The Hounds of Avalon

The screeching blast of the siren tore Hal from troubled dreams of betrayal and hatred. He scrambled out of his bed into the freezing cold room and ran to the window. Through the thick frost that lined the glass inside and out he could just discern frantic activity. Soldiers carrying rifles raced along the street. A few seconds later, a truck packed with more soldiers followed a snowplough down the centre of the road.

Hal’s first thought was that either Manning had launched some kind of coup or that Reid had arranged for her arrest and some kind of disturbance had broken out. Still half-asleep, he stripped off the several layers of clothing he’d taken to wearing in bed, splashed some water on his face and quickly dressed.

He was barely out of his room when Samantha came running up the corridor in a state of distress.

‘What’s wrong?’ he said, catching her in his arms.

She sobbed against his shoulder for a moment before she calmed enough to tell him. ‘It’s the prime minister — he’s been assassinated.’

‘What happened? Tell me.’ Hal gently pushed Samantha away from him so that he could look in her face.

‘I don’t know.’ She wiped her tears away with the back of one hand. ‘No one’s releasing any details. All we’ve heard is that it happened about half an hour ago. They’re shutting down all buildings and instituting an immediate curfew while they search for the killer.’

Hal’s jaw gaped in shock. Is that what Manning had been planning? If so, Reid must be devastated at not having acted immediately. But then no one could have foreseen it. Who would possibly kill their leader on the eve of a battle that would determine the survival of the human race? He decided not to tell Samantha anything about Manning and his conversation with Reid in case it put her in danger.

‘If we’re being confined to our quarters, I wanted to be here with you,’ she said.

Hal took her back inside and quickly made up the fire. Once it was roaring, he brewed up and they sat warming themselves while they drank their herbal infusion.

‘I don’t know what’s going to happen to us,’ Samantha said desolately. ‘I always had hope that things were going to turn out all right… they always do, don’t they? Or did. Even at the Fall, when it seemed as if it was the end. We pulled through that. But now I’m not so sure.’

‘Things will work out,’ Hal said with as much optimism as he could muster. ‘There are a lot of good people working on our behalf.’

Samantha didn’t look convinced, so Hal changed the subject. ‘I’ve been doing a bit more research on the mystery we found at Shugborough and I think I’ve made a breakthrough.’ He fetched a pile of books and papers from his desk and spread them out around her.

‘I don’t know how you can think about that at a time like this,’ Samantha muttered.

‘Because it might be our only hope,’ Hal said simply.

Reluctantly, she picked up a book of illustrations of one of the Grail romances. ‘What’s this? King Arthur?’

‘The stone with the Poussin image inside was found at Cadbury Hill, one of the supposed locations of Camelot. There are lots of Arthurian links floating around this whole business. I’m starting to think that maybe the legend of King Arthur is a code, too, like the Poussin painting and the Shepherds’ Monument — that the stories themselves and elements of them are meant to be symbolic. And that somehow they tie in to what we’re looking for.’

‘Sounds a bit tenuous,’ Samantha said, unconvinced.

‘Not really. Arthur’s sword, Excalibur, was supposed to have come from the Otherworld. And that’s where he went when he died. And the Poussin painting is of a tomb, and the mystery surrounding it points to T’ir n’a n’Og.’

‘Arthur’s Tomb?’

‘Like I said, it’s a code. We shouldn’t take it at face value.’

‘But the King Arthur legend goes back centuries before Poussin, even. How long has all this been weaving together?’

‘Ah,’ Hal said with a smile. ‘That’s the mystery.’

Before he could say any more, they were disturbed by the sound of numerous booted feet running along the corridor without. Doors were flung open, orders barked. Hal’s door crashed wide and a grim-faced soldier stood there brandishing a rifle as if he was prepared to shoot Hal and Samantha on the spot.

‘There’s a curfew,’ he said. ‘No one’s to leave their quarters.’

‘We heard the news,’ Hal said. ‘Who’s in charge?’

The soldier’s cold eyes observed Hal with near-contempt for a moment before he replied, ‘The General.’ And then he was gone and Hal’s many other questions were left unanswered: what about the rest of the Cabinet? Where was Reid? And what did the General plan to do now?

