"Well, it certainly is a very tall tower," McKenzie remarked to himself as he approached the Archmagisterial Palace. It was wider at the base than it seemed from the air, but the intricate carvings went all the way down: kids were daring each other to see how high they could climb it. They weren't the only ones around, either: the base of the tower stood in a large square that was rammed to the gunwhales with a bustling market.

They had no problem with you wandering in at the bottom level, it seemed - a pair of golden doors stood wide open, through which anyone seemed free to pass.

"I feel like I'm on my way to see the wizard of fucking Oz," McKenzie muttered under his breath. Imminently meeting with the three girls again had not put him in a particularly good mood, but just to the side of the gates he saw something that brightened him up a little.

"Khatafri!" He addressed the slaver who, with five various others, was strapped into stocks below a sign that read ‘slave-takers be ye warned’. The word 'SLAVER' had been branded onto his forehead - the burn was still fresh and raw. For a copper coin, one could purchase a bucket of rotting fruit and vegetables to hurl at the men. Khatafri looked up with fear, resentment and anger in his eyes.

"You!" He croaked.

McKenzie grinned, and dug a small silver coin out of his pocket. "Oi! Kids!" He shouted to a bevy of scruffy children who were looking on. "Have a go on me."

McKenzie gave the coin to the stallholder, who distributed buckets to all of the savagely delighted kids. "Mostly at him." McKenzie pointed at Khatafri, then gave the Sefaran a jaunty salute before turning his back and entering The Tower.

It was big inside, too - a large, open space, perhaps twenty metres high, interrupted only by the occasional load-bearing column. There were lots of people milling around looking at statues, tapestries, fire-breathers, dancing bears, jugglers, acrobats, magicians and a host of other attractions. McKenzie ignored it all and walked straight to the far end, where he could see twin flights of very wide stairs curving up around the walls toward to next level. They were guarded by decorative but solid-looking iron gates and some serious looking guys in black and tan armour - admission appeared to be via a guy at a desk just behind said gates. There was a queue - McKenzie, being British, naturally joined it, and after a few minutes arrived at the front. More people were turned away than admitted, he noted.

"Welcome-to-Her-Wisdom's-palace-name-and-reason-for-visit?" Desk Guy rattled off without much enthusiasm.

"McKenzie," McKenzie said, leaning away from the bars: he could almost see the sparks coming off them, they were so intensely charged with magical energy. "Need to see the Archmage, please mate."

"The next public audience is at full moon," Desk Guy said, after leafing through two sheets of parchment filled with names and not finding McKenzie's. "Next!"

"It's kinda urgent," McKenzie said, spurred on by the curse, which rejected his preferred response of 'fuck it, whatever, I tried'. "Three of my... friends are probably already upstairs, or have come and gone already. Two women and a troll, hard to not notice 'em, one is insanely hot, one's an elf and the other, well, she's a troll. Practically unmissable, in fact."

"It's always 'kind of urgent', sir," Desk guy said. "The next public audience is still your best bet, and only eight days hence. Next please!"

The guy's job was to stonewall persistent people - McKenzie didn't think it likely he was going to be able to talk his way in: and the curse wasn't letting him get away with an eight day wait. He looked at the bars, which went all the way up to the ceiling, the twenty-odd guards and the stairs. He had few options here. He could force the gate, but he didn't know what effect several million volts of magical va-va-voom would have when they shorted themselves out through him. He could try and pull some bars apart - same risk. He might be fine, but the tower and anyone nearby might not be.

McKenzie suppressed a grin. "I'll be back," he said.

McKenzie turned and looked round the chamber: there, that would do - a statue of a man on a horse holding a sword. He walked over to it.

"You all might want to move," he advised the people looking at the statue, then picked it up and hoisted it onto his shoulder, to gasps of amazement and some scattered applause from people who took this for a showman's trick.

McKenzie put it down almost straight away - the statue was a hollow bronze cast, not heavy enough for what he had in mind. He eyed up the plinth it had stood on.

"Hmm," he mused. The crowd had, by now, started to twig that this was entirely off-script, and backed away hastily as McKenzie lifted the plinth into the air and proceeded purposefully towards the gates. The guards had noticed, too, but their reaction was different.

They levelled crossbows as McKenzie approached. "Drop it!" The sergeant in charge barked.

The crowd were certainly listening - the chamber emptied through numerous exits like particularly terrified water draining from a colander.

“Happy to – just as soon as the Archmage asks me. Need to see her. It's about a thing,” McKenzie replied.

"Drop it now. This is your last warning!" The sergeant wasn't in the mood for talking things over, it seemed.

McKenzie grinned. "You're going to want to be standing away from the gates, guys," he said.

His answer was the immediate discharge of twenty-odd crossbows, all of which were well aimed and all of which hit him, but McKenzie was expecting it and ignored the pain: having a two-ton block of stone as ballast also helped keep him on his feet against the not-inconsiderable shove to the chest that this represented.

"Ouch," he said, and then made ready to heft the rock.

"Aim for his head!" One of the guards called.

"Every. Fucking. Time," McKenzie sighed.

"Hold!" A man's voice shouted. "You want to see the Archmage?"

McKenzie lowered the block and peered round it - he was being addressed by a man in white robes stood in front of the gates. He hadn't been there a few seconds earlier, and McKenzie could feel the man's magical ability. It wasn't as intense as the gates, and far less prevalent than Danandra's, but it was strong nonetheless.

"Yeah. In what way was I unclear about that?" McKenzie replied sarcastically.

The man nodded. "That can be arranged, for a man of your abilities - if you are willing to discuss the possibility of performing a minor service for Melindron, then I can guarantee you an audience with Her Wisdom."

"Okay," McKenzie said. "Start talking."

The man smiled. "This is not something that should be discussed where any fool may hear. Follow me."

