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"Oh, no..." Returning to the Greenwarden's station after a productive few hours clearing bracken and brambles, Gwendoline immediately spotted a stricken bird on the ground. She hurried over and leaned her scythe against the wall of the small cabin before kneeling to examine it: a beautiful goshawk with a striped underside and fierce-looking bright orange eyes. It was clearly stunned, lying on its back with its wings spread, silently opening and closing its beak. "You flew into the building, didn't you?" The poor thing must have made a split-second error while pursuing its prey, or perhaps being mobbed by crows, and likely knocked itself out. Gwendoline gave its tail a gentle tug to check how responsive it was, prompting it to attempt some wing flaps and to lash out instinctively with its razor-sharp talons. Good job she was still wearing her leather gardening gauntlets. It could probably even pierce those if she didn't handle it with care. Her heart sank as she continued to observe the hawk's occasional fluttering. While it could hold out its left wing in a normal position, the right one seemed to be hanging limply. It looked like it would pay for that tiny mistake with its life... it might well recover from the concussion, but there was no chance of it flying and hunting again with a broken wing. Though it filled her with sadness, she knew the kindest thing would be to end its suffering. Unless, maybe... Her thoughts turned to the elvenstone she had picked up in town the other week, hoping its magical properties might come in useful. Could it possibly mend this injury? There was no harm in trying. She entered the toolshed and found it easy to locate the gem among its crowded shelves, thanks to the bright green glow that emanated from it, illuminating the dingy space. She held it up and marvelled at the sunlight captured within it. "What secrets do you hold?" she wondered aloud. "And how do I unlock them?" Unfortunately, it hadn't come with instructions. She grabbed a winter cloak while she was there, and used it to cover the bird's head in the hope of keeping it calm. Then she crouched down and secured its yellow legs with one hand, while holding the gem over it with the other. Presumably it required some sort of activation, so she tried the obvious: "Heal." Nothing happened. Gwendoline chewed her lip, considering what else might work. Perhaps the magic had to be focused through its apex? She held the elvenstone the other way up, pointing it directly at the injured wing. No beams of healing light came shooting out. When the lethargic hawk made another half-hearted attempt to move, it still looked just the same. She wished she'd asked Velda what the technique was. It was too late now – she wouldn't dream of using her calling name just to ask a question, when she might be interrupting something far more important. She would just have to figure this out herself, if she could. What if it was designed to channel her own mental energy? She tried gazing at the wing through the translucent gem, willing the damage to be undone. "What are you doing with that greenstone?" The voice startled her so much, she almost let go of those deadly feet. She turned her head to see a diminutive young woman with cropped hair leaning against the cabin, dressed in a tomboyish outfit of short brown overalls and a green shirt. "It's an elvenstone," said Gwendoline. "Is it?" the girl replied with a nonchalant air. "They're supposed to have powers of healing. Only I'm not exactly sure how they work." Frowning, she returned her attention to the task at hand. "Well, if it's no use to you, I could take it off your hands." She glanced at the girl again. "And what do you want it for?" "Don't see how that's any of your business." Gwendoline raised an eyebrow. "Well I'm sorry, but it's not for sale." Maybe it needed to be touching the bird's wing... she experimented with different positions and angles, her hopes beginning to fade as nothing seemed to make any difference. Having stayed to watch her efforts, the girl abruptly exploded like she could stand no more: "Oh, don't you know anything? Give it here." Before Gwendoline knew what was happening, the girl had snatched the elvenstone from her hand, barged her out of the way, and lifted the cloak from the goshawk's face. "Be careful! Watch out for its talons," she warned. The girl waved a hand over its eyes, saying "Losto" in a soothing voice. Gwendoline saw the flapping bird instantly relax, as if asleep or in a drunken stupor. It offered no resistance as the girl gently extended its right wing, feeling her way along it methodically. "There," she said, locating the fracture. "It's not too bad." Once she had re-aligned the bone, she held onto it with one hand while placing the other upon the elvenstone. Then she closed her eyes and waited. "All done," she said finally. "You mean it's healed??" Gwendoline hadn't been sure if anything was happening at all. "Like it was never broken." She waved her hand over it again. "Echuio!" The hawk became fully alert, and the two of them moved aside to give it some space. They both kneeled quietly while it stood for a while with outspread wings, looking all around the glade as if trying to get its bearings. Gwendoline noticed that its right wing was no longer drooping. "Go on then. Off you go!" said the girl. To Gwendoline's delight, it suddenly took flight and was gone. Her open-mouthed amazement turned into a broad grin as she faced the young visitor, whose expertise could only mean one thing. "You're an elf!" The girl's own face darkened. "Keep your voice down!" she hissed. "I won't be able to help anyone if I get nabbed by the Opposition." "Sorry," said Gwendoline, a little flustered by the outburst. Her apology did nothing to soothe the young woman, who was shaking her head with folded arms and commenting to no-one in particular: "They're all the same. Stupid, useless human beans." She snorted with some amusement as the tall Greenwarden rose to her feet. "Except this one's more like a beanPOLE!" "Pleased to meet you too," muttered Gwendoline. And there she was thinking elves were big on politeness! The girl sprang up nimbly. "How d'you know about elf-stones, anyway?" "My elvish friend taught me about them." She looked extremely skeptical of this claim. "YOU have an elvish friend?" "Lady Velda, of the court of King Arawn. Do you know her?" The girl shrugged with her face as well as her shoulders. "Never had much to do with that lot," she said dismissively. "Still, you must've done something right." Though she probably wouldn't admit it, Gwendoline thought she sounded intrigued, if not quietly impressed. Scenes from their shared adventure flitted through Gwendoline's head. "With so many enemies around, we need all the friends we can get." "Speak for yourself," sniffed the youngster. "I only need one. There's nothing he can't handle." "If you say so." "What, you don't believe me? He could have you for breakfast, Beanpole." "Call me Gwendoline." "I'll call you whatever I like," the elf-maid smirked. "And what should I call you?" "Oh, didn't I introduce myself? It's spelt K-Y-U-N-O. As in keep your ugly nose out!" Gwendoline could scarcely believe this stroppy little madam was a member of Velda's race, with all their quiet dignity. If she wasn't going to offer a name, she would just have to be 'The Brat'. But maybe not to her face. The girl tossed the elvenstone in the air and caught it again. "I'll keep this then, shall