Prologue

Seven travel through the void

To rid the land of fear

The Noble King of daring deed

The Halfling Prince of warrior seed

The Healer who can cure all ill

The Ebon Queen whose voice doth thrill

The Caring One with hair of gold

The Dashing Swordsman brave and bold

The Callow Youth with piercing eyes

Intrepid heroes fair and wise

These are the saviours from beyond

Who go where danger lies

To cleanse the land from Evil's grasp

And end our anguished cries.

He uttered an incantation and the swirling mists within began to clear. The silver haired sorcerer smiled with satisfaction as his powers intensified. This time, his efforts would not be in vain. The spell would work. He would reach the demesne of the seven heroes and compel them to journey through the Gateway of Light. They would fulfil their destiny as saviours of this land.

Prior to these long months of searching, it had been decades since he had last been able to use a scrying crystal and only dread for the future of all that was good in the land had given him the impetus to try. He took a deep calming breath. While enough spellbinding ability remained within his grasp, he would prepare the way for the fulfilment of the prophecy.

With a plea to the goddess, he recited the ancient words of Dynaris, founder of the Guild of Sorcery. Strength surged through him as the elemental forces succumbed to his will and his voice deepened as the vigour of youth returned. Every strand of his long hair lifted as if swept by a gust of wind and the robe and surcoat that covered his thin frame billowed, the attached cape streaming out behind him as he uttered the final words of the spell. A deafening roar in his ears caused tears of pain to slide down his face and drop onto the crystal. They disappeared into the faceted depths of the stone and seemed to dispel the remaining haziness. The mage ignored his discomfort. This time he must find the heroes. It was his last chance. He would pay the price for summoning such powerful energy. Perhaps it would mean his death but he did not care. The future of Arigol was in his hands.

Vivid colours formed within the crystal. Red, blue and gold shifted then merged together in a myriad of shapes before separating into individual figures. The mage blinked several times to clear his vision, before studying the miniature scene in the crystal with fascination. There were people - possibly humans - in a circular chamber. They were garbed in an unfamiliar manner; the men in colourful tunics and black trews, the women wearing short gowns. All wore boots and had cryptic decorations on their garments. They spoke in an unknown tongue but the mage made the Sign of Understanding and their language became intelligible.

His attention was caught by the compelling aura of the man in the centre seat. With handsome head held high, sparkling, intelligent eyes and clear, glowing skin, this was one who commanded the others by lineage or perhaps by rank. His title was Captain, surely denoting King in this alien place. Could he be the one foretold in the prophecy?

The mage controlled his burgeoning hope. He must be sure before he called upon the puissant energy needed to traverse the void for he had only once chance to bend it to his will. So he waited, watched, time passing as he considered each person before him. The beautiful woman working with intense concentration on mysterious tasks, on the upper level behind the Captain, caught his attention. Her dark skin and melodious voice could be that of the Ebon Queen. Then there was the boy with piercing eyes and youthful face who sat at the strange table of dials and flashing lights.

The words 'end of shift' meant nothing to him at first but became clearer when the people were replaced at their chairs by others and then departed. They entered a small moving booth then left to walk along a narrow, brightly-lit corridor. There they parted company and the mage decided to follow the Captain's movements. It would be simple to find any other whenever he willed it.

As the man entered another chamber, the mage tried to ascertain what manner of spell had been used to open the door. It was no sorcery known to him but he was not arrogant enough to assume that all spells were of the same ilk as his. Another place could have a different magic.

This room was unlike the others he had seen yet it was vaguely familiar to one who in his youth had been a humble adept of the Curing Magic. He could recognise the unmistakable signs of a House of Healing despite the undoubted strangeness of the place. The Captain spoke to the woman who tended one of the patients. The mage studied her; she was tall and beautiful with blonde tresses held in a peculiar style, her calm and efficient manner radiating from her very being.

The Caring One with hair of gold. The mage's thoughts could not be contained. Is it possible?

A man some years older than the Captain joined them and it was obvious to the watcher that this one was a healer. His confidence and ability as he treated the insensible patient and brought her to wakefulness was nothing short of a miracle. Can this be the Healer of the Prophecy? he wondered.

