THE WITCHES OF LEWTHAN MOUNTAIN
R.M. McLeod
Published by Red Panda Press at Smashwords 2011
First published in Great Britain in 2003 by First published in Great Britain in 2003 by
Red Panda Press, PO Box 9, Millom,
Cumbria, LA18 5WA
Copyright R.M. McLeod 2003/12 Rev 1
Cover painting by Janet Smith
The Charlie Braithwaite Stories:
The Witches of Lewthan Mountain
The Escape of Athelwan
The Theft of the Crown of Bodran or The Band of Brothers
The Revenge of Botan
Also by R.M. McLeod
The Ghosts of Badger Wood
Drop Zone
The Time Flyers
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any events, persons, alive or dead, is purely coincidental. The characters are fictitious products of the author’s imagination.
Always fascinated by magic, eleven-year-old Charlie Wainwright buys a book of wizardry from the village hall bring car boot sale. It is an old book, written hundreds of years before he was even born and as soon as he takes the volume home he sets out to discover if the spells it contains really do work.
They do, his cat can bark, his dog meow and Charlie is having great fun; but when he has a visit from the book’s author, the wizard – Argetlám, will his life ever be the same again? For someone, in the goblin and witch infested Darklands of the Cumbrian Underworld, is watching him from afar. Watching him through evil and envious eyes. That someone is the wicked Witch Queen – Nemetona; the most beautiful of witches but by far the most evil. Nemetona will stop at nothing to get her hands on Charlie’s book of spells and with this in mind despatches a goblin familiar to the Overland (where humans live) to steal it.
Caught by the goblin in the act of reading the forbidden book, Charlie’s cousin, Joanne, is kidnapped and spirited away into the terrifying dimension of the Darklands. Now, Charlie and the wizard must go after her. Firstly, to rescue Joanne, afterwards to retrieve the precious book of spells. It is now that Charlie’s adventures really begin, as along with the wizard and his very peculiar friends, they battle goblins, dragons and witches as they continue their quest to find – the lost works of the arch wizard – Argetlám.
THE WITCHES OF LEWTHAN MOUNTAIN
ON THE MOUNTAIN OF LEWTHAN, IN THE PALACE CASTLE OF THE EVIL WITCH QUEEN – NEMETONA.
Her head adorned with a solid gold, diamond-encrusted crown and wearing a long, flowing dress and cloak, both of which were made from the finest black-dyed silk, the queen seemed to glide, gracefully, down the Great Hall. Eventually, at the end of the vast, stone-vaulted chamber, she eased herself onto a golden, heavily jewelled throne and through dark, evil eyes, stared down at the trembling goblin who knelt, quaking with fear, at her feet.
‘Well?’ she asked, impatiently. ‘Have you found it?’
The terrified goblin shook his head. ‘No Majesty,’ he replied, without daring to look into her eyes. ‘I’ve searched everywhere, ma’am, absolutely everywhere. For nearly a hundred years I’ve wandered across every inch of the Overland. I’ve peered through a million windows, sneaked inside ten thousand homes but___’
‘But you’ve still not found my missing book!’ screeched the witch queen.
‘No Majesty,’ said the goblin, who by now was shaking so much his teeth were beginning to rattle like an old vintage car.
‘Then you’ve failed me!’ she screamed at him. ‘Failed your queen!’
‘But Majesty,’ moaned the goblin. ‘Before you called me back to the Mountain of Lewthan I think I was, at long last, getting really, really close.’
‘You lie, Fender,’ she spat at him. ‘Your kind will always lie to save your ugly, pathetic hides.’
‘It’s the truth,’ protested the unhappy goblin. For the first time daring to raise his head and actually look at his sovereign. ‘I think it might be somewhere in the County of Cumbria, in the Overland, Your Majesty.’
‘And what makes you think that?’ asked the queen, her temper suddenly beginning to cool a little.
‘Because, at the southern end of the Great Forest of the North, just before I left to report to Your Wickedness, I felt the slightest disturbance of the ether.’
‘You did?’ she asked. Her eyes boring into those of the goblin’s.
‘Yes Majesty, it was faint, short, but very, very powerful. As though someone, perhaps for the first time in centuries, had at long last opened the book to look inside it.’
The witch queen stared down at the hapless goblin. ‘If you’re lying to me, Fender,’ she began, sinisterly. ‘If you’re simply spinning me a goblin’s tale, just to save your worthless skin, then I’ll turn you into a rabbit and have you stewed in herbs for my dinner.’
‘But I’m not!’ he objected. ‘Really I’m not! Honestly!’
The queen rose to her feet, looking at the goblin as though he were something she would normally scrape off her shoe. ‘Don’t use that dreadful word in front of me, Fender. You should know better than to use a word like “honestly” in front of your queen. If what you say is true, then whoever looked inside the book will probably do so again. You therefore have one last chance, goblin, one very last chance to find the sacred book of the wizard and return with it, and whoever you find with it, to me.’
‘Thank you, Majesty,’ grovelled Fender. ‘I’ll not let you down this time, I won’t, I promise I really, really won’t.’
The witch queen scowled at him, her red, glowing eyes overflowing with loathing. ‘You’d better not,’ she spat, quietly and sinisterly. ‘For fail me again and there’ll be no more chances. The next time you return, empty-handed, you’ll go straight into the rabbit-pot. Is that perfectly clear?’
‘Quite clear, Majesty,’ said Fender, breathing a huge sigh of relief.
Then, without giving him so much as a second glance, his queen began storming out of the Great Hall. Suddenly however, just as Fender was climbing to his feet, she stopped dead in her tracks. Slowly, she turned and once again looked at him through those terrible, hate-filled, eyes. ‘You must go straight away,’ she commanded.
‘I must, Majesty?’ said Fender, who had once again prostrated himself on the floor.
‘Instantly,’ hissed Nemetona. ‘If you’ve sensed a disturbance then others also may.’ Now, with eyes as cold as the North Pole in winter, she gazed through one of the huge windows of the Great Hall. ‘The book’s careless author has also been searching for it for more than three hundred years. He too may have felt what you felt and thought what you thought. He also knows that I, Nemetona, the greatest and most beautiful queen who has ever sat on the throne of Lewthan, also want it. Go now,’ she ordered, ‘for any delay may mean its loss to me – forever. Go goblin and spare no one, absolutely no one, who dares to get in your way!’
1
(One Day Earlier)
PROBLEMS WITH HAZEL
What have you been buying now, Charlie?’ asked his mother when he returned home.
