Morningstar

CHAPTER ELEVEN

‘I don’t believe it,’ said Brackban, breaking the stunned silence. ‘It is lunacy. His mind has obviously gone.’

‘Believe it!’ said Megan. ‘It is true. It was always the fear, from the first moments of Rabain’s victory. That is why the skulls were hidden far from each other — why three families took a blood oath to protect them for all time. The Vampyre Kings have returned and Ziraccu is a city in torment. But that is only the beginning. Soon there will be a Vampyre army swarming into the forest. And the defeated will not be allowed to die… with every victory Golgoleth’s army will swell. And then it will be as it was in this land two thousand years ago, a time of darkness and despair.’

‘How can we stand against Vampyres?’ asked Corlan. The man was visibly shaken, his eyes wide with fear.

‘Only as they did then,’ said Megan softly. ‘As Rabain did.’

‘But he was an enchanted warrior,’ put in Astiana, ‘or a demon summoned from Hell. He fought them with their own powers.’

‘He was no demon,’ said Megan. ‘He was a man — as were his companions. They did what true men always do: they stood against the dark and defied the might of Golgoleth.’

She fell silent then and her eyes sought out Jarek Mace. She was not alone in this. Everyone in the room turned to look at the outlaw warrior.

‘I am not Rabain,’ he said, his jaw set, his expression grim.

‘You are the Morningstar,’ said Megan.

Mace did not reply. Pushing himself to his feet he left the cabin. I hurried after him, finding him at the lakeside leaning against the jetty rail. The sun was behind the mountains, the sky ablaze, great shafts of light piercing the clouds. The lake was the colour of blood.

‘What is happening to me?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know,’ I answered truthfully.

‘I am going to leave. I’ll go south — right down to the coast. And I’ll take a ship across the sea, all the way to Ventria, where the palaces are roofed with gold and the mountains sparkle with precious gems. That’s what I’ll do.’

‘And what will happen to the people here?’

He spun on me. ‘I am not responsible for them! I am not a king — nor would I want to be. For God’s sake, Owen! It was all a jest! They took my money. I went after them. I couldn’t go alone, so I talked the men of the village into fighting alongside me. And the name was yours, from that stupid conversation about heroes! And that is all it is — a name. I was prepared to lead a force against Azrek — you know that. But a city of Vampyres. Hell’s teeth, Owen!’

‘A rather apt description, I would have said.’

But he did not smile. He shook his head. ‘Last night I actually prayed. I felt such a fool sending my words up into the night sky. But there was no answer.’

‘What did you ask?’

‘I asked for a way out — and a castle by the sea. What do you think I asked for? I needed guidance. And what do I get? A city full of the Undead.’

‘Corlan came to me earlier,’ I told him. ‘He asked to be released from the Soul Oath.’

‘You see, he’s no fool! He knows when the game is over.’

‘He told me he did not want any part in trickery or robbery or gain. He and his men have decided not to play the game, but to live it. He is fighting now for the people, for the land. For justice, if you will.’

‘Then I take it back. He is a fool. God’s blood!’ Suddenly he smashed his fist down on the jetty rail, which shivered under the blow, the wood cracking. Then he sighed and glanced up at the sky. ‘He must be laughing now,’ he said.

‘Who?’

‘God, the Devil, whoever was listening when Jarek Mace resorted to prayer. I feel like a pawn in someone else’s game. Whatever I do enhances the legend. If I was to piss in public, someone would swear a golden tree had grown from the spot.’

‘And yet you survive, Jarek. Have you considered this? Gareth and the Ringwearers are dead. Demons have been sent against you, sorcerous beasts have hunted you, a host of the Dead have come for you. Yet you live! Have you thought of that? I am not a religious man, Jarek. I don’t know if there is a God, or many gods. But I have seen the Halls of Hell, and I know there is a power granted to those who wish to do evil. Yet here in this land, because of you, a man like Corlan will forsake his outlaw ways and be prepared to die for the cause. All over the forest men have been lifted by your deeds.’

‘My deeds?’ he stormed. ‘What have I done, save try to stay alive? You know I was merely trying to recover my money in that first attack. And you know also that I had no part in trying to save Megan. And as for Piercollo… I wanted the tax money. You think they would sing about me if they knew?’

‘You still don’t see it, do you?’ I told him. ‘There is a power granted to the evil. But in balance there must also be powers given to the good. My father used to study history. He sat us down one evening and told us many stories. But each had a common theme. In the darkest hour of any nation there will always come a man to fit the moment. Here and now, you are that man.’

‘I don’t want to be. Have I no say in it?’

‘I do not believe that you have.’

‘I am heading south in the morning. You can believe that!’

We stood then in the gathering darkness, but there was no comfort in the silence. I could feel the tension radiating from him, the bitterness and the frustration. But I knew that he would not leave. He was chained to a destiny he did not desire, and though he would rail against it he was powerless to change it. On my travels I have met many actors and performers. There was a man once called Habkins, who played out the great dramas — the Fall of the King, Caracaun, the Dream of Lances. One evening before a performance I saw him, sitting ashen-faced in the wings. We spoke at some length and he explained that he hated performing, that it always made him nauseous.

‘Why then do you do it?’ I asked him. He looked at me as if I had asked the most ludicrous question.

‘The applause,’ he answered.

I think that’s how it was for Jarek Mace. He was a hero in the eyes of the people. They cheered when he approached, they gazed at him with awe and adoration. Were he to turn his back upon them that love would become hate, and they would despise him.

We stood for a while, then I returned to the cabin. Cataplas remained in his enchanted sleep, but Megan was sitting beside the fire, idly tossing twigs to the coals and watching them flare into dancing life. Ilka and Astiana were asleep, Wulf and Piercollo sitting at the table quietly throwing dice.

I moved alongside Megan. ‘You lied to me, lady,’ I said, keeping my voice barely above a whisper.

‘I lie to a lot of people,’ she answered.

‘You told me Cataplas was your teacher when he was your pupil.’

She nodded. ‘I had my reasons, Owen. And they were not evil.’

‘Who are you?’She laughed then. ‘Are you still seeking a princess for your song? I am what you see, an old woman who has lived too long and seen too much. Will Mace stay?’

‘I think so. But can we defeat Golgoleth?’

‘Rabain did.’

‘You said that before — but it is no answer.’

She sighed. ‘

What answer would you have me give you, Owen?’

I thought about it for a moment, then smiled ruefully. ‘You have a point.’

Suddenly her back stiffened and she cried out.

‘What is wrong?’ I asked her.

‘We must get Cataplas out of here,’ she shouted, pushing herself to her feet and stumbling to where the sorcerer lay. Shaking his shoulder, she woke him.

‘I am tired,’ he complained. Megan dragged on his arm.

‘Golgoleth is coming for you!’ she said. His eyes widened and he scrambled to his feet.

‘No!’ screamed Megan. ‘Don’t run! I can help you!’

But Cataplas darted through the doorway and into the night. Faster than Megan, I sprinted after him. The moon was shining now and there was a sound in the air, a beating of invisible wings, a hissing of breath.

The trees to the south began to sway as if a great wind was rushing through them. I saw Mace, still by the rail. He drew his sword, and it shone with a blinding light.