McKenzie nodded. "Alright." He looked at the plinth. "Um, you want I should put this back?"

"I'm sure the hall's custodians would be relieved to be spared the work."

McKenzie shrugged, hefted the plinth back, and replaced the statue. Someone applauded, just to show that there's always one idiot incapable of telling when the world goes sideways. The man in white indicated that McKenzie should follow him - McKenzie did so.

He was younger than he seemed, McKenzie decided as he followed the man - seemingly towards a blank section of wall. His hair was a dark brown, and he was narrow across the shoulders.

The man reached into his robes and produced a dagger - in a very non-threatening way, McKenzie noted. He tapped it's hilt on the wall three times, and, between one heartbeat and the next, there was an open doorway in the wall. McKenzie felt the whisper of magic.

"My office," the young mage said, and indicated that McKenzie should enter.

It looked like an office inside, McKenzie had to admit - it was a small room with a desk and two plain wooden chairs, a window looking out over the city, and a bookcase stacked high with scrolls. There was a sword, a crossbow and a sack on the desk, but despite this the scene was entirely innocuous. McKenzie hadn't reached the ripe old age of - well, very old, however long it was - by being a total fool, though.

"After you," he said.

The man laughed softly once, entered, and seated himself at the desk.

McKenzie followed, and found himself standing in the middle of a dirt road, surrounded by abandoned buildings: he could smell the freshness of the sea, and hear it nearby, too. The man was seated at the desk in front of him. McKenzie looked over his shoulder: no doorway, no hall, no tower.

"You bastard," he said. "Have you got any idea how much hassle I had getting to your bloody tower?"

The man laughed in response. "The office wasn't real, but the deal is. Here is our proposal: listen carefully, your life may depend on this information. You stand in once-prosperous Karlsveld, on the Isle of Fjorn. Are you familiar with it?"

"No," McKenzie replied, looking around at the empty buildings. "Looks like a buyer's housing market."

"The Isle lies twenty miles off Melindron's northern coast. It has been abandoned these thirty years or more - taken over by a terrible pirate lord, who we know only as Malice. The people who lived here either left, were enslaved, or were eaten."

"Eaten?" McKenzie said.

"Eaten," The mage confirmed.

McKenzie stared at him.

"Malice is a troll - a very old and powerful troll-mage, strong in evil and magic," the mage said.

"Uh-huh," McKenzie said. "Hence the need for a cooperative double-hard bastard to kill him."

"I did not say we wanted him dead."

"You're about to," McKenzie predicted.

The mage nodded. "Our fleet is pre-occupied with other concerns, and Malice's depredations upon our shipping and northern towns can no longer be tolerated. If he were to be killed, one of his lieutenants would take his place: he numbers other trolls amongst his forces. If, however, such an example were to be made that-"

"Yeah yeah, eliminate with extreme prejudice, take out the organisation, leave the locals in charge again. Can do. What do I do when that's sorted?"

"You seem confident," the mage noted.

"That's because I am," McKenzie shrugged.

The mage laid the dagger on the desk, in it's sheath. "You need but strike this dagger thrice upon a solid, steady wall, and the return portal will appear: if the blade has been sheathed in Malice's heart."

"Gotta hand it to you, man: this is some well thought out scam," McKenzie said. "What's to stop me signing on with Malice's crew as an alternative way out of here, though?"

The mage shrugged. "Please yourself: I have a whole box of these, and idiots are not in short supply." He indicated the dagger. McKenzie wandered up to the desk and picked it up: it felt real enough.

"I'm betting you've got a few less than when you started," McKenzie said. "I'm not the first poor gullible twat to be offered this deal, am I?"

"Maybe not a total idiot," the man allowed. "You are correct."

"They tried and failed?" McKenzie asked, pocketing the dagger.

"They tried and died," the man said. "We assume so, anyway - either that or they came up with the same solution you just proposed."

"The general tone of this 'minor service' bein' what it is, I don't know if I blame 'em," McKenzie said, digging the spare rounds out of his bag. "Can you take this back to The Tower? I don't fancy schlepping it all over this fucking island."

The mage nodded.

"Ta. Well, Malice ain't here, so where is he?"

The mage pointed. "The capital, Knarsholm. About an hour's walk along the coast."

"See you in about an hour five minutes, then," McKenzie said, turning.

"You don't want the sword or the crossbow?" The mage asked.

"Nothin' gets past you, does it?" McKenzie said over his shoulder.

"There is food and water in the sack!" The mage called.

"So have a fucking picnic then!" Was McKenzie's response, as he disappeared around the corner of the building at the end of the street.

Fjorn was quite nice: McKenzie was following a clifftop path above a rocky coastline reminiscent of Devon or Cornwall, it was a crisp, sunny day - maybe a little on the cold side - seabirds cried and wheeled in the air above him, and there were only seven guys and one troll waiting for him on the path ahead. In the distance, McKenzie could see a sizeable settlement around a large natural harbour with five airships tied up behind a squat, weathered looking castle. The smallest, he noted, was brightly painted with colourful, flowery designs: either a recent prize, or winner of the whatever-year-this-was Most Ironically Decorated Pirate Vessel competition.

McKenzie's opponents seemed content to let him make all the tactical decisions: they waited in a loose group on the path ahead and did not attempt to fan out or flank him in any way. Three of the men held loaded crossbows, and all had swords except the troll, who was armed with a large mace. Each of them sported odds and ends of leather or chainmail armour and grim, set expressions.

"Morning," McKenzie said as he sauntered casually up. "Nice day for it. Are you this Malice bloke? I'm thinking not, you look more like your standard low-level hench-troll."

The troll was indeed nowhere near as big, scary or imposing as Leni - he towered over everyone else, of course, and held his mace easily enough, but for all of that there was something of the trainee about him.

