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sat up on the peaked roof, and mended holes in the straw, they talked and joked – not dissimilar to any other father and his son. Taem could see Elena in the field yelling at Macen for the next pass of the leather ball, as Piper the sheepdog scampered between them. Hirandar sat in her favourite rocking chair outside the kitchen door, watching the youngsters having a good time. Sera was in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches to their dinner of roast pheasant and vegetables. Taem caught the delicious smell of roasted fowl as it rose up on the breeze. His stomach rumbled as he inhaled a sweet scent, and he realised there was apple pie for dessert.
    From his elevated position, Taem appreciated the view of the dusky evening over the farmland, and the plains stretching up to the far off forest. He cherished the glow of warmth emanating from the farmhouse. Taem knew he was fortunate to call such a place home. And, he knew it might be some time until he would again look over the sleepy farm.
     
    Later that evening, Taem examined one of the maps on the wall of the sitting room, tracing the route to Stheeman’s Hill. He felt the warmth of the fire on his back, crackling in the fireplace. Ever since Taem had been a boy, he had gazed in awe at the outlandish maps, the old tapestries and the paintings of legend that decked the sitting room’s walls. They always caught his imagination, filling him with the promise of adventure.
    Aunt Sera rested in a comfortable armchair close to the fire, with her feet up on a footstool. The farmhouse cats purred by her side, whilst Sera concentrated on her knitting. Macen lounged across one of the luxurious sofas – an expensive import from Grantle – reading a storybook called The Travels of Jevan Deshlan, whilst Elena and Edar were out helping Logan bring the horses in to stable for the night.
    Hirandar approached Taem as he was looking at the map.
    ‘Planning out the route?’ The Wizard said.
    ‘Yes,’ Taem turned to the old woman, ‘although it does seem straightforward’.
    ‘Ah, but it pays to be careful,’ Hirandar nodded. ‘You never know what may happen on route. Have you packed everything you need?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Good,’ Hirandar smiled. ‘There is something I want to give you before we leave.’ The Wizard bade Taem follow her out into the oak-panelled hall.
    They went past the stairs that led up to an overhanging balcony, and under a sweeping gold chandelier that held enough candles to light a banqueting hall, let alone a modest hallway. The Wizard led Taem under the balcony and down the corridor. On their right they passed the reinforced door to the armoury, which had been kept locked when Taem and his siblings had been younger, but was now as open as the rest of the farmhouse. At the end of the corridor they reached the door to the library, and the Wizard strode into her private domain.
    In complete contrast to the rest of the farmhouse, the library was a jumbled mess. Bookcases overloaded with books, from floor to ceiling, hid two of the walls. The other two walls were packed with shelves and cupboards that held all manner of materials and strange-looking artefacts. Taem’s bewildered eyes could never quite take in the countless interesting tokens that filled the library. On the desk in the middle of the room lay open books, scrolls and pieces of parchment, and the workbench was covered in apparatus set up for magical investigations and tests. With a swish of Hirandar’s hand, flames sprung to life from various candles and lit up the dark room.
    ‘I really should tidy up in here,’ the Wizard lifted some ancient parchment and started to rifle through the scattered items on her workbench.
    ‘A-ha!’ Hirandar said triumphantly. ‘Here it is.’ The Wizard held up a smooth round stone, suspended from a piece of black cord. The stone glowed blue in the candlelight as the Wizard let it dangle from her hand. Taem discerned a rune engraved in the stone, it