* * *

* * *

Outside the old grey decaying castle, perched high on a rocky granite outcrop far to the north, the weather still raged. Spring was meant to be just around the corner, but signs of the new season had still not arrived in these remote and desolate wastelands of the north.

As usual on such a bitter cold day, Gobwern, Guardian of the North, was seated by his blazing log fire in the great hall of the castle. With the use of his wand he levitated a few more logs from off the pile, watched them drift across the open fireplace and drop into the big fire-basket. More flames shot up instantly as the dry logs quickly burst into flames.

Gobwern warmed his hands against the extra heat, then stroked his long grey beard. His thoughts were very much on an incident that occurred quite recently at the circle of stones, a refuge way to the north of the castle. It was there that a great block of granite had fallen on some of his supplies, and all had been lost. At the time he had tried to raise up the stone, but his wand had just not been powerful enough to do the task. What he should have had at his disposal was a great staff, but being a staff-wielder was something he had always spurned in the past, thinking the extra strength not necessary. But now he was beginning to have second thoughts.

There were a few good men throughout the land that wielded a great staff, the Great Lord Keeper was one, as were most of his ministers. Also the Land’s three other guardians, from the South, East and West, were never to be seen without a great staff, but Gobwern had always thought a wand sufficient for his humble needs, and far less cumbersome. However, he was now beginning to re-evaluate the situation. Perhaps one day he was thinking; if he ever travelled south, then once more he would scale to the top of the great volcano, locate the One Tree that furbished the magic wood, and cut himself down a great staff.

As Gobwern mind-probed the wastelands of the north and pondered upon the use of a staff, a mind-link from the south summoned the old guardian’s attention. Immediately all thoughts of becoming a staff-wielder were put to one side.

On this occasion the mind-link was not from the Great Lord Keeper, nor even from one of the senior ministers that served on the Great War Council set up to defended this land, but from one of the more junior administrators elected to the Lower Chamber. From here the members were entrusted with the running of everyday affairs, such as taxation, farming, ponygirl training, welfare and health, to name but a few.

The mind-link was from Irenwern, the representative in charge of Culture and the Arts.

"What is it Irenwern?" asked the old guardian the moment the thought wave entered his mind.

"Gobwern, I have just come from a meeting of the Committee for Culture and the Arts, and I have been asked to convey a message to you," the junior administrator informed him.

Gobwern knew of Irenwern, but did not know him well. He was a mere youngster, probably no more than two-hundred years old, at the most. Whilst he himself, well, the old guardian had lost count when he passed his tenth century, and that was a long, long time ago. Also in order of seniority, with Gobwern being a guardian and one of the elite quartet that defended the four corners of the land, he ranked way and above someone from the Lower Chamber of Representatives, and he was not going to let this fact be forgotten.

"Then convey the message and be quick Irenwern," thought Gobwern curtly.

Irenwern did just that, and blasted all the details down to Gobwern as quickly as his thought waves would travel. The old guardian probably received all this in less than the blinking of an eye.

"Gobwern, let it be known that your heroics have not gone by unnoticed by the committee," answered Irenwern’s initial mental blast. He then went on to say: "After recently thwarting the enemy at our most northern borders, your worthy deeds have, quite naturally, come to the attention of the people. Therefore we, the Committee for Culture and the Arts, do wish to cordially invite you to this year’s May Day festivities. You know each year we try to pick an upstanding and well-respected member of the community to be master of ceremonies and hand out the awards. Well, you Gobwern have been chosen this year, and we are eagerly awaiting your acceptance."

The thought-transmitted message was consumed instantly.

On this strange little planet, on the edge of the fourth galaxy, the May Day festivities not only celebrated the coming of Spring, but also declared the official start to a brand new year. However, the actual day chosen for the New Year celebrations was very much dependent upon the availability of the Great Lord Keeper and his ministers to attend, but it generally fell about the same time each year, and always at the start of Spring. Furthermore, and just to confuse everyone, there was not even a proper calendar. The year on this little planet was divided into just two categories. It was either May, or it was Winter, and because of the erratic orbit of the planet, the seasons varied so much each year, no one ever knew exactly how long each one was going to last. The time of year was therefore classified as being, either the beginning, middle or end of May, or likewise, the beginning, middle or end of Winter.

Officially the time of year now, at this exact point in time, was the end of Winter, but Gobwern disagreed strongly with this as he pondered upon the proposal that had been put to him by Irenwern. The old guardian had not been to a May Day ceremony for such a long, long time. So much so he had almost forgotten that such a festivity existed: And besides, guardians, ministers and anyone of high authority did not receive awards. This fact, along with many other traditions, were all enshrined in the folklore of this land. So, quite naturally, Gobwern was thinking, what did it matter anyway?

In reality the coming of a new year meant very little to Gobwern, but, on the other hand, and if the truth be known, he had not had a day off work for some three-hundred years. Not since he had become the Guardian of the North. So perhaps it was time for a break.

However, the old guardian’s thoughts were much more home based at this precise moment in time, and any considerations given to travelling south came secondary to his immediate concerns.

A reply was issued almost immediately.

"And who will defend the north whilst I am away?" he asked.

Irenwern answered immediately. The Committee for Culture and the Arts had worked hard to find solutions to all foreseen objections. For they desperately wanted Gobwern to be there.

"We have a volunteer, Trelliwern, Guardian of the West says he will relieve you whilst you are away. He has a young apprentice, Shorlwern, whom he knows that he can trust to guard our western coastline whilst the ceremonies are underway."

Gobwern stroked his long grey beard thoughtfully. After sealing off the ice caves that proved to be the secret subterranean link between the two continents, he knew that it would be a long time before his old enemy could regroup and come up with another plan. So, for the time being at least, the land was considered safe, and the thought of returning south, to the warmer equatorial belt, if only for just a few days, appealed most strongly to him. There was also something else worth considering. The trip could also solve his other little problem of becoming a staff-wielder. The volcano where the One Tree existed lay on the route south. However, he did not want to show too much keenness or haste at this stage. As a respected and long time serving guardian that would be the wrong thing to do, and definitely send out the wrong message.