Cataplas stopped, turned and looked to the south. He did not scream or cry out. Instead he fell to his knees, hands clasped as if in prayer.

The beating of wings grew louder, but there was nothing to be seen. An empty barrel rolled to its side, a shutter snapped away from a window. Thatch from roof-tops was torn loose and swirled like snowflakes over the clearing. Men and women ran from their homes, twisting and turning, straining to see the monster that was almost upon them.

Then Cataplas screamed and rose into the air, great wounds appearing on his chest and back. Slowly, and with infinite cruelty, the invisible demon tore the wizard apart.

Megan ran to the spot below where the dismembered corpse hung in the night sky, some thirty feet in the air. Blood was splashing to the ground around her. Raising her hands she pointed at the demon, and I saw her lips move, though no sound could be heard above the slow beating of the wings.

A shaft of light flashed from Megan’s hand and for a single terrible moment we saw the demon. It was a creature of bone, no skin, no vital organs, no feathers or fur. Merely white, bleached bones and eyes that burned with dark fire. Its neck was curved, the head round like that of a giant eagle, and its beak was long and hooked. The light blazed around it as it hovered there and the dark, smoky eyes gazed down at the old woman below. The talons which held the ghastly corpse opened and the bloody remains fell to the ground. Then the demon swooped.

An arrow of blinding light leapt from the bow of Jarek Mace, lancing upwards, the point hammering into the segmented neck. As the demon reared up once more, a second arrow from Wulf struck one of the great wings, snapping a slender bone.

And the creature disappeared.

Megan fell to her knees. Mace and I ran to her side.

The blood upon the ground floated up in a red mist before us, forming into a crimson face, the eyes glaring at Mace.

‘I let Cataplas find you, Morningstar,’ came a cold voice. ‘I wanted you to know your enemy and see your own fate. You cannot hide from me. I know your true name. I can find you wherever you go. There is no hiding-place for the enemies of Golgoleth.’

Mace said nothing… and the face disappeared, blood splashing to the earth.

‘Don’t ask me why, Mace,’ said Wulf, ‘but I get the feeling he doesn’t like you.’

Mace forced a tight smile and helped Megan to her feet. Men began to gather around, their faces white and fearful in the moonlight.

‘What will we do, Morningstar?’ asked one.

‘Get some sleep,’ Mace told them, striding away.

Corlan approached me. ‘The wizard spoke the truth. We are dealing with the powers of Hell, Can your enchantment protect us?’

‘No, but the arrows Mace gave you can. You saw the shafts shining as they struck the demon. They are crafted with old magick, Corlan.’

‘We need more than arrows,’ he said.

‘I know.’

‘I’ll fight any man alive — any ten men. What I said today, I meant. I would take on the Battle King himself. But… God in Heaven!’

‘Stay calm,’ I advised him. ‘We’ll talk in the morning.’ There was nothing else I could say. The evil was growing within the walls of Ziraccu and I could think of no way to combat it. Megan was a powerful enchanter, but her spell of Light had merely irritated the demon. And yet the strength in that spell was ten times, twenty perhaps, greater than anything I could create.

I strode into the cabin where Mace was sitting with Megan and Astiana. She looked old now, and very frail. Pulling up a chair I joined them.

‘You can’t,’ I heard Astiana say. ‘It would be madness.’

Give me another choice,’ Mace snapped, ‘and I’ll gladly take it.’

Astiana shook her head and rose. Silently she left the cabin.

‘What are you planning?’ I asked him.

He ignored me, his gaze switching to Megan. ‘Well, can you help me?’ he demanded.

‘I will do what I can, Jarek. But you must understand that my strength is not what it was. I am like a child compared with Golgoleth.’

‘Will you tell me what is going on?’ I asked again.

‘He is planning to enter Ziraccu,’ answered Megan.

‘It is a city of Vampyres,’ I said. ‘You can’t mean it.’

‘As I’ve just said to Astiana, if you could find another choice I’d be willing to listen,’ he answered.

‘But what is your plan?’

‘I’ll scale the walls, find Golgoleth and cut his bastard head off!’

‘Just like that?’ I asked him, unable to keep the sarcasm from my voice.

He swore then, and for a moment I thought he would strike me. Instead he turned his head and took a deep breath. Then he spoke. ‘Do you think I want to do this, Owen?’ he said, not looking at me. ‘But you heard him. He says he can find me anywhere and Megan tells me that is true. So what do I do? Wait until his Vampyre army enters the forest? Wait until the entire land is peopled by the Undead? No.’

‘Have you considered the possibility that he wants you to come to him? That it was why he appeared to you?’

‘Yes, I have.’

And how do you intend fighting off a hundred Vampyres, a thousand?’

‘I shall enter the city in sunlight and find him before dark.’

‘That will not help you greatly,’ said Megan. ‘Forget the legends, Jarek. Vampyres do not like sunlight, but they can bear it. There will be sentries, hooded against the glare of the sun. And there will be men who have been spared — evil men, who are now servants of Golgoleth. They also will patrol the walls.’

‘Then offer me a different plan!’ he stormed.

‘I cannot,’ admitted Megan.

‘Then it is settled. I’ll leave at dawn.’

Alone?’ I asked him.

He laughed then, the sound harsh and bitter. ‘No, I’ll ask for volunteers to accompany me, Owen,’ he sneered.’

‘Everyone loves the Morningstar. I’m sure they’ll all want to come.’

I wanted to offer, I desperately desired to find the strength to stand beside him. But at that moment I could not: My mouth was dry, my hands trembling. I looked away then.

‘I’m going to get a couple of hours sleep,’ said Mace, rising from the chair and moving to the pallet bed in the corner of the room. Megan did not move; she sat staring into the dying fire, lost in thought.

I needed fresh air, for my stomach felt queasy. I walked outside to find Wulf, Piercollo, Astiana and Ilka all sitting together in the moonlight. Silently I joined them.

‘Did she talk him out of it?’ asked Wulf.

‘No.’

It’s all over then,’ said the hunchback, staring down at the ground.

‘It is so foolish,’ put in Astiana. ‘He is throwing his life away.’

Ilka’s sweet voice whispered into my mind. ‘What will you do, Owen?’

I looked across at her and swallowed hard. I’d had time to gather my thoughts, and my courage. ‘I’ll go with him,’ I said aloud.

She smiled and nodded. ‘As will I.’

‘I can’t do it,’ said Wulf. ‘I want to, mind. Truly I do — but I can’t.’

‘I will come also,’ said Piercollo. ‘He rescued me from the torture. I owe him.’

Corlan approached with Brackban, Raul Raubert and Scrymgeour. I stood and waited for them. It was Brackban who spoke first.

‘We need to see the Morningstar,’ he said.

‘He is resting. Can it wait?’

‘No. Everyone is terrified — on the verge of panic. Already we’ve lost fifty men. They just packed their belongings and fled into the forest.’

‘What do you expect Mace to do?’

‘Talk to them,’ said Raul. ‘Inspire them with a strong speech — give them back their courage.’

‘It is the wrong time, my friends,’ I told them softly. ‘Mace is resting. And he needs that rest. Tomorrow he intends to enter the city and slay the Vampyre Kings.’

