Wolf in Shadow

CHAPTER TWELVE

For five days the riders had tried tentative attacks, but now on the sixth their leader went berserk, and the Hellborn mounted their horses and thundered into the pass, through the cross-fire which decimated their ranks and on to the trench where Gambion waited with ten men.

Through the cloud of dust sent up by the pounding hooves of their horses the Hellborn bore down on the waiting men.

'Fire!' screamed Gambion and a ragged volley smashed into the first line of riders, bringing down men and horses. A second volley hammered into the horsemen; then Gambion's men broke and ran for the second trench.

Above them, with three riflemen, Janus cursed. He stood and emptied his rifle into the surging ranks of the enemy. Only Gambion remained in the first trench; his rifle empty, he tugged his pistols clear and shot a man from the saddle. Now the dust swirled above him. A horse leapt over him, then a second. He fired blindly into the dust. A hoof clipped the top of his skull and he fell as shots hammered into the dirt beside him.

Janus screamed at the running men to take up positions and they responded, dropping down beside the three men in the second trench. Shells tore once more into the Hellborn and they broke and ran.

'After them!' shouted Janus, sweeping up a rifle and leaping the earthworks. Some seven men followed him, the rest hunkered down behind the relative safety of the earthworks. Janus knew the next few moments would be crucial in the battle. If they did not push the Hellborn outside into the canyon, they would spread up on to the hillside and outflank the defenders. He ran to the first trench and waited for his men to join him.

Together!' he shouted. 'Volley fire. But only at my signal.'

The men settled their rifles to their shoulders. 'Now!' A volley shrieked through the dust clouds.

'Again!' Three times more they fired into the fleeing Hellborn. Janus led his men further into the pass, aware that their position was perilous should the Hellborn turn, but in the billowing dust the enemy had no idea how many men pursued them. At last Janus stood in the mouth of the pass itself and watched the Hellborn galloping out of range.

‘Take up positions,' he ordered the men around him.

‘I’m out of bullets,' a man told him.

'I've only got two rounds left,' said another.

'Strip the dead,' said Janus. 'But be careful — some of them may only be wounded.'

They gathered what ammunition they could from the fallen riders and returned to their positions.

Janus sprinted back to the first trench where Gambion was sitting up holding his head.

'You ought to be dead,' Janus told him and Gambion looked up at the blond youngster and grinned broadly.

'It'll take more than a kick from a horse.'

'We are almost out of ammunition — we can't hold much longer, Ephram.'

'We have to.'

'Be reasonable, man. When the bullets are gone, then so are we.'

'We've held this long, and we've made them pay. Just four more days.'

'What do you want us to do? Throw rocks at them?'

'Whatever it takes.'

‘There are only twenty-two men left, Ephram.'

'But we've taken over a hundred of them bastards.'

Janus gave up and ran back to the pass, climbing high on to the ridge and shielding his eyes, trying to see the enemy. They had dismounted and were seated in a circle around two officers.

Janus wished he had a long-glass to study the situation more closely. It seemed to him that one of the officers had a pistol in his hand and that the barrel was in his mouth. The crack of the pistol drifted to him and he watched the officer topple sideways.

Gambion joined him. 'What's happening out there?'

'One of their leaders has just killed himself.'

'Good for him!'

'What kind of people are they, Ephram?'

‘They ain't like us, that's for sure. By the way, I done a count and we've roughly fifteen shells per man. Good enough for a couple more attacks.'

Janus chuckled. 'Your head's bleeding,' he said.

'It'll stop. You think they'll come in again today?'

'Yes. One more charge. I think we should take a chance on stopping it dead.'

'How?'

'Line everyone across the pass and hit them with ten volleys.'

'If they break through, there'll be nothing to back us.'

'It's up to you, Ephram.'

Gambion swore. ‘I’ll buy it. Damn, but I never thought to see the day when a boy would give me orders.'

'And a child shall lead them,' said Janus.

'What?'

'It's from the Bible, Ephram. Don't you ever read it?'

'I don't read — but I'll take your word for it.'

'Do it fast. I think they're coming in again.'