"You are commanded," the troll said, "to surrender your weapons and throw yourself upon the mercy of Admiral Malice." His voice was deep and scary enough. Two of his men actually edged away from him - it must be a nervous business, being under the command of something that looked upon you as a convenient, tasty meal.

"Sorry, it’s a no," McKenzie said. "Tell you what, if you run now, I won't kill you. Don't say I didn't give you a chance."

The troll smirked. "I'll enjoy eating your dead and dismembered body," he said.

"I'll take that as a formal declaration of hostilities, then, shall I?" McKenzie said, and sprang forward.

This was the last thing any of the pirates had expected, so they didn't even fire their crossbows. McKenzie was in front of the troll before he could even raise his mace, and took advantage of this by snatching it out of the creature's hand and swinging it two handed with as much force as he could muster into it's previous owner's side.

McKenzie then proceeded to get a hands-on tutorial in just how tough a troll was. That blow, which would have stood a good chance of killing an elephant outright, merely sent the troll to the floor, clutching his side, but nothing more.

"Fuck!" McKenzie swore, the impact having had little less effect on him: his hands and arms ached from the force that had been transmitted back through the shaft.

He ducked his head as the troll's human allies attacked with swords: three swung for him at once, all landing blows. McKenzie winced, and responded by once again swinging the mace as hard as he could, but this time just generally.

The result was gratifyingly effective now there wasn't a troll in front of it - with a bone-crunching impact, the mace sent three men flying over the edge of the cliff, and one into the troll, which had just started to get up. He was knocked back down: if the man survived the first impact, he certainly didn't survive the second.

McKenzie felt a couple of crossbow impacts in his back, and then the jabbing force of someone hitting him with a sword. He swung the mace again, sending his assailant's shattered body over the cliff, but, unfortunately, he lost his grip on the mace's shaft and that went over too.

Still, five seconds in and only three opponents left wasn't such a bad result, even if one of them was a troll. The remaining pirates hung back for a moment, fear in their eyes.

"Guys, it'd be just peachy if I didn't have to kill anyone else today who ain't a troll. Do yourselves a favour: go lay low for a day or two and then see what life's like after I've killed this guy, his troll buddies and the end of level boss," McKenzie said. "By which I mean Malice, by the way."

"Fight, or I'll rip your fucking arms off!" The troll roared at them, getting to his feet again.

This might have been lacking as an example of motivational management, but it certainly stiffened their spines. The men attacked, swinging their swords. McKenzie ignored the blows and aimed a kick at his nearest opponent: the man was sent flying through the air with hardly less force than McKenzie had been able to manage with the mace, but in the opposite direction, landing in a crumpled heap about fifteen metres further inland. He had dropped his sword: McKenzie picked it up and swung wildly at the remaining man. It didn't so much penetrate his guard as completely smash it out of the way: he was sheared messily in two. McKenzie lost his footing and fell, and then the troll was on him.

Bereft of his mace, he came at McKenzie with a shortsword and teeth. He felt the sword smash into his collarbone with incredible force, and the troll's teeth closed around his arm and bit down hard.

McKenzie screamed out a heartfelt curse. He smashed the hilt of his sword into the back of the troll's head with crushing force - once, twice, three times, got his feet under the troll and shoved hard,

It was enough - with a roar of pain, the troll released his arm and flew through the air, landing with a thump, but immediately got to his feet.

So did McKenzie: he didn't want to repeat that experience. The troll roared again and charged, leading with the shortsword. McKenzie levelled his own sword and let the creature come.

Sometimes, just sometimes, McKenzie didn't take the direct approach. The troll had lots of momentum: McKenzie didn't think he'd be too good at stopping right now. He tensed, waited until the troll was almost on him, and then jumped.

The troll tried to swing his sword upwards, but McKenzie had timed it well: he was just out of reach. He stabbed down with his own sword, which penetrated the troll's improvised helmet, and thence it's skull, to a depth of about a foot. He let loose another roar, but this time of pain, not rage.

McKenzie landed and rolled. The troll staggered to a halt, grunting softly. Then he turned, fixed McKenzie with a baleful glare, and charged. Again. With a sword sticking out of his head.

"Fucking hell!" McKenzie had time to say, and then once again the troll was on him. McKenzie darted in under his clumsy swing, grabbed the troll's sword arm with his left arm, and punched him as hard as he could in the throat.

The troll croaked out an agonised curse, and tried to grab McKenzie with his free hand. McKenzie, in turn, grabbed the thing's wrist before it could do so, and then realised his mistake: the troll had a mouth over a foot wide, massive jaws with tusks, and, frankly, execrably bad breath. McKenzie had none of these things, or at least not when he remembered to brush his teeth.

The troll went for the obvious target: its jaws closed over McKenzie's neck. The pain as the troll tried to bite his head off was a thousand times worse than the bite to the shoulder. McKenzie would have screamed, had he been able to breathe.

He released his hold on both the creature's arms, grabbed the creature's upper and lower teeth and prised them apart. The troll repeatedly stabbed at McKenzie's back with the sword and pummeled on him with his other fist until McKenzie shoved him away.

"Ugh, you disgusting bastard!" McKenzie swore, and spat. The troll paid no attention: either out of pain, rage or a natural capacity for it, he was completely beserk. He roared and attacked again.

McKenzie launched himself at the creature's throat, wrapped his arms around it, and tightened his grip as hard as possible. The troll rained blows down on his head, back and arms, with sword and fist. McKenzie kept his hold, until it became clear it was having no effect whatsoever.

Trolls, it seemed, were nigh on as indestructible as he was. He released his hold, shoved the thing away, and looked around frantically for a weapon. A pirate cutlass lay in it's owner's dead grasp nearby. McKenzie scrambled over and picked it up: the troll gave him no time whatsoever - in the act of picking it up, he felt a blow to his back that would have split a normal person in two. It knocked him to the ground. McKenzie scrambled up and away as fast as he could.

