Wolf in Shadow

CHAPTER TEN

Shannow stood outside the store with his supply sack over his shoulder, gazing up at the white marble fortress. There were six cylindrical towers, two of them flanking the high arched gate.

There appeared to be no sentries. The storekeeper, Baker, had locked the door and wandered away into the shadows and Shannow stood alone, pondering his course of action.

Somewhere in or below that vast fortress Batik and Archer were prisoners. Yet was it any concern of his? What did he owe them? Would either of them come riding to his rescue? More to the point, could he rescue them?

Ridder had twenty men and Shannow did not know their dispositions or the layout inside the fortress. Riding inside would be a futile gesture achieving nothing. He returned to his horse and mounted, riding out into the main street and up towards the black-shadowed gateway.

The white towers loomed over him and he had the feeling that he was riding into a massive tomb, never to see the sun rise again. A man stepped into his path; he was carrying an old rifle.

'What's your business?' he asked.

'I've come to see Ridder.'

'He expecting you?'

'Can you think of another reason I should be here at this time of night?'

The man shrugged. 'I'm just told to watch for runaway Wolvers — nobody tells me anything else.

Still, it's better than the mine, by God.'

Shannow nodded and touched his heels to the horse, riding on as if he knew where he was going.

The gate arch led to a cobbled courtyard; straight ahead was a wide set of marble steps leading to a double door of oak, while to the right lay a narrow alleyway. Shannow chose the alley and soon found himself in a second yard housing a row of stables. A young lad moved out of the shadows scratching his head and Shannow dismounted and handed him the reins.

'Don't unsaddle him. I'm leaving shortly.'

'All right,' said the boy, yawning.

Shannow slipped him a silver coin. 'Give him some oats and a rub-down.'

'I will,' promised the lad, the brightness of the silver dispelling all thoughts of sleep.

'Where will I find Meneer Ridder?'

'In his rooms, this time of night.'

'How do I get there?'

'You new?'

'Yes.'

'Go back out into the courtyard, past the steps, and you'll see a staircase on the outside of the wall. Climb that, past the first two doors and go in through the third. The sentry there will take you the rest of the way.'

Thank you.'

Shannow left the boy and returned to the main courtyard, waving to the sentry as he passed. He found the spiral stair and climbed to the third storey, pausing outside the timber door. Then he removed his coat and folded it across his arm before opening the door. Inside was a corridor hung with rugs and lit by oil-lamps. Stepping into the light, Shannow forced a smile for the sentry who was sitting with his feet on a small marble statue of a snarling dog. The man swung clear his legs and stood.

'What do you want?' he whispered. 'You ain't my relief.'

'True,' said Shannow, moving casually towards him. The coat slipped from his arm to reveal the black muzzle of the Hellborn pistol, he cocked it and the noise seemed to echo in the corridor like cracking bones. The man's eyes widened as Shannow moved closer, pushing the muzzle up under his chin.

'Which room is Ridder's?' he whispered.

The sentry pointed over Shannow's shoulder.

‘Tell me,' said Shannow, without following the man's shaking finger.

‘Two doors down on the left.'

'And where are the prisoners who were brought in today?'

'I've no idea, I've only just come on. I've been asleep all day.'

'Would they be kept in the mine?'

'Probably.'

'How do I get there?'

'Jesus, man, I couldn't tell you that. There's a score of staircases and corridors and a pulley lift.

You could lose yourself in this place.'

'What's through the door behind you?'

'It's a store-room.'

'Be so kind as to open it.'

'Don't kill me — I've a wife. . children.'

'Get inside.' The man turned and opened the door; Shannow followed him in and struck him savagely on the back of the neck and the sentry fell forward without a sound. Shannow searched the room for cord but found none, so he removed the man's belt and tied his hands behind his back. Then he gagged him with a linen kerchief which he stuffed into his mouth, binding it with a piece of torn curtain.

Stepping out into the corridor, he moved silently to Ridder's room, cursing softly when he saw a light showing under the door. He opened it and stepped inside, finding himself facing a small altar before which knelt a slim man with a shock of white hair. The man turned. He was around fifty years old, with round dark eyes and a hatchet face which bore no trace of humour.

'Who in God's name are you, sir?' exclaimed Ridder, surging to his feet, his thin face reddening.

'You can ask him yourself,' said Shannow, levelling the pistol.

All colour fled from Ridder's face. 'You can't mean to kill me?'

'Just so, Pastor.'

'But why?'

'On a whim,' snarled Shannow. 'I have no time for Brigands.'

'Nor I. I am a man of God.'

'I think not.' Shannow moved forward swiftly and, with his left hand, took hold of the lapels of Ridder's black jacket, pulling the man to him. 'Open your mouth.'

The terrified man did so and Shannow slid the muzzle of the pistol between his teeth.

'Now listen to me, Pastor, and note every word. You are going to take me to the two men you brought in here today and then we are going to leave together, all four of us. It is your only chance for life — you understand?'

Ridder nodded.

'Now, in case you think that once we are away from here your men will help you, bear this in mind: I am not a man who is afraid to die — and I will take you on the journey to Hell with me.'

Shannow withdrew the pistol and sheathed it. 'Wipe the sweat from your face, Pastor, and let us go.'