Charlie placed the book on the dining table. ‘Oh it’s just an old, second-hand book,’ he replied, vaguely.
‘Well I can see that,’ said his mother, looking disapprovingly at her freckled-faced son. ‘In fact it looks very old, but – well – what’s it about?’
Charlie opened it, noting for the second time that day that the yellowing flyleaf had been re-written by hand. ‘Manual Of Ancient Spells and Schedule of Equipment Required for the Application of Advanced Wizardry,’ he replied, matter-of-factly.
‘Oh dear,’ said Mrs Braithwaite, sounding far from happy. ‘You’ve not been wasting your pocket money again – have you? You must have over two dozen books on magic in your room and I’ve yet to see you do a simple trick.’
Certainly not,’ said Charlie, brushing a strand of long, red hair from his forehead. ‘See here,’ he pointed to a date on the reverse of the flysheet. ‘It was published in Sixteen Hundred and Ten; therefore it’s nearly four hundred years old and must be worth an absolute fortune.’
‘And how much did you pay for it?’ she asked.
Charlie shrugged. ‘Fifty pence.’
‘Well, personally, I hardly think anyone would sell a book worth a fortune for a mere fifty pence, Charlie,’ observed his mother. ‘Anyway, I’d be grateful if you’d take it up to your room. We’re having visitors next week and I’m trying to keep the house tidy – for once.’
‘Who?’ asked Charlie, suddenly looking worried.
‘Your Aunt Jennifer and Joanne; my sister and your cousin. Joanne’s on her half-term holiday; where she lives they take a different week to you.’
‘Oh,’ groaned Charlie.
‘Yes – oh!’ she exclaimed. ‘And also, for once, you’d better be polite to Joanne, remember, she is part of the family.’
‘Joanne’s disgusting,’ said Charlie. She’s noisy, conceited and she’s always bothering the animals and rooting in my private things.’
‘Bothering the animals? I don’t believe you, how does she bother the animals?’
‘She chases the cat, dresses her up in silly doll’s clothes that are far too tight and tries to make the dog do stupid tricks. You know, like making him talk to her before she’ll give him a treat, that sort of thing.’
‘Talk to her?’
‘Yes, she makes him bark for biscuits and beg with a paw. She humiliates both of them.’
His mother scoffed and eyed him shrewdly. ‘I don’t believe that’s the real reason you’re not keen on her,’ said Mrs. Braithwaite. ‘I think you just don’t like her. Joanne’s a lovely girl, a little high-spirited perhaps but a lovely girl. I’m certain that she wouldn’t hurt a fly.’
Charlie picked up his book, smiled grudgingly and began walking slowly towards the stairs, turning back towards his mother when he reached the first one. ‘Well at least I’m back at school next week, that way I’ll only have to spend the evenings with her.’
***
At first the book proved rather disappointing. It was written in old English and the unusual spelling made the text difficult to read. Having chosen, in his excitement, to ignore the author’s introduction and ‘Warning Against Improper Use’, one particular sentence, under the heading: ‘Equipment’ soon had Charlie struggling. The passage began as follows:
‘To obtain the maximum ftrength and therefore, magical power, from a typical forcerer’f wand...’
Charlie knew that in olden times the letter ‘f’ was used in place of the modern ‘s’ and after a little practice he could soon make sense of the ancient manuscript. His translation of the text read as follows:
‘To obtain the maximum strength and therefore, magical power, from a typical sorcerer’s wand, the user must ensure that the rod, some ten hands long, is cut from only the finest specimens of Corylus avellana available in the neighbourhood. To use inferior materials is both time-wasting and potentially, extremely dangerous to the user.’
However, he did not have a clue as to the meaning of Coryluf avellana or its modern equivalent Corylus avellana. Then he had a brainwave and looked up the words on the Internet. The length of a ‘hand’ proved much easier; he found it in a dictionary. It was a unit of measure approximately 100 mm long. Now he had the answer to his problem. In the 17th century, it seemed, wizards used magic wands made of hazel and they were – almost exactly – one metre long.
Smiling now and armed with his father’s hacksaw, he pulled on his rough shoes and with Hector, the family Border collie at his side, made off for the woods at the back of the house.
***
Two hours later, Charlie was back in his bedroom, armed with a 1-metre long wand of the straightest branch of hazel he could find in Witch’s Wood. Now, once again, he turned his attention to the book and a chapter that dealt with spells relating to animals. The table of contents of the chapter seemed very exciting and found Charlie desperately hoping that the book was genuine. For as his mother had said to him earlier, although the volume seemed very old and indeed had a date of Sixteen Hundred and Ten, it was almost a nonsense to think it could really be of such antiquity, let alone hold the secrets of wizardry that the author, one Ignatious Septimus Yewbarrow, claimed it had. Nevertheless, Charlie had always had a yearning to become an accomplished magician and – what the heck – it was something to do on a Thursday afternoon during the spring half term.
Studiously now, he browsed down the table of contents of Chapter 6. Charlie thought about the list for a few moments then, ignoring his earlier comments about Joanne, opted for spell number six. Quickly he turned the well-thumbed and yellowing pages until he found the relevant section. Against ‘Voice, Changing Of’ there were various options. These ranged from mooing, through neighing and trumpeting, to barking. Charlie smiled and decided, with Molly the cat in mind, on barking.
‘First,’ it began, ‘obtain the animal you wish to transform and, for best results, place it on a lawn of well-cut grass.
Charlie grimaced. Well-cut grass, he thought, how stupid, why should the animal have to be placed on well-cut grass? It simply did not make any sense; however, he shook his head and read on.
‘Secondly,’ the text continued, ‘to change an animal’s voice, administer the spell as follows: Taking the wand of Corylus avellana firmly in one’s right hand, point it at selected beast and loudly utter the following incantation three times, followed by the voice type of your choice: Separus liptimus.’
‘Separus liptimus,’ said Charlie aloud. ‘Separus liptimus, oh well, where’s the cat then?’
A quick glance through his bedroom window solved the dilemma. Molly was sitting under a large beech at the bottom of the garden, enjoying the shade the great tree offered and licking her lips after devouring her fourth mouse of the day. Further, she was also sitting on the lawn, the lawn his father had mowed only the previous evening. Apart from the distance separating him from his target, thought Charlie, things could not have been better. Gingerly therefore, he picked up the hazel wand and carefully pointed it towards the unsuspecting puss. After ensuring he had aligned the wand as accurately as possible, he recited the required incantation.
