns sliced the air before the animal dropped its front legs and attacked. Kirk stumbled back and raised the spear but a flash of white passed him. It was Chladagh, her horn glowing almost silver in the sunlight as she rammed it into the other creature's body. Kirk slipped by the fighting equines and knelt by the necromancer's body. Evilsbane was quiet in his hand and he knew there was no danger from Medrawt now. He turned the body over and looked at the young and innocent face staring sightlessly up at him.
There was a piercing scream and a loud victorious whinny. Kirk looked over to see the demon steed crash to the ground with Chladagh's horn deep in its heart. The unicorn sank to her foreknees. Kirk could see the whites of her eyes as she struggled to escape and leaping to his feet, he rushed over, dropped the spear and grasped the base of the twisted horn. He pulled with all of his might and only succeeded in freeing Chladagh after expending the last remnants of his strength. Collapsed to the ground as the horn slipped free, only the mage's powerful voice sent a surge of energy through Kirk. Strong arms lifted him into a sitting position and he opened his eyes to find that Iestyn was supporting him.
"What's happened?" he asked groggily.
"Evil's forces are fleeing, sire. The battle is won." The mage's eyes were glistened.
"Ayrond?" The old man knelt beside him and Kirk reached out to clasp his arm
"Medrawt is a demon, sire. He drained the soul of that youngster and then took his form. Prydon was my pupil and would have succeeded me as arch-mage."
Kirk looked over at Medrawt in shock. "That wasn't his real body? You mean he's escaped? I didn't see anything."
"He fled before Evilsbane could reach him, sire. I could sense him leaving Prydon's body."
"He's returned to his master then," Kirk said. "I'm sorry about your pupil, Ayrond." He gently patted the mage's arm. He knew only too well how it felt to lose someone under his command. For a moment he speculated on what his own future might have been if Medrawt had been able to absorb him. He shuddered at the thought. Would the demon have been able to take over his body and use the spear's power for Evil's cause? He dismissed the frightening thoughts. "We'll rest and tend to our casualties then we must go on. Wynonna has seen two of my crew. I must find them."
The mage wiped his tears away. "You will be reunited with them along the way, sire. We must make haste for it is a long way to the Castle of Doom. We must continue our interrupted journey."
More than anything, Kirk wanted to see his crew but he also had the responsibility of his elven troop. He stood up as Wynonna approached. "My thanks for your help, Lady," he said.
The goddess smiled engagingly. "My pleasure, Lord King. My river is yours. It will cleanse the wounds of battle and refresh tired spirits."
Kirk was relieved to find that casualties were light. Healers from Elvenhome arrived and took charge of the injured. Provisions were also brought and seeing that everything was under control, Kirk stripped to the waist and went to bathe in the cool waters. He was glad to be rid of the stench of demon blood. Deven frolicked nearby, splashing him with carefree abandon, whilst Chladagh and Wynonna watched from the shallows. Too tired to care about his audience, Kirk waded from the river, flopped down on his back, and closed his eyes as he soaked in the warmth of the sun.
"Truly I cannot decide whether you or Gwilym are the most handsome," Wynonna teased.
"Who's Gwilym?" he murmured, sleepily opening one eye.
The river-deity was sitting beside him, her eyes mischievous. "The Stag-Prince who was rescued by the Lady Uhura from his enchantment. Although you both have great beauty, he is unlike you in face or form. However there are similarities between you. He too was born to rule."
He ignored her disconcerting gaze. "Lady, tell me more about your meeting with my friends?"
"I would prefer other entertainment, sire." Her hand brushed his thigh.
For a moment he was tempted but he was only too aware of the proximity of the elves. Chladagh and Deven trotted up and settled down beside them, the mother grooming the wet coat of her foal. 'Well, that settles it,' Kirk thought with amusement. He removed the slender fingers from his leg, sat up and hugged his knees to his chest.
Wynonna sighed, taking the hint. "Very well, sire."
Kirk listened to her tale and silently gave thanks for his crew's safety. Some day he would hear the full story of how Uhura and McCoy had found the healing herbs and rescued an enchanted prince. Now if only he knew whether Chapel, Sulu and Chekov had completed their quest and were returning.
He did not notice Ayrond's arrival until the mage spoke. "Sire, we must discuss the next stage of our plan."
He stared up at the old man. "Don't you have any idea if Spock's alive? Medrikhor could have killed him."
Ayrond shook his head. "Worry not, sire. The Halfling-Prince has great power".
Kirk nodded but his fear for Spock persisted. The wound left by the broken link had not eased and when he did not train his mind on other matters the pain would fill him with despair. The constant ache where Medrawt had drained him pulsed sharply but he would happily bear that if only he knew that his friend was alive and well. Somehow he had to dismiss it all but what had the dark sorcery done to him? Was that fragment of his soul taken by the demon irretrievably lost? Could the deficiency be made up? Was it even necessary to him? Was he still the same person? He called on command training and concentrated on his immediate responsibilities. The old woman who had helped him must be found. There was an army to lead and a journey to make. It was complex enough to occupy his full attention and that was exactly what was needed. With a heavy heart he sent Ayrond and a group of elves to Medrawt's camp to search for Sera.
Supplies of tents, blankets, packhorses and food arrived from Elvenhome. Ayrond had advised him of the inclement weather in the north and shelter and self-sufficiency were vital if the siege was to be a long one. Kirk kept himself busy. He organised the elven youngsters as naturally as he would his crew and for a time almost forgot his problems.
"Sire." Ayrond's voice was strained.
His tone alerted Kirk. He strode over to the mage and watched as two elves carried a makeshift stretcher over and placed it at his feet. He looked down at the faded blue bundle on it. "What?" he asked as the rags moved and a bloodstained hand emerged and clawed at the grass.
"Sire?" The rasping whisper could barely be heard.
"Sera!" Kirk exclaimed. He recognised the material of the dress the priestess had worn, and crouched down beside her. Ayrond's turned her over. "Sera," Kirk whispered in horror at seeing the bruises and burns on her face and body, "What has he done to you?"
Her eyes were full of tears. "You have defeated the demon, sire?"
"Yes, Sera," Kirk said gently. "Bring water," he ordered the watching river goddess. His pity for the old woman grew into a deep anger against those who had treated her so.
Wynonna sat down, lifted Sera's head and placed a water bottle to the priestess's parched lips. "This will help." The goddess looked over at Kirk. "I will tend her, sire. She will be well."
Kirk smiled his gratitude then returned his attention to the old woman. "You saved my life by giving me Aelwen's ring."
A tired smile lit up her lined face. "I stole it that first night the demon tortured you. I only hoped that you would survive."
"I did, thanks to you." He bent and kissed her forehead. "We'll defeat the Evil that stalks this land. That I swear to you, Sera."
Kirk left Sera in Wynonna's capable hands and returned to the elves. They listened to his instructions with complete attention and a warmth spread through him. He would not fail these people. Kirk was no longer sceptical about the role Ayrond had forced him into and was now convinced that he was fated to be the King of Prophecy. He would be reunited with all of his crew. They would rid Arigol of Medrikhor and then return home. He had to believe that or life would not be worth living.
They went over their plans for the journey to the Castle of Doom and after a sleep disturbed by nightmares of Medrawt, Kirk led his troop on the first stage of the march north. ' I'll find Spock. I'll find all my people, 'Kirk vowed as he led his followers through the wasted lowlands of Arigol.