The Hounds of Avalon

‘Give us the sword.’

The skinhead wore a fixed, dead stare, but it was the shotgun the thug was pointing casually that held Mallory’s attention. In the distance, smoke from the burning village clouded the blue sky.

‘It’s not very fair, is it?’ Mallory said. ‘Sword… shotgun…’

‘You should have thought of that when you were choosing your weapon.’ The skinhead let out a gurgling laugh, then looked around at his gang as if he had said something clever. The gang clustered closer, smelling blood.

Physically, Mallory and the thug couldn’t have been more different: Mallory, with his shoulder-length brown hair and calm, intelligent eyes; the skinhead, clearly unintelligent, his arms a mass of tattoos — the flag of St George, a skull and crossbones, the names of girls who had long since faded from his memory. But Mallory’s attention was drawn by the one thing he shared with his opponent: a uniform. Mallory still wore his distinctive Knight Templar garb of a black shirt with the red Templar cross against a white square on the breast and right shoulder. The skinhead’s black shirt had a large red ‘V’ running from shoulders to waist.

‘What is that?’ Mallory said, nodding at the T-shirt. ‘I’m seeing it all over.’ And the insignia wasn’t just on the clothing of the gang members who were increasingly visible around the countryside; it was also painted on walls, abandoned cars, doors — graffiti with an odd air of menace.

‘He’s killing time,’ one of the other gang members said. ‘Just kill him instead.’ More laughter ensued, but Mallory’s calm in the face of his impending death was clearly destabilising the group.

A strange expression briefly obscured the brutality in the skinhead’s face; Mallory decided it was almost like awe. ‘We’re followers of the Lost One,’ the thug said. The others grew sombre, nodding in agreement.

Mallory considered a glib response, then decided it probably wouldn’t be in his best interests. ‘Who’s that, then?’

‘The Lost One,’ the leader said again, vehemently this time. ‘He disappeared in the Battle of London. His name is Veitch… Ryan Veitch.’

Mallory recognised the name instantly. ‘The traitor.’ One of the five Brothers and Sisters of Dragons who preceded him. They hadn’t been heard from since the Fall, but their presence still loomed large over the population; Mallory heard their names wherever he went.

The leader ignored the implication in Mallory’s words — denial or acceptance, Mallory wasn’t sure which. ‘He was the one who saved us, not the other four. When he comes back to us, he’ll lead us out of this mess we’re in.’

‘He’s dead,’ Mallory said. ‘He’s not coming back — or so the stories say.’

‘The stories are wrong! No one’s seen a body! He showed us how to act, how to survive — you do what you have to. And that’s what we’re doing.’

‘Just get his sword and have done with it,’ another gang member prompted.

Mallory gripped the hilt of his weapon more tightly, though he had no idea what he could do against a shotgun and fifteen brutes armed with knives, razors and clubs. ‘You know, this isn’t just any sword,’ he said. Mallory turned the blade so that they could see the faint blue glow emanating from the steel itself and the dragons carved into the handle. ‘It comes from the Otherworld-’

The leader hesitated; the others grew uneasy. Sensing that he had them, Mallory continued quickly, remembering the words of the god who had given it to him. ‘It’s one of the three great swords. The first is the sword of Nuada Airgetlamh — you know that one, right?’ Mallory didn’t even know it himself, but his confidence convinced the leader to nod. ‘The second is lost, believed corrupted. We won’t be seeing that one again. But this one… this is Llyrwyn. And, well, basically, mate, you don’t stand a chance.’

Mallory wished he was telling the truth, but while the sword endowed him with a degree of prowess, it certainly wasn’t powerful enough to take out the whole group. The gang had grown edgy — like most people since the Fall, they had quickly learned to assimilate the supernatural and the terrible dangers that surrounded it — but Mallory knew it would only be a matter of time before they tested his bragging. He braced himself, ready at least to take off the leader’s smirking head; a small spot of joy before he died.

A sound like the billowing of a tarpaulin disturbed all of them. As the gang looked around for the source of the noise, a shadow swept across the green fields and descended on them. Mallory saw what it was before any of them, and he just had time to throw himself to the ground and cover his head before a murder of crows blazed out of the sky to attack the gang.

Blood spattered all around. The birds darted in, tearing flesh with beak and talon, their dark wings smashing against faces and throats. The gang scattered, some screaming with eyes missing, others terrified and cursing. The corvids didn’t relent until only Mallory remained in the centre of the lane. As quickly as they had come, they flapped away to lose themselves in the fields and trees.

As Mallory scrambled to his feet, he looked around for the familiar face. And there she was, her long brown hair flowing behind her as she strode through the tall grass of the nearest field, her eyes blazing, her hippie dress swirling with the determined motion of her legs. Mallory could see her irritation, but the fire in her only made her more attractive to him.

‘You are such a moron,’ Sophie snapped when she reached the stile.

‘Me? I could have lost an eye in that bird attack.’

‘A “thank you” would be nice for saving your worthless life.’ She stepped lithely over the stile. ‘I told you to approach the village with caution.’

‘Sorry. I forgot you were queen of the whole bloody world.’

