The pursuers had all followed much the same route. Starting at The Black Bear tavern, Mifal's men had bribed and threatened the locals until they found out the direction in which the pair had fled. They had to endure many fantastical stories from a bevy of drinkers who all claimed to be key players in the previous night's events. Most of the men sampled the wonderful chicken stew before they moved on. It was tasty but unusual in that virtually every meat on the planet tasted of chicken, yet this tasted of something which was just a little bit different.

The wizards independently and surreptitiously watched the proceedings by mingling in the crowd, although wizards didn't mingle well. They always stuck out like sore thumbs, however years of experience told the man in the street to ignore them, otherwise you could end up with an outbreak of warts or pig's ears, or something a lot worse.

So mingle they did, 'unnoticed' by the crowd, while they watched. Why should they put themselves out if Mifal's men were doing the hard work anyway? Anyway, who wanted to talk to this ratbag of humanity?

From the tavern, they'd used all their senses and skills to follow the trail to the barn where Tung and Madrick had slept. Then, using logic and a little bit of trial and error, they'd tracked them the short distance to this spot where they all now stood.

The three groups arrived at the spot from slightly different directions. They eyed each other suspiciously. Everyone knew they were all after the same thing. In particular, the opposing wizards stared at each other with intense malice but a battle wasn't in any of their interests. Not yet anyway. Mifal's men had no idea who these strangers were but some deep instinct told them they weren't to be messed with.

Independently they all surveyed the scene.

Mifal's men made little sense of the landscape. In fact all they noted was a pile of charred clothes and the burnt out patch of grass by the roadside which had been the result of an ineptly used Fire Spell. Mifal's captain, who was commanding the soldiers, wanted to abandon the search and go home. There was something dangerous about the strangers and he wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible.

"The men we were hunting must have accidentally set fire to themselves and burned to death. Let's have a quick look around and then get out of here."

A cursory search of the nearby area revealed nothing of interest. The captain decided there was no more to see so he left the scene and returned to Mifal to make his report.

It was different for Gravalar, Stanverital and Devligrate. They appraised the scene with more educated eyes. They spotted the golden goblet and the endless flow of wine which poured onto the ground from it. They noted the hoof prints made by a large herd of cattle. This was unusual because generally cattle weren't found in these parts. They observed the luscious cornfield which was also out of character for the area. In fact, they identified the evidence of at least eight spells. What the hell was going on?

The two Black Wizards huddled for a tactical discussion

"The trail seems to end here. Time for some magic, I think."

Stanverital took out a faded scroll from his cloak and read the spell quickly. It was the Long Eye Spell which would give him a short period of extraordinary vision. He scoured the surroundings and within a few seconds he spotted a gathering of peasants cowering in the distance. They were staying a healthy distance away, although no doubt they'd be plundering the area once the wizards were gone. There was corn and a herd of beef for starters.

He moved on with his sweep and had soon scanned three hundred and sixty degrees around him. There was no sign of the thieves. Then he turned his eyes to the sky and searched the heavens. Again he began to scan three hundred and sixty degrees to make sure he missed nothing. After a few seconds, he stopped his sweep and stared intently into the blue yonder. There, far in the distance, he saw the flying men; one with great white wings and the other holding on for dear life.

"Devligrate, I see them," he said as he directed the wizard's gaze to the fleeing flyers

All Devligrate could see was a tiny speck in the sky but he understood immediately what Stanverital wanted him to do. He pulled out the two scrolls he'd stowed in his jacket.

He selected the Thunderball Spell. He cupped his hands in front of him and said the spell. A throbbing and humming thunderball appeared; he had to use all his strength and concentration to restrain it in his trembling grip. He carefully aimed at the dot in the sky and then released the tiny ball of concentrated sound. It soared, at the speed of sound, towards the fleeing speck.

Tung and Madrick were blissfully unaware of what was happening on the ground behind them. They were too busy congratulating themselves on their escape and enjoying a view of the countryside which few people had ever seen.

"It's so beautiful," said Tung. "WHOOOA. What the...?"

The air around them exploded in an ear-splitting, cacophonous roar as the thunderball grazed his wingtip before hurtling off high into the atmosphere. Feathers flew like in a henhouse raided by a family of foxes and an intense pain coursed through his body from a place he'd never felt before; his damaged wing. The sonic boom flipped them over and sent them spiralling to the ground. Tung twisted and turned, and flapped furiously to try and regain control and stay aloft. He was somersaulting and rolling and falling, plummeting to the ground. He tensed every muscle and stretched his wings wide but the rushing air buffeted his damaged wing so hard that he had to grab it with both hands to keep it steady. He was still falling but he could feel himself slowing down. He was nearly back in control.

"Aaagh, I'm slipping," screamed Madrick. "I'm slipping, help me."

Tung could feel the old man's grip starting to slide away. If he let the old man drop, he could keep hold of his wing and probably avoid a crash-landing. It was all happening too quickly. Too much to think of, too much to do. There was no way to keep hold of his wing and grab the old man. He had to choose.

Even Tung wasn't sure why he decided to try and save Madrick; it was totally out of character. Maybe this old fool meant more to him than he realised. Maybe he had become the father figure which Tung had always craved. Or maybe he realised the Spell Spell would kill him if he didn't have Madrick's guidance.

He grabbed Madrick's arm just as his clutching fingers slipped from his torso. No longer held steady, the damaged wing buckled and unbalanced the aerodynamics. Again the pair started a gravity‑dictated, spiralling descent towards the hard ground. Tung stretched and twisted and flapped, slowing their plunge a bit; it was just enough to break the fall and stop them from breaking their bones.