"Irenwern, your offer is most kind, and I feel honoured that you require my humble presence. But please, let me ponder upon it for a while. I will sleep upon it tonight and get back to you with an answer tomorrow," replied the old guardian.

"Then I and my committee await in eager anticipation for your reply," answered Irenwern, and with that, the mind-link snapped and the conversation was over.

Gobwern stroked his long grey beard, then held his frozen hands towards the blazing logs. In truth he had already made his decision. He would travel south to attend this year’s May Day ceremonies, and be there to hand out the awards.

* * *

The Fort of Sighs, a stockade that housed the most northerly garrison of the Land, was situated on a long, slow, meandering bend of the great Whispering River.

This remote outpost, manned entirely by soldiers, was the farthest north civilisation had ever dared to venture. Even here in winter, many kilometres south of the true frozen wastelands, the days could be almost unbearable, and the nights totally oppressive.

It is here, at the Fort of Sighs, that the Great Highway of the North - in reality a narrow rutted cart track that twists and winds its way northwards from the thin inhabited equatorial belt - ends abruptly. Beyond this point the permafrost forever keeps the ground hard enough for sleds to be the only acceptable form of transport. So it is here, at this small and remote outpost, that weary travellers stop to rest, take on fresh supplies, and change their mode of transport, either to sleds if venturing north, or to carts if fortunate to be heading south.

After departing the old castle early one morning, and travelling south for four whole days, Gobwern, seated on his sled, and pulled along by his ponygirl steed, finally arrived at the narrow wooden bridge that crossed the Whispering River. The day was coming to an end, and the setting red-dwarf sun that eternally keeps this small and insignificant little world alive, now shone dimly through a line of low, soft pink clouds that stretched out across the horizon. The rest of the sky was clear and glowing faintly in an even paler shade of pink.

Gobwern was seated on the front seat of a two-man sled, yet he was the only occupant. The rear seat being packed with supplies and provisions needed to undertake such a long journey. His ponygirl ran naked before him, her firm round breasts thrust forward and her short mane swaying in the gentle breeze. She was attired in green leather tack. A wide green belt about her waist, a green crotch strap between her legs, a green bridle upon her head, and two green restraining straps binding her wrists and elbows together behind her back.

Gobwern called his ponygirl to a halt by the banks of the river and looked down at the frozen surface. The great ice-sheet that had blanketed the watercourse throughout the winter now showed signs of thawing, and he detected some movement of water beneath. He decided not to cross directly, but to trundle his sled over the rickety bridge instead. But first he had something important to do. To either side of the wide river, the snow lay in patches, and for the first time since travelling south Gobwern observed signs of the first flowers of Spring poking up through the Winter’s canopy of snow. The old guardian stepped down from his sled and picked a handful of the flowers. He then moved to his little ponygirl and inserted them in and around her bridle. Then, when he was done he patted her lovingly on the neck and returned to the sled.

"Come my little ponygirl, let us now cross the bridge, for I believe we have a welcoming party awaiting us over on the other side," he told her as he took up the reins.

His ponygirl whinnied in response, scraped a foot in the snow, then set off across the bridge. As Gobwern reached the centre of the bridge he pulled his ponygirl up momentarily and cocked an ear. The river was beginning to resound to the whisper of babbling water. This was the first sign that spring was just around the corner.

The Fort of Sighs lay over on the other side of the river, and as the old guardian and his ponygirl trundled down from off the bridge, the gates to the stockade opened up to welcome them inside.

For the soldiers stationed within the stockade this was a memorable occasion, and beneath the fading pink sky, they lined the way and cheered as Gobwern and his little ponygirl trotted into the stockade.

A soldier could serve a lifetime in the army and never come face to face with one of the four great guardians that defended this land, and now, here was the second one to visit their embittered outpost in just the space of a few days. Trelliwern, Guardian of the West, had passed this way some eight days earlier, whilst on his way north to relieve Gobwern of his duties. Now every man in the garrison had something to tell his wife and family next time they returned home to the south. This was a great day to remember for all those stationed at the stockade, for Gobwern was the most senior and highly revered of all the four guardians of the land.

Myraha, Gobwern’s little ponygirl trotted appreciatively past the cheering crowd, her flower adorned head held high with pride. For the first time in public she was wearing the green leather tack that went with the rank of a fully trained ponygirl. The bridle upon her head, the harness about her waist, and the two leather straps that bound her wrists and elbows together behind her back were all brand new and in a bright shining green.

For those of you not wise to ponygirl protocol, there are four stages of ponygirl training on this strange little world, and each stage is signified by the colour of their tack. It starts with black for a raw recruit, followed by red once a reasonable level of training and competency has been attained.

After red comes green. At this stage the ponygirl becomes certified as being fully trained and totally dependable to do whatever her master wishes or commands. It must be said that most of the ponygirls seen trotting about the land, and proudly pulling their masters behind them, all wear green leather tack. But this fact did not deter Gobwern’s little ponygirl. She still had something all the other ponygirls would love to have. She had a guardian as a master, and for that she was truly proud.

There happens to be one more stage after green, but this honour is only ever bestowed upon the very best, and is rarely obtained by any ponygirl. It is an honour reserved for only the cream of all ponygirls, and only one lucky ponygirl in any given year can ever have this honour bestowed upon her. This great honour is to wear white, and, as with tradition, this award is only ever presented at the May Day celebrations held on the first day of the year. But even then, the honour may not be given out, for to actually earn the award, the chosen ponygirl must have proven herself to be courageous in action, and acted bravely in the defence of the land.

In charge of the garrison was an energetic young officer no more than one hundred years old at the most. His name was Captain Voldabart. As Gobwern and his ponygirl crossed the compound, the old guardian could see the captain waiting on the boardwalk outside the officer’s quarters over on the far side the stockade.