‘Stupid bugger.’

Mallory grabbed her; she play-resisted before overpowering him with a passionate kiss.

‘But you still haven’t got this role thing down,’ Mallory said when they broke. ‘I’m the knight, the trained killing machine — I’m the one who’s supposed to be protecting you.’

‘In your dreams.’ Her warm smile eased the dull throb of the aches and pains he had developed on their long, hard journey from Salisbury — battles with looters and self-styled law-enforcement officers, potential rapists and horse-stealers, and all the nightmarish things that crawled out of the dark in the lonely stretches of countryside they’d crossed. Oddly, he found it easier to deal with all the supernatural predators than with seeing his fellow man preparing to commit some inhuman act.

‘They weren’t your average looters,’ she said.

Mallory stared past her to the now furiously burning village. ‘I didn’t think they were. We’ve seen them all over. I thought they were just some sort of movement — like the Celtic Nation — trying to fill the void in society. But that V on their shirts — you know what it stands for? Veitch.’

Sophie stiffened in his arms, kept her face pressed into his shoulder. ‘Ryan Veitch?’

‘It’s like they worship him… some sort of saviour who’s going to come back and make everything all right.’

Sophie pushed herself away from him, uneasy now. ‘There are myths building up around all of the Five.’

‘But the wrong ones are building up around Veitch. He was the traitor, sold all the others out. Jack Churchill, the leader, died because of what Veitch did. These morons think that’s some kind of plan for living.’

‘Then that only shows what a responsibility we have. Existence, the universe… God, the Goddess… whatever you want to call it — it selects five people to be the champions of life at any one time. Five people from all the multitude. The last Five saved us from extinction after the Fall-’

‘And now we’ve got the job.’

Sophie heard the familiar note in his voice. ‘You still don’t want it?’

‘It’s not as if I have a choice. But it would have been nice to have been asked.’

Salisbury still preyed on Mallory’s mind even though he had left it behind six months ago. His time there at the cathedral had been one of hardship and suffering, as the Church desperately attempted to cling on in a world that had grown largely immune to its teachings. When he had arrived at the cathedral gates, a mercenary looking for employment in the newly formed Knights Templar, Mallory hadn’t believed in anything. The Church leaders had accepted him eagerly, and his training had made him hard, but he had still been directionless. It was his meeting with Sophie and his recognition of his feelings for her that had given meaning to his life. Sophie was not only his moral compass in a world where the distinction between right and wrong was increasingly blurred, but also the sole thing that mattered to him. He knew that she loved him, but he suspected that she had no idea how much he loved and needed her in return.

Discovering that they were a Brother and Sister of Dragons had only strengthened the bond between them. They were united by some great power that coursed through the earth and everything on it, a blazing blue energy that had entered both of them. Mallory didn’t care that it meant they were both champions of life. To him, it was a sign that he and Sophie were meant to be.

And so he had agreed to follow her when she had insisted on embarking on a quest to find the remaining Brothers and Sisters of Dragons and to discover what their destiny really was. She spoke of responsibilities and obligations and a higher calling. Mallory only heard her voice.

But despite the inner peace he was feeling for the first time in his life, Mallory knew that all was not right. The emptiness in his life that Sophie had filled still echoed somewhere in the deepest part of him. It was characterised by an image that haunted his nights and was always there on the periphery of his thoughts during the day: a flash of fire in the dark. He knew in some way that it signified his death, but rather than being a premonition, it appeared to be some fragmented memory. How could that be?

Sophie had helped him come to terms with it at Salisbury, and for a while he thought he had put it behind him. But in recent weeks it had returned in force, the ghost that refused to let him forget but would not let him remember, either.

Fire in the dark, and death. What did it mean? Why wouldn’t it leave him alone to enjoy Sophie’s love and his life with her? What was the terrible secret that he knew lay just behind that unsettling image?

In the late afternoon sun, Cadbury Hill cast an enormous shadow across the Somerset lowlands. Majestic in scale, the terraces and cuttings of the Iron Age hill-fort hinted at hidden mysteries, artificiality layered over the natural so that it was impossible to see where one ended and the other began. Mallory and Sophie stood on the edge of the umbra and surveyed the wooded slopes where birdsong echoed pleasingly. Wild flowers grew all around — wood spurge and spurge laurel — the scent of summer promise.

‘It’s bigger than I thought it would be,’ Mallory said.

‘You can see why it’s been identified with Camelot for more than six hundred years,’ Sophie replied. ‘It inspired the medieval romances of Lancelot and Guinevere, Galahad and the Holy Grail. Can’t you feel it? There’s something in the air itself, as if it’s radiating out of the heart of the hill.’

‘So it’s the right place?’

‘It has to be.’ Sophie took a deep, soothing breath, finally happy to be at the destination that had plagued her ever since they had left Salisbury at Christmas. The first hint had come in a dream, an imposing hill in a green landscape, a crow telling her to take heed. It had all the hallmarks of a communication from the Invisible World and the image had stayed with her potently for days. When she had used her Craft to commune with the Higher Powers for answers, the response had been cryptic and teasing, as always. But as the weeks and months passed, the clues had mounted, finally leading them here.