I?" she said cheerfully, adding at the sign of Gwendoline's imminent protest, "It's not like you know how to use it!" "Well, can't you teach me?" The Brat made a dubious face. "Please! Now that I know what they're for, I want to use it wherever I can. I love this forest and everything that lives in it." The elf's silent pout finally gave way to an eye roll. "I suppose I could try. Depends how thick you are." "I appreciate your faith in me," said Gwendoline with a forced smile, holding out her hand. The Brat reluctantly placed the gem in it. Noticing movement out the corner of her eye, the Greenwarden turned to see Motley strolling up the path towards the cabin. "Ugh, here comes that creep of a jester." "You don't like him either? I've had funnier bowel movements," said the elf. Gwendoline flinched momentarily, trying to dismiss the vulgar mental image. "He thinks he's God's gift to womankind. Pathetic, really. He's so puny, I think he'd fall over if I breathed on him." She grew angry as the unwelcome figure came closer: "Has he been picking wild flowers?" Motley halted a short distance away, clutching a rather shabby bouquet. "There she is – the green goddess herself! Oh!" He flung an arm in front of his face. "I brought you a peace offering, but I'm so dazzled by your beauty I can hardly see where I'm going." He mock-staggered towards them, making further wordless exclamations. "Mutt-flea! I had no idea you felt that way," the Brat simpered, striking a coy pose. "P'raps I should cover myself up. I'd hate to see you accidentally walk off a cliff. No, wait – I'd LOVE to see that!" Gwendoline couldn't help but laugh, and Motley pulled a sulky face at his grand romantic gesture being ruined. "I wasn't talking to you, Elita." The elf-maid's eyes blazed with such sudden ferocity that he stiffened with fright, an involuntary whimper escaping his lips. "I shouldn't have said that, should I?" She raised her hand as if to either cast a curse or throttle him, and he dropped the flowers with a yelp and bolted for the nearest dungeon entrance. "Well, that's got rid of him," Gwendoline chuckled, grateful for the intervention. "So it's Elita then, is it?" The girl spun around to face her. "If you tell anyone, scumpot--" "I won't tell anyone your name – I know that's important to you." She looked her in the eyes to convey her sincerity. "Lady Velda trusted me with hers. You can too." "More than I can say for that stinking blabbermouth," Elita fumed. "Wait till I catch him. I happen to know where there's a pillory with his name on it!" She hadn't even reached the end of the sentence before running off in pursuit of the jester. "Give him a nice rotten cabbage from me!" Gwendoline called after her with a big smile.
In truth, it was hard to say who was more deserving of the insult – the overzealous knight who had insisted on "rescuing" her for no reason at all, or Gwendoline herself, for allowing herself to be tricked with such a simple distraction. Now she found herself slung over his right shoulder, kicking and shouting ineffectually as he carried her off to goodness-knows-where. "Nil desperandum, dearheart. You're in safe hands with the bold Sir Hugh." Gwendoline was swung from side to side as he paused to scan their surroundings again. "Now I'm sure he can't have gone far. Neddyyy!" There was a peal of laughter from somewhere nearby. Looking up with some difficulty, given her awkward position and the curtains of long blonde hair flopping over her face, Gwendoline saw a row of trees – it looked like the baron's orchard – with Elita perched in one of them, halfway through munching an apple. "Do you have any idea what you look like?" she called down. "Hm? Who said that?" Sir Hugh spun around to face the tree, and the sight of Gwendoline from an even more undignified angle had the young elf cackling so hard, she had to steady herself against the trunk. Gwendoline died a little more inside, dropping her head so she could hide behind her hair again. "Well, I'll be bound – if it isn't another maiden in distress!" exclaimed the knight. "Stuck up there, are you? You'll need rescuin', of course, so it's just as well I came along. Jolly good. Now, bear with me, and we'll have you down in no time." He approached the tree, but seemed flummoxed about how to proceed whilst already laden with one large woman. "You lay one finger on me, and I'll turn you into an earthworm!" warned Elita, getting to her feet. She walked along the branch without the slightest wobble before jumping to the ground as lightly as a cat. "Thanks for rescuing my gangly friend, though. She's utterly hopeless." "My absolute pleasure, miss. I shall leave her in your capable hands." He set down a relieved Gwendoline, who quickly moved away from him and tried to tidy herself up. "Great," said Elita. "Now do us a favour and bog off!" "Happy to. Consider it done," Sir Hugh said with a bow. He began to stride away, then hesitated and turned back towards them. "You're quite sure you don't need rescuin'?" Elita took a couple of menacing paces forward. "What part of 'bog off' did you not understand, stew-for-brains? It means point your filthy snout in that direction, and keep moving your trotters till you're out of my sight." "Now there's a girl who gets straight to the point. Ha ha!" Hands on hips, he showed no sign of going anywhere. "Well, if you do need me services--" "It'll be you that needs rescuing in a minute," said Elita, throwing the half-eaten apple at his head. He caught it with surprisingly fast reflexes. "Oh, Neddy's favourite. He'll love that," the knight mused. "Now if only I knew where he was. Tell you what, I'll just pop off over there and have a look for him. Give me a shout if you need me. Alright?" This time he strolled off without stopping. "I'd say you owe me one, Beanpole," said Elita. Gwendoline had just about managed to regain her composure. "You called me your friend," she observed. Elita's face was impassive. "Just an expression. And speaking of friends, I have to get back to Smirkenorff." "Smirkenorff?? The... dragon?" "No, the other Smirkenorff!" Elita rolled her eyes. "You humans really do ask some stupid questions." "Alright, smarty-pants – I was just curious, that's all. I know there's been a dragon helping the Powers That Be. I've seen it fly over." Elita interrupted sharply: "Smirky's not an 'it', he's a 'he'. Come and meet him if you like. Unless you're too scared." "I'd be foolish not to be!" Gwendoline retorted. "They're extremely dangerous creatures." "Oh, don't you start! Our elders don't trust him, either – just 'cos it was a dragon that destroyed their old home. And I know that was terrible. But not all dragons are the same, you know. And Smirky won't hurt you... unless you deserve it." The Greenwarden was more concerned than ever. "A dragon destroyed a forest?" "What??" Elita frowned in confusion, before suddenly understanding. "No, stupid! We're not wood-elves." Her screwed-up face implied this was insulting as well as self-evidently absurd. Gwendoline was lost. "Where do you all live, then?" "Underground, of course. And no, I'm not gonna give you directions." "I wasn't expecting you to!" There was a long pause, and then Elita said quietly, "I really think you'd like Smirky if you gave him a chance." "It's more a question of whether he'd like me!" "Only one way to find out, isn't there?" Gwendoline sighed, hoping she wasn't making a huge error of judgement. "Go on, then." Elita grinned and led the way, leaving the orchard and heading into the dungeons.