‘Separus liptimus, separus liptimus, separus liptimus – bark!’ he cried. Nothing, absolutely nothing, seemed to happen. Molly, who, after a meal of fresh mouse was now busily grooming herself, continued, apparently completely oblivious of the spell that had just been cast on her, to do just that. A little confused, Charlie turned his eyes back to the book. Yes, he thought, yes he had recited the spell strictly in accordance with Ignatious Yewbarrow’s instructions, so why had nothing happened? Charlie shook his head, he was rather disappointed and considered that, after being on the receiving end of a magic spell, at least some reaction was to be expected – wasn’t it? The text of the book however was of no help in this regard and therefore, to make certain he had carried out the instructions correctly, decided to give it one more go.
This time, as he pointed the wand at Molly, he noticed that Hector had suddenly joined her under the shade of the beech. This gave him an idea and with a mischievous grin, began to recite another incantation while pointing the wand at the Border collie. ‘Separus liptimus, separus liptimus, separus liptimus – meow!’ he cried and as he did so, looked up at the object of his spells.
Once again absolutely nothing happened and shaking his head, Charlie turned his attention back to the book. At that precise moment his mother called him. It was the type of urgent, ‘you will come at once’, call Charlie had long since learnt not to ignore and without another look at the goings on out in the garden, quickly made for the stairs. By attending to his mother’s summons as speedily as he did, therefore, Charlie never saw the consequences of his spell. Never saw Hector and Molly amble slowly across the lawn to say hello to their next-door neighbour and most certainly never saw or heard what happened after that.
Mrs. Brightly, the old lady who lived in the house next to the Braithwaite’s, was hoeing one of her flower beds when the duo arrived at the low fence dividing the two gardens. As they approached she looked at them and smiled and, as she always did when she saw her neighbour’s pets, said, ‘hello’. Hector and Molly were sat on the lawn less than two metres from her and when the old lady said ‘hello’ again they did what they always did, they returned the greeting.
‘Meow!’ said Hector the dog, happily.
‘Woof!’ said Molly the cat, cheerfully.
‘AAGH!’ yelled Mrs Brightly, before running and screaming towards the safety and sanctuary of her home.
***
By eight o’clock that evening and tired after a long and exciting day, Charlie retired to bed, armed with his precious book of spells.
He had been asleep for a just under four hours when he awoke; he knew that because the alarm clock on his bedside cabinet told him it was twelve o’clock. Why he awoke he did not really know but, although it was May, the room was unusually cold. Thinking he may have to get a spare blanket out of the bathroom he started to get out of bed and it was only then that he noticed, for the first time, that he was not alone.
CHARLIE HAS A STRANGE VISITOR
The old, bearded man, was sat in the room’s only chair and Charlie’s first reaction, not surprisingly, was to try and shout out in fear and alarm. However, as much as he tried, not a sound came from his lips. Then he attempted to run from the room but found that he could not move. Try as he might, his limbs would not respond to any demands he made of them. At last, exhausted by his efforts, he resigned himself to his fate and reluctantly turned his attention to the strange looking, midnight visitor; the visitor who had so suddenly and terrifyingly, entered his life. Although the bedroom was only illuminated by moonlight, there was enough of it for Charlie to see that the man was exceptionally thin, heavily bearded with long, white whiskers and old, very, very, old. He was dressed in a long, black cloak. A cloak sumptuously decorated with what appeared to be gold sequins, quarter moons, stars, bolts of lightning and – broomsticks.
Broomsticks! He thought. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. Yes, yes, they really were broomsticks! The man’s outfit was finished off with an equally black and similarly decorated, pointed hat. ‘Are you a magician?’ gasped Charlie, discovering to his surprise that he once again had the use of his voice.
The old man smiled. ‘Very quick, Charlie, considering you’ve only just woken up, I’d say that you’re – very quick. Now, if you promise that you won’t shout or attempt to run away, I’ll return the use of your limbs to you, so you can get back into bed and warm yourself up. It’s quite all right; I’m not here to hurt you.’ Charlie nodded and almost immediately found he could move again. His first thought was to go back on his promise but there was something about the old man’s eyes, they appeared so kind and friendly to do so seemed pointless. For somehow, some way, Charlie instinctively knew that there was no way his visitor intended him any harm.
‘Are you comfortable now?’ asked the visitor. Charlie, wide-eyed and clutching the duvet protectively around his neck, nodded. ‘Good,’ continued the old man, ‘then in a moment I’ll tell you why I’m here. However, firstly, I’m not a magician; I’m a fully qualified wizard. Secondly, where did you get my book from?’ Charlie’s eyes opened even wider and instead of answering, found he could only manage to stare ever more closely at his visitor. The wizard smiled again. ‘Don’t be afraid, as I’ve said, you’ll come to no harm from me.’
‘Your book?’ asked Charlie.
‘The book of spells,’ said the wizard.
‘The village bring and buy sale,’ croaked Charlie.
The wizard raised an eyebrow. ‘The village car boot sale.’ Charlie nodded. ‘How much did you pay for it?’
‘Fifty pence, sir,’ managed Charlie.
‘Fifty pence!’ exclaimed the visitor. Clearly appalled, if not absolutely outraged at the low price his treasured work had realised. ‘Even when it was written the volume was worth thousands. Goodness knows how much it’s really worth in the twenty-first century. Billions at least, I should think.’
‘Sorry, sir,’ said Charlie.
‘Call me Argetlám,’ commanded the wizard.
‘Did you really write the book?’ asked Charlie, suddenly feeling a little more courageous.
‘Of course I did,’ growled Argetlám. You don’t think a work of that supreme quality could write itself, do you?’
‘No sir,’ said Charlie, quickly and now instantly regretting the question. ‘It’s just that – well – the book was published in Sixteen Hundred and Ten and according to the fly-leaf, written by someone called Ignatious Septimus Yewbarrow.’
Argetlám smiled. ‘Of course, you’re wondering how someone could still be alive who’d had a book published nearly four hundred years ago.’ He chuckled. ‘Well it’s all very simple really, you see, I’m very nearly sixteen hundred years old myself. In addition, Argetlám is my given name; when I wrote the book you acquired, for such an obscene pittance, I wanted to remain anonymous. Therefore I used a pen name, a nom de plume.’ Suddenly Charlie began to laugh, he knew it was rude to do so but he just could not help it. After all, he thought, the wizard’s boast about his impossible age invited such a response, didn’t it? Instead of being angry with the boy, Argetlám merely nodded in understanding. ‘I think I’d better tell you why I’m here, Charlie, then you’ll understand and perhaps accept what I’m saying to you.’
