'Allies. The Enemy force is greater than you can imagine. However powerful you think you are, you won't be able to hold them back. Alone. But with an army of gods, from all the Great Dominions… now, that would make a difference.' Hunter gestures to Math, observing silently with his hands folded in front of him. 'The Tuatha De Danaan have already agreed to stand with us. I have a message from Lugh guaranteeing the support of the Golden Ones.'
'An army of gods?' Tyr's laughter roars to the rafters. Thor, though, remains grave as he considers Hunter's words.
'You're facing the true, organising force of the universe. The god above gods,' Hunter continues. 'The Void represents the opposite of Life. And it's slowly focusing its attention on us through that Burning Man you can see from your windows. Once that receptacle is filled, it will act.'
'But until then there is an opportunity?' Thor asks.
'Not for any of us alone. Even together there might not be a chance-'
'Hold!' Pressed against the great window, the goddess Frigg looks out across the wintry wastes. 'Something approaches.'
The horizon is a blur in the blizzard that rages constantly around Asgard, but gradually shapes coalesce in the snow, moving towards the city. A handful at first, then a score, then hundreds. Brutish figures range speedily ahead of the main force: Redcaps wearing their clothes of human skin and organs, followed closely by the shimmering, insubstantial Gehennis tearing at their wild hair, and the shrieking, vampiric Baobhan Sith. Behind them, a great army pulls slowly out of the storm, dead yet alive, axes and swords and lances merged with their limbs, armour rusted and bloodstained. Purple mist drifts around the Lament-Brood, and even at that distance their keening song of despair is clear.
'They attack us here, in our home?' Thor intones incredulously.
'We fight!' Tyr bellows. 'Now.'
'I don't want to pour cold water on your war party,' Hunter says, 'but this is where I advise you to run.'
4
Across the Far Lands, ashes drift in the wind. In your dreams, you taste the bitterness on your tongue. Listen. There is a sound like a heartbeat throbbing behind the breeze, under the rustling of the leaves, deep in the land itself. It is the sound of war drums, it is the sound of a heart. It infects your dreams so that you cannot sleep peacefully, for you know what it is, and from where it comes.
Against one of the foothills of the great mountain range sprawls an enormous walled city. You stare in awe at its jumble of buildings, its winding streets, its towers and turrets, gambrels and chimneys, ramparts and spires. Once you would have been troubled by its claustrophobia, the darkness beneath the upper storeys of the buildings overhanging the cobbled streets. But no more. Now the streets are flooded with light, and a new mood of hope fights to establish itself; the Court of the Soaring Spirit has a new lord. You see his long dark hair and the note of irony in his dark eyes, but most of all you see the unfathomable sadness in his heart. Despite that, Mallory, Brother of Dragons, possessor of Llyrwyn, one of the Three Great Swords of Existence, projects only optimism, a necessary quality, for his city now lies on the brink of destruction.
The Palace of Glorious Light lives up to its name. Golden illumination shining from every window, it is a beacon that can be seen far and wide across the Far Lands, and it rings with beautiful music, earthly songs that Mallory has taught the strange band of musicians drawn to him from across the city. He hoped it would ease his emptiness. It has not. But all the other residents will never forget its joy.
Yet still it faces destruction.
At the heart of the palace is a formal garden, tranquil amongst its honey-scented alyssum, spicy lilies and sweet, strong jasmine, its sparkling fountain, its elegant statues and winding walkways. Amidst the fluttering butterflies and the lazy drone of bees, Caitlin Shepherd, Sister of Dragons, practises a relentless series of martial routines with her axe.
From the upper cloisters, Mallory watches her brown hair flying, her fragile features tense and determined. 'No peace,' he mutters. 'Ever.'
As if to underline his words, Decebalus, the Dacian barbarian, marches up. 'Another attack is imminent,' he growls. 'I have ordered the sounding of the alert.'
Mallory curses. 'We need to get everyone indoors. Man the defences-'
'Already done.' Decebalus nods towards Caitlin in the garden below as they march to the stairs. 'You are concerned about her?'
'It's just difficult to get used to the new Caitlin. There was always something gentle about her. A healer, not a fighter.'
'Gentle she remains, deep inside. But she is so much more now. So many people in one small body.'
'Five personalities. It's not the human ones I'm concerned about — Caitlin herself, Amy, Briony, even that old crone Brigid with her doom-mongering and predictions.'
'It is the Morrigan.' Decebalus nods. 'A human possessed by a god. What good can come of it?'
'Not just any god. The Morrigan is terrifying. Blood and death-'
'And sex and life,' Decebalus interrupts with a wink.
'No. I love her dearly, but not like that. She's a friend.'
As they hurry along the cloisters where beams of sunlight and deep shadow form a complex interplay, they pass Brothers and Sisters of Dragons hurrying towards the rooftop defences, an Army of Existence brought to the Far Lands from their own long-gone times. To a person, they look to Mallory with hope and respect as he passes.
'The Brothers and Sisters of Dragons are ready for the fight ahead,' Decebalus observes.
'They shouldn't be. They don't stand a chance.'
'Do not let them hear you say that,' Decebalus cautions sternly.
'I'm not stupid. But I'm really not comfortable sending them all to their deaths.'
'This is their sole reason for existing. More than two thousand years of history… the shaping of the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons… it has all been leading to this point. Live or die, this is what they were made to do. It is their destiny.'
'I don't believe in destiny.'
'You are a strange and troubling little man. You do not believe in anything. I am a poor, uneducated barbarian, yet even I have learned to understand the thing you call 'reason'.'
'It's overrated.'
Decebalus curses under his breath, but his mood is too vibrant to be constrained. 'You should see them when they train,' he says, a twinkle in his eye. 'The very air of the room becomes alive… the iron smell of the Blue Fire, so powerful.' He smacks his lips. 'It makes my skin tingle and my heart sing. Existence chose well, all of them. And it is not just the Pendragon Spirit! Their hearts are strong. They will face any odds. They will risk their lives for what Existence requires of them. You should be proud to be a part of it, Mallory.'
'Yeah, they're heroes. So who's killing them, Decebalus?'
High overhead, the alert sounds, a lone, tolling bell that ignites in Mallory the chill of dread every time he hears it.
'Two dead,' he continues. 'Holes punched in the centre of their foreheads. Church didn't save them from slaughter in their own time only for them to be murdered here.'
'You know there is an enemy in our midst. The force we oppose attacks from without and within. It will not allow us the space to take a stand. Time is running out-'
'I know!' Mallory snaps. 'You don't have to remind me every damned minute of the day.' The bell tolls again, and again, turning his stomach. 'I'm sorry. It's the waiting. For Hunter to build his coalition of gods who refuse to acknowledge each other's existence. For Church and the others to find the Two Keys. For the location of the Extinction Shears. For us to do anything before we get wiped out.' Frustration drives an edge into his voice.
'You are a man of action, I understand that. This period is difficult. But soon there will be action enough for all of us.'
