“As I’ll ever be.” Duffy paced along a line to keep himself warm. Even though the wind was diverted around the henges, the cold of the tundra still lingered.

“Do we have a plan?” Clarissa rested her hands on her shoulders, oblivious to the weather. In the moonlight she looked quite imposing.

“Ermm. Well, the thing with plans is they tend to go wrong for us.” Leopold’s sheepish grin didn’t alleviate the group’s anxiety. “We cause as much damage as we can and hopefully the Ice Henge will collapse.”

“Why am I not surprised violence is the answer?” Ruby rolled her eyes, but unsheathed her sword all the same.

“Not so much violence, dear. Think of it as creative rabble rousing. If enough of the henges fall the Old Gods will start to wake proper, and Y’edda’s magic will weaken enough for them to bring this cursed placed down.”

They readied themselves, swords and guns and gall their weapons, faith and blind and idiotic hope their armour. For a while, they stood still and in silence, hoping another would take the lead. When impatience got the better of her Clarissa stomped over to the henge belonging to the Old God of Cunning and started shouting at it.

“Hawk, I call upon you to hear my plea!” The Ice Henge shone, as though something inside woke. “Help us free your brethren and shatter chains!”

“What is she doing?” Ruby’s face soured.

“The painfully obvious,” Leopold sighed. “Hawk, hear Raven, and wake!” He gestured for Ruby to do the same but the look on his wife’s face suggested he was going it alone.

“Hear me, and stand at your seat of power!” A shrill echo filled the air, as Clarissa drew on her magic to send a signal into the henge and deep down into the wellspring of the Tap below the tundra. Though she could no longer sense it, she knew it was there, and that all they had to do was break it open just enough.

“Errr, Duffy.” Ruby began to shake.

“Hear me, Hawk,” the bard roared.

“Duffy.”

“Take your seat!”

Ruby watched a creature emerge from the opposite henge and stalk out into the moonlight in silence. Its unnatural movements sent a shiver down the spell singer’s spine, a trembling of true fear she had not felt in years. She edged closer to her brother, trying to catch his attention.

“Duffy, you’re a cunt, look behind you!”

Chaos erupted in the heart of Berevar. Hawk’s henge cracked, and from its depths emerged a giant bird with talons of gold and feathers laced with sunlight. Leopold unveiled his spear and charged. Ruby began to sing, a song filled with rage and emotion normally reserved for funerals and empires falling. Her hair burst into flame, swelled by the presence of a shrine once dedicated to the Phoenix within. Clarissa cackled, but when she heard Ruby behind her turned to see that Hawk was not the only one to hear their pleas.

“Duffy, turn around now!” The necromancer grabbed at tendrils in the ice and pulled as hard as she could. Bidden to action by dark magic, the bard turned and saw what all the fuss was about. “Do not let Her interfere!” Desperation and hatred filled her voice.

“Who are you?” Duffy bent his knees and curled his fingers into claws. His sense focussed on the alien creature before him, the six long and cruel blades in its hands a statement of intent. “What are you?”

A voice like a thousand-year sleep washed over the party as bedlam consumed them. Before it could answer, Duffy summoned two swords from the ether and charged headlong forwards.

“I,” it whispered, “am Y’edda the Wise.” The swords flailed and cut apart the air with burning swaths of power. “This is my sanctum.”