Armed again, McKenzie was able to parry the troll's clumsy but forceful blows. After one such cut McKenzie saw an opening: he slashed at the troll's sword arm, and with a sickening wet crunch, he cut the thing's hand off. The troll bellowed and continued his assault, seeming to have barely even noticed. McKenzie cursed and swore and hacked and cut: finally, with a last desperate slash, he sliced through the monster's neck.

The head bounced away and the body collapsed to the floor, but continued to writhe and thrash for several minutes while McKenzie sat on the grass, exhausted, watching with horrified fascination and shock.

Every bone in his body ached, and every blow the troll had landed hurt abominably. The gun was sticking into the small of his back: McKenzie reached around to adjust it.

"The gun," he said to himself, shaking his head. "You fucking idiot. You’ve got a fucking gun."

- o O o -

McKenzie's approach to Knarsholm went unannounced if not unchallenged. The path led him to the edge of town (where, thankfully, there was a well - McKenzie paused to wash off all the troll spit), and it didn't take much in the way of analytical thinking to figure out that Malice was probably going to be in the castle.

Despite his oft-repeated assertion that he was dangerous with swords, McKenzie had kept the cutlass. He knew cutlasses well: he'd used them a lot in the past, and they didn’t take a lot of finesse. If anything large, green and bellowing got close, well, it was this very same sword which had finally put the troll down. Ergo, McKenzie was holding onto it, even if he did have a tendency to swing it right through opponents and into bystanders if he wasn’t careful.

This morning, though, there wasn't anyone with him, and he figured that any bystanders would become by-runners pretty quickly after the balloon went up on this.

In fact, they didn't even seem to be waiting that long. As McKenzie stalked through the streets toward the castle, the few, frightened looking inhabitants of the town took one look at him and fled into their houses or down side streets. It was almost certainly the expression on his face: McKenzie was irritated at being conned into this side trip, having to use a sword, and very irritated at having been beaten up by a troll. His face was bleak.

The sole exception to this rule were a pair of pirate-guards who were patrolling the streets near the castle. They were dressed and armoured like the others, and challenged him as he approached, levelling crossbows.

"Halt!" One called. "Drop your steel!"

"Fuck off or die," McKenzie growled back at them, succintly if somewhat ineloquently.

They fired. One missed, the other slammed into McKenzie's shoulder, twisting his body but otherwise impeding him not at all. He could hardly ache any more right now.

They drew their swords: McKenzie swung his, knocking the first man's from his grasp. He turned that into a quick slash that 95% beheaded his opponent, jerked his blade free, ducked the other man's attempted cut, and then swung his blade upward into the man's groin. Ordinarily this wouldn't have had much effect, but with McKenzie's strength it was enough to take the man's leg off. McKenzie left him screaming on the ground, to whatever mercy he could expect from the townspeople.

He was startled by the blood-curdling roar of a troll. He came charging around the corner of the street, brandishing a pair of large axes, and made straight for McKenzie. This one was older, bigger and looked much meaner - it was like being charged by a chainmail clad truck.

McKenzie wasn't about to get into another close quarters fight with a troll. He reached behind his jacket, drew the gun, flicked the safety off, aimed and fired.

The gun barked and jerked three times. The first round took the troll in the chest, smashing through chainmail and into the beast's chest. The second tore off a large chunk of face and skull, the third slammed straight into the troll's heart.

It's warlike roar became a hoarse, bubbling shriek, and it's implacable charge became a pained stagger, but it still came, coughing blood. McKenzie sidestepped it with ease and swung the cutlass through its neck: it's dead body collapsed to the floor, this time without the thrashing around.

"Okay, that went loads better," McKenzie said to himself. "I am definitely going with the gun option from now on."

Once he'd put a couple of streets between himself and the scene of the crime, he ducked into a doorway and took a moment to replace the three rounds: he only had two clips, and each one only held ten shots - he figured he'd need them both, and he probably wasn't going to have the leisure, from here on in, to refill them.

In fact, McKenzie thought, while I'm doing some thinking, maybe walking up to the front gates and picking a fight isn't the way to go this time.

He tried the door - it was open, and the house inside was empty: had been for a long time, judging by the dust and spiders. McKenzie nipped up two flights of stairs and had an unobtrusive look out at the castle. The house was taller than it's neighbours: McKenzie was afforded a reasonable view.

The front gates had opened: a detachment of ten or so guards, led by no less than four badass looking trolls, left at a brisk jog - presumably to investigate all the ruckus. The gate was not left unguarded: a pair of particularly big specimens of troll remained on duty, armed with crossbows that looked hardly any smaller than the one fitted in the Huntress, and they were backed up by a quartet of humans.

McKenzie looked upwards: the castle walls were tall, and topped with battlements. Only a single guard could be seen up there. They evidently didn't think that anyone could get to the top of those walls.

Right then.

- o O o -

McKenzie judged his jump just right, for a change: he touched down neatly between two crenellations just behind the patrolling guard, who spun around, open mouthed.

"Just thought I'd drop in," McKenzie said, and punched the guy in the face: out like a light. McKenzie caught him and lowered him to the stone, before he could fall and make a racket.

McKenzie briefly considered putting on the guy's patched armour in an attempt to pass for a pirate, but decided against it. He was most comfortable with the direct approach - there was only so much subtle he could sell to himself.

The four walls surrounded a large keep, which was a couple of storeys higher, and, it seemed, only joined up with the walls further down via wooden walkways. He proceeded to the corner of two walls, where there was a squat tower-thing with a door. This appeared to be the guardroom for the wall patrol: there was a table, chairs and empty plates, but no other guards. In the near corner, a spiral staircase led downwards. There was a cloak on a peg beside it: he shrugged it on and chucked the hood up. Better than nothing, and he could sell himself that much subtle, at least.

