Yaskarrak led the Count and his academic advisor along a narrow twisting path between sombre upright larch trees which dripped dead brown needles when they bushed the lower branches. As they drew closer to the meeting place they were joined by an increasing crowd of softly chattering gnomes emerging from the woods all around and hurrying to converge on the Stone Circle before the sun rose. It was difficult not to stumble in the pre dawn darkness although some of the gnomes carried tiny silver and gold lanterns on long poles over their shoulders. Soon the men could hear the sound of running water and the low roar of a waterfall.  After no more than five minutes they came to the bank of a swift river, decorated with a stony irregular crossing, wide eddies and black pools of deep still water. A narrow wooden bridge arched in a graceful span between two great shadowed rocks on opposite banks but it was immediately obvious that it had been built for the locals and there was no way that it was going to bear the weight of Count Arcturus or Tarragon. So the men were obliged to cross a little way upstream, jumping from boulder to boulder and just about managing to reach the far side without getting their feet wet.

Once over the river, the path turned to follow it downstream. They passed a pool where a solitary gnome was fishing, his white beard and pointed red cap completing a perfect cliché. This is just all too twee, the Count thought in some amusement. Apparently Yaskarrak thought something similar because he gave the fishing gnome a good hard kick as he passed and told him to stop wasting time and hurry along to the convocation.

Within a hundred metres the trail forked, one branch continuing to follow the river where it was now channelled between two small but rugged rocky outcrops, whilst the other turned left to circle the outside of the nearest hillock. The way straight ahead was bared by a guard of five uniformed gnomes and despite their diminutive stature there was something in the manner with which they carried their bronze spears and miniature shields that gave the Count pause for reflection. These gnomes were deadly serious. Best to remember that gnomes are not a joke, the Count told himself.

Yaskarrak led the men away from the river and the sound of the waterfall. Sun rise was very close now and they could begin to discern more detail in their surroundings. They circled the small hill by the river, weaving between birch trees which suddenly fell back before the brink of a wide bowl shaped valley. The Count caught his breath.

"The Stone Circle Falls," Yaskarrak said proudly.

It was a natural amphitheatre in the woods. On their right the river cascaded into the valley, beating incessantly on three huge grey slabs of flat, angled stone which lay at the bottom of the falls. These rocks continued to offer the characteristic dumb resistance of earth in the face of the endless impatience of water. They scattered the force of the flow to produce a white maelstrom of boiling liquid and a cloud of fine spray. Only a few tens of metres downstream the water gathered itself into a wide almost perfectly circular pool and round the perimeter of the pool were twelve standing stones, each as tall as a man. This was the Inner Circle. An Outer Circle of larger stones, perhaps twice the height of the ones in the Inner Circle was ranged round the lip of the depression which gradually fell away to more level ground on the far side. Two of these stones together, capped by a long lintel formed a kind of doorway through which the river flowed out of the valley.

"This is the greatest Ring of the North," Yaskarrak said proudly, "and the only one to be manifested in stone, although the stones are the creation of other builders "

The valley was almost overflowing with gnomes. They were sitting on both banks of the river and cross legged in circles round the pool. They crowded the rough grassy floor and were arrayed in ranks up the steeply curving hillsides.  Some perched on the branches of the few trees which grew on the slopes and almost every boulder was a chair for a high ranking noble or a Ring Leader, although it was noticeable that the defining Stones of the Inner and Outer Circle were left alone. The most impressive aspect of the assembly was its silence. Understanding gnomes as he did, the Count found it incredible that such a throng could keep so quiet and be so well ordered.

"When we pass within the Stones of the Outer Circle you must hold your tongue and wait," Yaskarrak warned his guests. "It will not be for long."

The stepped over an invisible perimeter. The Count felt a mild electric rush through his body and a brief resistance and then they were inside. Incredibly, the silence within the Ring was more profound than the silence outside. Some peculiar physical effect damped down the noise of the waterfall, although it had sounded quite loud only a moment before. A flat grey boulder in a prominent position nearby had been reserved for the Ring Leader and there was sufficient space on top for the Count and Tarragon to sit with him. This was one of the best spots inside the valley but the natural focus of the place was at the top of the waterfall. Here a small stone pulpit arose from the apex of an artfully crafted stone bridge which spanned the lip of the fall. The Count guessed that the Ring Leader would usually speak to his tribe from this pulpit but for today's Inter Ring convocation he had ceded it to R'eskyl'ah'in.