Gambion and Janus slid down the slope, calling the men to them. They came reluctantly for the most part and gathered in a ragged line.

'You'd better stand this time, by God!' yelled Gambion.

The riders came on at full gallop. The guns of the defenders bellowed, echoing up into the pass, and the rolling thunder of the volleys drowned the sound of galloping hooves.

The pass was black with cordite smoke and as it cleared Gambion watched the last of the Hellborn cantering away out of range. Fewer than fifty men remained of the three hundred who launched the attack on the first day, while seven defenders were dead and two wounded.

'We'd better gather some ammunition,' said Janus. 'Send ten men to strip the bodies.'

Gambion did so, while the other defenders kept a wary eye on the retreating riders.

'We did well today,' said Gambion. 'You believe in God now?'

Janus cursed. It was the first time Gambion had heard him swear.

'What is it?'

Janus pointed to where, on the far side of the valley, a column of riders could be seen.

'Shit!' hissed Gambion. 'How many?'

'I don't know. Five hundred maybe.'

The scavengers returned with sacks of bullets and some extra pistols. One of them moved alongside Gambion.

They didn't have more than five shells apiece. Ain't enough to hold that bunch.'

'We'll see.'

'Well I ain't staying,' said the man. 'I done my share.'

'We've all done our share, Isaac. You want to run out on God?'

'Run out on him? He ain't doing us no favours here, is he? There must be four, five hundred more of them sons of bitches and we ain't even got enough shells for them all.'

'He's right, Ephram,' said Janus. 'Send a rider to Cade — tell him he's got less than a day and he'd better speed up.'

‘I’ll go,' said Isaac, 'and glad to be out of it.'

The two wounded men were carried back into the pass and Janus touched Gambion's arm. 'We ought to move back, Ephram. We can't do any good here.'

'We can thin them a little.'

'They can afford to lose more than we can.'

'You want to run, then run!' snarled Gambion. 'I'm staying.'

'Here they come!' yelled a defender, pumping a shell into the breech. Gambion wiped sweat from his eyes and peered out into the canyon. Then blinked and squinted into the sunlight.

'Hold your fire!' he shouted. The lead rider came closer and Gambion waved, a broad smile breaking out on his face.

'Jesus,' whispered Isaac. They're Southerners!'

The troop cantered past the bodies of the Hellborn and the leader drew rein before Gambion. He was a short, stocky man with a red moustache.

'Well, Gambion, I swore to hang you and now I'm going to have to fight alongside you. There's no justice left in the world!'

'I never thought to be pleased to see you, Simmonds, but I could kiss your boots.'

The man stepped down from the saddle. 'We've had refugees streaming south for a while now, telling tales like a sane man couldn't believe. Do these bastards really worship the Devil and drink blood?'

‘They do and more,' said Gambion.

'Where are they from?'

‘The Plague Lands,' Gambion replied, as if that explained everything.

'Is it true that Cade's become a prophet?'

'As true as I'm standing here. You still carrying muskets?'

'It's all we've got.'

'Not any more. We didn't have a chance to collect all the weapons from them Hellborn. You help yourself. They carry repeating rifles — damn good weapons. Ten shot some of them. The others is eight.'

Simmonds sent some of his men to search the dead, while the rest rode back into the pass to make camp. He himself wandered up the ridge with Gambion and Janus.

‘This your boy?' he asked.

'No, this is our general. And don't make jokes, Simmonds — he's done us proud the last six days.'

'You shaving yet, son?'

'No, sir, but I'm two inches taller than you so I guess that makes us even.'

Simmonds' eyebrows raised. 'You a Brigand?'

'No. My father was a farmer and the Hellborn killed him.'

The world's changing too fast for my liking,' said Simmonds. 'Repeating rifles, boy generals, Brigand prophets and Devil worshippers from the Plague Lands! I'm too old for this.'

'Can we leave a hundred of your men here?' asked Gambion. Then I'll take you to Cade.'

'Sure. Is your general staying?'

'He is,' said Janus. 'For four more days. Then we make for Sweetwater.'

'All right. What happened to your head, Gambion?'