‘It’s not just the feeling,’ she continued. ‘The mythic symbolism is perfect. We know that the Arthurian legends are a code. They all identify places of power where the walls that divide dimensions are thin, where there’s a doorway to the Otherworld… T’ir n’a n’Og.’

‘The Land of Always Summer. You see, I was listening when you were telling me about your crazy religious beliefs.’

‘King Arthur is a code for-’

‘The energy that runs through all things. The Blue Fire,’ Mallory chanted with mock-weariness. ‘The Pendragon Spirit.’

Mallory tried to pretend it was all a joke, but he’d seen the evidence of the power, felt its euphoric effect. It was the thing that linked the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons across millennia and though he would never have mentioned it to Sophie, he was humbled to be a part of it.

‘So what exactly are we looking for?’ he asked.

‘Something important. Something that ties in to the whole reason why we were chosen.’ Her eyes were filled with passion and just the briefest hint of apprehension.

They spent the next half-hour fighting their way through the wildly overgrown lower reaches of the hill. It didn’t look as though anyone had been there since the Fall. The largest butterflies Mallory had ever seen in his life flitted in and out of the trees, and there was an abundance of wildlife — rabbits that were almost tame, even a fox slinking like a russet ghost through the vegetation’s shadows.

‘Can you see anything yet?’ Sophie asked him as he hacked through the undergrowth.

‘It’s hard to concentrate when I’m having to chop and thrust every six feet.’ Mallory paused to rest on his sword. ‘Just give me a minute to catch my breath.’

Once he had rested, he tried again, just as she had been teaching him during the last six months. The perception wasn’t easy to reach, or to sustain — Sophie had described it as ‘like looking at a Magic Eye picture’ — but when he did finally achieve it, he was shocked by what he saw.

Lines of shimmering blue appeared on the ground as if power cables were glowing just beneath the surface. They ran backwards and forwards in a grid pattern across the whole of the hill, and on the flat summit he could just make out a spike rising up to the clouds like a gigantic radio antenna.

‘Bloody hell,’ he said, awed.

‘It’s like a giant battery.’ Sophie took his hand and tugged him to the left. ‘This way.’

As they carved their way through brambles and long grass with renewed vigour, Mallory said, ‘OK, but why this place, of all the Arthurian locations?’

‘Because this is one of the most special. Legend says it’s hollow, like the one at Glastonbury Tor, which is unquestionably special. At the summer solstice, it’s supposed to turn into glass so that you can see all the secret caves inside.’

‘Aha. And it would be… what? A coincidence that we just happen to be here at the solstice?’

She smiled enigmatically.

‘And what’s supposed to be in these secret caves?’

‘According to legend, Arthur himself and all his knights, who are sleeping until England calls on their services again.’

‘More symbolism?’

She shrugged. ‘There’s more: the legend goes on to say that every seven years, on midsummer’s eve, a giant gate opens in the side of the hill allowing entry to that place.’

Mallory surveyed the imposing hill thoughtfully. ‘Looks like we’re in for a night of surprises.’

For a while, the flow of blue energy faded in and out of view, but eventually Mallory found himself picking out stronger arterial routes leading towards a focal point. As he followed the more potent lines of force, he was overcome by a strange sensation of distortion. Leaves and branches moved too quickly; shadows lengthened at an alarming rate. It felt as if time was accelerating, and when he checked the arc of blue sky visible through the foliage above them, he was unnerved to see the colour shifting to magenta as clouds hurtled overhead. The sun shifted from yellow to red and rushed towards the horizon.

He gripped Sophie’s arms. ‘Call me jumpy, but I reckon we need to reach our destination by nightfall or something bad’s going to happen.’

‘Any particular reason?’

‘A gut feeling.’ Increasingly, he found that his instincts were rarely wrong, as though he was becoming more sensitive to subtle warning signs.

Sophie nodded and picked up her speed.

As the darkness washed in from the east, gloom rose up around the trunks of the trees and the sounds of the hillside became eerily magnified. Every windborne rustle became a predator at their backs, every footstep the thunderous beat of a buried heart.

Fifty yards ahead, the energy flows congregated just below the lip of the hill’s flat summit. As night fell, they began to run. In that same instant, a whispering rose up from the trees, echoing across the deserted hillside. They couldn’t make out the words, but there was something in the sound that made them feel sluggish and gloomy. They slowed to a walk, then stopped and looked around for the source.

‘What is that?’ Mallory asked.

‘I can feel it in my head,’ Sophie said. She swayed, mesmerised and suddenly overcome by melancholy.

Mallory grabbed her and forced her to look at him. ‘Don’t listen.’ He propelled her onwards as fast as she would go, scrambling over humps, tumbling through nettles, stinging and winding themselves. The unsettling whispering continued, unmistakably growing closer.

‘It’s hunting us,’ Sophie gasped. ‘What is it?’

‘Just concentrate on running.’ Mallory’s eyes darted around the hillside, but it was impossible to see clearly in the gloom.

They emerged from the trees and bushes on to a grassy slope where they had a clear view of a surging and spitting whirlpool of Blue Fire ahead.

