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farmhands to the gate, “now, at once.”
    Neil looked at his father in astonishment and then, as his firestone turned suddenly heavy, understood his concern. There was big magic around. Magic that he had never knownbefore. He gritted his teeth hard and clenched his fists to stop himself gasping at the pain of it. His firestone! It was so … dreadfully … heavy! Sweat beaded his forehead as he fought an all consuming urge to throw himself to the ground and bury himself deep in the earth.
    “Get yourself out of there, Robbie,” Jimmy MacFarlane bawled down the length of the field. “Right now, do you hear me!”
    It was too late. They watched in horror as Robbie seemed to straighten and stretch before crumpling to the ground, disappearing from view into the waving wheat.
    Some of the men made to clamber over the gate to run to his rescue but John MacLean’s voice stopped them short.
    “Wait,” he said, in a voice of iron. “It’s not over yet.” And although he had no authority over them whatsoever, every man fell back and obeyed.
    Neil felt like screaming. His firestone seemed to be dragging him to the ground. He felt his father’s hand grip his arm strongly and knew that he, too, was struggling to stay upright. Then, suddenly, just as the intricate pattern was completed and the wheat stopped swaying, the pressure eased. Neil gulped and straightened thankfully, conscious that Jimmy MacFarlane was watching him strangely.
    “Look! What’s that light?” one of the men shouted, pointing to a darkened area away from the harvester’s blazing lights.
    “It’s not the harvester,” another agreed.
    “Turn the lights out,” MacFarlane shouted to one of the men who’d been watching the field from the cab of the machine.
    The dazzling lights went out and as their eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness they were able to see the strange yellow glow that bathed the field. Neil stiffened and looked up at his father.
    Someone from the world of magic was watching the field through a crystal ball.

6. Plots and Plans
    “The Earth Witches are making a great show of mourning my daughter’s death,” Lord Jezail remarked, indicating the intricate patterns wrought in the cornfield. “Have I miscounted, or does that make seven of them in all?”
    “It does, milord,” Count Vassili bowed his head and looked suitably solemn as the eye of crystal travelled slowly over the field.
    Lord Jezail scowled. “Is that all you have to say?” he snapped.
    Vassili eyed his master in some surprise. “But, surely the witches have done more than is required, milord,” he pointed out after a moment’s hesitation. “The Queen of the Earth Witches is a relative, after all,” he pointed out diplomatically, “and it’s natural that she would want to honour Lady Merial’s memory.”
    “Maritza! Honour her memory!” Lord Jezail almost spat, “when she was as mad as fire at not getting the talisman!”
    “But she
was
her cousin,” Vassili pointed out, “and it’s understandable that she’d expect to inherit it …”
    “If Merial wasn’t going to leave the talisman to the witches then she should have sent it straight back to me!” Jezail muttered angrily. “She’s made a mess of the whole affair!”
    “Don’t I know it,” the count said feelingly, for keeping tabs on the witches was proving an absolute nightmare.”
    Lord Jezail drew his cloak round him and flung himself back in his vast chair. “Well, we can’t give up now,” he said petulantly. “We must be ready to take it from the witches whenever they find it! They must never be allowed to keep it.”
    Count Vassili listened with a sinking heart, knowingthat he would probably moan on about it for the rest of the night. Finding the talisman would only be the start for Lord Jezail nursed many grudges, both real and imagined. Indeed, there were occasions when Vassili thought that his master was more than slightly mad. He’d once boasted about a hex he’d put on