The journey from Glastonbury had been hard, over roads and fields that resembled the Arctic wastes in the face of a wind that raked at their flesh day and night. Mallory wished he could have turned his back on his responsibilities and stayed behind in the magical atmosphere of the sunlit Tor. When the summer gave way to winter as he passed the limit of the Culture’s influence, he felt a palpable pang of despair and looked back repeatedly until the blizzard blocked the glowing uplands from view. The biting cold and the dark days felt more than just a physical hardship; they were signs of a world bereft of hope, winding down to die as the last candle guttered.

With his mood still tainted by the loss of Sophie, it would have been easy to give in to despair, but Shavi was there on the horse at his side with quiet words of encouragement. Mallory already felt that he could trust the young Asian man with his life. Shavi was the most spiritual person Mallory had ever met; the peace he radiated was almost contagious, filtering in through Mallory’s pores, neutralising his blackest thoughts, shining a light into the dark areas of his soul. Mallory knew that over time the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons increasingly exhibited peculiar abilities, and this, he decided, was Shavi’s: the magic of the soul, given strength and weight. That description had an uneasily religious tang for someone like Mallory, who had little time for God or gods, but even he instinctively felt the truth of it.

With the wind howling in their ears, Shavi told Mallory of how he had fled a repressive family in West London for a life of searching. He had hungrily devoured the teachings of every major religion and most of the minor ones, eventually turning to more esoteric knowledge as he quested for his own personal grail. But then he had experienced colourful dreams that drew him into contact with the other Brothers and Sisters of Dragons, much like the insistent pull that had dragged Mallory to Salisbury where he had first encountered Sophie.

‘It’s difficult to get your head around the fact that you’re special,’ Mallory said as he futilely attempted to warm himself beside a raging campfire.

‘I do not consider myself special,’ Shavi replied. ‘I believe we have been given the tools to do a job on behalf of humanity. It is our duty to carry out our task to the best of our abilities. In truth, we are not special, we are servants. We act with humility, not arrogance. We accept sacrifice and suffering. That is our lot.’

Mallory jabbed a branch into the depths of the fire, watching the sparks fly up to meet the falling snow. ‘And is that it? We have to accept misery? There’s no cake when we get to the end of the road?’

Shavi smiled wryly. ‘Happy endings, Mallory? You do not seem the type.’

‘Yeah. Maybe you’re right. I’m an old cynic. But I do have barely repressed romantic leanings.’ Mallory pondered Shavi’s words for a moment, then said, ‘Not so long ago I was told that I come from another world that doesn’t exist any more. Somehow reality changed. My world disappeared, and this world is what we have in its place. Do you think that’s possible?’

‘I think we live in a universe where anything is possible. The only reality that truly matters is the one inside here.’ He gently tapped the position of his third eye, in the middle of his forehead. ‘Something is troubling you. Would you like to talk about it?’

Mallory was surprised; he always guarded his true thoughts and feelings carefully, but Shavi had seen inside him effortlessly. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so taken aback. The initial elation when the gaps in his memory were filled had faded and the knowledge had developed a gravity that was gradually sucking all of his other thoughts into it.

Mallory told Shavi about the Fabulous Beast and Jenny, the woman who had been possessed by it, or had become its avatar, or some other relationship he couldn’t quite understand. Shavi was both surprised and excited by Mallory’s account.

‘I feel this is very important,’ he said. ‘A bond established between human and Fabulous Beast. It could be a very good omen.’

‘The girl told me that I died in the last world… blew my brains out.’

‘I am sorry.’ Shavi was not being glib; he looked truly upset by Mallory’s bald statement.

‘But I died, do you understand? And now I’m here, alive. This place doesn’t look like heaven. It looks a lot like hell, but I don’t think it’s that, either. You visited the land of the dead on one of your transcendental super-jaunts, so tell me… what does it mean to die? Do you just carry on in some other place, like me? Or is all this some illusion playing out in my dying mind?’

‘Perhaps this world is the Bardo Thodel of the Tibetan mystics, the place between death and birth.’

‘They missed that bit out when I was doing my studies at Salisbury.’