McKenzie didn't creep very well - in his view if you couldn't do it well, you were aswell not to bother. Instead he just walked down the stairs as if he had a perfect right to, on the basis that an onlooker might assume he was supposed to be there.

The stairs led him, without seeing anyone else, to one of the wooden bridges. He walked across it with a quick glance left and right - there were servants, guards and a couple of trolls in the courtyard. None of them looked up, or if they did his strategy worked and they took him for one of their own, cloaked against the slight chill.

So far, so good. The bridge led to a door, which he opened and stepped through. There was a guard inside, human.

"What are you-" was as far as he got. It was a small chamber, and the other door was closed: McKenzie slammed the heel of his hand into the side of the bloke's jaw, depriving him of consciousness, and again caught him before he could fall and make a sound.

McKenzie could hear laughter and, inexplicably, applause. He opened the other door a crack and peered out.

It was the main hall of the castle: the ceiling arched high above his head, held up with wooden beams, and the door led out onto a gallery that circled the hall about halfway up. The walls were dotted with flags, shields and a few shrivelled lumps that McKenzie decided just to glance at, and it was about the size of two or three tennis courts. It looked like there were normally tables and chairs - quite a few of them over-sized - scattered around, but these had all been shoved to the edges of the room for Malice's men and trolls to stand on, because there appeared to be a circus troupe performing inside. At the moment, it was the trapeze artists: McKenzie could see a girl in a shiny, sequined bikini being swung between a couple of guys: ropes had been made fast to the beams to permit this.

On any normal day, this would have been the thing that drew anyone's attention, but McKenzie's furtive gaze was drawn inexorably toward the far end of the room, and he had a big surprise.

The immense troll lounging on a huge, roughly carved throne had to be Malice. The aura of magical power was unmistakeable - getting on for as intense as Danandra's, which McKenzie, looking to get a handle on this new sense, was starting to think of as a benchmark for 'do not fuck about with'.

Lord Malice, however, was Lady Malice. That was pretty unmistakeable, too, despite the gold-plated armour she was wearing underneath a crimson robe. She was easily bigger than Leni - if she was under twelve feet in height and weighed less than a ton, McKenzie would be surprised. He was pretty fucking surprised anyway.

The trapezists pulled off a particularly impressive catch, and Malice and her court applauded. The group of colourfully dressed but worried looking people corraled near the throne by a ring of guards did not: the other circus performers, McKenzie guessed, and it wasn't much of a stretch that the technicolour ship was theirs. There were easily thirty bad guys, and four strong-looking trolls, in the room, as well as Malice herself. Not good odds, and McKenzie didn't want to risk the grenade killing one of the bystanders: it seemed rude.

Something was vibrating in his pocket - thank fuck he'd turned off the ringer on his phone. McKenzie fished it out.

"Troll De-Infestation Services Limited, how may I help you?" He whispered. "Oh hi Christine. Because I'm sneaking about a castle full of vicious trolls ruled over by a scarily powerful pirate queen, that's why I'm whispering. No, different pirate lady, this one's a troll and not hot. No, not the same troll. Why does it matter, right now, if I'm dating the hot lady pirate? I'm in a parallel universe or whatevs, I'm not here to find a lasting relationship with anyone, whether or not they're involved in the piracy industry. Look, if you must know, that turned into more of a friends-with-benefits type thing, and you can tell Jimmy that was a private part of the conversation, not meant for general release to you and Susie. Yes, actually, it's pretty much an extreme case study in what I'd consider to be not a good time to talk on the phone. Yeah, it does emails. Haven't tried but I assume so, I'm talking to you aren't I? [email protected] Cool. Tell Susie thanks, I have to go and kill the head troll before she eats a circus performer. Yes, there's a context. Laters."

McKenzie put his phone away - Malice was looking at the trapeze girl with an intent expression very similar to that sometimes worn by Leni when she looked at Danandra, but there was no curse of protection here. Crunch time: either for McKenzie or, more literally, for the girl.

"Impressive," Malice said - her voice was a baneful low growl. "I regret to announce, however, that your act is over. Enserza!" She said, and held her hand out in front of her face, as if she was holding up a developing photograph between finger and thumb. Suddenly the girl was jerked to a sudden midair stop with a scream, and was dangling upside down from one ankle.

Malice moved her hand backwards - the girl shot through the air to hang, struggling, over Malice, who smiled, looked up, and spoke: "The harder you fight, the better you taste."

The girl screamed again.

"Fuck," McKenzie said. He shucked the cloak, darted out the door, up onto the gallery railing and launched himself past the two surprised trapezists and towards the girl.

Malice hadn't noticed - she opened her mouth wide and released her magical grasp on the girl, who fell towards her gaping maw.

McKenzie managed to get his free arm round her waist as he sailed past (he was still holding the cutlass), and, somehow, twisted as he crashed into the floor and slid into the far corner of the hall so the girl landed on top of him. The impact knocked the wind clear out of him, but he pushed the girl away, jumped to his feet, and then found himself in mid-air, in front of the throne, seized in an invisible, vicelike grip which he could not push against. It was like fighting a cloud.

There was general laughter, which McKenzie vowed to silence as soon as possible. The circus girl was seized by a couple of the guards.

"Ah," Malice said, with her fist clenched in front of her. "Another hero - I did wonder if Xixaxa's latest cats-paw would manage to make it inside the castle this time. You might be interested to know, before you die, that you're the first to manage it."

"Really? Fascinating," McKenzie muttered. Whatever was holding him up, it was magical - he could feel the energy of it surrounding him, almost as palpably as he could feel the physical pressure.

"Tell me - and if you answer, I shall grant you a quick death, rather than biting your limbs off one by one and chewing them while you watch - how did you dispose of poor Krassas and Yarnag? Magic?" Malice asked.

McKenzie laughed.

