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PROLOGUE:

In ancient times, deep in the rugged mountains, was a magical place,  a place where sparkling rivers trickled into crystal pools, that were home to fish, frogs and playful otters. Antelope, mongoose and barking baboons roamed freely in the mountains. The vegetation was unlike any other place on Earth. There was fine-leafed fynbos, which were so thin and green that the sun shone through the delicate leaves, and the petals and leaves of the pink, yellow and white everlasting flowers glowed. The tall proteas rose above the rest of the plants, with their strong leathery leaves, scarlet flowers and soft feathery flower tips that were jet black. The bright pink, fine-leafed Ericas so perfect and delicate among the orangey-brown dried out proteas. The fragrant, soft impepho plant, which gave off such a delicious smell when you burnt it, displayed its delicate little yellow flowers and soft round sage green leaves. All of these gathered together into different shades of greens, yellows and pinks, which waved softly over the hills. The rocky hillsides were entirely pink in some areas, from the heather flowers. The rocks were white and the streams that trickled through the bright, fine plants, were icy cold. This was all part of a farm called Towerland. The Tower, which was where the farm got its name from, was an amazing sight. A tall, round-topped spire of a mountain, which was mostly clothed in thick mist and cloud, stood high and proud. Its rugged form stood high above the green landscape, watching over it like an ancient guardian with the ridge standing by its side, its broad form clothed in green. The ice-cold springs, from where the great rivers of Towerland were born, rose up from the crest of the great ridge. For centuries Towerland had existed in this state of freedom, strength and balance.  The San people roamed over the land and they were part of it and it was part of them They lived in balance with the roving spirits of that place. They painted their stories into the rocks, and they wove into Towerland a deep and powerful magic.

Chapter 4: The King of the Elves

Deep in the mountains, Kwezi, the king of the elves, sat on his high golden throne. All the magical folk had hidden deep down, below the ground from the evil darkness. And so, the magic of Towerland was shrinking, the plants were shrivelling and dying. 
King Kwezi opened his mouth and began to address his people. “We are in trouble,” he said in a ringing voice, “we have resisted the Dark Lord for centuries but his power is growing, and we will not be able to last for much longer. Already, almost half of this land is under his control and soon it will all belong to him. In some places the rivers are the only  safe places from him, because they are protected by the great spirits. We need help. Twenty-five thousand years have passed. The great prophecy said that ten thousand years must pass and then the four children will come.It has been much too long.They must come soon or we will all perish”
Suddenly, the great doors burst open and into the room marched a swarm of tall, strong and terrible goblins. Their leader spoke in a loud, rough voice, “The Dark Lord wishes to have a peaceful meeting with you.” 
Kwezi stood up, drew his sword and marched up to the leader.
“I will come when I am ready,” he answered.   
The leader gave Kwezi a hard penetrating look, turned on his heel and marched out with the goblins. As Kwezi left the great hall and moved quickly through the corridors of the palace, he wondered why the Dark Lord wanted to see him. What could it mean? Was it some kind of trick? 
He reached his private quarters at the top of a marbled, spiral staircase. Deep in thought he took out his bright, elf sword, named Sunbeam. He filled it with magic that he might need if the meeting turned out to be not too friendly. He then set spells around him that would protect him with magic shields, and let him know if someone was sneaking up on him, or trying to trick him. 
He wrapped himself in his old travelling cloak, concealing his weapon within it, and set out for the elf stables. He leapt on to his favourite horse: a strong, young, black stallion with a white star on his forehead and galloped out in the direction of the Dark Lord’s palace. As he rode, swiftly and quietly, the landscape began to change drastically. All the plants had withered and were blackened. There were hardly any free-flowing rivers. They had all either dried up completely or gone stagnant and filled with dark muck. The landscape was silent and devoid of life. He was entering the Dark Lord’s territory now.
As he rode further, the withered blackened plants and choked- up, muddied rivers were replaced by dried ash, solidified sheets of black rock and barren boulders. Only the tapping and sliding of the horse’s hooves over the tumbling boulders and jagged rocks could be heard. Kwezi’s magic, with feelers stretching out far into the barren, rocky landscape, could not sense any good magic or life. He only sensed the ever-ominous presence of the Dark Lord - a dark, oppressive power, pushing at him at all times. He could almost see that dark wizard.