'Horse kicked it.'

'I expect you had to shoot the horse,' said Simmonds.

Shannow and Batik were camped in a shaded spot near a waterfall when Ruth appeared. Batik dropped his mug of water and leapt backwards, tripping over a rock and sprawling beside the fire.

Shannow smiled.

'You must excuse my friend, Ruth. He is very nervous these days.'

'How are you, Batik?' she asked.

'Well, Lady. Yourself?'

She seemed older than when they had last seen her; dark rings circled her eyes and her cheeks were sunken. Her iron-grey hair had lost its sheen and the eyes themselves were listless.

'I am as you see me,' she said softly.

'Are you truly here with us?' asked Shannow.

'I am here and there,' she answered.

'Can you eat? Drink? If you can, you are welcome to share what we have.'

She shook her head and remained silent. Shannow was at a loss and moved to the fire. Wrapping his hand in a cloth he lifted the small copper pot from the flames and mixed some herbs into the water; then he stirred the tea with a stick before pouring it into a mug. Batik spread his blankets and removed his boots. Ruth remained statue-still, regarding them both.

'How goes your quest?' she asked and Shannow shrugged, aware that her question was merely the precursor of heavier words. 'What did you make of the Guardians?'

'I liked Archer. Lewis seemed a good man.'

'Who leads them?' she asked.

'You do not know?'

'A long time ago Karitas urged me to respect their privacy.'

'It is a man called Sarento.'

'Did you like him?'

'An odd question, Ruth. What does it matter?'

'It matters, Mr Shannow. For you are a man of Talent. You are a Sensitive and you have not stayed alive this long merely by being skilful with weapons. You have a knack of being in the right place at the right time. You judge men too shrewdly. In a way, your powers in this respect are greater than mine. For mine have been cultivated over the centuries while yours are latent, unchannelled. Did you like him?'

'No.'

'Did you judge him to be… Ungodly?'

'He reminded me of Abaddon — the same arrogance.'

'And he offered you weapons?'

'Yes.'

'Why did you refuse?'

'War is a vile game, Ruth, and the innocent die along with the guilty. I want nothing to do with the war itself; my only interest is in avenging Donna.'

'Avenging? She is not dead yet.'

Shannow sat very still. ‘Truly?'

'Would I lie?'

'No. Can I reach her before they kill her?'

'No, Mr Shannow, but I can.'

'Will you?'

'I am not sure. Something has been troubling me for some time now, and yesterday I made a discovery that frightened me — that rocked all my long-built security. The Hellborn are not the enemy. We are not dealing with an evil race; they are pawns in a game I cannot understand.'

'Are you saying that the Hellborn are not at war?' asked Shannow, That they are not butchering their way across the continent?'

'Of course not. But why are they doing it?'

‘To conquer,' answered Batik. 'Why else?'

'I thought that before yesterday — but believe me, my friends, I have been very stupid. You are a Bible-reading man, Mr Shannow, and you have read of possession. Demons? The Hellborn are possessed and the power emanates from Abaddon. He is the centre, but even he does not understand the source of his power; he is being used.'

'By the Devil?' said Shannow.

'No… or perhaps yes, in another form. There is a force that I have traced which focuses on Abaddon and is dispersed by him throughout the Hellborn lands, touching the Blood Stone of every man, woman and child. Quite simply it is hatred, lust, greed. It covers the land like an invisible fog and it travels with his armies, bloated like a great slug.'

'It will be gone then when I kill him,' said Shannow.

That is not the point, Mr Shannow. The source is where the evil lies. . and I have traced that source, and the power there is incredible.'

'You speak of the Guardians,' said Shannow.

'Indeed I do.'

'You say you traced the source?' asked Batik.

'It is a giant stone. It feeds, if that is the word, on soul power — ESPer talents, call them what you will.'

'Where is this Stone?' said Shannow.

'It is lodged beneath the mountain of the Ark and from there it draws power from every Blood Stone in the Hellborn empire. It must be destroyed, Mr Shannow; its power must be ended. Or else a new dark age will fall upon the world, if not the destruction of the world itself.'

