were clear in their function.
And finally he found his way to a room of silver and glass where Laura was lying on a slab. It looked as if she was only sleeping, and perhaps she was, for around Dian Cecht the truth was as elusive as the Pendragon Spirit. Hunter’s options, though, were limited.
Dian Cecht found him there, deep in thought, his eyes never leaving Laura’s face, but his focus deep within himself. The god was accompanied by six others in crimson robes, masks and skullcaps, the bright colour only emphasising the deadness in their eyes.
‘The time has come,’ Dian Cecht said, with barely restrained eagerness.
‘I reckon it has,’ Hunter replied.
As one of the Tuatha De Danann approached him, he turned and plunged his hand through the god’s chest and out of his back. Those unfeeling eyes recognised a moment’s shock, and then the body exploded in a flurry of golden moths.
As the moths soared up through the ceiling, the other Tuatha De Danann remained rooted. It was only when Hunter had destroyed the next god that Dian Cecht exclaimed, ‘The Balor Claw!’
Hunter wore an elaborate gauntlet with silver scales around the wrist and on the back of the hand, edging into brass talons. He had recognised its potential in the weapons hall and had forced one of the attendants to describe how it had been constructed from a shard of the essence of Balor, the one-eyed god of death of the Fomorii, the race enemies of the Tuatha De Danann.
Another god fell. Dian Cecht fled, but the others were too slow. The clouds of golden moths became a storm.
Hunter had planned his strategy carefully and followed it to the letter. The security of the Court of the Final Word demanded only one entrance, with the worst of its atrocities taking place in the impregnable far reaches of the compound. He jammed the lock of the door, and with no other exit available proceeded to run his quarry to ground.
Moving relentlessly through the court, he sought out every member of the Tuatha De Danann and despatched them mercilessly. Gods cowering in the corners of gleaming rooms. Others, oblivious, as they flushed gallons of blood into the sewers or worked silently on some screaming subject. Some saw the Balor Claw and knew what it meant, giving in to their fate with a sense of bewilderment that could only be mustered by those who thought they would never die. Many ran, and Hunter let them, knowing it wouldn’t be long until he felled them. He took his time, searching and herding and slaughtering dispassionately.
He lost count at two hundred and seventy-seven, but he took the time to commit every face to memory before it exploded into shimmering wings. He only paused when he came to the final, extensive killing room, where half-dismembered victims still writhed on the tables in front of the two hundred or more Tuatha De Danann packed against the rear wall in shocked disbelief.
He took his time locking the door and then let his gaze wander slowly over the faces. He guessed they could swamp him eventually if they all attacked at once. Mortality, however, and the fear it brought, were new sensations that paralysed them.
Hunter moved forward.
When he was finished, only Dian Cecht remained.
‘What you have done this day is an abomination,’ the god declared.
‘Well, it kind of is, and it kind of isn’t.’ Hunter examined the gauntlet. ‘Nice bit of kit, this. You must be very proud you invented it.’ He stretched. ‘After all that hard work I’m looking forward to some r ’n’ r. Good wine, bit of sex, know what I mean? But first, we’ve got one more bit of business to sort out.’
Hunter herded Dian Cecht back to the glass and silver room. ‘No more double-speak. No more “there’s a price to pay”. Wake her up. Any malarkey and you’ll be spitting moths.’
Seething, Dian Cecht went to work. Hunter had no idea what happened in the room. Afterwards he remembered light and distant chimes, glimpsed the wriggling movement of a silver thing, but all he really recalled was Dian Cecht standing back with hateful eyes and announcing, ‘It is done.’
Hunter leaned over Laura to feel the warm blush of her breath on his cheek. Her breasts rose and fell. Her eyelids fluttered.
‘What you have done this day will not be forgotten or forgiven,’ Dian Cecht said. ‘You will be hunted down and made to pay.’
‘I know. That’s usually how it goes. Which is why I never leave any loose ends.’
Hunter punched the Balor Claw into Dian Cecht’s chest. And within a few seconds, for the first time in its history, there was silence in the Court of the Final Word.
9
Laura came round quickly. She remembered lying on her back in long grass, and then she was looking up into Hunter’s face.
‘No, don’t worry,’ he said. ‘You’re not in heaven.’
‘Can you put me back under?’
‘I’ve just saved your life. A bit of gratitude wouldn’t go amiss.’
‘Big deal. We’re in and out of death so many times they’ve fitted revolving doors especially for us. So what did you do? Give me the kiss of life? Fan me? Hold my hand really, really nicely?’
Hunter laughed, long and loud.
‘All right,’ she said. ‘What’s the joke?’
10
On the blasted heath beyond the Court of the Final Word, above the river of blood, they made love with a degree of tenderness that surprised them both. Afterwards, Hunter traced his finger down between Laura’s breasts to her navel, but there wasn’t even a hint of a scar.
‘So have we worked out exactly what you are?’ he said.
‘Fabulous, and that’s the end of it.’ She rolled over and grabbed her cloak.
‘We could run away together,’ Hunter said. ‘I’d water you twice a day.’
‘Do you really think it would work?’
‘I’m just being charitable. Who else would have you?’
She surprised him with a passionate kiss, then pushed him away. ‘Could you really deprive the world of men of this body … these brains … this wit and intelligence? Hunter, dude, you’d be Public Enemy Number One.’ She held his gaze for a moment, then turned away to dress. ‘Besides, we’ve got work to do.’
‘I had a horrible feeling you were going to bring that up.’
‘I know you, soldier-boy. You were giving me the chance to say it before you had to.’
He didn’t reply.
‘The way I see it,’ she continued, ‘we can both head back to our world, but that leaves the A-team a bit mob-handed. Now, I’m not one to denigrate the power of womanhood, but Mallory could use a little old-fashioned, thick-headed male brutality on his side. And let’s face it, you might as well trademark that description.’
‘We split up.’
‘Not for ever. I still haven’t completely sucked the life out of you yet.’
Hunter realised she was dressing slowly so he couldn’t see her face.
‘Just till this whole thing is over,’ she said.
The sentence hung for a while, but its weight was too great.
‘Fair enough.’ He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice; he was sick of responsibility and obligation, sicker still because she was right. ‘But you’d better not try to skip out on me, ’cause I’ll only have to track you down. In our world, or this, or any other you care to mention.’
