21
THE PROBLEM
Derek had been summoned from the warmth of his bed, and he was not particularly pleased by this. It was a chilly morning, and from the look of the sky, it was only just light. He had been shaken awake by the unsmiling orderly about five minutes previously and was now being escorted to the Warmer as though the fate of the Clan depended on it. Bleary-eyed he stomped through the dry grass, his bootlaces trailing. The wizards must have started work in the wee small hours if they had managed to have a crisis of this proportion already.
“Although,” grumbled Derek internally, “unless they need someone to act as a paperweight, I have no idea what they think I can do about it.”
He was still buckling his belt as the orderly held back the flap of the tent for him and he stooped to