"Something amuses you?" Malice asked.

"Yeah. You just reminded me of something. I'm having a bit of a being thick day, you know how it goes. Was Krassas the little one, out of town? So yeah, we just had your basic fight and I won. Then I sit down after - well knackered, I was - and my gun digs me in the back. Why didn't I just use the gun? Forgot about it, you see. I know, right? Thick. So then your pal Yar-whatever charges me in the street - I use the gun this time. Bish bash bosh, works like a charm. Then I sneak in here, end up doing what I just did - you're welcome, by the way, over there - and then I'm hanging in midair thinking, well fuck McKenzie, this is some pretty shit now, how're you gonna draw a gun while you're being held in midair by a giant invisible hand, genius. Then you said magic, and I remembered something." McKenzie shook his head ruefully.

"Which was what, exactly?" Malice said, tightening her grip.

"Magic," McKenzie said, "there's an odd thing, about me and magic."

He lowered a barrier he'd forgotten he'd been keeping up, and, in some way, connected the sense which told him he was being crushed by potent magical energy to the reservoir of it inside him. McKenzie and Malice both gasped as the spell dissolved and it's raw power rushed into him - he dropped to the floor, with sparks dancing and crackling around him.

"That," he said.

"Hmm," Malice stated, then narrowed her eyes. "Kill him!"

Things then proceeded to become very violent. McKenzie yanked the gun free and levelled it at Malice, but he could sense she'd done something to the air between them. Other priority targets were presenting themselves, though: the four trolls were leading the charge. McKenzie didn't want to get involved in a close-quarters fight against thirty guys and four trolls, so he took aim at the nearest of the latter, squeezed off three rounds into it, and then jumped for the gallery.

McKenzie had judged it about right, he sailed over the railings and hit the wall only slightly before landing on the walkway, on his feet for a change. Below, the troll he'd shot was moaning almost piteously in pain. He took aim at the next one and fired another three shots, and the creature fell. McKenzie jerked his head to one side to avoid some retaliatory crossbow bolts which clattered off the wall and thudded into the wood of the gallery, and then lined up the next troll and expended the last four bullets on it. The gun jumped and kicked, but McKenzie was strong and wasn't a bad shot: his target went down.

Some of the pirates were leaving the hall in a hurry, either to escape what they must have thought was some terrifying magical weapon or because Malice was screaming at her forces to get up there and kill him. Some of the circus performers made a break for the door.

McKenzie thunked the cutlass into the wood, yanked out the spent clip, shoved it in a pocket, and slammed in his only spare. More crossbow bolts sailed up: one hit his shoulder, causing him to swear and nearly waste a precious, troll-effective bullet in retaliation.

No: he adjusted his aim and lined up on the last troll, who had realised his vulnerability and was backing away. It made him an easy target: McKenzie got him once in the head and once in the chest - it must have hit something vital, because he toppled over backwards, crushing one of his human subordinates. Then the door McKenzie had entered through burst open, and a stream of guards came through it.

"Miskandalia!" Malice screeched, pointing at McKenzie. A sheet of flame sprung from her hands to engulf him, the leading two guards, and a sizeable part of the walkway. The men burned shockingly quickly: they were dead in less than a second. McKenzie hadn't even noticed, and grinned: the sensation of soaking up the magical power felt good. The smile was wiped off his face when the walkway literally turned to charred ashes under his feet and fell to the floor, dumping him straight into the melee he'd tried to avoid and setting fire to a good many of the tables and chairs that had been shoved out of the way underneath it.

"Fuck fuck fuck-" McKenzie repeated under his breath, as he retrieved his cutlass from the flames. The wirebound hilt was searingly hot: he winced but ignored it, then scrambled out of the burning wreckage, smoking slightly, and got to his feet. He was instantly rushed by a body of pirate-guards, who immediately drew back when he levelled the gun at them.

Three of them had retreated back towards Malice. She had got to her feet, although she still stood before her throne. McKenzie had been right about her size, she was monstrous, more than twice the height of the guards. She reached down, grabbed one of the poor unfortunates, and literally tore him in half.

"Who do you fear more, him or me? Attack!" She ordered, and following that example, they all chose to attack.

The four trolls who'd originally been in the hall were either dead, dying or so mortally wounded that they posed no threat, but McKenzie knew that more could come through that door at any time, so he wasn't keen to waste those remaining eight shots.

Instead, he charged right for one guy and swung his cutlass, smashing through his hastily raised guard and opening his chest, then reversed his stroke and did the same for his neighbour. The blade, still hot, hissed as it bit into flesh. McKenzie felt some blows land on his back, but he gritted his teeth, ignored them, and engaged another pirate in front of him.

Then, suddenly, he found himself slammed into the opposite wall of the hall, still - just - hanging on to gun and sword.

"Fuck a duck," McKenzie said, coughing. A blood-chilling bellow of triumph told him what had happened - troll reinforcements had entered the hall: two that he'd seen from the walkway, swinging clubs, one of which had just smashed him across the room, and the two gate guards, who were levelling their crossbows.

They were something McKenzie wasn't keen to be on the business end of: he'd been knocked out - somehow - by a similar weapon only a few days ago. He didn't fancy testing his invulnerability against Malice or her subordinates while he was out cold.

"He has magic!" Malice roared. "Be on your guard!"

"This," McKenzie growled, "ain't magic."

McKenzie ignored the club-wielding trolls and pirate-guards charging him. He raised the gun and fired calmly into the two crossbow-carrying trolls, four bullets each. He didn't reckon he'd have time for a third target, and wanted those two down for certain. The two creatures dropped their crossbows and screamed the unsettling, piteous roars of mortally wounded trolls. McKenzie thrust the gun back into it's holster, grabbed a chair off the floor, flung it as hard as he could at one of the charging trolls, and then started swinging his cutlass at whatever or whomever came near him.

