The iron-bound door to the keep stood open. No guard challenged them as they entered. The way led to a long main hall. All was dim as the only light shone in through high slit windows. No torches or braziers burned. Against the far wall a woman in glowing white robes waited. She was seated upon a tall-backed chair, or throne, of rough-carved wood.

As they neared, Jute realized that the long snowy robes spread out around her in ragged tag-ends actually reached all the way to the sides of the long hall. Disturbingly, as he watched, these banners seemed to twist and writhe as if possessing a life of their own. He hastily pulled his gaze away.

The woman smiled and motioned them onward. Her hair was iron-grey and hung about her in long swaths that also spread out upon the stone flags.

Tyvar approached and knelt upon one knee. Lady Orosenn bowed deeply. Jute hastened to follow suit.

‘Lady Mist,’ Tyvar began, ‘we thank you for this audience. I am Commander Gendarian, Tyvar Gendarian, of the Blue Shields. With me are Captain Jute, and Lady Orosenn. May we take this opportunity to beg for supplies and timber to repair our vessels, as the passage here has been a most trying one.’

‘Greetings, travellers,’ the sorceress answered. ‘I extend to you the protection and security of residency here in the settlement of Mist.’

Residency? Jute cast an uneasy glance to Lady Orosenn. The tall woman was shaking her head, her expression one of sad displeasure. Even Tyvar glanced back to share a rather stunned look. ‘I’m sorry, m’lady, but I’m not certain I understand …’ he offered, ever diplomatic.

Lady Mist opened her arms. ‘I should have thought my meaning was plain. You are now my subjects. You will surrender your weapons and armour and join the rest of the men and women here tilling the soil and building a settlement. You have until tomorrow to comply.’

Tyvar cocked his head, as if confronted by something bizarre. ‘And if we do not?’

The sorceress did not answer. She merely returned her arms to the throne’s thick armrests. The silence dragged on and Jute almost turned to whisper to Lady Orosenn, but something caught his eye down upon the stone flags and he flinched instead: scarves of mist now coiled about Tyvar’s feet and even as Jute watched they began writhing up his legs like winding sheets.

Tyvar hissed, sensing something, and glanced down to bat at his legs. The ropes cinched tight and he fell to the floor in a clatter of armour. His helmet skittered off into the dark.

‘Sorceress!’ Lady Orosenn suddenly called out, commandingly.

The ropes of mist fell away and dispersed like smoke. Tyvar was on his feet in one quick leap. A gauntleted hand went to the long grip of his greatsword. Lady Orosenn reached out to gently touch the man’s shoulder and he immediately released the weapon.