Together the two men walked into the corridor and down several flights of stairs. Shannow was soon lost within the maze of the building as they passed one shadow-haunted corridor after another. The air was musty and several times they passed sentries who stood to attention as Ridder went by. At last they emerged into a dimly lit hall where six men sat at a table dicing for copper coins. All were armed with handguns and knives.

'Prepare the lift,' said Ridder and the men moved swiftly to a series of pulleys and ropes beside an open shaft. A burly man with huge forearms cranked an iron handle and after a few seconds a large box rose into view. Ridder stepped inside and Shannow followed; within the box was a handbell on a rope. With a sickening lurch the box descended into darkness; Shannow blinked sweat from his eyes as the lift continued its descent.

After what seemed a lifetime, they reached another level and Ridder rang the handbell. The lift stopped and the two men emerged into a dimly lit tunnel filled with the stench of human excrement.

Shannow gagged and swallowed hard. Ridder stood gesturing to a series of bolted doors.

'I don't know which one they are in. But they'll be here somewhere.'

'Open every door.'

'Are you mad? We'll be torn limb from limb.'

'How many people are down here?'

'About fifty people. And maybe sixty Wolvers.'

Shannow's jaw tightened, for there were only six doors. 'You keep twenty people locked up in each of these? And you call yourself a man of God?' Shannow's rage exploded and he struck Ridder on the side of the head, hurtling the man from his feet. 'Get up and open the doors — every God-cursed one of them!'

Ridder crawled to the first, then turned. 'You don't understand. This whole community needs the mine. They're my responsibility — caring for my flock. I wouldn't have used people if I hadn't been forced to. I used Wolvers, but the lung fever killed scores of them.'

'Open the door, Pastor. Let's see your flock.'

Ridder pushed the bolt clear and swung the door open. Nothing moved in the darkness within.

'Now the others.'

‘For God's sake. .'

'You talk of God down here?' shouted Shannow. A dark shape moved into the half light and he stepped back in shock. The creature was maybe five feet in height and covered with fur; its face was long, caricaturing a wolf or dog, but its eyes were human. It was naked and covered in sores.

More creatures came into sight, ignoring the two men. They limped to a chest by the far wall and stood apathetically, staring at nothing.

'What's in the chest?' asked Shannow.

'Their tools. They think it's work-time.'

'All the doors, Ridder!' The white-haired pastor stumbled from one dungeon to the next. From the last but one room the bloodied face of Batik could be seen above the smaller Wolvers.

'Shannow?'

'Over here, man. Quickly!'

Batik pushed his way through the milling slaves and Shannow handed him his percussion pistol.

'Stay down here with that creature,' he said, pointing at Ridder. 'I'll send the lift back. Try to get all of them to understand that they're free.'

‘They'll only be rounded up again — let's get out while we can.'

'Do as I say, Batik, or I'll leave you here. Where's Archer?'

'Unconscious. They beat him badly and we'll have to carry him out.'

'Get something arranged,' said Shannow, stepping into the lift.

'Easy for you to say,' snapped Batik. ‘I’ll just stay down here with the wolf beasts and arrange a stretcher!'

'Fine,' said Shannow, ringing the handbell. The lift lurched upwards and once more the journey seemed interminable, but finally he came into the light where the six men laboured at the winch and stepped out.

'Where's Meneer Ridder?' asked the burly man with the huge arms.

'He'll be along,' said Shannow, producing his pistol. 'Lower the lift.'

'What the Hell is this?'

'This is death, my friend, unless you do exactly as you are told. Lower the lift.'

'You think you can take us all?'

Shannow's gun exploded and a man was smashed back into the far wall, a bullet through his heart.

'You think I can't?' he hissed.

The burly man turned the winch as if his life depended on it…

Which it did.

Within an hour most of the slaves had been lifted to the next level, but as Batik pointed out several of the Wolvers refused to leave, sitting silently staring at the tool-chest. Batik was not even sure they had understood his urgings.

Shannow went below and saw them, crouched in a half-circle around the chest. It was not locked and he opened it; inside were a dozen pick-handles and a stack of blades. He handed them to the waiting Wolvers, who stood and moved into a line facing the black tunnel that led to the mine.

Shannow went to the hunched figure at the front of the line and gently took him by the shoulders, turning him to face the lift. When the Wolver moved obediently towards the shaft, the others followed.

Shannow rang the handbell and waited below as the box moved out of sight. Then he checked the six dungeons. In one he found seven bodies, small and emaciated; in another, two corpses had begun to rot and the stench was almost overwhelming. He forced himself to check the other rooms, and in the last he found Ridder crouching against the wall.

"It's not my fault,' said Ridder, staring down at the body of a child of around eleven.

'How long is it since you visited these cells?'

'Not for a year. It's not my fault. The mine had to work — you see that, don't you? Hundreds of people rely on it.'

'Get up, Pastor. It's time to go.'

'No, you can't take them away. People will see them and they'll blame me. They won't understand.'

'Stay here, then,' said Shannow and he left the man squatting in a corner and moved back into the tunnel. Batik had sent down the lift and he stepped inside and rang the bell.

On the upper level, Batik had disarmed the guards and had laid Archer's unconscious body across the table the men had used for their dice-game. Shannow examined the black man's swollen features; he had been beaten badly.

'Who did this?' he asked Batik.

'The man Riggs and a half-dozen others. I tried to help him, but he wouldn't help himself; he just stood there and took it. It seemed to make them more angry and when he fell, they started kicking him.'

