Wolf in Shadow

CHAPTER SEVEN

Jacob Madden crouched on the hillside above the Hellborn camp and watched the men below gathering in line for the evening meal. There were almost two hundred men already in the camp, and over the last two days he had estimated that a further fifty were scattered over the surrounding countryside.

Griffin had asked him to study the discipline in the camp, and Madden had to accept that it was good. There were twenty-eight tents set in two rows on the banks of the river. A latrine trench had been dug downwind and earthworks had been thrown up around the camp to a height of around four feet, these were patrolled at night by six sentries working four-hour shifts. The horses were picketed in three lines north of the latrine trench, while the cooks' tents were set at the other end of the camp. Madden was impressed by the organization.

A skilled hunter himself, Madden had found no problems avoiding contact. His horse was well-hidden and the bearded farmer had never approached within sixty yards of the camp. His scouting had been conducted with patience and care.

But this morning six men had ridden into the camp, and from the moment of their arrival Madden had felt an increasing sense of disquiet. In appearance they seemed little different from the other Hellborn riders, dark armour emblazoned with a goat's head, black leather cloaks and high riding boots. But on their heads they wore dark helms which covered their faces, all but the eyes. For some reason that Madden could not pinpoint they had made his flesh crawl, and he was filled with an unreasonably burning desire to move to their tent and find out more about them.

With infinite patience Madden bellied down and dragged his long, lean frame into a tight circle of bushes to wait for nightfall. As he lay overlooking the camp, he worried at the problem of the riders. One of them had swung his head and seemed to be staring up at the hidden farmer.

Madden had frozen in place, allowing not a flicker of movement, yet he was convinced the man had seen him. Common sense — a commodity Madden possessed in quantity — told him he must have been virtually invisible, but still. .

He had waited for the inevitable pursuit, but nothing happened. The man could not have seen him. Yet the notion would not desert him.

He ignored the growing discomfort as the damp soil seeped into his clothing, and thought back to his farm near Allion. It had been a good site, and his wife Rachel had given birth to their first son there. But Brigands had driven them out, just as they had from his other four homes.

Jacob Madden was a tough man, but strength was not enough against the wandering bands of killers which moved across the lands like locusts. Two of his homes had been burnt out, and the third had been taken over by Daniel Cade and his men. Burning with shame, Madden had packed his belongings in an old wagon and headed north.

He would have taken to the hills for a guerrilla war, but he had Rachel and the boys to consider.

So he had run, and tried not to notice the disappointment reflected in the eyes of his sons.

Now he would run no more. Griffin had sold him on the idea of Avalon, a land without Brigands; a land rich and verdant, with soil so fertile the seeds would spring to life as they touched the ground. His boys were older now, almost ready to stand alone against the savage world, and Madden felt it was time to be a man again.

The moon rose, bathing the hillside with silver light. Madden looked to his left where a rabbit was sitting staring at him. He grinned and snapped his fingers, but the rabbit did not move.

Madden turned his attention back to the camp where the sentries were out now, patrolling the earthworks. He eased himself into a sitting position and stretched his back. The rabbit remained and Madden picked up a small stone and flicked it at the little creature. It jumped aside, blinked, saw him and scampered away into the bushes.

A rustling in the tree branches over his head caused him to look up. A brown owl was sitting on a branch above. No wonder the rabbit ran, thought Madden.

It was close to midnight and he eased himself from the bushes ready for the descent to the river camp. Suddenly a shimmering figure appeared before him. Madden leapt back. The figure became a small man dressed in white — his face round and kindly, his teeth almost too perfect.

Madden drew his pistol and cocked it. The figure pointed at Madden, looked at the camp, then shook its head.

'Who are you?' whispered the farmer. In response the figure pointed to the east of the camp; Madden followed his direction and saw a black-cloaked man creeping into the woods. The little old man then pointed west and Madden saw two other Hellborn warriors moving into the shadows.

They were surrounding him! He had been right all along — they had seen him.

The spectral figure vanished and Madden moved back and started to run towards the hollow where he had hidden his horse. He leapt boulders and fallen trees, panic rising with every step.

'Be calm!' said a voice, whispering in his mind. He almost fell, but righted himself and stopped by a thick oak tree, resting his hand on the bark. His breath came in great gulps. He could hear little above the beating of his heart and the roaring in his ears.

'Be calm,' said the voice once more. 'Panic will kill you.' He waited until his breathing steadied.

His hat had fallen from his head and he bent to retrieve it.

A shot spattered wood splinters from the oak and Madden dived to the ground and rolled into the bushes. He moved forward on his elbows to a safer position, hidden in the undergrowth. A second shot sliced his ear.

'Kill the owl,' whispered the voice.

Madden rolled to his back to see above him the brown owl perched on a tree branch. He pulled his pistol clear and aimed it and the bird leapt into the air. Madden blinked. The bird had known!

Another shot came close. Madden crawled to a tree trunk, anger rising in place of his panic and fear.

He had been pushed around and threatened for years by Brigands of every sort. Now they thought they had him — just another farmer to torture and kill. Madden moved round the tree, then ducked low and sprinted from cover. Two shots came from his left and he hit the ground, rolled and fired left and right of the gun flashes. A man screamed. Madden was up and moving, even as other guns opened up. A wicked blow hit his thigh and he went down. A black figure leapt from the undergrowth, but Madden shot him in the face and his attacker disappeared. Pushing himself to his feet, Madden dived into the undergrowth. Above him the owl silently swooped to a thick branch, but Madden had been waiting for it. His shot blew it apart and feathers drifted down to where he lay.

