Their moment of paralysis was broken when they heard what appeared to be the skittering of insects. It took a second for them to grasp that it was the sound of many feet approaching from a great distance.
'An army!' Crowther said with horror. 'Bloody hell fire, there's an army of them!'
Matt propelled the other three in the direction of a large arched opening leading to an annexe dominated by a rectangular shallow pool of water. The torch sent rippling patterns of light and shade moving across the wall as they passed. Beyond lay a processional corridor lined with lush heavily patterned drapes that led on to what may have been a ballroom or a concert hall, the disturbing carvings giving way to gleaming white columns and swirling confections moving along pink walls; a raised dais lay at one end. The pattering footsteps were louder now, coming from all sides. 'It sounds like children,' Mahalia gasped. She had drawn the Fomorii sword, ready to lash out as she ran.They emerged through an open gilded gate into an enormous indoor garden of trees and well-clipped hedges, wrought iron fences and pergolas covered with flowering creepers, beds of alien blooms of red and blue and purple that released an intoxicating perfume, sheltering boulders and gravelled areas filled with tall grasses. It was designed in such a way that the paths led through it like a maze, revealing each new section only at the last moment. The most startling thing lay at the focal point: a well of sunlight streaming down through a hole in the roof, dazzling in contrast to the gloom that lay all around. A system of mirrors were fixed here and there, so that at certain times they could be turned to give light to the whole garden.
It was only when they'd ventured deep into the complex maze that they realised their mistake. The design made it impossible for them to see the approach of attackers from any direction until they would be upon the companions.
'Let's make it to the sun. It'll be lighter there and we can make a stand,' Matt said fatalistically.
It wasn't long before they realised they were surrounded. Running feet pattered by on every side in the dark, crunching on gravel, rustling past bushes or disturbing wind chimes. The sound became intense, like rain on the window in a heavy winter storm. They could just make out bodies, flashing past gaps in the vegetation and garden architecture, not human, small, smaller even than the people of the Court of Soul's Ease.
Words from a poem kept repeating in Crowther's head: For fear of little men… for fear of little men. And he did feel fear, and revulsion, and he could see it in the faces of the others. There was something in the size, and the way they scurried rapidly, that suggested rats, bringing up feelings buried since the earliest development of the human mind.
Their pursuers closed in rapidly, waiting for the moment when the four were completely surrounded. And that point came when the companions finally reached the column of sunlight, which centred on a raised platform of white marble. They thrust themselves into it, relishing the warmth on their faces, but all detail beyond the pillar of illumination disappeared into the dark and, reluctandy, they had to step back out of the column of light to see what awaited them.
From their vantage point, they had a view across a larger part of the garden. Small, scurrying figures were everywhere, stretching back into the deep dark, a writhing, squirming sea of rodent life. The nearest ones revealed the previously hidden forms: pale skin, long limbs, squat bodies, nasty eyes and brutish brows.
Crowther couldn't believe that these people had once appeared as the stately, graceful Golden Ones. They had regressed to some point far, far back on their path of evolution, a state that spoke of viciousness and bestial urges, scratching out an existence in the dark places beneath the earth, only emerging at night with murder on their breath and hatred in their hearts.
And as he looked, with the fear swelling like an ocean inside him, he thought he understood why. They appeared to his perception as they truly were, no longer the aloof godlike Golden Ones, but the scrabbling creatures of humanity's darkest nightmares, broken by defeat and bitterness, desperate to prevent men from reaching the next stage of spiritual evolution, filled with all the basest urges. The more they gave in to hatred and murder, the more devolved they became.
They were all carrying tiny knives that glinted in the light. Crowther guessed they could gut and dress a body in minutes, seconds if they fell on a victim in numbers. This was it, then. Mahalia, Matt and Jack braced themselves for any attack, weapons at the ready. Half-heartedly, Crowther raised his staff.
