Wolf in Shadow

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Abaddon's dreams were troubled and he awoke clutching at the air. The black silk sheets were damp with sweat and he rolled to his feet. He had felt so good three hours before when Donna Taybard had been brought to Babylon. And tonight the reign of the Hellborn would begin in earnest; all the star charts had confirmed it. Donna was the sacrifice the Devil had been waiting for, and all the powers of Hell would flow through Abaddon the moment he devoured her.

Yet now the Hellborn king sat trembling on his bed, plagued by nameless fears which had haunted his dreams. He had seen Jon Shannow deep in Hell, battling Beelzebub with sword and pistol. And then the Jerusalem Man had turned his eyes on Abaddon, and in those eyes the king saw death.

The fear would not pass and Abaddon moved to the cabinet by the window and poured a goblet of wine, sipping it until his nerves settled. He thought of summoning Achnazzar, but dismissed it.

The High Priest had become increasingly nervous in the king's presence these last few days.

'Daddy!' The child's cry jerked Abaddon from his reverie and he swung round, but the room was empty. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in a long rectangular mirror and stood, drawing in his belly to present a powerful profile.

Abaddon, Lord of the Pit!

'Daddy!' This time the sound came from the sitting room beyond. Abaddon ran through the open doorway only to be confronted by an empty desk and an open window. He blinked and wiped the sweat from his face.

In the streets beyond the palace walls he could hear the chants of the mob: 'Satan! Satan! Satan!'

Walpurnacht was a night of beauty when the people could see their god walking amongst them, feel his presence in the air about them, see his image in the glow of their Blood Stones.

But this night was special. This night saw the dawning era of the Hellborn, for when Donna Taybard's powers flowed into the knives and her body was consumed by the Master, the magic of Hell would be unleashed upon the world.

The Lord of the Pit would become the King of the Earth.

‘I’m frightened, Daddy.'

Abaddon whirled round to see a blonde child of seven, hugging a threadbare doll.

'Sarah?'

The child ran away into the bedroom and Abaddon followed, but the room was empty. He knew it was a hallucination, for Sarah had been dead for centuries. The wine was too strong.

But so were the memories… He poured another glass and returned to the mirror, staring at the bloodshot grey eyes and the flowing hair now silver at the temples. The face was as it had been for decades — a middle-aged man, strong and in his prime.

It was not Lawrence Welby who stared back at him. Welby was dead — as dead as his wife and daughter.

'I am the king,' he whispered. The Satanlord. Go away, Welby. Don't stare at me. Who are you to judge?'

'Read me a story, Daddy.'

'Leave me alone!' he screamed, squeezing shut his eyes and refusing to see the apparition he knew lay upon his bed.

'Read her a story, Lawrence. You know she won't sleep until you do.'

Welby opened his eyes and drank in the sight of the golden-haired woman by the door.

'Ruth?'

'Have you forgotten how to read a story?'

'This is a dream.'

'Don't forget us, Lawrence.'

'Are you truly here?' he asked, stumbling forward. But the golden-haired woman vanished and Welby sank to his knees.

The door opened. 'Ruth?'

'No, my Lord. Are you ill?'

Abaddon pushed himself to his feet. 'How dare you come here unannounced, Achnazzar!' said the king.

'The guards came for me, sire. They said you sounded. . distraught.'

'I am well. What do the star charts show?'

'Magelin says it is a time of great change, as one would expect at the dawn of an empire.'

'And Cade?'

'He is bottled up in a nowhere pass where he can neither escape nor conquer.'

'That all sounds well, priest. Now tell me about Shannow. Tell me again how he died falling from a cliff.'

Achnazzar bowed low. 'It was an error, sire, but he is now a prisoner of the Guardians and they mean to kill him. The Jerusalem Man is a danger no longer. After tonight he will seem as the gnat in the ear of the dragon.'

'After tonight? The night is not yet over, priest.'

The morning of Walpurnacht dawned bright and clear and Batik awoke filled with a sense of burning anticipation. His skin had become hypersensitive to touch, and his body trembled with suppressed emotion.

Even the air in the room seemed to crackle with static, as if a lightning storm were hovering over the city.

Batik rose from his bed and drew in a deep, shuddering breath.

The joy of Walpurnacht was upon him. His memory flashed images of past festivals when he had been filled with a holy strength and had coupled with a dozen willing women, never seeming to tire.

Remembering Madden and Griffen, anger washed over him.

What link did he have with such farm-working peasants?

How had he allowed himself to become involved with their petty squabbles?

He would kill them both and enjoy the day, he decided.

He moved to his pistol and settled the butt in his palm. It felt good and he burned with a desire to kill, to destroy.

Jon Shannow leapt to his thoughts. .

His friend.

'I have no friends. No need of friends,' hissed Batik.

But the image remained and again he saw Shannow standing in the dark of the dungeon hall.

His friend.

'Damn you, Shannow!' he screamed and fell to his knees, the gun clattering to the floor. His joy evaporated.

Downstairs Jacob Madden was battling with his own demons. For him it was almost worse than for Batik, for he had never experienced the surging emotions of Walpurnacht. There was no joy for Madden — only the pain of his memories, his defeats and his tragedies. He wanted to run from the building and kill every Hellborn he saw; wanted them to suffer as he suffered.

But Griffin needed him, Donna Taybard needed him and for Madden a duty like that was an iron chain on his emotions. It would not break for a selfish motive.

So he sat in his misery and waited for Batik.

The Hellborn dressed swiftly and cleaned his weapons. Then he moved down into the wide living area and checked on Griffin. The man's colour was good and he slept peacefully.

'How are you?' he asked Madden, laying his hand on the man's shoulder.

