Wolf in Shadow

CHAPTER FOUR

Shannow could not sleep; his mind was full of pictures of Donna Taybard. He recalled her as he had first seen her, standing before her farmhouse with a crossbow in her hand, looking both defiant and delicate. And then at the dinner-table, sad and wistful. And he remembered her in the wide bed — her face flushed, her eyes bright, her body soft.

Images of Curopet crept into his mind, blurring with Donna, and he groaned and rolled over.

Dawn found him irritable and tired and he dressed swiftly, having first exercised with the leather ball. His left hand was stronger now, yet still a shadow of what it had been.

The wind was chill and Shannow wished he had put on his leather top-coat, but he saw Karitas waiting for him by the rock pile.

'We will put this exhibition to good use,' said Karitas. Tick up a good-sized rock with your left hand and carry it to the fiat ground yonder, about thirty paces.' Shannow did as he was bid, and his arm was aching as he returned.

'Now take another,' said Karitas. Six times he ordered Shannow to pick up rocks and then he told him to watch. The rocks were now in a line, each of them the size of a man's fist. Karitas drew the Browning and cocked it, his arm levelled and the gun fired with a sharp crack. There was little smoke and one of the rocks splintered. On the ground by Karitas' feet lay a brass shell, and the weapon in his hand was cocked and ready.

'Now you try, my dear fellow.' He reversed the gun and handed it to Shannow. The balance was good, the weight nestling back into his palm rather than forward like the percussion pistols.

He lined the weapon and squeezed the trigger and a spurt of dust leapt up a foot behind the rock.

Shannow fired once more and the rock split apart. He was impressed, though he tried not to show it.

'My own pistols could duplicate the accuracy.'

'I don't doubt it, but the Browning can be loaded with nine shells in less than ten seconds.'

'And you say the Hellborn have these?'

'No, thank God. They have revolvers, copies of the Adams and some Remington replicas. But their craftsmen have evolved the weapons; their level of technology is fairly high.'

'Well, they are a problem for another day,' said Shannow. 'But tell me of Noah's Ark — or is that another joke?'

'Not at all. We will see it in the Spring, with the Guardians' permission.' 'I will not be here in the Spring, Karitas.' The old man moved forward and retrieved his pistol. He uncocked it and slid it back into his shoulder holster. 'You are recovering well, but you are not yet strong enough to ride any distance. And there is something else you should know.' Karitas' voice was grave.

'What is it?'

'Let us go to your hut, and I will explain.'

Once inside beside a warm fire, Karitas opened the leather pouch at his hip and produced a round stone which he passed to Shannow. Warm to the touch and gleaming softly gold in the firelight, it was veined with black streaks and highlighted by tiny specks of silver.

'It is a pretty piece,' said Shannow. 'But what do you have to tell me?'

'You are holding your life in your hand, Mr Shannow, for that is a healing Stone and on you it has worked a miracle.'

'I have heard of such. The Daniel Stone?'

'Indeed it is. But its significance to you is very great. You see, Mr Shannow, you are in fact dead.

When Selah brought you to me your skull was smashed. I don't know how you lived as long as you did. But the Stone held you. . as it still holds you. If you travel out of its influence, you will die.'

Shannow tossed the Stone to Karitas. 'Dead? Then why does my heart beat? Why can I still think and speak?'

'Tell me, Mr Shannow, when you lay in the Fever Hole and your heart stopped, what did you feel?'

'I felt nothing. I dreamed I sat outside the gates of Jerusalem, and they would not let me enter. It was but a dream. I do not believe that I am trapped in this village for ever.'

'Nor are you. But you must trust me, and my knowledge. I will know when you have broken the thread, when you can exist without the Stone. Have faith in me, Jon.'

'But my wife. .'

'If she loves you she will wait. And you say she has power to see great distances. Build your strength.'

Day by dreary day Shannow worked — chopping wood, carrying water, scything grass for winter feed. And the Autumn passed before the freezing northerly winds piled snow against the huts.

Night after night Shannow sat with Karitas, listening to his tales of the New World's birthing. He no longer knew nor cared if Karitas was telling the truth; the images were too many and too kaleidoscopic to contain. He listened much as he had when his father told stories, his disbelief suspended only for the telling time.

Yet though Karitas maintained he had lived long before the Fall of the world, he would not speak of his society, its laws or its history, refusing to answer any of Shannow's questions. Strangely, Shannow felt, this gave the old man credibility.

'I would like to tell you, Jon, for it is so long since I spoke of the old world. But I have a fear, you see, that one day Man will recreate the horrors of those days. I shall not be a willing party to it.