The mage concentrated now on finding the youth. He must be certain that these folk were truly the chosen ones for he could not afford to make any rash decisions. There was a limit to his powers; no second chance was possible. The image before him blurred and reformed to become a large area where people engaged in physical combat. The youngster was laughing at his companion, a man the mage recognised as the other who had worked at the odd table in the circular chamber. He drew in a sharp breath as he noted the sabre the man so expertly wielded. Too many coincidences, he whispered to himself. Am I projecting my hopes onto these people? What if I am incorrect?

He calmed himself then considered all that he had seen. The possibility was there but he must have conclusive proof. He focussed his will upon the Captain and the scene transformed into yet another small room, perhaps a study. The man sat beside a desk, staring at a large unfamiliar seeing stone and talking to the image within. The old man's heart thudded violently as he realised the potency of such sorcery. Truly, this was a great king, one with the Gift of Wizardry.

At a touch, the figure in the stone disappeared. The Captain sat back in his chair then pressed a stud upon the desk. The mage listened to his words. "Kirk to Mr Spock."

What manner of sorcery is this? Can Kirk summon spirits of invisibility? the mage wondered. Kirk. A noble name.

The observer waited impatiently for the manifestation to occur, but there was silence as Kirk studied the scrying stone until a sudden buzz shattered the peace of the room. "Come," Kirk said, looking up as the door opened.

The mage caught his breath as the visitor entered; the resemblance to portraits of Vajed, the legendary halfling prince, was uncanny! The tight pain in his chest reminded him to exhale, and he forced himself to remain calm. Who is this Kirk who can command an elven prince? he asked himself. There was no doubt in his mind that Mr Spock was of royal lineage; those very features were absolute proof of such a heritage. With the deepest respect, the mage listened to the conversation.

"Mr Spock, that is not good enough. Give me speculation if you don't have the hard facts."

His thoughts tumbled erratically around that one word. He had found the saviours. Every shred of intuition told him so. The years of terror were numbered for he had at last discovered the heroes of the Prophecy and would bring them through the void. Only he was capable of understanding the arcane knowledge that could summon the saviours from their demesne. Only he could weave the spell.

The mage slowed his breathing until total relaxation spread through his every limb. Now whilst he was in contact with this alien world he must work the magic spells, for he might never be able to reach this place again. He delved into the recesses of his mind where the knowledge lay hidden. It burst into life at his command and flamed through his body, instantly trebling his power. He gasped as the energy encompassed his very soul but caught and directed it towards the scrying crystal where it pierced the stone with its golden flare and sped to the captured world within its multifaceted depths.

The mightiness of the summoning increased in intensity each time it was chanted. A fiery blaze surrounded the sorcerer. The flame darkened as it battled with the natural forces of the other domain that struggled to keep its inhabitants. However, the mage had drawn upon the infinite energy that governed his universe and with an elemental howl it ensnared the seven chosen people in its grasp, hurling them through the Gateway of Light and into the mage's tower in the land of Arigol.

The old man slumped and fell as the raging forces weakened and drained away. He cautiously opened his eyes, whispered the words of the reviving spell and his exhaustion subsided. He would be able to function for the time required to place an enchantment on the heroes. Only then would it be safe to rest and allow himself to recover from his efforts.

He stared at the group, who lay senseless on the ground before him, and smiled. The first stage of the prophecy had begun. Now he must prepare them for acceptance in the land. Their mode of dress was unsuitable as was the shortness of the mens' hair, however those were minor feats to accomplish; the difficulty would be in keeping seven people imprisoned for as long as was necessary for his own restoration. Perhaps a sleep spell was the answer. Already he sensed the dynamism of the halfling's mind as it struggled to escape. Those of mixed-blood held great power and this one from across the void was no exception

The mage drew magic signs in the air and in an instant the heroes vanished then reappeared in the charmed bower of his deceased spouse, the Lady Maran, which was impenetrable by any magic except his own. He followed, settled them comfortably onto the plush carpet, and began to weave the necessary spells. Soon his guests were in a deep sleep and unbeknown to them, changes were being made to their appearance and garments. As they remained in oblivion, the mage smiled with satisfaction before retiring to his chamber.