The cheering soldiers formed a line three to four deep all the way to the log cabin that housed the officer’s quarters. The snow within the stockade had been cleared, but still lay deep on the roofs of the buildings. With her head held high, Gobwern’s little ponygirl trotted proudly every step of the way down the long narrow gap made for her between the cheering ranks of soldiers. This was the young ponygirl’s finest moment. Wearing green, and with flowers in her mane, and trotting to the applause of the crowd, she felt as if floating on high on one of those faraway soft pink clouds that that hung like cotton wool over on the distant horizon.

Myraha pulled up outside the log cabin, snorted, shook her head and waited for her master to dismount.

Gobwern joined Captain Voldabart on the boardwalk and they shook hands heartily. The captain appeared slightly embarrassed by the welcoming party that had greeted the old guardian. It seemed that everyone of his two hundred strong garrison had turned out to line the way.

"I’m sorry, but sometimes my men can get over excited," apologised the captain.

Gobwern looked back at the soldiers, now all moving in closer, and to gather around the front of the officer’s cabin. They were still cheering and clapping their hands. The old guardian then looked to his little ponygirl. She was trotting on the spot with her head held high. He could see how proud she was feeling, and just how much she was enjoying the precious moment.

"That’s all right good captain. I think my ponygirl appreciates the reception far better than I," answered Gobwern.

The captain smiled and nodded his head in agreement.

"Then pray do come inside good guardian, come into the warmth," answered Captain Voldabart, "I have a hearty meal waiting, and I will get a lad to stable your ponygirl for the night. She will be well treated."

Gobwern looked to his little ponygirl, gave her a wink, then set off with the captain into the snow covered building. The old guardian knew that she would be well looked after, well fed, and found a comfortable box for the night.

* * *

As Gobwern disappeared into the log cabin, Myraha found herself being led away to the stables. As a staging post, and with a garrison of just over two hundred men, a large stable block was needed to house all the ponygirls. At anyone time there were probably somewhere around fifty ponygirls in total kept at the fort, and each had her own separate box.

On entering the stables Myraha looked about her. Most of the other ponygirls were wearing green, though a few still wore the red of a novice. For those ponygirls not in harness or wearing a bridle, the insignia of green or red was still apparent, since all ponygirls had their arms strapped behind their backs with the statutory two wide bands of coloured leather binding their wrists and elbows tightly together.

After being unhooked from the sled, Myraha found herself being led away to a corner. A kind stable lad removed her bridle and harness, but retained the straps that locked her wrists and elbows tightly together. He then watered her down and rubbed her clean. Finally, with a good stout hand brush he groomed her mane and the hairs between her legs. The little ponygirl revelled in the attention. Back at the castle no such treatment was possible, though her master did groom her regularly. But she understood the reasons why the full treatment was not possible back at the castle. In such a cold place, water in liquid form was a luxury, and even to drink it had to be consumed as snow or ice, then allowed to melt slowly in the mouth.

After the grooming, Myraha was led away to a box of her own for the night, and placed inside. There was fresh straw on the floor and everywhere was scrubbed clean. There was also food in a bucket and fresh hay in a rack. As the stable door closed, the ponygirl whinnied her thanks and began to take her fill of the dried lichen in the bucket. This was sheer luxury, and not since leaving pony training had she been so well looked after.

The door and the side walls to each box came up to about shoulder height, so if standing up it was possible for all the little ponygirls to look over the top and talk to each other. No sooner had the stable lad disappeared from the building, when, from Myraha’s neighbouring box, she heard a ponygirl calling her.

"Welcome my dear to my master’s stables. I am the senior ponygirl here," a ponygirl voice announced to Myraha in a series of short snorts and whinnies that was typical of ponygirl language.

The voice was loud and sounded authoritarian, and obviously intended for all the other ponygirls within the stable to overhear.

Myraha did not like the sound of the voice, but she looked up and smiled anyway. The ponygirl in the adjoining box was looking over the partition at her. She was a much older ponygirl than Myraha, and her advancing years the most likely reason for being the senior ponygirl at the stables.

"Your master’s stables?" queried Myraha.

"I am Captain Voldabart’s personal ponygirl, he always chooses me above all others," answered the ponygirl loudly above the partition wall.

Myraha whinnied and returned a ponygirl smile.

"Then you have a good and kind master," she replied.

"My name is Tyvaha, what is yours?" asked the captain’s ponygirl.

"Myraha," she answered, then added proudly, "and my master is Gobwern, Guardian of the North."

"Ah! Then we journey south together," answered Tyvaha. "My master has been summoned to attend the May Day celebrations. He is up for an award of bravery. He led a small number of men into battle last year, over on the eastern coast when fighting off invaders."

"Then Tyvaha, you must have a truly brave master," Myraha replied courteously.

Tyvaha whinnied and shook her head above the partition. Then speaking more loudly than ever before, the captain’s ponygirl boasted: "And it is rumoured that I am to be promoted to the rank’s of the ponygirl elite, and be allowed to wear all the white leather trappings of honour. For I was there when my master fought so bravely, and I helped him bring in fresh supplies."

Myraha felt pleased for Tyvaha. Wearing white leather tack really was such a great honour. She dreamed that maybe some day she too would attain the Land’s highest ponygirl award. But for the time being she was just content to serve her master, and do whatever he commanded of her.

"Wearing white is the highest honour in the land for a ponygirl," said Myraha, "I will be so pleased for you if you get it Tyvaha."

"I think I will. I think it will be me this year. For it is rumoured that no other ponygirl’s actions have come to the attention of the Great Lord keeper of the Land," explained Tyvaha.

For all her boasting and haughtiness, Myraha felt pleased for Tyvaha. The much older ponygirl had obviously served many faithful years with the army, and probably well deserved the honour.

"Then Tyvaha, let us all hope that you achieve the land’s highest honour," said Myraha.

And with that Myraha returned to eating the lichen from her bucket. For tonight she realised that she must rest and gather up all her strength in readiness for another long day’s trek tomorrow. She had already travelled for four days over rough and icy terrain. To reach the warm equatorial belt would take another seven, maybe eight days, before the long journey came to an end.

