D’Averc glanced about the strange room, at the constantly changing patterns of light, at the peculiar walls, and the glowing shadows now high above and seemingly looking on. “It’s stalemate, Hawkmoon,” he murmured. “We can get no further help from the glowing shadows. Evidently they are powerless to take a part in human affairs.”

“If you’d release the boy, I’d consider letting you leave Dnark unharmed,” Hawkmoon said.

Shenegar Trott laughed. “Indeed? And you would chase an army from the city, you two?”

“We are not without allies,” Hawkmoon reminded him.

“Possibly. But I suggest you lay down your own swords and let me up to the Runestaff there. When I have that, you may have the boy.”

“Alive?”

“Alive.”

“How can we trust Shenegar Trott of all men?” D’Averc said. “He will kill the boy and then dispose of us. It is not the way of the nobles of Granbretan to keep their word.”

“If only we had some guarantee,” whispered Hawkmoon desperately.

At that moment a familiar voice spoke from behind them and they turned in surprise.

“You have no choice but to release the child, Shenegar Trott!” The voice boomed from within a helm of jet and gold.

“Aye, my brother speaks the truth …” From the other side of the dais Orland Fank now emerged, his gigantic war-axe on his leather-clad shoulder.

“How did you get here?” Hawkmoon asked in astonishment.

“I might ask the same,” grinned Fank. “At least you now have friends with whom to debate this dilemma.”

Chapter Ten

Spirit of The Runestaff

SHENEGAR TROTT, COUNT of Sussex, chuckled again and shook his head. “Well, there are now four of you, but it does not alter the situation a scrap. I have thousands at my back. I have the boy. You will kindly step aside, gentlemen, while I take the Runestaff for my own.”

Orland Fank’s rawboned face split in a huge grin, while the Warrior in Jet and Gold merely shifted his armoured feet a little. Hawkmoon and D’Averc look questioningly at them. “I think there is a weakness in your argument, my friend,” said Orland Fank.

“Oh, no sirthere is none.” Shenegar Trott began to move forward.

“AyeI’d say that there was.”

Trott paused. “What is it, then?”

“You are assuming you can hold yon boy, are you not?”

“I could kill him before you could take him.”

“Ayebut you’re assuming the child has no means of escaping from you, are you not?”

“He can’t wriggle free!” Shenegar Trott held the child up by the slack of his garments and began to laugh loudly. “See!”

And then the Granbretanian yelled in astonishment as the boy seemed to flow from his grasp, streaking out

across the hall in a long strip of light, his features still visible but oddly elongated. The music swelled in the hall and the odour increased.