'Don't touch me, you bastard!' snapped Madden, knocking the arm away and surging to his feet.

'Be calm, Jacob,' urged Batik. 'It is Walpurnacht — it is in the air. Breathe deeply and relax.'

'Relax? Everything I loved is gone and my life is now a shell. When do we go after Donna?'

Tonight.'

'Why not now?'

'In full light?'

Madden sank back into his chair. 'What is the matter with me?'

'I told you, it is Walpurnacht. Tonight the Devil walks and you will see him. But from now until he is gone, you will feel his presence in the air around you. During the next twenty-four hours there will be many fights, many deaths, many rapes and thousands of new lives begun.'

Madden moved to the table and poured himself a mug of water. His hands were trembling and sweat shone on his face.

'I can't take too much of this,' he whispered.

‘I’ll help you through it,' said Batik. Outside in the narrow alleys the sound of chanting came to them. From somewhere nearby a scream, piercing and shrill, rose above the chants.

'Someone just died,' said Madden.

'Yes, she won't be the last.'

The day wore on. Griffin awoke, and the pain from his wounds doubled. He screamed and cursed Madden, his language foul and his eyes full of malice.

‘Take no notice,' said Batik softly.

Towards dusk, with Griffin asleep once more, Batik readied himself for the night, smearing his face with red dye. Madden refused to disguise himself and Batik shrugged.

'It is only paint, Jacob.'

'I don't want to look like a devil. If I am to die, I'll die like a man.'

Towards midnight the two men rechecked their guns and slipped out into the street, heading towards the centre of the city. In the main thoroughfare they came upon a huge crowd of dancing, chanting people." Scores of men and women writhed together in the nearby doorways and alleyways. Madden looked away.

A young girl, her scarlet dress spattered with blood, was slashing at herself with a curved knife.

She saw Madden and ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck.

Madden hurled her from him, but another woman took her place, running her hands over his body and whispering promises of joy. He pulled himself clear and thrust his way into the crowd after Batik.

The crowd moved on towards the temple square and all the chants merged into a single word, repeated again and again.

'Satan. . Satan. . Satan. .'

As they neared the long steps to the temple, the night sky blazed with red light and a shimmering figure appeared, hundreds of feet tall. Madden's mouth opened and he shrank back from the colossus. It had the legs of a goat and the body of a powerful man, but the head was bestial and double-horned.

A huge hand reached down towards the crowd and the young woman with the blood-drenched dress was lifted by the men around her and hurled into the taloned hand. It closed about her and lifted to the gaping mouth. The girl disappeared and the crowd cheered.

This way,' shouted Batik, pulling Madden towards an alley beside the temple. 'We don't have long.'

'Acolytes' entrance,' said Batik as they reached an oval wooden door at the side of the temple. It was locked but he lifted his foot and sent the door crashing open. They stepped inside and Madden drew his pistol.

'We must get up to the temple — they will be bringing Donna out to him any moment now.'

'You mean he's going to eat her?' asked Madden incredulously.

Batik ignored him and set off at a run. Meanwhile a temple guard rounded the corner but Batik shot him down and hurdled the body, taking the stairs beyond two steps at a time.

They reached another corridor and two more guards appeared. A shell shrieked past Madden's ear and he dived for the floor, triggering his pistol twice. One guard pitched backwards, the other staggered but lifted his rifle once more. Batik fired twice and the man crumpled to the floor.

At the top of another winding stair, Batik paused before the door. He loaded his pistol and turned to Madden.

This is it, my friend. Are you ready?'

'I've been ready all my life,' said Madden. 'I believe you,' replied Batik, with a grin.

Shannow pushed Sarento into the elevator and stepped in behind him. The doors closed and the giant smiled.

'Level G,' he said and the elevator shuddered. 'You have a number of surprises still in store, Mr Shannow. I hope you enjoy them.'

'Stand against the door, Sarento.'

'But of course, though your fears are groundless — there are no guards in the cavern. Tell me, what do you hope to achieve? You cannot destroy the Stone.'

The doors opened suddenly and Sarento spun and dived through. Shannow followed him and opened fire but the bullets ricocheted from a huge stalactite. The Jerusalem Man looked around him at the immense cavern with a spherical roof that glistened with gold threads and shining stones. Stalactites hung like pillars. He moved into the glowing light near the centre, where a small black lake surrounded an island on which stood a circle of standing stones, black and glistening.

'You stand at the heart of the empire, Shannow,' came Sarento's disembodied voice. 'Here every dream is a reality. Can you feel the power of the Blood Stone?'

Shannow scanned the cavern, but there was no sign of the giant. Walking to the edge of the lake, he saw a narrow bridge of seasoned wood on the other side of the stones. Traversing the lake, he mounted the bridge and crossed to the circle. At the first monolith he stopped to examine the sides. A deep indentation met his fingers. He pressed inside and heard a latch drop. A small section dropped away but when he thrust his hand inside it was empty.

'Did you think I would leave the gold there?' said Sarento.

Shannow spun to see the giant was standing at the altar. He was dressed now in the armour of Atlantis, a golden breastplate with a golden stone above the heart. Upon his head he wore a plumed helm and in his hands was a sword.

Shannow fired, but the bullet screamed away up into the cavern roof. Taking careful aim he fired once more, this time at the grinning face.

'Pendarric's armour of invincibility, Mr Shannow. Nothing can harm me now — whereas you are defenceless. It is fitting that we should meet like this: two Rolynd warriors within the great circle.'

'Where is the Mother Stone?' said Shannow, sheathing his pistol.