Having gone on ahead, Elita turned to see her gazing at him in awe. "He's a Great Crested Green, though he's not in his breeding colours right now," she explained. "He's incredible," said Gwendoline. Even outside his physical peak, he was the most magnificent animal she'd ever seen. She wondered how old he was, but it seemed rude to ask. "You can come closer, you know." Gwendoline approached them uncertainly, trying to keep one eye on the dragon while stepping carefully across the rugged surface. "Smirky, this is that Greenwarden I was telling you about," said Elita. "The one who wouldn't give me the elf-stone." The huge reptilian head turned slowly towards Gwendoline, who froze on the spot, suddenly afraid the elf-brat had lured her here to be roasted alive. "Say hello to him, then," prompted Elita. Swallowing hard, she managed to get out, "It's an honour to meet you, Smirkenorff." She could feel the heat from his nostrils as he slowly blinked his red eyes at her. "Can he speak?" she asked Elita. "Of course he can, pea-brain. But he's had a sore throat, so I've told him not to speak to anyone unless he absolutely has to." "And he listens to you?" Elita put her hands on her hips. "Why shouldn't he?" "I didn't think a dragon would take orders from anyone, let alone..." Gwendoline bit her tongue before she said something that would offend her even more. The elf glared at her. "I'm his friend. I know what's best for him." "Well then, I'm sure he's lucky to have you," said Gwendoline, hoping it sounded sincere. "We're lucky to have each other," Elita corrected her. "I take care of Smirkenorff, and he looks after me – don't you Smirky?" She rubbed the dragon's wing and he rested his head ever-so-gently upon her shoulder, careful to avoid contact with the spines on his lower jaw. "He's the only one I can always rely on." Gwendoline was touched by their obvious bond, though a little sad that Elita seemed isolated from her own people. "How long have you known each other?" she enquired. "Me and Smirky go way back. That's why the Powers That Be came to me when they needed a dragon." "So now he transports dungeoneers?" "That's right – and I'm here to keep an eye on them. I have to make sure they cough up the going rate." "Which is?" Elita put on an authoritative voice: "No charge for a flight to Level 1. Gold, silver or dragon treats for a flight between levels, excepting emergency Descender replacement services." "And what if they can't pay?" "Then they can shove off. Or maybe I'll shove them off!" Elita's face lit up with glee at the prospect. A sharp thunderclap made Gwendoline jump, and she turned to see a familiar figure in red robes materialise on the rocks. "Hordriss! Is there something I can help you with?" "Good day to you, Gwendoline," he replied in his distinctive deep tones. "Actually, it's Miss-- this young lady I was looking for." "It's alright, she knows me name," Elita said moodily. "Ah. Well, Miss Elita, one has a proposal for you. One is in need of a certain potion ingredient that is proving most difficult to obtain. One was hoping you might be persuaded to help one search for it... in Aesandre's storerooms." "Forget it!" "I'm sure we can negotiate some fitting reward--" "I'm not going to Winteria! I'll freeze me bits off, if I don't get eaten first by one of her serpents." "One can of course provide you with a warming spell, and something to neutralise any guardians." Sensing she still needed some persuasion, he added, "Two can search faster than one alone. Should you agree to help, one would be in your debt." Elita made a series of facial contortions like she was chewing something unpleasant, before evidently deciding that a favour owed from Hordriss was too rare an opportunity to pass up. "Alright then," she sighed dramatically. "Looks like we're going to Level 3, Smirky." She started walking towards the dragon's tail end. "That won't be necessary. One will transport us both to Winteria directly," said Hordriss. "And rely on you to escape again? I don't think so." "This operation requires the utmost discretion. A dragon of this size is unlikely to go unnoticed." "It's not up for debate, bonehead. Either Smirky takes me or you can ruddy well do without my help." Elita folded her arms and gave him a level stare. With his striped eyebrows drawn down, Hordriss exhaled heavily through his nose: "As you wish." Gwendoline was amazed to witness such boldness towards the wizard, who was notoriously intolerant of disrespect. Brother Mace had told her all about the consequences of what he called "the tiniest, tipsiest slip of the tongue" last year. "Right then, let's go." Elita made her way up Smirkenorff's tail, trotted along his back and hopped into the saddle. Hordriss and Gwendoline moved back, their hair ruffling as the dragon began to flap his immense wings, before launching himself off the cliff and soaring out over the ocean. He soon turned to follow the coastline and the pair disappeared from view. Hordriss huffed and shook his head, then turned to Gwendoline. "Should you see a dungeoneer, one would be gratified if you sent him to join us." "Yes, of course." He bowed his head, then raised an arm and vanished as a bolt of energy struck the ground where he stood. After taking a moment to breathe in the wonderful sea air, Gwendoline headed back to the portal through which they'd arrived. Just then, she heard a horn blowing. The dungeoneer, Ben! He'd been clasping a horn to his chest when she tested him earlier and guided him into the greenwood. Realising he must be in trouble again, she readied her bow and hastened to his aid.