We were so arrogant. We thought the world was ours, and then one day Nature put us in our place. The world toppled on its axis. Tidal waves consumed vast areas. Cities, countries, vanished beneath the water. Volcanoes erupted, earthquakes tore the world. It's a wonder anyone survived.

'And yet, now I look back, all the clues were there to see — to warn us of impending disaster. All we needed was to be humble enough to look at it without subjectivity. Our own legends told us that the earth had toppled before. The Bible talks of the sun rising in the west, and of the seas tipping from their bowls. And it did. My God, it did!'

The old man lapsed into silence. 'How did you survive?' asked Shannow.

Karitas blinked and grinned suddenly. 'I was in a magical metal bird, flying high above the waves.'

'It was a serious question.'

'I know. But I don't want to talk any more about those days.'

'Just one small question,' said Shannow. 'It is important to me.'

'Just the one,' agreed the old man.

'Would there have been a black road with diamonds at the centre, shining in the night?'

'Diamonds? Ah yes, all the roads had them. Why do you ask?'

'Would they have been at Jerusalem?'

'Yes. Why?'

'It is the city I am seeking. And if Noah's Ark is on a mountain near here, Jerusalem cannot be far away.'

'Are you mocking me, Shannow?'

'No. I seek the Holy City.'

Karitas held his hands out to the fire, staring thoughtfully into the flames. All men needed a dream, he knew. Shannow more than most.

'What will you do when you find it?'

'I will ask questions and receive answers.'

'And then what?'

'I shall die happy, Karitas.'

'You're a good man, Shannow. I hope you make it.'

'You doubt I will?'

'Not at all. If Jerusalem exists, you will find it. And if it doesn't you'll never know, for you'll look until you die. That's how it should be. I feel that way about Heaven; it's far more important that Heaven should exist than that I should ever see it.'

'In my dream, they would not let me enter. They told me to come back when the wolf sits down with the lamb, and the lion eats grass like the cattle do.'

'Get some sleep, Jon. Dream of it again. I went there once, you know. To Jerusalem. Long before the Fall.'

'Was it beautiful?'

Karitas remembered the chokingly narrow streets in the old quarter, the stink of bazaars. . the tourist areas, the tall hotels, the pickpockets and the car bombs.

'Yes,' he said. 'It was beautiful. Good night, Jon.'

Karitas sat in his long cabin, his mood heavy and dark. He knew that Shannow would never believe the truth, but then why should he? Even in his own age of technological miracles there had still been those who believed that the earth was flat, or that Man was made by a benevolent bearded immortal out of a lump of clay. At least Shannow had a solid fact to back his theory of Armageddon. The world had come close to death.

There had been a lot of speculation in the last years about the possibility of a nuclear holocaust.

But next to no one had considered Nature herself dwarfing the might of the superpowers. What was it that scientist had told him five years after the Fall?

The Chandler Theory? Karitas had a note somewhere from the days when he had studiously kept a diary. The old man moved into the back room and began to rummage through oak chests covered in beaver pelts. Underneath a rust-dark and brittle copy of the London Times he found the faded blue jackets of his diary collection, and below those the scraps of paper he had used for close to forty years. Useless, he thought, remembering the day when his last pencil had grown too small to sharpen. He pushed aside the scraps and searched through his diaries, coming at last to an entry for May 16. It was six years after the Fall. Strange how the memory fades after only a few centuries, he told himself with a grin. He read the entry and leaned back, remembering old Webster and his moth-eaten wig.

It was the ice at the poles, Webster had told him, increasing at the rate of 95, 000 tons a day, slowly changing the shape of the earth from spheroid to ovoid. This made the spin unstable. Then came the day when mighty Jupiter and all the other major planets drew into a deadly line to exert their gravitational pull on the earth, along with that of the sun. The earth — already wobbling on its axis — toppled, bringing tidal waves and death and a new Ice Age for much of the hemisphere.

Armageddon? God the father moving from homilies to homicide?

Perhaps. But somehow Karitas preferred the wondrous anarchy of Nature.

That night Jon Shannow dreamed of war: strange riders wearing horned helms bore down on a village of tents. They carried swords and pistols and, as they stormed into the village in their hundreds, the noise of gunfire was deafening. The people of the tents fought back with bow and lance, but they were overpowered; the men brutally slain. Young women were dragged out on to the plain and repeatedly raped, and their throats were cut by saw-toothed daggers. Then they were hoisted into the air by their feet and their blood ran into jugs which were passed around amongst the riders, who drank and laughed, their faces stained red.

Shannow awoke in a cold sweat, his left hand twitching as if to curl around the butt of his pistol.

The dream had sickened him and he cursed his mind for summoning such a vision. He prayed then, giving thanks for life and for love, and asking that the Lord of Hosts watch over Donna Taybard until Shannow could reach her.