'Why do you come to me? I cannot defeat magic with a pistol.'

'Nor can I approach the Stone. It registers my power. But there is a way. The Atlanteans found a method of harnessing the energies of their Stones, trapping the power. The secret is in the monolith circles around the altars. They built the standing Stones as conduits of power which transmit and receive the energy. The Mother Stone was so powerful that special monoliths were constructed. Inset into each structure is a spool of golden wire. If the conduits are linked by gold, no energy can pass to the Stone at the centre. It will become drained, and eventually useless.'

'Why should the gold still be there?' asked Shannow. 'Does Sarento not know its danger?'

The spools are hidden within the monoliths. But, yes, he may have discovered their use and removed them. That you must find out.'

'I? This is not my war, Ruth.'

'Do you not care that the world may die?'

'I care that Donna Taybard lives.'

'Are you bargaining with me?'

'Call it what you will.'

'I cannot kill, and rescuing her may take just that.'

‘Then you destroy the Mother Stone.'

'How could you ask this of me?'

'Let me understand you, Lady. You want me to risk my life against the Guardians? And yet you know they will try to stop me and that I will kill all who come against me. Apparently that sits all right with your principles. But to save a woman, and perhaps kill the Ungodly to do it — that is against your principles?'

'I will not argue, Mr Shannow. I have neither the strength nor the time. What I can do is to take Batik to Donna. Will that suffice?'

Shannow shook his head. 'I have no right to ask Batik to put himself in danger.'

'I wish I knew what you two were babbling about,' said Batik, 'and I'm fascinated to know at what point you bring me into this conversation.'

'It does not concern you,' said Shannow.

'What are you, my mother?' snapped Batik. 'You don't make decisions for me. Saving the world may be a horse I can't saddle, but pulling one wench from a dungeon in Babylon? Who knows, perhaps I can tackle that without falling over?'

'You know damned well it's more than that,' said Shannow. 'You owe Donna nothing — why should you put your life at risk?'

'If you're looking for selfish reasons, my friend, tell me this: Ruth says the world could perish if the Mother Stone is not destroyed. If that is the case, where would you suggest I hide?'

'Let me think on it,' said Shannow.

'What is to think about?' asked the Hellborn. 'You want to avenge Karitas? Sarento is the man responsible. Abaddon is a pawn in his game, and you don't win wars by killing pawns.'

'I will deal with Abaddon,' said Ruth. 'I promise you that.'

'And how will you get Batik to Babylon?'

'With my own magic.'

'I asked how.'

'I shall dismantle his molecular structure, absorb it into my own and reassemble him when I arrive.'

'Reassemble — what's she talking about, Shannow?'

'There is little danger to you, Batik,' declared Ruth. 'It is how I travel.'

'But you have done this before, with other people, yes?' asked the Hellborn.

'No,' she admitted.

'Why did you have to ask her, Shannow? I preferred it when she said by magic.'

'You still want to go?' asked the Jerusalem Man.

'I said so, didn't I?'

Try not to get yourself killed,' said Shannow, offering his hand. Batik took it and shrugged.

‘I’ll do my best. Tell me, Ruth, can you reassemble me without scars and with a less prominent nose?'

'No. Shall we go?'

'I'm ready,' said Batik. 'Good luck, Shannow.'

'And to you. Tell Donna I wish her joy.'

'Don't give up on her, her new husband's probably dead.'

Before Shannow could answer, Batik and Ruth faded from sight.

And the Jerusalem Man was alone.

Batik felt no sensation of movement. One moment he was looking at Shannow, the next he was lying face down in the grass on a hillside west of Babylon. Ruth was nowhere in sight as he stood and took a deep breath.

He wandered to the hill-top and gazed afthe city which lay squat and dark in the distance.

Covered by a pall of black smoke, it had improved little since he had fled it and he realized in that moment that he had missed the place not at all.

Ruth appeared beside him, and this time he did not react.

'How are you feeling?' she asked.

'Well. But you look tired.'

'I am weary,' she admitted. 'You have no idea of the energy I expend holding this body image in place. And as for carrying you across eight hundred miles. .'