Turning to look behind, she saw Smirkenorff flying low and parallel to the ride she was walking along. Elita was visible in the saddle as he got closer, and returned a wave from Gwendoline before they veered away while descending. She guessed they intended to land in a nearby fallow field and left the track to head in that direction. Elita came to meet her in a clearing on the way. "How was the mission to Winteria?" asked Gwendoline as she crossed the remaining distance between them. "Did you and Hordriss find what he was looking for?" Elita looked smug. "It all worked out. Hordriss will have got what he wants, and I picked up a little bonus for myself!" She triumphantly flashed a gleaming elvenstone. "I'll say one thing for these dungeoneers – they might be thick as dragon droppings but at least they're good for a trade." "That reminds me, you did say you would teach me how to use those." Gwendoline nodded towards the gem. "Did I?" "Yes. You did," said the Greenwarden in her no-nonsense voice that normally ensured compliance. "Is now a good time?" Elita sighed and handed it over. Then she strolled around the glade, casting a thoughtful eye over the ground until she crouched and pointed to something. "There's your first challenge." Gwendoline peered down at the wilted daisy, then looked at Elita blankly: "What about it?" "See if you can perk it up a bit." "There's nothing wrong with the daisies," Gwendoline chuckled, gesturing to the carpet of flowers that surrounded them. "That's just their normal life cycle." "I do know that," said Elita, her tone a warning that she didn't appreciate the condescension. "Well, I want to do something useful. Healing injured creatures. Reversing fire damage! There's a whole area that--" "You start with the basics," Elita said firmly. "Let's face it, I'm probably wasting my time. I bet you've never used magic in your life." "I used a FLARE spell just the other night!" Gwendoline replied indignantly. "Oh yeah? Brewed it up yourself, did you?" "I bought it at the market," she mumbled, feeling her cheeks flush. "I didn't quite catch that." "Look, can we just give this a try? If I can't do it, you can have my stone. But I really do want to learn." "Come on, then. Sit." The elf-maid pointed at the ground as if commanding a dog, so that Gwendoline felt a little silly obeying. "Hold the stone in one hand. Now it's simple enough. First you tap into its power. Then you direct it." Crossing her legs and setting down her bow, Gwendoline gazed deep into the green beryl, willing it to respond. No matter how hard she tried, she felt nothing but a growing sense of disappointment. "I can't get it to do anything." "You can't force it," said Elita. "If you want the energy to flow, you need to open yourself to it." "How do I do that?" "Close your eyes. There's magic all around you – you say you love the forest, so you know that already. Just... picture it. Feel it." Gwendoline concentrated on everywhere she had felt that magic. The sunlight through the leaves. The first snowdrops pushing up through the frozen ground. The smell of the earth during a rain shower... As her heart filled with all these familiar joys, she became aware of a warm tingle creeping up her arm from the hand that grasped the elf-gem. "I can feel it," she whispered. "Stay focused. Picture that energy flowing steadily from one hand to the other." Trying to remain in a calm state, Gwendoline felt the warmth spread all the way up her left arm, across her chest and down her right arm, until the fingers of her free hand were tingling. "Now what?" "Touch the flower," said Elita, gently guiding her fingertips to it. "Feel the energy flowing into it. Then picture it completely restored." Holding the stem between her fingers and thumb, Gwendoline did as she was instructed. A peaceful contentment came over her as she held the image in her mind. "Is anything happening?" she eventually enquired. "See for yourself." She opened her eyes to behold a perfectly healthy daisy, upright and wide awake. She looked warily at Elita, half afraid she had placed her fingers on a different flower. "This isn't a prank, is it?" The elf shook her head, and the surprise on her face was clearly genuine. Gwendoline laughed in disbelief. "I did it! I actually did it!" "I didn't think you would," admitted Elita. "You really do have a connection to this place." "Not bad for a stupid human bean?" She thought she detected the hint of a smile in return. "I'll give you that. Just don't get too full of yourself, eh faceache?"