'Get to your horse,' whispered the voice. 'You have less than a minute.'

With a groan Madden levered himself upright. His thigh was bleeding badly, but the bone was unbroken. He limped to the hollow and pulled himself into the saddle. Ripping the reins loose he swung the horse and thundered from the hollow. Then a bullet took him low in the back and pain seared him like hot irons. Leaning forward over the saddle, he urged the horse into a full gallop towards the west.

His eyes drifted closed.

'Stay awake,' came the voice. To sleep is to die.'

He could not sit upright for the pain in his back, and could feel the blood drenching his back and leg. Doggedly he hung on until he crested the last hill, seeing the settlement spread out below him.

The horse galloped on and Madden passed into darkness.

Shannow and Batik stripped the corpses of ammunition and supplies, but when the Jerusalem Man made to transfer the Zealots' dried meat to his own saddlebags Batik stopped him.

'I do not think you would find it to your taste,' he said.

'Meat is meat.'

'Indeed, Shannow? Even if it is stripped from the bodies of young children?'

Shannow hurled the meat aside and swung on Batik. 'What kind of a society do you come from, — Batik? How could this be allowed?'

'It is meat from the sacrificial offerings. According to Holy Law the flesh, when absorbed by the pure Zealots, brings harmony to the departed spirit of the victim.'

'The Carns were at least more honest,' said Shannow. Taking his knife, he cut hair from the tails of the Hellborn horses and began twisting it into twine. Batik ignored him and moved to the outer circle of rocks, staring out over the plain.

He felt humbled by Shannow's outburst following the attack; he felt young and stupid. The Jerusalem Man was right; he had no experience of being hunted, and would be an easy prey to the Zealots. And yet if Ruth was right — and he believed she was — then to stay with Shannow meant death anyway. Foolish and arrogant he might have been, but Batik was not without intellect.. At present his chances of survival rested with Shannow; the real trick would be timing the moment of their parting to give him a chance at life. Perhaps if he observed the Jerusalem Man for long enough, some of his innate skill would rub off on the young Hellborn.

He scanned the plain for sign of movement, but there was nothing suspicious. No birds flew, no deer moved out on the grass. As dawn lightened the sky Shannow and Batik rode from the rocks, veering east along the mountain's foothills. After an hour they came to a curling pass cutting through the peaks and Shannow urged the gelding up over the scree and into the narrow channel.

Batik swung in the saddle to study the back trail. His eyes widened — just short of the far horizon twelve riders were galloping their horses.

'Shannow!'

'I know,' said the Jerusalem Man. Take the horses into the pass. I'll join you later.'

'What are you going to do?'

Without answering, Shannow slid from the saddle and clambered into the rocks high above the pass.

Batik rode on, leading Shannow's horse. The trail widened into a bowl-shaped valley, edged with forests of spruce and pine. Batik led the horses to a stream and dismounted; Shannow joined him almost an hour later.

'Let's move,' he said and the two men rode across the valley, scattering a herd of heavy-horned buffalo and crossing several small streams before Shannow called a halt. He glanced at the sun, then turned his horse to face the west. Batik joined him, saying nothing. It was obvious that Shannow was listening and concentrating. For some time nothing happened, then a gunshot split the silence. Two more followed. Shannow waited, his hand raised, three fingers extended.

Another shot. Shannow seemed tense. A fifth shot.

That's it,' said Shannow.

'What did you do?'

'I set up tripwires and wedged five Hellborn pistols into rocks overlooking the trail.'

Batik smiled. They'll rue the day they started hunting you, Shannow.'

'No, they'll just get more careful. They underestimated me. Now let's hope they overestimate my talents — it will give us more time.'

'I wonder if we hit any of them,' said Batik.

'Probably one. The other shots might have hit horses. But they'll proceed now with caution. We will ride through every narrow channel we can, whether it be between rocks or trees or bushes.

They will have to stop and check every one for possible ambush and they won't catch us for days.'

'Aren't you overlooking something?'

'Like what?'

'Like we are heading west, back into Hellborn country. They'll have patrols ahead of us.'

'You are learning, Batik. Keep at it.'

Towards dusk Batik spotted some buildings to the north and they swung their horses and cantered down a gentle slope towards them. They were of white stone and spread over three acres. Some were more than single-storey, with outside staircases winding up to crenellated marble towers.

Shannow eased his gun into his hand as they closed on the town. But there was no sign of life.

The streets were cobbled and the iron horseshoes clattered oh the stones.

The moon came out from behind dark clouds, bathing the scene in silver light, and suddenly the town took on a ghostly look. As the two men rode into a central square, Shannow drew rein alongside a statue of an armoured warrior wearing a plumed helmet; his left arm was missing, but in his right he held a short broad-bladed sword.

On the other side of the square was a broad avenue, lined with statues of young women in flowing robes, which led to a low palace with a high oval doorway.

There is no wood anywhere,' said Batik, riding up to the doorway and running his hands over the stone.

Both men dismounted and tethered their horses and Shannow stepped inside the palace. Statues ringed the central hall and moving to each in turn, he studied them. Some were regal women, others young men of lofty bearing. Still more were older men, heavy-bearded and wise. On the far wall, past a raised dais, was a mosaic in bright-coloured stones showing a king in a golden chariot followed by an army of plumed warriors bearing long spears and bows.

'I have never seen clothes like these,' said Batik. The warriors appear to have worn skirts of wood or leather, studded with bronze.'

They could be Israelites,' said Shannow. This might be one of the old cities. But why no wood?'