Charlie shrugged, settled down into the warmth of his bed and said: ‘You’d better keep your voice down, my mother’s a very light sleeper.’
‘Doesn’t matter,’ replied Argetlám. ‘No one can hear either of us.’ Now the wizard also settled back into the chair and arranged his long robes about him as though he was about to embark on long and epic tale. ‘You see, it all began when I was a small boy, very much like yourself and apprenticed to the most famous wizard of all time – Merlin.’
‘Merlin!’ gasped Charlie. ‘But he’s – well I mean – he’s nothing but a legend, he never really existed – did he?’
Argetlám sighed and looked carefully into the eyes of his young listener. ‘I’ve no idea who told you all that rubbish, Charlie, but I can assure you that Merlin did exist, as indeed did Arthur, Guinevere, the Knights of the Round Table and Camelot itself, I was there, remember? Think about it, why on earth should I bother to come here, in the middle of the night, and tell you a complete pack of lies?’
‘Sorry,’ said Charlie, secretly now more than ever convinced his visitor was so was odd he could only be dreaming and that any moment he would awake to find himself alone in his bedroom.
‘Right then,’ said Argetlám, grumpily, ‘if I may continue?’ Charlie nodded, meekly. ‘As I was trying to say, at the age of ten I was apprenticed to Merlin as a trainee wizard and by the time I’d reached my twenty-first birthday I’d duly qualified, qualified as the top of my year, with first-class honours.’ Smugly, he glanced down and looked proudly at the decorated cloak. ‘This very cloak and hat were presented to me by no less a person than the great archwizard himself, on graduation day.’
‘Merlin gave them to you?’ asked Charlie.
‘Of course,’ replied Argetlám, ‘there was and is, only one truly great archwizard.’
‘Merlin’s still alive?’ said Charlie.
‘Charlie, will you please stop interrupting?’ Replied Argetlám, for the first time a little impatience beginning to tell in his voice.
‘Sorry,’ said Charlie.
‘After qualifying I was sent here, to the north, to oversee the peaceful wilderness of the great Lakeland valleys of Cumberland and Westmorland and to guard these lands against the designs of those who sought, by use of evil magic, to overthrow the order that Arthur had so tirelessly brought to this part of his kingdom.
‘King Arthur once ruled here?’ gasped Charlie.
‘Didn’t I just say that?’ snapped Argetlám. ‘He was, after all, the greatest of our ancient kings. Don’t they teach you anything at school these days?’
‘Well they do, but nothing about King Arthur,’ replied Charlie. ‘Like Merlin, I thought he too was just a myth, you know, a sort of – fairy tale.’
Argetlám growled, quietly, made as if to reprimand his listener, but then continued with his story. Now, sounding far more serious than at any time since he had so magically appeared in Charlie’s room. ‘For centuries, those who inhabit the underworld were kept very firmly in their place. Trained witches and wizards like myself were able to keep their dark designs in check by ensuring that they were never allowed to practice their evil ways.’
‘How?’ asked Charlie.
‘By guaranteeing that those who chose the Left-Hand path, that’s the way of darkness and evil, were never permitted to become strong. We did this by defeating them, either as individuals or in small groups. As soon as they dared to interfere with the way Arthur decreed, we followers of the Right-Hand path were always there to jump on them. Always ready to smash their evil intent, to ensure that the way of the Light, was never, ever, put in peril.’
‘But that was centuries ago,’ said Charlie. ‘Wasn’t it?’
Argetlám shrugged with his hands. ‘Centuries, millennia, these are man-made units of time measurement but they are but nothing to the forces that have both threatened and guarded this land throughout the ages. It’s now some fifteen hundred years since, under the direction of Merlin, the forces of the Right-Hand defeated those of the Left. With a final titanic battle, after a struggle that had lasted for centuries, we finally smashed them and in so doing mainly confined evil to the underworld; to the place of perpetual darkness from whence it was spawned.’
As the terrible memories his tale had obviously recalled made Argetlám’s eyes narrow into slits, Charlie shivered in his bed. ‘But – well – that was then, we’re safe now – aren’t we?’ he asked.
Once again, the wise eyes of Argetlám settled upon the boy, this time however, they were tinged with sadness and when he spoke it was slowly and very carefully; so as to ensure that there could be no possibility of misunderstanding. ‘The creatures of the underworld never sleep, Charlie, they’re opportunists, always vigilant, forever seeking and often finding a doorway, an entrance into the domain of those who dwell in the Light; constantly in readiness to rise up and deliver a final, conquering blow to those who have vowed, always, to be pitted against them.’ Argetlám paused and still fixing the eyes of his young listener smiled, grimly. ‘And it is for that very reason, my boy that I come here tonight.’
‘How did you find me?’ asked Charlie.
Argetlám laughed. ‘I found you because you’ve been creating a disturbance in the ether, a disturbance the like of which has not been seen or heard since the escape of Athelwan.’
‘Sorry?’ said Charlie.
Irritably, Argetlám waved the question away. ‘A bad and extremely evil warlock, he’d been entombed for centuries, as a punishment for trying to stir up unrest amongst certain elfin folk who’d been converted to the Right-Hand. With the aid of some goblins however, he escaped and once again tried to ferment dissent.’
‘Dissent?’ said Charlie.
‘Trouble,’ explained the wizard.
‘What happened to him?’ asked Charlie.
Argetlám’s face darkened. ‘He was eventually cornered and confronted by an expeditionary force of elves, fairies and wizards who supported the Right. They caught up with him and his followers in a cave, deep below one the highest mountains in Lakeland.’
‘They beat him?’ said Charlie.
‘We destroyed him,’ growled Argetlám, ‘Athelwan and all his retinue of ungodly foot soldiers.’
‘Him and all his goblins,’ whispered Charlie. Frightened that by even saying the word one may suddenly appear in his bedroom.
‘Of course,’ agreed Argetlám. ‘Now then, where was I?’
‘You said that I’d disturbed something called the “ether”,’ replied Charlie.
‘Ah yes, your amateurish attempts at magic have produced shockwaves that have been felt throughout the cosmos. People are asking questions, they’re nervous, they want answers and that’s one of the reasons why I’m here.’
For the second time since his surprise meeting with the wizard, Charlie felt very concerned. ‘Oh dear,’ he said, softly, ‘does that mean I’m in trouble?’
