The Hounds of Avalon

Hal sat in an alley just off the High Street and watched one of the numerous patrols crawl slowly by. As the spotlight in the back of the truck washed across the walls, he flattened himself into a doorway as he had done several times already. Sometimes it was a truck, occasionally a jeep or even a lone rider on horseback. Every time he had finally screwed up the courage to move on, another patrol passed, locking him in place for more long minutes.

His fingers and toes were already numb, and the lack of feeling was creeping slowly along his limbs. More snow was falling, the gale howling over the rooftops, raising whirlwinds of white along the street. Hypothermia was a constant threat; freezing to death a distinct possibility.

But the risk of getting caught was too great. In the current climate of anger, fear and suspicion, it was more than likely that some overzealous guard would save everyone the trouble of a trial. A bullet in the back of the head. A foot on the windpipe. Or simply locking him up without food or water in an unheated room. In the looming crisis, who would even care? He would simply be one less thing to worry about.

Beneath the cold was a sickness of spirit born of incomprehension. How had he become the chief and — from the way Samantha had described it — sole suspect? He hadn’t done anything that might have hinted at his involvement. That left only one other possibility: that he was being set up. It was obvious that the Government had been a hotbed of plotting and counter-plotting in recent weeks, but he would never have suspected that any conspirator would go to such lengths. Clearly it had all been running slow and deep and dark, like the waters beneath the frozen river.

A rush of self-loathing swept through him. Why was he always so naive, so self-obsessed, so consumed by his own petty emotions and intellectual games that he never saw the big picture?

Shouts rose above the wind: a large disturbance nearby. Afraid that he had been discovered, Hal ran to the other end of the alley only to be confronted by an iron gate topped with razor wire. His heart thundering, he huddled down, staring at the gleaming snow at the end of the alley in anticipation of a silhouette, the shadow of a gun, a barked order.

His attention was caught by a trail of golden light high overhead, seen briefly and then lost in the swirling snow. Slowly, a figure descended from the dark and the snowstorm. It was Petronus, the boy who was not a boy, still wearing his floppy nightcap mask and his romper-suit outfit. His hands were clasped nonchalantly behind his back and his feet crossed as he floated down.

‘Brother of Dragons, why do you wait here in the cold and the dark?’ Petronus asked, curiously.

‘I’m hiding from the soldiers. Can you help me?’ Hal said.

Petronus held out his hands. ‘How can I refuse such a request after you saved the life of my companion? What do you require?’

‘A diversion. Can you swoop around the patrols so they’re distracted enough for me to slip by?’

Petronus nodded slowly, and under his mask Hal had the impression that he was smiling.

‘But you must run fast, Brother of Dragons,’ Petronus cautioned. ‘Battle is about to be joined. The city is surrounded and soon it will be overrun.’

The news came as a shock, but Hal could only deal with one obstacle at a time. Petronus bowed theatrically, then swooped to the end of the alley where he paused for a second before darting out. As soon as Hal heard the sound of gunfire, he sprinted out of the alley and across the street as fast as the snow would allow. Keeping to the backstreets and alleys as much as he could, he arrived at Mrs Damask’s just as the sound of whinnying horses echoed across the approach route.

Hal dropped back to wait for the riders to pass, only to feel an almost overwhelming surge of relief when he saw that the first rider was Hunter. Behind him, a woman with pale skin slumped weakly in her saddle.

Hunter reined in his horse as Hal stepped out of the shadows, then jumped down in surprise to greet his friend raucously.

‘I thought you wouldn’t be coming back,’ Hal said.

‘Hal, this is me we’re talking about.’ Hunter held out his hands in a disbelieving gesture. ‘I am unstoppable.’

‘Unbearable, more like.’

‘What are you doing out in the cold at this time of night?’

Hal’s grin faded. ‘The PM’s been assassinated and they think I did it. Everyone’s looking for me.’

Laura slid from her saddle and walked up to them wearily. ‘Can we cut the male-bonding? I need to get inside to rest.’

‘I didn’t do it,’ Hal protested.

‘Course you didn’t,’ Hunter said. ‘Let’s face it, you’re the most unlikely suspect for a political assassin I can imagine.’ Hunter clapped a reassuring arm around Hal’s shoulders and nodded towards the unfamiliar woman. ‘She’s a bossy witch but she’s right — let’s get inside. Time’s running out and we’ve got a lot to do.’

As they walked to the door, Hal asked, ‘Who’s your friend?’

