Firestar (2 page)

If you were at all familiar with hobgoblins, you would have known at once that Rumbletop was totally distraught, for the bumpy nodules that covered his goat-like little head were sprouting frantically all over the place in a seething tangle of tendrils that made him look like a demented octopus.

“What on
earth
was that?” he groaned,
automatically
shoving the writhing tendrils out of his eyes as he struggled to his feet. He looked round the cavern fearfully. The attack had happened
suddenly
, without warning and had been ferocious. “What happened?” he moaned, staggering over to Rumblegudgeon who was sitting on the ground, shaking violently. “I thought I was going to die!”

“So did I!” Rumblegudgeon whispered, his
slanting
yellow eyes wide with alarm. He, too, was
having
a bad hair day. He picked himself up off the floor and barely noticing the long, rubbery tendrils that slithered over his rather natty scarlet
waistcoat
, staggered unsteadily towards the monitor on the control panel where jagged streaks of red light sizzled and flashed.

His only thought was to protect Firestar, the great ball of energy that pulsed in the cavern below, for it was as one with the machine, which, he saw with rising panic, was still vibrating wildly. He’d no idea how or why humans should have
targeted
it but the effect had been little short of
disastrous
;
indeed, had it lasted longer, he was sure he would have died.

“Do something, for goodness sake, before the whole thing implodes!” Rumbletop muttered, eyeing the machine apprehensively as the hall filled with anxious hobgoblins. “The pressure’s dropping fast and if it falls too far, Firestar might collapse!”

“The attack came from the world outside, Rumbletop!” Rumblegudgeon flung at him as he reached the control panel. Flinging his tendrils hastily over his shoulders, he slid into the chair and concentrated on the monitor. “I saw a man on the screen just as it happened … a human! The attack was from the outside!”

Rumbletop looked flabbergasted. “You saw a man!”

Rumblegudgeon nodded. “Haven’t I just told you?” he said. “He attacked us and took the heart out of Firestar.”

Rumbletop could hardly believe what he was hearing and watched anxiously as Rumblegudgeon bent intently over the control panel. Altering a few settings, he pressed the odd button here and there and, with a last look at the pressure gauge, crossed his fingers firmly.

The two hobgoblins eyed one another fearfully. The trouble was, Rumbletop thought grimly, that nothing like this had ever happened before and although he’d become close enough to Firestar to feel its moods and sometimes, even, its thoughts, no one really knew enough about the bright ball of pulsing energy to cope with anything like
this
.
Indeed, Firestar was, quite truthfully, a mystery to them all. It was rumoured, in hobgoblin circles at least, that even the Lords of the North were not quite sure how Firestar had come to be in the mountain, nor how the machine that controlled it had been built. Some spoke of a people even older than the magicians who had lived in the mountain before time began but as no one had ever found any trace of them, he didn’t really know the truth of it; although, given the set-up, it was more than probable.

The only thing he knew for sure was that if Firestar were to collapse and die, the whole world of magic would collapse and die with it. Firestar was its life source and it was as he shivered,
realizing
just how close they had all been to certain death, that a feeling of relief swept through him — surely his tendrils were shrinking? He looked down and, as they curled up off the floor, realized that he did actually feel much better than he had a few minutes before. Was the danger passing? Was Firestar recovering? He looked at Rumblegudgeon, suddenly hopeful as he saw that the pressure gauge was rising fast. He gulped thankfully. “I think the worst’s over,” he whispered.

Rumblegudgeon closed his eyes momentarily, totally overcome as he realized that Firestar had, after all, managed to pull through. “I think you’re right,” he nodded as they both felt Firestar’s strength pulse strongly through them. “Thank goodness for that!”

They turned to the machine which, although still churning somewhat nervously after its
unexpected
encounter, seemed to be slowly settling to its normal rhythm. Nevertheless, it was only after a good deal of clicking and clattering that the dreadful noise finally died away and the machine ceased vibrating as Firestar settled to a more
normal
rhythm.