‘May God preserve us!’ said Corlan, amazed. ‘Has he lost his mind?’

‘No.’

‘Does he… intend to go alone?’

‘Yes.’ I could see the relief in the outlaw’s face, and he read my thoughts.

‘Do you think me a coward?’ he asked.

‘Far from it,’ I said swiftly. ‘No man would relish the thought of entering Ziraccu. But I have spoken to Mace and I think he is right. What else can we do? We could run, but they will come after us. We could hide, but they would find us.

’He is a man of courage,’ said Brackban, ‘but answer me this. Even if you get into the city and kill the Kings, what then? How do you get out?’

‘I don’t think Mace is concerned with getting out.’

We stood in silence then and I watched their faces: Corlan, hawklike yet fearful; Brackban, strong, deep in thought; Raul Raubert, the nobleman, young and naive, his expression troubled; and Scrymgeour, his feelings masked.

It was Raul Raubert who broke the silence. ‘I shall accompany him,’ he said, his voice shaking.

‘Why?’ I asked.

‘I am a knight,’ he answered.

‘What in Hell’s name does that mean?’ roared Corlan.

Raul was taken aback by the force of the words. ‘I… I don’t understand you?’

‘You’re no better than me — just because you were born on silk sheets. A knight you say? So you’ve had your shoulder tapped with a king’s sword. So what? You’re only a man like me.’

‘I know that,’ said Raul gently, ‘but there are vows that a knight makes on the eve of the King’s blessing. You know what I am saying, Owen. Can you explain it?’

I sighed. ‘A knight pledges to support the King, and to defend the weak against the strength of evil. It was a vow laid down in law after Rabain destroyed Golgoleth.’

Rabain and the knights,’ corrected Raul.

‘Yes, exactly. Rabain was said to have stormed the Grey Keep, leading the Knights of the White Order.’

‘So you see,’ said Raul to Corlan, ‘I have to go. I don’t want to. But I have to.’

I could see the torment in Corlan’s eyes, and I knew what he was going through. He longed to make the same offer but like myself, in the cabin with Mace, he could not find the courage.

‘I know what you are thinking,’ I said to the outlaw. ‘You would like to go. But bear this in mind. Some of the leaders must stay, or all the men will drift away.’

I saw him relax and he smiled his thanks. Then he shook his head. ‘Brackban will stay. He is a leader of men. Me? I’m, just a… a soldier. But I also made an oath. I took the Soul-fire into my veins. I swore to follow the Morningstar. And I’ll do it. By God, I’ll do it!’

When Mace emerged, the dawn light was seeping over the forest and the air was rich and fresh, the sky bright and cloudless, the last stars fading against the brightness of the sun. He moved into the doorway, tall and impressive, longbow in hand. He was wearing a dark brown leather jerkin over a shirt of white wool, leaf-green leggings and knee-length doehide moccasins. He saw us and moved forward, his face expressionless.

‘Come to bid me good luck?’ he enquired.

‘We’re coming with you,’ I said.

‘All the way?’ he asked, a cynical smile accompanying the words.

‘All the way,’ agreed Corlan. ‘To the gates of Hell and beyond.’

Mace said nothing but his eyes raked the group, pausing on Raul Raubert, then sweeping on to Piercollo, Ilka and myself. ‘A motley group of heroes,’ said Mace, but the smile now was genuine. ‘Well, let us be on our way.’

We set off across the village towards the south, and found Megan waiting at the edge of the trees. Mace halted before her. ‘I could do with a blessing,’ he said softly.

‘For what it is worth you have it,’ she said, stepping forward and resting her hands on his shoulders. ‘I will be with you — not in the flesh, but close by in the spirit. I cannot fight Golgoleth, but I can guide you and warn you of enemies close by. Now be warned — the Vampyres are fast and strong. They cannot be slain by iron or steel. The enchanted blades will destroy them. Or fire. Nothing else.’ Turning to Piercollo, she smiled. ‘Your great strength will avail you nothing, Tuscanian. You must carry a weapon.’

‘I will find something,’ he said.

Megan swung to face the rest of us. ‘You are about to confront enemies of supernatural powers. They are cunning, powerful and infinitely evil. All goodness is gone from the Vampyres. They live only to feed and they strike faster than you would believe possible. But they can do more. They can enter your hearts and make you fear them, and with that fear comes a slowing of the reflexes, a dulling of the mind. Do not engage in conversation with any of them. Faced with a Vampyre, you must kill it quickly. This may seem obvious to you now, but hold the thought in your minds. With the Vampyre Kings it is even more necessary. They are also sorcerers of great power; they can only be slain by decapitation.’

‘That’s an inspiring little speech,’ said Mace.

‘I am sorry,’ Megan told him, ‘but it is better to know what you face.’

Mace sighed, but said nothing more. Raul Raubert stepped forward.

‘I think we should begin this… quest… with a prayer,’ he said. ‘Let us kneel.’

I knew Mace had little faith in any god, yet he was the first to drop to one knee. The others followed until only I remained standing. Raul looked up at me. I felt foolish standing there, and joined them. ‘Lord of All Things,’ said Raul, his voice deep and solemn, ‘be with your servants this day. Make our hearts pure as we face evil. Make our limbs strong as we fight your enemies. And deliver us from the power of the Dark. Amen.’

As we rose, Brackban and several of the officers approached us, Astiana with them. She moved alongside Mace. ‘May God be with you,’ she said.

‘There is a first time for everything,’ he replied, forcing a smile.

Brackban reached out and took Mace’s hand. ‘Good luck to you, Morningstar,’ he whispered.

‘Don’t look so solemn,’ Mace told him. ‘We’ll be back.’

Wulf came running across the clearing, longbow in hand.

‘Where do you think you are going, little man?’ Mace asked him.

‘To Ziraccu,’ answered the hunchback, scowling. ‘And don’t ask me why, because I don’t know.’

The possibility of stupidity should not be ruled out,’ quoted Mace.

Wulf grunted an obscenity which made us smile and then Mace led us off towards the south-east.

The day was bright, but the clouds were gathering to the north, dark and gloomy. In the distance we could hear the far-off rumble of thunder. I walked alongside Ilka, holding to her hand. I had tried to dissuade her from accompanying us, but she had been adamant.

‘I would worry about you,’ I told her.

‘And I you,’ came her voice in my mind. ‘But let us face it, Owen, I am a better fighter than you. At least with me there, you’ll have someone to protect you.’

It was a compelling argument, and I felt a little ashamed for accepting it. But, in all honesty, I was pleased she was there and, with the threat of death so close, I did not want to miss a single moment of her company.

We walked through most of the morning, halting for a brief lunch just after noon. Then we were on our way again, coming in sight of Ziraccu at dusk. The city was silent, the gates locked. But we could see sentries upon the walls, and I wondered what manner of men could agree so readily to serve the needs of the Undead. Had they no heart, no conscience? What could they have been offered to make them become servants of evil?

But there was no answer to such a question. There never is. The workings of an evil mind cannot be gauged.

