Despite his unwavering sense of self-preservation, Lob's curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he hadn't been able to resist a cautious peek through the attic's small, dusty window. As he watched, a uniformed man, holding what he assumed to be some sort of weapon, cautiously approached the gargantuan bird standing in the neighbour's back-yard.

Lob shook his head, muttering to himself, "You don't want to get too close to a roc, mate.  'Specially not a big bugger like that one."  He flinched as there was a sudden flurry of movement, after which the only sign of the man was his weapon, lying forlornly on the grass.  "See?"

There were a few seconds of pregnant silence as the roc settled back into its former position, before the night air was torn asunder with the bangs and flashes of multiple guns opening fire.  Rearing back, the colossal creature spread its wings, blacking out half the night sky as it unleashed a deafening shriek of fury.

"Oh, shit."  Lob scurried back to the trunk and clambered in, slamming the lid shut behind him.  "Now they've really pissed it off."

"Cease fire!" bellowed Kowolski, crouched behind the open door of his car.  "Lower your weapons!  CEASE FIRE!"  It was no use.  Wide-eyed with terror, the local police officers he'd summoned as backup continued to blaze away at the nightmarish bird rearing over them, heedless of the fact they only seemed to be making it angrier.

His instructors at the academy had been distressingly remiss when it came to the issue of dealing with a bird the size of a building, so for want of any better options, he'd called the local zoo.  He'd had a very bad feeling about letting the man they sent go anywhere near the creature, but the zookeeper had insisted, claiming his tranquiliser gun only had a limited range.

"Don't worry," the bearded man had reassured him, with a smile.  "I can fire once I'm about thirty metres away, which will be much too far for it to attack me."  His smile had turned slightly dreamy.  "Besides, it will give me a chance to have a closer look.  Have you ever seen such a magnificent creature?"

Well, you're certainly getting a close look now.  Bloody hippy.  Taking a deep breath, Kowolski steeled himself to once again try to restore some control, but his yell was cut short by a flash of light from the windows of the house next-door to the one with the bird.  Moments later, a phalanx of dark-clad figures emerged from the yard, at a run.  What the hell?

He assumed the newcomers must be trying to escape from the hellish creature, but then—to his astonishment—they actually ran towards it.  Drawing his handgun, he yelled to the group, more in warning than as a challenge, but his voice was lost in the deafening background din of gunfire, shouting and screeching.  The people ran on, regardless.  Swallowing, Kowolski glanced up at the head of the bird, whipping back and forth as it shrieked its rage, and after taking a moment to steel himself, bolted from cover, intent on intercepting the strangers.

As he drew closer, he became aware that the rearmost member of the group was hauling somebody along behind him—somebody who seemed to be resisting.  He could soon see that the reluctant person was a woman, and the only one not dressed entirely in black.

He shook his head, as he ran.  Whoever the hell they were, whatever the hell they were doing, right now, it didn't matter.  Right now, what mattered was stopping more people from becoming bird-food.

"Hey!" he yelled again, waving his arms.  "Hey, this way!"  Putting on a final burst of speed, he managed to get between the oncoming group and the gate to the yard that contained the bird.  Panting, he held up his hand.  "Stop!"

Without breaking stride, the leader of the dark phalanx drew a sword, and with a single slash to the body, cut Kowolski down.  The local police, still fixated on and firing wildly at the roc, completely failed to notice.  In fact, they didn't even see the newcomers until the bird suddenly lapsed into silence, and then gracefully lowered a wing for them to climb onto.

The senior officer gaped at the sight for a moment, before coming to the realisation that his men were now potentially shooting at innocent civilians.  "Cease fire," he hollered, and in the absence of the roc's enraged shrieks, this time they actually heard the instruction, and complied.

Thus, it was in stunned awe, but relative quiet, that they watched as the ten passengers settled on the back of the enormous creature, before with a single downthrust of its powerful wings, it launched itself skywards, seemingly unharmed by the multitudes of bullets fired at it.  Within moments it was gone, swallowed by the darkness of the night sky.

Numbly, the senior officer climbed into his squad car and picked up the radio.  "Uh, base?  Unit four, here."

"Roger, four.  What's your status?"

"My status?  Um.  I need a drink.  And a lie down.  Probably some new pants, too.  Yeah, that'd be good."

Unsteadily, still clutching the Blade, George got back to his feet.  Ears ringing and vision strangely dim, he staggered towards the chair his mother was held captive in, baffled as to what had just happened.  He lurched to a stop, as he realised the chair was empty.

He stared in disbelief, blinking to clear his vision, hoping that his eyes were deceiving him.  The chair remained stubbornly bereft of mothers.  At the sound of a footstep behind him, he whirled around, Blade held at the ready.

"Easy, Georgie."  Grandpa held up one hand placatingly, while the other rubbed the side of his head.  "You're probably feeling a bit groggy.  Vardun set off a flash-charm.  I can't believe the arsehole used a bloody two-bit parlour trick, and I fell for it.  I really am getting old."

George considered this.  "Right."  He considered some more.  "Huh?"

With a sigh, Grandpa sighed flopped onto the couch.  "When that stupid roc's squealing distracted me, he set off a flash-charm, Georgie.  It's a bit like a stun-grenade, only without the grenade part.  Not much more than a big bang and a bright light, but I wasn't ready for it and it put me on my arse.  And my arse doesn't bounce like it used to.  By the time I got back up, he was gone.  Him, and your mother."

"What?" yelped George, his grogginess abruptly disappearing.  "Well then, why are you sitting there?  We have to go after her!"  He ran towards the door.

"Stop!" commanded Grandpa, and without conscious thought, George did so, shocked at the power in that voice.  The old man pointed at a chair.  "Sit down," he ordered, in a more normal tone.  Reluctantly, George did as he was told.

"We will go after her, Georgie. We will, trust me. But not that way. While you were down, I snuck a peek out the window, and out there is nothing but police and red tape and lots of questions that we're not going to have good answers for. Besides, Vardun and your mother will be long gone by now."

"Who the hell is that guy, anyway?"

"Vardun?  Hmm—do you remember the Black Prince, from the Far Lands stories?"

Slowly, George nodded.  "So, that's who he was based on?  That's the real-life Black Prince?  But I didn't see any warts, or smell any stench."

"Er, yeah.  I may have added a few...embellishments.  You know, employed a bit of artistic license.  Look, we need to get moving, so I'll fill you in on the details on the way.  By now Vardun and your mother will be well on their way back to Volanda."

"Volanda?"

"The Far Lands, boy. Their real name is Volanda. That's where we have to go, to rescue your mother. As well as take care of some business I should have finished a long time ago. And the way to Volanda is not through the front door."

George swallowed. "You mean...?" He pointed upwards.

Grandpa grinned. "That's right. Trunk, my boy—the only way to travel."