* * *

Gobwern, Guardian of the North, and Captain Voldabart set off from the Fort of Sighs at first light the following morning. The two men agreeing to keep each other company on the long journey south.

The two travellers were seated on carts pulled along by their own faithful ponygirls, Myraha and Tyvaha. They were without escort, since this was not considered necessary. Their only possible danger came from some hairy, bear-like creatures that roamed the forests. But with the guardian’s ability to mind-probe the surrounding area for life forms and to defend himself quite adequately with his wand, then there was quite understandably very little chance of a surprise attack. If one such fierce creature did happen to step out of the forest and to block their path, then a plasma-bolt from the guardian’s wand usually did the trick. Most animals, no matter how big and strong, seldom survived after a neat little hole had been put through their chest.

Another reason for travelling without escort was the ability to move at speed. Carts, being much lighter and far easier to pull than sleds, meant that a good distance could be travelled each day. Also, to lighten the load, a vast amount of supplies were no longer considered necessary, since many staging posts existed all along the way, and overnight accommodation was always readily available.

The journey to Helexis, the capital city of the land, and the place where the Great Lord Keeper and his ministers resided, was expected to take seven days in total. This gave them plenty of time, since the May Day celebrations were not due until another ten days time.

After departing the Fort of Sighs, the snow covered terrain rapidly disappeared. For the first day they traversed a flat grassy plain and saw for the first time signs of life. Large, bat-like creatures circled the air in search of the small rodents and rabbit-like animals that grazed the ground beneath. For some unexplained reason, ponygirl herds never grazed this far south - always staying north of the great Whispering River - and for the beasts of the forests to the south, well, they were quite happy where they were, and did not venture this far north. Therefore the only life forms that ever roamed this desolate belt of grassland were small and quite innocuous.

The second day’s travel saw the arrival of trees, at first just sparsely spaced then becoming denser the farther south they ventured. The flowers of spring were also in abundance, and the road they travelled was lined on each side by a myriad of brightly swaying colours. Gobwern took this as an opportunity to once more adorn his ponygirl’s bridle with flowers. Captain Voldabart’s ponygirl too received the same treatment, and together, trotting side by side and pulling their carts behind them, the two steeds cantered proudly on.

On the third day of trekking south, and after two comfortable overnight stops at army staging posts, the two travellers came to the foothills of an extinct volcano that towered way above the surrounding countryside. This, to the people of this land, was known as the Mountain of Fear, a place to steer well clear off. For the notorious crater was said to be haunted, and it was well known that anyone who dared to venture up the mountain and spend the night inside the crater’s rim would come down the next morning a snivelling wreck, his mind gone, and with very little chance of recovery.

The two travellers stopped to rest and water their ponygirls at a babbling steam that trickled down from the melting snow-caps that loomed high above their heads.

Gobwern stepped down from his cart, stretched his weary body, and then gazed upwards, to the towering scree slopes that formed the side of the great mountain that currently stood in their path. A winding, twisting track led upwards from the spot where he was standing. The track leading right up to the very top of the crater’s rim. This however was not the true route south. This treacherous and most dangerous mountain track was intended for only those who had mind to venture into an environment fraught with danger. From here the main highway upon which they had been travelling since departing the Fort of Sighs took a much easier route south. It skirted around the base of the volcano to the west, and wherever possible giving it as wide a berth as seemingly possible.

"It is here I must leave you Voldabart, and meet you over on the other side of the mountain," Gobwern told the captain. "There are ancient tracks to the summit made by our ancestors on all four sides of the mountain. They ascend from the north, south, east and west of the volcano. I will enter the crater from the north and return to you on the southern track."

Captain Voldabart joined Gobwern at his side and stared up the side of the mountain. The very peak of the crater’s rim was in clouds, blanketed by a soft pink layer of wispy obscurity that reflected down onto the snow beneath. The captain concluded that the weather conditions looked very bleak and cold up there. He then turned his gaze to the west. The small red-dwarf sun that kept this small planet alive was about halfway across the heavens and heading towards the western horizon.

"It is now well after midday Gobwern. To journey to the summit, then down again on the other side will take you nearly to the setting of the sun," observed the captain. Then adding with a strong hint of caution to his voice: "Is it wise that you should venture up at this time of the day?"

Gobwern placed a hand upon the captain’s shoulder.

"You have no need to fear for my safety good captain," said Gobwern, "remember, I have ventured up this mountain once before, and cut myself a wand from the One Tree that grows at the very heart of the crater. With the aid of my ponygirl I can reach the top, cut away a fresh growth and be down the other side way before the sun falls below the horizon. And as for the many superstitions that surround this fabled mountain, am I not living proof that all that is prophesied does not come to pass? For look at me now, have I not been up there and returned unscathed?"

Captain Voldabart nodded his head in agreement. The words Gobwern spoke were true, but he still feared for the old guardian’s safety.

"Just promise me that you will not stay up there a moment longer than is necessary, and pray, be out of there before darkness falls," said the captain, and still showing great concern.

Gobwern nodded his head slowly and deliberately.

"That, my good captain, I will readily assure you. For I have no intention of staying within the crater’s rim for a moment longer than is absolutely necessary," Gobwern informed the captain.

The captain gave a nervous smile and switched to conversing by way of a mind-link. It was something rarely done, especially when you were standing next to each other and able to talk freely man to man. But on this occasion he thought it necessary.

"Then pray, let us keep our minds locked firmly together whilst we are apart," came the thoughts of the captain into the mind of the old guardian.

"That I will do willing my good captain," agreed Gobwern by means of a thought-wave of his own, "but please, do not fear for my safety so much. I assure you it is not necessary."

The captain smiled uneasily, but said or thought no more. He knew that it was impossible to deter the old guardian from his chosen mission.

A little while later Gobwern set off up the winding mountain track, his ponygirl pulling his cart effortlessly over the rugged terrain. To make things easier, the old guardian had unloaded most of his provisions from off his cart and passed them on to the captain for safe keeping until they met up once more on the other side of the mountain.