"Thank you Molly," she replied with a nod of confirmation, spotting a free table at the back and claiming it. She glanced around while she waited, checking who else was present. The other serving maid in a white dress and bonnet had been chatting to the strange ferryman, but noticed her and brought a flagon over. "I don't suppose Sylvester Hands has been in today?" Gwendoline asked her. The rotten little sneak-thief always seemed to be one step ahead of her. "Of course," said Milly. "Paid for his ale with the Level 1 password if you're interested." "Yes please." Milly leaned over as she filled a cup, and whispered in her ear: "Sabretooth." Gwendoline raised the drink in a toast. "You're an unsung hero," she told the waitress, who curtseyed with a smile and was off to lubricate a few more tongues. Molly arrived with her food soon afterwards. She had barely started eating when Motley burst into the room, singing a merry melody and using his marotte as a cane prop while he danced and twirled. "That's right folks, it's your favourite perfessional wit and reparteeist," he asserted. "The king of comedy... the ace entertainer... the undisputed leader of the pack... Motley!" He bowed while the general background chatter continued without pause. Gwendoline groaned inwardly. What was he doing in here at this time of the day? She'd managed to avoid his act until now, and having heard the reviews, wasn't keen to be subjected to it while she ate. She ducked behind the customers at the table in front and hoped he would stick to bothering someone else. Motley wandered towards the group seated closest to the door. "I'd be careful with that pie if I were you," he said loudly after peering at their meals. "I cut into one yesterday, and this baby snapdragon nearly has me fingers off! 'Oi, Molly,' I says... or is it Milly?... 'Missy,' I says, 'why's there a dragon in me pie?' 'Well,' she says, 'you did say "Get me a pie and make it snappy"!'" Seeing little reaction from anyone, the jester ploughed on undeterred. "'Ere, what did the apple say to the hungry worm? 'You're boring me!'" He slapped his thigh and guffawed, which made him the only person to laugh so far. Just as Gwendoline was considering whether to try stuffing some bread in her ears, he spotted her and bounded over. "What's a classy thing like you doing in a miserable dump like this?" he queried. "Trying to have a quiet meal. By myself," she added pointedly. "All by yourself, are ya?" came the sympathetic response, the point sailing over his head. "You should know, this ain't the safest place for 'lay fems' to go unaccompanied." "Evidently," she muttered. "Never fear, though. Motley will be your gallant chaperone." He plonked himself down at her table, and Gwendoline began to eat faster. "It must be fate, us meeting like this," he said. Gwendoline nearly choked on her soup. "And what have I done to deserve such a fate?" He made a rapturous sound. "A woman like you deserves whatever she dreams of!" His tone then came abruptly back to earth. "I would've said that before, if that loudmouth cavern-elf hadn't stuck her paddle in." "That was really thoughtless, blurting her name out in public," she admonished him. "Dangerous, too. There's a reason why elves don't share their names with just anyone." Motley looked remorseful for a moment, then couldn't resist remarking, "Well, hers ain't much of a secret round here anyway." "Why is that?" Gwendoline asked with a frown. He shrugged. "All I know is she ain't exactly made herself popular. So if the folk of this here dungeon dimension aren't inclined to be kind, she's only got herself to blame." Gwendoline shook her head sadly. "No wonder she doesn't like humans." Elita was undeniably rude and abrasive, but to make an elf's calling name common knowledge was a horrible punishment. "Why we talking about her, anyway? I'd much rather talk about us." "You're not my type," Gwendoline said flatly. "Did I not make that clear enough?" "You mean with the old bow and arrow? I'm afraid Cupid got there first," he simpered, and theatrically mimed being struck in the heart. Seeing her unmoved features, he added: "I know we had a bit of a misunderstanding, but everyone deserves a second chance, don't they?" "No...?" There were plenty of miscreants she'd skewered on sight, or should have done. And she knew a tree-foe, as Oakley would call them, when she saw one. On top of the jester's physical inadequacies, she could never like someone who didn't respect the natural world. "What can I do to win you over?" asked Motley. "I'll do whatever it takes!" "Grow about two feet, for starters," she quipped, finishing her food. "Alright... there are pills you can take for that..." he mused aloud, apparently too desperate to get the message. Gwendoline grabbed her bow and stood up. "Well, if you find something to give you a new personality, maybe we'll talk again." She drained her cup, wishing it was something stronger, and left him pondering the problem while she went to see if the next quest had started.
Seeing colour and movement reflected in the ice, she realised someone was creeping up behind her and whirled around with an arrow nocked. "Hey! Watch where you're pointing that, numbskull." Elita was carrying a small basket full of freshly-picked blackberries, and looked annoyed as a few tumbled to the ground. "Sorry, Elita. I've had reports of a brigand in the area, so it's best to keep my guard up." "Fair enough. Didn't mean to sneak up on you," said the elf-maid in an unusual display of contrition. She offered something from the basket but Gwendoline shook her head. "It's alright. I was a bit distracted anyway... how does water freeze when it isn't cold?" "Is that a riddle?" "No. Look." She gestured to the pond. "Ohhh. That'll be Old Icy-Knickers." "I beg your pardon?" "Aesandre! It's what she does, innit?" Gwendoline's confusion turned to worry. "Aesandre was here, in the Greenwood?" "Well, it's all joined up now," Elita shrugged. "She's furious about the dungeon coming to Winteria. Probably checking where else it goes." "That's all we need. It's bad enough dealing with His Lordship's minions." "I'd avoid her if I were you," Elita concurred. "No offence, but your bow versus her wand? I know who my money's on." "I don't even know what she looks like." "Oh, you can't miss her – she's freakishly tall, like you. Much better-looking, though." "Mental note: avoid tall, attractive women with wands," Gwendoline said dryly. "She's already been wandering about in Level 2," said Elita. "I sent the last dungeoneer to find a firestone she'd frozen there. Turns out the whole thing was some kind of trap, so he never got it. And then he got himself killed! Smirky wasn't happy at all. Neither was I, after waiting around all that time!" She popped a blackberry into her mouth and chewed it resentfully. "They do have a habit of making fatal mistakes," Gwendoline sighed. "Don't know why we bother helping them," Elita muttered with her mouth full. "Because the Opposition's growing stronger with every quest that fails. If we let him win, he won't stop until we're all under his control." "Well he'll have to get up pretty early in the morning to catch me." With that, the young elf darted off round the pond and vanished through the portal in the pavilion.