‘Some kind of plant. Haven’t quite decided the phylum, subphylum or class yet, but probably a distant relative of poison ivy.’

Hal gaped in incomprehension, while Laura eyed Hunter superciliously. Hunter smiled back at her. Then, as they passed through the door, Laura let it slam in Hunter’s face.

The atmosphere in Mrs Damask’s warm, fragrant lounge was subdued. Mallory, Shavi and Sophie talked intensely by the fire, while Lugh and Ceridwen pored over a map of the city at the table near the window. Sophie had already made a remarkable recovery.

When the new arrivals entered, Shavi strode quickly across the room and swept Laura into his arms with enthusiastic happiness.

‘It has been a long time, Laura,’ he said.

‘Feels like years.’ She put her head in close to his so that only he could hear. ‘I’ve missed you. I’ve missed all of us, together. We made a good team, didn’t we?’

‘We did.’

‘This new lot don’t know what they’ve got.’

‘Give them time. They need to draw closer to each other. Find their shared strengths. Overcome their weaknesses together.’

‘Time is one thing they haven’t got.’

Shavi ignored her last statement and looked to the door hopefully. ‘Where is Ruth?’

Laura shook her head gravely.

While Laura and Shavi spoke quietly, Hunter and Hal gathered by the fire with Mallory and Sophie.

‘You look very fit for someone who’s supposed to be dead,’ Hunter said to Sophie, with a hint of flirtation.

‘You’re wasting your time turning it on with me, Hunter. Mallory’s already warned me about you,’ she replied, in a not unfriendly manner.

Hunter feigned a hurt expression. ‘Well, then. Down to business.’

‘It’s a bit late in the day to start talking,’ Hal said.

‘Who’s this misery goat?’ Sophie shucked off the cloak Mallory had wrapped her in; her skin, so pale and deathly less than an hour ago, now bloomed with vitality.

‘Don’t go saying anything against my chum.’ Hunter clapped an arm around Hal’s shoulders and crushed Hal to him. ‘This is Hal Campbell, damned intellectual, the brains to my brawn, the brains to my beauty-’ Hal fought his way free.

Sophie’s eyes narrowed as if she was peering through skin and bone into Hal’s very heart. ‘There’s something about you-’

‘There’s nothing about me!’ Hal snapped.

‘Stop picking on him.’ Hunter edged Hal away from Sophie’s probing stare. Hal wandered into a corner where he observed the proceedings sullenly.

‘This is better than I thought,’ Hunter continued. ‘With Sabrina here back in the land of the living, we should be up to speed.’ He glanced at Shavi and Laura, still locked in deep, quiet conversation. ‘If you count our two substitutes.’

Quickly, they began to exchange information. Hunter explained Ruth’s absence — Sophie could barely hide her disappointment. ‘I wouldn’t be here today if not for the trail Ruth walked before me,’ she said, before telling everyone how Caitlin had lost her Pendragon Spirit and become possessed by the Morrigan. Caitlin was locked up downstairs under the guard of Thackeray and Harvey in case the Morrigan reasserted herself.

‘We stand a chance, then,’ Mallory said. ‘But I’d be happier if we had the true number instead of trying to pad it out with Laura and Shavi. Still, even if we had the proper number, five of us against a couple of million-’

Hal came forward and said passionately, ‘You’re missing the point.’

Hunter stepped in before Hal’s brusque attitude could offend anyone in the tense atmosphere that lay across the gathering. ‘Spit it out.’

‘There’s no point just lining up alongside the troops to fight the Lament-Brood. You can help, sure, but that’s not what you’re here for.’

‘Go on,’ Hunter said.

‘You’ve been brought together to fight the Void, not its agents. That’s what the Brothers and Sisters were designed for-’

‘How would you know?’ Mallory said sharply.

Hunter held up a silencing hand. ‘Hal’s got a brain the size of a planet. I trust him. Think about it — he’s right. We need to focus on finding the real enemy, not waste our time fighting his pawns.’

‘But we don’t know where the Void is,’ Mallory said. ‘We can’t just sit back and wait until we’re overrun.’

‘No, you can’t,’ Hal said, ‘but sure as anything, the Void is going to be here. The Lament-Brood… his generals… will bring it into the city with them.’ Hal felt uncomfortable when he noticed that everyone was now hanging on his words.

‘I always thought it would be bigger than some physical presence,’ Sophie said. ‘Something that could be all around us.’