"Alarm! Alarm!" Someone entered the hall, shouting. "The townsfolk are in revolt!"

"Good," McKenzie said grimly, as he ducked a swing from one of the trolls and hacked at its legs. He probably wasn't going to have to deal with any more reinforcements.

"They're setting fire to the castle!" Came more yelled information. The giant doors to the hall were closed and barred.

"Not so good," McKenzie commented. It wasn't exactly fire-free already: a lot of the things hanging on the walls were now ablaze, and no-one seemed interested in putting them out.

The two remaining trolls barged through the mass of men and swung their clubs.

"Fuck this noise," McKenzie said, and jumped. He shot into the air while the clubs smashed into the wall and floor where he'd been standing, made a grab for one of the trapezes, and just about managed to reach it. He hung by one hand, swinging gently. Crossbow bolts whiffled past him, and then:

"Jastharin!" Malice roared, and suddenly McKenzie was, once again, flying through the air: this time propelled by a crackling bolt of electricity similar to that which Mahrak had unleashed on him. McKenzie barely felt the impact as he was smashed through one of the crossbeams and slammed into the wall - instead there was just the now-familiar tingle. He giggled, the lightning ceased, and he fell to the floor, convulsing with laughter and sparks in equal amounts.

It must have presented an odd sight, and one certainly calculated to provoke awe, because although he made no attempt to raise his cutlass, or indeed do anything except sit on the floor and laugh, neither pirate, troll or troll-sorceress attempted to come near him or attack him.

"Man," McKenzie said, "that tickles."

Malice snarled out another word of magic, and flung forth another sheet of flame that engulfed McKenzie, set fire to the main doors, and incinerated a fair few of her own men.

McKenzie stood calmly in the flames - he could feel the searing heat from the burning doors behind him and the cracked, hot flagstones under his feet, but the magical fire itself was simply a pleasant sensation on his skin. No-one approached, for obvious reasons - he took the opportunity to unzip his jacket pocket and slide the ten bullets therein into the spare cartridge, then slid it into the gun.

"Tactical blunder," he said, stepping out of the flames. "I was just thinking how a few seconds to myself to reload would be totally peachy." He took aim for the two remaining trolls. They ran for the side doors at either side of the throne - one of which was now unreachable, blocked by the burning debris of the walkway that had run above it - but didn't make it. McKenzie dropped them both, two shots in one, three in the other. The pirate guards backed slowly away before him.

"Who do you fear most, her or me?" McKenzie echoed Malice's words with a dark grin. "Now fuck off."

A couple of them glanced at the immobile, amazed Malice, but then the last of their resolve left them, and they indeed did fuck off - out of the only remaining unblocked exit. The last two, who'd been restraining the circus girl (presumably in favour of other, more hazardous duties) tried to follow but were buried screaming under more flaming wreckage from the roof. There were only three people left in the chamber (or at least only three people capable of standing up and moving: the hall was a slaughterhouse of dead and dying trolls and men): McKenzie, Malice, and the terrified girl, who, lacking other options, ran to his side and then darted behind him. She was clutching a dagger that she'd retrieved from a dead body, but was otherwise unarmed.

"Please help me," she said, simply and succintly.

It wasn't the smartest move she could have made - Malice had forgotten about her, but when she saw the girl run to McKenzie, the troll smiled an evil smile.

"You may possess powerful magical protection, " Malice said, "but can the same be said for her?" She raised her hand, and it glowed red.

"We'll fucking see, won't we?" McKenzie countered. He could still sense the magical difference in the air between himself and Malice. Bullets - or, if he was feeling reckless, the grenade - weren't going to do any good until that was dealt with.

"Let us declare a truce," Malice said. "You leave with the girl, and everyone lives. You can tell Xixaxa that I will leave her lands forever."

"Wasn't the deal," McKenzie said. "Leave the girl alone and I'll make it quick is about the best I can offer."

Malice snarled and pointed - the red glow leapt from her hand and fizzled across the hall, making straight for the girl and increasing in size as it went, until it was big enough to encapsulate them both.

McKenzie didn't know what it was supposed to do, but it wasn't going to be pleasant, that was for damn sure. He thrust the girl away from him and jumped forward into the path of the red cloud. It tried to wrap itself around him, and for a moment he coughed on foul, toxic fumes, but milliseconds later it dissolved into raw magic and the familiar tingle told him it was in the reservoir.

Malice was grinning in triumph: she had anticipated McKenzie's response, it seemed, and was already weaving another spell.

"Enserza!" She said, the same word as earlier, when she'd seized the girl and then McKenzie with nothing more than thin air. She was going to try the same again, to take the girl as a hostage without having to get past McKenzie.

He snarled and carried on toward the troll. Behind him, he heard the girl scream - presumably she was in the grip of the spell. Well, she wouldn't be if Malice was dead: McKenzie threw himself forward. Before he got to within five metres, he came up against an invisible, glassy barrier. McKenzie plunged his cutlass, and hand, into it. For a moment he was in agony, and then the spell shattered with an audible crash and McKenzie was once again wreathed in sparks. The other spell broke, too - the girl yelped as she fell, but, being an acrobat, landed well.

"Miskanda-" Malice begun, desperately, but McKenzie didn't let her finish. The pistol jumped in his hand, and five holes appeared in Malice's armour.

Five shots wasn’t enough: Malice bellowed in pain and, seizing a massive axe from behind the throne that was at least as tall as McKenzie, she charged.

McKenzie shoved the pistol into its holster and readied himself. Malice was hurt, but she was nowhere near dead. The axe described an unstoppable downward trajectory towards his head.