‘It means that you have to stop making cats bark and dogs meow. What you’ve been up to is highly illegal and potentially, extremely damaging to the harmony of the cosmos. It’s also such cheap and nasty magic that, if you insist in continuing what you’ve been doing, you’re virtually guaranteed to end up in more trouble than you ever, ever, thought possible.’
‘I’m very sorry,’ said Charlie, ‘I really am. You see, I had no way of knowing. I didn’t even know that the magic spells worked.’
Once again Argetlám raised a calming hand. ‘Which brings me to my reasons for visiting you; as I told you earlier, centuries ago the followers of the Right and the Left-Hand Way had the mother of all battles to decide dominance. To settle, once and for all, the question of Earth’s future, whether it should be a place dominated by evil or by good. Fortunately, for you, and everyone and everything else that lives on this planet, it eventually ended as a major victory for the Right, for the forces of the Light. Those who had chosen evil were banished, virtually forever, to The Darklands. Never again, it was thought, would they be able to muster enough numbers, in any one place, to take on the power of the Right. The reason for this is simple, for centuries we were cleverer, had more powerful magic and enjoyed overwhelming superiority in numbers. I say had because recently that situation has changed. The creatures of The Darklands have a new leader, a witch who is so cunning, so clever and so completely evil that she will stop at nothing in her quest to overthrow the Right. All that she’s missing is – enough power.’
‘You mean – magic power – sorcery?’ gasped Charlie.
Argetlám nodded. ‘I most certainly do and this now brings me to my next point. Nearly four centuries ago, an extremely bored and vain wizard decided to write a comprehensive work on the subject of magic. He wrote it because he was so conceited that he wanted to record, on paper, just how brilliantly clever he was. When it was completed it was everything the wizard had promised it would be. Well written, easily understandable and, above all else – fully comprehensive. It offered the reader a complete insight into the ancient art of all the magic of the Light. Once again, Argetlám began to look smug and he glanced down at his well-manicured nails. ‘Even though I say so myself; it truly was and still is, a masterpiece.’
‘But wasn’t that dangerous,’ put in Charlie. ‘I mean, surely, by writing down all your secrets you risked having them fall into the hands of the enemy, the Darklanders or whatever you call them.’
‘Of course, of course it was,’ agreed Argetlám. ‘Yes, yes you’re quite right; my vanity got me into a lot of hot water. The point is, there were originally two books, both of which were somehow lost in the seventeenth century, during the English Civil War. I’ve been trying to find and recover them for over three hundred years, until today, without any real measure of success.’
‘Good grief,’ said Charlie. ‘You’d no idea where they were – at all?’
‘In nineteen hundred and six, a patrol of elves captured a goblin trying to escape from The Darklands. Under questioning he admitted to being a spy for Nemetona and, in exchange for his freedom, he agreed to tell me why he’d been sent to the Overland.’
‘Overland, Nemetona?’ said Charlie. ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand.’
‘Overland is here,’ replied Argetlám, ‘where you and many creatures of the Light live. Nemetona’s the witch I told you about earlier, she took her name from an ancient war goddess, she also has the second volume of my book of spells.’
‘She has it!’ gasped Charlie.
‘Yes,’ growled Argetlám, ‘she has it! I don’t know how she found it but find it she did.’
‘Doesn’t that make her more powerful?’ asked Charlie.
‘It makes her nothing at all, except a thorn in my side. Nothing that is until she gets her hands on and has fully studied the first volume. It’s the first one, the one you have, which contains all the keywords, the words that, for all but the most simplistic and virtually harmless of spells, must be matched against those in volume two.’ ‘So there’s no problem,’ said Charlie. ‘She has volume two, I have volume one and provided she doesn’t get a hand on my copy, well then – everyone’s safe – aren’t they?’
Argetlám scratched his chin, thoughtfully. ‘In theory – yes – the trick is, however, to stop her from finding it.’ Now Argetlám’s expression became grave. ‘You see, if she does find it, through one of her spies, then...’ The wizard suddenly raised his eyes skywards. ‘If she does acquire the secrets of volume one then – well – the consequences do not bear thinking about. The world could be plunged into a new dark-age, a world of perpetual winter, a world where evil rules and the Light is never, ever, seen again.’
As the wizard spoke in such chilling tones, Charlie began to shiver again. ‘Oh dear,’ he at last managed, weakly. ‘Then you’d better take the book, Argetlám. You’d better take it and keep it in a safe place.’
Argetlám shook his head. ‘Not possible, the book was written during a period when I took mortal form, it was written in the Overland and that is where, normally, it must stay. Those are the laws of the universe. No, Charlie, no, you its new owner must keep the book. Keep it safe and at all costs ensure that no one, no one at all, ever, ever, finds and uses it. If you don’t and if yourself or anyone else invokes any more spells from it, then Nemetona will eventually find it. After the recent disturbances you’ve made in the ether she’ll already be on watch, her dark eyes scanning the Overland from the sanctity of her lair. Any further magic spells will only lead her spies ever closer to where the book is kept and she will already have despatched more of them to roam the Overland in search of it.’
‘What sort of spies?’ asked Charlie.
‘Goblins,’ replied Argetlám, ‘little elf-sized brutes but vicious and unlike elves, ugly. Fortunately for us they’re not very clever, but they can take the form of many animals and unless you’re trained in spotting them, they’re notoriously difficult to tell from the real thing. Their favourite ploy is to disguise themselves as the pets of humankind. That way they’re welcomed into the houses of many good people who love animals.’
‘But how can she keep both books if they’re supposed to stay in the Overland?’ asked Charlie.
‘Because Nemetona will not be worried about the consequences; about the disruption to the harmony of the cosmos.’
‘So what should I do now?’ asked Charlie.
‘Firstly, tomorrow, you must hide the book in the safest place you can find. Secondly, never ever use it again. In fact, don’t even open it again. Thirdly, under no circumstances tell a soul about either the book or our talk this evening.’
Charlie nodded and then yawned. ‘Sure,’ he agreed.
Argetlám smiled. ‘Good lad, now I’m going to leave you; I hope we don’t have to meet again.’
‘I’m very sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused,’ said Charlie. ‘Like I said, I really didn’t know what I was doing.’
Argetlám eased himself out of the chair and began to straighten his back and stretch his arms. ‘Just do what I’ve told you to do and everything should be all right, Charlie. But for now, I’ll wish you a very goodnight.’
