A rumble in the distance drowned all the sounds of the battle. Then the rain had started, falling in thin rods drenching him in seconds. The droplets made small clanging noises as they bounced of his armour, the sounds went unheard through the shouts and screams of the people around him. A Zaran rushed him, a home made weapon in his his hand. Treguard dispatched him quickly. The rain was getting under his armour soaking him to the skin. He turned as another Zaran came at him. A soilder this time, better trained. Treguard blocked the soilder sword thrust, knocking his arm out of the way and stepping in. One sharp push toppled the solider over, Treguard plunged his sword down into the man's neck. The details started to blur. He wasn't fighting any longer but searching. Going from house to house, trying to keep his balance on the street, slick with the rain. It was still dark, though there was an orange hue to the sky? Dawn? No. It was Zara. The smell of burning filled his nostrils. Black clouds of smoke could just be discerned from the night's sky. He and his men were going from house to house, looking for something. Most of the houses were empty. Their inhabitants fled in the face of the crusading army. Most of their valuables had gone with them. Some had remained, optimistically painting crosses on their door in the hopes of being left alone. Fools. Another house, another cowering family. Fabrizio had his sword at the father's throat demanding any gold he may have. The man shakily points to a box which is eagerly broken into by his Sicilian lieutenant. There isn't much there. A few coins, but mostly taken up with family mementos that get ruthlessly thrown aside. Alessio wants to kill the family, but Treguard holds him back. He's taken everything they value, at least he can leave them their lives. Though how long they would survive in Zara with the crusading army was anyone's guess. He moved to the next house. At first it seems empty, and as he surveys the interior he perceives an old man, kneeling on the floor. It takes a few seconds for him to work out that the man is simultaneously pleading with him to take anything he wants but leave him his life whilst also praying to God to be merciful. Treguard picked the man up by the collar and throws him roughly aside. God isn't anywhere to be seen in these events. Yet something peeked his interest. The man is watching him like a cat. He is hiding something. Treguard surveyed the room once again. It is plain, a chimney in one corner of the room, a plain wooden table with chairs, and a large box, bound with metal, up against another wall. It would be very hard to shift, the box looks heavy. He walked over to it. Someone has shifted it, and recently, he can see the tracks it made in the floor. He grabed the box. The man ran over to him to try and stop him. He pushed him aside once more. He pulls at the box and it moves. He started in surprise as he saw...

Treguard woke with a start. He'd been dreaming about Zara. Even as he tried to recall the dream he could feel it slip like morning mist out of his mind. Trying to forcibly reawaken his memory was yielding little results. The memory of Zara was still as foggy as before, with only a few details being clear in his mind. In his effort to forget, he had successfully forgotten the relativity innocent actions whilst remembering whilst crystal clarity those incidents which made him feel most guilty.

"So close and yet so far." Lord Fear's taunting voice broke his chain of thought. He took a breath and countered.

"Things haven't gone according to plan for you either."

"Oh believe me! I'm just playing at the moment." Lord Fear retorted.

"She managed to deal effectively with your gang." Treguard pointed out. Irritation flashed across Lord Fear's face.

"I imagine that drinking a vast amount of alcohol someone might have difficulty remembering the night before. I've done my research. Excatly how confident are you?" Lord Fear paused for effect. "In the days you sold you skills for money? In the days you let your hate rule your actions? You did hate didn't you Treguard? You hated the Norman lords for letting the injustice of Vestan taking your home from you. You hated Vestan for murdering your entire family. And you hated yourself for not being able to do anything about it." Lord Fear chuckled. "If only I had come across you then…."

Treguard clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. He took deep breaths trying to control the anger he felt rising within him. They were just words, he told himself. Taunting is part of his nature, he can't resist gloating.

But what if he's right? The words spoken quietly in his mind acting as confirmation of his worst fears. What had he actually said? He'd done his research. But Treguard couldn't remember. It caused a knot of fear to settle in his gut. Why was Cat coming to castle? To see him? Or confront him?

