Taking a deep breath, Urt knocked upon the dark red door set into the stone wall of the large cottage. Behind him stood Reginald and the zombies. The horses were tethered to the low wooden fence that enclosed the garden.

    There was a short delay, followed by an unidentified noise and then the door opened.

    Light streamed out into the night, making Urt squint, and so he heard the familiar voice before he saw the face clearly.

    "You''ve finally made it!" Mangle said. He stuck his head out and glanced left and right, along the road. "Quickly, come in. Does anyone know you''re here?" He pulled Urt inside and hurriedly ushered Reginald and Lucy in after him, closing the door behind them.

    "Did anyone see you come here lad?" Mangle repeated, taking Urt by the shoulders and shaking him.

    "No, no!" Urt replied. This wasn''t the welcome he''d been expecting. "I mean, well, I spoke to one woman, but I don''t think anyone knows who I am."

    "No, well, probably not. Still." Mangle held him at arms length and smiled, peering through his round glasses at him. "Welcome my lad! I knew you''d make it eventually. I had every confidence. I see you are still have that zombie head of yours. And are these some other minions?"

    "I''m more of a companion," Reginald sniffed haughtily.

    "And something more too," Mangle replied, looking at him through narrowed eyes. "Something... Were?"

    "Maybe."

    "Good. Good." Mangle turned to Lucy. "And this, is this one of yours?"

    "No, I found her in Mudrut," Urt replied. "I thought maybe you''d left her or something."

    "She''s not one of mine. Mmm. I suspect I know who left her. You need to watch your back with the little one. Might be better if you disposed of her."

    "I''d rather not," Urt said. "She''s been quite useful, carrying Horace and everything."

    "Yes. Horace. How are you doing head?" Mangle eyed the undead noggin with distaste.

    "I''m fine master," Horace replied, looking up at the senior necromancer warily. Mangle had always disliked the head for some reason.

    "Anyway," his old master said, moving on. "Urt, you''ve arrived just in time. Things are hotting up here, and you''re at the very centre of everything. I''d not expected such a hullabaloo until nearer the time to be honest, or I''d have warned you. Did you get my letter?"

    "The one from the giant barmaid you mean?" Urt looked around. Mangle''s main room was a well furnished living area. A merry fire danced in a stone fireplace, and four comfortable chairs were spaced around a low wooden table. Several rugs adorned the floor, which was also wood.

    "Eventually, yes." He nodded, then sat in one of the chairs at Mangle''s gesture of invitation. Reginald sat in another, whilst Lucy stood to one side, holding Horace in front of her so he could see what was going on.

    "She''s a one isn''t she?" Mangle winked. "I told her to educate you if you came in. I hope you enjoyed yourself."

    "I''d like to say it was an unforgettable experience," Urt said. "But she served me this drink..."

    "Scud?"

    "Yes, that was it. I''d be exaggerating if I said the rest of the night was a blur."

    "Well, that''s disappointing." Mangle pursed his lips, then looked around. "Penfold! Tea and snacks!" he shouted through a doorway at the back of the room.

    "Yes master," came a reply.

    "Right Urt, listen." Mangle leaned forward, his mood changing to a serious one. "You''re in danger here, well you''re in danger everywhere. I need to tell you what''s going on."

    "That would be most welcome," Urt replied.

    Further education was interrupted as a zombie in a yellow and pink apron entered through the doorway. He was an old, skinny undead, but in good condition, dressed in a faded black suit and carrying a plate, which he placed on the table. It turned out to have a large number of cookies on it, artfully arranged.

    "Tea will be with you shortly sir," the zombie, Penfold Urt surmised, said, before retreating back into what must be the kitchen.

    "He does make good biscuits," said Mangle, reaching for one. "Just check for body parts before you eat. Sometimes bits of him fall into the ingredients."

    Urt, who had been leaning forward, stopped and decided he wasn''t that hungry.

    Reginald had no qualms though, and was already stuffing his first one into his mouth. "Lovely!" he said, spitting crumbs.

    "Anyway, the story begins hundreds and hundreds of years ago," Mangle started, taking a more delicate bite of his own biscuit. "There was a famous seer – Moonface the Gloomy he was called..."

    "Moonface?" interrupted Urt. "What sort of name is that? And why gloomy?"

    "I don''t know!" Mangle replied. "How old do you think I am? I wasn''t around. Although they say all his prophecies were very accurate, but mostly about death and destruction, so maybe that brought him down. Anyway, his last, and most famous prophecy was about the end of the world."

    "Pah," said Urt, waving a hand dismissively, "Half the prophecies ever told are about that. We''re still here."

    "That''s probably because people intervened, because of the prophecies."

    "So how do we know this one won''t be stopped?" Urt decided to risk a biscuit after all. He took one and bit into it, after a cursory inspection for added zombie bits. It was really quite good.

    "Because this one involves you. Now, stop interrupting and listen."

    "Go on then," Urt nodded. "What did old Moonhead say?"

    "Moonface," corrected Mangle. "He said that sometime soon, our soon, not his, four, or possibly five – that part of the prophecy is rather unclear – Lords of Hell would break through the barriers of their realm and take over four, or perhaps five, mortals. In these bodies they would set about killing everything living, to prepare the world for the rest of their kind.

    "Bummer," Reginald said, taking another three cookies.

    "Yes, exactly," Mangle said. "Oh thank you Penfold."

    The zombie manservant had returned carrying another tray, this time with a large white teapot, cups and ?ssorted paraphernalia. He started pouring the tea as Mangle carried on.

    "These four, maybe five, hosts for the Lords of Hell have been kept safe until recently, in hidden locations. Now two of them are loose, but I''ll come back to that in a minute. For each of these four, or five, devils, a special sword was made. By whom no-one is quite sure, but they''ve appeared on and off through history, in the hands of madmen, crazed kings and so on, you know the drill. These swords are extremely powerful, and until not long ago only popped up every hundred years or so."

    "Until recently?" Urt raised his eyebrows, and accepted a cup of tea, placed on a delicate floral saucer, from Penfold.

    "Yes, about twenty years ago three of them suddenly turned up all at once. And there''s a fourth now too."

    "I hope this is all leading somewhere," Urt said, taking a sip of his tea. Reginald was busy dunking a biscuit into his.

    "Yes, yes, it all comes together. Now, let''s go forward to about twenty years ago. Several seers of that time suddenly prophesied that there would be an elf babe born with a power that could, or maybe could, stop the Coming of the Four stroke Five, and prevent the end of the world." Mangle looked at Urt. "That babe, it was determined, was you," he said.