We made camp in a hollow and lit a small fire against a south-facing rock-wall, where the light could not be seen from the city. There was little conversation at first, for we all faced our fears in our own way. Ilka, whose talent was growing, could touch the minds of all the company, feeling their thoughts. Raul was thinking about his family and brighter, happier days in the north country. Corlan’s mind was roaming back over all the dark deeds he had committed, while Wulf was remembering his wife and lost children. Piercollo was recalling days of sunshine and grape harvesting in Tuscania, while Mace was quietly planning his route to the central palace.

‘Why do you love me?’ asked Ilka suddenly.

‘You make my soul complete,’ I whispered, drawing her in close to me, feeling her head resting on my shoulder, her lips against the skin of my neck.

‘You are a romantic, Owen Odell. How will you feel when I am old, wrinkled and white-haired?’

‘To arrive at that point will mean that we have walked life together, and I will be content. I will have watched each white hair arrive. That will be enough for me.’

And we talked long into the night. I told her of my father and brothers, and of our estates by the south coast. She, in turn, spoke of her life. Her mother had died when Ilka was six and she was raised by Wulfs older brother and his wife. He had died in a hunting accident, gored to death by a wild bull. After that Wulf had supplied food for the family. Of her rape and mutilation she said nothing, and I did not press her. Better by far, I thought, for those memories to be buried deep, covered by layer after layer of love and friendship.

At last we slept, all save Mace who sat by the fire deep in thought.

Two hours before dawn he woke me and I rose silently, not disturbing Ilka. Mace walked away from the camp-site, climbing a hill and sitting upon a fallen tree, staring out over the walls of the distant city.

‘It will be simple to get in,’ he said. ‘Getting out is an altogether different question.

’Let’s worry about that when we’ve killed the Kings,’ I suggested.

He chuckled. ‘You have great faith in our abilities, bard.’

‘Well, I don’t think this is the time to concern ourselves with failure.’

‘True.’ He glanced back towards the camp-site. ‘Why did they come?’

‘I can’t answer for them all. Raul is here because he is a knight and is sworn to fight against evil; also he made an oath to you. Corlan is here because he would not allow Raul to appear superior to him. Ilka came because of me. Piercollo owes you his life, and Wulf loves you like a brother. As for me, why, I also came because of you.’

‘Me? Why?’

‘This may sound trite, Jarek, but I believe in the Morningstar. I always did. It doesn’t matter that you do not. What is important is what they believe,’ I said, my arm sweeping out to encompass the forest. ‘All those people in need of a hero. You are that man, they will remember you all their lives. And, in a thousand years, they will speak of you as they speak now of Rabain. Who knows, one day perhaps there will be an outlaw standing in this forest who will wonder if he is like the Morningstar.’

‘This isn’t a song, Owen. In all probability we’ll die today.’

‘It will still be a song, Jarek. A great song.’

‘I hope you are here to sing it,’ he said, the smile returning. ‘But more important than that, I want to be around to hear it too.’

Back at the camp the others were awake, sitting silently waiting for Mace.

‘Well,’ said Wulf, as we approached, ‘what is the plan?’

‘There is a storm outfall by the south wall. It branches off through the city sewers and there are three exits close to the palace. We’ll make our way to the first, find the Kings, kill them, then get out the same way.’

None of us believed it would be that simple, but only Raul Raubert spoke. ‘There are portcullis gates across the outfall,’ he said, ‘and the entrance is sure to be guarded.’

‘Then keep your hand upon your blade,’ answered Mace.

A figure moved from the undergrowth and Mace leapt to his feet with sword in hand — only to relax as he saw that it was Megan. The old woman was wearing a hooded cloak of soft grey wool, and she carried a long staff of knobbled oak.

‘I thought you were remaining in the village?’ said Mace, sheathing his blade and leading her to the fireside.

‘So did I,’ she answered ‘but I need to be closer to the city. My powers are weaker than I realized.’

None of us spoke for a while, and I sat beside Megan and looked into her face. She was tired — bone-weary. I laid my hand upon her arm. ‘I want to thank you,’ I said softly, ‘for all you have done for me.’

She nodded absently, then took a deep breath. ‘Gather round,’ she ordered us. One by one we sat before her, all except Mace who stood back with hand on sword-hilt, ‘When we talk of good or evil in a man,’ she began, ‘we do not think of the flesh or the muscle. We speak of the soul. And every man living is capable of both great evil and great good. The soul is like a fire with two colours of flame, white and red. The holy man will build the white. But the red is always there, waiting.’

‘We have no time for this,’ said Mace.

‘Be patient, Morningstar,’ she chided him. ‘Now the Vampyre is a changed being; he has had the white drawn out of him, and he burns with the red. There is nothing of the white fire within him, nothing that can give birth to kindness, love or caring. He exists only for himself, only to gratify his appetites. You all know that Vampyres feed on blood. That is not quite true. Blood is life. They feed on the white, and the more they feed the stronger they become. It is not that they have no souls, but they burn with a different light; they feed on innocence and purity. That is why there will be evil men within that city untouched by the Vampyres, working alongside them. There is so little of the pure spirit within them that there is nothing for the Vampyres to feed on.

‘I know you all, your strengths and your weaknesses. But know this, that the fires in your souls will draw them to you. They will sense your presence, they will feel you close. Whatever you do must be done swiftly. You will have no time to hide and wait — once inside the city, you must strike fast and hard. And if a Vampyre is close, kill it. Remember what I told you: the enchanted blades will cut them down, or fire will consume them. Not so the Kings; they must be beheaded.

‘I will be with you. But, as I said, I have few powers left. Once inside the walls you will rely only on each other.’

‘God will be with us,’ said Raul. ‘I’m sure of that.’

Megan said nothing.

We crouched down in the undergrowth at the edge of the tree-line, watching the sentries prowling the battlements.

‘Why wait for the dawn?’ whispered Wulf. ‘Surely it would be better to creep down under cover of darkness?’

‘Look at them,’ answered Mace, pointing at the sentries. ‘Hooded and cowled against the coming light. They are Vampyres — and they can see in the dark better than you in bright sunlight. No, we wait. They will leave before the dawn, and then men will replace them. Still sleepy-eyed and half-dreaming of warm beds. That’s when we move.’

‘It is a great risk,’ muttered Corlan.

Mace chuckled. ‘Seven swords against a Vampyre city, and you talk of risks?’

Corlan grinned. ‘I think we are all insane.’

The sun slowly crept above the eastern mountains and the sentries disappeared from sight. ‘Now!’ ordered Mace, and we left the shelter of the trees and ran down the slope towards the walls. I kept my eyes fixed to the battlements, expecting at any moment to see a line of archers appear with bows bent, arrows aimed at our hearts.

But there was nothing and we arrived at the cold stone wall apparently undetected. Slowly we traversed the city until we reached the flood-gates set below the southern wall. The portcullis was old and rusted, debris clinging to the iron spikes.

‘What now?’ asked Raul Raubert. ‘It must be years since this gate was raised. It is rusted solid.’

Mace splashed into the murky water and moved closer, examining the latticed iron. Piercollo joined him. The giant reached out and took hold of a vertical bar, his huge hands closing around the rotted iron. The muscles of his arms swelled out and his face reddened with the effort; but slowly the iron twisted in his grip. Flakes of rust fell to the water, then two rivets snapped clear. Transferring his grip, Piercollo began to work on a second vertical bar, then a horizontal. Within minutes he had opened a gap wide enough to allow entry.