'Why did they do it?'

'He simply told them he wouldn't work for them — that he would sooner just starve to death.'

Shannow moved to the guards. 'You,' he said, pointing to the burly man, 'lead us out of here. The rest of you can help carry my friend.'

'Are you going to let them live?' asked a man, pushing himself through the milling Wolvers.

Shannow turned to see a wasted scarecrow of a figure, with a matted blond beard streaked with filth. He was naked but for a stained leather loin-cloth, and his upper body was a mass of sores.

'We need them, my friend,' said Shannow softly. 'Hold your anger.'

'My son is down there — and my wife. They died in that black hole.' -

'But we're not free yet,' said Shannow. 'Trust me.'

He took the man by the arm and led him to Batik, collecting a double-barrelled flintlock pistol that the Hellborn had taken from one of the guards and pressing it into the man's hand.

'We may have to fight our way out. Take your revenge then.'

Shannow looked around the room and saw there were close to ninety people packing the chamber. He signalled the guards to lift Archer and then led the way into the tunnel beyond.

Batik was at the rear. Shannow cocked his pistol and walked behind the guard he had chosen to lead. Slowly the column of slaves moved through the bowels of the castle, the air freshening as they climbed towards the light. Finally they came into a high-walled corridor where far above them the dawn light shone in majestic shafts through arched windows. A chittering noise broke from the Wolvers, who raised their skinny arms, hands stretching towards the golden glow.

Ahead was a double door of studded oak and the guard began to move more swiftly.

'Stop!' said Shannow, but the man merely dived for the floor and the doors began to open.

'Down!' bellowed Shannow, dropping to his knees, his pistol coming up as the muzzles of several rifles appeared in the open doorway. Shannow fired, and the first rifleman pitched from sight.

The corridor was filled with deafening explosions. Shells whistled past Shannow and his own gun boomed twice more, then there was silence. He flicked open the cylinder guard and reloaded his pistol, then ran forward, hugging the wall. A rifleman stepped into sight and Shannow put two shots in his chest.

Behind Shannow, the guard who had been leading them reached into his boot and produced a long-bladed knife. He rose silently 'and launched himself at the Jerusalem Man, but a shot rang out and he staggered. Shannow twisted and fired and the man slumped to the floor.

Batik sprinted along the other side of the corridor.

'Nice pistol,' he said. 'Pulls a little to the left.'

Shannow nodded and pointed to the right of the doorway and Batik sighed and cocked his pistol.

Moving forward at a run, he dived through the doorway and rolled on his shoulder. Behind the door a crouching rifleman swung his weapon, but Batik shot him in the head before he could bring the barrel to bear. Shells ricocheted off the marble floor, shrieking past Batik's head. He glanced up and saw he was in a huge hall edged by a wide inner balcony where other marksmen were kneeling, covering the door. He scrambled to his feet and hurled himself back into the corridor.

'Any other ideas?' he asked Shannow.

'Not at the moment.'

'That's just as well!'

Behind them four of the Wolvers were down and dying, the others crouching around them keening softly.

'Can you climb?' asked Shannow. Batik glanced up at the high windows.

‘I’ll break my neck.'

'All right, we'll just sit here and wait for a miracle.'

'I thought your God was good at those.'

'He helps those who help themselves,' said Shannow dryly.

Batik exchanged pistols with Shannow and pushed the fully loaded Hellborn gun into his belt.

The wall below the window was constructed of solid marble blocks about two feet square; between each block was a crack which allowed a tentative grip. Batik placed his foot on the first block and began to climb. He was a powerful man, but before he had climbed more than fifteen feet his fingers were aching with the effort; at thirty feet, he began to curse Shannow. At forty feet he slipped. His feet scrabbled for purchase and all of his weight hung on the three fingers of his right hand. Sweat dripped into his eyes and he fought down panic, moving his foot slowly into position to take his weight. His arms began to tremble, but he took a deep breath and pushed on, hooking his arm over the ledge of the arched window. Light blinded him and he blinked rapidly; he was overlooking the main courtyard and could see men running from the walls to the steps below, leading into the hall.

Swiftly he straddled the ledge and leaned out. As he had feared, there was no easy way to the windows above the hall balcony, and now the drop was even worse. With a whispered curse he lowered himself to the first foothold and started to traverse the outer wall. He had moved some ten feet when a musket ball hit the stone beside his head and screamed off above him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a man on the gate turret hastily reloading his weapon.

Batik moved on. How long would it take to reload? Thirty seconds? A minute? His heart was pounding furiously as he reached the window and clamped his hand on the secure ledge. He risked another glance and saw the man aiming the rifle. Batik swung out, hanging by his right arm as the shot hit the ledge, chipping stone fragments which stung his hand. He hauled himself over the ledge and tumbled on to the balcony. Two men were kneeling there watching the doorway below, and they both turned as Batik fell. The Hellborn threw himself at them, knocking aside a musket barrel. The weapon fired. Batik cracked his fist against the man's chin and kicked out at the second rifleman, catching him in the chest and knocking him flat. The first man drew a knife and leapt forward; Batik blocked the man's knife-arm with a chopping blow, grabbed his hair and, with a tremendous surge of power, hurled him over the balcony wall. The man's scream was cut off as he hit the marble floor.