After the beauty of flying high over the green earth, the touchdown wasn't a graceful affair. The very moment his feet hit the ground, his marvellous wings retracted instantaneously into his body and this further unbalanced him. He performed an extremely ungainly somersault over the top of Madrick and bashed his head hard on a protruding boulder. His head was getting used to smashes but the dreadful ale hangover made this one a million times worse, and having an old man clinging to his arm didn't help either.

"Terra firma," said Madrick kissing the ground.

"Terror what?" said Tung cradling his battered head in his hands.

They thought they'd flown free, after all, there were now a good few miles between them and the feather-filled tavern but they had clearly not shaken off their hunters. At least the flight had given them some breathing space and a decent head start.

"You saved me."

"Yeah," said Tung. "You're always telling me I'm stupid. Well, there's proof if proof was needed."

"I think you saved me because you care."

"Come on, old man, we're still being chased. Let's go."

Fear kicked in, so they picked themselves up and ran.

***

Stanverital watched the scene in the sky with his Long Eye and described it to Devligrate.

"That was some shot. Knocking them out of the sky at such an extreme distance."

"Thanks, Stan, but our prey are miles away and, to make matters worse, they've flown over that great lake. It'll take us many days to go round it."

"At least we've slowed them down for now and we know what direction they're headed."

"We're going to need more men and resources if we're to track down and capture these fugitives."

"Yes, and if they've got more than one scroll then they're more dangerous enemies than we first thought."

Gravalar was standing close by, eavesdropping on the conversation.

"What are you looking at?" said Devligrate.

"Nothing," said Gravalar. "Nothing important."

They gave each other a final eyeing before heading back to report to their masters.

Just before he left, Gravalar retrieved the golden ever-refilling goblet. No point in letting a good thing go to waste, he thought, as he swigged the best wine he'd ever tasted in his life. This unfortunate act, along with too many swigs on the journey home, meant that the Black Wizards got back to base long before he did. This gave them a crucial lead in devising a cunning plan.

***

When Mifal's men reported to the king and told him what they had found, he pondered for a while. He needed a good explanation to satisfy his people. He was a bad king but he was a clever man so eventually he was able to devise a believable story.

"My people," he pronounced, "two demons visited our fine city and turned some of my unfortunate subjects into chickens. I sent soldiers to track them down. These demons were so petrified of my virtuous vengeance that they panicked when they heard my men approach. They were too scared to fight our wonderful guards. The cowardly little devils self‑combusted so they could escape back to hell and avoid my righteous retribution."

The pieces fitted. The king's account explained the charred clothes, burnt grass and the fact that there were no demons to be found. His subjects believed the story so all was well in the kingdom. The people were happy in the knowledge that the malignant spirits had been dispatched back to hell. Everyone slept easier in their beds that night. Mifal even convinced himself that the story might be true so he decided that, as far as he was concerned, the Madrick matter was finally, finally at an end.

***

It was a different story at the Devil Lair Keep where Stanverital and Devligrate made their report.

"Leave out no detail," demanded a Council member.

The two wizards explained how they'd tracked the pair with little difficulty. They told of their skill and cunning, omitting how they'd piggy-backed on the hard work of Mifal's men at The Black Bear.

They described everything they had observed at the place where the trail had disappeared.

"And then, using Long Eye, I spotted them in the far distance, flying away. One of them had sprouted great wings..."

"So I used a thunderball and blasted them out of the sky."

"The best shot I've ever seen," said Stanverital.

"Brilliantly directed by..."

"Stop boasting. There is no time for this nonsense. Get on with your report," said a Council member.

The two wizards' faces reddened. Devligrate cleared his throat before sharing his observations and thoughts about the evidence of spell use they'd seen. Stanverital concluded by telling the Council that Gravalar had been at the site at the same time so the White Wizards also knew what they knew.

The Council pondered everything carefully.

"There have been multiple instances of magic. That fact is indisputable."

"The scroll user in the 'chicken incident' was clearly an untrained imbecile. That fact is even more indisputable," said a member wondering if 'more indisputable' was even possible.

"No one who was as stupid as that could possibly gather up more than one scroll never mind eight or ten," suggested a member.

"That's true. So what other explanation is there?"

Silence.

"Could it be?"

Silence.

"No, surely not?"

Silence.

"What else could it be?"

No one seemed to want to be the first to say the actual words. The Black Grandee broke the stalemate.

"It's the Spell Spell," he said. "Either these buffoons have stolen a whole collection of spells or they've found the Spell Spell."

"Either way, we must make every effort to find these idiots," declared a senior council member. "Ten scrolls in the hands of a commoner is bad enough but if it's the Spell Spell, this could threaten the very fabric of our way of life."

"We must track them down," declared another member. "There is no time to lose."

The Black Grandee pondered what he'd heard. He stroked his hair and narrowed his eyes.

"I believe this is too important for us to handle on our own. I recommend we offer a truce to the Whites and pool our resources so we can remove the danger from this kingdom."

"A pact with the Whites, surely that goes against everything we believe in?"

"It does but we'll just tell them it's about ten scrolls. If it turns out to be the Spell Spell, we'll terminate the truce and seize the Scroll for ourselves. This plan could be the foundation stone for our final victory over the Whites."

And so it was. The Black Grandee, accompanied by Stanverital and Devligrate, set off on the short journey to the Sorebun Academy. Sadly for the White Wizards, they arrived long before Gravalar returned from the original quest.