‘The Bardo is central to the Tibetan concept of the afterlife,’ Shavi said. ‘The word means “intermediate state”. The Tibetan mystics believe that all of Existence is nothing but a series of transitional states, which they called Bardos. In the Bardo Thodel, there are three distinct stages between death and rebirth. The Chikai Bardo includes the process of dying and the break-up of the elements that make up the physical body. The Chonyid Bardo is next, with visions of gods, heaven, hell, judgment and so on.’

‘That sounds familiar.’ Mallory found Shavi’s information disturbing in the light of his experience.

‘Finally there is the Sidpa Bardo,’ Shavi continued. ‘During this, the consciousness chooses a new body into which to be born.’

‘Do you believe that?’

‘I believe there are many, many paths and that we must all be detectives, searching along them for any clues that might help us.’

‘There’s got to be some reason for all this misery,’ Mallory said. ‘If it’s all just the result of some random chemical reactions at the dawn of time, it would be so crushing.’

‘The search for meaning is the greatest quest of all.’ Shavi’s smile suggested that he knew much more than he was saying.

‘When I was in Salisbury training to be a knight, I had to study a lot of Christian philosophy.’ Mallory continued to prod the fire, watching the sparks leap heavenwards. ‘There’s a philosopher called Hicks — you’ve probably read him. He says that this world is basically a school for souls. All the struggles and hardships we go through, all the evils we face, are designed to challenge us and shape us until we develop our souls and become more like God.’

Shavi said nothing.

‘There are a million explanations as to why we’re here, putting up with all this shit.’ Mallory was entranced by the fire, almost talking to himself. ‘Where do we look for answers? Science or religion? Are there any answers? Or should we just stop wasting our time thinking about it and get on with it?’

‘The answers are inside us,’ Shavi said softly. ‘We all know the truth instinctively. Many have forgotten how to listen to that part of themselves. We need to relearn.’

‘If we don’t know what’s expected of us…’ Mallory flailed around for the right words. ‘How are we supposed to know whether what we’re doing is right?’

Shavi could see the distress that lay behind Mallory’s questions and moved quickly to calm him. In soft tones, he said, ‘Consider, then, Hindu beliefs. To Hindus, the universe is a vast place filled with immeasurable numbers of thinking beings, gods and demons continually being born, dying and re-born. The time-scale is vast: three hundred billion years for the entire wheel of existence to turn. How can humans, so insignificant in this big picture, so powerless, make decisions about how to live? The Hindus find their answer in the Sanskrit word dharma. It is defined as each person’s unique path in life, and the knowledge of how to find it. Dharma is always there to be discovered, and it is the answer when faced with something too immense to comprehend.’

‘But how do you find dharma?’

Shavi smiled. ‘That is the simplest path of all. To find dharma, you must be yourself, as fully as possible. All the information you need lies within you. Recognise that each human consciousness is unique, that each is an experiment in seeking the eternal truth.’

‘Just be myself? I’m lucky to get across the room if I do that.’

This time Shavi laughed heartily. ‘Mallory, your self-deprecation belies your true essence. I can see it. Allow yourself to see it.’

Mallory nodded, but the question he really wanted answered died on his lips. He wasn’t concerned about himself. His desperate need to know the meaning of life and death, and whether death itself was an ending, was driven by Sophie. Was there hope for her, somewhere beyond the world? Would he ever meet her again?

They travelled for as long as they could, but the cold forced them to take regular breaks in any shelter they could find. At Barnsley House, Mallory searched for the Fabulous Beast and Jenny at Shavi’s insistence, but they were gone. Yet there was still a faint echo of their presence in the air, like the intense atmosphere in a cathedral.

Somehow they made it across the freezing wastes without dying from the cold or starvation. They had come across many people frozen in their homes, their last fuel now ashes in the fireplace, their cupboards bare. After the Fall and the plague, humanity was barely clinging on; the new ice age was a crisis too far.

As they neared Oxford, they became distracted from the humanitarian crisis. Not far from the outskirts, Mallory reined in his horse on a ridge to survey a curious sight: a row of figures moving across a field in the wan, late-afternoon light. At first he thought they were residents of the nearby village, but their regimented actions made little sense.