‘Just one thing,’ said Charlie. ‘Why do animals have to be placed on well-cut grass before you can cast a spell on them?’
‘They don’t,’ said the wizard.
‘But it says you have to in the book,’ objected Charlie.
Argetlám chuckled. ‘Ah, yes, I see what you mean. The answer to that question is quite simple really, it’s so you can see them.’
As Charlie was about to ask another question, there was a flash of light followed by a gentle swishing sound and in a cloud of white smoke, Argetlám disappeared. Charlie glanced at the alarm clock; although he could have sworn that the wizard had been with him for hours, he was surprised to learn that the time was still, exactly, midnight.
THE RETURN OF ARGETLÁM
The following day was Sunday and Charlie did everything he had promised the wizard he would do. Along with the wand of hazel and wrapped in a protective polythene jacket, he secreted Argetlám’s book in the place where he kept the rest of his most precious treasures, under a loose floorboard in a corner of his bedroom. This hiding place was so secret that not even his parents knew of its existence and as Charlie replaced the carpet over the now restored boards, he smiled with satisfaction. No one, no one at all he thought, would ever find the book there.
***
Next morning, while Charlie was back at school, Joanne and her mother arrived. On returning home his cousin was waiting for him, a sly look in her eye. ‘Hi Charlie,’ she said, as he hung up his coat in the hallway. ‘Had a great day at school?’
Charlie ignored the sarcasm. ‘Hello,’ he replied, grudgingly. ‘Had a good journey?’
‘Great,’ she replied. ‘But it’s going to be a bit boring, me being here and you at school all day. There’s nothing to do in the country, not on your own.’
Charlie looked at her, frowning. ‘Nothing to do,’ he repeated, sounding utterly amazed and whilst walking into the kitchen. ‘Why, there’s a lot to do; for instance you could go for a walk in Witch’s Wood. It’s open to the public and there’s loads of wildlife in there.’
‘I don’t know anything about wildlife, Charlie,’ she moaned. ‘We don’t have much of it in my part of London.’
‘Then it’s time to learn,’ he replied. ‘I’ll lend you a book on birds and my binoculars; then tomorrow you can take both into the wood and see how many different species you can record. At this time of year there’s well over a dozen so that should keep you busy for a while.’
Joanne shrugged. ‘Oh all right then, I suppose so,’ she said, reluctantly.
***
Later, after tea, Charlie went up to his room to start his homework. He had just settled down to the task, at his computer desk, when Joanne entered. ‘Don’t forget the binoculars and the book; will you, Charlie?’ she said.
Charlie pointed towards a bookshelf. ‘Have a look on there, you’ll find a couple of bird books. I suggest you take the pocket edition, it’s much easier to carry.’
Joanne found the book, glanced quickly and disinterestedly at some of its pages, then once again looked at her cousin. ‘Can I have the binoculars as well?’ she asked.
Charlie shook his head. ‘Not now, I’ll get them for you later.’
Joanne began to smirk, knowingly. ‘In a secret place, are they, Charlie?’
Charlie shook his head. ‘Like I said, I’ll get them for you later, Jo. Right now I have to finish an essay for my English teacher. I should have done it last week but I forgot.’
‘Well if they’re not in a secret place then tell me where they are and I’ll get them,’ she insisted.
Charlie frowned; he was trying to keep his temper. After all, Joanne was a guest in his home but sometimes, sometimes she could just be a little bit too... ‘I’ll get them for you later, Jo,’ he repeated, patiently. ‘I promise I won’t forget.’
Joanne began to look inquiringly around the room, trying to work out where her cousin hid his treasured toys and most expensive possessions. Was it a drawer in his wardrobe? Under the bed perhaps? Or was it somewhere really, really secret? Somewhere that no one would ever think of looking? ‘Okay,’ she replied, suddenly appearing to have accepted that she would have to wait. ‘I’ll go into my own room and read this while you finish your essay.’
Charlie smiled with relief. ‘Thanks,’ he returned. ‘I won’t be long, I promise.’
It was forty-five minutes later before he finally finished the essay. After printing it out he put it in a folder, before propping it up on the bedside table to prevent him forgetting it the following day. Joanne had been very quiet since leaving his room and suddenly he remembered both his cousin and the binoculars he had promised to loan her. After a glance at the bedroom door, which was very nearly closed, he made towards it, quietly. He was about to close it when he changed his mind. If Joanne heard him closing the door she would realise that he had finished the essay and was about to retrieve his binoculars from their hiding place. There was no lock and, knowing her as he did, thought the chances were that she would immediately come barging into his room, on the pretext of once again reminding him. Better to let sleeping dogs lie, he thought, and with that decision duly made, crept carefully across the room towards the secret hidey-hole.
It took but a couple of minutes for Charlie to retrieve the field glasses and restore the carpet to its original place. However, it was more than long enough for Joanne, who had been sitting silently outside her cousin’s room for over half an hour, to see what she had wanted to see. Carefully now, with all the stealth of the highly experienced snooper that she was, she eased herself away from the crack between the door and its frame. The crack that she had for, so long, been expectantly and very slyly peering through.
***
It was hot on Tuesday, very hot and with her uncle, Charlie’s father, at work, Charlie at school and her aunt and mother sunning themselves in the garden, Joanne had almost the free run of the house. It was mid-morning, after her aunt had made all the beds and retired to the garden, before she finally stole into Charlie’s room. In seconds she had found the secret hiding place in the floorboards and was soon rummaging through her cousin’s most treasured and private possessions. There were miniature models of racing cars, a bag of antique coins and a collection of computer game CD-ROMs. But none of those held much interest for the trespasser, not, that is, after she discovered the contents of the polythene jacket.
***
On Friday, Mrs. Johnson, who had lost her treasured pet cat two days earlier, called round to the Braithwaite’s. She came across the lawn, clearly very excited and clutching something furry in her arms. ‘Oh, good, you’ve found Alexander,’ said Mrs. Braithwaite, as her neighbour appeared in the conservatory.
Mrs. Johnson glanced down at the black and white cat, now purring like a tractor in her arms. ‘Well, I think it’s Alexander, but he does seem a little different,’ she replied.
‘Oh, in what way?’ asked Mrs. Braithwaite.
‘He seems more affectionate, but he answers to his name and his size and colouring are identical, it’s all very strange really,’ she replied.
Mrs. Johnson gave the animal a gentle stroke. ‘Well, he seems friendly enough; anyway, while you’re here, would you like a cup of tea? Me and my sister are just about to have one.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said the visitor, ‘thank you very much. Can I put Alexander down?’