'You are standing on it, Shannow. Behold!' The ground beneath his feet blurred, the covering of dank earth shimmering into nothing, becoming red-gold veined with slender black. All across the circle the ground glowed like a lantern.

'It is said that to kill a Rolynd brings great power,' said Sarento, moving forward with sword in hand. 'We shall see. How do you like the sword, Shannow? Beautiful, yes? It is a sword of power. Sipstrassi. In the old tongue they were called Pynral-ponas: swords from the Stone. What they cut, they kill. Come, Mr Shannow, let me cut you.' Shannow backed away towards the bridge. 'Where can you run? Back to the Titanic and my guards? Face me, Rolynd. Meet your death with courage. Come, I do not have much time.' ‘I’m in no hurry,' said Shannow. Sarento leapt forward, the great sword flashing in the air, but Shannow dived under the blade and rolled to his feet. 'A nice maneouvre. It is always interesting to see an animal run for its life but what will it gain you? A few more seconds.' As Sarento ran at him Shannow vaulted to the altar and jumped down on the other side.

'Terean-Bezek,' hissed Sarento and two stone hands grabbed Shannow's ankles. He looked down and saw the bloodstone fingers trapping him, as Sarento laughed and moved slowly round the altar.

'How does it feel to lose, Jerusalem Man? Does your soul cry out in its anguish?'

'You'll never know,' hissed Shannow. As the sword came up, he looked away, down at the surface of the altar. There, engraved on the top, was the image of a sword with upswept hilt.

The sword of the dream!

Shannow reached out. Something cold touched his palm and his fingers clenched around the hilt.

Then the sword flashed up and the ringing of steel upon steel filled the cavern.

Sarento stepped back. Gone was the perpetual smile. Shannow lowered the blade to the stone hands gripping his ankles and as the sword touched them, they disappeared.

'You were right, Sarento. This cavern holds many surprises.'

‘That is Pendarric's sword. I never could find it, I could never understand why I was unable to find it, for it was said to be awaiting a Rolynd.'

'You are Rolynd no longer, Sarento. Your luck just ran out.'

The smile returned to the giant's face. 'We'll see. Unless of course you can find some armour?' As he moved in, his sword slashing towards Shannow's head, the Jerusalem Man blocked the blow and his riposte thundered against Sarento's neck. It did not even break the skin.

Now the giant took his blade two-handed and attacked ferociously. Shannow was forced back, blocking and parrying. Three times more Shannow's sword thrust or cut at Sarento's armour, but to no effect.

'It is as useless as your pistol.'

Sweat flowed on Shannow's face and his sword-arm was weary, while Sarento showed no sign of fatigue.

'You know, Shannow, I could almost regret killing you.'

Shannow took a deep breath and hefted his sword, his eyes drawn to the giant's breastplate as Sarento stepped forward. The golden stone set there was now almost black. Sarento's sword whistled down, Shannow blocked it and risked a cut to the head. The blade bounced away, but Sarento was shaken; his hand flew to his brow and came away stained by blood.

'It's not possible,' he whispered. He looked down at the stone and then screamed in fury, launching a berserk attack. Shannow was pushed back and back across the centre of the circle and Sarento's sword slashed through his shirt to score the skin. He fell. With a scream of triumph the giant slashed his blade downward, but Shannow rolled to his knees, blocking another cut and parrying a thrust. The two men circled one another warily. 'You'll still die, Shannow.'

Shannow grinned. 'You're frightened, Sarento; I can feel it. You're not Rolynd — you never were.

You're just another Brigand with large dreams. But they end here.’

Sarento backed away to the altar. 'Large dreams? What would you know of large dreams? All you want is some mythical city, but I want the world to be as it was. Can you understand that?

Parks and gardens, and the joys of civilization. You've seen the Titanic. Everyone could enjoy its luxury. No more poverty, Shannow. No starvation. The Garden of Eden!'

'With you as the serpent? I think not.'

As Sarento's sword lunged towards him, Shannow moved in side-step and plunged his own blade under the breastplate and through Sarento's groin. The giant screamed and fell across the altar.

Shannow wrenched the sword clear and as the cavern shuddered, almost lost his footing. A stalactite tore itself from the roof and plunged into the lake.

Sarento hauled himself on to the altar.

'Oh, my God,' he whispered, The Titanic!' His blood-covered hands scrabbled at the altar top.

Shannow's sword touched his neck and he rolled slowly to his back. 'Listen to me. You must stop the power. The Titanic. .'

'What about it?'

'It is sailing an identical course to that which destroyed it when it sank with the loss of 1, 500

lives. The gold. .'

The ship is on a mountain. It cannot sink.'

The iceberg will pierce the side — a 300-foot gash. The Stone will create. . the. . ocean.'

Sarento's eyes lost their focus and his body slid to the stone. As his blood touched the glowing ground it hissed and bubbled, and a deep red stain was absorbed into the rock. Shannow dropped his sword and stepped to the altar. Sarento's fingers had been scrabbling near a raised relief and when he pulled at it the top moved. Crossing to the other side, the Jerusalem Man pushed the gap wider, then reached inside. There were four spools of wire.

He dragged them free and scanned the circle. There were thirteen standing Stones and he ran to the first and looped the gold around the base.

Far above him, the ghost ship sped through the eldritch sea, while people danced and sang in the great ballrooms. One young couple walked out on to the deck. The iceberg loomed in to the night like a gargantuan tombstone.

'Isn't that incredible?' said the man.

'Yes.' They were joined by other revellers, who leaned over the wooden rail to watch the ice loom ever closer.

The ship ploughed on, scraping the side of the ice mountain. The revellers shrieked with laughter and leapt back as chunks of ice fell to the promenade.

