Only he wasn’t getting him back: he’d never had him in the first place. Anger at Norduria and Fiersten for keeping him from his boy arose in him for the thousandth time. If he did succeed in snatching Everan now, he would never let him go again.

And there he was, the precious child, counting a collection of pebbles. He had sorted them into piles according to colour. ‘One, two, three, brown; one, two, three, four green…’

Jedderin’s heart leapt at the sound of the clear, musical voice he’d never heard in all the child’s four years. He took a step forward, longing to scoop his son up into his arms, but on the other side of the clearing, Auberin put up a hand that clearly said ‘wait’. He was still creating wards, as were Ellyria and Ostrin in the other two quarters of the circle. They must make no mistake this time. Any time now, his mother and her paramour would start to teach him basic magic, and the boy must not be corrupted. If he learnt magic at all, it must be the right kind — the kind that helps people. The sort of magic Ellyria had taught Jedderin, Auberin and Ostrin, years before.

Jedderin pulled his mind back to his spell-casting and finished the warding of his quadrant. The four nodded to each other.

Now, Jedderin! Auberin’s command rang in Jedderin’s mind, but he was already halfway across the clearing. He scooped Everan into his arms as the others hastened to join him. Ellyria was already mouthing the vortex-summoning spell to carry them safely back to Stavershall.

The boys! Ellyria smiled. They hadn’t been boys these twenty years and more, but she still thought of them as her babies, and always would. Yet today was their fortieth birthday. She shook her head in disbelief, pausing under the plum tree beside the door that led to the seaward sally port. The young fruits were swelling fast in the unseasonably warm weather.

He flexed his fingers and stretched. His body was still strong, just as the Dark Spirit had promised. Surely that meant the other part of the promise would eventually be redeemed? But his confidence grew thin sometimes. What was the point in having a healthy body that never aged beyond fifty, if he could not enjoy life? Sometimes he imagined his walk was around a tiny courtyard, with flower baskets on the walls. His bed became a seat where he might sit with a lover — a delightful young thing, fair of hair and slender of body. Like Ellyria.

But as for Ellyria herself — he spat on her! Foul witch that she was, she still roamed free in the world while he was buried here, far from home, far from the delights of love. The only consolation was that Ellyria would have aged twenty-one years. She would be a wrinkled old hag by now, no doubt.

Nustofer paused by the window and peered through the narrow aperture. There were tantalising glimpses of the forest-covered hills beyond the walls of the monastery that was his prison. He had not been outside those walls since he’d been incarcerated, all those years ago. And most days he never left his cell. If only the Dark Spirit would redeem the second part of its promise and come to release him!

The door rattled as the key turned. Dinnertime. On feast days, the inmates were allowed to eat in the refectory, but on most other days they were simply left to rot in their cells. Not that Nustofer wanted their company. They were all insane. The monks thought he was insane, too, but he knew it wasn’t true. He had been mad once: driven mad by the witch and her magic, but no longer. The Dark Spirit’s spell had cleared his brain and strengthened his body. Of course, Ellyria’s magic still lingered, so he still had the fits, but that wasn’t the same as being mad, was it?

Two novice monks brought his bowl of potage. The physicians thought he was violent, so they always sent two boys. Perhaps he did cry out and thrash about when the witch’s magic overtook him and the fits came, but they didn’t come as often these days. Yet he wasn’t allowed in the chapel because of the fits.

Not that he wanted to go to chapel, anyway. He had long since given his allegiance elsewhere.

He ate the food slowly, making the most of every mouthful. When your life revolves around three meagre meals a day, it’s best to stretch the few benefits. The next event would be the candle, which was brought every night at dusk.

And as usual, the novices came back for the bowl, bringing the fat stub of an altar candle and fire in a small cauldron to light it. They closed the shutter over the window, set the candle in its sconce, lit it and departed, with barely a nod to Nustofer as they left.