Lights, however, still flickered on and off in unexpected places and although the monitor now displayed nothing more exciting than a fairly even pulse of light that every so often jerked in a mild hiccup, one of the series of circles that ran along the top of the screen had lost its shape and closely resembled a somewhat demented spider.

The two little hobgoblins looked at one another and, as their panic subsided, so did their tendrils. With any luck, thought Rumbletop, things might now return to normal. Even as the thought crossed his mind, however, he knew it for a forlorn hope. Until they found the cause of the sudden attack, nothing in Morven would ever be the same again.

Rumblegudgeon, too, looked at the monitor assessingly. “Apart from that spider thing,” he pronounced, “Firestar seems to be okay. I’ll check it out more thoroughly later.” He looked round at the crowd of hobgoblins that had gathered anxiously round the machine. “Calm down,” he said, noting their worried faces, “whatever the force was, it only accessed us for a few minutes. It certainly took me by surprise,” he said shakily, hitching up his short, flappy trousers. “It was the last thing I was expecting. After all, it’s never
happened
before, has it?”

As the hobgoblins solemnly shook their heads,
Rumbletop groaned at the thought of having to go upstairs to tell the Lords of the North that Firestar had been discovered by the outside world. He felt his tendrils start to grow again and even as he headed for the broad staircase that rose to the upper chamber of the mountain, the rubbery strands flowed behind him like a tangle of
writhing
snakes.

Emerging from the depths of the mountain into the majestic halls of Morven was a
breathtaking
experience. Lofty, spacious and majestic, the cavern glowed with a soft, blue light. Ahead of him reared the glittering silver thrones where the Lords of the North passed their days. Mostly, it must be admitted, in gentle slumber as they were so old that they tended to doze off now and then. On occasion, however, they had been known to chat idly and pore lazily over books of ancient spells. The highlight of their days, however, was when they had visitors; for not all of the Lords of the North were old men.

Rumbletop sighed enviously as he thought of the young lords, for they were proud and
handsome
with great estates of their own in the outside world. He shook his head sadly. The trouble was that the old lords were so boring that the younger lords didn’t often visit except in an emergency. There was always great excitement among the hobgoblins when this happened for then they had a splendid show of fireworks above the mountain to mark the importance of the occasion.

As Rumbletop made his way over the vast
marble
floors of the Great Hall towards the thrones of the Lords of the North, their faces grew grim as their worst fears were realized. They only had to look at Rumbletop to know that something,
somewhere
, had gone fundamentally wrong for never had they seen his tendrils, snaking in a twisting, tumbling train behind him, reach such a length.

Rumbletop’s goat-like face surveyed them
anxiously
. They, too, he reckoned, must have felt the attack for it was quite unheard of for
all
of them to be awake at the same time. He halted as he neared the low silver table that fronted the half circle of high-backed, elegant thrones and bowed low to each one in turn, waiting for them to speak.

Lord Alarid, white-haired, white-bearded and gorgeously robed in shades of dull red, looked at the hobgoblin through watery blue eyes and stretched out a thin hand in greeting. “Rumbletop,” he said in a quavering voice, “we were about to send for you. For an instant we felt a terrible weakness …”

Lord Dorian almost sniffed.
A terrible weakness, indeed,
he thought caustically. It certainly wasn’t the way he would have put it! He looked round at the other Lords and knew they were of the same mind. Like him, they had always considered
themselves
immortal but this attack had given them pause for thought. What
was
this powerful force that had rendered them helpless and their magic useless?

“It’s Firestar, milord,” the hobgoblin said
worriedly
, “I’m afraid that someone from the outside has discovered it.”

The Lords of the North shifted in their chairs
and looked at one another in appalled silence. Lord Alban sitting straight as a ramrod was moved to speak. “Someone from the outside,” he repeated, “but … that’s impossible!” Nevertheless, he was seized by a sudden feeling of dread. Firestar was their life source. No one, but no one, could be allowed to interfere with it, let alone humans.