The night was dark and snow swirled around the village. Shannow rose and wrapped himself in a blanket. Moving to the hearth he raked the coals until a tiny flame appeared, then added timber and fresh wood and blew the fire to life.

The dream had been so real, so brutally real.

Shannow's head ached and he wandered to the window where, in a pottery jug, were the coca leaves given him by Curopet. As ever, they dealt with the pain. He pushed open the window and leaned out, watching the snow. He could still see the riders — their curious helms adorned with curved horns of polished black, and their breastplates embossed with a goat's head. He shivered and shut the window.

'Where are you tonight, Donna, my love?' he whispered.

Con Griffin had been many things in his life, but no one had ever taken him for a fool. Yet the riders with the horned helms and the casually arrogant manner obviously thought him as green as the grass of the valley.

The convoy, having survived three Carn attacks and a heartstopping moment when an avalanche narrowly missed a wagon on the high trail, had come at last to a green valley flanked by great mountains whose snow-covered peaks reached up into the clouds.

At a full meeting the wagoners had voted to put their roots into the soil of the valley, and Con Griffin had ridden with Madden and Burke to stake out plots for all the families. With the land allocated and the first timber felled, the wagoners had woken on a chill Autumn day to find three strange riders approaching the settlement. Each wore a curious helm embossed in black and sporting goats' horns, and by their sides hung pistols the like of which Griffin had never seen.

Griffin strode to meet them while Madden sat on a nearby wagon, his long rifle cradled across his arm. Jimmy Burke knelt beside a felled log idly polishing a double-barrelled flintlock.

'Good morning to you,' said Griffin. The leader of the trio, a young man with dark eyes, forced a smile that was at best wintry.

'You are settling here?'

'Why not? It is virgin land.'

The man nodded. 'We are seeking a rider named Shannow.'

'He is dead,’ said Griffin.

'He is alive,' stated the man, with a certainty Griffin could not ignore.

'If he is, then I am surprised. He was attacked by a cannibal tribe to the south and never rejoined his wagon.'

'How many of you are there?' asked the rider.

'Enough,' said Griffin.

'Yes,' agreed the man. 'We will be on our way — we are just passing through these lands.'

The riders turned their horses and galloped towards the east.

Madden joined Griffin.

'I didn't like the look of them,' volunteered Madden. 'You think we are in for trouble?'

'Could be,' admitted Griffin.

'They set my flesh crawling,' said Burke, coming up to join them. 'They reminded me of the cannibals, 'cepting they had proper teeth.'

'What do you advise, Griff?' asked Madden.

'If they are Brigands, they'll be back.'

'What did they talk about?' inquired Burke.

They were asking about a man named Shannow.'

'Who's he?' asked Madden.

'He's the Jerusalem Man,' said Griffin, avoiding a direct lie. He had told none of his wagoners of Jon Taybard's true name.

'In that case,' said Burke, 'they'd better hope they don't find him. He's not a man to mess with, by God! He's the one that shot up the Brigands in Allion. And he gave Daniel Cade his limp — shot him in the knee.'

'Don't mention Shannow to the others,' said Griffin.

Madden caught Griffin's expression and his eyes narrowed. There was something here that remained unsaid, but he trusted Griffin and did not press the point.

That night, just after midnight, fifty riders thundered down on the settlement, riding at full gallop across the eastern pasture. The front line hit the tripwire in the long grass and the horses screamed as their legs were cut out from under them. Men pitched through the air. The second rank of riders dragged on their reins, stopping short of the wire. Shots exploded from twenty rifles, ripping into the raiders; twenty men went down, plus several horses. A second volley from fifteen pistols scythed through the milling riders, and the survivors galloped away. Several men who had been thrown from their mounts set off at a run. Individual riflemen picked them off in the bright moonlight.

As silence descended, Con Griffin reloaded his pistols and walked out into the pasture. Twenty-nine corpses lay on the grass, and eleven horses were dead or dying. Madden and the other wagoners joined him, collecting pistols from the fallen; they were revolvers and cartridge-fed.

'What will they come up with next?' asked Burke, thrusting a revolver into his belt.

'Look at this,' said Griffin, staring down at the corpses. 'They are all dressed alike — like an army in the old books. There's something very wrong here.' He turned to Madden. 'Mount up and follow them. Don't show yourself. And take no chances. I need to know where they are from — and how many there are.'

Donna Taybard moved alongside Griffin, slipping her arm through his.

'Who are they, Con?'

'I don't know. But they frighten me.'

'You think they will be back tonight?'

'No. But if they do come, Jacob will let us know.'

'Come home then. Eric will want to hear all about it; he'll be so proud of you.'