Batik pulled his pistol clear and swung on the second man, who was sitting motionless with his hands above his head. He was a youngster, maybe sixteen, with wide blue eyes and an open face too pretty to be called handsome.

Batik shot him between the eyes.

Across the hallway other riflemen had seen the action and opened fire. Batik dived to the floor and scrambled towards a stone pillar at one corner of the hall. From this position he had two fields of fire and could also see the stairwell which led to the balcony. He glanced at the riflemen opposite; there were three of them, each armed with muskets.

'Shannow!' he called. There's only three. You want me to kill them?'

At the other end of the hall Shannow grinned. 'Give them a chance to surrender,' he shouted.

Batik waited for several seconds. They haven't surrendered,' he said.

'Wait!' came a cry from the balcony. 'We don't want any more killing.'

Throw the muskets over the edge,' called Batik and three weapons clattered to the stone. 'And any pistols.' More weapons crashed to the floor. 'Now stand up where we can see you.'

The men did so. Batik would have killed them, but he only had five shots left and knew there were more enemies in the courtyard below. 'Bring them out, Shannow,' he yelled and then ran for the stairs, taking them two at a time and emerging into the shadowed doorway of the main entrance. Outside, several men were crouching behind hastily built barricades constructed of water-barrels and grain sacks.

'What now, general?' asked Batik as Shannow moved alongside him in the shadows.

'Now we talk,' said Shannow and moved forward. 'Hold your fire,' he called, descending the steps and moving slowly towards the crouching riflemen.

That is far enough,' called a voice.

Shannow stopped. 'Inside there are seven dead men — some of them were probably friends of yours. Eight others surrendered and tonight they will be with their families enjoying supper. You decide what you want to do. Batik! Bring them out.'

The Jerusalem Man stood calmly before the-riflemen as the first of the Wolvers stumbled into the daylight. One by one the guards put down their rifles and stood. Batik led the former slaves through the gates and out into the main street of the town, where the Wolvers huddled together behind the black-garbed Hellborn.

Back in the courtyard, a terrible scream tore through the air as the skeletal, bearded widower ran into the open clutching the flintlock pistol. He looked at Shannow and the guards and then ran out into the street behind the Wolvers, stopping only when he saw the crowds lining the buildings.

He screamed again and fell to his knees, staring down at his filthy body and the pus-filled sores on his skin.

His wild eyes raked the crowd. 'You took it all!' he shouted, lifting the pistol under his chin and pulling the trigger. Blood gushed from his throat and he toppled forward.

Shannow rode from the castle, leading two horses. He paused by the body and then looked at the silent crowd. There were no words to convey his contempt and he rode on. The guards had carried Archer to the porch by the store; the black man was coming round, but he could not stand.

Take him inside somewhere,' ordered Shannow. 'Find him a bed.'

'Bring him to my place,' said Flora. ‘I’ll see to him.'

Shannow nodded to the woman. The Wolvers were sitting in the centre of the street, some of them still holding their pick-axes. Shannow dismounted and moved to Batik. 'Get some food from the store for them. Clothes, suppplies. . Jesus! I don't know. Get them anything they need.'

The storekeeper, Baker, walked out on to the street.

'Who is going to run the mine?' he asked.

Shannow hit him and the man fell to the dust.

‘There was no need for that,' whimpered Baker.

Shannow took a deep breath. 'You are correct, Meneer Baker, and I cannot begin to explain it.'

He left the man and walked to the Wolvers, moving in to kneel amongst them.

'Can any of you understand me?' he asked. They looked at him, but did not speak; their faces were cowed, their eyes dull. Flora approached, bringing with her the young boy who had stabled Shannow's horse.

‘They do understand you,' she said. 'Robin here has lived with them.'

'We are going to get you some food,' Shannow told them. Then you are free to return to the plains, or the mountains, or wherever you call home.'

'Ree?' said a small dark figure to the right, his head tilting, his eyes fixed on Shannow's. The voice was piping and high, almost musical.

'Yes. Free.'

'Ree!' The creature blinked and touched one of its comrades on the shoulder. Shannow saw it was a female. It placed its arms around her shoulders and their faces touched. 'Ree,' the Wolver whispered.

'Archer wants to see you,' said Flora. Shannow stood and followed her through the eating-house and up a flight of rickety wooden steps to a bedroom above the kitchen.

Archer was dozing when Shannow entered, but he awoke when the Jerusalem Man sat on the bed beside him.

'Nicely done, Shannow,' he whispered.

'I was lucky,' said Shannow. 'How are you feeling?'

'Strange. Light-headed, but there's no pain. I'm so glad to see you, Shannow. When you went over that ledge I had a sinking feeling in my heart.' The black man leaned back and closed his swollen eyes; his face was badly cut and gashed and his words were slurring badly.

'Rest now,' advised Shannow, squeezing his shoulder. ‘I’ll come back later.'

'No,' said Archer, opening his eyes, 'I feel fine. I thought for a while that Riggs and his friends were going to kill me, and I knew Amaziga would be so angry. She's a fine woman and a wonderful wife, but nag? She's always telling me to take a weapon with me. But then how many enemies does a man meet in a dead city? You'll like her, Shannow; she made me wait eight years before agreeing to marry me — said I was too soft, that she wasn't going to risk falling in love with a man who would be killed during his first hostile encounter. She was nearly right. But my charm won her in the end. Tough lady, Shannow. . Shannow?'