‘That must be the entrance,’ Sophie said, gasping for breath.

The whispering was now so loud it felt as if it was filling Mallory’s head and pressing in on him from all sides. With it came a black despair urging him to give up. As he struggled to fight it off, a shape loomed out of the shadows of the trees. Mallory grabbed Sophie and pushed her behind him as he drew his sword.

‘What is it?’ Sophie said.

Mallory couldn’t answer. It looked like a walking corpse, a tall, thin man with otherworldly almond-shaped eyes whose body had been broken on a rack. The skeleton showed through at the ribs and the forearms and on the left side of its jaw. At first, Mallory thought it was brandishing a sword in each hand, but as it marched towards them, Mallory realised that the swords had actually been embedded in the thing’s wrists — the weapons were now a part of it. A luminous purple mist drifted from its mouth and ears and eked out of the corners of its eyes; it was the source of the whispering that was making them feel so despairing.

‘Now would be the time for a good spell,’ Mallory said.

‘You know it doesn’t work like that,’ Sophie replied. ‘I need time, ritual space…’

The warrior bore down on them, weaving its rusty, bloodstained swords in an intricate attack pattern. Mallory attacked it vigorously. It responded instantly, parrying and then thrusting. Mallory jumped back athletically and avoided the dual attack as the creature’s weapons cut rapidly back and forth like a bacon-slicer.

They battled for several minutes but the warrior didn’t appear to tire, and Mallory began to wonder if it was actually an animated dead thing. And its strength was astonishing. The twin blades crashed down on him like pile-drivers, jolting him to the bone. Only his Knight Templar training and whatever innate power lurked in his sword kept him alive.

As he manoeuvred to avoid another attack, his foot caught in a rabbit hole and he went down hard. The warrior poised to swing a sword towards Mallory’s head. In that instant, Mallory saw an opening. He managed to swing his sword in a short arc, hacking through the warrior’s left ankle.

The thing continued to attack as it fell, but it had been thrown off-balance. Even so, the flat of its sword still clipped Mallory’s temple, stunning him.

When he came around, Sophie was attempting to drag him up the slope. From further down the hill he could hear the sound of riders crashing through the undergrowth towards them.

Mallory lurched to his feet, his chest burning from the exertion of the fight. He tried to push Sophie towards the Blue Fire but her head was bowed, and when she looked up her eyes were crackling with sapphire energy.

‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘This place is like a battery… I can draw on it…’

Mallory was unnerved by what he saw in her face — a primal fury about to be unleashed. Coruscating energy erupted out of her in a flash. When his vision cleared, there was a massive scorch mark across the slope and the warrior was nowhere to be seen. But from the trees the sounds of the riders drew closer, magnified as if their steeds were as big as rhinos.

‘Come on,’ Sophie said. ‘I’ve only bought us a few seconds.’

As Mallory and Sophie neared the whirl of Blue Fire, they heard the riders break from the tree line. Mallory turned to see three more of the hideous undead warriors, this time riding huge beasts that resembled horses but had scaly hides and cloven hooves.

Just as Mallory was preparing to make a last stand, the ground trembled and there was a sound like an avalanche as turf and soil tore back in a shower of earth and pebbles. In the gulf that opened up before them was revealed a majestic stone arch big enough to encompass four men standing on each other’s shoulders. Around it, the Blue Fire licked and sparked, but the centre of the arch was as black as space. Mallory had no time to contemplate it, for Sophie put one hand between his shoulder blades and shoved him into the gateway.

Pain made Mallory black out again as his ribs smashed against something hard. When he came around, he knew instantly that he was somewhere far removed from the slopes of Cadbury Hill. He had expected the air to be dank, but it had a sharp, fresh tang that was physically invigorating. He could smell tar-smoke from a torch more acutely than anything he had ever smelled before.

He was lying on smooth stone flags, ice-cold against his cheek. Levering himself up, his first impression was that he was sprawled in a temple, almost Egyptian in its scale and grandeur, with stone columns soaring into the shadows overhead and wall murals of breathtaking detail, the blues, golds and reds glowing in the flickering light of torches mounted at regular intervals all around. Sophie was at his side, just as mesmerised.

Incense drifted in their direction and Sophie stirred. ‘Are you OK?’ She helped Mallory to his feet; he winced.

‘No. Couple of cracked ribs from the fight. I’ll have to take it easy. Where are we?’

‘I don’t know. Feel up to having a look round?’

Sophie took one of the torches from the wall and led the way. The atmosphere grew more oppressive as they progressed into the heart of the temple. They couldn’t shake the impression that they were being watched, that someone or something was going to come upon them suddenly from behind. There was a disturbing hallucinogenic quality to everything; the edges of their vision were distorted and fragmented; the pounding of their hearts rose up and faded, echoing both within and without.

Their path was blocked by an enormous cat, easily as big as Sophie, with staring eyes as round and large as plates. Mallory and Sophie stopped sharply, but the cat didn’t move; it simply stared at them as if it could see right into their heads.

Mallory’s hand went to his sword, but Sophie stopped him. ‘Wait,’ she whispered.