Griffin pulled her close and kissed her lightly on the brow. He wanted so desperately not to tell her about Shannow, wanted her to go on believing he was dead. They had become close after Shannow's disappearance and he had made a special fuss over Eric, which meant he was often invited to eat at the Taybard wagon. Then one night he had proposed to Donna, expecting a refusal and prepared to wait for her to change her mind. Instead she had accepted, kissed him and thanked him for his courtesy.

Few men could have been happier than Con Griffin at that moment. For days afterwards he had walked with her in the evenings, holding hands in the moonlight, until finally Donna herself precipitated the move he longed for. They had walked to a shallow stream and she turned to him and put her hands on his shoulders.

'I am not a fifteen-year-old maiden,' she said, loosening her dress.

And they had made love on the grass beside the water.

Since then Con Griffin had slept in Donna's wagon, much to the disgust of old Burke who did not hold with such flippant behaviour. Eric had adjusted well to his new father and seemed relaxed in Griffin's company. For his part Griffin taught him to rope, and to track, and to name the trees, and which of them grew near water. And they talked as man to man, which pleased Eric greatly.

'What should I call you?' asked Eric.

'Call me Griff.'

'I cannot call you Father. Not yet.'

'It would be nice if you could, but I will not worry about it.'

'Will you make my mother happy?'

'I hope so. I will try very hard.'

'My father couldn't.'

'It happens sometimes.'

'And I won't be cruel to you, Griff.'

'Cruel?'

'I was very cruel to Mr Shannow. And he saved my life. I wish I hadn't been; he told me he was very lonely and he wanted to be my friend.'

That conversation was in Griffin's mind now as he stood with Donna. He walked her away from the corpses to the canvas-covered wagon beside their home plot.

'Donna, there is something. . The riders. .'

'What? Come on, this is not like you.'

'Shannow is alive.'

'No!'

'I believe that he is. Use your talent — try to see him.'

'No, he's dead. I don't want to see him with maggots in his eyes.'

'Please, Donna. Otherwise I'll never be able to rest, wondering if the Jerusalem Man is hunting me.'

Her head sank down and she closed her eyes. Immediately she saw Shannow, limping through a village. Beside him was an old man, balding, who was smiling and chatting to Shannow.

Donna opened her eyes. 'Yes,' she whispered. 'He is alive. Oh, Con!'

'I will. . of course, release you. . from. .'

'Don't say it. Don't ever say it! I'm pregnant, Con, and I love you.'

'But you and he. .'

'He saved me, and Eric. And he was very lonely. I didn't love him. But I never would have done this to him — truly I wouldn't.'

'I know.' He took her in his arms.

'There's something else, Con. All the people with Jon are to die.'

'I don't understand.'

'I am not sure that I do. But they are all doomed. I saw skulls floating above all of them, and dark shadows in the distance with horned helmets like those riders there.'

'Today's drama has affected your talent,' he assured her. 'The important thing is that Jon Shannow is alive. And when he comes here he will be looking for you.'

'Con, he will never understand. I think he is a little insane.'

'I shall be ready.'

The following day Shannow rose early, refreshed despite his troubled night. He pulled on his woollen shirt and a thick pullover knitted for him by Curopet. Over this he added his ankle-length leather coat and a pair of woollen gloves. Then he belted on his guns and hefted his saddle over his right shoulder before making his way across the village to the makeshift paddock where the gelding stood. There he rubbed down the horse and saddled him.

The day was bright and clear as Shannow rode from the sleeping village. He steered the horse high into the hills to the north, picking his trail with care on the slippery ground. After an hour he found a different route and returned to the village, where he fed the gelding and removed his saddle. He was cold through, and bone-weary. By the time he dumped his saddle back in the hut, he was ready to drop. Shrugging out of his coat, he picked up the ball of hide and squeezed it two hundred times. Then tossing it aside, he stood. His hand dropped to his pistol and flashed up, the gun leaping to his hand, cocked and ready. He smiled; not so fast as he had been, but already fast enough. The rest would follow.

Curopet tapped at his door and he ushered her in. She had brought a wooden bowl of heated oats and goat's milk. He thanked her and she bowed.

'I thought you had left us,' she said softly, her eyes staring at the floor.

'Not yet, Lady. But soon I must.'

'To go to your wife?'

'Yes.'

She smiled and left him and he finished his breakfast and waited for Karitas. The old man was not long in arriving, his sheepskin jerkin covered in snow.

Karitas grinned and moved to the fire. 'Did you see anything on your ride?'

'Four or five deer to the north-east, and some beautiful country.'

'And how do you feel?'

'Tired, and yet strong.'