Captain Voldabart watched and waited for a while as Gobwern and his ponygirl scaled the first few bends of the winding mountain track, then set off himself, this time taking the low road that skirted west around the base of the volcano.

As the ascent got higher, the temperature dropped alarmingly. Gobwern pulled his great cloak about him and took a sip of a magic herbal potion from his small hip flask. This would keep him warm and well for the next hour or two. He was nearing the top now. The snow lay deep on the mountainside and covered the track ahead, but the ponygirl’s sure feet just trotted effortlessly over the surface. She was back on familiar terrain now, the snow beneath her feet flicking up in a light powder as she scaled the steep and winding mountain track.

By the time they reached the crater’s rim, thick pink clouds shrouded the view and an eerie silence blanketed the ground. For a brief moment Gobwern arrested his little ponygirl on top of the rim. There was no point looking down into the crater, or for that matter gazing back down the mountain side, for the swirling pink mist blocked out any view in all directions.

Gobwern was about to set off down the track into the bowl of the crater when he heard the wail.

Through the swirling mist he looked to his little ponygirl. Strangely she appeared un-perturbed and seemingly not hearing the cry of banshee. The old guardian pulled on the reins and held the cart steady. He listened hard, and, as expected, the wail came again. It was a howling cry of lament that penetrated deep into his mind and raked and clawed through every bit of his body.

The old guardian shuddered and tensed his body, then immediately threw up a mind-shield in defence, for he quickly understood what was happening. This was merely an illusion. He thought that he was hearing the wail of the fabled spirit of death, but in truth he was not. The One Tree had recognised his presence and was sending out a warning signal. These were warning calls, but not on an audible level being directed to the ear, but as thought waves emitted with the sole purpose of penetrating his mind. That was why his ponygirl had not detected the warning, she was seen as no threat and her mind left unscathed.

With the powerful mind-shield now blocking out the passage of any thought waves, Gobwern set off down the track, and into the very heart of the crater. Even in the gloom and the mist he knew where to go, and providing he kept his mind-shield intact then he could foresee no further danger. After all, nothing lived within the crater but trees, and providing he could block out any thought waves emitted from the One Tree, then he and his ponygirl were completely safe.

* * *

At the foot of the mountain however, the situation was being seen as something completely different.

Captain Voldabart pulled his own ponygirl up sharply and stared up the mountainside. He did not know what to do for the best. The tenuous mind-link maintained between him and Gobwern had snapped suddenly, and all communications between them had gone. Worse still, just a moment before the mink-link ended so abruptly, he had heard the call of the wailing spirit, and sensed the fear in Gobwern’s mind.

The captain looked a little further on down the road that led around the base of the mountain. He was on the side of the volcano facing the setting sun, and just a few hundred paces ahead he could see the start of the western track that led up to the crater’s rim. Suddenly he snatched at the reins and gave his ponygirl a crack of the whip.

"Come, quickly my ponygirl, we must scale the mountain and rescue the good guardian, for I believe him to be in grave danger," he called.

The ponygirl began to gallop for all she was worth. At full speed she met the parting of the ways - the point where the main road continued on south and mountain track headed off to the left - and, spurred on by her master, she just kept on running as fast as she could possibly go. There was no time to dump anything to lighten the load, so the cart remained heavy, but the good ponygirl, Tyvaha, just kept on running up the winding and twisting mountain track for all she was worth.

Very soon the snow line was reached and the temperature began to drop alarmingly. The captain drew a rawhide blanket up and about his shoulders as they raced along, never stopping and never faltering. Pretty soon they would be up and over the rim and dropping down into the crater’s bowl. After that the captain had no plans other than to locate the old guardian and bring him back down the mountain to safety.

As the ponygirl crested the rim of the volcano, the captain heard the scream of the One Tree for himself, and put his hands to his temples to shield the ferocity of the force. Suddenly his reins slipped from his grasp and his ponygirl shied.

As the pressure on the bit in her mouth loosened the ponygirl sensed that something was wrong with her master, but did not know what. Immediately she turned to glance behind her, only to see her master holding his temples and writhing in pain. At the same time a wheel of the cart struck a rock. On impact a spoke in the wooden wheel shattered and the cart rolled over. Suddenly the ponygirl found herself being flung headlong down the slope, the out of control cart smashing into more jagged rocks as she fell. A little way behind, an unconscious Captain Voldabart came tumbling down after her.

At the bottom, the cart, with ponygirl still attached, came crashing to a halt in a deep snowdrift. Captain Voldabart’s tumbling body did the same, to end up buried in the snow alongside the carnage.

Then all went quiet, and nothing stirred, except for one lone wheel of the cart that remained above the snow and kept on turning.

* * *

Gobwern reached the place of the One Tree and pulled his little ponygirl to rest. Even though he had visited this place once before, he still looked on in awe and wonder. He was stood outside a clearing surrounded by a snarled up circle of vicious looking thorn bushes. The old guardian knew that for someone loosing their mind and running wildly into this tangle of thorns would mean certain death. For these thorns, as well as being highly poisonous, were quite capable of ripping a person apart. There were many skeletons and bones of men entangled in the mesh, bearing proof that this was so. However, the old guardian kept his mind-shield firmly in place, making sure that not even the faintest whisper could enter, and aware that everything that lay about him, even though he could see it all clearly, may not be for real.

Through the ring of thorns Gobwern could see the One Tree. It glistened and shone in a myriad of forever changing colours, and was laden with fruits of all shapes and sizes. All were said to be highly delicious and bore no malice or danger to those that ate them. But this was not the old guardian’s reason for coming. This was the only tree in the Land that furbished the one wood that could be turned into wands and great-staffs; and it was a great-staff he had come all this way to find.

How the One Tree ever came to be here, and to hold such awesome and magical powers remained a complete mystery to man. But over the aeons many good men had tried to harness these mystical powers and failed. Most had perished on the thorns, and those that had survived to escape the crater’s rim had simply lost their minds. But a few had returned unscathed, good men such as the four guardians, the Great Lord keeper and most of his ministers, now all lived to tell the tale.

