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Unaware of the offensive taking place upon the goblin city of Everdwell only a few miles beyond them, General Warlock and his group of adventurers plodded along in the morning sun's warmth.

The Dragon was walking steadier now. Its scales gently shimmering with rainbow colours, a clue to its shape shifting and disguising capabilities, it looked comfortable with its odd clothing. It was deep in conversation with Brook, discussing the implications of mirror worlds and alternative timelines. The simple idea of anything being possible lead to some bizarre possibilities. What if it had never come to this magic universe carrying the Sceptre? Would they still be fighting for the rat's campaign even now, if Nisgarant was not wielding it? At what point exactly did the path split in their story, if the Sceptre was not part of it?

General Warlock was sat upon Bromor's back, busy with his cape project and trying to avoid eye contact with Lucinder. He had made the mistake of offering her the needle and thread and had been met with a mouthful of abuse that summed up to being accused of sexism. She had puffed out her chest, which was gloriously ample, and tossed her beautiful golden curls that caught the light just so, telling him he was old-fashioned in his ways. He'd mumbled his apologies, not quite sure what the patriarchy was but now very aware that Luci did not approve of it. Sisters, it seemed, were doing it for themselves. He stabbed his thumb for the hundredth time and decided to try magic instead. He'd already had another lesson with fire and emerged unscathed. His confidence was bolstered. Magic was based in belief. He just had to believe that his sewing project was done. It wasn't, it was sat draped over the Nightmare's shoulders in danger of falling to the mud any moment, still tacked in to keep its shape with pins. He took a breath. That intake of air cleared his mind. The blue glow radiated from his palm. The magic was ready to follow his will, all he had to do was give it clear and precise orders. Giving orders came naturally to him after all the years of his service in the guards.

Thread. Sew. Finish. It is finished. It is done. My cape is ready. This is truth.

As his eyes glazed over with concentration, he missed the group coming to a sudden stop and The Dragon's urgent pointing to the sky.

"What is that?" Lucinder gasped.

"That is the first sign that the Sceptre has been here too long. It is being sought out, like white blood cells hunting a virus this universe is attempting to purge the Dark Magic, even at risk of itself."

It was as if the clouds were on fire. Streaks of blazing crimson raced through them, flashes of light following. It was a sign of destruction. A portent of doom. Inky blackness surrounded it. A gaping wound in the sky.

"Yessss!"

They turned.

The General was running his grey hands down the hem of his cape as it flowed down his back, clasped at the neck with a rough uncut chunk of sapphire embedded in gold. "What do you think?"

Luci jabbed her thumb to the drama going on above them. "I think we're in trouble, Anar."

"Ah."

At the word 'trouble' the MagiMetre in her robe pocket began shrilling.

Brook frowned. "Never good when that thing goes off."

Whipping it out and eyeing the screen, Lucinder agreed. "It's a cluster. Enough combined magic to trigger the sensor."

"In front of us? With the rat?" Asked The Dragon.

She shook her head, "no, it's behind us and closing in. At home we might think Pixies, but here..."

"No Pixies."

"No."

An arrow thudded into Bromor's thigh and he reared with a scream. Anar found himself snout down in the dirt, his heart racing and long ears ringing.

Above him, bat-like wings spread and warm blood splattered as another sickening thud landed in equine flesh.

He rose in a cloud of dust, enraged, his fists glowing like suns. Not my Nightmare!

These gnolls weren't like the last, they were mean and sleek and set on killing. Predators with a purpose. As Brook leapt up onto a leather padded shoulder to dig her knife into furry neck, he watched as fangs snapped straight at her face.

Luci was at Bromor's side, ready to administer aid for his wounded steed as he crashed to the ground with a pained moan, her hands moving quickly. She was muttering arcane words, but he couldn't hear from the commotion

He was ready. He wasn't going to panic and flit his attention from person to person like before. In a battle of a thousand men, you could only take on one at a time. He raised his palm with purpose.

The bright arc leapt, a stream of power unlike his haphazard fireballs before. The archer gnoll convulsed as its heart exploded in its chest. That was what you got!

The Dragon was smiling.

With the gory twitching corpse before them, the last gnoll standing in one piece hesitated.