'Good. I think you are almost mended, Jon Shannow. I heard someone cry out in the night — I thought it was you.'

'It could have been,' said Shannow, moving to sit beside the fire. 'I had a bad dream. I saw men attacking a tent village. . they were vile.'

They had horned helms?' asked Karitas, staring intently at Shannow's face.

'Yes. How could you know?'

'I had the same dream. It is the land, Jon — as I told you, it grants rare powers. That was no dream, you saw the Hellborn in action.'

‘Thank the Lord they are not near here!'

'Yes. My little village would be slain. We could not fight them, not even with the Ark weapons.'

'One pistol,' said Shannow, 'would not keep away a small Brigand band.'

‘There is more than one pistol in the Ark, Jon. I will show you in the Spring.'

‘The Hellborn have many riders. There must have been two to three hundred in the attack on the village.'

'Would that they only had three hundred. What we saw was one raiding column and there are more than twenty such. The sexual excesses among the Hellborn mean a plethora of babes and their tribe grows fast. It was always so throughout history: the migration of nations.

Overpopulation causes people to move into the lands of their neighbours, bringing war and death.

The Hellborn are moving and one day they will be here.'

'I find it hard to believe that the Lord of Hosts can permit such a people,' said Shannow.

'Read your Bible, Jon. Study the Assyrians, the Babylonians, the Egyptians and the Greeks. Even the Romans. And what of the Philistines, the Moabites and the Edomites? Without evil, there is no counterpoint to goodness.'

‘Too deep for me, Karitas. I am a simple man.'

'I wish that I was,' said Karitas with feeling.

For much of the day Shannow chopped firewood, using a long axe with a six-pound head. His back ached, but by dusk he was satisfied that his strength was returning with speed.

That night he dreamt once more of the Hellborn. This time they raided the Carns and the slaughter was terrible to behold, the blue- and yellow-streaked savages caught in a murderous crossfire. Hundreds died and only a few escaped into the snow-covered woods.

At midnight Shannow was awakened by a light tapping at his door. He opened it and saw Curopet standing in the moonlight, a blanket around her slender form.

Shannow stepped aside to allow her in and pushed shut the door. She ran to the fire and added kindling to the coals.

'What is it, Curopet?'

'I am going to die,' she whispered.

Her face was strained and she was close to tears as Shannow moved to kneel beside her in the firelight.

'Everyone dies,' said Shannow, at a loss.

Then you have seen it too, Thunder-maker?'

'Seen what?'

‘The horned ones attacking our village.'

'No. The Carns have been attacked. Tonight.'

'Yes, the Carns,' she said dully. 'I dreamt of that two nights ago. I am to die. No children for Curopet. No man through the long winter nights. We are all to die.'

'Nonsense. The future is not set in stone; we make our own destinies,' said Shannow, pulling her to him. The blanket slid away from her shoulders as she moved towards him and he saw that she was naked, her body glowing in the dancing light of the blaze.

'Do you promise me that I will live?' she asked.

'I cannot promise, but I will defend you with my life.'

'You would do that for me?'

'Yes.'

'And I am not your wife?'

'No. But you are close to me, Curopet, and I do not desert my friends in their need.'

Curopet snuggled into him, her breasts pushing against the bare skin of his chest. Shannow closed his eyes and drew back.

'Let me stay?' she asked and he nodded and stood. She went with him to his blankets and together

they lay entwined. Shannow did not touch her and she slept with her body pressed close to him and her head on his breast. Shannow slept not at all.

In the morning Shannow was summoned with all warriors to the long cabin where Karitas sat on a high chair, the only chair in the village. The warriors — thirty-seven in all, counting Shannow -

sat before him.

Karitas looked tired and gaunt. When everyone was seated, he spoke.

'Five of our ESPer women have seen an attack on us by the Hellborn. We cannot run and we cannot hide. All our stores are here. Our lives are here. And we cannot fight, for they have thunder-guns and are many.' He fell silent and leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, his head bent and eyes staring at the floor.

‘Then we are to die?' asked a warrior. Shannow glanced at the man; he was stocky and powerful and his eyes glowed fiercely.

'It would appear that way, Shonal. I can think of nothing.'

'How many are they?' asked Shonal.

‘Three hundred.'

'And all with thunder-guns?'

'Yes.'

'Why should they attack us?' questioned another man.

'It is their way.'

'Could we not send someone to them?' suggested a third man. ‘Tell them we will be their friends -

offer to share our food?'

'It will avail us nothing; they are killers and drinkers of blood. They have wiped out the Carns and we are next.'

'We must find their camp,' said Shannow, standing and turning to face the men. 'It is Winter and they must have tents and food stores. We will burn their tents, destroy their stores and kill many.

