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they were asking these same people to join forces in fighting the Tyrant in his capital city, Ghork Mega, some three-hundred leagues to the north of the Garg kingdom. It was true that the king had allowed them to move their advance party from its limited beachhead, surrounded by impassable marshes, and make a much easier landing in this sheltered bay. The main fleet now lay out to sea, a vast army of sails filling up the spaces between the islands. But as yet they dared not land. And all the while they were losing time.
    Alan felt nauseous with doubt as he watched Mo, Turkeya and Iyezzz leave the camp to explore some nearby cave-dotted hills. He found himself joined by Qwenqwo and Ainé at the moving hinterland of the surf, where the brisk shore breezes fidgeted with the grasses growing out of the black volcanic soil about them.
    The Kyra was uneasy in the proximity of so many Gargs. They were joined by Bétaald, who was the first to speak.
    â€˜You must understand the Gargs’ fear. All of their lives, and for countless generations past, the greatest power – a god-like, if ultimately malignant power – has ruled their every thought and action. Now you, a stranger, demand that they go to war against that same power.’
    The breeze was building up. It dried the sweat on his brow even as it formed. Alan shrugged. ‘I have the feeling that they are waiting for something. But for the life of me I can’t figure what it might be.’
    â€˜Perhaps they await the return of Kate?’
    â€˜They’re not alone.’
    â€˜Have you no word from her?’
    â€˜Nothing.’
    Kate was lost to him again – as if they had never been united at the sacred pool, in the City of the Ancients. The thought infuriated Alan. Where was she when he really needed her to be by his side? And Mark too – Mark who had cleared off on a desperate errand, determined to persuade the Temple Ship to take him back to Earth. And for what? To discover whether or not he was still alive. For a moment, Alan was lost in thinking about his friends, both armed with their own oracula of power, wishing that they were here to help persuade the Garg king.
    He felt the hand of the dwarf mage around his shoulders, and heard the belch that informed him Qwenqwo was seeking recourse in the bottle. But why should he not? When called on he fought without fear or self pity. There was no one Alan would have preferred by his side in times of danger.
    Alan said, ‘We’ve lost another day.’
    â€˜The king plays for time. He must be seen to be doing the right thing, by his son and the queen – by his people.’
    â€˜Do you have any idea what Zelnesakkk is waiting for?’
    Qwenqwo tamped a refill of tobacco into his pipe, but he paused before lighting it, deep in thought. ‘Knowing the Gargs, it will have to be a force of nature. A portent, perhaps?’
    Alan rubbed so hard at his brow it felt bruised. He looked out at that same ocean the queen had skimmed, reflecting on her ritual, and on Iyezzz’s insistence that he should attend. The Garg prince had expected something to happen. And, so far as Alan could see, something had happened: the flying fish had risen out of the sea to fly in communion with the queen. Iyezzz had been excited at the time, but it hadn’t been enough to persuade the King.
    Was there some additional reason why Iyezzz had been so insistent on Alan accompanying him to witness the queen?
    The Garg prince’s behaviour had been tense, as if he was hinting at something he had been forbidden to talk to Alan about. Some game the devious Mahteman was playing? Something so big in the minds of these superstitious beings that Zelnesakkk held back from any alliance of their peoples.

Magtokk the Mischievous
    Mo and Turkeya were just as intrigued by Iyezzz’s behaviour as Alan. Iyezz had taken the two of them out of the Garg city, and now they peered out over the golden waves of