'Sadly I recall nothing of the journey. Is Donna here yet?'

'No, the wagon is half a day due west. If you start now, you should sight their camp before dawn.'

'How many in the party?'

'Two hundred.'

‘I’m only carrying eighteen shells, Ruth.'

'I am hoping you will use your brain, young man, and that there will be no need for killing.'

'I might be able to get to her and untie her. Together we could run, I suppose.'

'There is something else you should know, Batik.'

'I don't think I want to hear it.'

'She is pregnant, and in a coma.'

'I knew I didn't want to hear it.'

'I shall pray for you, Batik.'

'That will be nice, I'm sure. I suppose you couldn't conjure up one of Sarento's guns as well?'

'Goodbye, Batik.'

'Farewell, Ruth,' he said, and watched as she became ever more transparent.

As he set off towards the west with a jaunty stride he pushed the problem of the rescue from his mind. The whole mission was palpably hopeless, and he decided to relax and enjoy the stroll.

Wondering what Shannow would have done, he chuckled as he pictured the Jerusalem Man riding up to the army and demanding the release of his lady. And he'd probably get away with it, thought Batik. Clouds scudded across the moon and an old badger ran across his path, stopping to squint at the tall man with the broad shoulders. Then it was gone into the undergrowth.

He came across the camp-site an hour before dawn. They were camped in a hollow, having erected tents in a circle around the wagon. Batik knelt behind a screen of bushes and watched them for a while until he was sure he had placed all the sentries. Then, just as he was making ready to move, he saw a dark shadow creep across his line of vision. Pulling his pistol into his hand he crept out behind the watcher, moving slowly down until he was almost alongside. The man was lean and bearded and dressed hi clothes of dark homespun wool. So intent was he on the camp-site that he failed to hear the approach of the Hellborn.

Batik cocked his pistol and the noise made the man freeze, but his body tensed and Batik knew he was about to do something rash.

'Don't be a fool,' he whispered. 'I only want to talk.'

'You've got the gun. Talk all you want,' hissed the man.

'You're obviously not Hellborn, so I wondered what you wanted from them.'

'None of your business. You finished now?'

'Probably. But I do have business here and I don't want you spoiling it.'

'Well, there's a shame, sonny.'

'Are you from Donna's settlement?'

The man rolled slowly to his side and gazed into Batik's eyes.

'What do you know of Donna?'

‘I’m a friend of Jon Shannow. He asked me to help her.'

'Why isn't he here himself?'

'He would be if he could. Why are you here?'

'Why do you think?'

'You want to rescue her?'

'That's the general idea, but there's a sight too many of the bastards. There's no way to sneak in; they've got seven sentries and a man inside the wagon.'

'I only counted six sentries.'

'There's one in that tall oak. He's got a long rifle and I don't doubt he knows how to use it.'

Batik uncocked his pistol and slid it into its scabbard.

'My name is Batik,' he said, offering his hand.

'Jacob Madden,' responded the other, sitting up and uncocking his own pistol which had been concealed beneath his coat. The two men shook hands.

'We came very close to killing one another,' remarked Batik.

'You came very close to dying,' observed Madden. 'Let's pull back where we can talk more freely.' Together they eased their way into the undergrowth and back over the brow of the hill.

Here, hidden in a grove of trees, were two horses. On the ground nearby Batik saw a man lying on his side, a pistol in his hand. His face was waxen and haggard and blood was seeping through the front of his shirt.

Madden knelt beside him. 'Can't get to her, Griff. There's too many.'

Griffin struggled to rise, then fell back.

'Who is he?' asked Batik.

'Donna is his woman.'

Batik's eyebrows rose and he leaned over the injured man.

'Looks like he's dying,' he said conversationally.

Madden swore. 'Nobody asked for your opinion,' he snapped.

Griffin took a deep breath and forced himself to a sitting position. 'Well, I don't feel too great,' he remarked. 'Who's your friend?'

'His name's Batik and he's a friend of Shannow's. Says he's been sent to help Donna.'

'Do you trust him?'