‘Maybe it is. I don’t know,’ Hal back-tracked. ‘But this is the place where the last battle will be fought. The Void is going to be here, and you need to be ready to face off against it. That’s where whatever skills the Pendragon Spirit has given you will come into play.’

‘See,’ Hunter said, ‘I told you he’s not just an ugly face.’

‘Then I say we do what we can on the front line,’ Mallory said, ‘to make sure that the city doesn’t get swamped while we try to find out where the Void is.’

‘Or what it is,’ Sophie said. ‘For all we know, it could be a little glass bottle of nothing. Or a ten-foot teddy bear.’

‘I can help,’ Shavi said. ‘I can contact the spirits for more information. But it takes a great deal out of me, so I should not attempt it until I really need to.’

‘Enough jawing,’ Laura said. ‘All you lot do is talk, talk, talk. It wasn’t like that in our day.’ She gave Shavi a wink. ‘Let’s hit that front line.’

As they trooped out, Hal called Hunter back. Hal had been fighting with what he had to say ever since they had entered the brothel. But when he saw the bravery the others were exhibiting by putting their lives on the line for a greater cause, the guilt consumed him. He had to speak out.

‘That was smart talking there,’ Hunter said. ‘I’m proud of you.’

‘You won’t be in a minute,’ Hal began. He steeled himself, then blurted, ‘I’m a Brother of Dragons. I’ve known it for a long time, but I hid it away… I lied to you because… I was afraid.’

Hunter searched Hal’s face. Hal couldn’t read what was going on in his head, but knew that if Hunter condemned him, it would tear him apart.

‘You know, now that you say it, I can see it,’ Hunter mused.

It certainly wasn’t the reaction Hal had expected. ‘Aren’t you angry with me?’

‘Everybody does what they have to. You don’t need to be fighting at the front to play your part — that’s not why you were chosen. I’m betting you’re doing your own thing, secretly, away from the limelight, which is just so very Hal.’

Hal was deeply moved by Hunter’s complete belief in him. For the first time, he realised the true depth of their friendship and how much it meant to him.

Hunter clasped Hal’s arm in a powerful gesture of support. ‘You decide where you need to be, and what you have to do. If you don’t want to come to the front line, that’s fine.’

‘Don’t let me off the hook,’ Hal said. ‘Make me come! I’m a coward!’

‘No, you’re not.’ Hunter glanced towards the open door: he had to go. ‘I bet you haven’t been hiding out in a bunker since you found out what you are. You’ve been doing something to help, haven’t you?’

‘Well…’

‘See? You’re playing your part, Hal. You’ll be where you need to be. I trust you.’

‘How can you say that? I’ve betrayed you, and what it means to be a Brother of Dragons. I’m not up to it.’

‘Stop talking such bollocks. Now, I need to go before someone nicks my horse, but I’ll see you again soon, all right?’

Hal nodded reluctantly. ‘Come back. For Samantha. I think she’s in love with you.’

Hunter gave him a curious look, then one more smile and he was gone, to death or glory. Hal wanted to hate himself, but Hunter’s words were still flying around in his head: perhaps he hadn’t been fooling himself that his investigation into the mystery of the Wish Stone was vital. Was that really his role as a Brother of Dragons? If so, he had to find the solution quickly.

Hunter reined in his mount next to Mallory, who was just climbing into the saddle of Laura’s horse. Sophie, Shavi and Laura waited next to one of the patrol jeeps that had been fitted with a snow plough; Laura claimed that she had ‘found it’ in the next street.

‘There’ll be hotspots at three main barricades,’ Hunter began. ‘On Saint Giles, Saint Aldate’s beyond Thames Street and the High Street beyond Magdalen. There’ll be another couple of barricades to the west, and on the smaller roads to the north-east, but those routes won’t present easy attack routes, so I’m betting that the main forces will come in from the north, south and east.’

‘We can’t be everywhere,’ Mallory said. ‘What are you suggesting?’

‘I’ll take the High Street, you head south down Saint Aldate’s.’ Hunter turned to Laura. ‘Think you can grow something strong enough to form a barrier across Saint Giles? It’s a big road.’

‘No problem.’ Her smile unnerved Sophie, who hadn’t taken to Laura at all. ‘Looking forward to it.’

‘Sophie, you need to stay in the jeep with Shavi,’ Hunter went on. ‘Move back and forth between the main battle areas and do what you can with your thing. Storms, rats… ferocious rabbits, if you’ve got any hats you can pull them out of.’