Batik wandered to another wall, then called Shannow to him. In an alcove, piled against a corner, were crushed goblets and plates of solid gold. Flowing script had been engraved on the goblets, but Shannow could not read it. Near a doorway he found a golden hilt, but with no dagger attached. He pressed his finger inside the hilt and withdrew it; the faintest red stained his skin.

'Rust,' said Shannow. 'No wood, no metal. Only stone.'

'I wonder why no one lives here,' said Batik. 'It wouldn't take much to restore this place.'

'Would you live here?' asked Shannow.

'Well… no. It is a little sinister.'

Shannow nodded. The bright moonlight shone through an upper window in a shaft of silver, illuminating a broad staircase. Climbing it, Shannow found himself in a round room open to the sky. The stars were bright and at the centre of the room, an equal distance apart, were four golden eagles, each flat on one side. Shannow lifted one and a golden screw fell from a small hole hi a wing.

'I think it was a bed ornament,' said Shannow.

The king's bedchamber,' said Batik. 'A little chilly.'

They returned to the main hall and Shannow noticed that Batik was sweating heavily. 'Are you all right?'

'No. My vision keeps blurring and I feel dizzy.'

'Sit down for a moment,' said Shannow. ‘I’ll get some water.'

Leaving Batik, he started to walk towards the horses but missed a step and staggered, his vision misting. Reaching out, he took the arm of a statue and held himself upright. When he looked up into the blank stone eyes, Shannow heard a roaring in his ears. Taking a deep breath he staggered to the doorway, nausea rising to choke him.

He fell heavily on the outer step. Bright sunlight bathed hun and he looked up. People were moving in the square, the men clad in bronze armour and leather kilts, the women in flowing robes of silk or cotton.

Flower-sellers thronged the streets and here and there children gathered to play on the shiny stones. Suddenly the sky darkened, clouds racing across the heavens. The sun flashed away towards the east and in the distance a colossal black wall moved towards the city. Shannow screamed, but no one heard him. The wall advanced, blotting out the sky to thunder across the city. Water filled Shannow's lungs and he clung to the door-posts, choking and dying. .

His eyes opened to the moon and the silent city. Shaking, he rolled to his knees, took the canteen of water from his horse and returned to Batik.

'Did you see it?' asked Batik, his face grey, his eyes haunted.

'The tidal wave?'

'Yes, this whole city was under the sea. That's why there was no wood or metal. And your giant fish — you were right; it was dumped here.'

'Yes.'

'What the Hell is this place, Shannow?'

'I don't know. Karitas said the world was destroyed by the sea. But as you said, where did the sea go? This city must have been under water for centuries for all the wood and metal to disappear.'

There is another thought, Shannow,' said Batik, sitting up. 'If all the world was destroyed by the sea, and yet this city is above the ocean, perhaps there have been two Armageddons?'

'I do not understand you.'

The Fall of the World, Shannow. Perhaps it happened twice?'

That could not be.'

'You told me yourself that Karitas talked about an Ark of Noah; you told me about a great flood which covered the earth. That was before Armageddon.'

Shannow turned away.' "The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be, and that which is done is that which shall be done, and there is no new thing under the sun."'

'What is that?'

The words of Solomon. And very soon after that he writes, "There is no remembrance of former things, neither shall there be any remembrance of things that are to come with those that shall come after."'

Batik chuckled and then laughed aloud, the sound echoing hi the dead palace.

'What is amusing you?'

'If I am right, Shannow, it means we are now sitting on what was once die floor of the ocean.'

'I still do not see what is amusing.'

'It is you. If what was sea is now land, therefore what was land is now sea. So, Shannow, you wUl need gills to find Jerusalem!'

'Only if you are right, Batik.'

True. I wonder what this city was. I mean, look at the statues; they must have been great men.

And now no one will ever know of their greatness.'

Shannow studied the closest statue in the moonlight. It was of an old man with a tightly curled white beard and a high domed forehead. His right hand was held across his chest, and it carried a scroll. In the left, he had what looked like a tablet of stone.

'I don't think,' said Shannow at last, 'that he would have minded about immortality. He has a look of contentment. Of wisdom.'

'I wonder who he was.'

'A lawmaker. A prophet. A king.' Shannow shrugged. 'Whatever, he must have been a great man -

his statue stands higher than all the others.'

'He was Paciades,' said a voice. Shannow rolled to his right and his pistol levelled at a tall figure standing in a doorway to the left. The man advanced into the hall, holding his hands out from his body. He was some six feet tall and his skin was black as ebony.

'I am sorry to startle you,' he said. 'I saw your horses.'

'What in Heaven's name are you?' asked Shannow, rising to his feet and keeping the gun trained on the man.

'I am a man.'

'But you are black. Are you of the Devil?'

'It is strange,' said the man without rancour, 'how the same prejudices can cling to the minds of men, no matter what the circumstances. No, Mr Shannow, I am not of the Devil.'

'How do you know my name?'

'Ruth contacted me and asked me to look out for you.'

'Are you armed?'

'No, not as you would understand it.'

'If you have come peacefully, I apologize,' said Shannow, 'but we are being hunted and I will take no risks. Batik, search him.' The Hellborn approached the man cautiously and ran his hands over the grey tunic and black leggings.

'No weapons,' he reported and Shannow sheathed his pistol.

‘I’ll check outside,' said Batik.

'If it's clear, gather some kindling for a fire,' asked Shannow, beckoning the stranger to sit. The black man stretched himself out and smiled.

'You are a careful man, Mr Shannow. I like to see that — it shows intelligence and that appears to be a rare commodity in this new world of ours.'

'Why would Ruth contact you?' asked Shannow, ignoring the statement.