He sat on his bed, gazing at the candle in its wall sconce. The stubs always burnt out within an hour or so, and after that there was nothing to do but sleep. He might as well watch it burn, for there was nothing else to do now, either.

The candle flickered, creating shadows on the walls and ceiling. Its trance-inducing dance made shadows on the walls. He watched them leap and flicker and die, only to leap again. Their dance varied from night to night, depending on which draft was worse, the one from around the window shutters or the one from under the door.

A sudden rush of air, and the shadows took on a different pattern. Enormous wing shapes covered the walls. Nustofer fell to his knees, fear clutching his belly. He had forgotten the sheer terror the Dark Spirit’s presence engendered.

The terror lasted only a few wild heartbeats, to be replaced by an overwhelming joy. ‘You have come at last,’ he cried out. ‘I knew you would come, even after all these years!’

The Dark Spirit’s form gradually solidified in the candlelight. Nustofer had also forgotten how tall it was. Its head almost reached the ceiling and its shoulders were as wide as the trestles in the dining hall.

It smiled its cruel smile, and Nustofer shuddered.

‘Apologies, my friend’, said the Spirit. ‘I was detained by my hellish neighbours. But now it is time to take our vengeance on Ellyria and her house, is it not? Like you, I have had plenty of time to lay plans.’ The Spirit’s gaze flickered over Nustofer. ‘I think, my friend, it is time to renew that body of yours. Renew — and, shall we say, make a few improvements.’

Nustofer flinched as the Spirit touched him on the forehead. He had forgotten that cold touch. He felt as if he was being stretched. He looked down to see that his thighs were visibly lengthening. He tried to get to his feet but found himself stumbling like a new-born colt.

The Spirit took his arm. ‘Careful, my friend. It will take you an hour or two to learn the distance from your head to your feet. Now, how about some new attire? You must be tired of that grey robe by now.  And how long is it since you last handled a sword?’

‘Many years, Your Grace. Many, many years. I entered the order when I was seventeen and have not touched a weapon since.’

‘Then you will need practice. I shall make sure you get it. But let me see… yes, black, I think, with a brighter-coloured surcoat.’

Nustofer looked down and found himself clad like a prince. Under his red and yellow surcoat, a coat of mail glinted in the candlelight. A weight at his left hip told him he bore a large sword. He glanced down. If the sword was worthy of its finely crafted scabbard, it must be a fine blade indeed. And a weight at his right hip had the satisfying feel of a purse well laden with coins.

The Dark Spirit gave him a mocking bow. ‘Splendid, Prince Morifer. Shall we go now, my lord?’

‘Prince?’ Nustofer’s heart leapt. Rank, position, all the money he could want, servants to command — everything he’d always wanted would be his.

‘Yes, you are taking the place of a certain Falrouvian prince who has met with, shall we say, a misadventure on his way to court the very lovely Princess Milana of Syland.’ The spirit pressed a hand to Nustofer’s forehead. ‘You will have all his memories and abilities. Your own will fade into the background, and will seem almost a dream. Come now, your master-at-arms awaits.’

She turned at the sound of someone coming up behind her, and forced a smile when she saw who it was. ‘Hello, Milana! You’re all ready for a party, then? You look a lot more grown up in that red velvet!’

‘Of course I’m grown up! You don’t see me often enough, Grandmamma. Are your students keeping you busy, that you visit us so seldom?’

‘I have only a couple of students at present, Milana, and they don’t consult me very often. How is your own practice coming along? Any luck with the scrying?’

Milana shook her head. ‘I practise sometimes, but I don’t think I’ll ever be any good at it, Grandmamma. I hardly ever see anything in the water and when I do I can’t tell whether it’s past, present or future or just something my mind has dreamed up.’

Ellyria laughed. ‘Never mind, my dear. There are plenty of worthwhile things to do other than magic. But do keep trying now and then. Maybe one day the lock will go ‘click’ and you’ll find yourself able to scry with the best of them. But what about your proposed fiancé? Isn’t he coming to visit soon?’

