by Anne Forbes
After all, Prince Casimir had pointed out forcefully, with Cri’achan Mòr leading the march on Morven, it really didn’t matter who came into the mountain! With no protection against the giants, Chuck was now their only hope!
Lord Rothlan had been quick to act and before Lord Alarid could even think of changing his mind, had promptly hexed himself into the castle.
Now, he gazed at Chuck assessingly, hoping against hope that he could perform miracles. They needed his help badly and time was short!
Chuck stiffened and looked up from his computer as he felt the presence of a figure at his elbow and turned fearfully round. It just had to be one of the ghosts, he thought, looking at the old-fashioned velvet robes and ruffled shirt. Just like the pictures in the portrait gallery upstairs.
“Who … are you? Are you one of the ghosts?” he whispered through a throat that had gone suddenly dry.
“I’m not a ghost, Chuck,” Rothlan said to him. “My name’s Alasdair Rothlan and I’m a magician. I’ve come here to ask for your help.”
Chuck looked at him blankly. A magician! He wasn’t sure this made his situation any better. Ghosts were one thing and magicians, quite another and although this apparition didn’t seem the least bit threatening, he nevertheless swallowed hard and brought his intelligence to bear. It provided poor comfort. Magicians, he reckoned, could be both dangerous and awkward.
“Ask for my help?” he repeated, a frown shading his eyes. “If you’re really a magician,” he pointed out, “shouldn’t you be able to wave a magic wand, or something?”
“What I need you for can’t be solved by wands,” Rothlan said shortly. “But if it’s magic you want …” He looked round the hall and his eyes fell on the fan-shaped display of swords, claymores and pikes that had so fascinated Neil. Without any more ado, he straightened his arm and threw a hex at it.
Chuck almost leapt the height of himself as the entire display fell; clattering and clanging onto the stone floor in a ferocious jumble of razor-sharp blades. As he knew just how firmly the display had been screwed into the wall, he swung round and looked at the magician in amazement. Before he could even open his mouth to comment, however, there was another great heaving and clanking as the entire armoury rose from the floor, sailed into the air and once more settled, each piece in its place, back on the wall.
“Well?” Lord Rothlan queried quietly. “Do you believe me now?”
Chuck looked at him, his mouth dry. “What … what exactly do you want me to do?” he asked.
Alasdair Rothlan smiled in relief. He was a handsome man who had always found it easy to make friends and Chuck found himself relaxing slightly. Apart from the fantastic outfit he was wearing, the magician actually looked like quite a nice chap. Dark-haired with direct, brown eyes; his face was serious but not unfriendly.
“That rock that Shane took from the landslide,” Rothlan said. “It was part of a giant, wasn’t it?”
“How on earth do you know that?” Chuck gasped.
“The ghosts told me.”
“The ghosts? You mean you can see them?” Chuck looked round somewhat wildly.
Rothlan pursed his lips in a wry smile. “They’re both here, I assure you,” he said, nodding to Red Rory and the MacTavish who were watching them interestedly. “Now, tell me about the rock, Chuck.”
Chuck shrugged and leant over to pick it from a shelf. “This is it,” he said, hefting it in his hand. “It has somehow been de-magnetised. I thought it was a bit strange but it would explain how the giants managed to rise from the mountains.”
Rothlan nodded. “That’s why we want you to help us.” He paused as the giants thumped their way past the castle windows. “The fact is that you and your satellite have caused us a lot of trouble one way or another. It’s your fault that the giants woke up, for a start!”
“We woke the giants?” Chuck looked out of the window in alarm and blenched at the sight of the huge figures.
Rothlan nodded. “You did … although I’m sure you didn’t intend to.”
Chuck, still gobsmacked at the huge figures crashing past the windows, barely heard him. “I didn’t realize they were so huge,” he stammered. “They … they just need to step sideways to demolish this place.”
