Mallory shivered at what he heard in that sound. Surprised that he had found the words to express his feelings, he stepped down; Decebalus clapped him on the back, and even the Tuatha De Danann regarded him with respect.
‘Let’s go,’ he said.
Under cover of the storm, they approached along the narrow street that led to the square in front of the palace. Mallory still held out hope that they would be able to gain access undetected. But as they crossed the square, roaring oil fires ignited along the ramparts and on the towers, and the gloomy building was instantly transformed into a hellish fortress.
The gates were closed, and although they had not been designed to resist a major assault, Mallory could see it would take a long time to batter them down.
Yet as they surged around the base of the palace, a cry rose up. Running furiously and determinedly from the narrow street were many of the strange characters from the Hunter’s Moon, with more of the court’s residents joining them by the second. Living in fear of Niamh’s secret brutality and the enforcement of her guard, they now felt empowered.
Shadow John, tall and thin in his stovepipe hat and black suit, was transformed from his urbane geniality into a terrible sight, eyes ablaze with fury. He leaped to the gate and with one sweep of his long fingers tore open the lock.
With the doors flung open, the ragtag army surged into the suffocating maze of long, low corridors and tiny rooms. The lower ranks of Niamh’s guard rushed from secret passages in guerrilla strikes or attempted to hold the winding staircases leading to the upper floors. At first, Lugh, Rhian-non and the other Tuatha De Danann were hesitant at attacking their own, but when they saw the guards’ uncaring ferocity, they began to respond in kind. Soon the small passageways were filled with clouds of fluttering golden moths from both sides. As Mallory fought his way through to the upper floors, he caught sight of Lugh, his face grim and now wet with tears. Every blow he struck left him shaking.
While the battle raged below, Mallory, Decebalus and one of the new Brothers of Dragons, a sallow-faced Victorian wearing a long, black coat, moved swiftly through the upper floors.
‘What’s your name?’ Mallory asked the newcomer.
‘Charles Granger.’ He carried a short sword awkwardly. ‘I wish I had a good pistol.’
‘Okay, Charlie, you drop back and keep your eyes open for anything we miss. They’re sly bastards and they won’t be averse to popping out and stabbing us in the back.’
‘Let them try it,’ Decebalus growled. ‘I’ll have their heads from their shoulders before they’ve even taken a step.’
They came to a long, low corridor leading to the main staircase to the next floor. Heavy tapestries lined both walls and the only light came from a solitary torch at the far end.
‘I’d have thought we’d have encountered the elite guard by now,’ Mallory said.
‘You are right,’ Decebalus acknowledged. ‘Something is amiss.’
‘I do hope we get through this without too much fuss,’ Charles noted. ‘I’m looking forward to spending some time with my girl.’
‘You and me both.’ Cautiously, Mallory moved along the corridor, keeping his eyes fixed on the opening to the staircase. The silence was broken by a faint, brief sound behind them, like air escaping from a pipe.
Mallory halted. ‘What was that?’
‘I know not.’ Decebalus scanned the corridor.
‘Probably nothing. Let’s keep going,’ Charles prompted.
‘Everything’s something in this place. That’s the rule.’ Mallory edged forward.
Another burst of air, still behind them but louder than the last.
‘Again!’ Decebalus said with irritation.
‘From the ceiling.’ Mallory indicated a series of holes barely visible in the gloom.
Behind them, Charles began to cough. The coughing soon became choking, and they turned to see him clutching at his throat.
‘He can’t breathe!’ Mallory caught him as he fell to his knees. The panic in Charles’s face became horrified realisation as blood oozed from the corners of his eyes, nose, ears and mouth. Blisters erupted all over his skin, bursting to reveal thick yellow pus that turned to blood as it dripped away. Within seconds, he pitched forward, dead.
‘Witchcraft!’ Decebalus exclaimed.
‘Poison, more like.’ Mallory felt a pang of grief and turned it on its axis into cold rage. ‘Poor bastard. She’s going to pay for this.’
‘She will pay,’ Decebalus agreed. ‘Threefold. Pain upon suffering upon hell on Earth.’
Mallory tore a tapestry off the wall and held it aloft so Decebalus could get under it. Shielded from the blasts of poisonous air, they ran down the corridor.
At the stairwell, they threw the tapestry off and prepared to climb to the next floor until what sounded like the roars of jungle beasts rose up beneath them. Feet thundered up the stairs from the floor below, accompanied by an abattoir stink.
Rounding a turn in the stairs came a score or more of squat, brutish Redcaps clothed in the remnants of their human victims. Mallory braced himself for the fight, but Decebalus said firmly, ‘Go. I will hold them off.’
‘You can’t. They’re killing machines.’
‘Go!’ Decebalus roared. ‘If we both fall here, there will be no one to avenge our dead. Besides, I fight better alone.’
Mallory hesitated for only a second before he clapped the barbarian on the shoulder. ‘You’re a hero. I’m not going to forget this.’
‘Then you buy all the ale when next we meet in the Hunter’s Moon.’
Mallory ran up the stairs. Glancing back, he saw Decebalus crash his axe into the skull of the first Redcap and then kick the body back down onto the ravening horde. His insane laughter boomed up the stairwell. ‘To hell!’
Mallory sprinted up the stairs to the very top of the palace where he knew Niamh would be preparing her defence, or her escape. In the annexe that led into the queen’s suite of state rooms, he found Evgen and five members of the elite guard dressed in black and silver armour and full helmets. They brandished broad, curved swords.
‘One Brother of Dragons,’ Evgen sneered. ‘How disappointing. Pray to your God. You will be with him soon.’
‘I don’t have a god,’ Mallory replied. ‘This is what I believe in.’
He swung Llyrwyn and as he attacked, the Blue Fire became an inferno, fed by his Pendragon Spirit and feeding it in turn. The first two guards exploded into moths before they had even taken a step. The third was more of a challenge, but Mallory would not be contained. The Blue Fire filled him until there was no Mallory, just a righteous weapon that struck with all the strength and skill he had learned as a Knight Templar.
Another guard fell, then another, until Evgen faced him, alone. The captain threw back the mask of his helmet, revealing an expression of incomprehension.
‘You can leave,’ Mallory said.
‘My duty is to my queen. I have neither will nor desire beyond that.’
Mallory felt briefly sorry for him. But then Evgen raised his sword and for five minutes they battled ferociously until Evgen misjudged a strike and Mallory ran through his open defence.
Dropping his weapon, Evgen crashed back against the wall. ‘How can Fragile Creatures defeat the Golden Ones?’ he said in disbelief.
‘This is a new age.’
Once the moths had dissipated, Mallory entered the reception hall. The stifling heat made him choke. The fire in the great hearth roared as if driven by bellows, and all around the room braziers glowed. There was no other light source, and a claustrophobic gloom clustered in the corners.
Niamh stood before the fire. She wore tight-fitting ebony armour etched with silver filigree and a black ceremonial headdress with six horns that resembled the arms of Shiva.
‘Dressed for a funeral?’ Mallory said.