At least it shouldn't happen again anytime soon – the quest season was reportedly drawing to a close, so there would be no more dungeoneers passing through the Greenwood for a while. This might be their last opportunity to score a victory against Lord Fear. "Better find out what's happening, I suppose..." Giving the tree a grateful pat and reluctantly climbing to her feet, she located a portal into the dungeons and then headed to the gate at the end of Level 1. Its burly guardian greeted her in an otherworldly booming voice: "Hail, Greenwarden." She bowed her head respectfully. "Gatemaster. I see the dungeoneer made it here safely with my token." "She did," he replied, holding out the green arrow for her to take back, "despite the Opposition's efforts to prevent it. He has acquired a hobgoblin." "A hobgoblin!" she repeated, alarmed. "No wonder he wanted me distracted." "Fear not. I have dealt with it for now, and the Great Wyrm has flown the traveller to Level 2." "Smirkenorff took her?" A slight frown clouded Gwendoline's face. "That's odd." "How so?" "His guardian – the elf-maid – well, she normally insists on payment for a flight between the levels. But I happen to know Kelly gave all her money to Sylvester Hands." "I have not seen the elf-maid." "Hmm. Perhaps she was waiting in Level 2." Gwendoline's shoulders dropped and she turned her face away, staring anxiously into space as she considered that scenario. "I hope she doesn't obstruct the quest." "Would it set your mind at ease to follow the path of this quest?" asked the Gatemaster. She thought for a second and nodded. "How do I get there?" "I will summon the travelling gate." He turned to the huge metal door and struck the ground with his staff, prompting sounds of machinery behind it. A sudden icy gust made Gwendoline yelp involuntarily. "Where did that wind come from?" The Gatemaster made no reply and stood motionless, as was his custom. Improbable snowflakes began to swirl around them, despite the lack of any clouds overhead, and Gwendoline found herself shivering while she waited impatiently for the device to arrive. It must have been travelling a long way to reach them. When at last it fell silent and the Gatemaster turned to face her again, his dark bushy beard and upturned moustache had become white. "You must loudly call 'halt' at the seventh level down," he instructed, stepping aside as the door rose up noisily to reveal the Descender. Thanking him, she strode inside it and commanded, "Down." The huge machine whirred and clanked into action. As it passed a series of windows, snow could be seen falling heavily throughout the dungeon dimension, with familiar places starting to look more like Winteria. This unseasonable weather had to be the work of Aesandre. The sorceress had made a number of nocturnal visits to the Greenwood pond, judging by its frozen state each morning – for what purpose, she couldn't imagine. Whatever her plans were, they now seemed to have grown dramatically in scope. Gwendoline hoped she'd been counting the floors correctly, as she wasn't confident she could distinguish between safe and unsafe exit points. "Halt!" she called out, and the device obediently stopped at the next level, where a single door creaked open. The frightknight's helm above it made her shudder with bad memories. Stepping through the portal, the bitter wind raising goosebumps on her arms, she found herself by a castle that was perched upon a high rocky outcrop. A blanket of snow lay on the ground for miles around. Turning slowly to take in the view, she wasn't prepared for the sight of a dragon's head looming suddenly towards her, its fearsome jaws opening wide. A bloodcurdling shriek was the only reaction she could manage. "Is that you, human?" The massive reptile scrutinised her as she stood trembling from equal parts cold and fright. Recovering from the initial shock, she realised it was a face she had seen before. "Smirkenorff?" "I thought I recognised you." It was incredible to hear him speak, in languid, regal tones that resonated through her chest. "I don't suppose you've seen Elita on your travels?" Gwendoline began to breathe normally again. "I was just coming to look for her." "Hmmm. I expected her to be here by now, but she still hasn't turned up. And I'm starting to get cold sitting here." He shook a pile of accumulated snow off his back, then gave his great wings a few flaps. "I didn't exactly dress for this either," she noted, wishing she had her nice warm cloak. "Thank you for flying the dungeoneer, by the way." "Mmm... a freeloader, but I gather she had your approval." "Yes. She was gullible, but I did see signs of promise. I was worried Elita might punish her for not having the fare." "I'm sure she would have something to say about it – if she were here. It seems she has more important matters to attend to." The dragon sounded most put out. "I don't know. Something about this doesn't feel right." Gwendoline shivered violently as the wind picked up even more. "I'll head into the dungeons and see if I can find her." "Very well. I suppose I'll just fly around here in circles, otherwise I shall freeze to death in the meantime." "I'll be as quick as I can," she promised. "Oh, and – I'm sorry I screamed." "You're not the first," Smirkenorff said wearily, "and you probably won't be the last. Farewell." After watching him take off, Gwendoline headed through a portal in the castle wall, and found to her displeasure that it was no warmer inside the dungeon. What was more, the air was swirling just as wildly in here as it had been on the exposed hilltop. This chamber took the form of a great hall, one of the familiar room designs copied from the baron's castle. Hordriss' fancy chair was here and it looked like he'd been working at the table, but there was no sign of him now. She hurried on through the sole portal and along a short passage to the next room. There were a couple of clue objects on a table here: an elvenstone and a single glove, along with a scroll. Kelly had evidently made her choice and taken the others. As she glanced around in search of an exit, Gwendoline felt moisture on her face and arms – a fine spray like drizzle in the air, despite the roof above her. "Ugh, this is getting more unpleasant by the second," she moaned. Stepping up towards a window, she found a spiral staircase to the left and made her way quickly down it. Near the bottom her feet slid out from under her, and she only just managed to grab the rope handrail in time to avoid a painful fall. It was so cold in here, the water droplets blowing all around her were freezing onto every surface they touched. Small icicles were creeping down from the doorframe ahead of her. The blast of frigid air as she proceeded through the portal made her cry out. This bare white room was even colder than the ones she'd just passed through, with long icicles already hanging from the ceiling. A small fire danced in one corner, but its flames were bright blue and it was clearly doing nothing to warm the chamber. As she moved closer, she realised it was in fact radiating intense cold instead of heat. She could feel ice forming on her face and hair. There were some items in the middle of the floor, lying on and around a red blanket. Putting down her bow, she pushed the objects aside, picked up the