The sun became a sickly yellowish colour fading to a dull grey light. Dark clouds spread themselves across the steel grey sky. Deeper and deeper he travelled, into the heart of the evil realm of the Dark Lord.
The air was stifling hot and still. The jagged outcrops of rocks on the sloping path caused his horse to stumble and slip. Suddenly he became aware of some form of life. The slaves of the Dark Lord were crawling around in the mud and ash. The evil goblins, the slave-drivers, were shouting and laughing amongst the jagged rocks. 
He seemed to be entering the mining area. The ground was hot under his horse’s hooves and a red glow shone from the rocks. Trickles of molten lava flowed down through the cracks in the rocks. Huge caverns opened up and slaves stumbled along, whipped and gashed by the goblins’ hooked swords. Their harsh, cruel laughter echoed throughout the caverns.
He then noticed a great many goblins driving their slaves forward in the same direction. A direction in which many of the rivulets of lava joined and poured over a rocky lip into a great pool. The rocks had become smooth, melted by the river of lava which flowed down. The lava sluggishly pushed forward and then crashed over the huge rocks like a red, hot waterfall.
Kwezi maintained a careful distance and watched as the slaves  were driven through a dark tunnel where shadowy fingers of rock created a menacing canopy above their heads. Goblins leered out of the grimy caves as the slaves stumbled and clung to each other fearfully. With loud piercing screams some of the smaller ones fell into the lava, which seemed to go unnoticed by the goblins. Suddenly the dark oppressive tunnel came to an end. Kwezi stepped out and saw a great, rushing waterfall of lava tumbling down over the rocks into a burning lake. The molten, rocky cliffs rose up on all sides, paths chiseled in by crude goblin hammers -  every side glowing with burning rocks and an acrid smell of smoke hung in the air. Great weapons were being made from smelted iron - huge, greased machines - cogs turning, smoke rising, and dark magic pumping. 
Kwezi noticed, on one side, a great, cold, rushing waterfall cutting its way through the lava on one side. Here its edges had solidified into stone, narrowing the path of water as it flowed along before crashing down into the lake of lava. Black, evil smelling steam rose up and filled the air, making the elf king want to cough. Thousands of slaves, held aloft by chains and ropes, were building a gigantic wall of iron and stone and dark magic over the molten lava.  It was being built  high so that it cut off the river, forming a huge canal.
In the centre of the river was a huge, dark palace. It loomed up above the cliffs. Tumbling parapets and crooked towers appeared as if they were about to fall into the lake of lava. Boxes of treasure were being flung into the river; jewels and powerful items for the Dark Lord. These boxes were made of an unnatural material that could withstand the lava. Lightning flashed around the tops of the towers and the voices of some strange, unnatural creatures could be heard chanting from within the palace.
“Long live the Master. All hail the Dark Lord. He will rule forever.”

The eerie chants echoed over the smouldering lava lake.

Chapter 19: The race to the tower 

The bushes were tall all around them, tangled and thick, thorny and scratchy. They couldn’t get through. They were high above their heads and the children couldn’t see anything except for the thick, thorny bushes that jabbed into them and caused them to stumble. They had no idea where they were, stuck in this patch of bushes, with no way of getting out.Then they saw a great white rock, jagged and sharp, in front of them. They began to climb it, heaving themselves up, until they found that it was like a cliff face, but smaller. The bushes thinned out on either side of the rocks they climbed. As they reached the highest point, they could look down and see all of Towerland, stretched out below them, with blue mountains in the distance. They looked around and down. All the hills were spread out below them; the thick fynbos and the high hills. It was a wonderful sight. They had always dreamed of being up there.
The sun, pale in the grey morning, vanished as grey clouds swooped overhead. Shadows fell from the top of the tower on which they stood. Darkness swirled around them as more and more thick, shadowy rain clouds swooped and glided above them, gathering together into a grey, black sky. In the distance there was a small, white flicker of lightning and a cold drop of rain fell, and splattered on the rock, before running down and vanishing into the bushes. Then another, and another, and another… The rain began to pour down.
