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stone axes. I saw Argentes go into the central pyramid and never come out too. I was the only one of our party as did, and I only managed it by fleeing into the jungle and throwing away all my gear. It took me months to find my way back to Skeggi.’
    ‘I am surprised your map is so accurate then,’ said Teclis.
    Leiber spat on the ground but he spoke with the air of a man who does not wish to provoke an argument, ‘I am too, your honour. I did my best to remember landmarks and that stream stayed in my mind. I followed it all the way to the coast from that fork, and we can follow it back if you will stick with me.’
    ‘We’ve stuck with you through the swamps and the pygmy attacks and the giant bats and the fevers. I see no reason to stop doing so now, when you say success is so near,’ said Teclis.
    ‘I am very grateful for that, your highness. Now, perhaps we can stop yakking and start walking. We need to get moving if we are ever going to find that treasure and Herr Argentes’s sword that you have spent so long looking for.’
    Somewhere far off, something roared. Tyrion wondered if it was coming their way. This did not sound as large as the stegadon, but there was something about the sound that suggested words or at least some form of communication. It was answered from across the jungle. He wondered if it had anything to do with their presence. He supposed he would find out soon enough.

Chapter Two
    The rain pattered down lightly on the canopy of leaves, dripping down to turn the track to mud. The birds were subdued and the light was dim. In some ways it felt like they were walking under the greenish surface of the sea. Tyrion’s legs were spattered with runny earth and it was work just to lift them from the sucking, squelching path.
    Teclis pushed on through the jungle following Leiber. He had no trouble with the path. His feet seemed to float above it and he left only the faintest imprint in its surface. Such were the benefits of magic, Tyrion thought sourly. He walked beside his brother, ready to intervene if there was an attack. Teclis might be a powerful magician but his reflexes were nothing like as quick. A dagger in the back kills the mightiest mage was a proverb in which Tyrion had implicit faith.
    He fought to contain his own excitement. After decades of searching it seemed like the end of their quest was finally in sight. They had finally tracked down Sunfang. Or rather his brother had.
    Teclis had spent years in the library at Hoeth searching through collections of obscure manuscripts for some clues as to the whereabouts of Aenarion’s lost blade, the legendary weapon forged for him by the Archmage Caledor amid the volcanic fires of Vaul’s Anvil, a companion piece to the armour the mage had made for the first Phoenix King.
    Aenarion had put the blade aside once he had taken up the Sword of Khaine and its burden of damnation and ultimate power. He had given it to Furion, one of his most trusted lieutenants who had in turn passed it on to his descendants.
    The Witch King of Naggaroth, with his customary hunger for all the possessions of his father, had coveted the weapon. Furion’s family had refused him it. Over the course of time, agents of the Witch King had made many attempts to acquire the blade, and always failed.
    In the end, Nathanis, the last descendant of Furion had sailed for the Old World on a trading trip. He had arrived there but never returned with his ship. There were tales of an elven adventurer fighting in the lands of the Empire armed with a magical sword that shot bolts of flame. He had visited the fabled forest of the wood elves and fought alongside wardancers and backwoods archers, eventually making his way down to Tilea and the Border Princes and on to Estonia. The elf had died there but his sword had been taken up by a human, or so the tales told. It had passed from father to son down the fast, fleeting generations that humans experienced.
    The power of the blade had made