'We have known each other for some years. We may disagree on points of theology, but in the main we seek the same ends.'

'Which are?'

The re-establishment of a just society — a civilization, Mr Shannow, where men and women can live together in harmony and love without fear of Brigands or Hellborn.'

'Is such a thing possible?'

'Of course not, but we must strive for it.'

'What is your name?'

'Samuel Archer.'

Batik returned with an armful of dried wood, complaining that he had had to ride from the city to find it. As the fire crackled to life, Shannow asked the black man about the statue.

'I have studied this city for about eighteen years,' said Archer. 'There are some remarkable writings inscribed on gold foil; it took four years of effort to translate. It appears that old man was Paciades, the uncle of one of the kings. He was an astronomer — a student of the stars — and through his work people knew exactly when to plant for the best harvests. He also discovered the instability of the earth, though he didn't understand the awesome significance for his world.'

'Did he live to see the end?'

'I have no idea. His death is not recorded anywhere that I have found.'

'When was the city destroyed?' asked Batik.

'About eight thousand years ago.'

Then for some seven and a half thousand years this was ocean?'

'True, Batik. The world is much changed.'

'What was this city?'

'My research shows it was called Balacris. It is one of supposedly thirty cities that made up the nation of Atlantis.'

Batik fell asleep long before midnight and Shannow and Archer walked together along the statue-lined avenues of Balacris.

'I often come here,' said Archer. There is a tremendous sense of peace to be found in a dead city.

And often the ghosts of previous times join me on my walks.'

He glanced at Shannow and grinned. 'Do you think me mad?'

Shannow shrugged. 'I have never seen a ghost, Mr Archer, but I have no reason to doubt their existence. Do you speak with them?'

'I tried when I first saw them, but they do not see me. I do not believe they are spirits at all; they are images, much as the one you and Batik saw this afternoon. This is a magic land, Mr Shannow. Come, I will show you.'

Archer led the way up a winding hill and down into a bowl-shaped hollow where great stones had been raised in a circle around a flat altar. The stones were black, and towered over twenty feet high. Each was six feet square and polished like ebony.

The sea smoothed them for thousands of years. Occasionally you can still see the hairline traces of carved inscriptions,' Archer told him, moving into the circle and stopping by the altar. 'Watch this,' he said, removing a Daniel Stone-the size of a thumbnail from his pocket. Immediately, all around them Shannow saw swirling figures, translucent and shining; women in silken shifts twirled and danced, while men in tunics of many colours crowded between the stones to watch them. 'And this,' said Archer, covering the Stone. The dancers vanished. He moved the Stone a fraction of an inch and removed his hand; three children appeared, sitting by the altar and playing with knuckle bones. They were oblivious to the visitors. Shannow knelt beside them and reached out but his hand passed through them and they disappeared.

Archer returned the Stone to his pocket. Interesting, isn't it?'

'Fascinating,' said Shannow. 'Do you have an explanation?'

'A theory. I have now transcribed some two hundred thousand words of the Rolynd language -

that is to say, Atlantean. They called themselves Rolynd — "the People of Heaven" would be a loose translation. I myself prefer "the People of Fable".' Archer sat down on the altar. 'Are you hungry, Mr Shannow?'

'A little.'

'If you could choose an impossible food, what would it be?'

'A rich honeycake. Why do you ask?'

'I ask because I am a showman.' Archer stood and moved out on to the grass by the altar, stooping to lift a fist-sized rock. He took the Daniel Stone from his pocket and touched it to the rock. Then he handed a honeycake to Shannow.

'Is it real?'

Taste it.'

There is trickery though, yes?'

Taste it, Mr Shannow.' Shannow bit into the cake and it was soft and honey-filled.

'How? Tell me how?'

Archer returned to the altar. The People of Fable, — they had a power source unlike any other. I don't know how they came upon it, or whether they created it, but the Stones were the secret of Atlantean culture and with them they could create anything the mind could conceive. When you were a child, Mr Shannow, did your mother tell you stories of magical swords, winged horses, sorcerers?'

'No, but I've heard them since.'

'Well, Atlantis is where all fables begin. I found an inventory at the palace which listed presents to the king on his one hundred and eighty-fifth birthday. Each of the gifts mentioned Sipstrassi -

Stones. Swords had Sipstrassi set in the handle, a crown with a central Stone for wisdom, armour with a Stone above the heart for invincibility. Their entire society was founded on magic: on Stones that healed, fed and strengthened. One hundred and eighty-five and he still wore armour!

Think of it, Shannow.'

'But they did not survive despite all their magic.'

'I am not sure about that either. But that's a story for another day. Let's get some sleep.'

'I am not tired. You go on. I need to think.'

'Of Jerusalem, Mr Shannow?'

'I see Ruth has indeed spoken of me.'

'Did you doubt me?'

'I still do, Mr Archer. But I am not a man of hasty judgement.'

'Because I am black?'

'I will admit that it makes me uneasy.'

'It is merely a pigment in the skin that separates us, Mr Shannow. But may I refer you to your own Bible and the song of Solomon . "I am black but comely, oye daughters of Jerusalem." He was writing of the Queen of Sheba, which was a country in Africa where my ancestors were undoubtedly born,'

‘I’ll walk back with you,' said Shannow.

At the top of the hill he turned and stared back at the ring of black stones, remembering the words of Karitas. Blood and death fed them. The altar stood stark at the centre of the circle like the pupil of a dark eye.

'Ruth spoke well of you,' said Archer and Shannow swung his gaze from the altar.

'She is a remarkable woman. She showed me my life, though I did not recognize it.'

'How so?'