‘That is the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen,’ Mallory said under his breath.

Beyond the cat the floor ended abruptly. Three paths moved away over the gulf, each one barely wider than a human foot.

‘It’s a test,’ Sophie whispered. ‘Whatever’s in there, they’re not going to let just anyone enter. We have to prove we’re worthy.’

‘It could be a test,’ Mallory agreed, ‘or it could be a booby trap to take out anyone who comes near the place. You get halfway along one of those paths and the thing crumbles under your feet. That’s if we can get past McCavity there.’

‘Why don’t you walk up to it and see what it does?’

‘Why don’t you? ’ Mallory considered drawing his sword, then decided Sophie was probably right. Whatever the thing was — and it certainly was not a cat, despite its appearance — there was no point in antagonising it.

Sophie pushed past Mallory and walked tentatively towards the cat. When she got within six feet of it, its hackles rose and its mouth opened to reveal gleaming teeth. The huge eyes still didn’t blink. Sophie came to a sharp halt.

Mallory walked up beside Sophie. The cat glared at him and made a deep, rumbling warning sound in its throat. ‘Still sure I shouldn’t use the sword?’ he asked.

Sophie hushed him; he could see she was deep in thought. After a moment, she said, ‘How can we prove to it that we’re worthy to enter? That we’re not a threat?’

Mallory considered her question, then quickly drew his sword. The cat leaned forward, spitting, those huge eyes filled with malice. Before it could leap at him, Mallory threw the sword behind him. The cat instantly calmed and returned to its original watchful position.

‘I hope you’re right about this,’ Mallory said in a way that masked his implicit trust of her. He got down on his hands and knees and crawled towards the cat. His tension eased a little when he realised that it was not making any threatening sounds or movements; it simply stared at him with those eerie eyes.

When he reached the cat, he rolled on to his back and bared his throat. There was one brief moment of connection when Mallory saw a flickering alien intelligence in the saucer-eyes, and then the cat lunged, jaws gaping wide. Sophie screamed. Mallory screwed his eyes shut, waiting for the pain as his throat was ripped out. He felt hot breath on his skin, the prick of teeth. And then nothing.

When he opened his eyes, the cat was holding his throat in its mouth, poised gently. It could have torn him to pieces in the blink of an eye. It remained that way for a few seconds while Mallory’s heart thundered, then it withdrew and turned its attention to Sophie. Mallory scrambled past it and beckoned for her to follow suit.

When Sophie was standing by him, shaking after her experience with the huge beast, he held her close for a second, and then they turned and walked to the edge of the precipice. Beyond, the abyss fell away into deep shadow far below.

‘Which one?’ Mallory said.

Sophie took a deep breath to calm herself. She didn’t need Mallory to tell her that they would probably only have one chance. ‘They all look the same,’ she said.

‘But there has to be one true path,’ Mallory said. ‘That’s how this works in all the old stories. So how do we know which is the true one?’

Sophie closed her eyes while she pondered, and after a moment a smile came to her lips.

‘What?’ Mallory asked.

‘Close your eyes.’

Mallory did as he was told. ‘OK… now what?’

‘Go calm. Feel. Really feel with your senses. You know which one is the right path now, don’t you?’

At first, Mallory couldn’t understand what she meant, but gradually the realisation crept over him. The lines of blue force that had crisscrossed the hill also ran through this place, though at that point they were invisible. But Mallory could feel them even through the soles of his boots, buzzing gently, soothing him with their caress. He stepped forward, following the faint sensation. It led directly to the right-hand path.

‘So we’ve got to trust that the freaky Blue Fire is leading us to the right one,’ he said.

‘That’s the point, isn’t it? We’re showing trust — and humility. Two qualities that mean we’re worthy to find what lies ahead.’

‘I’m glad one of us has got it all figured out.’

As he prepared to take the first step on the path, Sophie took his hand and squeezed. ‘It’s the Pendragon Spirit, Mallory. Think of what it represents.’

Her words reassured him and, tentatively, he edged out on to the precarious path. It felt like tightrope walking; he had to hold his arms out to keep his balance, not looking down, moving one foot in front of the other only when he was sure he was secure and balanced. Sophie followed in his footsteps.

When they’d gone about twenty feet, Mallory realised that the other two paths had disappeared. Theirs was the only path leading into the gloom ahead.

Mallory was soon sleeked with sweat, his concentration so intense that his head hurt. He didn’t say a word to Sophie for fear of distracting her, but every time he heard her foot skid slightly on the stone, his heart beat wildly.

He didn’t know how they carried on. Each step became a mountain to climb, each movement a mantra of whispered prayer. But finally they reached solid ground and collapsed on to the stone flags, hugging each other in relief.

When they had recovered, they found themselves confronted by two stone doors. An image of a dragon eating its own tail was carved in the stone lintel over the point where the doors met.

‘I think this is it,’ Sophie said, with barely restrained excitement. She stepped forward and cautiously placed the palm of her hand on the centre of the dragon circle.