‘They are not human,’ Shavi said quietly, as if he could read Mallory’s thoughts. His head was back, his eyes closed so that he appeared to be either listening intently or smelling the air. ‘I feel

… despair. It rises off them like smoke from a bonfire. They are all empty… shells given animation. Their humanity twisted, perverted.’

Shavi’s words confirmed what Mallory thought he could see: weapons protruding from the bodies of the figures themselves as if they had been implanted by some horrific surgical technique. ‘The enemy,’ Mallory said, recalling his encounter with them at Cadbury Hill. He scanned the area. ‘Advance troops.’

‘They are encircling Oxford,’ Shavi said. Mallory didn’t think to ask how he could possibly know this. ‘That is where the last stand will take place. And the enemy wants to make sure that no one will leave alive to drum up any further opposition.’

‘Then the sensible option would be to stay outside town, mount some kind of guerrilla action behind enemy lines.’

‘It would, if you think we could survive out here and maintain cover while their troops mass.’

Mallory considered what Hunter had told him about the vast and increasing numbers of the Lament-Brood in Scotland. ‘What’s the alternative? Suicide? If we go into Oxford, we’ll never get out. They’ll have us trapped. Then how will we find the Void and destroy it?’

‘The Brothers and Sisters of Dragons should be united for the last stand. That is the will of Existence.’

‘What if Hunter hasn’t been able to get through enemy lines?’ He paused, then answered the question himself. ‘That’s a risk we’ll have to take. He’ll be heading towards the meeting place, so that’s where I ought to be.’

In the distance, purple mist drifted against the gleaming white background. Mallory knew it was more of the enemy, circling closer, drawing their lines together. ‘Let’s wait until night falls, then slip through between their patrols.’

In the depths of a copse now stripped of summer leaves by the biting cold, they watched the distant movement of dark figures against the snow, occasionally swathed in that eerie purple mist like soldiers on a First World War battlefield. Their numbers were increasing slowly, the space between patrols growing smaller. Night wasn’t coming fast enough. The horses stamped restlessly on the edge of the stand of stark trees, snorts of hot breath billowing.

Twilight eventually came in fast and hard. Mallory and Shavi shook relentlessly with the cold, yearning for a fire or some movement to warm their blood. The dangers of exposure were readily apparent, and whenever Mallory saw Shavi’s eyes begin to flutter shut, Mallory shook him awake with hands that could barely feel what they were touching.

Eventually, though, the cold proved the greater enemy and even Mallory began to succumb. His eyelids grew heavy and he fought to keep them open, pinching himself hard on the face, punching tree trunks, while watching for the last glimmer of light to fade.

The enemy moved across a field, ghostly against the growing gloom. Mallory’s eyes dimmed momentarily, and when he forced them open again, the enemy were even nearer; Mallory could hear the crunch of their feet in the frosted snow. He pulled Shavi down, then eased them a few paces backwards so that they could more easily merge into the background vegetation.

Complete darkness was only a few minutes away.

Through branches and twigs, he watched the patrol’s slow movement along the edge of the copse… and watched… and…

He woke with a start as activity exploded around him, cursing with the realisation that the vampire cold had sucked away his consciousness. It was dark, but the snow added an eerie luminescence to everything. Streams of purple mist floated amongst the trees.

Shavi’s cry for help echoed from somewhere nearby. Mallory forced himself alert, then propelled his stiff, cold body forward in a lurching, drunken motion through the silver trees, his limbs too numb to feel any sensation. With a shock, he realised that the enemy were everywhere. Their ghostly figures loomed all around, sometimes standing motionless so that they appeared to be part of the copse itself, at other times stalking at a slow, measured pace. The oppressive atmosphere of despair made Mallory even more sluggish. There was whispering, too, so subtle it felt like the wind in the branches, urging him to give up, give in, die.

Another cry for help. The direction now clear, Mallory propelled himself forward once more. Two members of the Lament-Brood had Shavi pinned. Deep ruts marred the snow where he had been dragged. Blood ran down his face from a head wound that must have stunned him, and now one of the Lament-Brood was poised to complete the job with a spear protruding from its forearm.