Perhaps then they will be driven back to their homelands until the Spring.'

'And will you lead us, Thunder-maker?'

'Indeed I will,' promised the Jerusalem Man.

With sombre faces the men left the cabin to prepare their weapons and bid farewell to their wives and children. Shannow remained with Karitas. Thank you,' said the old man, his head still bowed.

'You owe me no thanks, Karitas.'

'I know you think me a little mad, but I am not stupid, Jon. There is no victory to be gained here.

You have made a noble gesture, but my people will still die.'

'Nothing is certain,' Shannow told him. 'When I rode the hills I saw a number of shallow caves.

Fetch the women and children, and as many stores as they can carry, and take them there. Cover your tracks where you can.'

Karitas looked up. 'You believe we have a chance?'

'It depends on whether this is an invasion or a raid.'

‘That I can tell you. It is the ritual of the Blood Feast, where newly-ordained warriors gain their battle honours.'

'You know a great deal about them, old man.'

'Indeed I do. The man who leads them calls himself Abaddon and I used to know him well.'

'It is a name from the Book,' said Shannow sharply. 'An obscenity named in Revelation as the leader of the Devil's forces.'

'Yes. Well, in those days he was simply Lawrence Welby — a lawyer and a socialite. He organized curious parties, with nubile young women. He was witty, urbane and a Satanist. He followed the teachings of a man called Crowley, who preached, "Do what thou wilt is the whole of the law."

Like me he survived the Fall, and like me he appears to be immortal. He believes he is the Anti-Christ.'

'Maybe he is,' said Shannow.

'He had a wife back then, a wonderful woman — like light and dark they were. I was a little in love with her myself; still am, for that matter.'

'What happened to her?'

'She became a goddess, Shannow.'

'Will Abaddon be with the raiders?'

'No, he will be in Babylon. They will be led by seasoned officers, though. I cannot see how my few people can oppose them — do you have a plan?'

'Yes. I shall prime my weapons and then I shall pray.'

'I think you have your priorities right, at least,' commented Karitas.

‘They are only men, Karitas. They bleed, they die. And I cannot believe the Lord of Hosts will allow them to succeed.'

As Shannow rose to leave, Karitas stopped him. He took the Stone from his pouch and offered it to the taller man.

'Without it you may die. Take it with you.'

'No, keep it here — you may need its powers.'

'It is almost used up, Shannow. You see, I refuse to feed it.'

'How do you feed a stone?'

'With blood and death.'

'Do not worry about me, Karitas. I will survive. Just get your people into the hills and keep that pistol primed.'

Shannow returned to his hut and loaded his three spare cylinders, stowing them in his greatcoat pockets. Then he took the Bible from his saddlebag and turned to Jeremiah:

'Thus, saith the Lord, Behold, a people comethfrom the north country and a great nation shall be raised from the sides of the earth. They shall lay hold on bow and spear; they are cruel, and have no mercy; their voice roareth like the sea, and they ride upon horses, set in array as men for war against thee. .'

Shannow set aside the Section and closed his eyes. In the distance thunder rolled across the heavens.

He rose and left the hut, his saddle on his right shoulder. In the open ground beyond, thirty of the warriors awaited him with set faces; their quivers full of arrows.

'I will ride out and scout the land. Follow my tracks and wait for me where you see this sign.' He made the sign of the cross with his arms and then walked past them to the paddock.

Shannow headed east and did not once look back to see the warriors in single file loping behind him.

The country was open and in places snow had drifted to a depth of more than ten feet. The gelding skirted the drifts and headed on towards the high ground and the distant timber line of the Carns' territory. Shannow had seen the attack on the Carns' village, and he guessed that the Hellborn would camp there overnight. If he was right they now had two options: they could rest for the day at the site of their victory, or they could ride on immediately towards Karitas' village.

If the former, Shannow's small band stood a chance. If the latter, then the two parties would meet on open ground and the villagers would be massacred.

The day was icy cool and a breeze was blowing from the north. Shannow shivered and gathered his coat at the collar. The gelding pushed on through the morning and the distant trees grew steadily closer.

The crack of a pistol echoed in the air and Shannow drew on the reins, and scanned the trees. He could see nothing, and the distance was too great for the shot to have been aimed at him. Warily he rode on. Several more shots sounded from the woods — the Hellborn were hunting the last of the Carns. Shannow grinned. The first danger was past.

At the foot of the last rise before the woods, Shannow dismounted. He gathered two sticks and tied them in a cross which he thrust into a snowdrift; it would be many hours before fresh falls of snow would cover it. Then he guided the gelding up the rise and into the trees.