With a fizz of blue sparks, the doors slid open with a deep rumble to reveal a row of iron railings, and within them a gate. Sophie pushed it gently. It swung open with a reverberating creak to allow them entrance to an inner sanctum. More incense smouldered in one corner and the torches on the walls burned more dimly, imbuing the chamber with a reverential air. Small stone platforms, each one big enough for a man to lie on, lined both walls, and at the far end a similar platform stood alone, raised up to waist-height. Intricate carvings of serpents lined its base.

‘Oh,’ Sophie said quietly.

‘What is it?’

‘This is where the knights should be sleeping, waiting to be awakened.’ She gestured at the low stone plinths. ‘And that larger one is where the king should be.’

‘I thought you said that was a metaphor.’

‘It is, but look, it’s obvious,’ Sophie replied, confused.

‘Nothing is obvious.’ As Mallory walked towards the stone dais at the end of the chamber, the torches in that area burned more brightly to reveal a space beyond.

‘If there’s no hero waiting to come back when England really needs him, what does that mean?’ Sophie said, oblivious to Mallory. ‘Has something happened to him? Is there no hope?’

‘Look at this.’ Mallory was supporting himself on the raised dais, one hand clutching his injured side. He was looking into the area beyond where a brazier burned with the cool blue flames of the earth energy. In the middle of the flames lay a stone, round and grey with no discernible markings.

‘Is that why we were brought here?’ Sophie said, disappointed. ‘It doesn’t make any sense.’

‘Never judge a book by its cover. See, I have a cliche for every occasion.’ Mallory steeled himself. Although he knew the blue flames didn’t burn like ordinary fire, it still took a leap of faith to plunge his hand into their depths. As he leaned in, a column of blue fire surged up to the ceiling high overhead. For the briefest instant, Mallory saw a face in that blazing pillar, but it was gone before he could register its features. But it left him with one piece of knowledge: the object in the fire was called the Wish Stone. Mallory retrieved it quickly and the column of fire instantly died away.

At the same moment, the Wish Stone came to life on his open palm. Crackling blue light sprang out of it, forming an image in the air of two men crouching next to a stone tomb with a woman standing nearby. The picture, which Mallory thought resembled a hologram, hung over the stone for a few seconds and then winked out.

‘What’s that all about?’ Mallory said.

‘No idea. But it’s got to be important.’ There was a note of doubt in Sophie’s voice.

‘I think that just about defines anti-climax. Night of the living dead outside. Throat nearly ripped out in here. Almost fall to my death down the crack of doom. The prize: a fucking rock.’

‘Let’s get out of here,’ Sophie said. ‘We can sort out what this means later.’

Mallory slipped the Wish Stone into his pocket. ‘I’m going to get my sword back now, and if that big mouser is sitting on it, I’m going to use this stone to-’

‘All right, so you’re a big man,’ Sophie said. ‘Let’s go.’

The day after briefing Hunter and his team, the General moved along the corridors of Brasenose with a renewed vigour. Ever since the Fall, it had all been about logistics — getting the supply lines in place, ensuring that the base was secure, developing policies and plans. Finally he felt as if they were in a position to take the first steps towards a campaign that would drive out the invaders.

He marched into Kirkham’s suite of laboratories and eventually found the scientist in a darkened room far away from the main area of activity, labouring over a model of a town laid out across a large map table, illuminated by a single light overhead.

‘So this is where you get away from it all to play with your toys,’ the General said sarcastically.

Kirkham was unruffled. ‘It’s a model.’

‘I can see that.’

‘A model of reality.’

The General masked his puzzlement in case it was construed as a mark of weakness and leaned over the table to get a better look. It was a facsimile of any small town — central shopping area, streets of suburban semis, rows of terraces, a few mansions and grand residences dotted here and there.

‘I created it for my next briefing to the Joint Board. The concepts are quite difficult to communicate to…’ He paused to find the right word.

‘The uneducated? Thick soldiers?’

‘No-’

‘Try it on me.’

Kirkham blinked through his thick glasses, clearly uneasy about going down that route.

‘Go on. Tell me about reality.’

Kirkham could see that the General had the bit between his teeth; there was no backing down. He began hesitantly. ‘As I said, these are difficult concepts. Understanding the nature of reality is key to the situation we now find ourselves in. I talked earlier about branes and String Theory, and their possible relationship with parallel universes — that’s one view. There are others. You’ll forgive me if I begin by delving into what seems to be mysticism-’

‘Just get on with it.’ The General continued to be engrossed by the model town.

‘Reality… material reality, such as you see around you, is regarded as an illusion in the Hindu religion,’ Kirkham began. ‘They have a word for it: maya, the veil of illusion. Ironically, many of the ancient spiritual philosophies are actually quite close to current scientific thinking.’ He peered at the General. ‘Do you understand that?’

‘Of course,’ the General said curtly. ‘“ All that we see or seem, is but a dream within a dream.” Go on.’

Kirkham relaxed a little. ‘Then let’s take things a step further. A hypothesis. What we perceive as reality is, in scientific terms, a network of quantum waves which have become phase-locked and act as a single entity — in the same way that a group of photons become phase-locked in a laser.’