'Hell, I don't know, Griff. He ain't killed no one yet and he sure as Hades could have done for me.'

Griffin beckoned Batik to sit beside him and looked long and hard into the Hellborn's face. 'What do they plan for Donna?'

‘They're going to sacrifice her, according to Shannow.'

'We must get to her.'

'Even if we did, how do we escape? Four people on two horses — and one of the escapers in a coma.'

Griffin fell back and closed his eyes.

Batik sat for a while, then he touched Madden's shoulder and the farmer turned. 'What is it?'

‘There is a festival around this time of year. I have lost track of the date recently, but it must be close. It is called Walpurnacht and it is very holy; a great sacrifice is always made, there is dancing in the streets and wine, and all the pleasures of the flesh are sated. If it has not already passed, then that is the time when they will sacrifice her.'

'How does that help us?'

‘They will not have hundreds of guards around her in the temple. We must hide in the city and then attempt a rescue before the festival.'

'We'll stand out like boils on a pig's backside.'

'I have several houses.'

'How do we know they're empty?'

'Are you always this gloomy, Jacob?'

'Yep.'

'With horses we should reach the outer city just after first light. At least your friend can rest for a while and gather his strength.'

Griffin reached up and gripped Madden's arm. 'He's right, Jacob. Help me to my horse.'

The journey took three hours and Madden rode warily down the narrow streets of Babylon -

waiting for a challenge, or a shot, or a sign of treachery. But the people they passed seemed little different from the settlers of Avalon. Women walked with children, men chatted on street corners and few paid much attention to the riders, or to Batik walking at the head of Griffin's horse. The wagon-master was wearing a leather coat to shield his wounds, and he fought to stay upright in the saddle.

Batik stopped a young boy who was walking with a large grey wolfhound.

'What date is it, boy?'

'April 28th.'

Batik walked on, leading them into a maze of foul-smelling tenement buildings and filth-choked alleyways to emerge at last by a high wall and a locked gate.'He lifted the narrow chain and hooked his fingers around it and Madden watched as the muscles in his forearms swelled. The central link stretched, then parted and Batik opened the gate and led them inside. The house beyond was of white stone with arched doors and windows. Around the second storey ran an open balcony beneath a slanted tile roof.

'My sister lived here,' said Batik.

At the back of the house was an empty stable and there Batik unsaddled the horses and helped Griffin into the building. Dust was everywhere, but the house was untouched by recent human occupancy.

The furniture was spartan and Griffin was half carried to a wide firm divan by the wall beneath a window.

'I will go out and get some food,' said Batik.

'Has the festival happened yet?' asked Griffin.

'No, we have two days.'

'What is this Holy Night?' said Madden.

'It is when the Devil walks amongst his children.'

Shannow rode into the canyon at midnight, thirty-seven hours after watching Batik and Ruth vanish into the night. As he came in sight of the ruined city, he reined in his mount and stared in awe at the ghost ship. No longer was it a rotting wreck — now it sat in colossal glory, four immense angled funnels and six rows of lights strung like pearls along her decks.

The night wind shifted and the sound of music echoed in the canyon.

An eerie blast reverberated around the mountains, causing Shannow's horse to rear. He calmed it and watched as a trail of light shot into the sky, exploding in a cloud of coloured stars which popped like distant gunshots. The sound of cheering came from the ship.

Shannow slipped the thongs from his pistols and drew a deep, slow breath. Touching his heels to the stallion's sides, he moved down towards the ruins.

A dark shadow moved into his path. .

'It's about time you showed yourself, Lewis,' he said. Three times now you've had me in your sights.'

'I don't want to kill you, Shannow. Truly. Turn around and ride from here.'

'Into the Zealots, hidden in the woods?'

'You are a skilful man — you can avoid them.'

Shannow sat silently, staring into the muzzle of the black rifle and feeling the tension cast by the Guardian.

'Was I wrong about you, Lewis? I took you to be a good man in the Archer mould. I did not see you as a butcher of women and children, as a blood-sucking vampire.'

'I am a soldier. Don't make me kill you.'