‘Of course, he can have a run about the house if he likes. My niece is upstairs, playing, he’ll probably find her.’
Gently, Mrs. Johnson lowered the cat to the floor, the animal hovered for just a few seconds then sped off, first towards and then, up the stairs. With great curiosity the puss carefully, and very thoroughly, explored each of the bedrooms until, at last, he came to that of Charlie’s. As he peered, slowly, around the door, he spotted Joanne and froze; choosing to watch her silently, through bright green, shrewd eyes, rather than disturb her. She was sat on the floor the carpet pulled back to reveal a hole through which the girl was retrieving what appeared to be a parcel wrapped in something shiny. Patiently and with unwinking eyes, the cat watched on as the girl began to remove the plastic wrapping. However, it was when she had stopped unwrapping that the animal’s eyes became saucer-like and it was when Joanne had finally removed all the polythene and had revealed the large, ancient looking book concealed beneath, that he at last decided to let her know he was there.
‘Meow,’ said the cat, suddenly moving further into the room.
‘Oh hello,’ said Joanne, smiling at her visitor. ‘Would you like to come and sit on my knee, pussy cat? Would you like to come here and help me to read this really, really, exciting magic book?’
***
On the Friday afternoon, Charlie was sat in the school assembly hall and in the middle of a mathematics test, when, much to his amazement and horror, he found Argetlám sitting next to him. ‘What on earth...?’ began Charlie, as a plume of white smoke slowly cleared and the cloaked figure of the wizard began to emerge.
‘We’re in great danger,’ hissed Argetlám. Charlie glanced quickly around the room, concerned about his teacher’s probable reaction to the arrival of a sixteen hundred-year-old wizard in the middle of a math’s test. ‘Don’t worry about them,’ said Argetlám. ‘We’re now in a different dimension; no one can see or hear us.’
Despite the assurance, Charlie still whispered. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked. ‘Can’t you see I’m in the middle of a test?’
Argetlám waved away Charlie’s protests. ‘You’ve let me down boy,’ he hissed, the anger in his eyes obvious. ‘You’ve allowed someone else to know the secrets of the book!’
‘Oh no I’ve not!’ exclaimed Charlie, hurt that the wizard could even think he would let him down. ‘I’ve taken every precaution to hide it from everyone, no one knows where it is; no one at all.’
‘Wrong, Charlie,’ insisted Argetlám. ‘Somehow, your meddling cousin has discovered the hiding place, more importantly, much more importantly, so has one of Nemetona’s familiars.’
‘How do you know this?’ asked Charlie.
‘I haven’t time to tell you now,’ replied the wizard. ‘Suffice it to say that for most of this week, while you’ve been here at school and I’ve been on holiday, your cousin has been reading the book.’
‘Does that matter?’ hissed Charlie. ‘I mean, just reading it.’
‘Of course it matters, she’s had it open, the spells it contains have been leaking all over the cosmos.’
‘But she’s not done any magic?’ asked Charlie.
Argetlám shook his head. ‘Fortunately no, I don’t think she discovered the meaning of Corylus avellana. Anyway, the thing is, one of Nemetona’s goblin familiars has now found the volume and we have to stop the familiar before both it and the book reach the witch queen’s lair.’
‘We?’ said, Charlie.
‘Of course we,’ replied the wizard. ‘You’re responsible; you allowed it to fall into enemy hands.’
‘Well I don’t know how,’ said Charlie. ‘Anyway, what do we have to do?’
‘Firstly, leave here immediately and hope that your cousin hasn’t been kidnapped.’
‘Kidnapped!’ gasped Charlie.
‘Of course, I told you, the book cannot be taken out of its present dimension without the aid of a human. The familiar will take Joanne with him so that she can carry it through the portal and through The Darklands to Nemetona’s castle.’
‘I don’t remember you telling me that,’ said Charlie.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ said Argetlám, irritably. ‘Those are the facts; now finish your math’s test and let’s get out of here.’
‘It’ll take me another hour to do this,’ objected Charlie. ‘Math’s is my worst subject. Anyway I can’t just leave school, not without a note from my mother.’
Argetlám peered at the questions and shook his head in disgust. ‘Piece of cake,’ he said waving a hand over Charlie’s answer paper.
Charlie looked down at his sheet to find that every single question had been answered, in his own handwriting. ‘Are you any good at maths?’ he asked, suspiciously.
The wizard frowned. ‘Of course I am, I’ve told you before, I’m an honours graduate. Now then, no one is going to notice you’ve gone, so are you with me or not?’
Charlie shrugged. ‘Okay.’
‘Then are you ready?’ said the wizard.
‘Yes,’ replied Charlie, as together, they both disappeared in a huge puff of snow-white smoke.
***
‘Both the book and Joanne have gone,’ said Charlie, when seconds later they materialised in his bedroom.
Argetlám stared at the hole in the floorboards in which Charlie was now desperately searching for the book. ‘It’s as I feared,’ observed Argetlám, gravely. ‘Let this be a lesson to you; this is what happens when you meddle in things you don’t understand.’
‘But what’s happened to Joanne?’ asked Charlie, for the first time sounding concerned about the well-being of his cousin.
‘As I said earlier, the familiar will have taken her through the nearest portal and into The Darklands. Her job will be to carry the book safely to Nemetona.’
‘And then?’ asked Charlie, already dreading the answer.
‘And then she’ll become one of Nemetona’s lackeys. A human slave, begging for every morsel of food she receives, attending to the witch’s every whim and fancy and treated like nothing better than a beast of the field, until the very end of time itself. Unless....’
‘Unless what?’ asked Charlie, not liking the wizard’s tone.
‘Unless she ends up being baked in a pie.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Charlie. ‘I don’t think she’ll like that and what will her mother say?’
Argetlám ignored what he considered a very silly question. ‘Anyway, we can’t allow her to fall foul of Nemetona and we certainly can’t allow the witch to keep the book. So – there’s now only one thing for it, we have to go in after both her and the book.’
‘We?’ said Charlie.
‘We,’ repeated Argetlám. ‘It’s all your own fault for not looking after the book. I also may need your help.’
‘When?’ asked Charlie.