A tiny figure was crossing the bridge and ascending the pulpit. He was short, even for a gnome and the pulpit was not particularly close but the geometry of the valley focused all eyes on him. The Stone Circle Ring was a masterpiece of optical and acoustic design. As the silent multitude watched, a lens of thicker air coalesced to hover over the waterfall and magnify the prophet's image. R'eskyl'ah'in wore a simple white robe and his hood was thrown back to reveal long straggling locks of dirty blonde hair. His face was gaunt, almost skeletal and scarred with the long white line of an old knife wound. He looked younger than the Count had imagined - in human terms he might almost have been a teenager - and yet he had the commanding presence of one who bears a hard message and is driven to spread it.

"I have come to unite the Rings. This is the time," he said. It was a simple voice and it was said as a statement of fact, not of triumph or doom. R'eskyl'ah'in spoke not with the loud hectoring of a politician or with the traditional rabble rousing of a demagogue but rather in the tones a doctor might use to a patient; gentle but firm and authoritative and countenancing no argument.

At that moment the sun rose behind him. With one voice the convocation of gnomes let out a cry and abased themselves before him.

"R'eskyl'ah'in! R'eskyl'ah'in! R'eskyl'ah'in!"

The Count motioned to Tarragon and the two men prudently bowed their heads although there was no way the Count was going to go so far as to prostrate himself. Nevertheless, this was not the time to offend their hosts. When the crowd had subsided the prophet spoke again.

"Brethren, I am here to call you to arms! A great danger is upon us and only as a united Nation of Gnomes can we face it. You will have heard rumours. Misfortune may even have given you some experience of the evil which threatens us. The time for rumours is over. The Ring Leaders are here to lay the plain facts before you so that every one of you knows the full story. I am only here to confirm their words and to add from my own experiences for I have travelled wide and far throughout the Realms.

"You know that I am an exile from my own country which lies deep within the Twilight Realms. In the country of my birth, the gnomes live on the brink of destruction and walk in constant  fear. That country is not unique. Everywhere, gnomes are in hiding or in thrall. Over the border, our fellows are enslaved by Santa and compelled to produce fine goods and jewels in his factories and mines. Who cares? Men treat us as a joke throughout the Realms. I tell you, there are places where even fat old Santa is painted as a hero and our brothers as his willing accomplices.

"There is only one Realm where we may walk at peace under the trees  (minding only that we are careful with our neighbours) and that place is here in the Autumn Country."

The Count noticed a ripple of quiet humour pass through the gnomes when R'eskyl'ah'in mentioned the 'neighbours' and deduced that this was a reference to an old gnome joke. There were plenty of nasty things in the woods but obviously the gnomes knew how to handle them. The Count had his own authority over the Autumn Country's more unpleasant residents and he hadn’t given much thought to how the gnomes dealt with them.

"Now the Autumn Country is under attack and it is up to us to defend it and to defend our freedom."

There was a more obvious ripple of concern which followed this statement.

"Pormysta, the Leader of the High Moors Ring will speak after me. But first I must mention that we have a special guest with us today. The Owner has send his representative, our esteemed landlord Count Arcturus."

The prophet waved his hand in the direction of Yaskarrak's entourage. There was an angry little buzz and hundreds of necks turned round to stare at the rock where the Count was sitting. He favoured them all with a bland smile but said nothing. He didn’t particularly like the manner of this introduction. There was something slightly sarcastic in the way that R'eskyl'ah'in had said the word 'esteemed'. Relations with the gnomes might never have been especially cordial but he hadn't actually done anything to antagonise them. Perhaps they didn’t like being ignored.