Deep below decks came a shuddering jolt, and the ship trembled as if sliding over shingle.

'You don't think Sarento has taken Rebirth too far?' asked the girl.

'There's no danger,' the man assured her.

And the ship tilted.

Shannow had attached the gold to six of the monoliths when a growling rumble set the ground vibrating. The vast roof trembled and a foot-wide crack opened. Stalactites began to fall like giant spears and water streamed from the fissure above him. Shannow grabbed the wire and pulled it tight. Below him the ground glowed ever brighter. Two more monoliths were connected when the far wall of the cavern exploded outwards, as millions of tons of icy water cascaded down from the stricken Titanic.

The lake swelled. Shannow ignored the chaos around him and struggled on; the spool he was carrying ran out, and he swiftly tied a second spool to the wire. Water swirled around his legs, making the stone surface slippery. Then four more monoliths were joined by the slender gold line, but now the lake had submerged the bridge and Shannow found himself wading through against the current. A stalactite splashed into the water beside him, cracking against his arm and tearing loose the spool. Cursing, he dived below the water, his arms fanning out to retrieve it. He was forced to swim back to the last monolith and follow the wire down, then with the spool once more in his hand he struck out. The water was rising faster now, but he ignored the peril until he had completed the golden circle.

He could no longer feel the stone beneath his feet, but the fading glow could still be seen. Water was now flooding the cavern and Shannow watched as the roof came steadily towards him.

He searched for a fissure through which he could climb, but there was no way out. Sarento's body bobbed alongside him, face down, and he pushed it away. As the roof loomed directly above him, he was forced to turn on his back to keep his mouth above water.

As Batik pushed opened the door, shells hammered into the frame and the Hellborn warrior dived through the doorway and rolled. Four guards turned their guns on him. Madden came through a fraction of a second later, his pistol blazing; one guard went down, another was stung by a bullet across the forearm. The other two opened fire on Batik and a bullet seared through his side, while another riocheted from the marble floor to tear the flesh under his thigh. Despite his wounds Batik coolly returned the fire — his first bullet taking a guard under the chin and hurling him from his feet, his second hammering home into the last man's shoulder, spinning him. Madden finished the man with a shot to the head.

All around them red-robed priests were scurrying for safety as Batik grabbed Madden's outstretched arm and hauled himself to his feet.

Outside the huge double doors, Achnazzar lifted his dagger over the unconscious Donna.

'No!' screamed Batik and he and Madden fired simultaneously. Punched from his feet, Achnazzar landed hard on the upper steps and rolled to his stomach. He could feel blood filling his lungs.

Clutching the knife he crawled towards the comatose victim, but as he raised it a giant black shadow loomed over him.

Talons as long as sabres ripped through his back. The knife fell from nerveless fingers and Achnazzar could not even scream as the taloned hand carried him towards the dreadful maw.

Batik limped to Donna and tried to lift her.

'Christ Almighty!' shouted Madden. Batik looked up to see that the demon, having finished with Achnazzar, was now reaching down once more. He cocked his pistol and stood, straddling Donna.

The taloned fingers opened. .

Batik fired and the hand jerked, but relentlessly came down once more. He threw his empty pistol aside and drew Griffin's weapon from his belt. As the fingers came within reach Batik leapt into the palm; his clothes burst into flame, but he ignored the agony as he held his gun two-handed and levelled it at the colossal face.

Eight hundred miles away, the created waters of the Adantic ocean streamed across the Blood Stone, draining its power, blurring its energy.

Batik fell through the now transparent fingers and plunged into the crowd below. Madden ran to him, beating at the flames on his clothing with bare hands. Incredibly, once they were extinguished, he found that Batik was still conscious. He helped him to his feet, and together they staggered back to the temple steps.

Above them the demon was fading fast and a strange sense of calm settled on Madden.

'It's over,' he told Batik.

'Not yet,' replied the Hellborn, as the angry crowd surged towards them.

Soon after midnight Griffin awoke. The house was empty and he knew diat Madden and Batik had set out to save his wife. Shame burned in him, swamping the pain from his wounds. He should have been out there with them.

He struggled to sit, ignoring the pull at the stitches which Madden had experdy placed, and gazed from the window at the overgrown garden beyond. Never had Griffin felt so alone. He glanced down at his body and saw the wasted flesh; his shirt seemed voluminous now and his belt had needed an extra notch, which Madden had made with his hunting-knife. Anger surged, fuelled by frustration and helplessness. But he had nothing on which to vent his emotion and it turned inward as he saw again young Eric blasted from life in the doorway of their home. Tears brimmed and he blinked them away, swinging his head to focus his gaze on the garden. The trees should have been trimmed back, for their branches were spreading above the rose bushes and blocking the light needed for good blooms.

A shadow caught his eye — something had moved in the moonlight by the gate. Griffin scanned the area. Nothing. There were no lights in the house, and he knew he could not be seen. He waited, focusing his gaze on the gate and allowing his peripheral vision a chance to pick up movement. It was an old hunter's trick taught to him by Jimmy Burke many years before.

There! By the silver birch. A man was moving stealthily through the undergrowth. And there!

Another crouched beside a holly tree.

Griffin's mouth was dry. He identified two other shapes as intruders and then cast his eyes about the darkened room for his pistol. But it was gone — Madden must have taken it. He lay back on the sofa and carefully eased himself to the floor, drawing his hunting-knife from its sheath. He was in no condition to fight one man — four might as well be four hundred!

Think, man!' he told himself. His eyes flicked around the room — where would they come in?