‘Yes — random light particles frozen so that they appear to be one object. You’re saying that everything we see around us is not in its natural state. It’s just become locked in this form and we accept that as the norm. But it’s not.’

‘Exactly.’ Kirkham couldn’t contain his excitement at the General’s receptiveness. ‘Now imagine if this phase-locked system could be affected as a whole by a human mind concentrating on one small part of it, in the same way that all systems are affected by a change of one tiny aspect. That could be perceived as magic by those who do not understand the system that lies behind the illusion.’

‘So you’re saying that one mind could therefore alter the whole reality?’

‘In this hypothesis.’

The General picked up one of the houses from a suburb. ‘So where does the town fit in?’

Kirkham took the house from him and carefully replaced it. ‘All that I’ve said so far is background. This is a model of our phase-locked reality. Consider that every house is a universe, or a dimension. Some are mundane, others… ornate. In some, little happens that we would consider unusual — the father comes home from his day at the factory, his dinner is on the table. In others, the family has access to technology the previous father cannot begin to comprehend from his limited life experience. We know from our intelligence there are at least two adjoining dimensions-’

‘This one and the Otherworld.’ The General began to see the model in a new light as the ramifications of Kirkham’s hypothesis began to reveal themselves to him.

‘The place the Celts called T’ir n’a n’Og, exactly,’ Kirkham continued. ‘The two are apparently very different places. But consider this: what if there are other dimensions just like our own, so alike that you can barely tell the difference.’ He tapped a row of terraced houses. ‘The only differentiating factors being a picture here, an ornament there. You could go from one to another and not realise you were in a different place.’

‘Perhaps that’s what happens when you die.’

‘I think that would be delving too far into the realms of mysticism.’ Kirkham wandered around the table, looking at the town from different angles. ‘But who knows? Really, when you get to this level, who knows anything? We have our hypotheses, but no way to test them.’

The General examined some of the imposing mansions on the edge of town, one of which had the creepy appeal of the Addams Family home. Then he looked towards the edge of the table and the gloom that lay beyond, and shivered.

Kirkham, however, wasn’t finished. ‘What if someone decided to knock down his house and rebuild it in a different way, or add an extension, as we discussed earlier-’

‘One mind concentrating on a part of the phase-locked system, thereby altering the whole of it?’

Kirkham nodded encouragingly.

‘You know, sometimes I get the strangest feeling that the world wasn’t meant to be the way it is,’ the General mused. ‘It’s odd… unnerving. I have this idea that I was living another life, and then everything changed. Do you ever get that?’

Kirkham didn’t answer.

The General’s initial curiosity had been replaced by uneasiness at the overwhelming enormity of what was being shown to him. ‘This wasn’t the reason why I came,’ he said, abruptly changing the subject. ‘Have you heard anything about one of the enemy being brought in for interrogation?’

‘One of the gods?’

The General nodded. ‘Because if it’s true, I want you involved. If you can discover their true nature, it would help us a great deal. A great deal.’

‘I’ve not heard anything,’ Kirkham said.

‘Mister Reid isn’t always forthcoming until he’s sure he’s covered his back, front and both sides. Curse of the intelligence profession. Shits, all of them.’

‘I’ll make some enquiries.’ Kirkham pressed his glasses against the bridge of his nose, a nervous reaction.

The General turned towards the door, adding almost as an afterthought, ‘If you find anything out, report directly to me. I want this matter and my request kept strictly confidential.’

‘Understood. It won’t go any further.’

‘One last question.’ The General paused on the threshold and looked back at the tiny town. ‘You talk about reality being phase-locked. Is that a random occurrence? Or was it made that way?’

Kirkham stared at the General for a long moment, then said simply, ‘I can’t answer that.’

The General nodded thoughtfully, but as he slipped out, Kirkham glimpsed an unsettled look in the military man’s eyes.

Sophie helped Mallory out into the cool night air on the slopes of Cadbury Hill, his face drawn from the pain in his ribs. He leaned over to brush the hair from her ear and whispered, ‘I’m not going to be much use if those freaks are still out here. Can you do anything?’

Sophie’s face was ghostly in the moonlight breaking through the clouds. ‘I can try,’ she whispered. ‘There’s a way of making us hidden in plain sight. I don’t know if those things will be able to sniff us out anyway, but…’ She shrugged. ‘I just need some time to concentrate.’

The words had barely left her mouth when there was a disturbance in the trees just below the scorched grassy area her earlier spell had made. Mallory drew his sword, illuminating his face with the thin blue light emanating from the blade. But instead of one of the warriors on the bizarre horses, a man ventured out. He was wearing camouflaged combat trousers, incongruously and pointlessly matched with a red silk shirt.

‘I don’t know how you managed to disappear off the face of the earth, but you gave us a right old run-around,’ the man said. ‘Two minutes from picking you up and then — poof! — gone. Nice trick if you know how.’

‘Who are you?’ Sophie said. Mallory stepped in front of her, sword at the ready.

‘The name’s Hunter and I am… well, words don’t do me justice.’ He approached them confidently. ‘I’d put that down, mate,’ he said to Mallory. ‘You’ll have somebody’s eye out.’