'Whal is it?'

'Why has it gone dark? Is it so late already?'

The sun was shining brightly through the open window.

'Light a lamp, Shannow. I can't see you.'

There is no oil,' said Shannow desperately.

'Oh well, never mind. I like the dark. Do you mind sitting here with me?'

'Not at all.'

'I wish I had my Stone — then these bruises would be gone in seconds.'

There'll be another at the Ark.'

Archer chuckled. 'How could you attack a fortress?'

'I don't know; it seemed like a good idea at the time.'

'Batik told me you are unable to comprehend impossible odds and I can quite believe him. Did you know that Ridder was a priest?'

'Yes.'

'Strange religion you have, Shannow.'

'No, Archer. Just that some very strange people are attracted to it.'

'Including you?'

'Including me.'

'Why are you sounding so sad? It's a fine day. I never thought to get out of there alive — they just kept kicking me. Batik tried to stop them, but they beat him down with staves. Staves. . I'm very tired, Shannow. I think. .'

'Archer. . Archer!'

Flora moved forward and lifted the man's wrist. 'He's dead,' she whispered.

'He can't be,' protested Shannow.

'I'm sorry.'

'Where is Riggs?'

'He was in the meeting hall.'

Shannow strode from the room and down the stairs, emerging into the sunlight where Batik was passing food amongst the Wolvers. Batik saw the expression on his face and moved to join him.

'What's happened?'

'Archer is dead.'

'Where are you going?'

'Riggs,' said Shannow tersely, pushing past him.

'Wait!' called Batik, grabbing Shannow's arm. 'He's mine!'

Shannow turned. 'What gives you the right?'

'Poetry, Shannow. I'm going to beat him to death!'

Together the two men entered the meeting hall. There were two dozen tables and a long bar running the length of the room. At the back sat three men, all of them armed. As Shannow and Batik moved forward slowly, two of the men eased themselves to their feet and edged away from the third.

The man hurled the table away and stood. Riggs was over six feet tall and powerfully muscled, his face flat and brutal, his eyes small and cold.

'Well?' he said. 'What's it to be?'

Batik handed the pistol to Shannow and moved forward unarmed.

'You must be insane,' said Riggs. Batik hit him with a crashing right-hand blow and he staggered and spat blood from his mouth. The fight began. Riggs was the heavier, but Batik moved with speed and landed more blows, yet the punishment each man took was appalling to Shannow's eyes.

Grabbing Batik in a bear-hug, Riggs lifted him from his feet, but Batik hammered his open palms into Riggs' ears and broke free. Riggs kicked Batik's legs from under him and then leapt feet-first at his head. The Hellborn rolled and rose to his feet; then, as Riggs rushed at him he ducked under a left hook and hammered a combination of punches to Riggs' belly. The big man grunted and backed away and Batik followed, thundering blows to Riggs' chin. Both men were bloodied now and Batik's shirt was in tatters. Riggs tried to grapple, but Batik swung him round and tripped him. The bigger man landed on his face and Batik leapt on his back, grabbing his hair and his chin.

'Say goodbye, Riggs,' he hissed, then wrenched the chin up and to the right. The sound of the snapping neck made Shannow wince. Batik staggered to his feet, then moved to a nearby table where Shannow joined him.

'You smell awful,' said Shannow, 'and you look worse!'

'Always words of comfort from you just when they're needed.'

Shannow smiled. 'I'm glad you are alive, my friend.'

'You know, Shannow, after you went over that ledge and Archer and I raced clear of the lions, he talked about you. He said you were a man to move mountains.'

‘Then he was wrong.'

'I don't think so. He said you would just walk up to a mountain and start lifting it a rock at a time, never seeing just how big it was.'

'Maybe.'

'I'm glad he lived long enough to see you attack a castle single-handed. He would have enjoyed that. Did he tell you about Sir Galahad?'

'Yes.'

'And his quest for the Grail?'

'Yes. What of it?'

'Are you still planning to kill Abaddon?'

'That is my intention.'

Then I'll come with you.'

'Why?' asked Shannow, surprised.

'You might need a hand lifting all those rocks!'

Ruth floated above the fabled palaces of Atlantis, gazing in wonder at the broken spires and fractured terraces. From her position just below the clouds, she could even see the outlines of wide roads beneath the soil of the rolling prairies. Around the centre of the city was a flat uninspired wasteland which must once have housed the poorer quarters of Atlantis, where the homes were built of inferior stone long since eroded by the awesome might of the Atlantic Ocean. But now, once more, the gleaming marble of the palaces glistened beneath a silver moon.

She wondered what the city must have been like in the days of its glory, with its terraced gardens and vineyards, its wide statue-lined ways, its parks and colosseums. Part of die city to the north had been destroyed by a volcanic upheaval, and now a jagged mountain range reared above the ruins.

Wishing herself downwards, she floated gently to an open terrace before a gaunt and shadowed shell which had once been the palace of Pendarric. Wild grass and weeds grew everywhere, and a tree had taken root against a high wall — its roots questing like skeletal fingers for a hold in the cracked marble.

She stopped before a ten-foot statue of the king, recognizing him despite the artificially curled beard and the high, plumed helm. A strong man — too strong to see his weakness before it was too late.

