"That babe, it was determined, was you," Mangle said.

    "But I''m not an elf. You just have to look at my ears!" Urt flicked his hair back to show non-pointed lobes.

    "Pah, that was me. A simple transformation spell."

    "Wait. You mean he''s an elf?" Reginald sat up. "No, I''d have smelled that."

    "You think I would change his ears and not disguise that as well?" Mangle scoffed.

    Urt sat still, stunned. "I..." he said. "I..."

    "I know lad, it''s a shock. And I''m sorry to burst it upon you like this, but time is of the essence, and you need to know this."

    "Elf?" Urt felt at his ears.

    "So, where was I? Oh yes. The baby in question, you," Mangle went on, as Urt tried to consider the implications of this sudden race revelation, "was kidnapped by forces of evil."

    "You?" asked Reginald, slurping his tea.

    "No, other forces of evil. Dark elves actually. They raided the elf encampment. However, things went wrong somehow, I''m not sure how, and the babe ended up in a dungeon, at the hands of a creature called Dreth."

    "Dreth?" Urt repeated.

    "Yes. He''s actually a very powerful being, an Overlord of many labyrinths scattered through the land. Anyway, he eventually gave you to a wizard of the Order of Light, why we don''t know."

    "Me? With a white wizard?"

    "Yes, certain powerful parties also deemed it unacceptable, so, at no insignificant risk, the mage was ambushed, and you were taken, to be put into more... suitable hands." Mangle took another sip of tea as Urt tried to take all of this information in. "Dreth''s also the one, so my sources say, that has three of the Devil blades. And possibly one of the hosts too," Mangle added.

    "Hosts?" Reginald asked, frowning.

    "Keep up Reg," Urt said. "One of those chosen to be possessed by these Lords of Hell."

    "Oh," Reginald nodded, and leaned forward to pour himself more tea.

    "The two hosts we know of are women," Mangle went on, taking a sip of his own drink.

    "So, wait a minute." Urt put his cup back on the table. "You''re saying that there''s a plot by four..."

    "Possibly five," Mangle interjected.

    "...possibly five, yes yes, Lords of Hell to come to our realm, take over the bodies of at least two females, and use magic swords..."

    "The Devil Blades."

    "The Devil Blades, to destroy all life on the planet, and I''m the one that''s destined to stop them?"

    "Well." Mangle took the kind of deep, reverse intake of breath that generally precedes bad, and often expensive, news. "Possibly."

    "Possibly?"

    "You''re possibly going to stop them. You could fail, or someone could kill you first and the apocalypse will go ahead on schedule."

    "Well." Urt looked down at his feet for a moment, and then back up. "Well," he repeated. "And you''re sure I''m an elf?"

    Mangle made a noise. "That''s what you take away from this? The end of the world is coming, only you can stop it, and you''re worried about the shape of your ears? I could put them back if you like, but that would only attract more attention."

    "No, no... I mean. No." Urt took a deep breath. "So, what do I do now?"

    "Well, you need to take something I have and find one of the hosts, and kill her."

    "What?"

    "You must kill her with her own blade." Mangle looked behind him and shouted. "Penfold, bring me the sword."

    "I''m not a cold blooded murderer!" complained Urt. "Hot blooded, sure, but..."

    "Well, you''re going to have to learn," Mangle said. "It''s a good skill to have anyway. Ah, here it is."

    Urt looked around, to see Penfold re-enter the room, this time carrying a large sword in a scabbard of deep black leather, studded with shiny red gems. The handle was decorated with silver metal, and another, large and flawless, red gem was set into the end of the pommel.

    Reginald whistled. "That''s some sword," he said.

    "Indeed it is. One of only four, could be five, Devil Blades in existence. Highly dangerous, highly magical."

    Penfold reached Urt, and held the sword out for him to take.

    "But I''m not a swordsman!" Urt complained. "I''m a necromancer! It''s a cushy number with no heavy lifting! I don''t want to go swinging something like that about. I''d chop my own legs off or something."

    "It''s a magical sword," Mangle explained again. "And I don''t recommend you use it at all. It''s quite likely to take you over and control you, once it''s tasted blood anyway. That''s how it activates for a new owner."

    "What?" Urt, who had started to reach out for the blade, stopped. "Take me over?"

    "Yes. These blades have a very strong will. The wielder has to fight to keep control, and it''s sometimes very hard to do. Most of the instances of these blades in history have ended up with the wielder succumbing to the sword and going insane, finally killing themselves." He shook his head. "Sad really. Don''t worry though, it won''t wake up properly until it tastes blood. Even so, I''d keep it in its sheath if I were you." He took another sip of tea.

    "Lovely." Urt took the sword, handling it like it might suddenly explode. "And that''s all of it is it?"

    "Well, no."

    "Of course, that would be too much to ask."

    "You see, some of the necromancers - and other parties too - but mostly necromancers, have decided that the end of the world would be a good thing, for us at least. Lots of dead to control you see. I happen to know that the most powerful of all of us - The Extremely Dark Necromancer - has put a price on your head. That''s why I was worried someone had seen you come here. Not all of us agree with this, but the E. D. N. isn''t someone you speak out against, not unless you want to start your journey to lich-dom early anyway. I''ve had to keep a low profile and pretend to go along with the flow."

    "Well, that''s just wonderful." Urt slumped back in his chair, resting the sword on his ??p and nearly knocking his tea over.

    "So, apart from that," Mangle said. "How have you been?"