‘Tell you what,’ Mallory said, ‘take one more step and I’ll have two eyes out.’

‘I don’t think so. All right, boys.’ Hunter made a come-hither gesture and six men emerged from the trees all around.

Mallory eyed the circling men. ‘Looters,’ he said, though that didn’t sound quite right.

‘Actually, we have the stamp of officialdom and the full weight of the Government behind us.’ Hunter nodded and the men drew their guns. ‘There’s no need for any nasty stuff. I’m sure we’ve all got the same interests at heart — to clear out all the monsters and freaks and get our world back. I’ve come with an invitation for you to help us-’

‘You know who we are?’ Mallory asked. Beside him, Sophie rested her chin on her chest and closed her eyes. Silently, her lips moved.

‘I know you’re a Brother and Sister of Dragons.’

Mallory was taken aback by Hunter’s words. It was only very recently that he’d learned of his destiny. How could this stranger possibly know, too?

‘Chief, she’s doing something,’ an acne-scarred man barked.

Sophie continued to mutter under her breath, her eyelids half-open, the whites gleaming in the dark.

‘You can stop that right now,’ Hunter said firmly. Mallory could see that Hunter knew exactly what Sophie was capable of doing.

Before Hunter could act, the acne-scarred man raised his gun and moved in swiftly. Mallory whirled, sword at the ready, but the pain from his ribs left him off-balance. ‘Don’t do anything stupid,’ he snapped.

‘Shut it!’ the soldier shouted.

A low whispering rolled out from the undergrowth. Spooked, Hunter’s team turned, guns cocked, scanning back and forth for the source.

‘Come on — we need to get out of here,’ Hunter said to Mallory. ‘Quickly.’

‘Tell him to drop his weapon.’ Mallory nodded at the acne man, who had moved in even closer to Sophie. Deep in her trance, she was oblivious to what was going on around her.

‘You’ve no need to be afraid of us,’ Hunter said. ‘We’re on the same side-’

He fell silent as one of the riders burst from the bushes in a trail of purple mist. Gunfire erupted from all sides, but neither the rider nor its mount appeared to be harmed.

‘Come on.’ Her trance broken, Sophie grabbed Mallory’s arm insistently.

‘You called it?’

‘Come on!’

Bones shattered with a sickening dry-wood sound as the reptilian horse smashed into one of the soldiers. The others continued to fire at it futilely, knowing no other way to deal with it. The horse-creature lowered its massive head, pulled its jaws wide sending saliva everywhere and then proceeded to rip and tear at the fallen man’s stomach. Blood and flesh rose up in a cloud.

In the confusion, Sophie and Mallory had managed to skid a little way down the scorched grassy slope before the acne man appeared to one side, his gun aimed at Sophie.

‘Stop!’ he shouted.

Sophie glanced back and saw that the soldier was shaking, as if gripped by some kind of internal battle. The eerie whispering was clearly affecting him deeply: his wavering self-control was echoed, despite his training, in the gradually worsening tremor running through his arms.

Hunter came running up. ‘Don’t shoot, you idiot! We need them!’

The snapping and snarling rose up in a frenzy as another man fell to the horse’s crushing jaws. The acne man glanced in horror at the beast and its rider, who was whirling a double-headed axe, then turned and saw Sophie pulling Mallory towards the trees. Finally succumbing to the all-pervading despair, his eyes glazed over in surrender and he fired just as Hunter slammed into him, knocking his aim awry.

The force of the bullet smashed Sophie over the edge of a hollow and she rolled into the trees, gone; no sound or movement followed.

Mallory had one second to call her name before something crashed into him and he plunged into unconsciousness.

He awoke with a sense of movement and a deafening whup-whup-whup sound all around. Cold wind blasted against him.

Mallory began to lever himself upright, the pain in his side now electric; he could barely breathe and was too dazed to think straight. A gun pointed into his face.

‘Don’t move,’ one of the soldiers said gruffly, but his white face gave away his fear at what he had just witnessed.

They were on a helicopter, rising slowly. The large side door was open, revealing a square of cloudy pre-dawn sky. Hunter crouched, framed against it, peering down at the receding hillside.

‘There’s a group of them. What the hell are they?’ he asked, concerned.

Three other soldiers sat further down the helicopter. The acne man was one of them, but he kept his head turned away from Mallory.

‘Where’s Sophie?’ Mallory said weakly, his memory still disjointed. But when he locked eyes with Hunter, the reality hit him with force.

‘I’m sorry,’ Hunter said, with surprising compassion.

‘She’s dead?’

Hunter glared at the acne man, who refused to meet his gaze. ‘He shot her. If the bullet didn’t kill her straight away, she’ll have lost too much blood by now for us to save her. We couldn’t find her and didn’t have time to search with those bastards on the loose.’ He looked out into the night, avoiding Mallory’s devastated gaze. ‘I am sorry,’ he added quietly. ‘No one was supposed to get hurt.’

Mallory laid his head down on the floor of the helicopter and closed his eyes.

‘Bloody hell, what’s this?’ Hunter reached a hand out of the doorway where the gusts buffeted it. White flakes streamed past. ‘Snow? In the middle of summer?’