sensed the sorcerer was near.
He rapped on the door. 'It is I, Decebalus. The time has come.'
The door swung open, though there was no one on the other side. Math waited in an adjoining chamber so gloomy that his presence was only revealed by the glint of his mask as it revolved a quarter-turn.
'This is it, then. The end, or the beginning of it.' Math's voice was a low rumble. 'The Golden Ones always feared that if Fragile Creatures rose up they would destroy what they set out to attain. It is in your nature.'
'Be thankful it is. If Existence was left to your spineless kind, the Void would have wiped us all out long ago, and would now be feasting on our bones. Where is it?'
Math took a step into the shadows and returned holding a small iron casket in the palm of his hand.
'That is it?' Decebalus queried.
'Size is no definer of power.'
'That has never been an issue for me, in any case.' Decebalus took the casket, unnerved by how it hummed beneath his fingertips. 'I expected more resistance from you.'
'All roads have been leading to these End-Times since the beginning. It is futile to try to avoid it.'
'That is another area where I am thankful that we differ. We do not bow down to futility.'
'Oh, yes. Hope,' Math said with a note of mockery.
'Make peace with yourself,' Decebalus said.
He sprinted along the empty corridors towards Doctor Jay's laboratory. As he neared, he could feel the raw power of the Caraprix pulsing through the stone walls.
Seth stood before the broken door of the chamber, bathed in an eerie white light that emanated from within. With the shifting tones playing across his face, the god appeared mesmerised by what he saw in the laboratory, and that, in itself, troubled Decebalus: what power could instil wonder in a god? Behind him, the Redcaps shied away, refusing to look. The Lament-Brood stood in their dumb ranks, unmoved.
'You cannot have them,' Decebalus said.
Seth's dark-ringed, unblinking eyes snapped towards him. 'You do not know what they are,' he said. 'If you did, you would not be so quick to defend them.'
'I know that you and your master want them, and that is enough for me.'
'I have destroyed many Fragile Creatures today, and gods, and beasts. Yet you stand here alone?' Seth fought to stop his gaze being drawn back to the pulsing white light.
'You have never faced anyone like me.'
Ringing with more than bravado, Decebalus's words gained Seth's full attention. When he noticed the small iron casket his mood became darker, as though he knew instinctively what lay within. 'What is that?' he said.
'This is the end of you, of me, of everything here. It is the weapon I kept in reserve, the one I did not want to use until you drove me to it.' The light from the open door changed in quality as if the Caraprix too were aware of Decebalus's intent.
Seth stared at the box.
'I am only a poor, muddy-arsed barbarian from the wilds of Dacia with no schooling and only my common guile to keep me alive, but wiser men tell me that what lies within this box is a Wish-Hex.'
A shadow crossed Seth's face.
'This weapon was devised by the bastards in the stinking bowels of the Court of the Final Word. It has the power to bend reality, to ensnare, if you will, or to destroy, and to destroy on a massive scale, or so I am told. This is only a little baby of a Wish-Hex — not like the one those bastards embedded in the boy, Jack, who accompanies Church. But still, I think it will suffice.'
'You would not use it. You would not survive.'
Decebalus pretended to consider this point, then said, 'You gods do not live in the shadow of death, like Fragile Creatures do. It is the thing that defines us. An encounter with death changes us for ever, the passing of a loved one, a parent, like the stones the alchemists used to turn lead into gold. We become something sadder, but greater for the experience. Death is a companion to us, and sooner or later we must make our peace with him. I did that a long time ago.' He held the box up to eye-level and examined the carvings around it. 'I have been told that wish is an old word for soul. Now what do you think that means? Is this a small part of Existence, with all the power that lies in it? I think perhaps it is.'
'The Caraprix-'
'If they are destroyed too, then so be it. At least your foul lord will not use them to ensure his unending rule.'
There was movement in the room. A shadow emerged slowly from the brilliant light: Jerzy, not conscious, was suspended a few inches above the floor. The light wrapped around him and entered him through eyes, mouth, ears and nostrils.
Seth lunged for the box, and without a second thought Decebalus tore open the lid. His defiant battle cry was drowned out by a deafening roar that made his ears bleed. A brilliant blue light flooded the corridor, and for a second, that was all Decebalus could see, until, strangely, he was walking hand-in-hand with Aula through the forests of Dacia. He was at peace, for the first time. Aula smiled at him, and that was all he knew.
5
Into the Great Plain wound a column of Brothers and Sisters of Dragons, gods and inhabitants of the Court of the Soaring Spirit, stragglers racing from the city to join the tail end. When the soundless blue flare lit up the sky, they came to a halt and glanced back only to see that the city and part of the mountain behind it were gone.
Aula stared at the barren, blackened zone for a long moment, and then wiped away a stray tear. Holding her head proudly, she nodded to Ronnie who waited with Mahalia and Crowther, and the column continued slowly on its way.
6
Rough hands dragged Callow's head from the water. He was briefly distracted by the sensation of the wriggling razor-worms disengaging from his empty eye sockets, and then he cried, 'Oh, thank you, oh, thank you! I knew you'd come back for me. Forget about the eyes! They'll grow back in no time, and I'll be as good as new! I forgive you. I accept my punishment for my minor misdemeanour-'
'You encountered the Brother and Sister of Dragons?'
The voice was low and rustling, and inhuman. 'Who are you?' Callow asked hesitantly.
'The Hortha.'
'Ah. And what is a Hortha?'
'You should know. I have been a step behind you your whole life.'
'I think perhaps I would have noticed.'
'No. Your kind never notices.'
'Perhaps, kind sir, you could help me down from this undignified position, and then we could talk as old friends-'
'My nature is a paradox for all living things,' the Hortha said. 'Some cross my path at random. Some call me to them, consciously or otherwise. And some I pursue. Once I have been encountered I can never be stopped. It is only a matter of time.'
'Why, this sounds like a riddle! What am I? I do like riddle games. Perhaps if I guess correctly, you could reward me in the age-old fashion? In this case, by bringing me down to earth.'
'Random or purposeful, that is usually the question that follows me,' the Hortha continued. 'There is a pattern. There is always a pattern. You can beg and plead, make a bargain with your gods, you can try to bribe and cajole me, or run faster, or hide, or wish, but the pattern can never be changed. And I am bound into the very fabric of it, into the weft and the weave. I have all faces and I have two faces, and in the end I have only one. I am both a