The window was open and that seemed the best bet, so slowly he moved on all fours to sit beneath the ledge. The exertion weakened him and he felt dizzy. He took a deep breath and leaned his head against the cold stone. Minutes passed and his mind wandered. He had once hidden like this as a boy, when his father had been hunting him to deliver a thrashing. He couldn't remember what he had done, but he recalled vividly the sense of defeat within the excitement, knowing that he was only putting off the awful moment.

The window creaked. Griffin glanced up and saw a hand on the ledge.

With infinite care he eased himself into a crouch. A leg swung into sight, the booted foot almost grazing Griffin's shoulder, then the man was inside. Griffin rose to his feet, grabbing the long dark hair, and before the intruder could scream the hunting-knife sliced across his throat.

He began to struggle wildly and Griffin was thrown from him. The man fell to his knees, dropping his pistol. Griffin scooped it up and crawled back to the wall, waiting for the next man.

Across the room the first intruder had ceased to struggle. Griffin cocked the pistol and closed his eyes to aid his hearing. Nothing moved. .

He awoke with a start. His mind had drifted him into a dream and he blinked hard, scanning the room. How long had he been asleep? Seconds? Minutes?

And what had awakened him?

The pistol butt was warm in his hand and slippery with sweat; he wiped his palm on his shirt and took up the gun once more. Outside he could hear the sound of distant chanting, and a red glow filled the room.

A man stepped inside from the door at the far wall and Griffin shot him twice. He stumbled and fell, then raised his pistol and a bullet smashed into the wall above Griffin's head. Holding his pistol two-handed, Griffin fired once more and the man fell dead. The room stank of cordite and smoke hung in the air. Griffin's ears rang, and he could hear nothing.

He pushed himself to his feet and risked a glance from the window. A man was running towards the house; Griffin's first shot missed him, but the second took him in the chest and he fell. The wagon-master wiped sweat from his eyes as he glanced up at the night sky.

. . And saw the Devil looming above the house tops.

'My God!' he whispered.

'No, mine,' said a voice. Griffin did not turn.

'I wondered what had happened to you, Zedeki.'

'You are a hard man to kill, Mr Griffin.'

'I am surprised you did not just shoot me down?'

'I thought you might like to witness the last act in the drama. Watch his hand, Mr Griffin. The next person you see will be your wife being carried to his mouth. . then I will kill you.'

The Devil disappeared and Zedeki screamed. Griffin swung and fired and the bullet punched Zedeki back against the wall; his knees buckled and he sank to the floor, still gazing at the star-filled night sky.

Griffin sat down and watched the young man die.

Abaddon stood on the black marble balcony overlooking the temple steps, revelling in the appearance of his god, feeling his doubts swirling away from him like mist in the morning. The sound of gunshots came from within the temple and the priests scattered. He saw Achnazzar hurled from his feet and devoured by the Devil. Then a dark-clad figure ran forward, the Devil's hand dropped and Abaddon screamed his triumph as the warrior was swept into his palm.

But the Devil disappeared and a pain clutched Abaddon's heart like fingers of fire. He screamed and fell back through the doorway, crawling to his bedside and the ivory-inlaid ebony box which lay there. He whispered the words of power, but the box did not open. Pulling himself to his knees, he struggled for calm and pressed the hidden button at the base. The lid sprang open and relief surged in him as his hands pulled clear the large oval Blood Stone. The pain in his chest eased slightly. He bunked and focused hit eyes on the stone — the red was fading, the black veins growing as he watched.

'No!' he whispered. Brown liver spots blossomed on his hands, and the skin began to wrinkle. He managed to get to his feet and drew a silver embossed pistol from a leather scabbard hanging at the bedside.

'Guard!' he yelled and a young man ran into the room.

'What is it, sire?'

Abaddon shot him through the head, then carried the Stone to the twitching body and held it under the pumping jet of blood coming from the man's brow. Yet still the power ebbed, the black veins spreading and joining.

'There is nothing you can do, Lawrence,' said Ruth. Abaddon dropped the Stone and sank down beside the guard's body.

'Help me, Ruthie.'

'I cannot. You should have died a long time ago.'

His hair glistened white and his face took on the look of worn leather. He no longer had the strength to sit and his body slumped to the floor. Ruth sat beside him, cradling his head in her lap.

'Why did you go away?' he whispered. 'It could all have been so different.' The flesh melted from his face and his lips moved in a last ragged whisper. 'I did love you,' he said.

'I know.'

His body fell back hi her arms and she could feel the bones beneath the skin, brittle and pointed.

The skin peeled away and the bones crumbled to the floor.

On the steps of the temple, Batik swiftly reloaded his pistol and sat facing the crowd. The roar of rage died down and the mob fell back, staring at their painted hands and looking in confusion at their comrades. At the front of the crowd a man groaned and toppled forward and a friend knelt by him.

'He's dead,' said the man. Someone else in the crowd, feeling unwell, drew his Blood Stone from its pouch; it was blacker than sin. Another man died and the crowd backed away from the body.

As other people checked their Stones, panic grew.

On the steps Madden helped Batik to his feet and they moved to Donna, ripping the silver bands from her body. She moaned and opened her eyes.

'Jacob?'

'It's all right. You're safe, girl.'

'Where is Con?'

'He's waiting for us. I'll take you to him.'

'And Eric?'

'We'll talk later. Take my hand.'

Below them the crowd was streaming away. Madden lifted Donna into his arms as a dark-haired young man approached him.

'God's greeting,' he said.

'Who are you?' asked Batik.

'Clophas. You do not know me, Batik, but I was at Sanctuary while you were there.'

'It seems a long time ago.'

'Yes, a lifetime. Can I help you with the lady?'