Too bad, Arcturus thought. They don’t have to negotiate with the Owner and they wouldn’t thank me if they did. He continued to smile blandly, wondering what he was going to say if required to speak. He was also wondering if this was a situation where he might need to call upon the Owner. He was concerned to hear why the gnomes thought the Realm was under attack and whether it was serious or merely a power play by Rumplestiltskin. And he was starting to regret the small size of the force he had brought with him. He had expected to be dealing with a few rogue agents in a police action but it seemed he may have walked into something much bigger and it was too late to call for reinforcements. Fortunately he wasn't asked to say anything and a stout but stern gnome was soon climbing a ladder by the side of the waterfall to replace R'eskyl'ah'in in the pulpit.

Pormysta was blunt, making his simple catalogue of recent events unadorned and without comment. And what he had to say disturbed the Count very much indeed…

The format of the Inter Ring convocation consisted of a series of speeches by the Ring Leaders punctuated by long intervals for debate and social chatter between the gnomes. During these intervals the Ring Leaders conducted impromptu meetings, discussion forums sprang up all over the valley and the Count was taken with Yaskarrak to meet the most important gnomes of the Realm. As the hours passed the Count became increasingly convinced that serious trouble was indeed immanent. But still he probed for more information, testing the knowledge of the gnomes and trying to piece together what was really happening.

"There's always been the odd border raid or two," the Count observed to Pormysta when they met by the main pool. "You expect it to be colder here and an occasional frost isn't unusual."

"Agreed. But this is more than just an odd border raid across the moors. This is a systematic program of destabilisation reaching deep into the woods. We have reason to believe that Colonel Jack Frost is running the operation and he's using a force of crack assault troops. This is serious. They're softening the Realm up for a full scale invasion."

"Hmmm… I don’t know what they're playing at then. They can't mount a full scale invasion because they'd soon find the Laws of Form took a mighty dim view of their antics. This Realm wasn't defined to be overrun by Frost and his ilk."

"Maybe."

The gnome was clearly sceptical.

"But they're not playing. We've lost a lot of good people to unexpected lethal frosts recently. And I wouldn’t be so confident about relying on the Laws of Form to defend this Realm if I were you. Haven't you noticed it's been a lot colder than normal since yesterday. We gnomes have had some bitter experiences with the Proton King. We've got brothers enslaved to that fat pig Santa and his cronies in the Christmas Passage and we're not taking any chances. This time it's war!"

So the morning wore on and speaker after speaker reported instances of incursions deep into the woods or in the case of the southern gnomes who had witnessed little of this first hand, pledged soldiers to take the fight to the enemy. It became obvious to the Count that much of this was stage-managed for the benefit of the delegates. R'eskyl'ah'in and the Ring Leaders had been doing a great deal of planning before the convocation and agreed on a strategy in advance. Preparations for war were already well in hand. It would only take the agreement of the convocation to begin the northward march of the great army of the gnomes…

Shortly before noon, when R'eskyl'ah'in was scheduled to sum up the situation and deliver the verdict of the convocation the Count was brought into his presence. The hard eyed prophet smiled.

"Can we rely on your support, Count?" he asked.

"I shall be travelling north to the Temple Of November," the Count replied cautiously. "I have business of my own at the Temple. Naturally, if I catch sight of any agents of Winter invading my Realm I shall deal with them harshly. And you have my word that I will inform you of any intelligence which I obtain along the way. If you will agree to do the same then I would hope that should a co-ordinated strategy prove necessary we will be able to put it into effect forthwith."

"Nicely put Count, if over cautious," said the gnome, "The words of a politician and a patron, I fear though, when we need the leadership of a warrior. There will be a battle. Trust me on this."

"We shall see," said Tarragon a touch sceptically.

R'eskyl'ah'in, eyed the councillor sharply.

"May I speak with you alone, Count?" he asked. Tarragon bridled but made the best of it when the Count waved him away.

"I have something very important to ask of you. It can be your decision and your decision alone," the prophet of the gnomes said at last when the Count's academic advisor was out of earshot.

"It is a very serious matter and only you can take responsibility for it. That is why I want you to think about it without outside advice.

"You have the authority of the Owner and you have certain privileges as a result. If the situation demands it, you must invoke those privileges. You know the ones I mean?"

"I know the ones you mean," the Count answered. "And I would have thought that you would have been the last person to call for that solution. Above all, you must know how dangerous it is!"

"Of course I know. But this is a dangerous situation. I don’t understand everything that's going on here myself. The Proton King has something up his sleeve, I know he does. These are desperate times and desperate times call for desperate measures. We may need something up our sleeve. Think about it."

