Pausing as he entered the Great Hall of Light, Redthorne adjusted his robe slightly and leaned on his staff for a moment, to regain his breath. He wasn''t getting any younger, and the stairs to the main chamber were long and high.

    "Wizard Redthorne!" boomed a voice from across the large room. "Enter and be heard."

    Standing upright again, the wizard strode forward towards the raised dais, upon which the four senior wizards of his order were waiting, sitting behind an imposing wooden counter.

    Archemage Isaac the Pale smiled through his beard as Redthorne approached. The two had been friends for over a hundred years, and were firm allies in the order.

    To either side of Isaac sat the three other great mages, all of which were well known to Redthorne, who had been a senior wizard for more than five decades.

    Reaching the slight hollow that had been worn into the stone by thousands of feet, he came to a stop. The spot was traditionally reserved for petitioners, which he was. He bowed.

    "High Councillors," he said. "I have come to beg leave from this place on a quest of the highest import."

    Isaac, who knew all about why he was there, nodded.

    "We are aware of your request Redthorne. However, are you certain you wish to undertake this task? Your journey will take you into lands chaotic and evil, and the going will be hard."

    "I am more than aware of this Archmage," Redthorne acknowledged. "However, it was my fault that this happened. I was the one ?ssigned to recover him. I was the one who lost him."

    "You''re being too hard on yourself," Isaac replied. "You escaped the labyrinth and evaded the dark elves, not to mention that monstrous undead creature. No mean feat."

    Redthorne looked down at the ground for a moment, reliving his, frankly terrifying, adventures some twenty years before. Eventually he looked back up. "Even so," he said. "It was my mission, and it''s not over. In any case, this is still our best chance of defeating the Four. Nothing has changed since then."

    Isaac glanced left and right at his fellow council members. They nodded at him, and the High Mage returned his gaze to Redthorne.

    "Very well," he said. "However, we cannot spare many to accompany you. The blasted lich and its army has left us too weak."

    Bowing slightly, Redthorne acknowledged the fact. "I survived before, I shall do so again. Some supplies and one warrior guard should be enough. I can recruit others as required as we travel."

    "So it shall be," Isaac said, waving a hand in dismissal. "And our best wishes go with you."

    Inside was a scene so fantastic that Urt stopped dead in admiration. The main hall was a huge space, decorated with magical lights that swooped above the guests like errant willow-the-wisps. On the walls were tapestries depicting fantastic battles between the armies of men, the underworld and any number of creature both mythical and real.

    At the far end of the hall a huge tapestry illustrated a fight between one gigantic red dragon and a contingent of armoured warriors. The dragon was washing orange fire over the fighters, who threw spears of silver and gold at the monster in return, as others exploded in images so vivid that they that practically erupted into the room.

    "Wow," said Reginald.

    "I know," Urt replied.

    "They have kebabs." Mrs. Blame deftly plucked several charred lines of meat from a passing waiter.

    Urt took some time out from admiring their surroundings to lament the ignorance of his chief warrior.

    "Who''re they?" The werewolf waved a piece of meat to one side.

    Following the grease splatters, Urt looked to his right.

    Here were obviously the masters of the place. A long table, laden with the finest foods sitting in silver plates and bowls, sat upon a raised area overlooking the party. It wasn''t the food that attracted Urt''s attention though, but the people eating it.

    And then there was her.

    She was slim, with her shocking white hair flowing over her plain white dress. Intense blue eyes looked out over the throng, scanning the residents who were dancing and drinking within. He inhaled deeply, shaken as he''d never been before.

    And then her eyes met his, and the world stopped.

    She had a piece of meat raised, about to take a bite, when she looked at him. It remained where it was, frozen, as the sparks passed between them. A mouth full of perfect white teeth dropped open as she took in his features, and Urt knew that she was looking at him, not his illusion.

    Slowly she adjusted the chicken leg''s course, from her mouth to point directly at Urt. The large warrior to her right looked at her as she stood, allowing Urt to take in her slim figure.

    He smiled.

    "You!" she screamed. "Guards! Guards! Take him! Seize him! On pain of torture and death, bring that person to me!"

    "Have you tried the rat?" Reginald asked. "It''s to die for."

    "Blow the rat!" Urt said, looking left and right as large forms began to weave their way through the crowd. "We have to get out of here!"

    "But…" Reginald paused for a second, mouth full of food, as the situation began to penetrate his dinner. "Oh."

    Their illusionary forms chose that moment to wobble and vanish, revealing them for who they really were. "Now it goes!" the werewolf said.

    "Right," Urt said, grimly, as he backed against a buffet table and rolled his sleeves up. "Time to sell your life dearly."

    "I don''t think I''m that expensive," squeaked Reginald, clutching a kebab close to his ?h?st as several forms with serious expressions and even sharper swords closed in.

    Urt said a Word and threw an arm out. One of the men exploded. Gobbets of red meat splattered the walls, nicely complementing a nearby tapestry. The guests screamed and began an orderly stampede towards the nearest exits.

    "Wow, that was impressive," Reginald growled from a shape that was unpleasant to look upon.

    Looking at his hand in surprise, Urt nodded in agreement. "I know right? I was only going for Urly''s minor Repulsor. It should have thrown him across the floor."

    Reginald snarled in response, and leaped upon a nearby guard, who went down in a scream, which was cut off by a gurgle of throat being torn out.

    Urt swept another hand around, detonating two more of the soldiers and a large cake that was in the line of fire. Flesh, bone fragments and marzipan splattered the surrounding area and caused more cries.

    "Fools!" screamed a voice. "Rush him! He can''t cast spells if you''re sitting on him!"

    Urt spun around, trying to get a fix on the girl he''d seen a few moments before, only to meet a large fist closing in at some speed on his nose.

    There was a blinding pain, and then it all went away.

    ~ * ~

    "I can''t believe you left Urt!" said Horace, glaring. "That''s like… zombie treachery that is! You never desert the master."

    "He''ll find us when he comes back," Lucy replied calmly.

    "What will he do without me?" Horace continued, not reassured. "He''s an innocent out here! Un-wise in the ways of the living!"

    "He''ll be fine." Lucy put Horace on the table.

    "Well, if he is, he''s going to be mad as hell at you! Oh yes, I''m wagging a finger at you now I am. You''re in deep poop.

    "He''ll be fine," Lucy repeated.

    "Well, maybe you''re right," Horace said, taking a moment to calm down. "He''s a master necromancer after all. What''s the worst that could happen?"

    "This is the worst thing that could happen!" m??n?d Reginald.

    Urt didn''t reply, mainly on account of his mouth being full of a vile tasting gag. He had to make do with rolling his eyes, which reminded him of Horace for some reason.

    "Oh yes it is," the werewolf continued, interpreting his gesture correctly. "At least if I was dead I''d be with Growl, running in the Great Meadow with the heavenly pack. Instead I''m chained up here, in some disgusting dungeon…" He paused for a second. "Well, it''s not that disgusting I suppose. I mean, I''ve slept in worst places. At least here''s dry and warm. They''ve even put straw on the floor, and it''s nice to have a bit of torchlight if I do say so myself."

    Wishing his captors had sealed his ears as well as they''d wrapped up his hands and gagged his mouth, Urt closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall to which they were chained, in classic dungeon style. Reginald''s shackles were made of silver.

    He''d woken up with a sore nose in the cell which he was sharing his complaining companion. Obviously his show of exploding three guards and a dessert had impressed their captors enough to ensure that any spell casting wasn''t going to happen. Without the ability to speak or make gestures, his magical ability was severely limited.

    .