Milana grimaced. ‘I’m afraid so. I know Daddy means the best for me, but the man is far too old, by my reckoning.’

‘Give him a chance, my dear. You might actually like him when you meet.’

‘Mm, that’s what Lyrien says, too,’ was Milana’s noncommittal reply. They descended the staircase and rounded the screen that separated it from the Great Hall. Beverak, Tammi, Linvar and Lyrien were already there, with Melrad and Edeanna with Urbancho, Milana’s brother.

Ellyria crossed to where Tammi stood chatting to Edeanna. ‘Where are Volran and Zavardi?’

‘Not here yet,’ Tammi replied. ‘You know how rough the channel can be this time of year. I suspect they’ve missed the tide and will have to be rowed in by boat instead of waiting for the ship to dock. Shall we sit down?’

Just as they were taking their seats a page announced the arrival of the Challivan royals. Volran, Ellyria noted, looked flushed and breathless. Both he and Zavardi were overweight. Their enormous appetites were the stuff of jokes, and not just within the family. Ellyria strode over to greet them with a formal embrace apiece.

‘You’re wearing the cloak, Volran! It’s not looking bad is it, to say it’s over twenty years since I wove it. Not an easy night’s work, I can tell you!’

Volran smiled. ‘It was worth it, Mother, to make such a fine piece. And it’s warm, too, so I don’t only wear it on ceremonial occasions.’

'I hope you put it on every day, Volran, as I instructed. It will lose its power to keep you and your bloodline safe if you don’t.’

‘Oh, he does wear it daily, Mother!’ Zavardi’s lovely dark face shone with love and pride. ‘And talisman or not, it really is quite the best-made cloak I’ve ever seen.’

‘Well, now he has a chance to show it off to the Dresnian court. Shall we sit down?’

They took their places at the high table, and Beverak gave the signal for the courtiers on the floor below to be seated.

‘Are the boys still in Kyrisia, then?’ Ellyria asked.

‘Yes, they are, but they should be back within the next few days,’ Volran replied.

‘Not that we’ll see much more of them when they are home,’ said Zavardi. ‘They still spend more time out with the Sea Training Academy than they do sitting in court with their father. They can wrap him around their little fingers, you know.’

‘Ah, they’re good boys, my dear,’ put in Volran. ‘They’ll settle down to more formal duties within a year or two, you’ll see.’

Ellyria resisted joining the argument. Kings’ sons should be trained to rule, but Volran had always indulged his boys. Heaven help Challiver if the pair didn’t settle down and anything happened to Volran… She pushed the thought away and reached for her spoon. The spell on the Dark Spirit was undone, and there was no point in fretting about it. Better to enjoy what happiness they could, for once the Dark Spirit showed its hand, chaos would surely reign again, for the dagger of Dresnia, lost these twenty-odd years, was still missing. Ellyria still clung to the remote hope that it would turn up, but that’s all it was, a remote hope. If it hadn’t been found by now, it probably never would be.

There was dancing after dinner, and Ellyria looked on fondly as Milana danced with Linvar. Lyrien was sitting with the musicians, merrily tootling away on a pipe, while Tammi and Beverak had joined the dancers on the floor, where trestles were still being pushed back as more and more couples joined the throng. If only life could always be like this!

But it couldn’t last. She’d tried to persuade herself that the Dark Spirit would not come back to claim the rest of its price for curing her sons, but it was just a silly hope. Poor little Polivana had been the first payment, and the spirit would want the lives of two more young women when it returned. She had taken every precaution in case this should happen. She’d made jewellery, well laced with protective spells, for both her granddaughters, and had set wards on all the royal residences — but no matter what she did, the Dark Spirit would surely find a way around it. She just hoped she would get some warning before it did.

Come back for Chapter Two tomorrow!