Gobwern circled the ring of thorns and found the one gap that he knew to exist. He entered and walked slowly up to the shimmering tree stood at the centre of the circle. He selected a branch, and with a large knife from his belt he hacked it away from the truck. With his mind-shield locked in place, he did not hear the agonising scream of pain, nor feel the hate and anger that welled up from the very roots of the tree.

With the branch in his hand, the old guardian wasted no more time. He knew what was going to happen next. Quickly he turned and made for the opening in the thorns, and as he did so he could see the gap closing in upon him. Running as fast as he could, he reached the gap and dove towards the entrance. As he sailed headlong through the ever-closing gap, his great cloak snagged on the thorns and got left behind. But the old guardian, complete with hacked away branch in his hands, got through unscathed, to land in a crashing fall in the deep snow on the other side.

Gobwern stood up, shook the snow from his clothes, and immediately felt the bitter chill now that his great cloak had gone. He summons his ponygirl to him, and, through the swirling pink mist, she came trotting around the circle to meet him. Quickly he jumped onto the cart, placed the hacked away branch across his lap, and gathered up the reins.

"Quickly my little ponygirl, let us depart this place in haste," he told her as he cracked the whip in the air.

Gobwern’s little ponygirl set off at a canter, running through the pink mist and dodging the trees that loomed up in sight. Then suddenly she pulled to a halt, and nearly sending her master up and over the front of the cart. For a moment she sniffed the air, then, shaking her head wildly up and down, she began to neigh and whinny for all she was worth. She had smelt the scent of another ponygirl nearby.

Suddenly Gobwern found himself with a dilemma. He knew full well that something must have happened to spook his little ponygirl, but to find out exactly what, he needed to drop his mind-shield. And to do that, especially now that the One Tree was out for revenge, could prove to be extremely dangerous. However, he considered that he had no option but to do so. He concluded that, for a fleeting second, he would release his mind-shield and probe around the inner walls of the crater.

Gobwern dropped his mind-shield and immediately felt the full force of the One Tree’s anger. But he fought away the terror and scanned to the west, for that seemed to be the direction his ponygirl was shying from. Immediately his mind-probe detected the presence of two life forms. They were clearly in trouble and tumbling down the inside of the crater’s rim. It was also very clear to him whom these two life forces were. They were Captain Voldabart and his ponygirl, and from the feel of it, they were in serious trouble.

Quickly Gobwern returned his mind-shield. The shield had been down for just a fraction of a second, but already his mind ached from the sheer ferocity of the One Tree’s attacking thought-waves.

Gobwern pulled hard on the reins and cracked his whip.

"Come my little ponygirl, make haste. Run as fast as you can. We must get to the crater’s wall and rescue the good captain and his ponygirl before it is too late," called the old guardian.

Myraha needed no more telling. Quickly she turned to the west and set off at a gallop. Over the snow covered floor of the crater her feet never seemingly touched the ground, and the only discernible marks left in her wake were the two narrow lines traced in the snow by the wheels of the cart.

Very soon Gobwern and his ponygirl were at the base of the crater’s inner wall. The old guardian brought his ponygirl to halt and looked about him. The snow was deep here and had accumulated in drifts against the side of the crater’s inner slope. He was about to drop his mind-shield again when, at a distance of some two hundred paces further on, he spotted a slowly turning wheel sticking out from the snow. Quickly he turned his ponygirl in the direction of the wheel.

"Come my little ponygirl, over there," he called, "quickly, we must hurry."

Myraha set off once more at a gallop, and within seconds they were there. She pulled to a halt, then neighed and whinnied her concern.

Leaving the cut down branch of the One Tree resting across the seat of the cart, Gobwern jumped down and located the captain’s body lying deep in the snow. He picked the captain up by an arm, cast it about his shoulders and dragged him towards his cart. In normal times he would most probably used his wand to levitate the captain, but that was impossible now, his mind-shield, at all costs, just had to stay intact.

The front seat to the cart was a double seat, and there was also a small shelf at the back normally reserved for provisions. To lighten the load this area had been cleared before the ascent of the volcano was made, and so now stood empty. The old guardian dumped the body of Captain Voldabart across the seat, then returned for the ponygirl. Quickly he unhooked her harness from off the towing bars of the broken cart, picked her up in his arms and carried to his own cart.

With the unconscious bodies of both Captain Voldabart and his ponygirl lying across the front seat, Gobwern leapt up to stand on the platform to the rear. Quickly he leant forward and grabbed the reins.

"Come my little ponygirl, take the path to the crater’s rim, and let us get out of here as quickly as possible," he called.

Myraha did not need any second telling. With the extra weight and the steep climb up to the rim of the crater, it was very tough going, but at no time did she shirk her responsibilities, and she pulled the laden cart for all she was worth. Up the winding track she went, swinging around wildly at every turn, and with her master clinging on to the reins and holding down the two unconscious bodies at the same time. At the very top she did not stop. The cart bounced and rocked as it flew over the summit and started its fast descent down the other side of the mountain. Only after the snow line had been passed did the old guardian slow down the pace. For it was only from this point onwards did he consider it safe to do so.

At the foot of the mountain, Gobwern brought his ponygirl to rest. On a grassy bank, by a babbling stream and laden with flowers, he laid out the unconscious bodies of the captain and his ponygirl, then began to tend to their injuries. After a quick examination he concluded that neither seemed to have suffered too much, nothing was broken, and just scrapes and bruises were in evidence. Luckily for both, the deep snow had broken their falls, and made for a soft landing.

The captain’s ponygirl opened her eyes first. She raised up her head, looked around, then whinnied. Gobwern gave her a smile. He could see that she was well, and that no harm had befallen her. He watched her get to her feet and head to the stream, to bathe herself in the icy cold waters.