A blue- and yellow-streaked figure hurtled from the snow-covered bushes, saw Shannow, screamed and fell as he attempted to change the course of his flight. Then a horse leapt the bush.

Shannow's pistol fired as the animal landed and the helmed rider catapulted from the saddle.

Shannow cocked the pistol and waited, ignoring the cowering Carn who was gazing open-mouthed at the dead Hellborn. The rider was obviously alone and Shannow dismounted, tying the gelding's reins to a bush. He approached the corpse; the rider could not have been more than fifteen years of age — and a handsome boy, even with the round hole in his forehead. Shannow knelt beside him, lifting the boy's pistol. As Karitas had shown him, it was loaded with cartridges.

Shannow opened the rider's hip pouch; there were more than twenty bullets there and he transferred them to his own pockets before thrusting the boy's pistol in his belt. Then he turned to the Carn.

'Can you understand me?' asked Shannow.

The man nodded.

’I have come to kill the Hellborn.'

The man edged close and spat into the dead rider's face.

'Where is your camp?' asked Shannow.

'By tall rocks,' answered the savage, pointing north-east.

Shannow tethered the rider's horse beside his own and moved forward on foot towards the north-east.

Three times riders came close to him, and twice he stumbled across the bodies of dead Carns.

After an hour he found a steep path winding down into a sheltered glen. There he could see the huts of the Carns, a picket line and more than two hundred horses. The Hellborn were wandering freely around the camp, stopping at cooking fires or talking in groups around larger blazes.

Shannow studied the area for some time and then eased his way back into the trees. Every so often a pistol shot caused him to freeze and drop to the ground, but he made his way back to his horse unobserved. The Carn had gone — but not before ripping out the eyes of the dead Hell-born.

. The boy did not look handsome now. Shannow was cold and he sheltered behind the horses, huddled against a bush, waiting for the villagers. After an hour he moved to the edge of the trees and saw the group waiting stoically by the cross. One of them looked up and saw him, and he waved them to join him.

Shonal was the first to arrive. ‘They are camped?' he asked.

'Yes.'

'When do we attack?'

'After midnight.' Shonal nodded.

Shannow spotted Selah in the group and summoned him. 'You should be back at the village.'

'I am a man, Thunder-maker.'

'So was he,' said Shannow, pointing to the corpse.

By dusk the pistol shots had ceased to sound and Shannow had begun to believe he was freezing to death. The villagers seemed not to notice the cold, and he cursed his ageing bones.

The moon rose in a clear sky and towards midnight the bushes by Shannow's head parted and a warrior stepped into sight. Shannow rolled, his right-hand pistol sweeping up. The man was a Carn and he squatted beside Shannow.

'I kill Hellborn also,' he said.

The villagers were alarmed. Many had weapons in their hands and several bows were bent and aimed at the newcomer. Shannow sheathed his pistol.

'You are welcome,' he said.

The Carn lifted his hands to his lips and blew a soft humming note. All around them Carn warriors appeared, armed with knives and hatchets. Shannow could not count them in the dim light, but guessed there to be twice as many Carns as villagers.

'Now we kill Hellborn, yes?'

'No,' replied Shannow. 'We wait.'

'Why wait?' asked the warrior.

'Many are still awake.'

'Good. We follow you.'

Shannow found the man's pointed teeth disconcerting. Shonal crept to his side.

'This is not right,' he whispered, 'to sit thus with Carns.'

The Carn leader hissed and spat, his hand curling round his knife-hilt.

'That's enough,' said Shannow. 'You may resume your war at a later time — one enemy is enough for today.'

'I will follow you, Thunder-maker. But this turns my stomach.'

'He probably feels the same, Shonal. Be patient.'

At midnight Shannow called the two leaders to him.

They will have posted guards, and if they are disciplined they will change the guard some time soon. We must wait until the sentries are relieved and then kill those who remain. It must be silent — no screams, no shouts; no war-cries. Once the shooting starts you must flee. Bows and knives are no match for guns. You understand me?' Both leaders nodded.

'Also, we must steal as many of their horses as we can. Shonal, have Selah and several of the younger men assigned to that task. Tell them to head the horses west and wait for us about a mile away.'

'What do we do when we have killed the sentries?' asked Shonal.

'We walk into the camp and kill them as they sleep. As each man dies, take his pistol and keep it ready. You know how to fire a pistol?' Both men shook their heads and Shannow drew his own weapon and eased back the hammer. 'Like this; then you point it and pull the trigger, here.'

'I understand,' said Shonal.

'I also,' whispered the Carn.

'Good. Now take your best warriors and seek out the sentries. There should be four but there might be six, all around the camp perimeter. When you have killed them all, return here with their pistols.'

The Carn slid away and Shonal remained. 'It seems. . unnatural,' he whispered.