Handing his longbow and sword to me, Mace clambered through. I passed his weapons to him and followed. One by one the others joined us until only Piercollo was left on the outside. ‘I cannot make it larger,’ he said, and only then did we realize that he could not join us. His massive bulk would never squeeze through so small a gap.

‘Wait here for us,’ said Mace and, without a backward glance, headed off into the dark depths of the city sewers.

The stench was nauseatingly strong and I did not look down at the water swirling around my boots. We heard the skittering of rats, the scratch of tiny talons upon stone, but we waded on into the darkness. When Mace drew his sword it blazed bright, casting huge shadows on the gleaming walls.

None of us spoke as we moved on. Such was my fear that I do not believe I could have forced words from my mouth.

The tunnel branched to the left and we followed its winding course. A swimming rat brushed against my shin… then another. I drew my own dagger, and in the ghostly light saw hundreds of the black shapes swimming around me.

I almost panicked then and began to thrash about, kicking out at the rats. Mace waded back to me, grabbing my arms. ‘Keep calm!’ he hissed.

‘I can’t stand them!’They are not harming you, but you are making too much noise!’

I took a deep, shuddering breath, fighting for control. Ilka’s voice whispered into my mind: ‘I am with you, Owen.’ I nodded and swallowed hard, tasting the bile in my mouth.

‘I am fine. Lead on, Jarek.’As we rounded yet another bend I saw a corpse floating facedown in the filthy water. Bloated, the stink of corruption lost amid the foulness of the sewer, the clothes had snagged on a jutting stone. Two rats were sitting upon the dead man’s back. What a place to die, I thought. What an awful resting-place. There were more corpses further on — some in the water, some on the narrow stone banks. The light of Mace’s sword sent shadows across the dead faces, giving the appearance of life and movement. I could not look and fixed my gaze to Corlan’s back.

Suddenly Mace halted and glanced to his right. There was an alcove there, deep and shadowed. He stepped towards it and I saw a child huddled against the stone.

‘Don’t hurt me!’ she pleaded.

‘No one will hurt you, little one,’ I said, moving towards her, but she shrank away, her eyes wide and terrified. Wulf stepped in quickly, gathering a rag-doll which lay beside the child and holding it out to her.

‘Is this your friend?’ he asked, his voice gentle.

‘It’s Mira,’ she told him.

‘Well, you hold Mira tight, because she must be frightened. And I’ll carry you. Come on. Otherwise you’ll get wet and cold.’

We are cold,’ she said.

Wulf reached for her and she moved into his embrace, her head resting on his neck.

Mace’s sword slashed down, cutting through her back. She made no sound but slid from Wulf s grasp.

‘You bastard!’ roared Wulf.

‘Look at her!’ responded Mace. ‘And feel your neck!’I came alongside Wulf, saw the tiny puncture wounds in his throat and glanced down at the child, seeing for the first time the elongated canines, and blood upon her lips.

The tiny rag-doll floated away.

‘Who would make a Vampyre of a child?’ asked Raul Raubert.

‘How did you know?’ I asked Mace.

‘Megan told me. She is here with us. Now let’s move on.’

Wulf remained staring down at the corpse. ‘I will avenge you,’ he promised.

It was difficult to gauge time within the stygian gloom of the sewers, but it must have been several hours before we finally reached a set of iron steps set into the wall. Far above we could see daylight spearing through a metal grille. Mace sheathed his sword and began to climb. I followed him, anxious to be out in the open air no matter what perils might await us there.

Mace eased the grille clear and clambered swiftly to the cobbled alleyway beyond. One by one we followed him.

The alley was deserted and I glanced around, trying to get my bearings. To the right was the spire of the Church of St Sophas. To the left I could see the tall crenellated keep that was now a museum.

‘We are in the merchants’ quarter,’ I said. ‘The Street of Silk is down there, and that leads to the palace.’

Mace nodded and gazed at the sky. The sun was already past its zenith.

‘We don’t have long,’ he said grimly.

Sunlight was bright and warm upon our backs as we moved off through the city. Everywhere windows were shuttered, doors bolted. And beyond those white-washed walls, within the silent buildings, were hundreds of Vampyres awaiting only the night.

‘Don’t think of that!’ warned Ilka.

But I could think of nothing else as we headed for the palace.

As far as we could we kept to the alleyways and narrow streets, moving silently through the city past deserted market-stalls and shops. Mace was in the lead, an arrow notched to his bow. Wulf came next, then Raul, Ilka and myself. Corlan followed behind, his pale eyes watching every building, every shadowed entrance.

But we saw no living creature. Bodies lay everywhere — livestock, horses, dogs. All drained of blood.

At last we came in sight of the palace and Mace ducked behind a high wall, beckoning us to follow him. There were two sentries, hooded and cowled, standing in the shadows beneath the arched double doors of the Governor’s Residence. They were some fifty paces distant, and they had not seen us.

‘What now?’ asked Raul.

Mace leaned in close to Wulf. ‘Do you think you could hit the man on the left?’ he asked.

The hunchback glanced found the wall and sniffed loudly. ‘As long as he stands still. We need to loose our shafts together. Either one of them could raise an alarm. You take the one on the right.’

Mace took several deep breaths, then looked at Wulf again. ‘Ready?’

‘Aye.’

The two bowmen stepped out into the street, drawing smoothly back on their bowstrings. ‘Now!’ ordered Mace. The silver shafts flashed through the air, arcing high and then dropping. Mace’s arrow thudded into the chest of the man on the right, he stumbled back. His companion turned — and Wulfs shaft plunged into his neck. ‘Let’s go!’ snapped Mace, sprinting across the open ground towards the palace.

The first guard had fallen to his knees, but now he struggled to rise and began to crawl up the stairs towards the double doors. Corlan pulled up and loosed an arrow that took the man low in the back. He reared upright, then tumbled back down the stairs.

We reached the doors and pushed them open.

The hall inside was deserted, dark hangings blocking the sunlight from the six arched windows within. The smell which greeted us was musty and unpleasant, part mildew, part corruption.

We moved inside, closing the doors behind us. Corridors led off to left and right and a long staircase lay before us, the carved hand-rails gleaming with gold leaf.

‘Now what?’ whispered Wulf.

‘Find the bastards and kill them,’ said Mace, but there was uncertainty in his voice. The hall was huge, the corridors dark and forbidding. Where would we find the Kings? Above, below, left or right? And how long did we have before dark?

‘Owen, you and Wulf take the corridor to the left,’ said Mace. ‘Corlan, you and Ilka go to the right. I’ll take the upstairs. Raul, you come with me.’

‘You think this is wise?’ I asked him. ‘Splitting our force this way? Can the spirit of Megan not guide us?’

‘She is gone,’ he said softly. ‘And if we were wise, Owen, we’d follow her lead. Let’s move!’ Without another word he ran for the stairs, Raul following.

Wulf swore and laid aside his longbow and quiver. ‘It will be no use in there,’ he said, drawing his two short swords. The blades were so bright the eye could not focus upon them. I drew my dagger and we moved to the left. Within a few paces we found the entrance to a stairwell, winding down below the palace. Wulf swore again, keeping his voice low. ‘I must be insane,’ he hissed as he descended the first few stairs. I followed.