Mallory drew Llyrwyn and the copse was suddenly flooded with sizzling blue light so strong that it shocked him motionless for a split second. Sapphire flames blazed around the edge of the blade, and the familiar smell of burned iron flooded the air.

Though the Lament-Brood appeared to be little more than machines, the two holding Shavi shied away from the burning sword. The spear hung mere inches from being plunged into Shavi’s face.

Mallory bounded in, swinging Llyrwyn in an arc. It sliced through neck muscles and bone with a sizzle and the head flew into a snow drift where it stared at Mallory with wide eyes.

The other attacker, a more brutish and alien creature than his decapitated comrade, swung an arm with a fan of knives protruding from the wrist. His blood now hot and pulsing with adrenalin and the strange energy of the sword, Mallory ducked the attack, drove Llyrwyn hard into the creature’s belly and then used all his strength to rip upwards. As it flopped backwards hanging in two halves, Mallory grabbed Shavi’s arm and yanked him to his feet.

‘Leave me here,’ Shavi said. ‘If you try to get me out they will have you, and that will be the end of all hope for humanity. You are the important one now, not me.’

Mallory looked around. The Lament-Brood were moving towards them from all directions through the ghostly trees. Shavi was right: if he ran, he could escape through the gaps to reach the horses. If he had to manhandle Shavi, he wouldn’t have a chance.

He let Shavi sink gently back to the ground and headed for a clear path. But he’d only gone a few paces before he realised that he couldn’t leave Shavi behind, whatever the cost. He ran back and before Shavi could speak, barked, ‘Don’t say anything! Just keep behind me!’

Shavi pressed against an ancient oak, continually wiping the blood from his eyes. Mallory gripped his sword tightly, set his legs apart and braced himself. It was too late to change his mind: the Lament-Brood had closed their ranks and were drawing nearer. In the dark, Mallory couldn’t work out how many were approaching, but there were certainly more than he could destroy. But if this was to be his last stand, he would go out fighting.

For half an hour, Mallory battled fiercely, the air filled with the clash of steel and the hacking of flesh as brilliant blue light soared and fizzed and flashed as though they were at the centre of an electrical storm. The bodies of the Lament-Brood piled up all around, forcing Mallory to clamber on top of them, fighting for his footing so that he could strike again and again. And still the Lament-Brood came.

For Mallory, it was his finest hour. Blood seeped from a thousand cuts. His cloak was in ribbons, his shirt sliced open so that the cold bit into his bare chest. Every muscle was on fire, every ligament hurt and exhaustion always seemed but a hair’s breadth away. But still he fought, scything and hacking, parrying, stabbing, chopping, with a skill that exceeded anything he thought he had within him.

Determination clouded his mind and weariness wrapped it in cotton wool until he had little idea how long he had been there or even what he was doing. There were only the constant shapes looming out of the night, the purple mist, the attack, the body in front of him falling, and then the next enemy approaching.

And then he found himself lashing the sword back and forth but no longer feeling the juddering impact of steel on bone. Yet still he continued to fight, blinded by the fury of battle, until he felt a hand on his shoulder and a calming voice just behind his right ear: ‘Mallory, it is over.’

It felt as if a spell had been broken. His eyes cleared to reveal a mountain of bodies, parts scattered all around. Snow was falling softly on the still, motionless copse.

The exhaustion finally caught up with him and he staggered backwards into Shavi’s arms. ‘You proved yourself a Brother of Dragons tonight,’ Shavi whispered. ‘But you must not rest yet.’ Shavi’s face was covered with dried blood, but he was smiling. ‘We must be away, Mallory. Escape, before more come.’

Mallory nodded and somehow found some last vestige of strength in his limbs. He forced his way through the trees to where the horses waited. Shavi helped Mallory into the saddle and pulled himself on to his own mount. They scanned the snow-covered countryside, saw that there were no further Lament-Brood in the immediate vicinity and then rode as fast as they could over the treacherous ground.

At first, Mallory barely had the strength to cling on, but when the lights of Oxford finally sparkled on the horizon, he raised himself up in his saddle and looked to Shavi. ‘We did all right, didn’t we? Not such a pair of losers after all. Maybe there is still hope.’