‘Now of course,’ said the wizard, matter-of-factly. ‘Get yourself a warm coat, you’ll need it there and don’t forget the hazel wand.’ Dutifully, Charlie extracted his warmest fleece from the wardrobe, put it on, retrieved his wand from under the floorboards, pushed it into his belt and stood in front of the wizard, patiently waiting for further orders. Argetlám, nodding approvingly, wrapped himself in his huge cloak. ‘And remember,’ continued the wizard, very, very seriously. ‘We’re about to enter the most dangerous place in the whole universe. A place where you can trust nothing and nobody, a place where evil lurks around every corner, a place where even the smallest mistake could turn our quest into instant disaster!’
THEY ENTER THE DARKLANDS
Are we there?’ asked Charlie as they materialised.
‘Don’t you recognise where we are?’ returned Argetlám.
Charlie studied his surroundings. ‘Of course, it’s my local church.’
‘Indeed it is,’ agreed the wizard.
‘But I thought we were entering The Darklands,’ said Charlie, sounding disappointed. ‘This place is the very opposite of evil.’
‘Exactly, but we can only enter the Underworld through certain, ancient, portals,’ said Argetlám. ‘The one nearest your home is here, in your parish church. That’s why the old ones built churches in such places, so that the comings and goings of the Darklanders could be watched and monitored by the sentinels.’
‘But who does the monitoring?’ asked Charlie. ‘Who are the sentinels?’
They were standing in the chancel and as Charlie asked the question, Argetlám glanced upwards, above the altar and the tracery window of the east wall into the small, carved face of an extremely strange looking man. ‘What’s that?’ asked Charlie, who despite having been in the church many, many times, had never noticed the carving before.
‘It’s a Green Man,’ said Argetlám. ‘Although pagan in origin, many medieval churches have them. The carved face of a man, with fruit and foliage growing out of his mouth, represents the spirit of the Greenwood. The ancients used it as a symbol of re-birth, of hope and ongoing fertility and plenty. Also, because Green Men are associated with good and wholesome things, they’re nearly always friends of those who follow the way of the Light.’
‘But it’s only a carving,’ objected Charlie. ‘How can a carving act as a sentinel?’
Argetlám chuckled and looked back at the figure. ‘Green Man, this is Argetlám, can you hear me?’
Immediately, the carved face began to change colour, change until it was a bright, woodland green; then the figure’s dark eyes stared down at them. ‘Argetlám,’ it began, in low, drawling voice. ‘I fear that you’re a little late – wizard.’
‘They’ve passed through already?’ asked Argetlám.
‘Some time ago, a goblin and a small, human child.’
Argetlám nodded, grimly. ‘Did you hear anything, as they passed through the portal?’
‘The child was weeping, crying for her mother I think. She kept apologising to the wicked one, desperately promising not to say anything; but he only laughed.’
‘Thank you,’ said Argetlám, ‘there’s likely to be much unrest amongst the Darklanders in the next few days. Please be vigilant.’
Now the Green Man chuckled. ‘I always am, wizard, but is that all you wish to know from me?’
‘When did the goblin first arrive?’ asked Argetlám.
‘Some few days ago, in the guise of a cat, I tried to contact you but without success,’ replied the sentinel.
Argetlám sighed. ‘I’m sorry, that was my fault, I was taking a holiday, the first I’ve had for centuries.’
‘You have a human with you I see,’ said the Green Man.
‘He’s the cousin of the kidnapped child, we go into The Darklands to rescue her and return with my books. One last thing,’ continued Argetlám, ‘have my colleagues arrived?’
‘An hour ago, they told me to tell you that they wait on the Dark Side. Goodbye and good luck, wizard, I fear you’ll need it. I hear Nemetona grows ever stronger.’
‘Goodbye and thank you,’ said Argetlám. As the green colour of the carving faded, once again to the colour of aged oak, the wizard began to move towards the rear of the altar.
‘Colleagues? said Charlie.
‘We may well need some assistance,’ said Argetlám. ‘I’ll introduce you when we’ve slipped through the portal. Now are you ready for the adventure to really begin?’ Charlie, although secretly terrified, nodded. ‘Then follow me.’ With that, the wizard disappeared, literally, into the east wall of the ancient church. Charlie closed his eyes, took a deep breath, muttered something under his breath and followed him.
‘You took your time, old man.’ Charlie opened his eyes to find he was looking into the face of a very small, extremely tubby, middle-aged man.
‘Who are you?’ asked Charlie, noting that the newcomer was dressed in a very similar hat and costume to that of Argetlám. The only difference being that, instead of a beard, this wizard sported an old-fashioned, rather silly looking, handlebar moustache.
‘I’m Bregon,’ he replied, indignantly. ‘Apprentice wizard and indentured to none other than the great archwizard himself – Argetlám.’
‘Indentured?’ said Charlie.
‘An indenture is a written contract binding a person to work, in training, to a master over a given length of time, usually seven or eight years.’
‘How long have you been indentured?’ asked Charlie.
Bregon thought about the question. ‘Just over five hundred.’
‘Days?’ asked Charlie.
‘Years,’ replied Bregon, grimacing. ‘You see, I never mastered some of the more difficult twiddly-bits. But I’m very bright, just a little dyslexic.’
Charlie declined to ask what Bregon meant by ‘twiddly-bits’ and instead asked: ‘Are you human?’
‘Was,’ replied the apprentice. ‘Like most members of my chosen calling, I became immortal many centuries ago. Apart from a brief period of mortality during World War Two, I’ve been immortal ever since.’
‘What did you do during World War Two?’ asked Charlie.
Bregon began to play with his handlebar moustache. ‘Why, I was a Spitfire pilot of course, old chap. Flying for the side of the Light against the Dark forces of the Left.’
‘You flew Spitfires?’ said Charlie, suddenly impressed.
‘Of course,’ replied Bregon.
‘In the Battle of Britain?’
‘I most certainly did,’ said the apprentice, proudly.
‘Then you’re a real hero,’ said Charlie.
‘Well thank you,’ said Bregon. ‘I think you and I will get on very well.’
Charlie looked around for Argetlám. He found the wizard talking to the strangest creature he had ever seen. ‘Allow me to introduce Darawan,’ said Argetlám, turning to Charlie and smiling. ‘He’s an elf, from the Great Forest of the North. He’s also a truly excellent bowman.’
Disbelievingly, Charlie looked down at the seventy centimetre high elf. Darawan had shoulder-length black hair that, swept back at the sides and tied in a ponytail, revealed ears that were as pointed as the heads of the numerous arrows he carried in a quiver on his back. His clothing consisted of brown, gold-buckled shoes, green tights, a hooded brown shirt, leather jacket and a bicorn hat, decorated with long, red feathers.
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