A sparrow settled on the helm and then flew off between the marble pillars of a civilization which once had stretched from the shores of Peru to the gold mines of Cornwall. The land of fable!

But even the fable would fade. For Ruth knew that hi centuries to come, her own age of technology and space travel would become embroiled in myth and legend to which few would give credence.

New York, London, Paris… all synonymous with the fiction of Atlantis.

Then one day the world would topple once more, and the survivors would stumble upon the statue of Liberty protruding from the mud, or Big Ben, or the Pyramids. And they would wonder, even as she did, what the future held now.

She turned her gaze to the mountains and the golden ship lodged in the black basaltic rock five hundred feet above the ruins.

The Ark. Rust-covered and immense, and strangely beautiful, she lay broken-backed on a wide ledge. Within her thousand-foot length the Guardians laboured, but Ruth would not go amongst them. She wanted no part of the old world, nor the knowledge so zealously guarded.

Ruth returned to Sanctuary and her room. As always when her mood was sombre, she created a study without doors or windows, lit only by candles that did not flicker.

For a while she sat and remembered Sam Archer, praying silently for the soul of the man. Then she called for Pendarric.

He came almost at once and stood by the far wall, which opened to become a window looking out on Atlantis in her glory. People thronged the winding streets and marketplaces. Chariots drawn by white horses clattered along the statue-lined main avenue.

Ruth joined him. 'As it was?' she asked.

'As it is,' he answered. There are many worlds which overlap our own, and many gateways to them. In the last days before the oceans drank my empire, I led my people through. But there are other gateways, Ruth, to darker worlds. These Abaddon has discovered — they must be closed.'

'I will close them, if I can.'

'Shannow will close them — if he lives.'

'And what can I do?'

'I told you, Lady. Take the swan's path.'

'I am not ready to die. I am afraid.'

'Donna Taybard has been taken. Her settlement is destroyed, her son is dead. Believe me, Ruth, if the woman is sacrificed the gateways will be ripped asunder. Worlds within worlds will be drawn together and the resulting catastrophe will be cosmic in scale.'

'How would my dying aid the world?'

'Think on it, Ruth. Find the answer.'

Madden prepared a grave for Rachel and the boys, laying them side by side and covering them with wild flowers of purple and yellow. For a long while he sat by the grave, not having the energy or the inclination to fill it. Robert's arm had flopped across his mother's breast and it seemed to Madden that he was hugging her. He had always been her favourite, and now they would lie together for eternity.

His eyes misted and he swung his gaze to the mountains, recalling the joy he had felt as he stood near this spot on their first day in Avalon. Rachel had been fussing about the size of cabin they would need and the boys had charged off into the woods above the valley. Everything had been peaceful then and the dream had seemed as solid as the rocks around them.

Madden's wounds still pained him and the right side of his face was heavily bruised, but he stood and lifted the shovel and slowly filled the grave. He had intended to cover it with more flowers, but he was too tired to gather them and returned to the cabin to check on Griffin.

The man was asleep and Madden fuelled the wood-stove and prepared some herb tea. He sat in a wide chair staring at the dusty floor, his mind drifting back to all the times when he had quarrelled with Rachel, or caused her to cry. She had deserved so much more than he could ever offer her, yet she had stuck by him through savage winters and dry summers, failed crops and Brigand raids. She it was who had convinced him they should follow Griffin's dream. Now the wagoner was probably dying and Madden would be alone in a strange land.

He sipped his tea and moved to the bedside. Griffin's pulse was erratic and weak; he was lying face down and Madden cut away the bandages to examine his wounds. About to turn him, he noticed a bulge near the swollen purple bruise on Griffin's side and touched it with his finger. It was hard, and it moved as he felt it. Removing his knife from its sheath, Madden pressed the razor-edge to the skin, which parted easily, spurting blood to his fingers as the misshapen shell popped into his hand. It must have hit one of Griffin's ribs and been redirected to his back, whereas Madden had feared the bullet was lodged in Griffin's stomach. Moving to the other side of the bed, he examined the second wound in Griffin's back; it was healing well, but there was no sign of the bullet. He stitched the knife-cut and returned to his chair.

The wagon-master would either live or die, and there was nothing more the bearded farmer could do for him. Madden ate some food — a little bacon and some stale bread — and left the cabin.

Bodies littered the ground, but he ignored them and walked on towards the foothills of the mountains. Here he picked flowers until dusk, when he returned to the graveside where he sprinkled the blooms over the fresh-turned earth and dropped to his knees.

'I don't know if you're there, God, or what a man has to do to have the right to talk to you. I keep being told there's a paradise for them that believes, but I'm sort of hoping there's a paradise for them that don't know. She wasn't a bad girl, my Rachel; she never done evil to anybody, ever.

And my boys didn't live long enough to learn what evil was, not until it killed them. So maybe you'll just overlook their disbelief and let 'em in anyway.

'I ain't asking nothing for myself, you understand. I ain't got much time for a God who allows this sort of thing to happen in his world. But I'm asking for them, because I don't want to think about my girl just being food for worms and suchlike.

'She deserves better than that, God. So do my boys.'

He pushed himself to his feet and turned. There at the edge of the paddock was Ethan Peacock's dapple-grey mare and Madden walked slowly over to her, speaking in a soft gentle voice. The mare's ears pricked up and she wandered towards him. He stroked her neck and led her into the paddock; she must have jumped the fence when the shooting started.

