The dragons sailed through the cool night air for a few more minutes, casting enormous shadows that slid over the treetops zipping along beneath them as they moved. Milius, his dark hair stirring in the wind, stared down at the forest below, trying to determine if the colours of the plants had changed, like they had done when Vagor had lead them away from the Honey Troopers — but they were too high up for him to notice.

After a few moments, Shakil’s voice rang out beside him, loud in the darkness. “There!” he said, and Milius, turning, saw him pointing at a patch of trees down below. For a split second Milius had no idea what he was indicating; this section of the forest seemed no different than any other they had passed so far — but then Milius noticed it: a bright orange light flickering deep below a canopy of leaves. It looked as though someone had started a fire.

“Should we check it out?” Shakil yelled over the howling wind.

“Why not?” Milius roared back. “Bring us down over there, will you?” Milius added, pointing, patting Lumeus’s stony hide. The dragon growled its understanding and both he and Aleia swooped, skirting the edges of the treetops. They pushed through the dense dome of leaves and came to land where Milius had gestured, a good distance away from where the orange glow was coming from.

“Why here?” Shakil asked, as they touched down.

“Don't want to frighten them — whoever it is,” Milius said, gesturing at the dragons. Shakil nodded, comprehending, and both slid to the ground. Milius looked around; the moonlight streaming through the overhead leaves was just enough for Milius to make out that the forest’s colour had indeed changed.

It was no longer dark green, as it had been where they had met with Parluck a while back; nor was it the rich golden brown it had been when they had escaped from the underground chamber; but bluish-white, as though the vegetation had been coated in wintery frost. It was also much colder here. Milius heard a loud cracking noise and turned to look back at Lumeus, whose plates were sparking, and who was pawing the ground restlessly.

“I don't think he likes it here,” said Shakil, who had followed Milius’s gaze.

Milius patted his leg (the easiest part of him to reach), and said, “It's okay, you don't have to stay — we'll call you when we need you.” Lumeus glanced down at him, bowed, then spread his wings and took to the air again. Aleia nuzzled Shakil before she went after him.

“Ready?” Shakil asked him, pulling Oceannerva from his scabbard and raising it.

Milius nodded, drew Palpatunde as well, and held it aloft. He closed his eyes and, as Basil had instructed, envisioned himself in his full suit of armour. A moment later he felt a cool, creeping sensation pass over him, and when he opened his eyes he was coated in his silvery armour, glittering in the moonlight. He looked over at Shakil and saw that he too had summoned the armour without difficulty, but he still hadn't managed to produce the helmet. He was staring at Milius’s almost wistfully.

“Let's go,” Milius said, repressing a smirk. They crept along the path, their swords raised, taking light, quick strides towards the orange glow in the distance. After a few seconds’ walk, they stopped behind two towering beech trees and peered around them to look at who was sitting around the fire.

Milius felt his jaw fall open. There was no fire. The source of the orange light was revealed to be a group of large, black, lizard-like creatures with luminous, orange markings made over their bodies. There were six in total, all rolling around, apparently playing with each other.

“Salamanders,” Shakil whispered beside Milius, sounding awed. “Newborns! You can see it by their taillights!” He pointed. Milius, slightly bemused, followed the line of his finger and saw that each of them had a cylindrical, jelly-like tuft at the end of their tails, each glowing faintly blue.

“They turn orange like the rest of the markings when they mature, see?”

“How do you know that?” Milius whispered back, intrigued. Even as he said it he remembered how Shakil was the one who had deduced the genders of the dragons, and how he had immediately identified Parluck as a goblin.

Shakil shrugged. “I like to read about interesting creatures. Come on — we'll have to go around; their mother's undoubtedly close by.”

Milius followed him, moving silently across the patch of smooth, silvery-blue grass beneath his feet, and cutting a wide arc around the salamanders.

“It's strange, though,” Shakil said a few moments later.

“What?”

“Salamanders usually live in caves, they like small, dark spaces, you know? The warmth. So what would they be doing out in the open, in a place like this?”

“You tell me,” Milius said, “you're the lore expert.”

“I could think of a few reasons, but none of them seem entirely plausible. I just don't — uh oh!” he muttered.

Shakil, too deeply focused upon the strange behaviour of the salamanders, had trodden on what looked like a small flower with pale sapphire petals, which shattered. The sound drew the attention of the salamanders, all of which froze, gazing intently at the grove of trees behind which Milius and Shakil had quickly hidden. They remained utterly still and silent. After a few moments Milius chanced a glance back at them, and saw, to his relief, that they had seemed to disregard the disturbance: they had returned to their romping.

Milius heaved a sigh of solace, which turned almost at once into a horrible, piercing scream. Something had seized him around the middle, lifting him high into the air.

“Milius!” Shakil yelled.

Milius reached down to pry whatever it was that was holding him suspended from his chest and felt heat sear through his fingertips. He was being held by a long, thick feeler, blazing with heat. His armour was burning where it was touching him.

He yelled out in anguish, writhing around in the beast’s grasp. There was a swish, a flash of metal, and a terrible squelching noise, and Milius fell to the ground, beside Palpatunde, which had fallen from his grip. He jumped to his feet, ignoring the searing pain in his chest, and found Shakil dodging glowing, whip-like limbs like that which had just been holding Milius.