For some time we moved through deserted corridors, down stairways. All around us was an eerie silence and I could hear the ragged, frightened rasp of Wulf’s breathing and feel the pounding of my own terrified heart.

The only light was cast by our flickering blades and all the doorways we came upon were locked from within.

I tapped Wulf on the shoulder. ‘This is pointless,’ I whispered. He nodded, and we began to retrace our steps.

‘Beware Owen,’ hissed the voice of Megan in my mind.

A whisper of movement came from behind me, like a breath of cold winter air. I spun and lost my footing — it was that which saved me. Cold, cold hands touched my throat, but I was falling and the grip failed to take. I slashed upwards with my dagger which tore through the black cloak, thudding into flesh beneath. The Vampyre screamed then, a high-pitched awful sound that filled the ears and stunned the mind. My hand froze. But Wulf leapt forward to ram his sword into the creature’s mouth, lancing it up through the brain. So great was the light from the blade that the Vampyre’s skull glowed red. Pushing myself to my feet, I plunged my dagger into the point where I felt the heart should be. But the blade merely rang against the stone of the wall, numbing my arm, and the creature’s cloak and tunic fell to the stairs. Of the Vampyre there was no sign.

From below we heard sounds of movement, and dark shadows played against the wall of the winding stair. ‘Back!’ yelled Wulf.

I stumbled back up the stairs. A dark-cloaked figure, moving with awesome speed, faster than a striking snake, grabbed at Wulfs ankle, dragging him down. Without thinking I hurled myself at the creature and sliced the dagger across its face, opening a jagged wound that did not bleed. Wulf stabbed upwards and once more the creature disappeared. But more of them were coming from below and we turned tail, racing up the stairs and into the hall.

A woman grabbed me, lifting me from my feet, but Wulf stabbed her in the back and she slumped forward, dropping me to the flagstones and falling across me. As she too disappeared, I felt what seemed to be a fine powder settling on my face and into my mouth. It tasted of ash. I retched and spat it out. Wulf spun on his heel and attacked the creatures storming the stairwell, but there were dozens of them and they forced him back. A dark sword plunged into his chest and the hunchback roared with pain, then sent a backhand cut that half severed the head of his attacker.

An arrow slammed into the forehead of the leading Vampyre and he fell. Wulf scrambled back, the black sword still jutting from high in his chest. A second arrow hammered into the throat of an advancing creature and I saw Corlan throw aside his bow and charge, his silver sword a blur of white light in the gloom of the hall. For a moment only I thought he would kill them all, such was the ferocity of his assault. But a jagged blade ripped into his belly and he fell into their midst. Wulf’s legs gave way and he slid down the wall, dropping his swords. I ran forward, scooping one from the flagstones just as two of the demonic warriors attacked. I tried to block a thrust, but the speed of the blow dazzled me and the sword moved past my guard — the blade missing me but the hilt cracking against my shoulder. Pain burst through me in a wave of fire. My arm was useless and the sword fell from nerveless fingers. Death was before me. I looked into the bone-white face of my opponent, the white-grey eyes, the pallid skin and the elongated canines. He lowered his sword and grasped my jerkin, dragging me forward as his mouth moved towards my neck.

Just then Ilka appeared, her sabre ripping into his throat. Raul Raubert, yelling an ancient battle-cry, joined the attack. And Wulf, brave Wulf, gathered his swords and heaved himself to his feet, half-stumbling in to the attack.

The Vampyres fell back, and at the rear of the group I saw a creature taller than the rest — face long and fine-boned, eyes slanted and dark. It was not the face I had seen formed from the blood of Cataplas, but the features were similar and I knew that this was one of the Vampyre Kings. My right arm was still numb, but drawing my dagger left-handed I hurled it with all my strength.

I am not — and never have been — skilled with weapons, but the blade flew to its target as if guided by the hand of destiny. It entered the creature’s right eye and buried itself all the way to the hilt. He screamed and his slender hands reached up, grabbing the hilt. But then he sagged and slid to the floor.

He did not disappear, but vainly sought to pluck the weapon loose.

‘Raul!’ I shouted. The head! The head!’ And I pointed at the struggling Vampyre King. Raul Raubert raced forward, his sword hissing through the air. It clove through the creature’s neck and the head tilted. Yet still the hands scrabbled at the hilt. Raul struck again, and now the head came loose, rolling to the flagstones.

In that moment every Vampyre in the hall disappeared, and the flesh vanished from the corpse of the King. Close to the skeleton lay a skull seemingly carved from ivory, and in the empty eye-socket was my dagger.

I stumbled towards it, retrieving the weapon.

‘Was that Golgoleth?’ asked Raul. I shook my head. Corlan groaned and I made my way to him, kneeling at his side. Blood was staining his chin and his eyes had the faraway look of the dying.

‘Is… Ilka safe?’ he whispered.

‘Yes.’

His eyes closed. ‘They… took her. I’m… glad… she escaped.’

‘Lie still. Rest.’ I wanted to say words of comfort, but I had none. What could I promise this man, this killer, this hero? Redemption? Forgiveness, and the promise of eternal life? I did not believe in these things. But I needed to say no more, for he died there without another word.

Raul had moved to the open doors. ‘God’s teeth!’ he said. I ran to the sunlit entrance. Outside, hooded against the sunshine, hundreds more of the creatures were swarming across the market square. Raul and I slammed shut the doors, lifting a bronze reinforced bar into place to secure them.

‘It is not going to hold them for long,’ he warned. A great hammering started on the doors, the wood shivering.

‘We’ve got to find Mace,’ I said.

Wulf was sitting with his back to the wall, the skull in his lap. His face was grey and blood was seeping from the wound in his chest. The sword was still jutting there — it was high, just under the collar-bone.

‘Can you walk?’ I asked the hunchback.

He shook his head. ‘You go on,’ he said.

‘There is danger close by,’ came Megan’s voice. I spun, but the hall was empty.

‘You are wrong, lady,’ I said aloud.

I can feel it, moving closer to you. Deadly. Closer.’

I swung again, but there was nothing save the creatures beyond the gates, and these could not effect a swift entry.

Something moved behind me and I turned and saw Ilka approaching. Opening my arms, I took her into an embrace. My hands stroked the skin of her back, feeling the flesh beneath the thin tunic. ‘You are very cold,’ I said, rubbing her harder. Her head was resting on my shoulder and I felt the chill of her face against my neck.

And in that instant I knew.

‘Oh, dear God,’ I whispered, holding her close to me, waiting for the fangs to open my throat.

I felt her hand move to my side, but there was no sharp-bite to my jugular. Instead she slumped into me and I heard her sweet voice echo in my mind for the last time. Her head fell back. Her eyes were still beautiful and I did not look at her mouth, not wishing to see the Vampyre canines.

I glanced down to see that she had taken my dagger and plunged it into her breast. I lowered her to the flagstones, tears blurring my vision, seeing not the Vampyre but the lover I would never hold again.

She died there, and her body did not disappear.

Raul laid his hand on my shoulder. ‘She saved you,’ he said, his voice low. ‘She was a Vampyre and yet she saved you.’