“Don’t worry, Chuck. We’ve put a protective shield round the castle so they won’t be able to cause any damage. Now, listen. It was something in your satellite that made all this happen. It not only locked on to the power source that keeps those of us in the magical world alive and nearly killed us in the process but it also woke the giants from their sleep so that they were able to rise out of the mountains and walk. You must know what caused it!”
“No, I don’t,” Chuck shook his head. “That’s not part of my job. I’ve no idea what it could be. Just a minute, though! The lasers! I knew it! Professor Jezail was wrong all along.” He slapped his hand on the desk of his computer. “I always thought there was a virus …”
Lord Rothlan froze. “Professor who?” he demanded in a somewhat strangled voice.
“Jezail,” Chuck answered. “He worked with us on Powerprobe. Brilliant chap!”
Lord Rothlan swallowed. “Indeed,” he said in a whisper, hardly able to take in the knowledge that Lord Jezail, of all people, had been involved in such a dastardly scheme.
“Are you all right?” Chuck asked somewhat anxiously, as the magician looked as white as a sheet.
“No, not really,” Rothlan admitted. “You’ve just given me the most dreadful shock.”
“About Professor Jezail?”
“Jezail,” Rothlan smiled sourly, “is no more a professor than a fly in the air. He’s a magician! And a powerful magician at that!”
“He knew his stuff, though,” Chuck objected.
“I’m quite sure he did,” Lord Rothlan answered, “and I hope you can remember some of it for the virus left an icon like a dancing spider on our screen.”
“You have a computer inside the mountain?” Chuck looked amazed.
“Er … well, yes, I suppose you could call it that.”
Chuck took a deep breath and looked suddenly excited. Here, he thought, was his chance to get into the mountain at last. “If you like, I’ll see what I can do to fix things,” he offered.
“Very well,” Rothlan said slowly, “but I warn you. When we bring you back to the castle, you’ll have no memory of us.”
“I don’t mind,” Chuck said with a grin, “I’m desperate to see what the inside of the mountain’s like.” He cringed suddenly at the roaring voices of the giants as they tramped round outside and met Rothlan’s eyes fearfully. “Come on, let’s get a move on! If we’re going to get rid of them, it has to be now!”
Rothlan held out both his hands. “Hold my hands,” he instructed, “and I’ll take you with me into Morven.”
And in an instant, they were there, inside the mountain. Chuck barely had time to look in wonder at the awesome sweep of the cavern, the silver thrones, the fearsome dragon that lifted a horned head at his approach and the fabulously dressed Lords of the North who bowed politely as Lord Rothlan swept him swiftly down a long spiral of wide, shallow steps that led into another cavern. It was dominated by a huge, gleaming machine that was nothing like anything Chuck had ever seen before.
And then he saw them and stopped abruptly. The aliens!
The hobgoblins had turned in surprise as Lord Rothlan came hastily down the staircase and almost died of shock when they saw that he was followed by a human. Their goat-like little faces looked totally flabbergasted, their slanting, yellow eyes panicky and their tendrils started sprouting at a furious rate.
“Calm down at once,” Casimir ordered sternly as Rumbletop and Rumblegudgeon clung anxiously to his robes. Prising their fingers loose, he stepped forward to meet the newcomer with a smile of relief.
“Well, Alasdair?” he said, raising an eyebrow as introductions were performed.
“Chuck’s going to try to access his satellite on our machine.”
Seeing the consternation on Rumbletop’s face, Lord Rothlan took him by the hand and drew him forward. “This is Rumbletop,” he said. “He’s the hobgoblin in charge of the machine and very shy so you must excuse him if he’s a bit nervous of you.”
The hobgoblin looked so scared that Chuck squatted down so that their eyes were level. Rumbletop was fascinated and couldn’t take his eyes off Chuck’s spiked hair. Chuck burst out laughing and Rumbletop jumped back.
It was enough, however. The ice had been broken and Chuck slipped into the chair by the control panel, listening to Rumbletop carefully as the mountain shook from the force of the attacking giants.
“Do something quickly,” Prince Casimir said suddenly as the great machine started to vibrate violently and red lights flashed warningly. “Look, the giants are taking energy from Firestar! It will make them even more powerful. You must block it.”