On the Titanic, people fought with one another to climb the choked stairways and escape the rising water. The Mother Stone, unleashing all its energy, played its role to the full, tilting the ship to imitate the original disaster. Scores of Guardians, their wives and children slid below the foaming torrent, thrashing and screaming for assistance. None was offered.

Whereas in the disaster of 1912 a number of brave men had manned the pumps until the last minute, not one Guardian now had the knowledge to do the same. Where the original tragedy had been enacted during three hours, this Titanic was sinking within minutes. Bulkheads collapsed and hundreds died, dragged to their deaths by the seething ocean.

There was no escape. Many threw themselves from the upper decks, splashing into the sea below only to find themselves piercing the edge of the Stone's field of energy, and dropping through the water to hurtle down the mountain on to the jagged marble ruins of Atlantis.

Amaziga Archer and her son, Luke, struggled through the Smoking Lounge and on to the A-deck foyer. The water here was waist-deep and rising. Lifting Luke to her shoulder, she climbed through a shattered window and out on to the steeply tilted deck. Luke clung to her as she fought her way up towards the stern, rearing like a tower above the swelling sea. Hooking her arm around a brass stanchion, she listened to the cries of the victims trapped below.

Slowly the dying ship slid under the waves. Cold water touched Amaziga's ankles… it shimmered and faded.

The Mother Stone was finished, choked by the thin thread of gold and exhausted by the disaster it had created. The ship shuddered and the sea disappeared. Amaziga sat up and touched her clothes. They were dry. Looking around her, she saw that she lay on a rusted deck and twenty feet from her a male survivor struggled to his feet.

'We made it!' he shouted, but the rotting deck parted beneath his feet and the dead ship swallowed him and his screams. Amaziga felt the deck move beneath her and crawled carefully to the stern where the ship touched the cliff-face. The deck gave way. Amaziga's hand flashed out to grip the rail and Luke screamed and hung from her neck. The muscles in her arm stretched and tore, but her fingers remained locked to the rail. She glanced down into the dark, empty bowels of the ghost ship.

'Hold on, Luke!' she shouted and the boy gripped her tunic. She took a deep breath, then dragged on her arm, hauling herself upwards and hooking her left arm to the rail. As her weight hit the rail it bent outwards, almost dislodging her. Swinging her feet up she scrambled on to the hull and inched her way to the cliff. Here the drop was even greater and the ruins of Atlantis gleamed like pointed teeth. She removed the leather belt from her tunic and looped it around Luke's back, tying him to her. Then she stepped to the rock face and began the long, hazardous climb.

Shannow found a concave bulge in the rocky roof where an air pocket was trapped above the bubbling water. Death was close, and much as he tried to prepare himself for the end he knew he was not ready. Rage and despair tore at him. No Jerusalem! No end to the quest of his lifetime!

The rising water lapped at his chin, spilling over into his mouth. He gagged and spat it out, his fingers scrabbling at the rocks as the weight of his coat and gun dragged him down.

'Calm yourself, Shannow!' came a voice hi his mind. A glow began to his right and Pendarric's face appeared like a shimmering reflection on the stone roof. 'Follow me, if you wish to live.'

The glow sank below the water and Shannow cursed and took several deep breaths, filling his lungs with oxygen. Then he dived below the surface. Far below he could see the Mother Stone, its glow fading fast, but ahead of him floated the ghostly face. He swam towards it, ever deeper, his lungs beginning to burn as his weary arms pushed at the water. Pendarric glided further ahead to a black tunnel mouth near the cavern floor. Here Shannow felt the tug of the current and was swept into the tunnel. His chest was a growing agony and he released a little air. Panic began, but Pendarric's voice cut through his fear.

'Courage, Rolynd.'

His body was buffeted from rock to rock hi the narrow tunnel, until he could hold his breath no longer, his lungs expelled the precious air and sucked in salt water. His head swam and he lost consciousness, just as his body tumbled free of the mountain. Pendarric's translucent form materialized beside Shannow, but the king was powerless to aid the dying man.

'Ruth!' he called, his plea roaring across the gulf of Spirit.

Shannow lay unmoving as Pendarric called again. And again.

She appeared and took in the scene in a moment. Kneeling, she rolled Shannow to his chest and straddled his back. Her hands pressed hard against the small of his back, forcing his lungs to expel the deadly liquid. But still the Jerusalem Man showed no sign of life. She jerked him to his back and lifted his head, pinching his nostrils closed. Her mouth covered his and her breath filled his lungs. The minutes passed and Shannow groaned, sucking in a long shuddering breath.

'He will live?' said Pendarric.

Ruth nodded.

'You are tired, Lady.'

'Yes, but I have found the way.'

'I hoped you would. Is the pain great?'

Ruth's eyes met his and she did not need to answer.

'You have great courage, Ruth. Hold to it. Do not let the power of the Blood Stones overpower you. They will make you dream great dreams — they will fill your heart with the desire to rule.'

'Do not fear for me, Pendarric — such thoughts of conquest are for men. But as I draw the power from the Stones I can feel my soul contaminated by the evil. I can feel the hatred and the lust swell within me. For the first time in my life, I understand the desire to kill.'

'And will you?' asked the king.

'No.'

'Can you stop the Hellborn in the south without killing?'

'I can try, Pendarric.'

'You are stronger than I, Ruth.'

'Wiser perhaps, and not as humble as I was. I do not want to die — and yet you were right. I cannot live with this seething force inside me.'

Take the swan's path and know peace.'

'Yes. Peace. Would that I could carry all hatred from the world with my passing.'

Pendarric shrugged. 'You will destroy the Stones. It is enough.'

Shannow moaned and rolled.

'I will say farewell here, Ruth. It was a privilege to have known you.'

