Smiling, Yron walked up to the pool and trailed his hand through its cold pure surface. He'd stared at it a great deal during the day, imagining himself jumping into its cleansing embrace. He reckoned it was somewhere around eight to ten feet deep, and wide enough to accommodate a quarter of the men at a time. It was a gift and they'd earned the right to use it.

Standing up, he began to unbuckle his belt.

'Ben, the time has come,' he announced.

From his right, a man cheered and a ripple of laughter ran around the circular room, echoing faintly.

'Divide up the group into four, first group to join me about as fast as you can strip!'

Another cheer, taken up by more of the men and accompanied by desultory handclaps, lightened the mood further. Yron pulled his shirt over his head, unbuttoned his trousers, dragged them and his loincloth off and, leaving them in a heap, jumped into the pool.

It was icy, invigorating and beautiful. He broke the surface and whooped, running his hands across his face and through his hair. He ducked under again, feeling the water edging grime from every inch of his body. Opening his eyes, he swam down a little, seeing the intricate mosaic of fish, plants and a single swimming figure at the bottom come alive in his shifting vision. He wondered briefly where the pool drained back into the earth but a slapping sound above him told of others joining his bath.

'Gods falling, but this is wonderful!' he exclaimed, joining the excited clamour.

And it was true, he'd never felt so good so quickly. As if the waters had cleansed not just his body but his spirit, his whole being. He felt lifted. Alive. He lay on his back and floated towards the statue and the water outflow under its outstretched hand. Drifting beneath it, he could see a main pipe made of stone and fired clay, which split into two, directing the flow to where it emerged from under thumb and forefinger.

There was a third branch too, a little further back, which led away towards the base of the statue. Strange that they should bother to limit the flow into the pool, he thought, but then he was sure they had their reasons. But lying where he was, he saw an easy enough way to get more of this beautiful water into the pool.

Yron swam to the side and dragged himself out, beginning to dry immediately in the relative cool of the temple. He fetched his loincloth and put it on but ignored the rest of his clothes. Looking down into the pool, he could see the waters already muddied by the filth he and his men had accumulated. Yet another reason to increase the flow.

'Ben, where are you?' he asked.

'Here, Captain.' Ben-Foran appeared from the opposite side of the statue.

'Fetch me a pickaxe would you, I'm going to make the odd adjustment here.'

Knowing enough not to question him, Ben trotted outside to the stores tent, reappearing a short while later, pickaxe in hand.

'Not thinking of dressing, sir?' he observed.

Yron looked at his pile of clothes and shook his head. 'Once you've been in there, you'll know why.'

'What is it you're going to do?' asked Ben-Foran, handing over the tool.

'Well, they've diverted half the water away back into the ground, as far as I can tell. And looking at the mess we're making in there, I think we could do with all of it.' He walked round behind the pool and edged his way around the statue until he stood as close as he could get to the outstretched hand that fed in the water. 'If we get rid of the hand, it'll take the pipes with it and give us what we want. What do you think?'

Ben-Foran frowned. 'Honestly?'

'Of course.' Yron frowned.

'I think it's a shame to damage the statue. It's a beautiful piece of sculpture.'

'But needs must,' said Yron. 'And I don't think it'll be getting too many more visitors after we've left, do you?'

'Have you asked Erys? It might be trapped in some way and I've had enough wards to last a lifetime,' said Ben-Foran.

'Fair point. Erys?' Yron looked about and quickly saw the mage in the pool, his red hair darkened by the water. 'Any reason why I shouldn't lop the hand off this thing?'

Erys shook his head. 'It's aesthetically harsh but there's no magical reason, no. Seems a pity to spoil it.'

'Sod the pair of you,' said Yron. 'Right, clear away from here. Don't want any injuries from flying marble.'

He took aim, raised the pickaxe and brought it down on the wrist of the statue. Shards of stone flew in all directions, spattering into the pool and across the floor. Some of the men moved further away. Yron could see a few cracks emanating from the point of impact. He struck again and the cracks widened. All eyes were on him, all conversation had ceased, the sound of the pick striking the marble slapping off the walls of the temple. A third blow and he was sure he felt it give. A fourth and the marble sheared, the hand, some four feet long, toppling into the pool.

It had the desired effect. With the pipes broken beneath, water poured with much greater intensity into the pool, the noise of the trickle gone, to be replaced by one akin to a jug being emptied into a bowl.

'Gentlemen,' said Yron from his vantage point, 'I give you the waters of life!'

He dropped the pickaxe and jumped back into the pool, the cheers muted as the water closed over his head. Rebraal groped his way towards agonising consciousness. He was being dragged over the forest floor. It was full dark and the nocturnal denizens of the rainforest were all around him. He could sense their scuttling, their movement through the canopy and myriad wings of every size beating. Almost more alive than during daylight hours, the forest buzzed with activity.

He shook his head to clear the confusion encasing his brain. At the same time, his back connected with something sharp on the ground and he yelped. The dragging ceased immediately and he was laid gently flat. He heard footsteps and opened his eyes to see Mercuun leaning over him.

'Dear Yniss, you're really alive!' said the elf, a grin splitting his face.

'Just about,' said Rebraal. Memories crashed through his mind and he struggled to sit up but Mercuun restrained him.

'Don't. I'm only moving you because we needed to get somewhere safer.'

'But Aryndeneth? And what about the others? Meru, tell me.' Mercuun's grin vanished to be replaced by an expression close to despair.

'The strangers have the temple,' he said. 'All the others are dead and they have almost fifty guarding it now. They have fires and tents and they are resting inside.'

Rebraal felt sick. Strangers defiling Aryndeneth by their touch and their very breath on its sacred walls. And to use the great temple as a dormitory. Not even the Al-Arynaar would presume such, choosing to sleep in netted hammocks under thatched shelters in a clearing behind the temple.

'We have to stop them,' said Rebraal.

'We are but two,' said Mercuun. 'Alone, there is nothing we can do.'

Rebraal pushed Mercuun's hand aside and forced himself into a sitting position. His left shoulder was aflame with pain and he gasped, moving his right hand there to investigate.

'I removed the crossbow bolt but it was deep,' explained Mercuun. 'They must have thought you dead, as did I when I found you. Shorth have mercy on the others. Those bastards just left you all in a pile on the forest floor. No ceremony, no respect, no honour.'

'Then I was lucky. Tual has saved me for the task of retaking the temple.'

As if quoting the name of Tual, God of the forest denizens, had sent a ripple through the canopy, a jaguar growled nearby and above them the shriek of a monkey was taken up by an entire troop.

'See?' Rebraal's smile was grim. 'Tual hears me.'

'And retake the temple we will, but I have to get you to the village or you will die,' said Mercuun. 'The bolt wound is already reddening under infection and you're cut all over. I've treated your skin with legumia but you need a mage to knit the muscle of your shoulder, and you've lost too much blood. You know the signs as well as I do.'