Sheltering themselves under some fresh ferns, so that the rain couldn’t beat down on them, the children gathered some kindling and built a low fire. The four children sat around the fire on the top of the tower as the rain smashed them and a few hailstones fell around them and clattered onto the rocks as the fire hissed and wavered fitfully.
Sitting silently in the slashing ocean of rain, they thought: Why is this happening? Why have they come here? Wandering in the middle of Towerland, on the top of the great Tower. What were they meant to do now? As they looked around, they could see where they had travelled. They were being hunted by wicked, unknown creatures. Would they be taken to prison and have to stay there for the rest of their lives? Would they be murdered by the Dark Lord? What could they do to stop it? Should they just sit there for the rest of their lives, in rain or sun, waiting for something to happen? 
The rain went on and on. The fire flickered sadly. As the rain beat down on it, smoke hissed up and the light and the warmth faded away as the flames dropped to mere glowing embers beneath the crumbling, blackened kindling. A few sparks flew up before vanishing in the pouring rain.
Their dragons crouched in the tangled boughs of small, shrub-like trees nearby them. Heads bowed, they gave a thoughtful glance through their half closed yellow and green eyes. Their wings were wrapped around them in the rain, as it splattered against their smooth shiny scales, and ran down them.
They looked around. They wanted to build up the fire some more, but the rain was lashing them. The dragons raised their heads. The children looked down. Far away they could see their four horses, running wild across the hill, before diving under the cover of some bushes, tired in the rain, whinnying and shaking their heads; tiny forms in the distance. They might never see these magical horses, who came from the paintings in the caves, again. What would happen to them? 
At last, the rain began to ease and they felt the pull of dark dreams, lying in the cold pattering water, on the top of the tower in the middle of Towerland. Soon they were fast asleep and their dreams swept them away. They dreamt they were riding dragons across the sky, battling the Dark Lord. 
When they woke up all they knew was that they were lying on the top of the tower, and everything else had been driven from their memories – the cold night, the driving rain and their dreams. They woke, cramped and sore, on the top of the white rock at the very peak of the tower. They lay there for a second, thinking those same thoughts, what would happen to them? 
They lay there for a long time, sore and stiff, and every now and then a drop of rain ran down. Then at last, Caspian heaved himself to his feet, stretching his muscles. The rest of the children slowly got to their feet. Gabriel had rolled off the rock and lain in a soft bed of ferns. He was half asleep and half awake. The other three children lifted him. He stood there, sore and close to tears at the edge of the rock. May-Lu looked around. Her hair was blowing in the cool wind at the top of the tower. 
Then a soft voice spoke, “We should go now. We can’t sit up here forever.” It was the voice of Gold Fang, Caspian’s dragon. “Mount up. We will head for the palace of the Dark Lord. Hopefully we will be able to defeat him.”
Mounting their dragons, slowly they lifted themselves from the peak of the tower, and soared away. They flew for the rest of that cold, grey morning, just below the swirling clouds, with no sign of the dark figures or bats. The day was very silent and cold as they flew along.
After a very long flight, just below the clouds, Goldenwind, May-Lu’s dragon, slowed down. Checking its speed, it turned its snake-like head and peered down. Its shimmering golden scales and its green eyes flashed. The other dragons looked down too. The horses stood, grazing on some tufts of sharp, coarse grass and whinnying. The dragons turned their heads and dived through the cold wind. Down, down, down they fell; their wings folded softly at their sides.
The horses looked up and saw the dragons, with the children firmly on their backs, diving slowly through the sky. They soared through the air, away from the tower. The cold wind blew through their hair, and rippled through the scaly wings of the dragons as they flew over the sea of rippling grey, brown hills below.
Suddenly, Caspian’s dragon slowed. He felt something stretch and grow heavy in his leather bag, which was slung over his back. He reached into its pocket, and pulled out an old, brownish scroll. He unrolled it, and looking at the piece of old brown paper he held in his hand, as they flew through the cold air, he realized it was the same map showing the elements. They had forgotten all about the elements in the rain storm the previous night. He cried out, “We need to go back to the top of the Tower. We need to go back to get the crystal of earth.”