A new day dawned. Again to Pickle's obvious distaste Cat woke him before the sun had properly risen. He was not looking forward to another day getting saddle sore. Besides as far as he could see there was no sign of the forest anywhere. Yet Cat seemed to know where she was going. Pickle could see that something other than her eyes and ears were guiding her. She continually scanned the landscape ahead, her eyes narrowing and peering into the distance. They rode across fields avoiding the road and even avoiding other forms of human contact. Cat still couldn't shake the feeling they were somehow being watched. They for some hours before his complaining finally persuaded Cat to stop for something to eat. Here Pickle had a chance to see Cat's archery skill, she managed to shot a couple of rabbits from some considerable distance away. Fields stretched out before and all around them Pickle in vain tried to catch a sight of a tree, any tree.

"Have you noticed?" Cat said to him.

"What do you mean?" Pickle asked still looking into the distance.

"No Trees."

"I can see that. Or not see that." Pickle answered.

"Anywhere." Cat said. Pickle frowned at her, then glanced around more. "I expect to see an occasional tree, at the edge of fields, fruit trees, but there nothing. Almost as though they've been hidden." She got to her feet and peering intently at the ground she started to walk around seemingly in a random pattern. Watching her Pickle finally asked.

"What are you looking for?" She seemed to ignore him. Then, obviously seeing something, she fell to the ground and her fingers lightly traversing the surface. Curious Pickle joined her. She stopped suddenly and drawing her dagger started to scratch the ground.

"What is it?" He asked again.

"One of the ways into Otherworlds is to cross a stream." Cat said now digging the earth with more ferocity. Soon the earth she revealed became damp and wet and after more patience clawing a sudden spring bubbled up, like a very small fountain. Cat stood up smiling and brushing the mud off her hands. Already the small flow of water was a stream, like a line of silver thread in the glinting in the grass.

"This is it, this is the entrance. Remember the name of the place we want to go."

"Knightmare Castle." Pickle said. Cat shook her head.

"The true name, Hordriss said. The name it had before the monsters came." She stood in the silver line of water being created by the stream. "Before that, it was called Dunshelm."

And the forest was before them, as though it always had been there and they simply had been looking in the wrong direction. Pickle laughed in admiration.

"You've done it!" He took his horse's reins and led it to the stream, which seemed to mark the very outskirts of the forest that now stood before them. He reached Cat, still standing in the stream. She seemed to be rooted to the spot, regarding the forest with a troubled expression.

"What is it mistress?" Pickle asked her. This seemed to shake Cat out of the reverie she had fallen into.

"Nothing." She lied.

Treguard's only clue of changing days came from watching the mirror. He watched it with a hunger that couldn't be sated. He wanted to see her, to talk to her but there was a fear that grew inside him the nearer she came. A fingertip search of the cell yielded nothing useful. After all he couldn't pick the lock with a piece of straw. He examined the lock carefully, Lord Fear had covered every possibility as the lock wouldn't give to any magic he could muster. On reflection it might have been a good idea to take either Merlin or Hordriss up on their offers to teach him more. Hordriss was a powerful sorcerer, but not all that patient. It was too late by the time Hordriss had offered at any rate. He was too set in his ways, they were both too proud, certainly they would have ended up not talking by the end. But Merlin? He'd had a gentle touch, a subtle way of imparting knowledge. When he'd been on his journey to regain his home, Merlin had told him that he hadn't really been in his dreams at all, that it was his own mind sorting, ordering, working out answers. People were much more willing to listen to an old man, he'd said, more so if they thought the 'old man' was merely the knowledgeable and logical part of their own mind. People don't ask for advice, they just like you to be there whilst they talk to themselves. He could almost hear Merlin's merry chuckle. He sighed, this nostalgic tour of his memories were not helping his current predicament. Inevitably his mind turned to events he witnessed in the mirror. How had she known the name of Dunshelm? The gap in his memory grinned maliciously. Lately it was taking on the shape of Lord Fear which was worrying. He shook his head, no matter how hard he tried the memory was still as murky as ever. There were elements he thought he recalled but now he wasn't sure whether or not his imagination was trying to fill in the gaps. It was unreliable, that was the problem. His only source of knowledge had to come from Cat. But how reliable could that be? Cat's version of events would entirely shaped by her mother...Guilt and fear tied knots in his gut. He stood and paced, a restless energy seizing him.