Shavi smiled. ‘There is always hope,’ the seer said.

When they entered the city’s outskirts, Mallory and Shavi dismounted. They had hoped to sneak in quietly, but there was activity ahead. A makeshift barricade was being thrown up across the road from building to building: old vehicles, metal sheeting, household furniture piled high. Sparks from welding equipment arced in several places and the screech of metal goods being dragged around reverberated loudly, punctuated by barked orders.

Mallory was just about to urge Shavi that they should find another route into the city when they were caught in a powerful beam of light. Someone shouted threateningly, ‘Who goes there?’

‘Friend,’ Mallory replied loudly. ‘Two of us.’

A small group of heavily armed soldiers advanced from behind the barricade. Mallory’s hand went to the hilt of his sword beneath the remains of his cloak. The captain of the guard led the way, his features obscured by the hood of his thermal uniform. He shone the light in Mallory’s face, then illuminated his tattered clothes.

‘You must be freezing,’ the captain said. ‘What happened to your clothes?’ He indicated the cuts. ‘You’ve been attacked?’

‘These strange creatures set on us,’ Shavi said, feigning ignorance of the situation. ‘An army of them. We were lucky to get away with our lives.’

‘How far away?’ the captain said insistently.

‘About five miles-’

‘Jesus Christ.’ The captain spun around on his heels and hollered at the men working on the defences. ‘Get a move on! The enemy is almost here!’

He turned back to Shavi and Mallory, keeping the torch on their faces; he was still suspicious. ‘You’re lucky. We’ve had orders not to let anyone inside once the barricades are up.’ He nodded to one of his men. ‘Sergeant Priest here will take you to the gate office, where you’ll be collected for debriefing. Leave your horses at the gate.’

‘Can we find somewhere to rest and get a bite to eat?’ Mallory asked.

‘In a while. We’re under martial law — no one is allowed to wander the streets without an escort. And I need all my men here.’

The captain turned brusquely away and hurried on ahead of them, while Priest led Mallory and Shavi through a small gap in the defences. The minute they were through, a large panel of rusted iron was hefted into the gap and men rushed forward with facemasks and canisters to weld it into place.

Mallory and Shavi exchanged a secret glance, but the place was swarming with soldiers and there was no way they would be able to make a run for it. The horses were led off to stabling and some much-needed food and warmth, while Mallory and Shavi were guided to a brightly lit makeshift office. Priest left them inside with a guard on the door and returned to his duties.

The warmth of the room was a fantastic relief to the two frozen men, but they barely had time to consider their options before there was an outcry at the barricade. Part of the defences had collapsed, pinning two soldiers beneath it. The guard at the door rushed to help.

Instantly, Mallory jumped to his feet and swung open the door. He glanced around to make sure no one was watching, but all the soldiers were involved in either rescuing the two men or patching up the barricade.

Motioning for Shavi to follow, Mallory glided into the shadows along the row of houses, keeping low. Within a minute, they were out of sight of the barricade and running as fast as they could manage in the heavy snow.

As they approached the city centre, they came to a sharp halt. The outline of the aged buildings against the night sky was indistinct, and there appeared to be another city shimmering over the top of it like a mirage, filled with a faint blue light.

‘You see that?’ Mallory asked.

‘I do.’

‘I’ve seen something like it before. In Salisbury,’ Mallory said. ‘For a time there was a warping effect that made the Cathedral stretch through into-’

‘T’ir n’a n’Og,’ Shavi finished for him, with a hint of awe.

Mallory shrugged. ‘Whatever you want to call it. Why is it happening here?’

But Shavi was silent.

As they progressed cautiously into the heart of the still, silent city, entrancing events began to unfold around them: a tiny figure flying high over the street leaving a trail of gold sparkles behind it; a wolf with the body of a man rooting in bins down an alley at the side of a restaurant; ghostly figures fading in and out of focus, not quite human, all garishly dressed; and then in the distance, coming down somewhere in the city, what at first looked like a comet with a blue tail, but then became the Fabulous Beast Mallory had seen at Barnsley House.