‘It is almost upon you, Owen,’ Megan’s voice screamed inside my skull. ‘Run!’

‘The danger is past,’ I whispered. Still cradling Ilka’s body in my arms.

‘No! I can feel it!’

Even through my grief I felt the sudden chill of understanding. ‘Megan!’ I cried. ‘It is not here. The danger is with you. It is coming for you!’

But there was no answer. No link.

The numbness had faded from my shoulder and I laid Ilka’s body down and took up her silver sabre. Somewhere within Vampyre-haunted palace was Golgoleth. And I would find him.

Astiana awoke in the night, a dark dream hovering at the edge of memory yet slipping away before she could fasten to it. She sat up; the cabin was empty and cold and she rose from the bed.

Mace and the others had gone and she felt alone.

No, she realized, not just alone. Desolate. Empty.

You fool, she told herself, remembering again that night on the journey from the ruined cabin. Everyone had been asleep, save Piercollo who was on watch. Astiana had felt the need for solitude and had wandered away into the forest to sit beside a silver stream. Swiftly she disrobed, putting aside the thick woollen habit and her underclothes of cotton. The stream was icy-cold, but she enjoyed the silky flow of the water over her skin.

Mace had found her there.

‘You should not stray from the camp,’ he said. ‘There are still robbers in these woods.

’I have the Morningstar to protect me,’ she had snapped, angry to be disturbed and sitting up with her arms across her chest.

‘No need to be frightened, sister,’ he said. ‘I’ll not molest you.’

‘I do not fear you,’she told him.

‘You’ve a good body. Shame you’ve decided to waste it.’

‘How dare you!’ she stormed, rising from the water. ‘You speak of waste? I have spent my life helping others, healing the sick, giving hope to those who have no dreams. What right have you to speak to me of waste? What have you ever done save gratify your lust?’

‘Not much,’ he admitted. ‘And you are quite correct, it was a stupid thing to say.’ He smiled suddenly and removed his shirt, tossing it to her. ‘Here! Dry yourself. You’ll catch cold.’

The shirt smelt of woodsmoke and sweat but she used it anyway, then clothed herself.

‘Thank you,’ she told him. ‘Both for the shirt — and for your courtesy.’ She was angry still, but struggled to mask it. Although she would never have contemplated allowing Mace to make love to her, nevertheless she was irritated that, despite finding her naked, he had made no attempt to seduce her.

‘What will you do,’ she asked him, ‘when the people finally realize what you are, when they see you are not a legend?’

‘I won’t be there to suffer it, lady,’ he told her.

The sharp retort died in her throat, for at first she thought he meant he would flee, and then she realized what he was saying. Her resentment of him vanished like a spent candle.

‘I’m sorry I said that,’ she whispered. ‘The words were born of anger.’

He shrugged and grinned. ‘The truth mostly is, I find.’

‘I don’t want you to die, Jarek.’

‘Why should you care?’ he asked, pushing himself to his feet. ‘You don’t even like me.’

‘No, I don’t. But I love you.’ The words rushed out before she could stop them, and strangely she was not surprised. It was as if Mace’s readiness to die for the cause had breached the wall between them.

‘Oh, I know that,’ he said. ‘Most women do.’Then he had walked away.

She had scarcely spoken to him after that.

Now he was gone. They were all gone.

Astiana sighed. I should be with them, she thought. I am a Gastoigne sister and pledged to stand for the Light against the gathering Dark.

Silently she left the cabin and walked across the clearing towards the night-dark forest.

She travelled for hours, long past the dawn, arriving in mid-afternoon at the remains of their camp-fire. Wearily she sat by the ashes, her thoughts once more on the night by the stream.

Her limbs felt heavy, drained of energy and she lay back on the soft ground with her head pillowed on her arm. Almost at once she fell asleep and dreamt she was floating beneath the stars in a jet-black sky. There was comfort in the dream, freedom from care and fear, and she soared through the night unfettered.

Below her lay Ziraccu, dark and gloomy, a black crown upon a hill. She flew closer, seeing the Vampyre mob beating upon the gates of the palace. Such was the power of the evil emanating from the scene that it pushed her back, as if she had been touched by Hellfire. She fled the city and found herself hovering above a hillside where a grey, hooded figure was kneeling with head bowed.

Movement caught her eye. A man was creeping towards the grey-cloaked Megan, and in his hand was a dark-bladed knife.

‘Megan!’ screamed Astiana.

The hooded head came up — but the man sprang forward to bury his knife into her back. Megan fell, and twisted, her hand pointing up at the assassin. Light blazed from her fingers, enveloping him.

And his screams were terrible to hear.

His flesh bubbled and burned, fire blazing from his eyes. The body collapsed, searing flames bursting through his clothes. Within seconds there was nothing on the hillside save a severed foot and half a hand.

Megan struggled to her knees, her bony fingers trying to reach the knife at her back.

Astiana’s spirit sped back to her sleeping body, and her eyes opened. Rolling to her feet, she ran for the hillside.

Megan had fallen once more and was lying face-down on the grass. Astiana gently turned her, cradling the old woman’s head. ‘Megan! Megan!’

‘I… am… alive,’ whispered Megan.

A dark moon shadow fell across them. Astiana glanced up — and her blood froze.

Silhouetted against the moonlight was a tall, wide-shouldered man with a face as pale as ivory and eyes the colour of blood. Upon his long white hair sat a thin crown of silver, inset with pale gems.

‘Carleth!’ hissed Megan, struggling to rise. The man smiled and the elongated canines gleamed in the moonlight. Astiana could not move — even when he bent and reached for her, his fingers curling into the folds of her habit. Slowly he drew her to her feet.

‘I will give you immortality,’ he said, his voice low and seductive. ‘And you will serve me until the world ends.’

‘Let her go, demon!’

Carleth’s head turned slowly and Astiana saw Piercollo standing close by. The giant was unarmed and Carleth gave a soft laugh. ‘You wish to stop me, human? Come, then. Come to Carleth.’

‘No.!’ shouted Astiana. ‘Run!’

The Vampyre King hurled her aside and advanced on Piercollo.

‘My, but you are a strong fellow,’ said Carleth. ‘I can see that you have great power in those limbs. But you have a lesson to learn. This is real strength!’ With stunning speed he launched himself at the Tuscanian, his fist cracking against the giant’s chin. Piercollo was lifted from his feet and sent spinning to the grass.

‘Astiana!’ called Megan weakly.

Astiana, still half-stunned, crawled to her. Megan drew her dagger from the sheath at her side and pushed it into Astiana’s hand. The blade was shining brightly. ‘Kill it!’ Megan ordered.

Piercollo rolled to his knees, then staggered upright. Once more the Vampyre attacked, but this time Piercollo’s huge hands closed upon its throat, squeezing tight.

‘I do not need to breathe,’ said Carleth, untroubled by the pressure. His arms lashed up and out, breaking the giant’s grip with ease. Piercollo launched a fist, but Carleth swayed aside and laughed aloud. ‘How pitiful you are.’ He struck Piercollo in the face, and Astiana heard the breaking of bone.