He should have gone back. He had returned to Acre with Pickle. At the time he'd had a feeling that there was unfinished business. When the the dratted witch and the fake Sir Lancelot had turned up he'd thought that had been it. He'd been too ready to accept something that had seemed like a noble quest. Travelling and adventuring with a one of Arthur's knights? How was he to resist that lure? She had baited the trap beautifully. He had been more ready to accept that quest than even the remotest possibility that the unfinished business he sought was from his own past. Like anything that is unpleasant he had done his best to avoid it. Telling himself the business with Morganna he essentially absolved him. He had the sword morpheus, he'd had held the holy grail. Signs enough that he'd been forgiven?

When the Goblins attacked, Cat leapt off her horse and hacked and slashed with her knife. Pickle was not idle either, he liked to think that at least he gave a couple of them sever headaches from hitting them over the head with a sizeable branch he'd picked up. A few deep gashes, two sliced off arms and one sliced off leg later the Goblins had decided they were not being paid enough for this and had run away or in the case with the goblin with one leg hopped away as quickly as he could. Cat eyed her knife critically.

"Urgh! Goblin blood." She said with distaste and looked for some cloth to polish it with. She watched Pickle as he walked about the trees smiling fondly. The forest was an old one, she could tell from the broad variety of trees that were growing, as well as the size of their trunks. The sun penetrated through the canopy of leaves sending shafts of light to the forest floor. The leaves gave the light a warm green glow. Cat breathed deeply. For the first time since she started this journey she felt at home. She preferred the woods and forests to the villages and town. When she was young she had spent a great deal of time in the misty Wyvernmere forest, with Lord White's chief ranger Alwyn.

"I'm home." He breathed. Cat smiled.

"I said I would get you here."

"Well actually you told me to get on the horse." Pickle pointed out. They were in a clearing, beeches, elms, ash trees all laden with leaves stretching towards the sun above. There was one massive oak tree in front of them. It was a old tree with a thick girth, Pickle was fascinated by it.

"Root and fen! Oakly!" He sounded astonished.

"You've lost me." Cat said.

"He's an oak tree."

"I can see that."

"He can talk." Pickle insisted. Cat folded her arms and raised an eyebrow in amusement.

"Doesn't seem to be saying much at the moment."

"He needs to be awoken. Command him to awake!" Pickle told her.

"Why don't you tell him to wake up?" Cat asked.

"He has been asleep for too long." Pickle said. "Almost ten years if not longer. All these lands belong to Knightmare castle. He'll respond either to the Dungeonmaster or a dungeoneer."

"In case you hadn't noticed we don't have either of those."

"You are of the master's blood, I'm sure he'll respond to you." The effect Pickle's statement had on Cat was dramatic. She gave him a burning glare. Her hands twitched and Pickle was sure she was thinking about her knife.

"Mistress?" He asked cautiously

"Stop calling me that!" Cat growled angrily. She walked away from him. After a few yards she stopped, Pickle heard her taking deep breaths, trying to banish her rising temper.

"Cat?" Pickle asked gently.

"How did you know?" She asked quietly.

"You have the master's bearing. His eyes." Which Cat promptly narrowed at Pickle. Hesitantly he continued. "I thought from the outset you were familiar. Sometimes when the light catches your face..." he trailed into silence. After a long pause he spoke again.

"You said a cook knew of Dunshelm..." He queried. Cat breathed deeply. This was a conversation she had hoping to avoid. But she could see Pickle wouldn't let it drop and he had appeared to guessed most of it anyway. She nodded wiping her hand over her face.

"Alright. But let's be comfortable first."

They settled near to Oakly, Cat having tied their horses to an obliging beech tree nearby. She sat crosslegged on the ground, while Pickle, having searched through the saddlebags, found something to eat. Pickle watched her as he ate, her expression was troubled and he had the impression some form of internal struggle was taking place.

"The cook is...was my mother." Cat said with a long sigh. Questions crammed themselves into Pickle's brain, but he forced himself to remain quiet as Cat seemed to be forcing herself to speak.