Sophie felt excited at the prospect of using her Craft to the extent of her abilities. It would be a massive release after all the stress and suffering of the preceding weeks.

‘Shavi, we’re counting on you to find our primary target,’ Hunter continued. ‘Do whatever you have to do. If Sophie stays by your side, she can protect you if you get into a weakened state.’

Shavi smiled enigmatically.

‘What?’ Hunter said.

‘You remind me of my good friend, Church.’

Silenced by the comment, Hunter urged the others to leave. They didn’t say goodbye, didn’t consider the future for a second. Surviving the present situation was the only thing that mattered.

Alone in the room, Hal watched the crackling flames as he sank deep into thoughts of King Arthur, a raging Blue Fire and the secret language of symbols. The solution was so close that he could almost touch it, and this time he was going to succeed.

Carefully, he laid out the evidence in his mind. It was complex, but he was sure he had all the information he required; the only thing he needed was the key that would unlock the code.

The underlying pattern of the mystery was the legend of King Arthur. From everything Hal had learned, it was clear that the story had been devised at some point in ancient times as a symbolic means of passing information down the years. That was a standard way of operating for cultures without the written word. In the distant past, memory skills had been developed far beyond what modern man was used to. Greek storytellers could recite by heart every word of Homer’s Iliad. The Celtic bards had vast, detailed story banks recorded in their heads, passed down from father to son. Those stories were a secret language: locked in their accounts of gods and heroes and men were rules for living life, as well as tracts of knowledge about the stars and animals and plants. Most importantly, the stories preserved for all eternity the vast mysteries held by the wise men and women in the only way their culture knew.

It was an elegant solution. Lists of facts and figures, rules and regulations, could be corrupted by memory or easily forgotten. But stories went on for ever. With the vital information stitched into the fabric of a tale, it would always be there to be discovered by anyone who understood the secret language of symbolism.

The true story, the important story, was not the one on the surface; it was the one hidden beneath. And that’s what Hal knew he had to do: cut through the surface story to find the real message.

The Arthurian legends spoke of places where the power of the king was concentrated, of Camelot and Avalon and the lake where Excalibur was found. Many of these places, the stories said, were pathways to another world. But Hal knew that the power of the king in the legends was not meant to be the temporal power of an earthly ruler. It was real power: the Blue Fire, the energy that coursed through the Earth and every living thing upon it. That was the first, and greatest, of the hidden messages.

Ley lines, spirit paths, the dragon lines of the Chinese. King Arthur, who was a force for good against evil and the defender of the land against the darkness, was a code for this power. Any place linked to Arthur was a spot where the Earth Power was strongest. And these power nodes could be used to cross over to the Otherworld, the place he had witnessed with awe when he had gazed through the reversed monument at Shugborough.

As Hal turned these things over in his mind, he found himself becoming increasingly excited, for instinctively he knew that he was nearing some point of revelation. When a log crackled and spat, another connection leaped forward: he suddenly realised that like the Shugborough monument, the symbols coded into the stories had two faces, dual strands of information operating one on top of the other. In fact, the more he considered it, the more he knew this to be true. Duality was everywhere. Two worlds, side by side, reflecting each other yet different, both influencing the other. Good and evil. Humans and gods. Life and Anti-Life.

So if there were double meanings in the legends, what did that suggest? Certainly, on one level, that King Arthur was a symbol of the Blue Fire.

But on another, also that there was a king. A king who embodied the Earth Power. A defender waiting to be called back in Britain’s darkest hour — that was what the legends said. And surely this was the darkest hour of all, when life was about to be subsumed by Anti-Life.

His heart beat faster.

Et in Arcadia Ego. And in Arcadia — the Otherworld — I wait. But ‘I’ was not death. It was the king, and the tomb in Poussin’s painting was where he lay, waiting to be awoken.

And the flipside of that was the anagram of the inscription on the tomb: I Tego Arcana Dei. Begone! I conceal the secrets of God. The king was infused with the power of God, the Blue Fire. The power of life that could throw back the Void.

That was why the secrets had been waiting until this moment to be revealed, to be discovered by Hal: so that he could bring the defender back. Hal felt a frisson as the pattern surfaced. It suggested the influence of a hidden intelligence, and a vast, unimaginable master plan with connections stretching across millennia.

Almost there now. One final question: who was the king?

The plan had clearly been put in motion at some point in the ancient history of Cadbury Hill when the Wish Stone had been buried. But not just anyone could have found it.

Another connection.