'What happened to the Ark?'

Lewis licked his lips. Tonight we are celebrating Rebirth. Every year at this time we bring some aspect of the past to life, to show that what we guard is real and solid and not just a memory.

Tonight the Ark sails once more in all her glory. Now leave, for God's sake!'

'God, Lewis? The Lords of the Hellborn speak of God? Tell it to the wind. Tell it to the farmers nailed to trees, and to the women spreadeagled and butchered. But don't tell it to me!'

'We did not create wars, Shannow. For centuries we have tried to steer mankind back to civilization but it hasn't worked. There was no unity. Sarento says that without unity there is no order, without order there is no law and without law no civilization. All great advances have come as a result of war. It will be different soon, Shannow. We are going to rebuild cities and we will make the world a garden. Please ride away.'

'I know nothing of your lost civilization, Lewis,' said Shannow softly. 'Karitas would never tell me. I don't know whether it was beautiful, but if that gun you are holding is an example of what they had then I doubt it. Did some version of the Hellborn exist even then, sweeping across the land to bring death to thousands? Or were there weapons even more terrible than that monstrosity? Perhaps whole cities were wiped out. And you want to bring this back? Some time ago I was wounded and I was taken to a small village. Peaceful people, Lewis; happy people.

They were led by a man who was once a Guardian, but they're not alive now. The women were raped and then their throats were cut. And Karitas? He was crucified. I don't doubt that if their spirits were still here, they would applaud your dream. But then their souls aren't here, are they?

They were sucked into your Blood Stone to fuel more death and despair.'

‘That's enough! I was told to kill you and I've disobeyed that order. If you leave now, you'll live, Shannow. Doesn't that mean anything to you?'

'Of course it does, Lewis. No man wants to die and that's why I am talking to you.I don't want to kill you, but I must find the Stone.'

Lewis lifted the rifle to his shoulder. 'If you do not turn this instant, I will send you to Hell.'

'But that's where I want to go, Lewis. That's where it is,' answered Shannow, pointing to the Ark.

In the bright moonlight Shannow saw Lewis tense, the rifle butt being drawn more tightly into his shoulder. The Jerusalem Man hurled himself from the saddle just as the rifle exploded in a thundering roar of shells. He hit the ground hard and rolled behind a boulder as chips and fragments screamed around him. Then he came to his knees with his pistol in his hand. His horse was down, thrashing its legs in the air, and a coldness settled on Shannow as he cocked the pistol and dived to the left, rolling on his shoulder. Lewis spun, the rifle bucking in his hands, shells sending spurts of earth and stone to Shannow's right. The pistol levelled and a single shot punched Lewis from his feet. Shannow moved to the body: Lewis was dead. The Jerusalem Man walked to the dying horse and shot it through the head, then he reloaded his pistol and began the long walk to the ruins.

'No man wants to die, Lewis.' The words came back to him and he felt the truth of them.

Shannow didn't want to die; he wanted to find Jerusalem and to know peace. He looked up at the Ark and the glowing lights, listening to the music. Then he glanced back at Lewis' body, merging with the moon shadows.

He walked on to the rock doorway and there, drawing his pistol, he stepped to the side. As the door opened, Shannow's pistol came up, but the steel tunnel beyond was empty. Keeping to the wall, he stepped inside and the door closed behind him. There were no stairs leading down, no doorways that he could see and he cursed softly.

The elevator door whispered open, beckoning him. Sheathing his pistol, he stepped inside.

The doors closed and the elevator lurched slightly; when they opened again he saw what he had expected to see: armed guards with pistols pointed at his chest. They were dressed strangely in flat dark blue peaked caps and doubled-breasted serge jackets. In their midst stood the giant Sarento in a similar suit, but white, with brass buttons and blue epaulettes each bearing three gold bars.

'You really are a disappointing man, Mr Shannow,' Sarento greeted him.

The guards moved in and disarmed the Jerusalem Man, who offered them no resistance. He was led out and found himself, not in the shining hallway he remembered, but in an enormous room filled with extravagantly carved furniture, luxurious carpets and stained glass windows.