"She died recently." She added quietly. "Nothing dramatic. She had a fever that took her strength and her life. She told me about Treguard..." Her voice trailed away. Her mother had told Cat of Treguard some years earlier and until recently that had been enough. Since her mother's death however, Cat had been infused with a restlessness which only her current goal seemed to cure. Pickle was still looking at her with a curious expression. She raised an eyebrow.

"I was wondering where he met your mother." Pickle tried to make it sound as though it was of no consequence. However Cat was looking at him with a slightly amused smile.

"Zara." She replied.

"Zara?" Pickle repeated. "Where is Zara?"

"Was." Cat said distantly.

"Was?" Pickle encouraged. Cat looked at him.

"Zara was a port, on the other side of the Mediterranean from Venice. It had links everywhere all over the Ottoman empire. It was a place where people from flung places came to trade and it was a thorn in the side of Venice. Zara had been taking trade away from them and they didn't like competition."

"Where does the master come into this? It sounds like high politics to me." Pickle commented. Cat snorted with derision.

"The crusade to retake Jerusalem. What you may not know is that the whole crusade was practically bankrupt when they arrived Venice. The Venetians had built ships which the crusaders were to use to get to Acre. Only far fewer crusaders turned up than were expected and they couldn't pay for the ships. Until the Doge of Venice had an idea."

"I see." Pickle nodded sadly. "Get rid of a hated rival."

Cat nodded. Pickle suddenly gasped.

"He was there?! He took part?!" Cat nodded.

"I can't believe it!" Pickle sounded dumbfounded. "Cat if you knew the master then you would..." He stopped suddenly. He had travelled with Treguard to Acre and knew there was a part of his life he did not speak willingly about. That Treguard was or had been capable of such ruthlessness was still mind blowing. A part of him started to wonder if Cat could be talking about a different man, but just by looking at her he could see she wasn't. Curiosity drove him on.

"What happened to Zara?" He already knew but he had to hear from Cat.

"Raized to the ground. The city burned, everyone fled."

"And your mother?" He asked tentatively.

"Not all the Knights liked the idea of attacking a christian city. And some of them really didn't like the idea of attacking another christian city."

"Ah Constantinople." Pickle said. Cat nodded.

"One such Knight was Lord Aneurin Whyte. When the crusade left for Constantinople, he turned back to England and took my mother with him."

Treguard slowly let out a breath he'd been holding for a while. Jumping to conclusions was something he tried to avoid. It was much more difficult than he realised, emotion always clouding the issue. Clearly she had not wanted to reveal who she was, or why she was there, but why? Was simple caution or did she have another reason? Had Lord Fear not been involved what would have happened? Quickly he grimaced and shook his head, a pointless line of enquiry, he realised. There was no point ruminating over what might have been.

Cat's mother was dead then. Treguard found that he was not very surprised. He suspected that her mother's death was the catalyst for her journey. She was at peace now, whatever had happened, she was beyond any feelings of guilt he may feel. However that fact he still could not remember a single thing about her caused him great shame. His memory held gapping voids of Cat's mother.

At least he knew a little more about Zara. Her manner whilst she had been talking to Pickle had not been angry, as far as he could tell there seemed to be no bitterness or resentment. Still he wished she had gone further with her story. Most of what she had told Pickle was history. He'd been one of the bankrupted knights stuck in Venice whilst the leaders of the crusade debated with the Doge. There were many knights who had been unhappy with the agreed settlement. Zara was a Christian a city. The Pope did not approve. Some knights had turned away from the crusade altogether, they were the ones with integrity. He wished he'd been one of them. He'd needed the money, bitterness and a desire for vengeance didn't pay the bills.

He had got to a point where he had to shut his eyes and hold his nose to a lot of his actions. He didn't think about the lives he'd taken, or the people he'd ruined by taking their meagre possessions. He'd had to swallow his own bile at the actions of his own men that went unchecked. He hadn't been blind to it, he'd tried to convince himself he didn't care and drank copiously in a misguided attempt to prove it.

Did it matter that the person he had been then was gone? He'd been lead to believe that killing a dragon, burying his sword into it's flesh, bathing it in it's blood absolved his crimes. But neither Cat or her mother were to know that. As far as they knew he was the same person who abandoned them years earlier.