The Eye of Zoltar

‘From here on in we’re in Mountain Silurian territory,’ said Addie.

‘Can you see the others?’ asked Wilson as we gazed out across the landscape.

Perkins spelled himself a hand telescope by creating two ‘O’ shapes with his index fingers and thumbs and conjuring up a glass lens in each. Early versions of the spell required an operator to focus the telescope manually, but later releases had autofocus as standard, with a zoom feature and auto-stabilisation useful add-ons.

‘I can see the half-track. Looks like it’s a couple of miles from the base of the mountain. Think he’s still got your conch?’

‘He didn’t try and sell the Helping Hand^™ in Llangurig,’ I said, for if he had he’d make several times the price of a handmaiden, ‘so I’m hoping.’

Perkins scanned the parts of the road that were visible among the low hills and wooded areas. ‘The Skybus truck is not far behind him.’

Because they were still moving, it seemed logical to presume that neither of them had encountered the Mountain Silurians, or if they had, goats had been successfully bartered.

We moved off soon after and as we descended into the dense woodlands of the Mountain Silurians’ land, we noted how the increased rainfall had made everything lush and moist. Bottle-green moss grew in abundance on the rocks and trees, lichen clung doggedly to anything it could find, and we were constantly fording small streams and rivers.

All this time, the overwhelming size of the bleak pinnacle of rock that was Cadair Idris loomed over us menacingly. A better place for a pirate hideout would be impossible to imagine.

‘Where are the Mountain Silurians?’ asked the Princess. ‘I thought you said they were fearless tribes-people who would kill us all for amusement unless we gave them goats?’

‘I was wondering that myself,’ said Addie. ‘To get this far into their territory without being threatened with dismemberment and asked to pay tribute is unusual – I hope nothing’s happened to them.’

‘I’m really hoping something has happened to them,’ said the Princess. ‘Any jeopardy we can avoid is one more step toward survival.’

‘I’ll just be glad to quietly sit down somewhere with my pipe and a pair of slippers,’ said Perkins, coming over a bit fiftyish, ‘and read the paper.’

‘You don’t have a pipe,’ I pointed out, ‘or slippers.’

‘Or a paper, yes, agreed – but there’s a first time for everything.’

‘Slow down,’ I said, pointing to where a light blue vehicle had stopped ahead of us in a clearing. Addie pulled the jeep off the road and parked behind an oak tree. It was the Skybus truck. The driver had climbed out and was stretching his legs, then he reached into his cab, took out a roll of loo paper and walked off into the forest.

‘Stay here,’ said Addie.

She jumped out of the jeep and darted forward noiselessly, stopped for a moment, looked around and then moved forward again. Within a minute she was at the back of the truck, had opened the rear doors and looked inside. Just as quickly she shut the doors again, and slipped into the undergrowth. The driver duly returned, the truck restarted and then drove off towards the mountain. Half a minute later Addie rejoined us. She didn’t look too happy.

‘Everything okay?’ I asked.

‘I’m not sure,’ she said, pointing behind us, ‘and we’ve got company.’

I turned around to find that a dozen or so warriors riding Buzonjis had crept up on us completely silently, and were now less than twenty paces away. Each warrior was large, tanned and amply but not skilfully covered in blue warpaint. Every one of them was armed with a short sword and a lance, upon the point of which was a human skull, the steel tip of the lance piecing the top of the skullcap. These heads were traditionally harvested by lance in battle while in the charge, and remained there as a trophy. The warriors were all scowling at us in probably the most unpleasant and unwelcoming way I had ever witnessed. I heard Wilson swallow nervously. We didn’t need to guess who they might be. They were the feared Mountain Silurians.

The Mountain Silurians

‘All hail Glorious Geraint the Great,’ said Addie, bowing low, ‘the gutsy, gallant and gracious gatekeeper of the great green grassy northern grounds.’

It seemed, from Addie’s flowery and clearly overblown greetings, that the Silurian chief himself had graced us with his presence.

We all bowed as Geraint the Great looked on imperiously, while the Buzonjis stamped their feet impatiently. After a pause that felt like ten minutes but was probably less then twenty seconds, Geraint the Great looked at one of his advisers, a giant of a woman dressed in the skin of a Welsh leopard, who nodded.

‘Your alliteration is acceptable albeit mildly simplistic,’ said Geraint. ‘What do you seek, Addie the Tour Guide, champion of the blade, younger daughter of Owen the Dead, holder of the Tourist Good Conduct medal?’