Rising to her feet she ran behind the Vampyre King, plunging the enchanted blade deep into his back. Carleth screamed, and swung towards her. Piercollo leapt forward, his right arm snaking round Carleth’s neck and his left hand pushing down on the creature’s shoulder. The giant’s attack forced Carleth to his knees. then with a titanic heave Piercollo threw his weight back, while pushing forward and down with his left arm. Carleth’s neck stretched and snapped, the skin of the throat ripping and exposing the bone. Still the Vampyre struggled and Piercollo was almost thrown clear. But with one more awesome effort he ripped the head from the shoulders.

Carleth’s body fell to the ground, the head falling from Piercollo’s grip.

The giant took a deep breath and rose, moving towards Astiana.

‘He did not hurt you?’ he asked.

‘No. Where are the others?’

‘Inside,’ he said. ‘I think all is not well.’

That is the story as Astiana told it to me. And Piercollo’s words were uncannily accurate.

I took the stairs two at a time, Raul following me. I cared nothing now for life, for in my despair I thought nothing of a future without Ilka. All that drove me was the desire to see Golgoleth die. For with his death, the city would be free.

At the top of the stairs I halted. Ahead of me was a warren of corridors and I swung to Raul. ‘Where did you last see Mace?’ I asked him.

‘We came up here and separated. I went left, but the doors were all bolted. There’s a second stair leading up to the next level — I think Mace must have taken it.’

I had never been in the governor’s palace, and I struggled to remember all I had heard of it. Built some two hundred years before by one of the Highland Angostin Kings, it now housed works of art, sculptures and paintings plundered from the continent during the Oversea Wars. There was a hall containing almost two thousand paintings, some of them hundreds of years old; that was on the third level. There was a window to my left, covered by a velvet hanging. Running to it I tore the cloth loose, allowing light to spear into the gloom of the corridors.

But it was moonlight.

I moved forward towards the rising stairs. A black cloak was draped across the banister rail at the top, all that remained of a Vampyre warrior. ‘You were right,’ I told Raul. ‘Mace went this way.’ The sabre hilt was slippery with sweat and I wiped it dry on my tunic. Then I mounted the stairs. From below we could hear the relentless hammering on the doors, the creaking and the groaning of the wood.

We came to the top of the stairs and I saw Mace’s bow and quiver lying in the hallway. More than this, we heard the clash of sword-blades coming from beyond an open doorway. Before I could stop him Raul had leapt ahead of me, running to aid Mace.

But my mind was cool, my thoughts clear as ice crystals. I ran to where Mace’s bow lay and looped the quiver over my shoulder. Then taking up the bow I moved to the left of the doorway, peering round the frame. The room beyond was full of dark-cioaked warriors forming a great circle around two swordsmen. I saw Raul overpowered and dragged forward, his arms pinned behind him, and then I watched as Mace and Golgoleth circled one another. The Vampyre King was tall, wide-shouldered and powerful, moving with a speed both unnatural and chilling. For all his great skill, Mace looked like a clumsy farmhand, his sword flailing ineffectually.

Golgoleth was toying with him, taunting him. ‘You pitiful creature. Where has your skill gone? I expected more from you.’ The hall was lit by scores of red-glassed lanterns, whose light made the scene glow like a vision of Hell.

Mace was bleeding from many cuts to his face, arms and body, but still he stood — moving warily, sword raised. I glanced up. All around the hall was a balcony and many more Vampyres were crowded there, looking down on the battle. Golgoleth attacked once more, his body a blur, his black sword lancing out like a serpent’s tongue. Mace threw himself to his right, rolling to his feet; but a fresh cut had appeared on his right cheek and the skin was flapping, blood gushing to his jerkin.

‘You worm!’ roared Golgoleth. ‘For all that you have cost me I will make you suffer. There will be no eternity in the Darkside for you. I will not make you one of us. You will know pain no mortal has ever experienced, and I will not let you die.’

‘Talk is cheap, you ugly whoreson!’ snarled Mace, but it was a defiance born more of courage than of hope.

Laying down the sabre I notched an arrow to Mace’s bow. Drawing back on the string, I aimed the shaft.

Just then something struck me from behind, hurling me to the floor, and I felt a weight upon my back and fangs ripping at my throat. I tried to roll, to twist my head, but the pain was excruciating. My face was pressed to the wooden floor-boards; my hands scrabbled towards the sabre lying close, but the Vampyre’s fingers locked to my wrist.

I heard a hissing sound, then a crunching thud accompanied by the splintering of bone, and the weight vanished. I rolled to see Wulf on his knees at the far end of the corridor, his bow in his hands. A dark cloak was draped across me, a silver arrow upon it. I pushed myself to my feet.

The Vampyres within the hall had turned and were advancing towards me. Beyond them Mace had been disarmed and Golgoleth was holding him aloft by the throat, shaking him like a trapped rat.

Swiftly I gathered the bow, notched an arrow and loosed it at the broad back of the Vampyre lord. The shaft slashed through the air. As soon as it was loosed I knew I had missed the killing shot, but the arrow plunged through Golgoleth’s forearm. He did not even seem to notice it, nor did he loosen his hold on the dangling figure of Jarek Mace.

But, just as the Vampyres reached me, I caught a glimpse of Mace reaching out and grabbing the jutting shaft, tearing it loose and plunging it into Golgoleth’s throat. A terrible scream rent the air and the Vampyres advancing on me halted and spun. Releasing his hold on Mace, Golgoleth staggered back. Mace fell to the floor but as Vampyres swarmed towards him he gathered his sword and leapt forward, the blade of light sweeping in a vicious horizontal cut that hacked through Golgoleth’s neck in one awesome stroke.

Within a single heartbeat the entire hall was empty and silent, save for Raul Raubert and the bloody but triumphant Jarek Mace.

The Morningstar fell to his knees. I sank to the floor, my back to the wall, and saw again my lovely Ilka. Emptiness flooded by soul.

And I began to weep.

Raul approached, putting his arms around me. Thankfully he said nothing, and I was comforted by his presence. After a while Mace, carrying the skull of Golgoleth, joined us. Raul explained about Ilka and the others and Mace patted my shoulder and walked out into the corridor.

Raul helped me to my feet and we followed the Morningstar. He was sitting beside the ashen-faced hunchback. ‘All this for a few skulls,’ said Mace, with a forced grin.

‘You ain’t so… handsome now,’ offered Wulf.

‘Women love scars,’ countered Mace. Slowly we made our way down to the lower hall, Raul half carrying Wulf and I supporting the Morningstar.

Night had fallen, but the city was empty and silent and we sat on the steps of the palace and felt the cool night breeze upon our faces. The wound in my throat was stinging, but I scarcely felt it.

After a while we heard the sound of marching men and saw Brackban, Piercollo and hundreds of warriors come into sight. Brackban ran to us, kneeling before Mace.

‘By God, you did it!’ he cried.

Mace was too weary to respond. ‘There is still one more king,’ I said.

Brackban shook his head and told me of Piercollo’s battle with Carleth.

‘How is Megan?’ I asked.

His face was solemn as he answered me. ‘She is alive, but she has a knife wound in her back — deep and, I fear, mortal.’ I closed my eyes, a great weariness settling over me. ‘You won,’ I heard him say.

‘I lost something more valuable, something more precious…’ I could say no more. Pushing myself to my feet, I wandered away into the deserted city.