The seething throng parted as a figure moved forward from the darkness at the back. As he neared, they could see that he stood more erect than the others, though he was just as small. He had a long grey beard, but his eyes had the same black, hateful essence as his fellows'. Once he reached the front of the throng, he eyed them with cold malice. 'Fragile Creatures,' he said contemptuously. 'What do you here in the Far Lands?'
Matt stepped forward. 'We're not concerned with whatever war you've got going on amongst your people. We're not going to interfere. We just want to get on our way, and to deal with our own business.'
'Interfere?' The little man laughed hollowly. 'My name is Melliflor, first lieutenant to the Queen of the Court of the Yearning Heart,' he added, regarding them slyly. 'And we do not like Fragile Creatures here in the Far Lands. You have your own home, Son of Adam, and now you have ventured far beyond the fields you know.'
The crowd of little men behind him was like a tidal wave, waiting to break upon the four standing near the light. They surged and pressed, but Melliflor held them back by the force of his charisma while his cunning weighed the situation. He removed his own little knife from his belt and proceeded to clean his long, dirty fingernails in an ostentatiously threatening manner.
One of his army couldn't hold back any longer and darted forward, grasping towards Mahalia's foot. She lashed out savagely with the Fomorii sword and took his arm off at the elbow. He howled in pain, rolling backwards across the floor. A hiss whistled through the assembled army and they rose up as one, ready to strike. Matt, Mahalia and Jack steeled themselves.
'No more sunlight for you,' Melliflor said with false sadness. He raised one arm; the little men prepared to move.
The constant itching that assailed Crowther's back became at that moment a full-scale rush of molten iron in his veins. Even if he had fought he wouldn't have been able to prevent his hands from darting to the secret pocket and removing the mask. If he was about to die, he wanted to do it in the luxurious, stimulating, cocooning world of the mask, the only place he had ever known true pleasure and true acceptance. But the moment he brought out the mask, the sunlight gleaming off its silvered surface, the little men drew back as one, as if they were about to be burned, their nasty little eyes grown wide with fear. Matt saw their response and clutched at Crowther's arm. 'Don't put it on — just hold it out,' he hissed.
With trembling hand, Crowther just about resisted, though it edged slowly towards his face.
Melliflor recovered first, his eyes filled with a hungry gleam that Crowther knew only too well. 'Give me the mask. It is too dangerous for Fragile Creatures. Give it to me and you shall be allowed to leave here.'
'How can we trust you?' Matt shouted.
'You have my word — on the weft and weave.'
'A promise?'
'A promise. And we do not give our word lightly, Fragile Creature.' Melliflor appeared hypnotised by the light dancing off the mask, desperately yearning and fearful at the same time.
'Give it to him,' Matt whispered to Crowther. 'We don't have any choice. Even if we can't trust him, it might cause enough of a diversion for us to get out of here if you throw it right into the heart of them.'
'No.' The word was quiedy spoken and steely hard.
'Don't be stupid!' Matt dug his fingers into Crowther's arm. 'What's wrong with you?'
'Do you have any idea what they could do with this mask?'
Matt searched Crowther's face. 'That's not the real reason. What's going on?' Matt didn't wait for an answer, instead lunging for the mask. Crowther elbowed him sharply in the face and stepped away so he could turn defiantly and clamp the mask on to himself.
An exclamation of terror rushed through the army of little men like a wind on a stormy night. At the back there was frantic movement as some of them turned and fled; others scurried for cover, while the ones near the front were paralysed with fear.
Melliflor looked ghastly pale in the light coming off the mask. 'Good Son, forgive us,' he said in hushed, desperate tones.
The second the mask had attached itself to Crowther's face, Matt, Mahalia and Jack noticed a change in the atmosphere. A terrible weight bore down on all of them; sound became muffled and light, what little there was, became distorted.
Behind the mask, Crowther cried out. His hands rushed towards his face to tear the mask off, but then they