“They’re bypassing the machine,” Rumbletop said, almost in tears.
“Why don’t you just shut everything down for a while?” Chuck asked, his mind rapidly turning over a variety of possibilities.
“That would kill us all,” Casimir said, his face white and strained. “Our very lives depend on Firestar.”
“Where’s this spider icon you were telling me about?” Chuck asked sharply, shocked at the rigid look of control on Rothlan’s handsome face.
Rumbletop pointed to it with a shaking hand and Chuck bent forward, mind racing. Something, somewhere clicked in his mind and he gave a sigh of relief. But would it work?
“I reckon this Firestar you told me about must be trying to help,” he said. “I bet that’s why it reactivated Powerprobe and the lasers. The lasers,” he repeated, “they must hold the key … I wonder … Ah yes, got it!” he muttered. And as Chuck tapped frantically on the keyboard, the huge machine started to rattle, flash and hiss furiously but whether it was his doing or that of the giants he had no means of telling.
It was, had he but known it, Malfior’s doing. Given the strength of his power, Malfior had found it fairly easy to run rings round Firestar and Rumbletop’s efforts to catch him were … well, nothing short of pathetic. Chuck, however, was a different kettle of fish and with sudden, dreadful certainty, Malfior realized that whoever was now at the keyboard, knew what he was doing, knew what he was looking for and worst of all, knew how to track him down.
Despite Chuck’s knowledge, however, it proved a long and complicated chase. Chuck tried everything but Malfior always managed to keep a few jumps ahead of him, skipping desperately here and there, using his computerized brain to jump from program to program to program. As Chuck erased his hideouts one by one, however, Malfior knew real fear as the realization gradually dawned that he was fighting a losing battle. Frantically, he tried every trick he knew but eventually, with a sinking heart and a sense of complete disbelief, he came to the end of his journey. There was only one place left to hide …
Knowing the end was near, Chuck tapped away furiously at the keyboard. Rumbletop stood by his side, rigid with excitement, his yellow eyes the only thing that moved as he followed Chuck’s manoeuvres on the screen while Rothlan and Casimir, sensing that Chuck was on a winning streak, could barely breathe. They knew exactly how much rested on his shoulders.
Chuck gave an exclamation of triumph as Malfior was suddenly revealed to him. “Gotcha!” he muttered, stabbing finally at the keyboard. “Gotcha!”
Chuck didn’t hear Malfior’s final, despairing cry as he was erased, zapped, wiped out and finished off for good — but underneath the machine, alone in the depths of the mountain, Firestar suddenly pulsed brightly and knew within itself that the strange entity that was Malfior had been overcome.
Chuck flung himself back in his chair with a sigh of relief as he realized he’d done it! Wow! Thank goodness for that! There had been a few nasty moments when he thought he’d never screw the little blighter down. But he’d done it! The virus had been well and truly nailed! He looked round, expecting cheers and words of praise but nothing happened. It was incredible. No one was there.
It was then that Chuck realized that he was alone in the depths of the mountain. He got to his feet and looked around as though expecting the magicians to pop out from behind the machine. Even the little hobgoblins had vanished.
It was then that the ghastly, inhuman voice of a siren wailed dreadfully through the mountain.
35. Going, Going, Gone
The TV cameras followed every move the giants made as they pulled huge rocks and boulders from the side of Morven. “News is coming in to us from other parts of Scotland that giants are rising from mountains all over the Grampians and it looks,” the newscaster said in a shaking voice, “as if the giants here are in a particularly aggressive mood.”
The assault went on and on, the giants’ strange voices rumbling eerily across the glen as they pulled and hauled at the mountainside.
Shona put her head to one side. “Listen,” she said so commandingly that everyone fell silent. “Listen, can’t you hear it? It sounds like a siren.”
“It is a siren,” one of the technicians said, in puzzled wonder. “Where on earth is it coming from, though?”