Not just anyone: only a Brother or Sister of Dragons. That was the key: the Pendragon Spirit was integral to this grand scheme.

And then he had it. ‘Jack Churchill,’ he said out loud. The symbolic ‘King’ of the last group of Five. Ryan Veitch was definitely dead and buried after the devastation of the Battle of London, but Jack Churchill was only presumed dead. There hadn’t been a body, that much was clear from the intelligence briefing Samantha had recovered from the files.

What if, during the final cataclysmic struggle, Jack Churchill had somehow been thrown into T’ir n’a n’Og? Perhaps amnesiac, perhaps in a coma. Hal’s mind raced. What if he was such a powerful avatar of the Pendragon Spirit that he could defeat the Void’s Anti-Life? A secret weapon, waiting to be found, and brought back, and used. The ultimate weapon that would tip the balance in the war.

Hal couldn’t be sure that he was right, not completely, but the symbolism and the facts fitted together nicely; and instinctively he was convinced.

He had to tell Hunter immediately. Perhaps there was still time for the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons to cross the barrier between the worlds somehow and bring Jack Churchill back from his exile. The stories said that time operated differently in the Otherworld. Hunter and the others could be there and back in the blink of an eye.

Hal felt a rush of excitement mingled with relief. He had played his part, and he’d done so without leaving his armchair. With a whoop, he jumped up, ready to rush out to the High Street to find Hunter.

Only he was no longer alone. Two armed soldiers stood just inside the door, and between them was Reid.

‘Time to go, Hal,’ he said, with a cold smile.

As he made his way along the High Street towards the barricade, Hunter heard his name called anxiously. He turned to see Samantha running through the snow, looking desperate.

Jumping down, he ran to her and they embraced passionately. ‘How did you find me?’ he said softly when they pulled apart.

‘There was a giant… all surrounded by blue light…’ Samantha appeared dazed after her meeting with the Caretaker. ‘He told me where you were, said I had to take his lantern back to him.’

Hunter fetched the Wayfinder from the horse, where it had been hanging from the saddle. ‘Tell him thanks for the loan,’ Hunter said, handing it over.

Touching the lantern had an effect on Samantha: her pupils grew less dilated, her mind cleared. ‘Hal’s in trouble,’ she said suddenly.

‘I know.’

‘He’s-’

Hunter took her by the shoulders to calm her. ‘He’s safe. Don’t worry.’

She leaned forward to kiss him strongly, and Hunter felt a surge of love so deep and powerful that it shook him to the core. As he pulled away, he could see that Samantha felt it, too. ‘Don’t get killed, Hunter.’ She caught herself, then added, ‘You and I-’

‘You know Hal loves you,’ Hunter interrupted. It was a truth that he had only come to realise in the last hour, but once he had recognised it, it was obvious.

Samantha was taken aback by his response. ‘I know he likes me-’

‘You should go to him. You’ll make a good couple. If all this pans out right.’

Samantha took a step back, struggling to find solid ground. ‘I thought… we could…’

‘A betting man would say I probably won’t come out of this alive. And even if I do, there are lots of places to go, people to see. Women

…’ His voice trailed off; he couldn’t keep it up any longer, but he could see from the hardening of Samantha’s face that he had done enough. ‘Go to Hal. He’s at Mrs Damask’s,’ he said. ‘He needs you.’

She backed away, still unsure what to make of his words, but her pride would not allow her to say any more. ‘Don’t worry, I will.’

When Hunter was a short way down the road, he allowed himself one quick glance back at the tiny departing figure, the blue light from the Wayfinder washing out across the snow. The sight was heartbreaking.

Then he turned towards the sounds of battle rising up from all sides and spurred his horse onwards, his mind locked on conflict and victory.

The snow was falling heavily when Mallory arrived at the southern barricade. It added an incongruously ethereal atmosphere to the street scene, dampening sounds, blanketing the flaws of human living. But as he neared the hastily erected metal wall, the sounds of battle rose up. There were no cries of pain or anger from the Lament-Brood beyond; they remained eerily silent, washing against the barricade like a summer swell in a harbour.

But the soldiers lined up along the walls made up for it with a cacophony of defiance. It was all an act; Mallory could see that their faces were etched white with fear. Beyond the barricade, the hellish invading army stretched as far as the eye could see.

They fired SA8os, hand pistols, rifles, from the walls and from all vantage points on the nearby buildings. Brass cartridges rained through the air, glittering in the arc lamps, and the sound was like a Caribbean rainstorm. Further back from the barricade, the big guns waited for any enemy breakthrough of the front line.