Brook was still wrestling with the other, but Anar knew she could take good care of herself in that fight. There was a crunch as blade met eyeball. Shrieks ensued.

As he prepared to flick his fingers the gnoll threw itself on the soil before him, prostrating wretchedly. "General, my General!"

"Yeah? Wasn't your General a moment ago when you wanted to hurt my Nightmare!"

"Please! I serve! My General, please!"

His knuckles creaked. The gnoll choked. He felt a vibration through his wrist as this scout's windpipe before him was slowly crushed. He could do anything. He could snap a bone just by thinking about it. He could tear a ligament. Leave the stupid guy a cripple for the rest of his days.

Powerful legs kicked out as the life within began to fade.

But he'd asked for mercy, hadn't he? As disgusting a beast as he was, this gnoll hadn't been the one to fire those arrows. Hadn't actually harmed any of the party. Yet, anyway.

The old Anar under Nisgarant would have finished the kill.

Exhaling, he relaxed his tensed muscles, clearing his mind of the red mist that had fallen down.

He'd discarded his old uniform. He'd tossed aside that old life. He was not perfect, but he was good enough.

The gnoll curled up in a fetal position, wheezing and gulping for air.

Anar turned his attention to Bromor and wasn't ready for what he saw.

Lucinder was on her knees, her official white mage robes looking utterly filthy as she was staring dumbfoundedly at the scuffed patch of ground where his wounded friend had been writhing and groaning, bleeding profusely, only moments before.

The Nightmare was gone.

"What did you do?!" he demanded.

"I... I tried to heal him. I don't understand. Maybe my magick isn't right for Nightmares? I thought it was working! My amulet - Chanlon - it's severely depleted..."

"That bloody necklace is useless!" Anar spat, "that... that MagiMetre going off in your pocket is useless too! All your fancy things, they're all just useless! What good have they actually done?"

Lucinder was shocked at this sudden barrage, "I didn't make Bromor disappear! I didn't! You can't be angry at me just because I've got magickal gadgets that you don't understand, they're very useful on my world. We're not stuck in the past like you are, here! There's no arrows whizzing about. No silly wars over who's got the biggest Sceptre!"

An ominous rumble rolled overhead.

"We won't have any worlds to worry about if we don't do something about that Tri-Horn soon," Brook said, cleaning her dagger of gnoll sinew.

Anar's chest heaved. His Nightmare was gone. A magical death? Who knew. They'd got a wretched gnoll in return. He was in anguish, and there was nowhere private to duck away to while he dealt with his grief.

Bromor had always been with him. When he was a young soldier cadet, fresh and new, he'd been on patrol with the lads under the watchful gaze of his Sergeant when he'd spotted the black horse among a herd by the orchard. They'd been snaffling up the fallen, bruised fruit that lay on the grass there. It wasn't often you saw a remarkable specimen such as Bromor in amongst the wild ponies, and as soon as his training shift had been over, he made a beeline to the apple trees in hopes the horse would be nearby.

He'd been sure that it was a foolish quest; even if he did manage to lure the pony to the stables, keeping it there would be another matter entirely. The guard stablemaster would take one look and decide it would be broken in for a commander to ride.

Bromor had been waiting. Or so it seemed, anyway. He was stood alone, swishing his tail, snorting. Anar had offered one of the nicest apples that was still good and attached to a tree, sweet and crunchy.

The eyes that met his were large and deep. As Bromor chewed, he'd rubbed his velvet muzzle and admired him properly. This couldn't be a wild horse. It was strong, healthy, intelligent even. It must have come from a far-off battlefield, though there was no ally brand upon its flank. Maybe someone would come looking for him? Perhaps he was already ridable?

With one more apple to sweeten the deal, he'd run his hands along the broad back and applied pressure to test him. There had been a grunt. It sounded like an invitation. Anar had not ridden a horse before, that would be in his future training. Bromor had not had a saddle, or bridle. Yet, in a daring move he'd swung up onto him and sat there with a fistful of mane, not quite believing his luck.

With the warm early evening sun on them, they'd walked around the orchard slowly. It wasn't unheard of for old war horses to turn up out of the blue. They were fine steeds. Brave, unyielding, fast and dangerous in their own way with mighty kicks that could send a man sprawling and bites that could render flesh.