In the end the approval of the convocation was a formality and the gnomes pronounced themselves officially at war with the Winter Country and their allies in the Christmas Passage. The Count wisely chose to ignore the fact that it was his sole duty and right to declare war on behalf of the country. He could see that he'd have problems with the gnomes afterwards, though. In fact he knew he'd have to make some form of internal accommodation with their political leaders and grant them more official autonomy. Ah well. It was a small price to pay if they had alerted him to a genuine danger to the Realm and provided a ready made army for its defence.

The Count and Tarragon returned to their own camp in time for a late lunch. The Count was anxious to prepare his men for an early departure next morning. On the way back to the camp, Tarragon tried a few leading questions to see if he could find out what R'eskyl'ah'in had been saying but the Count stonewalled. He was impatient with his councillor. To a certain extent he blamed the old man's advice for the lamentably poor links which he'd had with the gnomes hitherto. Tarragon was an expert in the laws of the Realm but for some reason he had a dislike of gnomes which precluded rational advice. It was foolish to hold the councillor responsible for blocking measures towards establishing relations with the Ring Leaders when he himself should have taken the initiative, but surely Tarragon's attitude was partly to blame. When Azbyc thought about it, the councillor had largely been responsible for forming his own attitudes…

"They've gone sire! They've gone. And they've taken your horse!"

These were the first words that greeted the Count when he got back to his own fire.

"Whose gone, Harry? Calm down."

The guard was clearly distressed.

"Cereelia and Pendraamoon. Two hours agoo. We coodn't let you know sooner 'coos you was at the convocatioon.

A'lekim seemed to find it funny for some reason. The Count wasn't amused.

"You!" he said. "Tell me what you know and make it short and accurate!"

A'lekim shrugged.

"I don’t know much. All I know is that Cerylia and Pendramon are missing and so is Sirius. Apparently the guard saddled the horse up and she's waltzed off on it with him hanging on to the back."

The Count gritted his teeth and counted to ten. "Bring me the man who was looking after the horses!"

It was a quarter of an hour later after a difficult interview with a very abashed soldier before Tarragon and the Count could make out what had happened.

"I didn't think she'd try that," the Count said, obviously hurt. "After all my hospitality as well. You can’t trust anyone, can you? The treacherous little horse thief! And she doesn’t know what she's letting herself in for. She could be riding into a very hazardous situation!"

"Shall I go after them, sire?" Tarragon asked. "We still have Nebula.  He's a faster horse than Sirius and Sirius has two people to carry. With only me on his back I might be able to catch them up and persuade them to return before they run into difficulties."

The Count thought about this for only a few seconds.

"Go ahead! But if you don’t find them within an hour, turn round and get yourself back here. I don’t want you riding into trouble on your own and I want you to ward the camp before nightfall. And be careful!"

Tarragon wheeled the black horse in an arc of nervous energy and let him gallop off down the road.

"That's all I needed," the Count muttered to himself

For his own amusement he assumed the estuary English dialect, he'd picked up during his time on Earth.

"Some 'ot 'eaded bird, to go runnin' off just when we're gettin ready for a rumble!"

Still, there was some good news.  All the Kestervaals bar one had been found unharmed and returned to the camp. The Count informed the men that they would be departing at dawn and then settled down to eat. The troops had finished their meal but the cook had kept some back for the Count and Tarragon. Poor old Tarragon's missed his dinner for that stupid pair, the Count thought.

There was a tug on his jerkin and he looked down to see Yaskarrak standing there.

"Yes," the Count said irritably. "What do you want?"

"Do you know what this is?" the gnome said, holding up a trace of blue powder on his forefinger.

"No idea. I'm not in the mood for riddles. What is it?"

"One of my Ring specialists found it at the site where you camped the night before last. It was sprinkled in a loose circle and it had been activated by the associated local field line."

"Well, I should imagine it's whatever Tarragon uses to keep the camp safe, then. I don’t know everything he does."

"It might have been better if you'd known this one," Yaskarrak said, a trifle smugly. "This is the extract of the Lishera leaf. It is used to attract mist wolves."