blanket and opened it out to its full size. Holding it at arm's length and using it as a shield, she approached the blue fire and carefully placed the blanket over it, patting down the edges to ensure it was totally smothered. If that was the source of all the cold air in here, at least the temperature shouldn't drop any further. She turned to examine the items on the floor. There was a spyglass on a cushion, surely left here for the dungeoneer to use, while the other two – a gold bar and a book whose spine read 'MAGIC SPELLS' – appeared to be abandoned clue objects. Disappointingly, Kelly must have been forced to cut her quest short. It could only be hoped that she made it out safely and was back with her friends in Knightmare Castle. But where was Elita? Gwendoline doubted she had chosen to go with Kelly; it didn't seem like her to leave Smirkenorff alone in these rapidly deteriorating conditions, not for the sake of aiding a human. She must be somewhere further on in the level. Picking up her bow again, she ducked beneath the growing icicles in the next doorway and climbed another short staircase, gripping the handrope in case of any more slippery patches. The portal at the top brought her into what might have seemed a homely room with its roaring hearth, had the flames not been the cold blue kind she had encountered before. Ice hung thickly from the wooden beams and frosted up the panes of the large oriel window. A chalk circle had been drawn on the floor with other shapes and symbols inside, and some small objects were positioned around it, so coated with rime that it was hard to tell what they were. What looked like a lifesize ice sculpture of a person stood in between them, arms raised in a flailing posture. Gwendoline walked up to it with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She could make out a familiar green and brown outfit encased within the ice, and a face frozen in a wide-eyed, panicky expression. "Elita? Can you hear me?" She realised it was an idiotic question, as the elf was in no position to respond either way. It wasn't at all clear if she was even alive, but that was too awful to contemplate and Gwendoline pushed the thought away. "I'll go and fetch help," she told her. "Perhaps Smirkenorff will know what to do." Though she tried to sound reassuring, the situation felt hopeless, unless the dragon possessed the kind of magic needed to free Elita... she had barely completed the thought when a gasp of inspiration burst from her lips. The spellbook Kelly had left! She dropped her bow and returned to the lower room, now having to crouch right down to pass the icy fingers descending like a portcullis in the doorway, then slid halfway across the floor when she strode forward in her haste to collect the objects. The bar of gold had become frozen onto the book's cover so she took them both, fearing she would get trapped in here if she spent too long fiddling with them. As an afterthought she also grabbed the red blanket, now so stiff with ice that it held its flat shape when she picked it up. She struggled back up the treacherous stairs, put down the book and made a beeline for the fireplace, once again pushing the blanket down over the cruel blue flames. With the fire successfully extinguished, she turned her attention to the clue objects and prised them apart with some difficulty. At least the gold bar lying on top had prevented the spellbook's clasp from freezing up. Flipping it open to search for anything useful, her eyes immediately landed on a page illustrated with icicles and snowflakes, and across the centre, the word 'THAW' in large red capital letters. "As if by magic!" she exclaimed, before rolling her eyes at herself, knowing what Elita would say: "Stupid human – it IS magic!" Unsure how to direct the spell without a wand, she stood facing Elita with her fingers outstretched, though she was shivering too much to hold them still. "Spellcasting: T-H-A-W!" she called out in her most commanding voice, somewhat undermined by her chattering teeth. As it turned out, it worked on everything in the room. The air temperature instantly felt more comfortable and all of the ice began rapidly melting away. To Gwendoline's immense relief, Elita came to life with a high-pitched yelp, swatting at herself as if fighting off a swarm of wasps. Then she paused breathlessly for a moment, eyes darting from one arm to the other and down the front of her body, before glancing up and noticing she had company. "Beanpole! Where did you spring from?" "I came to find you. Smirkenorff was worried about you, and so was I." "I must've lost track of time trying to get this ritual to work." Elita gestured to the circle of power with its various carefully-placed items. "I had it all set up, but I just couldn't find the right incantation." Gwendoline looked down at the spellbook in her hands. "Perhaps this would've helped?" Elita peered at it with interest. "Where'd you get that?" "Kelly, the dungeoneer had it." "Well I wish she'd given it to me! I might've felt inclined to tell her the colour code for the causeway. Serves her right if she's fallen down the pit." Gwendoline shook her head. "She seems to have left the dungeon. I found her objects on the floor." "Hmph. Well anyway, I don't know what I said wrong, but the hearth suddenly burst into flames. Only they were blue flames, and freezing cold instead of hot. I tried to stamp it out, but then my clothes were alight... and then you were here." Elita paused, looking confused, then glanced across at the closed window. "Why's it so windy in here? It feels like it's raining!" "All of this is Aesandre's doing, I'm sure of it," said Gwendoline. "I'll bet there are more of these fires. It seems like she's trying to freeze the whole dungeon." "Then we'd better go." Gwendoline retrieved her bow and left the book with all the other ritual items. "What's the quickest way out of here?" Elita led her through a creaky door in one corner of the room, which brought them out in a large open courtyard with icicles hanging from faded red timber balconies. The elf looked around in surprise at the snow covering the ground, while Gwendoline hurried along the perimeter, checking each of the possible exits but finding none they could use. "The portals have all frozen over!" "No matter," Elita called back, wandering around as if looking for something. "Well, how are we going to get out?!" "That way!" She turned her eyes to the sky. "What?" Elita was kicking around in the snow. "I left it here somewhere... a-ha!" She bent over and pulled out a pale, slender rope that had become buried. "How is that going to help us?" Gwendoline asked impatiently, feeling her damp hair turning to ice again. "Taetho," the elf said in a firm tone, apparently addressing the rope. Holding onto one end of it, she threw the coil high into the air and watched it unwind. There was nothing above them for it to catch upon, yet to Gwendoline's astonishment it did not return to earth, and hung there vertically when Elita let go. The top of it just seemed to vanish into thin air. Elita reached up to grasp the rope, raised her knees and clamped the rope between her feet, then paused and turned her head back to Gwendoline. "You do know how to climb a rope?" "I'll have you know I came second in the rope climb at the summer