Suddenly, Gabriel raised his head and pointed to the swirling, steel grey clouds above. ‘Look!” he shouted. “Look!”
The other three raised their heads, and saw, diving from the clouds, thousands of black bat creatures. Black shadows swooped down, dark and wicked, with glinting red eyes. They hissed and shrieked as they fell through the air towards them. Without the children doing anything, the dragons swung round mid-flight and started flying fast towards the tower. One of the black bats drew level with the dragons. Turning its head it hissed, “You will not get the crystal of earth before us. We will take it to the Dark Lord and when he has all the elements, he will destroy you!”
“We need to get the crystal of earth first,” cried May-Lu, raising her head and looking towards the tower. But the black shapes were circling them, shrieking and blocking their way. Suddenly great black bat forms were seizing on to their dragons, biting into them and tearing at them with their long talons, as the dragons swerved and shrieked and spat plumes of fire everywhere. 
As they rose, with the black bats attacking them from all sides, they tried to land on the side of the tower. They seemed to strike into a wall of invisible air rippling before them, knocking them backwards. The black bats and the dragons flew everywhere. The children fell from the backs of the dragons, and before the dragons and the bats could stop themselves, they plummeted towards the ground, wings clasped to their sides by the roaring of the wind coming up from the ground below. Before they could unfurl their wings, they broke the surface of an icy, swirling, foaming river at the foot of the tower. They plunged below the surface. A cold foam swirled over them. It was impossible to swim away; the water was blasting them back, flinging them through a foam of seething water. 
Then they saw the black creatures, unable to spread their wings and fly free of the swirling water, being knocked along the rocky bottom of the swirling river. In a swirl of black smoke and a flash of white light, they formed into black shadow figures lunging through the water, swords flashing at their sides. 
As Caspian, Jude, Gabriel and May-Lu flung themselves towards the foaming surface, they saw an iron bar trap door in front of them, with the foamy water splashing through the small bars. Suddenly they felt themselves knocking into the bars and slipping through. In front of them was a foaming waterfall crashing down thousands of slippery rocks. Before they could stop themselves from falling, the black shadows, tumbling and snatching all around them, they fell into a swirling pool. The water became still and silent. Swimming through the cold black water, they climbed out onto a rocky shore. The black figures rose, wet and hissing and snarling, from the black waters, with ripples about their writhing bodies. 
The children found themselves in a deep rocky cavern, below the great tower. They didn’t know how to get out because they couldn’t climb the great tower again, and all around them were stone walls and a solid roof. The only way out was the metal trap door through which the waterfall foamed and splashed. They couldn’t climb up that slippery waterfall again. They were trapped.
As the black figures tried to break free of the water, they were tossed down another little force stream, into another cave room. Before the children could do anything, they saw them, striding through a stone arch towards them, hissing and snarling, their swords at their sides. Suddenly one of them let out a wild war shriek and lifted from its side a long silver sword. Then all the black creatures were springing at the four children, attacking them and lunging at them with their swords.
The children whipped out their wands and began firing bright spells everywhere, knocking back the shrieking figures. But before they could get anywhere near to destroying all of them, the dark figures began to draw in on them, raising their swords, preparing to bring them down, smashing the children to the ground, ready to murder them. They drew closer and closer to them, coming in from all sides, preparing to attack.   
Caspian, May-Lu, Jude and Gabriel quickly stretched out their wands, and standing at different angles, fired out their spells. Different coloured lights and powers exploded from the ends of the wands and the dark figures raised huge shields, round and metal with strange engravings on them, and hurled them through the air. They spun through the air like frisbees. The spells scattered everywhere, bright like sparks. Whenever a spell hit a shield it would explode and bounce back towards the children, who were ducking to avoid them. Soon spells were flying at them from all sides, swords were slashing at them and shields were spinning around. Every spell that they fired came rolling back at them.
Caspian, with a burst of desperation and anger, raised his wand and pushed hard on it, closing his eyes. When he opened his eyes he saw a long silver knife shoot from his wand, straight to a spinning shield. With a clang of metal against metal, the knife ricocheted straight back off the swirling shield. But the black figure had thrown the shield badly, so when the knife bounced off the shield it bounced skew and spun at an angle backwards, and turned in the air. Skimming past the children it sliced through Caspian’s trousers, tearing them and leaving a bleeding graze. Then again, it flew straight at Gabriel and jabbed hard and deep into his leg. He winced in pain and fell to the ground. Pulling out the knife, red with his blood, he threw it. The knife slipped from his fingers and shattered to the ground.