Back in the cabin, he found Griffin awake.

'How you feeling?' he asked.

'Weak as a day-old lamb.'

Madden made some fresh tea and helped Griffin to a sitting position.

'I'm sorry, Jacob. I brought you to this.'

'Too late for sorries, Con. And I don't blame you, so put it from your mind. We got us a horse and guns. I figure to go after them bastards and at least get Donna back.'

'Give me a day, maybe two, and I'll ride with you.'

‘I’ll find you a horse,' said Madden. There must be more than one that the Hellborn didn't take.

I'll scour the western valleys. You feel up to eating?'

Madden lit two oil-lamps and cooked bacon and the last three eggs on the griddle-iron of the stove. The smell of the frying bacon made Griffin acutely aware of his hunger.

'I reckon you might live,' said Madden, watching the wagon-master wolfing the food. 'No dying man would eat like that.'

Tve no intention of dying, Jacob. Not yet, anyhow.'

'Why did they do it, Con? Why did they hit us?'

'I don't know.'

'What did they gain? We must have killed a couple of hundred of them, and all they took was the guns. It don't make no sense. It's not as if they wanted the land — it was just killing for the sake of it.'

'I don't think there are answers for people like them,' said Griffin. 'It's like the Brigands. Why don't they farm? Why do Daniel Cade — and others like him — move around the land killing and burning? We can't understand them or their motives.'

'But it must be for something,' insisted Madden. 'Even Cade could argue that he gains by his evil.

. stores, coins, weapons.'

There's no point in even wondering at it,' said Griffin. They are what they are. Plain evil. Sooner or later someone is going to give it back to them.'

'You ever hear of an army, Con? There ain't nobody to stop them.'

There's always somebody, Jacob. Even if it starts with you and me.'

Two wounded men, one horse and a couple of pistols? I don't think we'll put much of a scare into them.'

'We'll see,' said Griffin.

The grizzly had found the beehive in a rotting tree trunk and was busy tearing away the wood when the Zealot struck into its brain. The beast reared in anger and pain; settled down and ambled away to the south, towards the wooden homes of the Yeager men.

The bear was the undisputed monarch of the high country, weighing more than a thousand pounds, and even the lions crept from his path. Wisely he had avoided the haunts of Man, and even more wisely the hunters of Yeager had steered clear of the grizzly, for it was well-known that a large bear could soak up musket balls as if they were beestings — and no one wanted any part of a wounded grizzly.

It was an hour before dawn when the bear moved into the settlement, heading unerringly for the cabin of Daniel Cade. Mounting the porch, it reared up before the door; then its huge paw swept down, splintering the wood.

Cade awoke and scrambled from his bed. His captured Hellborn pistol hung in its scabbard from the bed-post and he whipped the gun clear. The bear moved into the room beyond, smashing a table. When it reached the bedroom door and crashed it inwards, Lisa screamed and Cade cocked the pistol, aiming it for the bear's head. The Zealot, his work all but done, fled the bear's mind and returned to his own body in the camp before the pass.

Back in the cabin, Cade shielded Lisa with his body and watched as the grizzly dropped to all fours, shaking its great head. Cade reached slowly for the jar on the shelf by the bed. Inside were flat sugar biscuits Lisa had made the day before and he tossed one to the floor. The bear growled and backed away, confused and uncertain. Then it sniffed at the biscuit, savouring the sweetness.

Finally it licked out, lifting the biscuit to its mouth and noisily devouring it. Cade threw another -

and another — and the grizzly settled down on its haunches.

'Climb out of the window,' Cade told Lisa. 'But move slow — and don't let any fool shoot the damned bear.'

Lisa opened the catch and stood on the bed. The bear ignored her, its eyes on Cade and the jar.

She climbed over the ledge and ran to the front of the house where Gambion, Peck and several others were waiting with rifles in their hands.

'Daniel says not to shoot the bear.'

'What the Hell is he doing in there?' asked Gambion.

'He's feeding it biscuits.'

'Why don't he climb out and let us kill it?' asked Peck. Lisa spread her hands and shrugged.

Inside, Cade was down to the last four biscuits. Slowly he stood and tossed one of them over the bear's head and into the room beyond. The grizzly sat looking at him.

Cade grinned. 'No more till you get that one,' he said. The bear growled, but Cade was beginning to enjoy himself. 'No use you losing your temper.' He tossed another over the shaggy head and the bear turned and ambled into the room. Cade followed and threw the third biscuit into the doorway. The bear lumbered after it and came face to face with the men beyond, who scattered in fear. Peck threw his rifle to his shoulder.

'Don't shoot it!' screamed Lisa.

The bear moved to the porch. It was frightened by the sudden noise and moved off at an ambling run towards the hills as Cade appeared in the doorway.

'What's the matter with you people?' he asked. 'Never seen a bear before?'

'It's no joke,' said Gambion.

'You're right about that. It only left me two biscuits!'

Gambion climbed the porch. 'I mean it, Daniel. A bear don't just come out of the hills and smash its way into a man's home. It's not natural. I don't know how, but the Hellborn are behind it; they were trying to kill you.'

'I know. Come inside.'

Cade sat down by the ruined table and Gambion pulled up a chair.