'She conjured a library all around me, and gave me but a single hour to find the Truth. It was impossible, just as my life is impossible. The truth is all around me, but I don't know where to look and there is so little time to seek it.'

'Surely that is a discovery in itself,' said Archer. Tell me, why did you first decide to seek Jerusalem?'

'It is an act of faith, Mr Archer — no more, no less. No high-blown philosophical reasons. I live by the Bible and to do that a man must believe. Implicitly believe. Seeking Jerusalem is my way of dealing with doubt.'

'Chasing the Grail,' said Archer softly.

'You are the second man to mention this Grail. I hope you are not friends.'

'Who was the first?'

'Abaddon.'

Archer stopped walking and turned towards Shannow. 'You have met the Satanlord?'

'In a dream. He taunted me with Galahad.'

'Do not let it concern you, Mr Shannow. There are worse things to be than a knight in search of the truth. I would imagine Abaddon envies you.'

'There is little to envy.'

'If that were really true, I would not have sought you out — nor would Ruth have asked me to.'

'I could not see the buildings of Sanctuary.'

'Nor I,' said Archer ruefully. 'There is great power there. . awesome. Ruth can turn energy to matter — and without a Stone. I sometimes think she is on the verge of immortality.'

'How did she become so powerful?' asked Shannow.

'She claims, and I have no reason to doubt her, that the clue is in the Bible. Non-use of power makes you stronger.'

'In what way?'

'It's hard to explain, but it goes something like this: If a man strikes you on the right cheek, your desire is to strike back. Marshalling that desire and holding it in check makes you stronger.

Think of it in these terms: You have an empty jug. Each time you get angry, or feel violent or emotional, the jug gains water. If you vent your anger, the water disappears. The more you control your feelings, the more full the jug.

When the jug is full you have power — all the power you did not use when first you felt the need to strike back. Ruth is very old and has been practising this art for many years. Her jug is now like a lake.'

'But you do not quite believe it?' said Shannow.

'Yes and no. I think she has a strong point, but these are the Plague Lands, Mr Shannow, and much happens here that defies rational explanation. This area was once a dumping ground for chemical weapons, weapons so deadly they were sealed in drums and dropped from the decks of ships to harbour their venom on the bottom of the ocean. Added to this, during the Fall there was a great deal of radiation — like a plague, Mr Shannow — which killed whomever it touched. The land was polluted beyond anything you could imagine. It still is. Where we now sit, the radiation level is a hundred times greater than that which would have killed a strong man before the Fall; this in itself has caused mutations in people and animals. There are more ESPers per head of the population than ever there were in the old days. Far to the east there are tribes of people with webbed hands and feet. To the north there is a people who are covered in hair; their heads are long and wolf-like. There are even tales of people with wings, but these I have never seen.

'I think Ruth has discovered part of the truth, but her talents have been vastly enhanced by the Plague Lands.

'You mentioned a library. She probably created it just for you — out of thick air, reassembling molecules to the shape of that which she desired.'

Shannow sat silent for a moment, then he said, 'God has very little place in your thinking, Mr Archer.'

'I have no idea what God is. The Bible says he created everything and that includes the Devil. A big mistake! Then he created Man — a bigger mistake. I can't follow someone who makes errors on such a colossal scale.'

'Yet Ruth, with all her power and knowledge, believes,' said Shannow.

'Ruth is almost on the verge of creating a God,' responded Archer.

To me that is blasphemy.'

Then forgive me, Mr Shannow, and put it down to ignorance.'

'You are not an ignorant man, Mr Archer, and I do not think you are an evil one. Good night to you.'

Archer watched the Jerusalem Man walk back to the palace, then he sat back and let his eyes roam the star-filled sky. Ruth had told him that Shannow was a ha'unted man, and Archer felt the truth of her diagnosis.

Less of a Galahad than a Lancelot, thought Archer. A flawed knight in a flawed world, unstable and yet unyielding.

'Good night, Shannow,' whispered Archer. 'I find no evil in you either.'

Ruth's image flickered in front of him, forming into flesh as she sat beside him.

'Stones into cakes, indeed! You are incorrigible, Samuel.'

He grinned. 'Did you divert the Zealots?'

'Yes. They are riding west, with Shannow and Batik just in sight.'

'You were right, Ruth. He is a good man.'

'He is strong in the broken places,' said Ruth. 'I like him. How is Amaziga?'

'Well, but she nags me constantly.'

'You're a man who needs a strong wife. And how is life at the Ark?'

'You should visit and see for yourself.'

'No, I do not like Sarento… no, don't tell me again what a good administrator he is. You like him because he shares your fascination for the dead cities.'

Archer spread his hands. 'Admit it, you would like to see the home of the Guardians?'

'Perhaps. Will you take Shannow to Sarento?'

'Probably. Why is he important to you?'

'I can't say, Sam — not won't, can't. The Hellborn are moving, death is in the air and the Jerusalem Man sits in the eye of the hurricane.'

'You think he plans to kill Abaddon?'

'Yes.'

'Not a bad thing for the world, surely?' 'Perhaps, but I sense there are wolves in the shadows, Sam. Keep Shannow safe for me.' She smiled, touched his arm in farewell. .

And vanished.

The Hellborn invasion of the southlands began on the first day of Spring when a thousand riders swept into Rivervale, killing and burning. Ash Burry was captured in his farm and crucified on an oak tree. Hundreds of other families were slain, and refugees took to the hills where the Hellborn riders hunted them down.

And the army continued ever south.

