Behind the bodyguards, on a sedan chair held aloft by half a dozen sweating Rowland look-alikes, was the fattest man Urt had even seen. Admittedly he''d not really seen that many people in the scheme of things, but this fellow stood out even so.

    With a gesture of one ring-clad hand, the Sewer King was lowered to the ground. Once safely on what passed for Terra-firma in this part of the world, he waved the jewelled cane that he held in his other hand.

    Urt and Reginald were rudely shoved forward, to stand before his throne, which Urt now saw was made from a motley collection of scrap metal, bone and other things best left unmentioned.

    "Speak," said the king, adjusting his silver crown, which was some kind of metal ring with stones stuck to it.

    "Your majesty," Urt said, deciding a diplomatic approach was best while he was low on magic. "We wish to petition you for release. We are mere travellers, snatched up whilst on an innocent stroll."

    ???You were in my territory," the king replied. "By my law that makes you my property. Unless you can buy your own freedom, you are mine to do with as you will. Of course, anything you carry on your persons now is also mine." He smiled, showing large yellow teeth.

    "Ah. I see." Urt scratched his head. "Well, it''s a shame we don''t have anything of any value on us at the moment," Urt lied. "We did have a magical dagger, but your slime… thing made us drop it. Tell you what, we''ll go and get it for you, how''s that? As a sign of good faith."

    "If it was dropped in the sewers then it will end up here sooner or later," the king said. "There''s no rush."

    "Well, in that case, some of our gold, and we have lots and lots of it at home. We''ll be happy to donate something to your… kingdom." Urt waved a hand about, indicating the dank cavern.

    "Happy to hear it." The king gave another toothy smile. "So all you have to do is write down your address, and one of my minions will arrange collection."

    "That could be a problem," Urt said, rubbing his hands together and trying to work out if he had enough power for some kind of illusion that could work as a distraction. "We, ah, don''t live locally."

    "But surely you would be staying in a hotel yes?" the smile widened, and yet he looked slightly less happy. "Rich travellers like yourselves."

    "Well…"

    "Or maybe you are just trying to trick me in some fashion?" The smile was replaced by a snarl. "I don''t appreciate people lying to me. Perhaps a short sharp lesson needs to be made. Perhaps the removal of a hand, or maybe a foot?"

    "Now now your majesty," Urt said, backing up against Reginald. "You wouldn''t want to damage the goods. Take something from my manservant here, he doesn''t really use all his limbs properly anyway."

    "Hey!" the were-sheep complained. "I happen to be attached to my parts."

    "Don''t be such a wimp," Urt replied, trying to push himself through the wall as two of the large guards advanced. "Anyway, it will grow back won''t it? Werebeast healing and all that."

    "Ah, that''s where the silver blades come in," said the king, who was sitting back on his throne and nibbling on something that looked horribly like a severed hand. He nodded at the advancing servants, and Urt saw that, indeed, their knife blades were very shiny.

    "Curse this!" Urt lost his temper. From the corner of his eye, something indistinct seemed to move, but he ignored it as he straightened up and squared his shoulders. "I am a dark mage, and I won''t allow myself to be taken so easily." Summoning up all his reserves, he made a complicated gesture and pointed at the nearest guard, who paused. "Mortartist!" Urt cried.

    A purple spark leapt from the end of his finger and hit the nearest wererat in the ?h?st, where it burned a small black mark in the leather armour.

    The guard, who had turned pale, looked down at the smoking spot and then back up at Urt. He laughed. "That it wizard? That all you got?"

    Urt slumped back. "Apparently so. I don''t suppose you''d like to come back tomorrow would you?"

    "No. I think I''ll just maim you now." There was a slight blur in the air and the guard exploded.

    "Wow," said Reginald, as the smoke cleared, to reveal an area that was now splattered with charred meat and bits of shattered bone. "How did you do that?"

    "I''m not sure, the spell was for killing mice." Urt looked at his hand.

    The Shadow King threw down whatever he''d been nibbling on. "Kill them!" he screamed.

    "No! They''re mine!" Another voice interrupted Urt''s imminent demise, and both groups swung around to see the girl from the castle above, standing in front of a dozen heavily armed guards.

    "You''re on my territory girl!" spat the king in return.

    "It''s not going to be yours for long," she countered. "Kill them all except the boy, bring him to me alive."

    The guards streamed around her, swords drawn, to be met by the king''s men, or rat creatures as they had now become.

    "Who''s she calling a boy?" Urt scowled as the two sides met in bloody conflict. "I must be at least as old as her, probably older."

    "Tell you what, why don''t we talk about that later?" Reginald said. "Now would be a good time to depart."

    Indeed, all the rat men were busy biting and slashing at the human guards, who seemed to be holding their own under the onslaught, if only just.

    Urt and Reginald quickly sidled off along the wall, hurriedly clearing the combat zone and trotting away down the aisles, between piles of collected sewer flotsam.

    "Not so fast!" Rowland stepped out from behind a heap of brown… brown. He snarled and leaped forward, changing shape in mid-air.

    Urt''s life started to pass in front of his eyes, but he''d only managed to get as far as his first day in the swamp before a woolly shape flashed by and intercepted the rat. The two werebeasts landed with a crash and there was a flurry of movement, too fast to follow. A split second later Rowland was violently ejected from the melee, his limp body arcing over Urt and coming to rest with a dull splat in the brown pile.

    Reginald staggered back up, morphing back into human form spitting and wiping at his mouth. "Can''t stand the taste of wererat," he explained.

    "Yes, well, if you''ve finished rolling in the dirt with your friends, let''s keep moving shall we?" Urt replied. "I think there''s some kind of door over that way." He waved a hand.

    They hurried for the door, leaving the screams, snarls and shouts of the combatants behind them.