The town of Elmstead was a finer place by far than the little village of Tresham. Well built timber frame houses with tiled roofs and whitewashed walls lined its streets in neat rows, while here there were a few shops and businesses, and a fine marketplace occupied the main square. Just off this was a spacious tavern, and next door to that there was a modestly appointed inn. Also near the marketplace was the Bishop’s granary. Even under normal circumstances it would have been kept locked under the watch of the constables, but these days it was thoroughly fortified, its wide doors cordoned off by overturned wagons and the associated yard bustling with soldiers wearing the scarlet and black livery of Gurth.

Just now a horseman was passing by the granary, and several of the soldiers straightened when the saw him and touched their brows defferentially. The horseman nodded curtly in turn, and proceeded on his way. The horseman stopped at the inn, where more liveried guards stood at the door. All off them saluted the rider respectfully while two of them quickly stepped forward to take his horse as the rider dismounted and entered the inn, where he was met by an officer.

“My Lord Gurth, you have a visitor from Tresham.”

“Good. His report is long overdue. Have him brought up to my chamber.”

The officer bowed in response as Gurth mounted the stairs of the inn. The rooms were all quite small, and Gurth had simply turned out the innkeeper and occupied his own apartments, which were spacious enough to serve Gurth’s purposes, if only barely so. The main room was strewn with Gurth’s accoutrements, including many books and scrolls and variety of weird and sinister looking artifacts of occult appearance.

Gurth made his way to a central table, on which there was set an object covered in a velvet cloth. Gurth pulled the cloth away to reveal a large block of iridescent black stone about a foot high, with its surface marred and gouged as if many flakes had been broken from it. As Gurth breathed upon it a faint glow seemed to emanate from inside the stone, shifting between unwholesome colors like a dying chameleon. In a moment a face appeared amidst the mists of color, a horrible reptilian countenance. A voice now arose from the stone, smooth and hissing and slightly muffled, like one speaking through a wafer thin membrane of rock.

“I have good news, my friend. Five hundred Zard will be crossing the border in the next few days, and a thousand more will follow soon after. And I have spoken with the Black Speakers, and they have been in dialogue with the Drixi.”

“Drixi? What do I want with Drixi?”

“Soldiers, that’s what. That’s what you’ve been asking for, isn’t it? The Drixi are furious that the Alva have run circles around their little enchantments and enabled humans to infiltrate their country. The Speakers had to promise them that our business will not spill over into their territory again. Furthermore, the Speakers also promised the Drixi that if they support us in Linster now they will be left alone in the future and will be kept out of the rest of the war when it finally comes.”

“And the Drixi believe that?”

“It doesn’t matter whether they believe it or not. They agreed to it and their troops are already on their way to you. Three hundred Wind Helms are flying to Linster at this moment, and should be there within a fortnight. The Black Speakers are determined that you shall get everything you need to retain your position in Linster.”

“I’m glad The Speakers appreciate the importance of the services which I render to them.”

“I assure you they do. Things are developing quickly. We cannot possibly allow anything to disrupt the supply of slaves at this juncture.”

“Not if the Speakers hope to be able to launch a full scale offensive any time in the next ten years.”

“Mind your tongue, my friend. We should still be discreet even amongst ourselves. Besides, if such a thing were to occur it will be much sooner than that, no matter what happens. What is your latest report regarding the peasant rebellion?”

“It will be suppressed soon. I am on my way to Larchester to speak with the Bishop there. The rebellion is centered in his lands. It shouldn’t be too difficult to pressure him into committing troops to put it down, particularly once the king becomes involved. In a few days there will be nothing left of the rebels.”

“That’s good news indeed. I hope the matter is resolved as easily as you imagine. You must solidify your hold on the kingdom as soon as possible, you cannot afford any distractions.”

“What about the girl? I assume the Speakers haven’t caught her yet?”

“The Speakers are confident that she shall soon be brought to earth, but in the meanwhile you must take every precaution to ensure that Linster remains bound to the empire. We shall speak again soon.”

With that, the image in the stone disappeared as the mist of colors faded away.

There was a knock at the door. Gurth covered up the black stone again.

“Enter.”

The door opened, and one of Gurth’s officers stood outside.

“Tom Oates is here to see you, My Lord.”

Gurth scowled.

“Send the boy in.”

The officer made way for a skinny, redheaded lad. Tom Oates was more near twelve than thirteen, and he fidgeted and shuffled uncomfortably in Gurth’s presence.

Gurth looked silently at Tom, letting his gaze sink into the boy for a moment before he spoke.

“Come here, boy.”

Gurth sat down on a chair and took the lad’s hand as he approached. Gurth looked him in the eye.

“Why have you failed me again, Tom?”

The boy sniffed, the nascent man inside him fighting to hold back the child’s tears which were beginning fill his eyes.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been trying for days to get away, but they make me do things for them all the time and if I went away for long I would be found out right away, I just know it!”

“Why didn’t you use your shard?”

“I’m sorry, I lost it. I didn’t mean to, I tried to find it, but I couldn’t.”

“You lost it!”

Gurth almost bellowed as his hand snapped out of nowhere and slapped the boy across the face.

Tears were now pouring liberally down the boy’s cheeks, and suddenly Gurth’s manner changed, and he held the boy’s hand tenderly now.

“Tom, my boy. You have a terribly important task. I know you can do it. Don’t make me doubt my faith in you again.”