'I thank you for my lessons.'

The pupil is greater than the teacher,' he said. And vanished.

Shannow awoke on the rocky ground a half-mile from the marble ruins and found himself gazing up at the Titanic. Once more it was the golden, rusting wreck he had first seen. Then a great tear ripped along the hull and the sea gushed from her like a giant waterfall, hurtling down on the ancient city below. The torrent continued for some minutes and Shannow could see tiny bodies carried in the foaming water.

He sat up to see Ruth beside him watching the second death of the legendary ship. Tears were falling and she looked away.

‘Thank you for my life,' he said lamely.

'I bear the responsibility for theirs,' she replied, as bodies continued to rain down on Atlantis.

'They fashioned their own doom,' he told her. 'You cannot blame yourself.'

She sighed and turned from the ship. 'Donna is safe, and reunited with Con Griffin.'

'I wish them their happiness,' said Shannow.

'I know — it marks you as a special man.'

'What of Batik?'

'He was wounded, but he will survive. He is a tough man and he took on the Devil single-handed.'

‘The Devil?'

'No,' said Ruth, smiling, 'but a close imitation.'

'And Abaddon?'

'He is dead, Jon.'

'Did Batik kill him?'

'No, you did, Jerusalem Man. Or perhaps the Guardians did, a very long time ago.'

'I don't understand.'

'Do you remember me telling you about Lawrence and how he was at peace and happy after the Fall? How he helped to rebuild?'

'Yes.'

'And, more importantly, how he came to have visions of the Devil speaking to him and guiding him?'

'Of course.'

The Devil was here, Jon, in that accursed ship. It was the Stone and those who used it; they were the wolves in the shadows all along, getting Lawrence to feed them souls. They found the weakness in him and caused Abaddon to blossom and grow. They fed him power and kept him alive through the centuries. When you sealed that power, Lawrence became himself- a man long dead.'

'Sarento was a man with a dream,' said Shannow. 'He wanted to rebuild the old world — bring back all the cities, restore civilization.'

'That wasn't a dream,' said Ruth. 'It was an obsession. Believe me, Jon, I lived in that old world and I can tell you that there is little I would recreate. For every blessing, there was a curse. For every joy, ten sorrows. Nine-tenths of the world went short of food and everywhere there were wars, plagues, famine and starvation. It was finished before the Fall, but it was taking a long time to die.'

'What will you do now?'

'I will return to Sanctuary.'

'Is Selah well?'

'He is fine. He has~gone now, with all my people, out into the world. I sent him with Clophas; they get on well together.'

'You will be alone in Sanctuary?'

'For a little while.'

'Will I see you again?'

'I think not.' She turned back to the wreck and saw a tiny figure climbing down the mountain.

'One last favour, Jon?'

'Of course.'

That is Sam Archer's wife and son. See them to safety.'

'I will. Farewell, Ruth.'

'God-speed. Seek your city and find your God.'

Shannow grinned. ‘I’ll find it.'

Back in Sanctuary, Ruth lay down on her beloved sofa and drew on all the power she had amassed through the centuries. Her body glowed and grew, absorbing not only all of Sanctuary but continuing to drain the power from every Blood Stone within her considerable reach. As her strength grew, so too did her pain and a war began within her as the might of the Blood Stones met the essence of Sanctuary. Rage welled in her soul and all the forgotten moments of anger, lust and greed flooded her being.

That which had been Ruth Welby pulsed out into the night like a glowing cloud, dispersing into the air, travelling on the currents of the night winds.

For a while Ruth fought to hold a sense of identity within the cloud, battling to subdue the dark power of the Stones, establishing harmony within her strength.

At last she came upon the Hellborn army massing for the final charge against the defenders of Sweetwater. Then she surrendered to infinity, and fell like a rain of golden light upon the valley.

The Hellborn general, Abaal, sat on the grass-covered crest of a hill staring sullenly towards the Sweetwater Pass while below him his army mustered for the charge. For two days now the ferocity of the defence had been weakening as Cade and his men ran short of shells. Yesterday the Hellborn had almost broken through, but Cade had rallied the defenders and Abaal's warriors had been pushed back after fierce hand-to-hand fighting.

Today, Abaal knew, would see an end to resistance. His eyes raked the entrance to the pass where the bodies of men and horses lay bloated in the sunshine — more than a thousand young men who would never return to their homes.

The warmth of the sun made him remove his heavy black top-coat and he lay back on the grass, fixing his gaze on the defenders. The enemy too had lost many men and by rights they should have run. They were hopelessly outnumbered, and victory was not an option they had. Yet they stayed.

Abaal searched for the comfort of his hatred. But it was gone.

How could he hate men and women prepared to die for their homelands?

His aide, Doreval, rode up the crest and dismounted. 'The men are ready, sir.'

'How do they feel about the loss of their Stones?'

There is fear among them, but they are disciplined.'

Abaal gestured the young man to sit beside him. ‘The day has a curious feel to it.'

'In what way, sir?'

'It's hard to explain. Do you hate them, Doreval? The defenders?'

'Of course; they are the enemy.'

'But is your hatred as strong today?'

The young man looked away, his gaze floating over the corpses on the plain. 'Yes,' he said at last.

Abaal caught the lie and ignored it. 'What are you thinking?'

'I was remembering my father, and our parting. As he lay dying, I just sat there thinking about the wealth I would have; how his concubines would be mine. I never thanked him. Such a strange feeling.'

‘Tell me, Doreval, and with truth — do you want to fight today?'

'Yes, sir. It would be an honour to lead the men.'

Abaal looked deeply into the young man's eyes and knew once more that he lied. He could not blame him; the Abaal of yesterday would have killed him for the truth.