Mallory reined in his horse and waited; it was only a matter of time before the defences were swept aside by the massive, unfeeling force pressing against them. Yet it happened even more quickly than he had anticipated. Within fifteen minutes, there was a sound like the howl of a dying animal as the metal plates began to buckle under the weight of bodies crushed against them.

One of the soldiers firing from the top of the wall lowered his weapon, his mouth gaping. ‘Jesus Christ. What’s that?’

On the other side of the barricade, the purple mist was rising as the Lament-Brood clambered on top of each other to allow those behind to gain purchase. They reminded Mallory of ants. But riding the crest of the twisted bodies was a gleaming yellow-white figure that Mallory recognised from Hunter’s description as the Lord of Bones. It had grown in size, now almost twice the height of a man, its bulk increasing a little with every skeleton sucked into its voracious mass. There was a hunger to it, in the avid gleam of its eyes and the way it reached out with clacking-bone hands, desperate to snatch anything that fell within its reach.

Most of the soldiers leaped from the wall as it fell apart, but one remained in position a second too long, firing his pistol futilely into the seething mass. The Lord of Bones’ eyes swivelled towards the soldier, fixed on its target and then moved towards it with alarming speed. Crushing hands shattered the soldier’s wrist and yanked him forwards.

The Lord of Bones stood erect on the roiling Lament-Brood beneath it and pressed the yelling, squirming soldier against its chest. Mallory was sickened as he watched the victim’s skeleton sucked out of his body, leaving a flopping sack of skin and organs that was tossed to one side to splatter into the snow.

And then the Lord of Bones threw its head back, opened its mouth and released a sound that was not a sound. It made Mallory’s stomach turn and his brain fizz. It was the creature’s roar of victory.

Mallory lost sight of the Lord of Bones in the confusion as the barricade burst apart and the Lament-Brood flooded through into the city. For a brief moment, he was rooted as the Lament-Brood caught hold of fleeing soldiers, broke necks, ran swords through stomachs, gouged out eyes. And then, mere seconds later, repossessed the dead, twisting their bodies, forcing weapons to meld with bone and flesh, the re-animated corpses joining the ranks of those who had slain them to turn on their former comrades.

The big guns released a hail of massive fire power. Mallory fought to control his horse, glad that something had torn his gaze away from the hellish vision. Smoke swept across the street. When it cleared, scores of the Lament-Brood had been ripped to pieces, but hundreds more surged in to take their place. The gun positions were overrun in seconds, the remaining soldiers fleeing, powerless.

Mallory drew Llyrwyn and suddenly the street was flooded with brilliant blue light; even the falling snow appeared to be sapphire flakes. Mallory had never seen such a powerful display: the flames raged so forcefully along the blade that it vibrated in his hand, rang up his arm and into his heart.

Digging in his spurs, he propelled his horse into the fray. Lament-Brood fell beneath the trampling hooves, skulls split, torsos crushed. The air itself singed as Mallory swung his sword. The Lament-Brood fell before him like grass before a scythe. None could touch him, and soon the ground was covered with corpses and his horse was trampling them into the snow.

In Mallory’s mind, all sound disappeared, the hacking of bone, the ringing of steel, the thunder of hooves, until a deep silence swaddled him. He couldn’t smell, taste, touch, and a blue sheen lay across his mind. In that instant, he was the sword and the sword was him, each possessing and being possessed by the other.

Finally the Lament-Brood fell back at some silent summons. Their ranks parted and the Lord of Bones marched through. It towered over Mallory even on horseback, its bones splattered with red human blood.

It surveyed Mallory for a moment, a cold intelligence that insinuated through the blue into Mallory’s mind, unbearably alien, betraying no recognisable emotion. And then, when it was satisfied that it understood what lay before it, it drove forward with a speed belied by its size.

Mallory forced his horse to dance out of the creature’s path, but it only just evaded the charge. The Lord of Bones’ talons ripped through Mallory’s trousers and into the flesh beneath. And as the fingers scythed across his flesh, Mallory felt a tugging in his bones, as if they were on the verge of being sucked out of his body.

Mallory guided the horse to circle and then drive in. Llyrwyn blazed through the air to smash against the bone-creature’s shoulder blade. The impact almost threw Mallory out of the saddle. Bone erupted outwards and parts of the creature’s form began to fall away. But it clearly felt no pain and immediately launched another attack that Mallory only just avoided.