May-Lu stared at the blood stained, shattered knife and suddenly a sword slashed down at her from behind and sliced into her, tearing her clothes. Blood poured down. She fell to the ground, bruising herself. Gabriel desperately got to his feet and as he was stumbling forward, another sword came crashing down on him. Blood splattered the floor as Caspian, and then Jude, hit the ground in pain. 
The four children struggled to their feet. They were dazed and confused and outnumbered. The black figures were much stronger than them. The blades of their swords were slashing at them from all sides, and the spells, bright and fiery, were flying at them, knocking them and confusing them. Their clothes were torn and blood stained. They stumbled together in a bleeding, injured, torn group and began to fire one last desperate spell, before what they were all sure would be their death. 
Before they could fire their spell, a dark figure snuck up, stealthy as a cat, and a sword swung down, with the blade aimed at their hands in an attempt to slice them off at the wrist. But the knife twisted in his hand and struck the wands, slicing a slither of wood from each wand. There was a burst of magic that escaped from the slices in the wands and flew back at the children. The wands flew from their hands and clattered to the ground. There was the sound of wicked laughter as the wands lay on the ground.
Before they could leap forward to get their wands, the dark figures were grabbing them and bringing their shields down upon them, while slicing at them with their swords. They were overpowered, when suddenly the wands flew up into the air and, as one of the black figures least expected it, his shield was gone. A flash of light flew from the wands towards him. He was unprepared and smote by all four spells, he let out a shriek and hit the ground, dead.
Mad with fury, the four children had managed to kill one of their dark figures. Mad with rage and determined to bring their bleeding bodies to their master, the Dark Lord, the rest of the black figures attacked. Spinning around and ducking to block themselves from the smashing, tearing blows, they saw the shield leave the hand of the falling dead figure. It spun straight at the four children. May-Lu and Gabriel dived to the side and slid along the ground as the shield hit Caspian and Jude in the foreheads. They fell backwards and hit the ground hard, unconscious and with blood pouring from their heads where the shield had hit them. The shield slipped from them and clattered on the ground. The dark figures cried out in triumph and leapt forward.
May-Lu and Gabriel leapt forward too. Were Caspian and Jude, their older brothers, and part of the four, badly injured? Had they been killed? Were they dead lying there on that cold stone floor? They tried to move towards them, but the black figures forced them back. They waved their wands, again and again, over the bleeding, still figures of their brothers, but the dark figures were raising their swords over their exposed throats, and attacking.
They shouted out in dread and terror as they tried to flee from the place, and May-Lu raised her wand, in one last flick. There was a swirl and the two boys’ eyes snapped open. Wounded, clothes torn, bleeding, bruised and confused, they scrambled to their feet. But they seemed to be more powerful; and so were May-Lu and Gabriel, knowing that they had saved the lives of their brothers. Raising their wands, they struck back at dark figure after dark figure, striking them to the ground.
In outrage that they were being injured and knocked to the ground before they could do anything, the dark figures knocked all four children to the ground and raised their heads. The children were now out of the way and wounded. They could kill them later. There was a flash of red lightning and a swirl of black smoke as the black figures were transformed into huge bats. They soared through the air, beating their vast wings, up to the high earthy ceiling, far, far above. Above them they could see a hole of light – just a speck of shimmering white daylight, coming from the top of the tower. 
The black bats became smaller and smaller, until they were nothing but black dots, moving so high above, barely visible, near that little spot of light, which was a hole into the open. How would they ever get out there? What will they do? The black figures were flying up, about to go through the hole. They were going to get the crystal.
As the first black bat soared, swift and straight at the hole, with nothing to stop it, SMASH. It looked like it had hit some strange invisible wall in the mouth of the hole. It fell backwards.
The children saw the black dot roll back through the air and they heard the distant muffled cry. There were spits and snarls from above, as another one flew towards the hole, and also bounced back. Then they began to fight and battle, knocking and tumbling back from the hole. All the children could see was a swirl of small black dots, tumbling and bumping into one another. They could not get through the hole.