They've tried frontal attacks on the pass and they know it's suicide,' said Cade. 'Now they'll be more cagey. They'll be scouting north and south and it won't be long before they find Sadler's Trail — and then they'll be behind us.'

'Did God tell you this?'

'He didn't need to; it's plain common sense. We need the trail held. I've sent a rider south for help, but I don't know if there'll be any. I want you to take thirty men and hold Sadler's.'

'It's pretty open, Daniel. Any big attack will win through in the end.'

'You may be lucky. I only need ten days to get everyone back into the Sweetwater Valley. Now there's only one way in there and we can hold that for damn nigh a year.'

'If we had supplies,' put in Gambion.

'One day at a time. We've food enough for at least a couple of months, but we're running low on ammunition. I'll fix that. But you pick your men and hold Sadler's Trail.'

'Will God be with me, Daniel?'

'He'll be as much with you as he is with me,' promised Cade.

That's good enough for me.'

Take care, Ephram. And no heroics — I don't need another martyr. I just need ten days! With luck, you won't see any action at all.' The sound of distant gunfire came to them but neither man was unduly alarmed. Every day the Hellborn tried some action in the pass and always they were beaten back with losses.

'Better be going,' said Gambion.

'Evanson is already there, with Janus and Burgoyne — good men.'

'We're all good men now, Daniel.'

'Damned right about that!'

After Gambion had left, Cade dressed and rode to the rim of the pass, where down on the rocks were four Hellborn corpses. Cade dismounted and limped to the first defender, a youngster called Deluth.

'How we doing, boy?'

'Pretty good, Mr Cade. They tried just the once and we burned 'em good. Must have hit five or six more, but they rode out.'

'Where's Williams?'

Deluth pointed to a ledge some forty feet away.

'Go get him for me. I don't think I can make that climb.' The boy left his rifle, bent double and ran along the rockline. Shots spattered close to him, but he moved too fast for the Hellborn snipers to catch him in their sights. Cade hefted the boy's rifle and sent a shot towards the tell-tale powder clouds on the far side of the pass. He hit nothing, but it kept their minds from the running Deluth.

Within minutes the manoeuvre was repeated with Williams running the gauntlet of shots; a short stocky man of forty-five, he was breathing hard as he slumped down beside Cade.

'What is it, Daniel?'

‘I’m pulling everyone back to the Sweetwater.'

'Why? We can hold them here till the stars burn out.'

Williams was a farmer and his knowledge of the mountain range was limited. Most people believed the Yeagers were impenetrable but for the pass.

'There's another way in; it's called Sadler's Trail after a Brigand that rode these parts forty. .

fifty years ago — starts in a boxed canyon and unless you're real close you'll miss it. It cuts up through the range and on to the Sweetwater. Sooner or later the Hellborn will stumble on it and I can't take the risk. It would put them behind us, and we've not the numbers to hold on two fronts.'

Williams cursed and spat. 'How do we know they ain't found it already?'

'I've got people watching it. And anyway, I figure once they find it they'll stop these frontal assaults. That'll tell us they feel they're on to a better bet.'

'What do you want me to do?'

'Nothing. I just wanted you to know, in case you saw us moving and felt you've been left here.'

'Well, would you believe that?' said Williams, pointing over Cade's shoulder. He turned to see a small doe rabbit squatting several feet from the talking men. 'You surely do have a way with animals, Daniel.' The rabbit shook its head and darted away. .

In the tents of the Hellborn a young warrior opened his eyes, a look of triumph on his face.

'There is another way in,' he told the hawk-faced young officer beside him. 'It's called Sadler's Trail and it starts in a boxed canyon — it must be one to the south. The entrance is hidden, but it backs on to an area called Sweetwater and Cade is trying to get his people there before we find a way behind them.'

Tine work, Shadik. I will tell the general.'

'It is their first mistake,' said Shadik.

'May it also be the last. I shall have the attacks stopped at once.'

'No, sir. That's what Cade is waiting for.'

'He has a cunning mind, that one. Very well.'

The officer walked down the line of tents until he reached a dwelling of white silk and canvas.

Before it were two guards; they saluted him and he ducked under the tent-flap.

Inside, working at a folding desk, was the general Abaal — said to be one of the great-grandsons of Abaddon. Many claimed this distinction, since it could not be proved, but in Abaal's case he could point to the special favour his family always received from the king.

'I take it, Alik, you have some good news for me?'

'Yes, Lord General.'

The bear killed him?'

'No, Lord. The man lied. It seems he departed from the beast at the moment Cade pointed his pistol.'

'And what did the Brigand do? Pat it and send it on its way?'

'He fed it with sugar biscuits, Lord General.'

'Then your other news had better be good.'

'The man has been put to death — but another of my brothers has, I think, redeemed the situation.

There is another way in to the valley.'

'Where is this place? The other pass?'

'In a boxed canyon; to the south, I believe. We scouted it last week, but the entrance is said to be hidden; this time we will find it.'

'Take three hundred men.'

'You are giving me the command? Thank you, Lord General.'

'Do not thank me, Alik. If you fail, you will die. How long will it take Cade to get his people back into this Sweetwater?'

'A week, ten days, I'm not sure.'

'You have six days to get behind him. If you have not breached the pass in that time, hand over the command to Terbac, and take your life.'

'Yes, Lord General. I shall not fail.'