A fully grown salamander was there, almost twice as tall as Shakil, and much wider. The tuft of its tail was blazing orange, its many feelers were writhing around like angry snakes, and it was spitting — huge smacks that looked like splatters of lava. Milius seized Palpatunde and rushed forward, but Shakil cried, “No!” and he stopped dead.

He dodged another vat of spit and hurtled over to Milius’s side, then seized him around the shoulders.

“What —?”

But Shakil was not listening. As the monster made to spit again, he brought the point of his blade down and struck the ground — the effect was instant.

The ground began to rumble, bursting apart as easily and as quickly as one would rip a sheaf of paper. The salamander stumbled, struggling to retain its footing, then fell over, its legs flailing pitifully. From all around Milius came the squeals of the other salamanders, indignant screeches of birds storming out of trees, and other woodland creatures attempting to scuttle away. The only place unaffected was the circle of land in which Milius was standing, supported by Shakil.

A moment later he heaved the blade from the ground and darted off, lugging Milius along. They ran as hard as they could, maneuvering through the devastation. They came out in the middle of a clearing, bedded with more glittering flowers, and stopped, chests heaving.

“Why did you stop me?” Milius asked, when finally he had caught his breath.

“We couldn't kill it — it had young ones, they need her,” Shakil said. He drew himself up and looked around, still panting. There was nothing there.

“Great,” Milius said bitterly, “really great. What are we supposed to do now?”

“I don't know,” Shakil said. “Do you want to turn back?”

“Of course not!” Milius said at once. “I want to find this Pan!”

“Well, let's keep walking then, see if we can find someone less hostile to ask.”

They started forward again, trailing across the rugged path. On either side of them, like weird, misshapen flowers, light green crystals were sprouting up, gleaming in the moonlight. They walked for a few more minutes, until finally they stopped again, at the foot of a steep, rugged slope.

“Oh, this just keeps getting better,” Milius said sarcastically.

“Can you climb?” Shakil asked.

“Yeah, trees, but not this deathtrap!”

Shakil opened his mouth to speak, but whatever he was about to say, Milius never knew. A loud cracking sound had cut the air, and Milius and Shakil turned to see the ground on either side of them rumbling; the crystals were moving, forcing their way up to the surface, and something was attached to them, rising as well.

Shakil gasped. “Crystal scorpions!” he said. And sure enough, an entire legion of scorpions, each roughly the size of a baby salamander and seemingly carved from diamonds, were scuttling towards them, their stings raised menacingly. “But — that doesn't make any sense — they live underwater!”

“Does it matter?” Milius bellowed. “How do we kill them?”

“Get them out of the water? But that can't help us here, it's like they've adapted to life on land!”

“Anything else?”

“Blunt force? But how’re we —” Shakil stopped speaking, his eyes wide. “Hold them off for me, will you?” he said suddenly.

“What?”

But Milius could not press him; one of the scorpions had launched itself towards him, its sting poised and quivering. Milius swung his shield arm forward to deflect it, but the scorpion merely latched onto it, its horrible legs digging into the surface. Its stinger moved in rapid succession, striking forward, pulling back, and hitting the shield again. The shield shattered on the fourth strike, and Milius leapt backwards to avoid the scorpion as it fell to the ground.

He swung Palpatunde, slicing through the beast’s crystalline shell, and kicked out, sending it flying. He swung wildly, hacking and stabbing at any scorpion within reach. If only he had some energy in the blade, he thought furiously. But he barely had time to relax his sword arm, much less to siphon energy.

A scorpion suddenly flew at him, clutching at his head and knocking him off balance. He crashed into the wall behind him and felt Palpatunde escape his grip again — but a moment later the scorpion’s weight vanished completely from his head and Milius opened his eyes.

A massive humanoid figure was standing before him, its skin dark brown and crusty, its arms as thick as tree trunks, holding the scorpion by its tail. It swung it downwards and smashed it against the ground, shattering it.

“What the?”

“Cool, isn't it?” Shakil said eagerly, rushing towards him and beaming. He was holding something.

“The bag of seeds?” Milius said in disbelief.

“Yep, Basil told me what they did yesterday. Watch —” And he pulled a seed from the bag and dropped it at their feet. The seed sank into the earth, disappearing completely — the ground began to shift — dust rose upwards in a huge mound, taking shape — a moment later, Milius was looking at a creature identical to the one fighting off the remaining scorpions.

“Golems!” Shakil said happily. "They form when the magic seeds come in contact with earth. Anyway, we need to get to the top,” Shakil said to the golem, pointing to the top of the hill, “can you get us up there?”

The golem nodded solemnly, then seized both of them by their shoulders and leapt, rocketing upwards. They landed in seconds, quite gracefully, considering, and the golem launched itself back off the slope, to help its ally.

Milius had barely turned to look at Shakil again when a new voice suddenly came out of the shadows.

“Good morning,” it said. “You have kept me waiting.”

Milius and Shakil whirled around. The landscape was deserted but for them — but then, a moment later, a figure appeared, as suddenly as though he had actually popped out of the ground.

“I heard you have been looking for me," he said. "I am Pan.”