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humour you, Hargill, but I will not speak a Ruilk in a foreign tongue. Use the pebble to listen to what I say, if you do not trust me.”
    Hargill only shook his head and beckoned with his finger. Varkon popped the Lingiun pebble from his mouth with a cheeky grin and handed it over. Without hesitation Hargill passed the befouled object through his own lips, but he visibly retched at its taste; it appeared Varkon’s saliva had all the textures and pleasantries of bile.
    “W ak-riwa Ruilk kar baVi. Vaz gurak haVa dzagara jurii Varor fanza ,” Varkon intoned dramatically. Hargill nodded and slipped the stone back to Varkon.
    “It is done. I shall be the boy’s guide and protector to Ithrim, where my Ruilk shall be fulfilled, and then I will then go wherever I please.”
    Hargill jammed up the latch on Varkon’s cage and stepped a distance backwards. “Do not fail the boy.” Then he shifted the grip on his weapon and strode away with mighty purpose, bidding Tyler to follow.
    They came to a stop at the back of the stage. In normal circumstances Tyler would have been petrified at standing in such close proximity to an eight-foot, murderous beast, but the events of the night had numbed his senses. He no longer cared. His hair hung in front of his eyes, and his face was filled with hurt and bitterness.
    A scream pierced the frigid night. It came from right outside the hall.
    “ Fight ! Hold them off. Hargill is inside with Avalon !” thundered a desperate voice.
    “Weaver!” Hargill smiled without humour. “So the old man has pulled through, right at the last. Tyler, we must hurry.” With that Hargill fell to his knees at Tyler’s feet, who felt far more alive now that the sounds of death were so near. “Tyler, do you trust me?” he asked. Hargill’s sandy hair was plastered against his brow with sweat, and the orange flicker from the burning village flamed a sickly hue on his cheeks. However, through the smog and dirt, the same, familiar face shone through.
    “Yes.”
    A shriek that might well have come from the depths of hell sounded from outside. Tyler covered his ears and a glass on the table visibly cracked to the pitch.
    “What I am about to do is necessary for the preservation of order. If you accept, you will be changed forever – and not necessarily for the better. The rest of your days will be one of fleeing from what you do not understand and discovering old paths rarely trodden. It might be a tortured life, Tyler, a desperate and lonely one. Do you accept this fate?”
    Tyler did not have the faintest idea of what Hargill was talking about. How could he become lonelier than he already felt? He was tired of games. “I trust you,” he repeated. “Yes.”
    “I’m sorry,” Hargill whispered, and he could not look Tyler in the eyes. “I do not have a choice. Now has to be the time.”
    Tyler felt himself sway. Perhaps he had lost a little more blood than he had thought. Hargill fumbled under the fur lining at his neck and brought forth a silver chain. An oddly smooth rock the size of bluebird egg was clamped to it. Had Hargill always worn this, secretly concealed beneath his clothing?
    “Your hand,” said Hargill.
    For some reason Tyler glanced at Varkon, who was watching on as impassively as a statue, and then he sighed and raised his hand. Hargill brought the strange stone above Tyler’s trembling palm, gripping it gently between his stubby fingers. Am I dreaming ? thought Tyler, None of this feels real .
    Hargill took a deep breath, and then he spoke in trembling voice.
    Fair Avalon, I call thee now; thy hour has arr ived.
    For all around had rotted; the light has almost died.
    Youth waits only for your blessing, the gift you freely gave.
    A spider’s web shall bridge the worlds, and hope shall be re made.
    Brilliant silver letters burnt across the stone. Suddenly Hargill twisted it with a neat flick, and it broke cleanly in half. A tiny black spider tumbled out of its hollowed interior and