McKenzie darted back - the axe bit deep into the flagstones where he'd been standing. He swung his cutlass at Malice's left forearm, and although he didn't succeed in severing it, he did succeed in cutting deep into it through her armour. Unfortunately, the blade became embedded, and when Malice pulled her axe free to strike again, the hilt was yanked from McKenzie's grasp. The troll-mage laughed in triumph - apparently the cut to the arm bothered her not at all. McKenzie swore and yanked out the dagger the white-robed mage had given him. It was the only weapon he had left - the grenade might as easily kill the girl as Malice, and there would be no opportunity to reload. Compared to the troll's armoured bulk, he felt like he was holding a needle.

Malice swung again - sideways this time. She had evidently been slowed by the five shots he'd put into her, because it was a ponderous, clumsy swing and he was able to back out of the way. The girl was behind him again. Another swing, and McKenzie was driven a little further back, towards the roaring fire in front of the still-burning main doors. McKenzie wouldn't be hurt if he was forced into the fire - the girl would. Time to make a stand.

Malice raised her axe high over her head and brought it down. McKenzie stepped forward, caught the shaft of the axe in one hand and grunted. The crushing power of the blow forced him to his knees and sent waves of agony flowing down his arm, and the flagstones beneath him cracked with the impact, but McKenzie held firm. He lunged forward and punched the dagger through armour and into Malice's heart.

The troll-mage screamed in pain. McKenzie pulled the axe as hard as he could, wrenched it from her grasp, then shifted his grip, swung it, and scored a crunching hit that bit deep into Malice's left side. Malice roared again in pain, anger and - now - fear.

McKenzie tried to pull the axe free for another swipe, but it was stuck fast and he could get no purchase on the floor. He ducked an attempted punch from Malice: slow and lacking force, by troll standards.

"Warrior! Look!" The girl cried. McKenzie glanced around - she was pointing upwards: the ceiling was on fire and bits of burning debris were beginning to fall.

"Will you fucking die already!" McKenzie yelled at Malice.

Malice roared out her defiance, even as she staggered backward and then collapsed to her knees.

"Shit on this," McKenzie growled. He turned to the girl. "We're getting out of here. Stay near me."

"There’s no way out!" The girl told him, wide-eyed.

"There will be in a second," McKenzie said grimly. He tried to pull the mage's dagger free, but the pommel was slimy with blood and he could not get a grip.

"Right. Why the fuck would it come out, obviously. Fine!" McKenzie snarled in exasperation.

He seized Malice by the arm and dragged her to the nearest wall, set his feet, and then heaved with all his might. The troll moaned in pain as McKenzie slammed her - and the dagger - against the wall.

"One!" He snarled. Again he smashed her full into the wall: "Two!" Then, once more: "Three!"

The white robed mage, it seemed, had been true to his word. Just as he'd seen happen in The Tower, a doorway flickered into existence. Somehow sensing the dimensions required, it opened large enough to accommodate Malice. McKenzie grinned evilly and heaved the troll through with a grunt.

There was a crash as one of the roof beams plunged burning to the floor behind them.

"Go! That's Melindron through there!" McKenzie told the girl, but she hardly needed any encouragement and darted through. McKenzie followed her, as, with perfect dramatic timing, the roof gave way and several tons of burning beams, tiles and stone crashed to the hall floor, sending forth a billow of burning cinders, dust and smoke before the portal flickered shut.

McKenzie looked up - they were in The Tower's enormous entrance hall, by the same wall the mage had created the original portal in, and were at the centre of a quickly expanding semi-circle formed by terrified visitors and intersected by approaching guards. Malice lay face down on the floor, trying to get up but lacking the strength to do so. The girl came running back to stand between him and the wall.

"What happened? Where are we?" She asked.

"Melindron," McKenzie replied, putting his hands on his knees and leaning forward like an exhausted marathon runner. "The Archmegistari-, archomagici-, archmastigeri-, in The Tower. Sorry, bit knackered after all that. You okay?"

The girl nodded shakily, clutching her dagger.

The guards came to a stop in a defensive circle.

"Hi," McKenzie said, straightening up and waving. "Me again. Does anyone wanna sign for this massive troll?"

"Gods above!" One of the guards exclaimed.

The white robed mage came running over. "Malice!" He exclaimed.

"Yep," McKenzie said. "As requested. Plus most of the other trolls're dead, and when we left the castle was on fire and the locals were in full-on revolution mode. Reckon you owe me one audience with the Archmage, mate. Make it happen."

"It's still alive!" One of the guards said, as Malice reached out a hand and tried to drag herself across the floor.

"Oh yeah," McKenzie said. "One moment." He grabbed the axe, which he was now able to wrench free of Malice's midsection, and then cut off the resulting bellow of agony by bringing it down on her neck with a sickening crunch. Thus died Malice.

"Job done," McKenzie said, releasing the axe. "Sorry about the mess." There was a pool of dark red blood slowly expanding from the dead troll's neck - everyone shuffled slowly back, as if embarrassed, in order to avoid getting it on their feet.

"Right," the white-robed mage said. "Um, thank you. The thing is, we didn't really want the body to be brought here-"

"That's my problem how, exactly?" McKenzie asked, and looked at the mage. The man looked back, swallowed, and nodded. "Sergeant, summon the custodians."

"Tell ‘em to bring a really big mop,” McKenzie added. “Now: archmage?"

"Ah, the problem is, we didn't really expect you to come back-"

"I got that impression at the interview stage, yeah," McKenzie said. "And I refer you to my previous answer re: whose problem that isn't."

The mage had turned as pale as his wardrobe choice. "There are, I'm sure you'll understand, a great many demands on the Archmage's time, and-"

"Enough, Shanath," a woman's voice interrupted, as if over a very high fidelity tannoy. "Convey our guests to the Sultan's Suite and see that they are provided everything they need. Unless they would prefer otherwise, I will see them in an hour's time." There wasn't much question as to who was addressing them. She sounded posh and authoritative: the Archmage.

"Works for me," McKenzie told the ceiling.