Forty miles from Rivervale, in the foothills of the Yeager mountains, a small band of men gathered in a sheltered hollow, listening to the tale of a refugee who had lost all his family. The listeners were tough brutal men, long used to the ways of Brigandry, but they listened in growing horror to the stories of butchery, rape and naked blood-lust.

Their leader — a thin almost skeletal man — sat on a rock, his grey eyes unblinking, his face emotionless.

'You say that they have rifles that fire many times?'

'Yes, and pistols too,' replied the refugee, an aging fanner.

'What should we do, Daniel?' asked a youth with sandy hair.

'I need to think, Peck. They're doing us out of our trade, and that's not right — not by a long haul. I thought we was doing all right, what with the three new muskets and the five pistols Gambion brought back. But repeating rifles. .'

Peck pushed his hair from his eyes and scratched at a flea moving inside his stained buckskin shirt. 'We could get ourselves some of them guns, Daniel.'

'The boy's right,' put in Gambion, a huge misshapen bear of a man, heavily bearded and bald as a coot. He had been with Daniel Cade for seven years, and was a known man with knife or gun.

'We could hit them Hellborn damn hard, gather ourselves some weapons?'

'It may be true,' said Cade, 'but this problem is a little larger than just getting guns. We survive off the land, and we spend our Barta coin in towns that don't know us. These Hellborn are killing off the farmers and merchants and they're burning the towns. There will be nothing left for us.'

'We can't take on an army, Dan,' said Gambion. There ain't but seventy men among us.'

'You can count me in,' said the farmer. 'By God, you can count me in!'

Cade pushed himself to his feet. He was a tall man, and his left leg was permanently straight and heavily strapped at the knee with tight leather. He ran his hand through his thick black hair and then spat upon the grass.

'Gambion, take ten men and scour the countryside. Any survivors you come across, direct them to Yeager. If you find a group that don't know the mountains, escort them in.'

'Men and women?'

'Men, women, children — whatever.'

'Why, Daniel? There's not enough food for our own selves.'

Cade ignored him. 'Peck, you take a dozen men and round up any stray stock — horses, cattle, sheep, goats; there's bound to be plenty. Drive them back into the Sweetwater canyon and set a pen across the entrance. There's good grass there. And I don't want any of you tackling the Hellborn. First sign of the bastards and you run for it. Understand?'

Both men nodded and Gambion made to speak but Cade lifted his hand.

'No more questions. Move!'

Cade limped across the hollow to where Sebastian sat. He was a short, sallow-faced youth barely nineteen years old, but a scout more skilled than any Yeager mountain man.

'Take a good horse and get behind the Hellborn. They must have supplies coming in, ammunition and the like. Find me the route.'

Cade turned and twisted his knee. He bit back an angry oath and gritted his teeth against the blinding pain. Two years had passed since the incident, and there had not been a day during that time when the agony had been less than tolerable.

He could still recall with crystal clarity the morning when he, Gambion and five others rode into the market town of Allion to see a lone figure standing in the dusty main street.

'You are not wanted here, Cade,' the man had told him. Cade had blinked and leaned forward to study the speaker. He was tall, with shoulder-length greying hair and piercing eyes which looked right through a man.

'Jonathan? Is it you?'

'Hell, Daniel,' said Gambion, 'that's the Jerusalem

Man.'

'Jonnie?'

'I have nothing to say to you, Daniel,' said Shannow. 'Ride from here. Go to Hell, where you belong.'

'Do not judge me, little brother. You have no right.'

Before Shannow could reply a youngster riding with Cade — a foolish boy named Rabbon — pulled a flintlock from his belt and cocked it. Shannow shot him from the saddle and the main street became a bedlam of rearing horses and gunshots, screaming men and the cries of the dying. A stray shot smashed Cade's knee and Gambion, wounded in the arm, had grabbed the reins of Cade's horse and galloped him clear. Behind them lay five dead or dying men.

Three weeks later the good people of Allion had sent Shannow packing and Cade had returned with all his men. By Heaven, they had paid for his knee!

He had not seen his brother since that painful day, but one day they would meet again, and meanwhile Cade dreamed of the sweetness of revenge.

Lisa, his woman, moved alongside him. She was a thin, hollow-eyed farm girl Cade had taken two years before. Normally he discarded his women within weeks, but there was something about Lisa which compelled him to keep her, some inner harmony which brought peace to Cade's bitter heart. She would cock her head to one side and smile at him, then all his aggression and violence would fade and he would take her hand and they would sit together, secure in each other's company. The single undeniable fact of Cade's nomadic life was that Lisa-loved him. He didn't know why, and he cared less. The fact was enough.

'Why are you doing this, Daniel?' she asked, leading him to their cabin and sitting alongside him on'the leather-covered bench he had made the previous autumn.

'Doing what?' he hedged.

'Bringing refugees into Yeager?'

'You think I shouldn't?'

'No, I think it is a good thing to save lives. But I wondered why.'

'Why a Brigand wolf should lead the lambs into his den?'

'Yes.'

'You rule out the milk of human kindness?'

She kissed his cheek and tilted her head and smiled.

'I know you have a kind side, Daniel, but I also know you are a cunning man! What do you see in this for you?'

The Hellborn are destroying the land and they will leave no place for me. But if I oppose them alone, they will crush me. So, I need an army.'

'An army of lambs?' she asked, giggling.

'An army of lambs,' he conceded. 'But bear in mind that the reason the Brigands prosper is that the farmers can never link together to oppose us. There are brave men among them — skilful men, tough men. Together I can make them a force to be reckoned with.'

'But what do you get out of this?'

'If I lose. . nothing. If I win? I get the world, Lisa. I will be the saviour. Ever thought of being a queen?'

