'Are you going to talk to me at all?' Ruth had been keeping one eye on Veitch long enough to know he was fighting to ignore her.
She instantly regretted speaking when he flashed her a glance that was so harsh it jolted her. 'What do you expect? Happy smiles and blowing kisses?'
'Not from you, no.'
His long hair, lashed by the cold north wind, obscured his face so she couldn't read his response, but she had watched his eyes made darker by a brooding brow ever since they had picked up the last leg of the Ml. His handsome face had been transformed by the icy set of his features. Sometimes, when she saw him like that, he frightened her.
The Tuatha De Danann who rode in front, behind and on either side had added to her loneliness by alienating her ever since they had left the camp. They had taken to Veitch immediately, encouraging him to strip off his shirt so they could examine with delight the fantastic tattoos that covered his torso, so she knew it wasn't because she was a Fragile Creature. She had endured enough similar ignorance from men during her working life not to take it to heart. With what lay ahead, she could have done with a friend for support and she hated Veitch a little for not being there for her, even though she had no right to ask that of him.
At the end of the motorway they took the North Circular. It gave her a strange frisson to be riding a horse along deserted roads on which she had queued irritatedly in backed-up traffic so many times. At least the Tuatha De Danann force gave her some confidence. There were hundreds of them, maybe thousands, armed with bizarre weapons that made her blood grow cold just to look at them. They stretched as far back as she could see, and fanned out slightly on either side ahead so the force resembled an arrow driving into the contaminated heart of the city. Lugh and Nuada led the way, both of them enthused with a warrior spirit that sickened her. She didn't take any pleasure in fighting, certainly not in killing; it was a job that they had an obligation to fulfil, but that was all. And she also despised the jealousy, or contempt, she felt coming off the two gods at her possession of the Spear. The weapon rested on her back in a specially made harness Lugh had grudgingly handed over, its power warming through her clothes to invigorate her spirit.
They broke off from the North Circular, passing down North End Road until they arrived at Hampstead Heath. The expanse of greenery was looking a little washed-out in the October chill, but it had been protected from the ash falls by its lofty position above the city and the direction of the wind.
From the heights all they could see was the pall of thick smoke and mist that drifted along the Thames Valley. Occasionally, though, it shifted enough for the black tower to loom up ominously in the east.
A blast from a strange horn resembling a conch shell brought the force to an abrupt halt. Ahead, Ruth could see Lugh and Nuada in deep discussion. After a moment they beckoned to Veitch. It was noticeable that they were ignoring her, but out of bloody-mindedness she spurred her horse to keep pace behind Veitch.
Both of the gods kept their eyes fixed on Veitch's face as they spoke. 'We are debating crossing this heathland,' Nuada said. 'It is a wide expanse that could be dangerous.'
Veitch scanned the heath. 'If there are any of the Bastards out there, there can't be many. There aren't that many places to hide.'
'The Night Walkers are a cunning breed,' Nuada said.
'I say we continue,' Lugh said. 'It would not do to waste the hours following the edge. And if there are Night Walkers, they will fall before the might of the Golden Ones, as they always must.'
Veitch rubbed his chin. 'Well, I don't know. I wouldn't like to be caught out there.'
'I heard you were a mighty warrior,' Lugh gibed. 'That strangest of things, a Fragile Creature who is not fragile!'
Ruth willed Veitch not to be swayed, but after a moment's thought, he shrugged. 'It's your call, then. Let's get to it.'
Ruth sighed, but none of them looked towards her.
When they returned to their positions, Ruth said to Veitch, 'Why did you give in to them? You know better than they do. You're good at what you do, Ryan. You should have more confidence in yourself.'
He grunted unintelligibly, but renewed his effort to scan the heath. Clusters of trees dotted the rolling grassland, with thicker woodland to the north. They were aiming for Parliament Hill, where they could press down speedily into Kentish Town, and then on into Camden, Islington and finally the City. Ruth was dreading the final leg of the assault where the winding streets and soaring buildings would make any mass approach impossible. She expected a long, gruelling fight to their destination, and if the Fomorii could hold them off for just thirty-six hours it would end in failure. If only there were a better way, she thought.
The Tuatha De Danann fanned out across the heath, giving Ruth an even more impressive view of their numbers. So concentrated were they that her perception could barely cope; the gods lost their individuality, became the untarnished power that lay at the core of them, merging into one, bright glow. It reminded her of a sea of gold, licking up to an oil-stained beach. The sight was comforting and she relaxed a little. The Fomorii wouldn't stand a chance.
They moved across the heath slowly. Nuada and Lugh were leading cautiously, constantly scanning the terrain. Veitch kept his eyes on the tree line.
Briefly the sun broke through the thick cloud cover, warming Ruth's face. She closed her eyes and went with the gentle rocking of her mount, enjoying the aroma of greenery the breeze brought from the north. In her mind she pictured a perfect autumn day, walking with Church amongst a wood turning gold, red and brown somewhere peaceful, Scotland perhaps, or the New Forest. Her mind plucked a soundtrack from her memory that had been pressuring to come forward since the journey began.
'What are you thinking?'
She opened her eyes to see Veitch watching her suspiciously. 'I can't get an old song out of my head. It's sort of gospelly, traditional, but it was in a George Clooney film a while back. It's called-'
In the blink of an eye, the Fomorii were there. They rose up out of the ground, not there, then there a second later, an opposing army created from thin air. By the time she had realised what was happening, chaos had erupted.
Ruth was caught in a hurricane. Her nightmares of the forthcoming confrontation had suggested it would be as sickeningly ferocious and bloody as any mediaeval battle, but what she saw around her was much, much worse. The Fomorii wielded their ugly, serrated swords like propellers, hacking and slashing in a relentless whirl. Limbs, heads and other body parts showered all around, filling the air with a blizzard of golden moths.
The Tuatha De Danann were just as brutal. Their weapons were unleashed in furious rounds, turning the Fomorii into a mist of black droplets or a thick sludge with only the hint of component parts. And where the fighting was too close, they resorted to their swords, jabbing and hacking as fast as their enemy. In the fury of movement and the ear-splitting din of combat, with the mud and grue covering all, Ruth could barely tell them apart.
Veitch was matching them all for ferocity. His sword whisked around with the efficiency and blurring speed of a machine, while he somehow managed to manoeuvre his horse back and forth to attack and retreat, even in close quarters. It was a staggering display of instinctive ability that left Ruth breathless. That was why he had been chosen: he wasn't just good at the role that had been presented to him, he was the ultimate warrior.
The Spear was in her right hand-she didn't recall withdrawing it-and she clutched the reins with her left. Numerous Night Walkers fell at the touch of the weapon, but she was nowhere near as good as Veitch. In fact, she felt a liability. Her own abilities were useless in that kind of situation, while the sheer senseless slaughter left her unable to think clearly.
Veitch appeared to sense this for he suddenly spurred his horse round to her side. 'Let's get out of this fucking hell-hole!'
With his sword cutting down any opposition he drove the horse in as direct a line as he could to the open ground beyond the battlefield. Ruth was quick to follow in his wake, bracing the Spear against her side to take down any opposition Veitch missed. By the time they had forced their way through the final ranks, her ribs felt as if they had been beaten with metal bars.
Veitch continued until they had put a hundred yards or more between them and the fighting, then he rounded to survey the scene. 'Shit. Look at that.' His voice was barely more than a whisper.
From their new perspective the true horror and brutality of the fight could be seen. The Fomorii and Tuatha De Danann never turned from a confrontation, driving on from one fight to the next until they eventually dropped. The heath was thick with the essence of both of them-hundreds had already been slaughtered-but the Fomorii had