fair." "Just the two entrants, were there?" grinned Elita before continuing her ascent. Gwendoline felt the wind go out of her sails as she watched the elf-maid climb with a speed she could never hope to match. "And I've won the archery three years running!" she called up, to no response. Climbing up beyond the visible part of the rope, Elita soon disappeared as well. Though puzzled by the wheres and hows, there was nothing for Gwendoline to do but follow her. Unstringing her bow, she hooked it over her head and sword hilt before sliding it into position on her back. Then she jumped onto the rope and made short work of it, her height allowing her to reach the top with only a few pulls. The fibre felt silky soft but without being slippery, and so far at least, it seemed immune to the ice that was forming on everything else. Just above her, the rope remained entirely hidden from sight. It felt surreal to stand there suspended in mid-air and seemingly connected to nothing else. She reached up and gripped what she could not see, her arms becoming invisible too. "Well, here goes," she murmured. The next time she stood up, she found herself emerging through a deep layer of snow, as if the ground itself were merely an illusion – though it couldn't be, as Elita was standing on it a short distance away. The rope was somehow tied around the branch of an ice-encrusted ash tree, despite having no loop at the end when Elita had thrown it. Gwendoline continued to climb until she was fully above the ground, then looked around uncertainly. "Just step off. It's perfectly safe," said Elita. Gwendoline cautiously placed one foot down, half expecting it to disappear back through the portal, but the ground she'd just climbed through was entirely solid. After getting down, she stared in wonder at the inexplicable knot around the branch – and was horrified to see it come undone with a single sharp tug. "Never seen an elven-rope before?" said Elita with a look of amusement, quickly coiling it and hanging it over her shoulder. It wasn't the time to ask questions, so instead Gwendoline assessed their location. Further up the high limestone ridge they were standing upon, she recognised the castle where she had stepped out of the Descender, its broken walls and great towers silhouetted against the sky. "That's where I left Smirkenorff. I hope he's still there," said Elita, setting off in that direction. They scrambled up the long, steep slope, squinting through the ice storm that showed no sign of diminishing. Gwendoline had never felt so cold and miserable in her life as she trudged through the endless snow. Elita's feet didn't seem to sink in it like hers, so the elf's progress was considerably faster and she had to stop and wait several times for Gwendoline to catch up. Smirkenorff came into view as they reached the top of the hill. "At last," the dragon remarked. "I was beginning to feel quite abandoned." "Sorry, Smirky. I'll explain later." Elita scampered up his tail, then turned to look back at her companion. "Come on, we need to go!" Gwendoline's eyes widened. "You expect me to fly?" "Unless you want to stay here and turn into an abnormal snowman." "You mean abominable." "If I thought you were that bad, I'd tell you so. Are you coming or what?" Gwendoline hesitated. "...I don't think I can." "Smirky has an excellent safety record." Elita cocked her head. "Don't you trust me?" Realising she had little choice and not wanting to offend either of them, Gwendoline reluctantly approached the dragon's tail and began to walk up it with slow, careful steps. She didn't dare grab hold of his spines in case it surprised or annoyed him. Any unexpected movement, or a gust of wind strong enough to throw her off balance, and the resulting fall could do a lot of damage. Elita helped her to walk along Smirkenorff's back and climb timidly into the saddle, then stood behind it herself, holding onto a strap. "OK, Smirky," she called out. With his wings warming up for flight, every instinct told Gwendoline to get off again – but it was too late. Her stomach lurched as they left the ground and she clung to the saddle for dear life, praying it was securely fastened in place. "Open your eyes, Beanpole – you're missing the view!" She forced them open one at a time, and gasped at the sight of forests and fields spread out below them. They seemed to be above the storm now, no longer subjected to the freezing spray, but most of the landscape was covered in snow, and every single rock or tree was visibly coated with a thick glaze. Even houses were completely encased in it, decorated all over with bizarre twisted icicles. It appeared that nowhere within dungeon dimensions had escaped Aesandre's enchantment. "I can't believe the extent of this ice," said Gwendoline. "I didn't think she was this powerful," Elita admitted. "Course she might've had help." "There might be others trapped like you were. What should we do?" "Don't worry – we'll get Hordriss onto it. He might be a pompous old windbag but credit where it's due, he does have skills when it comes to magic." Gwendoline started to relax, feeling more confident that she wasn't going to plummet to her death. For a while she looked around without speaking, just taking in the experience. The wintry scenes that surrounded them were breathtakingly beautiful. Up ahead, a cluster of buildings came into view. "Is that...?" "Wolfenden," confirmed Elita. "Though you'd hardly recognise it." The shops and inns of the high street all looked like giant ice sculptures as they flew over the town and on past the Wolfglade, following the main forest road. To see the Greenwood from the air was something quite amazing. Though Gwendoline knew this forest like the back of her hand, she had never seen it like this before, laid out before her like a living map – as if viewed through the eyes of a soaring buzzard. On one side she could pick out the Gate Tower in its large clearing, while far off in the other direction, the Lake of Wisps gleamed in the sunlight. There just below them was the skating pool with its distinctive white pavilion. Spotting the stone cross at the turning, her eyes followed the lane along to her own village, its central green now as white as everywhere else. "I can see my house!" she exclaimed. Smirkenorff banked to the right and swooped lower, circling the village to give her a better look. It was so exhilarating that she heard herself let out a surprising whoop of delight. She turned to Elita as they continued to glide over the frozen Greenwood. "This is wonderful. Thank you." "It's not me you should be thanking." "Thank you, Smirkenorff," she called out. "I might have to owe you the fare." "No charge for you," came the phlegmatic reply. "A friend of Elita's is a friend of mine." Gwendoline chortled. "I'm not sure she would consider me a friend." "I know her better than anyone. She does." The Greenwarden glanced at Elita, who merely stuck out a petulant tongue. She managed to hold it for a few seconds before they both burst out laughing. There was a strange rumbling sensation through the saddle, and a series of deep booming sounds that caused a group of walkers to peer up curiously from the road below. It wasn't every day that they heard the laughter of a passing dragon.
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