They'll never stand for it,' she said. 'As soon as the battle is over, they'll remember what you were and turn pn you.'

'We shall see, but from now on there will be a new Daniel Cade — a caring, kind, understanding leader of men. The Hellborn have given me the chance, and damned if I'm not grateful to them.'

'But they'll come after you with all their terrible weapons.'

‘True, little Lisa, but they have to come up the Franklin Pass and a child could hold that with a catapult.'

'Do you really think it will be that easy?'

'No, Lisa,' he said, suddenly serious. 'It will be the biggest gamble of my life. But then my men are always telling me they would follow me into Hell. Now's their chance to prove it!'

Shannow could not sleep. He lay back with his head on his saddle, his body warm in the blankets, but images flashed and swirled in his mind. Donna Taybard, Ruth and the library, Archer and his ghosts — but most of all, Abaddon.

It had been an easy threat to utter. But this was not some Brigand chief hiding in a mountain lair.

This was a general, a king: a man who could command an army of thousands.

Donna had asked him once how he had the nerve to face a group of men, and he had told her the simple truth. Take out the leader and nullify the followers. But could that hold true in this case?

Babylon was some six weeks' ride to the south-west. Walpurnacht, according to Batik, was less than a month away. He could not save Donna, as he could not save Curopet.

All he could exact was vengeance. And for what?

His eyes burned with weariness and he closed them, but still sleep would not come. He felt burdened by the size of the task ahead. At last he fell into a fitful sleep.

He dreamt he walked upon a green hill, beneath a warm sun, where he could hear the sea lapping on an unseen shore and the sound of horses running over grass. He sat beneath a spreading oak and closed his eyes.

'Welcome, stranger,' said a voice.

Shannow opened his eyes to see a tall man sitting cross-legged in front of him. He was bearded and wore his shoulder-length hair in three braids; his eyes were sky-blue, his face strong.

'Who are you?'

‘Pendarric. And you are Shannow the Questor.'

'How is it you know me?'

'Why should I not? I know all who dwell in my palace.'

The man was wearing a light blue tunic and a thick cloth belt braided with gold thread. By his side hung a short sword with an ornate hilt, and the pommel was a Daniel Stone the size of an apple.

'Are you a ghost?'

'An interesting point for discussion,' said Pendarric. 'I am as I always was, whereas you are not truly here. So who is the ghost?'

‘This is a dream — Archer and his games.'

'Perhaps.' The man drew his sword and thrust it into the ground. Take a long look, Shannow. Be sure you will recognize it again.'

'Why?'

'Call it a game. But when you see it, in whatever form, reach out for it and it will be there.'

'I am no swordsman.'

'No, but you have a heart. And you are Rolynd.'

'No, I am not one of your people.'

Pendarric smiled. The Rolynd is not a race, Shannow, it is a state of being. Your friend Archer has it wrong. A man cannot be born Rolynd, nor even become Rolynd. It is what he is, or what he is not.

'It is an apartness, a loneliness, a talent. You have not survived this far on skill alone, that within you guides you. You have a sense for danger which you call instinct, but it is far more. Trust it…

and remember the sword.'

'You think I can win?'

'No. What I am telling you is that you are not merely a lone warrior set against an impossible enemy. You are Rolynd and that is more important than winning.'

'Are you also Rolynd?'

'No, Shannow, though my father was. Had I been so lucky, my people would not have died so terribly. I killed them all. And that is why I brought you here. No one understands the power of the Sipstrassi. It can heal, it can kill. But in the main it enhances, transmutes dreams to reality.

You wish to heal the sick? The Sipstrassi will do it, until its power is no more. You wish to kill, and the Stone will do that too. But here there is a terrible power, for the Stone will feed on death and grow in strength. It will gnaw the soul of the wielder, enhancing his evil. In the end. .? My people could tell you about the end, Shannow. The world almost died. We ripped apart the fabric of time and buried our world under an ocean. Tragic as that was, there was one great virtue; the Sipstrassi was buried too. But now it has returned and the terror waits.'

'Are you saying the world will fall again?'

'Within a year.'

'How can you be sure?'

'Have you not.heard my words? I caused it once. I conquered the world; I built an empire across the centre of the lands, from Xechotl to Greece. I opened the gateways of the universe and gave your people the myths they carry to this day — dragons and trolls, demons and Gorgons. What man can imagine, the Sipstrassi will create. But there is a balance to Nature that must not be changed. I tore the thread that held tb > world.'

Shannow saw the anguish in Pendarric's face. 'I cannot stop the spread of evil. I can only kill Abaddon. He will be replaced and I cannot change the fate of the world.'

'Remember the sword, Shannow.'

The sun sank, and darkness covered Shannow like a

blanket. He opened his eyes and was once more within the ruined palace. Batik was preparing a fire. 'You look well rested,' said the Hellborn.

Shannow rubbed his eyes and threw aside his blankets. 'I think I'll scout for sign of the Zealots.'

'Archer says they headed west.'

'I don't give a damn what Archer says!'

'You want company?'

'No.' Shannow tugged on his boots, then hefted his saddle to his shoulder and left the palace.

Saddling the gelding, he rode from the city and for three hours scanned the lands bordering the mountains, but there was no trace of the hunters. Confused and uncertain, he returned to the city.

Batik had killed two rabbits, and was roasting them on a spit when Shannow entered the palace.

Archer was asleep by the far wall.

'Find anything?'

'No.'

Archer stirred and sat up. 'Welcome' back, Mr Shannow.'

Tell me of Pendarric,' said the Jerusalem Man and Archer's eyes widened.