'I know.' The villager vanished into the darkness.

Now began the long wait and Shannow's nerves were strained to the limits. Every minute that passed he expected to hear a pistol shot or a scream. After what seemed an age, the blue-yellow Carn leader appeared through the bushes.

'Eight men,' he said, holding up two pistols, both cocked.

'Be careful,' said Shannow, gently pushing the barrels away from his face.

He pushed himself to his feet and his left knee cracked with a sound he felt rivalled the earlier thunder.

'Old bones,' said the Carn, shaking his head. Shannow scowled at him and moved off, the warriors following silently. They arrived at the camp just as the moon vanished behind a cloud.

Shannow squatted on the rise above the huts with Shonal and the Carn beside him.

'Split your men into groups of six. It is important that we enter as many huts as possible at the same time. All the men with guns will fade back to that point there, by the stream. Now at some point someone will wake, or scream, or shoot. When that happens, run into the woods. Then the men with guns will open fire. But remember that each pistol only fires six times. You understand?' Both men nodded, but Shannow ran through the strategy twice more to ram it home.

Then he drew his hunting knife and the warriors moved silently down the hill. Starting at the southern end of the village, they split into groups and entered the huts.

Shannow waited outside, eyes scanning the doorways and windows of the other dwellings.

Gurgling cries came to him and some sounds of scuffling, but these were muted and the warriors emerged from the huts bathed in blood.

Dwelling by dwelling, the avengers moved on and the night breeze brought the stench of death to Shannow's nostrils. He sheathed his unblooded knife and drew his pistols; their luck could not hold out much longer.

By the sixteenth hut Shannow's nerves were at breaking point.

Then disaster struck. A warrior dragged back the hammer of a captured pistol while his finger was upon the trigger and the shot echoed around the camp. In an instant all was chaos as men surged into the night.

Shannow raised his pistols and rained shots into the milling crowd. Men fell screaming, and other pistols flared in the darkness. A shot from behind whistled past his ear and he turned to see a tribesman vainly seeking to re-cock his weapon. A bullet smashed the Carn from his feet.

Shannow fired his left-hand pistol and a Hellborn warrior toppled to the ground, his head crashing into the coals of the dying fire. With a flash his hair caught light and blazed around his face.

'Back!' shouted Shannow, but his voice was lost in the thunder of shots. He emptied his pistols into the ranks of the Hellborn and then sheathed them, drawing the captured weapon from his belt. He ran back towards the stream, where at least a dozen warriors had remembered his commands. Elsewhere in the camp the Carns had charged the Hellborn and were in amongst them, shooting their pistols point-blank but hampering Shannow's force.

'Back into the trees,' Shannow ordered, but the men continued to fire at the milling mob. 'Back, I say!' said Shannow, backhanding a man in the face. Hesitantly the warriors obeyed.

Shots screamed by Shannow as he ran, but none came close. At the top of the rise he stood with his back to a tree, breathing hard. Thrusting the captured revolver back in his belt, he took his own pistols and added fresh cylinders.

Shonal came alongside him. 'Most of our men are here, Thunder-maker.'

'What of the horses?'

'I could not see.'

'Without horses they will hunt us down before we are half-way home.'

'Selah will have done what he can; the boy is no coward.'

'All right,' said Shannow. 'Get your men out of the woods and head for home. If Selah has done his work well, there should be horses around a mile away. If there are, do not ride straight for the village but head north and then swing back when you reach firmer ground. Try to cover your tracks — and pray for snow.'

Shonal grinned suddenly. 'Many dead Hellborn,' he stated.

'Yes. But was it enough? Go now.'

Shannow reached his horse and mounted, wrenching free the reins. A Carn, whom he recognized as the leader, loomed out of the darkness. 'I am Nadab,' he said holding out his hand.

Shannow leaned forward and gripped the man's wrist.

'No more war with the Corn People,' said the Carn.

'That is good.'

'Shame,' corrected the man, grinning. 'They taste good!'

'Good luck,' said Shannow.

'We killed many, Thunder-maker. You think they run now?'

'No.'

'I also. It is the end of things for us.'

'All things must end,' said Shannow. 'Why not come west, away from here?'

'No. We will not run. We are of the blood of the Lion and we will fight. We have many thunder-guns now.'

Shannow reached into his pocket, producing a cartridge.

The thunder-guns fire these,' he said, 'and you must gather these from the bodies. Pass me your pistol.' Shannow took the weapon and flicked open the breech, emptying the spent shells one by one. Then he reloaded the weapon and handed it back.

Swinging the horse's head, Shannow rode' to the west.

The Carn watched him go, then cocked the pistol and headed back towards his village.