"Shh." Urt crept forward, examining the small dwelling that squatted amid a mass of twisted and stunted trees.

It certainly looked like a hag's house, from what he knew of the matter at least. The walls were constructed of rude bricks, with mud daubed in a protective layer over them. Sticks and twigs were piled up in a conical shape to make the roof, with a small opening at the apex, out of which drifted the thin column of smoke Urt had detected earlier. The only breaks in the wall he could see were two thin windows, set high up in the wall, with a small door between them.

"What a lovely place," Horace said. "Much nicer than our old home."

"Especially now our old home is scattered over half the swamp," Urt replied.?However, he nodded.?As crude as it was, the abode was better than his shack had ever been.

"So? Are we going in?"?Horace swivelled his eyes up at him, from his perch in Lucy's arms.

"May as well, looks like we've found our hag." Urt started walking again, squelching his way through the muddy path and up to the doorway, which, after a moment to steel himself, he banged on.

"Oos there?" The voice was high pitched and grating, more of a screech really.

"It's me, Urt."

"Don't knows no Bert, boogger orf!"

"Urt," Urt repeated. "U. R. T. I'm old Mangle's apprentice."

This announcement was followed by silence.

"Hello?" Urt asked. "I'm.."

The door was flung open, revealing a diminutive figure on the other side wielding a small but wicked looking dagger. "I 'erd ooh yoo is! Now, prepares ter dies!"

~ * ~

Tung made his way along the dark hallways of the citadel, his black robes flowing around him as he swept along the passages, a direct contrast to the bright orange sparks that spat and sizzled from the end of his staff. Guards in dark armour came to attention as he passed, saluting with a fist to the chest. The wizard ignored them.

Despite outward appearances, Tung was concerned. Unsettling portents had been reported lately with increasing frequency, and usually reliable demons, summoned from the underworld, had all lied when he asked what was going on.

The rumours all centred on the coming of the Four, and this concerned him. Whilst evil to the core, the wizard preferred an orderly world, rather than one consumed by chaos. And now there was this summons from the leader of the Coalition. This was unusual, and Tung didn't like unusual. Of course, he didn't like eggs either, but when you're a two hundred year old Grand Mage of the Dark Order, you could afford to be a bit picky.

Finally he turned up the corridor to the Grand Hall, named for its size rather than any splendour within. The giant double doors were open, as they always were, and the blackness beyond seemed to be a hole into hell itself.

Having been to hell, Tung knew this wasn't at all the case. Hell was warmer to start with, and there were dancing girls. Or they looked like dancing girls.?At first.

In any case, he didn't pause, which would have shown weakness, which in turn would have led to a swift death, but strode forward into the gloom, taking care not to slip on the ice that tended to form underfoot. His footsteps and the tap of his staff echoed off the walls, which were too distant to see in the low light, but Tung knew to be unadorned black brick. He concentrated on looking forward, towards the area ahead that was lit slightly brighter than the rest of the place.

Finally, mildly out of breath, he arrived at the dais upon which the throne of thorns was placed, and bowed low.

"You summoned me lord," he said.

The figure on the Throne of Thorns shifted, and Tung winced. The name wasn't a metaphor.

"I have detected a Presence." The voice was low, almost a hiss.

"A presence?"

"A Presence. One of great power. One I have been waiting for. One many thought lost two decades ago."

Tung, his eyes carefully averted from the form on the dais, nodded. "Could this be related to the rumours that the Four are coming?"

"Indeed, it is not a coincidence. The coming age will be one of great upheaval, an age that can bring us great advantage, if handled carefully."

"My lord?"

"The Four are not our allies, they would treat us the same as they would the Good. Yet they are too strong to stop directly."

"They have their weaknesses," Tung said.

"Yes, but they must know this. No, there is only one Power that can defeat them."

"But he was lost twenty..." Tung put two and two together. "Oh."

"Exactly. If we move quickly we can take the power for ourselves. I have spent some time preparing for this. Now we must apply ourselves to manipulating events to our advantage."

"I await your instructions," Tung said, bowing again.

"We will need our allies in this venture. Call a meeting of the council."

Tung groaned. "Must we?"

"Yes, why spend our own resources, when there are others who can do it for us?"

"As you wish."

"Good."

Detecting the dismissal, Tung bowed one final time and backed away several steps before turning and walking back towards the exit. He could feel the gaze of the Bleeding Man on him all the way.

~ * ~

"Holy Dreg!" Urt leaped backwards, landing on something sharp. "Ow wow ow!" He hopped up and down on one foot, clutching at the injured other one, whilst trying to keep one eye on the figure at the door. "Please don't kill me!"

"Give meh one good risson why not!"

"Er, because I haven't done anything to you?" Urt replied, once he'd deciphered her speech. He lowered his foot slowly, and gingerly put some weight on it, testing the ground in case he needed to run away.

"What does that 'ave too doo withs anythink?"

Squinting at the hag, who was silhouetted in the doorway by some light from inside, Urt tried again.

"Look, my old master, Mangle, said if I needed help, I should come and see the Hag here. Well, I need help. Here I am." He held his arms out.

"Mangle's a thievin' grubba!"

Unsure of what a 'grubba' was, but guessing it was nothing good, Urt continued, speaking in what he hoped were calm and soothing tones.

"But I'm not Mangle."

"Me'be soo." The hag leaned forward slightly, and Urt was surprised to see a dirty, but young face under a mass of wild and un-kept hair.

"You aren't a hag!" he exclaimed.

"Says hoo?" The girl, who had lowered the knife slightly, raised it again.

"No! No! I mean, you don't look like your average hag. I thought they were older. Generally." Urt ran out of steam.

"Yoo dun't gets old alls at once. Ah's sneaking oop on its."

"True, true," Urt mollified. "Look, it's cold out here, and I have no shoes and only a cloak and a.. only a cloak to keep me warm. Could we discuss this inside? Preferably without any stabbing involved."

The hag paused for a second, but then nodded. "Very wells. Boot the deads stays ootside."

"Deads oot. Got it." Urt nodded. He told his minions, such as they were, to remain where they were, and followed the hag into the small structure.

Inside was just about as dismal as outside, but at least it was warm. The room, for the interior appeared to consist of only one, was cluttered with herbs and dried, and sometimes not dried, animal parts. In the centre a large iron pot, big enough to hold Urt, bubbled away, producing a vile smell. Several gas lamps hung from the low ceiling, in defiance of all kinds of safety regulations.

Turning to his host, Urt examined her more closely.

No doubt she was quite attractive, he concluded, if bathed for several hours and clad in something other than a dress made from skins crudely sewn together. Some bits looked like the animal hadn't quite finished with them.

Firm looking legs ended in boots, also made from animal parts. Urt lingered over the legs, feeling twinges in certain areas of his anatomy. His love life so far had consisted of a few ribald stores told by Mangle when he'd been drunk, and the previous night of alleged passion with the giant barmaid, of which he had no memory.

"Ad a good looks then?" The Hag snarled at him and wandered over to the cauldron, which she stirred vigorously with a large iron ladle.

"Listen, I don't know what your problem with my old master is, but I need some help. I'm a necromancer you know. We could trade."

"Don't want nothink from noo dead dabbla."

"Well, what do you want? All I need are some clothes, perhaps a little money, and some information.?Everyone wants something."

He smiled hopefully.