'You are a man full of surprises. How did you come by the name?'

'What does it matter? Tell me.'

'He was the last recorded King- or at least, the last I have found. It seems he was a warlord. He extended the Atlantean empire to the edges of South America in the west and up to England in the north; heaven knows how far south he went. Is there a reason for these questions?'

'I am becoming interested in history,' said Shannow, joining Batik at the fire. The Hellborn sliced some meat from the cindering carcass and placed it on a half-crushed gold plate.

'There you go, Shannow. Now you can eat like a king.'

Archer moved over and sat beside Shannow. Tell me, please, how did you learn of Pendarric?'

'I dreamt the name, and woke up with it on my mind.'

That is a shame; he is my last great mystery. Ruth considers me obsessed.'

Outside the palace the sky darkened and thunder rumbled. The winds picked up and soon lashing rain scoured the dead city.

'Hardly worth travelling today,' observed Batik.

Shannow nodded and turned to Archer. Tell me more about the Sipstrassi.'

There is very little of certainty. The name means "Stone from the sky" and the Rolynd took it to be a gift from God. I've discussed this with my leader, Sarento. He believes it could have been a meteor.'

'Meteor? What's he talking about, Shannow?' asked Batik.

Shannow shrugged. 'Archer has been studying the Stones, the ones you call Satanseeds. And I've never heard of a meteor either.'

Tut simply,' said Archer, 'it is a giant rock spinning in space, among the stars if you like. For whatever reason, it crashed into the earth. Now such a collision would cause an immense explosion, and the Roiynd legend says that the sky was dark as night for three days, and there was no sun or moon. Sarento suggests that the impact would have hurled thousands of tons of dust up into the atmosphere, blocking the sun. The meteor itself would have burst into millions of fragments, and these are the Sipstrassi.

'Apart from obvious myths, there is no valid record of the first use of the Stones. Even now, after much research, we understand little about them. With each use their power fades by a fraction, until at last they are merely small rocks. The black veins" within the Stones swell, obliterating the gold; when the Stone becomes black, it is useless.' 'Unless you feed it blood,' put in Shannow.

'I'm not sure that's true, Mr Shannow. Blood-fed Stones become dull red and cannot be used for healing, or the creation of food. Sarento and I carried out experiments using small animals -

rabbits, rats and the like. The Stones retain power, but they are altered. My own findings show that Blood Stones have a detrimental effect upon their users. Take the Hellborn, for example; their ruthlessness grows and their lust for blood cannot be sated. Tell me, Batik, when you lost your Stone?' 'How do you know I lost it?'

'Carrying a Satanseed, you would never have been allowed into Sanctuary. So, when you lost the Stone, how did you feel?'

'Angry, frightened. I could not sleep for almost a week.'

'How often did you feed the Stone?'

'Every month, with my own blood.'

'And were I to offer you a Stone now, would you take it?'

'I… yes.'

'And yet you hesitated.'

'I seem to feel more alive without one. But then again, the power. .'

'Yes, the power. In another year, Batik, if you live that long, you will not hesitate. And that, Mr Shannow, is why I am fascinated by Pendarric. His laws were just in the early years, but he it was who discovered the obscene power of the Blood Stones. And within five years he was a merciless tyrant. But as yet I can find no end to his story. Did he succumb totally, or did he prevail? Or did the seas wash away all his deeds?'

Shannow was about to answer when he froze. An edge of fear touched him. 'Get away from the fire,' he hissed.

Batik was already moving, but Archer remained. 'What. .?'

The door burst open and two Zealots leapt inside, pistols blazing. Shannow dived to his right and rolled, shells shrieking around him.

Archer disappeared in a plume of red smoke. Another Zealot opened fire from the upper balcony and the shell exploded shards of mosaic from the floor by Shannow's head. His own pistol came up and fired and the Zealot spun from sight.

Batik wounded the nearest Zealot and pinned down the other behind a white statue. Shannow rolled to his back in an alcove and levelled both pistols at the door to the rear.

The door exploded inwards and three men raced into sight, only to be cut down in the rolling thunder of Shannow's guns. The one remaining Zealot made a run for the door, but was pitched from his feet as Batik's shell smashed a hole in his temple.

Batik reloaded his pistol and crept through the shadows towards the man he had wounded.

'Down!' yelled Shannow and Batik dived to the floor as the Zealot's pistol levelled. The Jerusalem Man fired twice and the would-be assassin slumped back. Shannow reloaded his pistols and waited, but only silence surrounded them.

'How the Devil do you do that, Shannow?' asked Batik, moving across the mosaic floor. 'I heard nothing.'

'I used to think it was instinct but now I am not sure. Where is Archer?'

'Here,' said the black man. He was sitting by the fire, staring at a small black pebble in his palm.

'All used up. Shame! I was rather fond of that little Stone.'

'They were supposed to be far from here,' snapped Batik.

'Put not your faith in magic, boy,' Shannow told him, smiling. Together the two men searched the bodies, gathering ammunition while Archer added wood to the blaze. 'I don't think we should stay much longer,' said Shannow. 'I hate to sit here like a target.'

‘I’ll take you to the Ark,' said Archer. 'You'll be safe there.'

'I need to be heading south-west. To Babylon.'

To kill the Satanlord?'

'Yes.'

'I don't think that's what Ruth has in mind for you.'

'Archer, it doesh't matter what she has in mind; I am not her servant. And despite her beliefs, surely she can see that the world would be a better place without him?'

'Perhaps. But then, in the case of Abaddon, there is a link between them that is stronger than blood.'

'What link?'

'Ruth is Abaddon's wife.'