‘Tell the men to stand down.'

'Yes, sir,' answered Doreval, unable to keep the relief from his face.

'And fetch me a jug of wine.'

At the entrance to the pass, Cade watched the enemy dismount.

'What they playing at, Daniel?' asked Gambion. Cade shrugged and opened the breech of his pistol; only two shells remained. He closed his eyes and Gambion thought he was praying and moved to one side, but Cade was merely trying to think, to concentrate. He opened his eyes and looked around at the defenders, swallowing hard. They had fought so well.

A long time ago — or so it seemed — Lisa had asked Cade whether he would create an army from lambs. Well, he had — and brave they were! But courage could only carry a man so far. Now they were all to die and Cade realized he did not have the courage to see it. He sheathed his pistol and stood.

'Pass me my stick, Ephram.'

'Where are you going?'

'I'm going to talk to God,' said Cade. Gambion handed him the carved stick and Cade limped out into the entrance of Sweetwater, stopping to look at the Hellborn dead choking the grass. The stench turned his stomach and he walked on.

It was a beautiful day, and even his knee had ceased its throbbing.

'Well, God, seems like we ought to have one real chat before the end. I've got to be honest — I don't really believe in you — but I figure I've nothing to lose by this. If I'm talking to myself, it don't matter. But if you are there, then maybe you'll listen. These people are about to die. That's no big thing — people have been dying for thousands of years

— but my lads are getting ready to die for you. And that should mean something. I may be a false prophet, but they're true believers and I hope they don't get short shrift from you merely because of me. I never was worth much — didn't have the guts to farm and spent my life stealing and the like. No excuses. But take Ephram and the rest and they're worth something more; they really have repented, or whatever the Hell you call it. I've brought them to their deaths and I don't want to think about them lining up, expectant-like outside the gates, only to be told they ain't getting in. That's all I got to say, God.'

As Cade walked on towards the distant Hellborn, he pulled his pistol from his belt and hurled it out on to the grass.

Hearing the sound of movement behind him, he turned and saw Ephram Gambion lumbering towards him, his bald head shining with sweat.

'What did he say, Daniel?'

Cade smiled and patted the giant on the shoulder. 'He let me do the talking this time, Ephram.

You fancy a walk?'

'Where we going?'

‘To the Hellborn.'

'Why?'

Cade ignored the question and limped away. Gambion joined him.

'You still with me, Ephram?'

'Did you ever doubt it?'

'I guess not. Look at that sky. Mackerel-back and streaked with clouds. Hell of a good day to die, I'd say.'

'Is that where we're going? To die?'

'You don't have to come with me; I can do it alone.'

'I know that, Daniel. But we've come this far together so I guess I'll stay awhile yet. You know, we done pretty good against that damned army — not bad for a bunch of Brigands and farmers.' "

‘The best days of my life',' admitted Cade, 'but I should have said goodbye to Lisa.'

The two men walked on in silence through the ranks of the dead and on to the plain before the Hellborn. There they were spotted by a scout, who took the news to Doreval; he rode to Abaal and the general ordered his horse saddled. Gambion watched as a score of Hellborn soldiers galloped towards them and drew his pistol.

‘Throw it away, Ephram.'

'I ain't dying without a fight.'

‘Throw it away.'

Gambion swore. . and hurled the pistol out over the grass.

The Hellborn slowed their mounts and ringed the two men. Cade ignored the rifles and pistols pointed at him, watching as the steel-haired general dismounted.

'You would be Cade?'

'I am.'

'I am Abaal, Lord of the Sixth. Why are you here?'

‘Thought it was time we met. Face to face — man to man.'

‘To what purpose?'

'Thought you might like to bury your dead.'

'This is a strange day,' said Abaal. 'Like a dream. Is it magic of yours?'

'No, maybe it's just something that happens when a lot of men have to die for nothing. Maybe it's just weariness.'

'What are you saying, Cade? Speak openly.'

Cade laughed. 'Openly? Why not? What are we doing here, killing each other? What are we fighting for? A field of grass? A few empty meadows? Why don't you just go home?'

‘There is an enchantment working here,' said Abaal. 'I do not understand it, but I feel the truth of what you say. You will allow us to bury our dead?'

Cade nodded.

‘Then I agree. The war is over!'

Abaal extended his hand and Cade stared down at it, unable to move. This man had led the massacres, causing untold grief and horror. Looking into Abaal's eyes, he forced himself to accept the grip and as he did so the last vestiges of bitterness fled from him and he fought back the tears welling inside.

'You are a great man, Cade,' said Abaal. 'And I shall be killed for listening to you. Perhaps we will meet in Hell.'

'I don't doubt it for a second,' said Cade.

Abaal smiled, then mounted his horse and led his men back to their tents.

'Jesus Christ!' said Gambion. 'Did we win, Daniel?'

‘Take me home, Ephram.'

As they neared Sweetwater the defenders and their wives and children streamed out to meet them. Cade could not speak, but Gambion swiftly told them of the peace and Cade was swept shoulder-high and carried back into the pass.

Lisa was standing in a grove of elm, tears in her eyes, when Cade finally came to her. The sound of singing echoed through the mountains.

'Is it truly over, Daniel?'

'It is.'

'And you won. Now you'll want to be a king?'

He pulled her to him and kissed her gently. That was another man in another place. All I want now is for us to marry and start a home and a family. I want nothing more to do with war, or guns, or death. I'll grow corn and raise cattle and sheep. I just want to be with you — and I don't give a damn about being a king.'

Lisa lifted his chin and smiled. 'Well,' she said, 'now that you don't want it, you're bound to get it!'