In the darkness of the cistern, the rats stirred. Emrys Wledig's sorcery had indeed wiped out many thousands of the creatures, but there were nests that were beyond his reach. Somehow they sensed that the manmade cavern was now unclaimed territory. Slowly, carefully, warily, the bolder rodents began to make their way from their secret holes and runs, into the cistern itself. One particularly bold specimen scurried along the top of a row of ancient bricks, before diving into the water and swimming into the unknown.

Numerous small bodies floated lifeless in the dark waters. They had not yet started to swell and putrefy, but the bold rat ignored its fallen brothers and sisters. The aura of death that surrounded them was not yet ripe enough to attract its interest. However, there was something out there that did. The rat swam unerringly towards a large shape that bumped against a brick pillar, scrambled onto it and sniffed the air. This was the source of the scent that had brought the creature here. It scampered around, then tore at a strip of bloodied cloth.

Emrys Wledig stirred. He opened his mouth to groan, then coughed as the waters of the cistern rushed down his throat and into his lungs. The rat that had been sitting on his chest squealed with indignant fury, before diving back into the reservoir.

"Boed i Dduw bydru hyn!" The scholar flailed in the water, trying to right himself. Eventually his feet found purchase on the slippery flags and he struggled to his feet. His clothes were heavy with moisture and felt cold against his skin. He blinked as he tried to adjust to the darkness, but all he could see were phantom images - an aftereffect of his plunge into the waters. "Very well," Emrys sighed. He uttered a string of strange syllables, and an eerie green light surrounded him. "Still alive," the old man muttered. Then he looked up towards the vaulted roof. "And my debt grows, I suppose? Now what?"

In the sickly green light, Emrys could see the shadowy arch of a bridge - the same one that his unconscious body had been rolled from - and the pillars that supported it. "Somewhere dry first. Then we shall see what needs to be done." With an air of infinite weariness, Emrys waded through the water then hauled himself up the steps. Then he wrung out his clothes as best he could and took stock of what he had.

"Bag," he muttered, rummaging through the leather pouch that hung around his neck. "I should be grateful that succubus left me with this, at least. Now ... ." A smile spread across Emrys's face as he rummaged through the bag and pulled out his pendulum. "Good." With a few more arcane syllables, he set the bob swinging and noted the direction it indicated - through the door that was at the far end of the bridge. "It looks like my destiny still lies in that direction. I can only hope that young knight is also there."

Shaking his head ruefully, Emrys Wledig made his way along the bridge, leaving behind him a trail of wet footprints.

Emrys followed his pendulum through a maze of stone passages. It seemed to take him from the cisterns beneath the city of Acre, through long-forgotten and disused cellars. As the scholar made his way, the pendulum's swing became more frantic until it led him to a small storeroom, full of dusty sacks and broken amphorae. "Close now," Emrys muttered, and put his pendulum away. "But where exactly?" He pulled out from his pouch a disc of polished black stone and cleaned it on his shirt sleeve, before putting the strange trinket onto a nearby heap of empty sacks. Then he held his left hand over the stone disc and sliced his hand with his knife.

"A few drops more today won't matter, will it?"

Slowly, a trickle of blood fell from his palm onto the black disc. As each drop touched the polished surface it began to sizzle and skitter, leaving behind a greasy trail. As more drops fell, the air in the storeroom filled with the stench of burning meat. Emrys wrinkled his nose in disgust but continued to stare at the increasingly complex pattern of marks left behind on the black stone. Finally, the wound in his palm closed, and the last drop of blood evaporated. Emrys shook his head. "Four to face down, then the wizard and the assassin. But at least young Warwick is still alive. And, if I am lucky, the ritual will not be too advanced."

The scholar moved quietly towards the door at the far end of the storeroom. He paused beside it, gathering his courage, then threw the door open. On the opposite side of the threshold stood two burly warriors. They turned as one to face Emrys and drew their swords.

"Sala'am," Emrys said and spread his hands wide. The two warriors glared at him, but their swords wavered. A start, the scholar thought, then spoke again. "I have come to see your master."

The warriors looked at each other. "Our master?" the one on the left said. "You do not have any business with him."

Emrys held up a dagger - the one with the flame-handled blade that some mysterious assailant had used against him. The guards' demeanour changed slightly, became more curious.

"What business do you have with him?" the warrior on the right asked.

"None that you need know," Emrys replied indignantly. "Where is he?"

The warriors lowered their swords and stood aside. "This way, elder," one of them said. "Please." Emrys allowed the warrior to lead him to another door, where the guard paused. "I am forbidden from entering."

"But I am not." The scholar did his best to inject arrogance into his voice. The guard cringed and backed away. Emrys took a deep breath and grasped the door handle.