Gurth then arose and stepped over the table bearing the black stone. Beside it there was a smaller stone of smooth grey, and cupping it in his hand Gurth struck it against the black stone several times until a black shard broke off, leaving the yet another gouge in the body of the larger stone. Gurth scowled briefly at his ever diminishing tool before turning again to Tom and resuming his gentle tones.

“Here is another shard, Tom. Don’t lose it this time, and be careful not to be caught using it.”

Gurth looked to the officer still standing in the door.

“Send the boy back to the village.”

The officer acknowledged and led Tom out of the room. Gurth then rummaged about among some parchments for a few moments, and then stepped out of the room himself.

For the moment, the room was empty.

Then suddenly, as if from nowhere, a Fox crept out from behind a pile of bric a brac and into the middle of the room.

Bartholomew’s ears twitched and his nose quivered as his senses were all but overwhelmed. He could smell magic everywhere around him. In the great black stone, in the books and scrolls and the many other arcane objects which were scattered about. Everywhere, everywhere magic! The Magic of the Bird had enthralled him many days ago. But this, this was more magic than he’d ever smelled before!

The Fox turned round and round on the floor, unable to decide what to smell next. He finally lighted upon a half open volume cast carelessly in the corner, and gleefully Bartholomew pounced on it and began pouring over the leaves. His eyes widened and his nostrils flared as he began to read, turning one leaf over another faster and faster as he picked up little bits of knowledge from a single glance.

Suddenly, the Fox felt a funny sort of tug at his tail. He looked back over his shoulder, and nearly barked with excitement as he did so.

There, right beside the first one, was a second tail growing out of his body.

Bartholomew leaped into the air with joy and began running around in circles as he looked as his new pair of tails. He was only just shy of a hundred years old, but already he had become wise enough to have grown another tail! The Fox turned again to the book before him, a steel resolve taking over his heart. Here before him was enough knowledge to give him power and wisdom beyond anything he’d ever imagined. He would possess Gurth’s book. He would possess all of Gurths books. Not now, not yet. But soon. Soon, when Gurth was defeated, he, Bartholomew would take of all of Gurth’s treasure for himself.

The Fox was about to turn his attention back to the book which was open before him when a noise from outside the door told him that Gurth would soon be returning. The Fox dove into hiding and vanished from sight like a wisp. A moment later Gurth stepped back into the room, and by then the Fox was long gone.

The day passed, and night had fallen. But the village of Tresham was alive and awake, with fires set at intervals across the green as men continued to bustle to and fro. In one corner of the green a man who was a simple farmer a few days ago now stood awkwardly with an iron shod flail, trying to imitate the soldierly stances he’d been taught earlier in the day. Not far from him were a group of farmers carousing together over free flowing ale, having already forgotten everything they’d learned for the last several days. From the smithy came the ringing of hammers as more and more makeshift weapons were being turned out as fast as the tiny smithy could manage.

In a corner behind the smithy, the dancing red light of the fires reflecting across the white stucco of the surrounding buildings, Tom Oates sat curled up miserably. Gripped tightly in one hand was a small shard of black stone.

Tom looked into the shiny blackness of the stone in his hand. In its surface he could almost imagine that he could see the reflection of Watt, the farmhand. Tom had hated Watt, almost as much as he hated the senile old miller Mortimer himself. Ever since he’d been taken in at the mill they’d both treated Tom like a servant and a child. Well, that wasn’t going to happen anymore. Mortimer would soon be dead, just as soon as Gurth came with his soldiers to kill him, along with Hae-jin and everybody else.

And of course, Watt was already dead.

Tom felt a terrifying thrill go through him as remembered the night he’d killed Watt. Mortimer was an old dunce, but Rob Sykes was clever. And when Joan left and didn’t come back they would have realized that someone had betrayed them and Tom would have been found out for sure. Someone else had to take the blame, and that someone else had been Watt. As Gurth said, all creatures prey on other creatures, and from now on Tom was going to be the one that preyed on others. It’s what Gurth would want him to do. And besides, Tom rather enjoyed it.

Suddenly, he realized that the shard in his hand was gone. Had he dropped it? No, no he couldn’t have! Not again! Frantically he cast about him.

“Ahem. Were you looking for this, Tom?”

Tom tore his eyes away from the ground and looked up. There before him was the Fox, sitting primly on the grass with Tom’s shard at his feet.

Tom was about to lunge for the shard when the Fox calmly raised a paw, and Tom stopped dead in his tracks.

“Aha, no you don’t. I think I shall take care of this trinket for now. You seem to have a habit of losing things.”

Suddenly from behind the Fox a pair of tails flicked out, catching up the stone and tossing it spinning into the air before catching it again. The instant the stone touched the tails again it melted away like water and was absorbed into the Fox’s fur.

The Fox winked at Tom.

“I’ll carry the shard from now on. You just behave yourself, and we’ll keep it our little secret, shall we?”

With that, the Fox darted off into the darkness as a faint, canine laugh floated on the air behind him. And Tom Oates despaired.

The Fox trotted merrily through the shadows towards the manor house. On a sudden thought he looked back at his two tails. They were beautiful to behold together, but for the moment it would be better if there were only one to be seen. There was no need to provoke questions. The Fox thought for a moment, and then tried pressing his tails together, and suddenly where there were once two tails there now seemed to be only one. There, that should do it. With a merry laugh, the Fox continued to the manor house, as all around him the preparations for war continued on through the night.