There was a blinding flash and a roar. Stryke found himself on the ground, along with the others, not knowing what had just happened. As they looked up, they saw the ball hit the pyramid at the point where the gem was fixed to its peak. The sound of the impact was tremendous. Swaying for a second, the gem tumbled, and as it fell the pyramid itself rippled with numerous cracks and began to fall apart. Great shards of the glassy material plunged to the ground to shatter into thousands of pieces. In a brace of heartbeats the entire structure gave way, the remains shrouded in a cloud of dust from the debris.
The band cheered. It took them a moment to hear Coilla shouting at them and to realise something was wrong. Stryke turned and saw what it was. The weapon was on its side, the tube broken into several pieces, the woodwork blackened with charring. Its ammunition, the iron spheres, were scattered all around. Some were split in two.
Coilla was on her knees next to something half under the toppled weapon. Stryke and the others dashed to it.
“The pyramid fired at us just before the ball hit,” she explained. “Vobe was standing next to the weapon.”
Stryke looked. Their comrade was crushed, bloodied and unmistakably dead.
They would have liked to give Vobe the send-off he deserved, but they knew that wasn’t always possible in the field. So Stryke and Coilla said a few words about one of their longest-serving brothers-in-arms, and Dallog commended his spirit to the Tetrad with Haskeer looking on disdainfully. Then they buried the body as deep as they could in the desert sand.
“Strange to think we’ve buried him in a place that doesn’t actually exist,” Coilla said as they moved away.
“Nothing that happens these days surprises me,” Stryke replied. “But I wish we could have seen him off on a pyre on Ceragan, where he belongs, with feasting and drinking in his honour. He deserved at least that much.”
“We’ll raise a tankard to him when we get out of this.”
“Think we will get out?”
“Of course we will. And you don’t want to let the others hear you talking like that.”
“No, you’re right. But what with Thirzarr, and now Vobe-”
“I know. But the best way we serve them is to complete this mission, the way we set out to do.”
“That feels like a long time ago, and it seemed so much simpler then.”
“Tell me about it.”
Dynahla approached them. “I don’t want to intrude on your grief,” he said, “but we should be thinking about moving on.”
“Yes,” Stryke agreed soberly. “But which way?”
“To what Sina-Cholm was guarding. Now the prism’s gone we should be able to get through.”
Heavy-hearted, the band set off over the sand towards the ruins of the pyramid. They realised how big the thing had been when they had to negotiate a vast quantity of debris, much of it viciously keen shards of the glass- like material it had been constructed from. But they struggled onto its base, and after rooting through the chaos uncovered an aperture in the floor with a flight of stone steps that descended into darkness. They filed down, weapons in hand.
At the bottom of the stairwell they found that their way was lit, just as other areas had been on their travels in this world, from an unknown source. They were in a wide, tall tunnel, seemingly constructed without blocks, bricks or any evidence of joins. There was only one way to go and they took it.
“This I do know something about,” Dynahla told them. “I was in this labyrinth when I first came to Serapheim’s pocket universe. Take heart. We’re very near our destination now.”
They trudged along the tunnel for what seemed like an eternity, their surroundings never changing and the light staying at the same uniform level. More than one of them noticed the sulphurous whiff in the air that indicated a magical charge. And it was getting stronger.
There was a brighter radiance somewhere far ahead, and it shone more and more strongly as they approached it. When they arrived at its source they found that the tunnel ended at a waterfall of multicoloured light.
“We’re here,” Dynahla announced. “All we have to do is step through this curtain of energy and into Serapheim’s world.”
“Is it safe?” Spurral asked.
“Perfectly. Stryke, I think you should have the honour of going through first.”
“I reckon this… entrance or whatever it is should be big enough for us all to go through together.”
“Good idea,” the shape-changer said. “Shall we?”
The band lined up in front of the dazzling cascade, not quite believing it could be an entrance of any kind. Standeven, as usual, hovered a few steps to the rear of the others, looking fearful.
On Stryke’s word they moved forward and stepped into the luminous whirlpool.
The sensation was not unlike world-hopping with the instrumentalities. It felt as though they were falling from a great height through a madness of churning colours and exploding stars.
They opened their eyes on something like paradise.
The sun beat down on a verdant scene of grassy pastures, soft rolling hills, trees in full leaf and silvered lakes. So blue it almost made their eyes hurt, the sky was host to a few fluffy white clouds. The air was fresh and a gentle breeze blew, fragrant from a thousand wholesome, growing things. There was no sign of the vibrant curtain they had walked through.
“This is quite something,” Pepperdyne said admiringly.
Spurral nodded. “It’s… beautiful.”
“It’s based on Maras-Dantia before it fell into corruption,” a voice boomed from behind.
They spun round. Serapheim stood before them, a broad smile on his face. “Congratulations on getting here,” he said, “and welcome to my world.”
29
Tentarr Arngrim, or Serapheim as the world of sorcery knew him, looked very much as the band remembered from their first meeting on Maras-Dantia, albeit he showed the signs of ageing. But he had at least the appearance of vigour, despite what Dynahla had said about his failing health. His back was still straight, his build lean. He had shoulder-length auburn hair and a tidily trimmed beard. There were lively blue eyes above a slightly hawkish nose, and his mouth was well shaped. He was dressed in a blue silken robe and shiny black leather boots. The shape- changer was at his side.
“Greetings, Wolverines,” he said. “It’s good to see you again, and a pleasure to welcome some new faces.” He looked to the Ceragan recruits, Spurral, and Pepperdyne and Standeven. Then he took on a more solemn tone. “Allow me to commiserate with you on those who fell on the way here. I know the loss of your comrades must be a grievous burden.”
“I think you’ve got some explaining to do,” Stryke told him.
“Yes, I have. You deserve no less. But come, let’s do it in more comfort than standing here.”
He led them to a white marble villa. It was elegantly fashioned and tastefully furnished, and it was hard to credit it all as a product of magic. In a room the size of a banqueting hall he invited the Wolverines to rest themselves and take refreshments. Several young male and female humans, similarly dressed in blue robes, appeared with trays of water, juice and ale, and platters of bread, cheese, fruits and freshly roasted meat and fowl. It was hard to believe that the food and drink, like the villa and the world in which it stood, literally didn’t exist.
Serapheim let them pick at the food and take some of the drink before moving on to weightier matters, despite the obvious impatience of Stryke and several others.
At last he said, “I can understand your frustration and your puzzlement at the turn events have taken.”
“Can you?” Stryke replied frostily. “We signed on for this mission to get our revenge on Jennesta. But it all got a lot more complicated than that, didn’t it?”