“We must call everyone to a meeting,” Lord Alarid said somberly. “The attack was extremely powerful. Everyone must have been affected and I hope no one … well, I just hope that everyone survived, that’s all. Lord Rothlan and Lady Ellan at Jarishan, for instance.”

“And the MacArthurs,” added Lord Alban.

Lord Alarid thought of Arthur, the huge red dragon that lived with the MacArthurs in Edinburgh. “Arthur will be all right. Dragons are powerful creatures and their magic is strong. Surely …”

Lord Dorian could contain himself no longer. “We are powerful and
our
magic is strong,” he interrupted bleakly, “and, until today,
we
thought
we
were immortal.”

There was a lengthy silence.

“I take your point, Dorian. You are right. Any damage to Firestar affects us all. We must find out where this attack came from.”

Lord Dorian nodded. “Indeed we must! And as soon as possible! You do realize, don’t you, that if it happens again, we might not survive?”

As the murmur of horrified assent rustled round the curve of silver chairs, Lord Alarid rose and, gathering his velvet robes around him,
moved towards the low table that lay in front of the thrones. In its centre, on an ornate stand of carved, black ebony, stood a crystal ball whose opaque interior was clouded by a swirling, white mist. Even as he approached it, however, the mist dispersed and, as the crystal glowed with a bright light, a familiar face appeared.

“Prince Casimir,” Lord Alarid said grimly, “I was just about to call you.”

“As you all know, Powerprobe’s orbit is set to
follow
a slightly different path each time it circles the earth,” Chuck explained to a hastily convened committee, that afternoon. “I was in the control room at the time and the first indication that
anything
out of the ordinary was happening was when the tone of the bleep changed.”

“Was that abnormal?” queried the chairman.

“Well, no,” Chuck answered. “The tone is designed to change when an energy field is
discovered
; the louder the noise, the more important the find, so to speak. As you know, we’ve already discovered several new oil fields and some massive mineral deposits in Africa, but none of them as big as this.”

“Go on,” the chairman nodded.

“Well, the tone changed to an absolute shriek of sound so we knew Powerprobe had latched on to something fantastic. We were all absolutely stunned as you can imagine and rushed to the monitor. Patrick Venner was in charge and had homed in on it immediately. Whatever that energy field is, Sir, it’s absolutely huge, there’s no doubt about it. The readings were off the scale.”

Everyone sat up, looking decidedly interested. “May we know where this source was discovered?” one of the directors asked. Thin-faced and with a nose like the beak of an eagle, he bent a
penetrating
eye on Chuck.

“It was in a mountain in the north of Scotland.”

What could have been a sigh of relief rippled round the long table. Scotland … at least it was a friendly country …

“Well,” the director frowned and leant back in his chair, “what’s the problem? I imagine there is one or you wouldn’t have called us all together at such short notice.”

Chuck shifted uncomfortably but his gaze, under the spiked ramparts of his hair, was direct. “The thing is, Sir,” he said taking a deep breath, “that it wasn’t only the noise that freaked us out. Pat Venner saw it on his screen before we had time to take in what was going on. He let out a yell that stopped us in our tracks and … well, before we could get to the monitor to see what was
happening
,” he explained carefully, “he’d shoved his chair away from the screen. He was as white as a sheet and to tell you the truth, I’m not surprised. I was closest to Pat and I caught a glimpse of it before the satellite moved on …”

“A glimpse of what?” the chairman asked.

“It was,” Chuck pursed his lips, “we think … actually, we think it could be … an alien.”

“A …
what
?” The committee jerked to attention and eyed one another in disbelief.

“It’s the only word I can think of to use, Sir. The creature we saw certainly wasn’t human.”

“An alien! Are you
sure
?” Everybody at the table was now sitting bolt upright, their faces intent.

