Tom stepped forward. 'May I speak?'
'Your exalted position is recognised, True Thomas.'
'Then I would suggest the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons divide into teams to ensure the best chance of success. Ruth and Ryan will join you in the attack from the north.'
Ruth went cold. Surreptitiously, she glanced over at Veitch, but his gaze was fixed firmly on Nuada.
'Shavi and Laura will come from the west with Lugh,' Tom continued. 'And I and the Bone Inspector will accompany Church through the secret tunnels. Though he is powerful, he is also young, and we have the experience to guide him through the darkest turns.'
Nuada nodded. 'Your views are acceptable, True Thomas.'
Laura smirked and whispered to Church behind her hand, 'Fun day out with the senior citizen club for you, boy. Hope you don't get in any fights or there'll be Zimmer frames all over the place.'
'Use the Quadrillax wisely,' Nuada said. 'You have already drawn the Sword from the stone of disbelief. Now is the time to fire it with your heart. And the others-each must be used at the right time, in the correct manner, with the full weight of your essence behind you, and even then victory is not assured. Much death and suffering lies ahead. This is a period of pain that will be remembered when the stars go out. Go well, Brothers and Sisters of Dragons. Your world turns with you.'
They left the tent to prepare themselves for what lay ahead. The joy of their initial reunion had dissipated, to be replaced by an oppressive sense of foreboding. There were no jokes or smiles; they were lost to their own thoughts as they wrestled with their secret fears or searched for the depths of strength that would get them through the coming hours.
Veitch was the last to leave. Before he had gone ten paces from the tent, Nuada called him back.
'We have seen your sacrifice,' the god said, motioning to Witch's bandaged wrist. 'I know only too well the pain of such a wound.' He removed a glove that covered an ornately crafted silver hand that looked like it had come from some futuristic robot. 'The scars go much deeper than the skin.'
Nuada's eyes felt like they were going right through him. 'I had to do it to bring my mate back. I'm not bitter about it.'
'Not bitter, no.' Nuada smiled knowingly. 'Still, I understand your heart, Brother of Dragons. Listen, then: if you are to be effective, you will need a new hand. Would you like that?'
'Can you do it?'
Nuada indicated the silver hand again. 'We are gods. We can do anything.'
The tent was the deepest red, so that within even the air had the hint of blood. It was enormous, bigger even than the marquee where the war council had met, with numerous annexes and branching passages so it was impossible to see all of it from one view. Nuada presented Veitch to Dian Cecht, who wore robes of scarlet. He carried himself with bearing, his features as aristocratic as his manner: a high forehead above a Roman nose, sharp, grey eyes and gunmetal hair tied in a ponytail.
'We have little time,' Nuada said, as Dian Cecht gently unfastened the material on Veitch's wrist stump.
'It is a simple operation on a Fragile Creature.' Dian Cecht examined the burnt flesh, then shrugged and turned away, motioning for Veitch to follow.
They came to a room set with several tables. Cruel-looking silver instruments were laid out on small trays next to each table. Dian Cecht nodded for Veitch to lie down, then busied himself at a large cabinet at one end. He returned with a wooden box inlaid with gold, which he placed on the tray next to Veitch. Inside, on a velvet inlay, was a silver hand the exact replica of the one Nuada wore. 'A spare,' Dian Cecht said with a smile.
Veitch felt a faint flutter of excitement; the thought of being whole once more was seductive. Dian Cecht gave him a foul-tasting potion to drink, which instantly made him sleepy. After a moment he was drifting in and out of hallucinatory waking dreams, filled with strange, disturbing images, including one of a black and a white spider fighting furiously over him. He was vaguely aware of Dian Cecht working on his wrist with a long knife with three rotating blades; the smell of blood filled his nostrils with surprising potency. A glimmer of silver in the corner of his eye told him the hand was about to be fitted. He watched with the curious detachment of a drug trip as Dian Cecht placed it against his stump, now soaked with blood.
At the instant the blood touched the pristine silver, three arms snapped out of the hand and poised erect; on each one was a row of sharp silver spikes. Veitch only had a second to consider what was going to happen next before the arms suddenly sprung down, driving the spikes deep into the bone and muscle of his wrist. Even through the sedation, he screamed in agony, but there was more pain to follow: something within the hand was burrowing into his arm, wrapping its way around ligaments and tissue, bonding with nerves and veins.
Witch's throat grew raw from screaming and a moment later he blacked out.
Church and Ruth stood behind their tent, embracing each other silently. The weight of what they wanted to say was too great, crushing them silent. Ruth blinked off tears as she pulled away. She forced a smile.
'We'll be meeting again soon,' Church said gently. 'In the hideous lair of the one-eyed god of death. How about that for a one-off?'
'Oh, very romantic. Every girl's dream.'
'At least you'll never forget it.'
Neither could bring themselves to discuss the possibility that they might not see each other again; the occasion called for sweeping optimism and hope and faith.
They pulled away, ready to meet the others, but Ruth turned and caught Church's arm. 'Be careful,' she said with a quiet intensity that moved him.
Tom poked his head round the corner of the tent. 'For God's sake, get a move on! They're not going to hold up the end of the world for you.'
The others were waiting quietly. Veitch looked pale and drained, but his new hand was a source of wonder and he appeared proud of it. The others were not so sure. 'What did they demand in return for that?' Tom asked harshly. When Veitch told him nothing, he said, 'I'm very disappointed in you,' before walking away.
'Just be careful, Ryan,' Church said to him. 'They can't be trusted. And they're not known for their charity.'
''Course I'll be careful.' Veitch couldn't help examining the hand in the light. 'I'm whole again. That's what matters.' He was patently oblivious to the foreboding that filled the rest of them.
At that time, though, they couldn't hold it against him. They hugged in turn-even Veitch and Tom. They knew each other well enough not to need to say anything more.
Once they were all on their horses, Church couldn't part without adding something. 'This is what it's all been leading to, all that pain and hardship and suffering. We've been to hell and back and we've come through it. Of all the people who could have been here at this point, I'm glad it's you, all of you. You're the best there is, and I'm proud to be one of you.'
Veitch looked to the horizon, his cheeks flushed. 'Yeah, well, we're not going to let you down, boss. Death or glory, and all that.'
'Just glory,' Laura corrected.
In the moments before they departed, Church found himself turning over the wild parade of events that had led them to that place. At the start it had seemed so simple: a straight fight between good and evil for the sake of humanity. Instead, they had found themselves probing the very mysteries of existence, travelling through worlds where reality and illusion intermingled until it was impossible to tell what was real and what was not. There had been so much hardship, pain and death on every side, yet, ironically, it had been the best time of his life. He had become a better person because of it, although he knew he still had a way to go.
Now it was back to being a simple fight once more: humanity against all the alien powers that were attempting to deny its destiny. And all to be decided in two short days. He hoped they were up to the obligation that had been placed on their shoulders.
They rode over a slight rise to see a massive army spread out across the countryside in the wan October sunlight. As the call went out somewhere at the head, a charge of excitement ran through all of them. A grin jumped like wildfire from one to the other. After the weariness of all the buildup, the culmination came like a jolt of energy. Veitch gave a triumphant yell and then they spurred their horses to join the others, lost to the pump of the blood in their heads.
When they were finally in motion, it looked like a sea of gold was sweeping across the countryside towards the capital. Within it, Church and the others felt enveloped in a dreamy, yellow haze, where figures and horses