He'd not known what to call his new friend at first. Usually if a horse wandered off from having lost its rider in war, there would still be leather tack upon them with a name sewn in. This horse was unbadged. Black horses were traditionally seen as what the enemy rode. The bad guys. They had names like Wraith, or Harbinger. Anar had not wanted to follow that line of thinking. A horse was a horse, neither good nor evil. And this was going to be his horse, he'd already made up his mind. Even if it meant bribing the stablemaster with whatever savings he had so he could keep him all to himself. They'd eventually turned for the city gates, and trotted in.

The head groom in the royal stables was actually a decent fella, overall, and liked Anar well enough to make sure that his new horse slipped in without fuss and without drawing the attention of the stablemaster. As luck would have it, there was a free space inside. It needed a bit of tidying as it had quickly become a dumping area, as is the way with unused rooms. This stable had been at the back where there wasn't a lot of light. The higher-up's horses were all at the doors, for swift dispatch.

He'd be expected to do his own care and maintenance, on the down low of course, but he'd have been expected to do this soon anyway, when he'd finished his training and been allocated a horse by his Sergeant. In a corner of clutter, during the removal of junk, an old bridle tag with BROMOR printed on it was found. It was anyone's guess whose horse that at been at some point in history, but it was now his horse's name.

Bromor had left him just as suddenly and mysteriously as he had come. He'd never have dreamed he was actually a magical creature. In truth, he'd never have believed himself to be worthy of having such a wonderful beast as a friend.

He'd not really thought Luci had made Bromor vanish. But anger and sadness did funny things to the brain. Luci had been helping him as best she could, and he'd snapped at her, acting ungratefully. She'd lost her Power helping Bromor, who wasn't even her responsibility, and he'd thrown it all back in her pretty face.

"So, what are we doing with this gnoll, sir? We're not having him in our group, are we? Threllif's men always gave me the creeps," Brook hissed.

With the empty pit of loss gnawing at his gut, Anar sadly turned his attention to the problem of the moment. His lieutenant had a point. The dog-men were smelly and feral. "I'm assuming you were hunting down Brook, yes?" he asked him.

The gnoll rolled over, exposing his small belly submissively, "Rat Lord is looking for Ghost General! Dead General with magic! My General!" he coughed with a dribble of blood, his shouting hurting his already damaged throat.

"Nisgarant knows I am back? That I am a mage? Good. I'm pleased that he's worried enough to send his best scouts after me. I have two deaths to avenge now; mine and Bromor's. I'm going to shred him to pieces and make him suffer for all he's done. Are you truly loyal to me?"

The gnoll nodded rapidly, his canine eyes wild. He looked like he'd agree to just about anything if he could only stay alive a while longer. "I want you to tell that scabby rat, in excruciating detail, what happened to you here. What I'm capable of. I want him to worry. Because he should be afraid. The ghost General is coming for him."

With a furtive glance for the trees, Anar gave him the nod and he scrambled to his feet and sped off, wheezing still, as fast as his doggy legs would carry him.

"He's half dead," Brook mumbled.

"Right? And he's one of Threllif's finest. One look at him returning to camp with his tail between his hind quarters, dribbling bloody foam, telling Nisgarant about watching his pal's heart explode is enough to make anyone desert."

They all looked to the sky once more, the horror above drawing them in like a moth to a lightbulb. "I don't think we have as much time as we thought, sir."

"No. If only travelling on foot wasn't so slow. But we'd not been in a rush so The Dragon could regain its strength."

"I am sorry. This battle is one I will have to sit out, I think. Though you have shown some real mastery of your magic today. If Lucinder and yourself can work together, we just might be able to save this universe."

"Oh? Just them, huh? I dispatched a fleabag gnoll single-handedly, you know! And I only reached its knees!"

Her words were meant in jest, but no one could bring themselves to smile.

The ground trembled.

"Another sign?" Lucinder asked, worriedly.

"No. I think that may have something to do with your MagiMetre that hasn't shut up for the past half hour or so," The Dragon replied.

With a sudden rise of her grey head, the mage blurted excitedly, "my superiors! Of course! They will be looking for me. I should have been back with the Sceptre ages ago. That's what the cluster is!"

"Ok. So, tell me Luci, is that a good thing... or a bad thing?"

She chewed her lip. "Well..."