It was as though a waterfall had been upended. But it wasn’t a liquid cascade. It was light. Countless millions of tiny multicoloured pinpoints, spiralling, twisting, surging upwards in a never ending, constantly replenished flow. The dazzling vortex was the source of the throbbing beat, and a sulphurous odour hung in the air.

There were a number of beings present. Standing just beyond the arch, Jennesta scanned them. Her father, Tentarr Arngrim, known to the covert world of sorcery as Serapheim, was at the forefront. Jennesta’s sister, Sanara, the most human in appearance of Arngrim’s brood, was by his side. The rest were Wolverines, the wretched orc warband who had subjected Jennesta to the bitterest of betrayals. All were transfixed by the glittering spectacle.

Jennesta saw the female orc, Coilla, standing close to the dais and staring at the torrent. Coilla mouthed, “It’s beautiful.”

Standing next to her the dwarf, Jup, nodded and said, “Awesome.”

“And mine!” Jennesta declared loudly as she lost patience and strode down the stairs, Mersadion in her wake.

All heads turned to them. For a split second Jennesta’s steely poise faltered. But she was confident in the superiority of her magic over anything here, spell or weapon.

“You’re too late,” Serapheim told her. His tone was cooler than Jennesta cared for.

“Nice to see you too, Father dear,” she returned acerbically. “I’ve a contingent of Royal Guards at my heels,” she lied. “Surrender or die, it’s all the same to me.”

“I can’t see you passing on the opportunity to slay those you think have wronged you,” Sanara said.

“You know me so well, sister.” She thought how prissy Sanara was. “And how pleasant to see you in the flesh again. I look forward to despoiling it.”

The Wolverines’ leader spoke. “If you think we’re giving up without a fight, you’re wrong.” He indicated his troop with the sweep of a sturdy hand. “We’ve nothing to lose.”