They continued that way for nearly half an hour, with no sign of the creature weakening. Every now and then, the Lord would draw blood with its razor-sharp fingers and Mallory’s clothes were now wet and sticky in many places. Mallory had a vision of losing the battle, of the thing pulling his skeleton clean out of his skin. He wondered with a sickening fascination what his final thoughts would be.

The horse’s breath and his own mingled in a hot, white cloud in the freezing air. But while Mallory tirelessly sustained his attack, his horse was growing sluggish. Finally, as Mallory brought his searing sword down in a hissing strike that shattered a portion of the Lord of Bones’ skull, his mount failed to retreat quickly enough.

The Lord of Bones seized its moment. Like a striking snake, it grabbed Mallory and ripped him from the saddle, pressing him close to its hard body. It smelled incongruously of milk.

Mallory fought to free himself, but a powerful sucking sensation had already manifested deep inside him. It felt as though hooks had been attached to his bones and were pulling them out through his muscle and skin. The agonising pain drove him to the edge of unconsciousness, but he continued to fight to the last.

The hurricane wind came from nowhere. Mallory and the Lord of Bones were thrown through the air against a building on the far side of the road. The Lord of Bones took the brunt of the impact, but Mallory was knocked unconsciousness by the shock.

When he came round, he was lying in the snow, his entire body on fire with pain from the sucking power of the Lord of Bones. But it was fading. The creature was staggering around, its right arm shattered into pieces and a section of its torso falling away.

The wind had died down a little, but the snow still blasted against Mallory’s skin like hot pins. Dazed, he staggered to his feet, searching for his sword. It lay half-buried in a drift nearby. But the Lord of Bones had seen him again and was rapidly stalking his way.

Before it could reach him, there was a deafening clap of thunder. Lightning crashed down in a direct hit on the Lord of Bones. In the flash of blinding light, Mallory was hurled backwards, but this time he fought to stay conscious.

The air reeked of burned iron. What remained of the Lord of Bones still stalked around, smoke rising from the shattered bones. Drunkenly, Mallory retrieved his sword. The moment the weapon was in his hands and the blue flames were roaring, his mind became sharp and focused. He attacked the Lord of Bones with venom, not stopping his hacking and slashing until only a few bone shards remained and a faint purple mist was drifting in the now-subsiding gale.

Mallory looked around eagerly. He knew who he had to thank for his survival. Sophie stood in the driver’s seat of the jeep, arms raised in supplication to the sky. Gradually, she sagged as the power faded. She managed a wave and a smile before Shavi urged her to drive to another location.

The Lament-Brood appeared disoriented by the Lord of Bones’ destruction, but Mallory could see that they were slowly re-forming their ranks to prepare for their next advance. All the surviving soldiers had fled to another fall-back position. There was nothing else he could do. Reclaiming his weary horse, he turned back into the city, following the tracks of Sophie’s jeep.

The row of mighty oaks soared more than thirty feet above Laura’s head, and the barrier was at least the same distance thick. Almost all her reserves had gone into constructing it, but she knew it would not keep the Lament-Brood out for long. Already she could hear the hacking of their weapons against the trunks. They would not tire, would not defer to serious injury; they would just keep going until they crushed everything in their path.

Laura walked away in search of shelter to recover, only to be halted in her tracks by gunfire coming from the buildings on either side of the wall of trees. Knowing instantly that it signalled a change in tactics, she angrily stormed into the nearest building and climbed the stairs to the second floor where two soldiers were pumping rounds wildly into the swarming Lament-Brood on the other side of the defence.

They were so preoccupied with their task that Laura could creep close enough to see past them. The Lament-Brood were clambering up the side of the building to get access to the windows so that they could bypass the trees. Some were smashing their weapons into the brickwork to gain foot- and handholds; others were simply clambering up on top of compacted bodies. But at the head of the climbing ranks was the Lord of Lizards. The glow from the street lights glistened on its skin, its entire body writhing with the packed combination of snakes, toads and newts. Its appearance revolted her, but what made her feel worse was the hunger that gleamed in its reptilian eyes.

The soldiers’ slugs ripped through it with little effect and the two men were growing increasingly scared as the beast drew nearer to them. Soon it would be in a position to pull itself through the window.

Laura leaned against a wall and closed her eyes. In her mind, she could see one final blue spark of power burning in the depths of her. Would it be it enough? She coaxed the spark higher and focused.