Captain Voldabart showed signs of recovery too. He was stirring and blinking his eyes as the ponygirl moved away. However Gobwern’s concern lay with the captain’s mental and not physical condition. He helped the captain sit up and sent out a thought-probe deep into his mind.

"Are you all right good captain," thought Gobwern.

The answer was immediate.

"Yes good guardian, I am fine, and no harm has befallen me," returned a clear and cohesive thought.

Gobwern smiled. The day had been saved. Being knocked unconscious almost straightaway on entering the crater had saved the captain.

The old guardian helped Captain Voldabart to his feet and looked towards the setting sun. The small red-dwarf sun was nearing the western horizon. Perhaps an hour of daylight remained. The nearest staging post lay just a little way south of the volcano. He considered the time remaining just about ample. They had no provisions and only one cart, but he considered this to be a bonus and not a hindrance, and could foresee no problems. With two ponygirls pulling one cart in double harness, then they should get there in double quick time.

* * *

The rest of the journey for the two travellers proved uneventful. They entered the city of Helexis on the evening of their seventh day’s travel and were warmly received by Irenwern and the rest of the Committee for Culture and the Arts. For three more nights they slept, wined and dined within the walls of the Palace of Representatives and could ask for no better service. Their ponygirls too were well looked after and provided with a spacious box each of their own.

Pretty soon May Day arrived and the streets of Helexis were packed with thronging hoards. As with tradition, from near and far, and from every corner of the Land, the people had gathered within the walls of the city to celebrate the coming of Spring and to join in the fairs and festivities that went on all day long and well into the night.

In the great square, right at the very heart of the walled city, a platform had been constructed for the many dignitaries that were to conduct the ceremony. Already many were in position and waiting. Irenwern was there, along with the Committee for Culture and the Arts, as were many other representatives and officials. Those expecting to seek awards were also there, stood at the base of the platform, in a specially cordoned off area. Captain Voldabart, dressed in his finest military uniform and displaying all of his medals, was there, along with his ponygirl, and so too were many other brave soldiers. From both above and below the platform, the dignitaries all looked nervously across the square to the gates of the Great Lord Keeper’s Castle. Pretty soon those gates would open and the May Day ceremony would begin.

Then from somewhere up on high, from the ramparts of the Great Castle, trumpets heralded the coming of the Great Lord Keeper and his ministers. All eyes turned to watch the portcullis being raised and the great doors behind being opened. Out came the Great Lord Keeper. He was riding on a golden cart pulled along by a ponygirl dressed in shining white attire. She had flowers woven into her mane, and with head held high she proudly pulled the Keeper of the Land between the narrow gap in the crowd made for her across the Great Square of the city.

The crowd cheered and roared, and cast many flowers into the path of the Great Lord Keeper and his procession. Near to the end and following on behind the ministers trailed Gobwern, his little ponygirl adorned in flowers and wearing her finest green attire, that, on this festive occasion, also included shining brasses and tinkling bells. This was her finest hour, and even though she was amongst the elite, and the only ponygirl in the procession to be wearing green, she did not mind one little bit. Here the streets were packed full with people of the Land, many thousands of them, and they all seemed to be cheering on herself and her master. For she was certain that the greatest roar went up the moment they passed through the gates and out into the market square.

Eventually the procession halted at the platform and all the dignitaries climbed the stage to take their allotted seats. After many more trumpet calls, Gobwern, being the elected Master of Ceremonies rose to his feet and held his hands in the air. To signal quiet, he sent out a mental blast that could be felt everywhere within the city walls. Quickly the hubbub stopped and a silence fell over the milling crowd.

"Welcome people of the Land to this year’s May Day ceremonies. Spring is once more upon us, and we can all rejoice. Let us pray that the growing season be long and fruitful, and the harvest at the end be bountiful," addressed the Guardian of the North to masses.

The crowd cheered, and then Gobwern went on to say: "Then let us good people of the Land, without further ado, begin by handing out the May Day awards."

A scroll was then handed to Gobwern and he looked down the long list. At the very bottom he could see the name Voldabart and he felt pleased for the captain. He knew him to be brave and worthy of the honour.

For two hours, officers, soldiers and common people, from all walks of life, stepped up one by one onto the platform to receive their medals and awards for bravery and service to the community. The list was long and with many tales of bravery or good work to relate. But eventually it came down to the last person on the list.

"And finally, for bravery above and beyond the call of duty. For defending the land in a raging battle on the eastern coast in the middle of May last year, May Day’s greatest honour goes to Captain Voldabart, now of the Northern Garrison," declared Gobwern from the top of the stage.

Beneath the platform, in the packed square below, the crowd cheered and tossed flowers into the air. Gobwern looked down to see Captain Voldabart standing with arms raised high in acknowledgement. The captain’s ponygirl was stood beside him, and, to the old guardian’s amazement, so was his own little ponygirl. Furthermore, neither was harnessed to a cart. He thought this all very strange, but concluded that since climbing up onto the platform, the complete show and order of events had been entirely orchestrated by the Committee for Culture and the Arts. This, after all, was their day, and as far as he could tell everything was running like clockwork. He therefore assumed that they all knew what they were doing.

Captain Voldabart climbed onto the stage to a tumultuous applause. He was then presented with the highest award for bravery. As the Great Lord Keeper hung the ribbon and medal of bravery around the captain’s neck, the crowd began to cheer once more. Captain Voldabart was truly the bravest soldier around, and most worthy of this year’s greatest honour to any soldier.

As the captain stepped down from off the stage, and waving his arms in the air to the recognition of the crowd, Gobwern was handed another scroll by Irenwern. These were the final awards, and as ever, were reserved for all the little ponygirls that helped defend this Land. As with tradition the final two ceremonies were, firstly to hand out the honour of wearing white pony tack to any ponygirl that may have merited the award that year, and then finally to select the Ponyqueen of the May. This ponygirl, whoever she may be, would then be given the honour of leading the May Day procession all the way around the outside of city walls, before returning to the castle of the Great Lord Keeper and be treated like a queen for the rest of the day.