'Magnificent, is it not?' said Sarento.

Shannow said nothing. He stared in silent wonder at the stained glass depicting sailing ships and Biblical saints, surrounded by gilded panels of exquisite carpentry.

'Why did you come back, Mr Shannow?'

'To destroy you.'

'Did you really believe you could work one of your Brigand-killing miracles amongst the Guardians? Surely not?'

People started to filter into the room — all were dressed in curious fashion. The women wore long elaborate dresses; the men had black coats and white shirts.

Take him below,' said Sarento. ‘I’ll see him later.'

The four guards walked Shannow to a carpeted staircase and on to a door bearing a brass plaque: B-S9. Inside was a four-poster bed with velvet curtains and a small writing table inlaid with gold.

'Sit down,' said one of the guards, a young man with short cropped blond hair. 'Make yourself comfortable.'

They waited in uneasy silence until Sarento joined them. He removed his white cap and dropped it to the table.

'Tell me about the ship,' said Shannow and Sarento chuckled.

'You are a cool man, Mr Shannow. I like you.' The giant sat back on the bed and peeled off his white gloves. 'Are you impressed by Rebirth?" 'Of course,' admitted Shannow. 'And so you should be. This was one of the largest ships ever made. It was eight hundred and eighty-two feet long and weighed 46, 000 tons. It was a miracle of engineering, and one of the wonders of the ancient world.' Shannow suddenly laughed. 'What is amusing you, sir?'

'Do you like parables, Sarento? It seems to me that this ship mirrors your lunatic dreams — opulent and civilized, and buried by the sea.'

'Except that we have brought it back,' snapped Sarento.

'Yes, to sit on a mountain above the ruins of a civilization you did not know even existed. A ship on a mountain — huge and useless, like your ambition.'

'A ship on a mountain? Come with me, Mr Shannow. I would like to show you what real power is.'

With the guards around him, Sarento led Shannow to the upper promenade and out on to the boat deck. The sea stretched out to a distant horizon and the Ark glided majestically on a star-speckled ocean. Shannow could smell the salt in the air, while gulls wheeled and dived above the giant funnels.

'Stunning, is it not?' asked Sarento.

Shannow shivered. 'This is not possible.'

'All things are possible with the Mother Stone.'

'And we are truly at sea?'

'No. The Ark sits as always on her mountain. What you are seeing and feeling is an image projected by magic. However, were you to cut a hole in the ship's side water would pour in — salt water. For the Stone would carry on the charade. And if you were to jump over the side, you would hit the sea, ice-cold and deadly. But then you would pass through it and plummet to the ruins of Atlantis. This is power, Mr Shannow, just a fraction of the power the Stone can hold.

Had I wished it, the Ark would sail on a real sea. One day it will and then I will sail it into the harbour of New York.'

'How many souls will that cost?' asked Shannow.

'You have a small mind, Shannow.' Sarento shook his head. 'What are a few lives compared with a golden future?'

'Can we go back inside?' said Shannow. 'It's a little cold out here.'

'We can, Shannow. You, I'm afraid, are leaving the ship here.'

'Just when I was beginning to enjoy it,' said Shannow. Then as Sarento signalled the guards forward, he crouched and whipped the double-edged hunting knife from his boot. The first guard died as the blade slashed across his throat; Shannow snatched the man's pistol from his hand and leapt at Sarento. As the big man dived to the deck, Shannow followed him, dropping the knife and hauling at Sarento's collar — the pistol cocked, the barrel pushing under Sarento's chin.

'Be so kind as to tell your guards to put up their weapons,' hissed Shannow, hauling Sarento to his feet.

The three remaining guards looked to their leader.

'Do it,' he said. 'I shall end this farce in my own way.'

'Take me to the Stone,' said Shannow.

'But of course. Your infantile heroics have earned you that, at the very least.'

'I congratulate you on your calm.'

‘You may feel vou have the upper hand, Mr Shannow, but the magic that raised the Ark from the sea floor will not be undone by a madman with a Hellborn revolver.'

Sarento led the way below.

And the Titanic sailed on through the ghostly sea…