Just beyond the window, the Lord of Lizards paused as an odd sensation moved through its body. Deep in the stomachs of the many creatures that made up its form, biological matter was starting to move, change, grow.

Laura concentrated. She had all but exhausted her abilities; one last drop remained, one minute amount left to be squeezed out.

The pressure inside the Lord of Lizards grew. Laura gave it her last burst of energy. A holly bush, a rowan tree, a hawthorn and several other small shrubs and plants grew within the Lord at once, ripping through weak flesh in an instant. The amalgamation of lizards exploded in a puff of purple smoke and a sudden shower of red roses. Laura thought that was a nice touch.

Too weak to be any more use, she lurched back down the stairs to the street. Her actions had bought them a little time to find the Void, that was all. But as she headed back towards the city centre humming an old Basement Jaxx song, she reflected that she’d at least got a little pleasure from her last wanton act of violence.

Sophie brought the jeep to a sharp stop, the wheels skidding in the snow.

‘Anything?’ she asked.

Shavi shook his head, the strain on his face starting to show. ‘It used to take an intensive ritual to contact the spirits, but recently I have been able to do it easily. Often they felt as if they were always around, so that I could talk to them at any moment. But now…’ A shiver ran through him. ‘They are not answering my call.’

‘Come on, Shavi, we have to find the Void. It’s all down to us.’

‘You mean it is all down to me. I know. I will not fail you.’ He looked around, then said, ‘Get me inside one of the buildings. Away from this cold, I can concentrate, set up a ritual…’ There was a faint note of desperation in his voice that to Sophie sounded out of character. They clambered out of the jeep and struggled through the snowstorm towards the nearest buildings.

Hunter was aware of Mallory’s arrival, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the Lord of Flesh. The scores of snapping animal mouths threatened to tear at his flesh whenever he came close. He’d already discarded his gun as useless. After that, he’d wrenched a spear from one of the Lament-Brood’s limbs in the hope that it would allow him an arm’s length attack, but it had simply passed through the churning furry bodies without inflicting any serious harm. Now he was left with a rusted sword, the jagged forearm of one of the Lament-Brood still hanging from the hilt.

‘I’ve taken one of these things down already,’ Mallory yelled, as he guided his horse in a circle around Hunter and the Lord of Flesh.

‘Aren’t you the big-shot?’ Hunter replied through gritted teeth. He attempted another flailing lunge that resulted in a ferocious snapping of jaws.

‘You need a hand?’ Mallory swung Llyrwyn and sheared through several of the Lament-Brood who were drawing too close for comfort. The brilliant light from the sword made the others shy away.

‘What do you think?’ Hunter snapped.

Mallory directed his horse to the opposite side of the Lord. The creature ranged back and forth, attempting to strike at one, then the other.

‘I prefer my weapons a bit more on the modern side,’ Hunter said.

Mallory grunted. ‘A poor workman always blames his tools.’

‘There’s only one tool around here.’ Hunter relished landing a blow that took the head off a badger. ‘And it’s not me.’

As the Lord of Flesh responded furiously to Hunter’s attack, Mallory seized his moment, driving in to hack at the creature’s head from behind. A mass of furry bodies rained across the area. Before the Lord could recover from Mallory’s blow, Hunter had leaped from his horse and was slashing at its legs. Bloody chunks fell all around and within seconds the Lord had crashed down into the snow.

Together, Mallory and Hunter jumped in to finish the thing off. They didn’t stop chopping until there was no recognisable shape left amongst any of the animals that had made up the Lord’s form. Mallory held Hunter back as purple mist drifted up. ‘All right,’ he said, ‘he’s done for.’

They ran to their horses and mounted them quickly. ‘We’ll regroup further down the street,’ Hunter yelled above the wind. ‘I wonder if these things burn?’

‘Got a plan?’

‘I wouldn’t quite call it that yet-’ Hunter reined in his horse and looked around. ‘Can you hear that?’

At first, Mallory couldn’t. But then a low drone began to float in from the darkness beyond the city, growing louder, gradually becoming even louder still. The wind suddenly and mysteriously dropped.

‘Look,’ Hunter said.

The Lament-Brood had stopped moving. It was an eerie sight to see them all standing stock-still like statues. They were waiting for something.

‘What’s that noise?’ Mallory said, rubbing his ears. The rising sound felt as if it was drilling deep into his brain.

Hunter knew: he’d heard it before and the memory brought a strong, queasy response. ‘I think,’ he said, ‘that the king is about to enter the building.’