Mallory began to point it out just as they were assailed by a rushing wind and the odour of burned iron. Blue lightning crashed all around and thunder rolled ominously close before a hole opened up in the air. Mallory and Shavi jumped back into the shadows of a building as a stream of figures poured out. They sprawled breathlessly on the frozen ground or turned to face the portal, instantly adopting a warlike stance. When the doorway finally clashed shut, there must have been about eighty of them, quickly forming a defensive posture back-to-back in the centre of the street. They all wore ornate, bizarre armour marked with a sun crest.

‘The Tuatha De Danann,’ Shavi said in amazement.

‘You know them?’ Mallory asked.

‘They call themselves the Golden Ones and believe themselves to be gods.’

‘Enemies or friends?’

‘That has never been an easy question to answer.’ Shavi shielded his eyes from the glare of the street lights reflecting off the snow and peered at the group. ‘Is it…? Yes, I think it is.’ He marched forward from the shelter of the buildings, holding out his arms in a gesture of peace. ‘Lugh!’ he called out.

The leader of the group marched forward, proud and tall, the suspicion slowly falling from his face to be replaced by something that almost came close to awe. ‘Great hero.’ He bowed his head slightly. ‘The filid of our court still sing songs of your exploits.’

Shavi took the compliment gracefully, then motioned to Mallory who was still surveying the group with caution.

‘And a Brother of Dragons,’ Lugh said with a bow. ‘Surely, then, we have come to the right place.’

‘Why are you here?’ Shavi asked.

The tension that had turned Lugh’s face to stone fell away to reveal deep emotion. Shavi was shocked by the grief he saw there. Lugh fought to control his voice, then said, ‘The Court of Soul’s Ease has been overrun by those who were once my brothers and sisters. But no longer. Now they are my enemies for all time. They wiped from Existence all those they encountered. The night turned golden with fluttering moths.’ He gestured towards the rest of his group with a hand that trembled uncontrollably. ‘These are all that remain.’

‘The entire court was wiped out?’ Shavi said, horrified.

Lugh struggled to contain his despair. ‘If we had remained behind, we would have been extinguished, too. We retreated to the Watchtower, and then to here, to the Fixed Lands we love so much. That battle is lost, but the war will be rejoined once we have made contact with the Court of the Final Word.’

Mallory didn’t like the note he heard in Lugh’s voice. It was hard, uncompromising, and promised a brutal revenge.

‘For the time being we have come here to help you with your struggle. For if this battle is lost, our war cannot be fought. Besides,’ he added, ‘we owe a great debt to your fellow Sister of Dragons and her associate, Sister no more.’

‘Sister of Dragons?’ Mallory said. ‘Where is she?’ He looked at Shavi eagerly. ‘Then we’ve got another one.’ He paused. ‘Sister no more? What are you talking about?’

‘You do not know them?’ Lugh asked, puzzled. ‘One of the Sisters has lost the fire that blazes inside. The Morrigan now rides her. The other Sister, a brave woman filled with power, came this way before us, through the Watchtower. In the names of your kind she is called Sophie-’

Lugh didn’t have the chance to continue for Mallory turned to Shavi, passionate emotions running unchecked across his face. ‘It can’t be,’ Mallory said; he was afraid that Lugh would reveal it to be a mistake or some cruel joke.

‘The Brother of Dragons believed this Sister to be dead,’ Shavi said to Lugh.

Lugh shook his head. ‘She lives, though she was grievously wounded when she came to the Far Lands. She was repaired in the Court of the Final Word, then-’

Ceridwen emerged from the group to join Lugh. ‘Then I brought her to the Court of Soul’s Ease. Sophie is brave and true, a fine addition to the ranks of the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons.’

Mallory was afraid he would cry with the heady mix of joy and relief. ‘Where is she?’ he asked, his voice breaking.

‘The Sister of Dragons will be here,’ Ceridwen replied, ‘for the Watchtower always ensures that its occupants arrive where they are needed most.’

Mallory grabbed Shavi in a bear hug and lifted him off the ground. Shavi laughed. ‘I am so pleased for you, Mallory,’ he said. ‘And for us all.’

Mallory dropped Shavi and looked around as if Sophie would miraculously appear before him. ‘Come on! We have to find her!’