It came from inside the mountain. Chuck nearly jumped out of his skin as the noise blared through the cavern. The machine seemed to have gone berserk. And it wasn’t only the siren; alarm bells were ringing, lights flashing, the lot! Everything seemed at panic stations. Now what was wrong, Chuck thought. Had he pressed the wrong key somewhere? The noise the machine was making was something awful. It clanked and clattered alarmingly until he thought it was going to blow up altogether.
On the hillside, the sound of the siren faded and wasn’t repeated although everyone listened hard. Then the cameraman, looking at the giants through a zoom lens, gave a shout. “Look at the giants! They’re dying!”
The Cri’achan trembled as they felt Malfior’s passing and grunted in dismay as their power left them. With roars of rage, they found themselves growing smaller and smaller as the pull of the earth drew them steadily to the ground. Desperately, they fought against its strength, trying to regain the previous lightness of movement they had enjoyed before, but to no avail. The onlookers watched in amazement as they shrank and shrank and soon grew too small to see.
“Malfior! Malfior! Where are you?” Cri’achan Mòr roared fearfully. But there was no answer to his cry and as he felt himself start to shrink he called, too, on Lord Jezail, knowing that he would be watching him through his crystal.
“You promised!” he shouted furiously, “you promised me Morven, Lord Jezail!” There was no reply, however, and as he became smaller and smaller, he cursed the day that he’d put his faith in magicians.
Cri’achan Mòr held out to the end but there was nothing he could do. Reduced to a tiny figure, his anger was terrible to see and, as the unrelenting force drew him inexorably downwards, he, too, collapsed in a pitiful tumble of rocks and earth, to sleep forever on the slopes of Morven.
There was a deathly hush as the watchers at the head of the glen realized that the reign of the stone giants had passed. Clara pressed her hands over her mouth and stared round-eyed, while Neil and Lewis looked at one another in relief. It was over. Morven was safe.
“Can we go home now?” Shona asked in a small voice.
Her father put his arm round her. “Of course,” he said, looking at his wife in relief, “the giants have gone and something tells me that they won’t be coming back.”
In the Halls of the Giants, Lord Jezail’s black eyes held bitter disappointment as he felt all the powerful magic he had secretly stolen from Firestar, drain out of him. Cri’achan Mòr’s fury and Malfior’s last despairing cries were as nothing to
the painful realization that he, himself, had dwindled in stature. Once more just an ordinary magician, there was nothing he could do; not for Malfior nor the giants. His wonderful plan had failed and such was his anger that he slapped the palm of his hand on the rock table, muttered furiously and getting to his feet, strode up and down the boulder-strewn hall, totally beside himself with rage.
Count Vassili moved forward to look in the crystal and paused in awe as he witnessed the collapse of Cri’achan Mòr and as the tiny figure of the great giant finally disintegrated in a pathetic scatter of small stones, his lips tightened and his blue eyes shone as cold as ice as he regarded his master. What had been done, was done. It was definitely time to go.
His face, nevertheless, was quite impassive as he spoke. “Master,” his voice was cold as he passed a hand over the crystal, shutting it down, “it is time for us to leave …”
Lord Jezail turned towards him, his frowning face still a mask of disappointment. “It could have worked, Vassili,” he said, angrily. “I was unlucky, that’s all.”
“Master,” Vassily soothed, “there will be other ways to gain the power of the Lords of the North. Don’t worry, you will think of them. But now it’s time we left this place for the comfort of Stara Zargana. Master, the citadel awaits your return …”
“You’re right, as always, Vassili,” the magician remarked, looking round the roughly hewn cavern of the giants, “it’s time to go and,” he added, his expression lightening at the thought, “there are, as you say, always other ways …”
Inside the mountain, Chuck looked again at the monitor where lights continued to blink furiously. Still something to sort out, he thought, and sitting down again, tapped away furiously. He didn’t really know how he knew but he had a suspicion that Firestar was guiding him. One by one the lights gradually disappeared from the screen and when the last one flickered and died an icy voice spoke in arctic accents.
“That,” it said coldly, “was a very nasty experience.”