“It looked something like a goat, Sir, with slanting, yellow eyes but quite frankly the resemblance ended there. Its face was hairy and it had lots of
little horn-like bumps on its head. I don’t know if it could see us but … it sort of snarled at us before it disappeared.” Chuck shivered at the thought, for before the picture had cut out, the creature had pulled back its lips in a malevolent grimace.

The chairman didn’t quite know what to say. “You’re … quite sure about this?” he asked in a whisper. “I mean …”

“We’ve got a print-out, Sir,” Chuck said briefly, handing sheets of paper round the table.

“Good heavens!” the chairman echoed
everyone
’s feelings as his eyes took in the face of the fierce goat-like creature that glared at him from the page. “I think you might be right. There’s no way this … thing … is from earth. Just look at it!” Words failed him.

Another committee member, sitting at his elbow, leant back in his chair and eyed Chuck warily. “You’re not having us on, Chuck, are you?” he
queried
. “It’s like something out of
Star Trek
!”

“It certainly isn’t friendly,” another added, appalled at the baleful expression in the creature’s eyes.

“Not only that,” Chuck continued, “there’s also the fact that it’s sitting on a huge power source that we haven’t yet been able to identify.”

“You mean it’s not oil?”

“As I said, Sir, it’s nothing we can identify. The readings are a total scramble. We can’t make
anything
of them. That’s why we thought the creature might be an alien. You see, we reckon it could have come from outer space using its own power source.”

There was a horrified silence.

“This,” the chairman said, his voice shaking slightly, “must be kept top secret. The President will have to be informed.”

A senior member of the committee, seeing problems looming, broke in at this stage. “May I suggest that Mr Easterman has Powerprobe’s orbit adjusted so that it continues to pass over the source of this power?”

“Sorry, Sir, but technically that’s just not a feasible option,” Chuck responded. “You see Powerprobe’s orbit cycle is pre-set. It’ll be at least six weeks before it passes over Scotland again.”

“Actually, that’s probably better all round,” the chairman said thoughtfully. “It’ll be for the President to decide, of course, but if these
creatures
are
aliens then we certainly don’t want to alert them and perhaps provoke retaliation.”

“And the Brits?” queried someone else, “shouldn’t we … inform them?” He tailed off as they eyed one another indecisively.

The chairman glanced round the table. “Maybe we should find out a bit more about the situation first. I … er … I don’t know if the Brits would believe us and, well, at the moment, we don’t know anything for sure, do we? What if it’s all pie in the sky? I mean,” he waved a casual hand, “with all due respect to Chuck, here, it might just be that Powerprobe went berserk for a few minutes and picked up on some kids’ TV programme.”

Expressions brightened at the thought and
several
heads nodded in agreement.

“If we’re wrong, it could be more than a bit
embarrassing. After all, we don’t want to end up with egg on our faces, do we?”

“True,” Chuck nodded, albeit somewhat
doubtfully
.

“Then, if we’re all agreed,” the chairman looked round the table, “I’ll suggest to the President that we investigate the matter on the ground first before taking any action.” He eyed Chuck
speculatively
. “How would you feel about heading a team to suss out the place, Chuck?”

Chuck, feeling like he had little choice in the matter, nodded in agreement.

The committee looked at one another and glanced again at the goat-like face that stared ferociously from the print-out.

“You’ll need a base, of course, but if, as you say, this power source is in the Scottish mountains then I reckon there’ll be some fairly isolated properties for rent in the area. In any case, we’ll set you up with everything you need as close to this mountain as we can get.” He looked at Chuck gravely. “I
presume
you pin-pointed its exact location?”

“I did, sir,” Chuck nodded. “As I said, it’s in Scotland. It’s a mountain in the Grampian range, not far from a city called Aberdeen.”

“And the name of this mountain?”

Chuck hesitated. It was stupid, he knew, but he’d felt a strange sense of foreboding the minute he’d accessed it on the computer. “The mountain,” he said slowly, “is called Morven.”