At the foot of the platform, and looking upwards, stood a row of eagerly awaiting little ponygirls. In this line, and standing next to each other, were the ponygirls belonging to Gobwern and Captain Voldabart.

"Please let it be me!" exclaimed Tyvaha as she stood there excited and waiting for the name to be called out, "please, please let it be me."

Myraha turned her head towards her companion.

"Oh, I do hope it’s you Tyvaha. I do hope so. For you have earned the award more than any other ponygirl here," she said and wishing her the best of luck.

Standing on the platform way above the ponygirl’s heads, Gobwern unfurled the scroll. For a moment he stood surprised. It was nearly empty, with very little writing upon it, and it bore no mention of the Ponyqueen of the May.

Holding the scroll out in front of him, Gobwern read the few lines written on the parchment to the crowd.

"For bravely assisting her master in battle, this year the honour of wearing white and joining the ranks of the elite, goes to the ponygirl belonging to Captain Voldabart," he announced to the crowd, then rolled up the scroll.

That was all that was written on the parchment.

Beneath the platform the crowd roared, and Tyvaha, realising that the award was for her, tossed her head in the air and whinnied loudly.

"It’s me! It’s me!" she snorted excitedly in ponygirl language.

Myraha, standing next to Tyvaha, gave a big broad smile. She was so please for her companion, and she knew her to be brave. The way she had come to her own master’s rescue on the volcano, without fear or question for her own safety, had proved beyond doubt that she was truly brave.

Captain Voldabart arrived to take up his ponygirl’s reins and to lead her up onto the platform. Here his ponygirl’s green tack was removed and then replaced by one in shining white leather. This was a special ceremonious attire, made specially for the occasion, and not the sort to be seen wearing during a working day. All the trimmings were in gold, and many large, brightly sparkling diamonds had been set into the harness and bridle. When she done, with arms strapped behind her back by two wide white leather straps, she whinnied her thanks to the crowd, and then to the row of ponygirls stood down at the foot of the platform. They were all cheering for her too. This was Tyvaha’s finest hour, and she held her head up high so that all could see just how proud she really was.

As the crowd cheered and whistled the Great Lord Keeper took centre stage. As ever, and as with tradition, he would make the closing speech and thank everyone for attending. But what no one knew was, that on this occasion, many aeons of tradition was about to be broken. Only a few people knew of this, for the Great Lord Keeper, along with Irenwern and his committee, had conspired together to bring Gobwern and his ponygirl south and to the city. Trelliwern, Guardian of the West had been in on it too, but no one else knew a thing, not even the ministers on the Great War Council had been let into the secret.

The Great Lord Keeper raised up his arms, sent out a mental blast for hush, and immediately a silence fell amongst the crowd.

"My people," started the Great Lord Keeper, "today I want to break with tradition."

Suddenly the crowd began to murmur and stir as they began to realise that something very different was going to happen this year.

The Keeper of the Land continued: "Today I want to raise another ponygirl to the highest honour in the land. Never before in the history of this land have two ponygirls ever been given this highest award in any one year. But today it is my proud duty to do so. I give this honour as a special award in recognition of her outstanding bravery to the Land. So today I announce that the second honour of wearing white goes to the ponygirl belonging to the Guardian of the North. I present it to her for outstanding bravery and dedication to duty, in helping her master seal off the ice caves of the north."

The crowd gave the loudest roar to date, and clapped and cheered as the little ponygirl was led up onto the stage to stand next to her master. For Gobwern too, this announcement had come as quite a shock, but he clapped and cheered along with the rest of them. For he too was truly proud of his little ponygirl’s achievements.

Very soon the green leather tack from about Myraha’s body was taken away and replaced by a shining new set, all in white and almost identical to the one placed upon Tyvaha. There was gold studs everywhere, one great sparkling white diamond set right against her forehead, and row after row of jingling bells affixed about her harness and bridle.

Myraha and Tyvaha looked to one another and whinnied their praises loudly to one another. They were both so proud, not only for themselves, but for each other. On the journey south they had become good friends, and this was to be the greatest day in either of their lives.

The Great Lord Keeper raised up his arms once more, and a silence fell upon the crowd. He had one final scroll in his hands to be read out.

"Once again my people," spoke the Great Lord Keeper of the Land, "many thanks to you all for attending this year’s May Day festivities. Now, all that is left to be done is to choose this year’s Ponyqueen of the May, and select the ponygirl that will lead our annual procession around the city walls. So, without further ado, I will hand you back to the Guardian of the North to make the final announcement. Thank you my people, thank you all for being here today, and I hope to see you all again this time next year. Thank you."

And with that said, and with a final bow to the crowd, the Great Lord Keeper of the Land passed the scroll in his hands to Gobwern, then retired to his seat at centre stage.

Gobwern moved to the front and unfurled the scroll handed to him. He tried to hide his excitement as he read what was inside.

"This year’s Ponyqueen of the May award is to go to the ponygirl belonging to Gobwern, long time servant of the Land, and Guardian of the North," he said with a quivering voice, and perhaps a little tear to his eye.

The biggest roar of the day went up as the crowd heard the news. A garland of flowers was then placed about Myraha’s neck and she was lead down off the platform to the cobbled square below. Here a cart, all in shining white, and with gold and white leather trim, was attached to her harness. Gobwern was then made to sit behind. Next to him Captain Voldabart’s ponygirl was also harnessed to a similar cart, and the captain asked to sit with her.

A procession was then formed with Myraha and Gobwern leading the way, Tyvaha and the captain behind her, and after that followed by the Great Lord Keeper and all his dignitaries.

As Myraha trotted out through the main gates of the city, to begin a complete circuit of the outer walls, and with all the other dignitaries trailing along behind her, the crowds lined every step of the way, all cheering and casting flowers to her feet. From the great roar that went up wherever she turned it was obvious that she was the people’s choice.

Regaled all in white, the little ponygirl held her head high and trotted proudly by, for she was the Ponyqueen of the May.

* * *

* * *

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