Suddenly, the four children realized - all at the same time, without saying anything to each other - what was going on, and why they couldn’t get through. When they had flown around the top of the tower, they had bounced off a wall, like a force-field. High walls were around the top of the tower, obviously guarding the crystal. It was carpeted over the whole of the top of Towerland, too. There was a force-field in the hole, so they would never be able to get through, onto the top of the tower. The strong power of the Dark Lord did not work against the force-field. It was too strong.
The children stood there watching the hissing swirl of black dots for a while. Then, Gabriel heard something - a soft sound, like the movement of a foot, or a soft cracked breath. All the children turned around and saw something that they hadn’t seen before. There was a tall arch leading to a dimly lit passageway, made of stone, all arced in the corner of the stone hall. 
Out of the stone hall, stumbling, head bent, came the form of a very old man. He had long grey hair, down to his wrinkled bare feet. His toes were all buckled and black, his hands looked dry and ancient, and he had a wrinkled face that looked strange. There seemed to be a sort of wickedness, a fierce jealous greed in those flashing dark eyes, in that cracked wrinkled face. He looked kind, yet greedy.
He was draped in a long, torn, brown cloak, all ragged at the edges. All over it grew ferns and plants, green sprouting leaves and flowers. But, his face was slightly greedy and  wicked, suspicious – seeming to go with that strange look in those flashing black eyes. Many of the plants that were hanging over his shoulder were dead and blackened and made him lean over and move, in an old knobbled, twisted stoop. Slowly he moved towards them.
“Well, well, well.” wheezed the old man. “You look badly beaten up, make no mistake.” The children tried to protest but there was no use.They had indeed been punctured in several places by the shadow-peoples’ swords, and the wounds hurt horribly. 
“Come,” said the old man gruffly. “I’ll fix you up as best I can.” 
He then strode off through the arched doorway out of which he had first appeared, and the children, finding no reason to object, followed. They found themselves in a long, low ceilinged corridor. It was very dark and a heavy, earthy smell hung in the air. The old man raised his twisted staff and began to chant in a soft, growling voice. A dim light filled the corridor and looking up, the children saw that there were large crystals in brackets at certain points along the earth wall and they were now letting off a soft yellow glow.
They set off down the long passage, lit only by these strange flameless lanterns. They came to a low archway above cool stone steps that led down into a long dark room with a low ceiling. Bundles of dried herbs and flowers hung from the ceiling and moist roots and water plants hung in parcels of rough cloth. It was lit by a strangely glowing liquid that dripped into many blown glass vials and bottles on low, packed earth shelves. “Lie down,” said  the old man gruffly, and gestured with a gnarled hand toward rows of long stone beds draped in soft soil and moss on the other side of the room. 
The children moved across the room towards the beds, sat down on them, and began to remove their dirty, blood stained outer clothes. The children lay there on the moist stone beds. The cool subterranean air burned their fresh wounds; except for Jude who found, to his surprise, that his body was clean and unblemished as if the shadow-peoples’ swords had not injured him. 
The old man began to move around the low dark room, gathering bundles of herbs and moss which he made into poultices in rough, cloth parcels. He then bound these herb poultices to the children's open wounds, his rough, brown  fingers moving deftly over the children's wounds as he muttered quietly to himself. The poultices burned and hissed  horribly. “Don't worry,” growled the  old man, “it's part  of the healing process”.  He moved over all the children in this fashion until he came to Jude, at which point he stopped and looked hard at him from under his thick eyebrows. Jude could not read the expression on his stony face.
 “It appears,” he said after some time, “that you have been protected somehow from the dark curses that were placed on the shadow-people's swords. I wonder how that could be?” he  added quietly more to himself than the children. 
Suddenly his hand shot out towards Jude’s folded clothes and plunged into the torn pocket. When his hand emerged it was clutching a strange glowing ball of turquoise and blue light.The element of water!  The children jerked simultaneously forward; they could not let anyone steal the only element, the only lead they had so far on their quest. 

“Well, well, well”   growled the Old Man. “ So this is what you're after”.

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