"Who are you?" the warlock asked.

Alannah rested her hand on the hilt of her sword, Dameon a warm presence at her side. "We're here to stop you from burning down any more of the sidhe's trees."

He tossed his head and his golden hair settled around his shoulders with barely a strand out of place. Alannah suppressed a flicker of envy. "I don't have time for this. Golem!"

The warlock's magic felt like grey smoke; the touch of a ghost. No wonder the Fae were worried.

From behind the hut hobbled a tall, humanoid figure, made entirely out of clay. Alannah sucked in a breath. Such magic was powerful; the spell holding it together had to have been steeped in ancient soil and brewed for years. The Fae should definitely be worried.

The golem shuffled towards them. It had shallow scratches where its eyes would have been and a gaping black maw for a mouth. Alannah ducked, widened the distance between them. As it moved the golem gave a low groan like the sound of rocks grating against each other. She drew her sword.

Geoff wriggled out of her arms and leapt to the floor, yapping. The sorcerer blanched. "What is that?"

Dameon arched both eyebrows but kept his gaze on the golem. "We thought you might be able to tell us," he said. "Isn't he yours?"

Geoff tried to get closer and the warlock dodged out of the way. Alannah couldn't tell if he wanted to bite the man or jump into his arms. Something flickered at the back of her mind, half of an idea.

The golem loomed over her. With one punch it smashed her into the dirt. Her blade skittered over the grass. Distantly, Geoff's yapping broke the air, almost drowning out the warlock's cursing. The golem's empty eye sockets swivelled to face her. Alannah felt its gaze like a physical weight on her skin. A sword wasn't going to stop it - she needed water, or fire maybe.

It lunged at her. Alannah dove to the right and found Dameon. The golem swung at him and he dodged, circling. The thing didn't seem intent on squashing them, just herding them away from the house.

Something glittered in the grass. Her sword. Alannah took a step towards it and the golem lumbered into her path. It made a deep, rusty noise and barrelled towards her.

"Leave it!" Dameon grabbed her waist and yanked her out of the way. They sprawled over the ground. The dragon was an uncomfortable heat against her.

"What are you doing?" she hissed. The golem had overshot them, but now it was slowing, turning. "We need to kill it!"

"It's made of clay," he replied, disentangling himself from her. "You're not going to kill it with a metal stick."

"I know that. How?"

"The warlock," called Dameon, rolling away as the golem's foot came crashing down at him from above. "He's controlling it!"

Alannah sidestepped the golem, which was being artfully distracted by Dameon – unintentionally, she was sure – and looked over at the sorcerer. Geoff was chasing him around the grass in tight circles. She knew that little critter was on their side.

Her sword lay about five feet from her, only two feet from one of the warlock's passes as he ran from Geoff. Alannah raced over and snatched it off the ground. She waded into the path that Geoff and the sorcerer were making and levelled the blade at him. The man's eyes widened comically and he skidded to a halt.

"Stop that thing," she said, slightly out of breath. "Now," she added, "or I'll make sure all your future spells are non-verbal. Understand?"

His gaze flicked down at her sword, but she meant business and it didn't waver. Geoff stopped trying to hump the man's leg and plunked his rat-tailed bottom down, tongue lolling out as he panted. "That seems a little strong, don't you think?" the sorcerer asked, warily.

"The golem," she reminded him. She could figure out what his angle was later, when her dragon wasn't about to be squashed to death. Damn it, not her dragon.

"Fine, fine." The warlock mimed a complex pattern, speaking softly in the archaic tongue, the language of mages. Only her grandmother had ever spoken it with such ease.

The golem stumbled. Its movements gradually slowed until, finally, it came to a stop.

Dameon edged carefully around the frozen creature, watching it as though it was going to come alive at any moment. "That it?" he asked as he came to stand by her side, eyeing the warlock. "No more monsters up your sleeve? Dodgy spells?"

The man frowned at him. "No. Get out."

"What's your name?" asked Alannah, although she didn't drop her sword. This guy might be a strong mage, but there was definitely a hole in his bag of marbles. A big one.

"Elliott van Haardevald," the man answered, drawing up straighter. "And you're in my forest," he added. "Get out."

I'm starting to see why the sidhe have a problem with him, sent Dameon.

But she frowned. Apart from the golem, he hadn't tried to attack them and she wasn't in the habit of killing – at all, and certainly not in cold blood. Alannah dropped the point of her sword. "You need to leave the forest," she told him. "Permanently. As in, leave and don't come back."

His face whitened. "I can't leave!" He even took a step back, as though he expected them to force him out. "I have to stay!"

"The sidhe have a serious issue with that," Dameon replied, sliding his hands into his pockets. "For some reason, they don't like you burning down their special trees."

"Of course they don't," spat Elliott. "I'll burn down a thousand trees if they don't give me what I want!"

"You're on the edge of a war," said Alannah. "And war with the sidhe would mean Bad Things for everyone in this forest, including you."

Elliott raised his chin. "It would be worth it."

Alannah and Dameon exchanged a glance. This might be harder than I thought, she sent.

What do you mean 'might'?