Shavi placed a hand on Mallory’s shoulder, calm, assured. ‘There will be time for a reunion, time for all the words you thought you would never have the chance to say. But that time is not now.’ He motioned to the Tuatha De Danann, depleted in number but still strong. ‘These are our allies. In the coming fight, we will need them at our side. But if they stay here, they will be taken away — or worse, attacked where they stand. We need shelter, Mallory. We must draw our forces together.’

Mallory’s heart was thundering so hard that he could barely hear Shavi’s words, but he knew the truth of them. Despite everything he felt, he accepted his duty. ‘Tell your people to follow us,’ he said to Lugh. ‘We’ll find a safe place for them until the time comes for the battle.’

Then he turned to Shavi, his face brighter and more hopeful than Shavi had ever seen it. ‘We can do this. I really think we can.’

And with that, he was away along the street, leading the strange troupe with renewed energy.

In his room, huddled before the fire but still not warm, Hal sat surrounded by piles of books that would have seemed to the casual observer to have been arranged in such a way as to form a defence against the outside world. Samantha had been forced to return to her own quarters earlier. Left on his own, the assassination of the prime minister had haunted him for much of the day, his feelings exacerbated by his memories of his recent visit with the leader. The murder would cause despair at a time when they needed hope, chaos when they were desperate for an ordered defence.

During the previous few hours, his mind had found some solace in the mystery that had tested him for so many days. Burying himself in it was an attempt to regain some measure of control when he felt so powerless, but more importantly he was still convinced that it was the key to survival.

At first the puzzle had appeared intractable, but the more he allowed himself to sink into its depths, the more he began to discover subtle connecting strands. Hal was aware of the pitfalls: that mysteries have a seductive power to lull those trying to solve them into making great leaps that, however logical they seem, take them in the wrong direction. Even so, he was sure he was close to a breakthrough.

His thoughts were interrupted by footsteps pounding along the corridor without, then a desperate hammering on his door. Hal opened it to find Samantha in a distraught state.

‘Why have you risked breaking the curfew?’ Hal said, concerned, as she forced her way past him. ‘Whatever it is, they won’t be lenient if they catch you out there. I wouldn’t be surprised-’

‘Hal, shut up!’ The sharpness in her tone silenced him instantly.

‘What’s wrong?’

Samantha listened intently. Through the open door, Hal could hear shouts, running feet, drawing closer. ‘They’re coming for you, Hal!’

‘Me?’

‘They’re saying that you killed the prime minister-’

‘But I was nowhere near him when it happened!’

‘They’re saying that he was killed by some secret weapon, something you planted on him when you met with him.’

‘It’s not true.’ Hal took a deep breath. ‘I’ll explain it all when they get here. There’s been some mistake.’

Samantha grabbed Hal by the shoulders and shook him roughly. ‘Stop acting like a sensible clerk! They’re after a scapegoat so that they can get everyone behind the new leader. And they’re determined to pin it on you!’ She swallowed. ‘They’re going to have you executed as a traitor… make an example of you.’

‘But…’ The thoughts wouldn’t come quickly enough.

‘Stop talking!’ She grabbed him and thrust him out into the corridor. ‘Run! Find somewhere to lie low until… until all this blows over!’

Oddly, the most overwhelming thought in Hal’s head at that moment was the warmth he felt at the deep concern he could see in Samantha’s face. ‘What about you? If they catch you here-’

‘They won’t. Now, go!’

As she ran past him, she paused and gave him a kiss on the cheek, lingering just long enough to search his face before she was away and down the stairs. The sound of the guards was rapidly drawing closer.

Hal ran quickly along the corridor and down the far steps. More snow was falling, and he would be leaving footprints, but he had a head start. As he sprinted through the bitter cold and into the night, his alarm became intense. If they caught him, everything he had learned would be lost. But could he survive with everyone in the city looking for him? Suddenly lost and desperate, he ran as fast as he could to the only place he knew where he might be able to hide.

The barricades were up on every street into the city. Beyond them, purple mist was dimly visible away in the night. The Lament-Brood had arrived. Their forces encircled the city, thousands deep, an army that would never give up. There was no escape for anyone in Oxford.

The end had begun.