‘Then the sensible option would be to stay outside town, mount some kind of guerrilla action behind enemy lines.’
‘It would, if you think we could survive out here and maintain cover while their troops mass.’
Mallory considered what Hunter had told him about the vast and increasing numbers of the Lament-Brood in Scotland. ‘What’s the alternative? Suicide? If we go into Oxford, we’ll never get out. They’ll have us trapped. Then how will we find the Void and destroy it?’
‘The Brothers and Sisters of Dragons should be united for the last stand. That is the will of Existence.’
‘What if Hunter hasn’t been able to get through enemy lines?’ He paused, then answered the question himself. ‘That’s a risk we’ll have to take. He’ll be heading towards the meeting place, so that’s where I ought to be.’
In the distance, purple mist drifted against the gleaming white background. Mallory knew it was more of the enemy, circling closer, drawing their lines together. ‘Let’s wait until night falls, then slip through between their patrols.’
In the depths of a copse now stripped of summer leaves by the biting cold, they watched the distant movement of dark figures against the snow, occasionally swathed in that eerie purple mist like soldiers on a First World War battlefield. Their numbers were increasing slowly, the space between patrols growing smaller. Night wasn’t coming fast enough. The horses stamped restlessly on the edge of the stand of stark trees, snorts of hot breath billowing.
Twilight eventually came in fast and hard. Mallory and Shavi shook relentlessly with the cold, yearning for a fire or some movement to warm their blood. The dangers of exposure were readily apparent, and whenever Mallory saw Shavi’s eyes begin to flutter shut, Mallory shook him awake with hands that could barely feel what they were touching.
Eventually, though, the cold proved the greater enemy and even Mallory began to succumb. His eyelids grew heavy and he fought to keep them open, pinching himself hard on the face, punching tree trunks, while watching for the last glimmer of light to fade.
The enemy moved across a field, ghostly against the growing gloom. Mallory’s eyes dimmed momentarily, and when he forced them open again, the enemy were even nearer; Mallory could hear the crunch of their feet in the frosted snow. He pulled Shavi down, then eased them a few paces backwards so that they could more easily merge into the background vegetation.
Complete darkness was only a few minutes away.
Through branches and twigs, he watched the patrol’s slow movement along the edge of the copse… and watched… and…
He woke with a start as activity exploded around him, cursing with the realisation that the vampire cold had sucked away his consciousness. It was dark, but the snow added an eerie luminescence to everything. Streams of purple mist floated amongst the trees.
Shavi’s cry for help echoed from somewhere nearby. Mallory forced himself alert, then propelled his stiff, cold body forward in a lurching, drunken motion through the silver trees, his limbs too numb to feel any sensation. With a shock, he realised that the enemy were everywhere. Their ghostly figures loomed all around, sometimes standing motionless so that they appeared to be part of the copse itself, at other times stalking at a slow, measured pace. The oppressive atmosphere of despair made Mallory even more sluggish. There was whispering, too, so subtle it felt like the wind in the branches, urging him to give up, give in, die.
Another cry for help. The direction now clear, Mallory propelled himself forward once more. Two members of the Lament-Brood had Shavi pinned. Deep ruts marred the snow where he had been dragged. Blood ran down his face from a head wound that must have stunned him, and now one of the Lament-Brood was poised to complete the job with a spear protruding from its forearm.
Mallory drew Llyrwyn and the copse was suddenly flooded with sizzling blue light so strong that it shocked him motionless for a split second. Sapphire flames blazed around the edge of the blade, and the familiar smell of burned iron flooded the air.
Though the Lament-Brood appeared to be little more than machines, the two holding Shavi shied away from the burning sword. The spear hung mere inches from being plunged into Shavi’s face.
Mallory bounded in, swinging Llyrwyn in an arc. It sliced through neck muscles and bone with a sizzle and the head flew into a snow drift where it stared at Mallory with wide eyes.
The other attacker, a more brutish and alien creature than his decapitated comrade, swung an arm with a fan of knives protruding from the wrist. His blood now hot and pulsing with adrenalin and the strange energy of the sword, Mallory ducked the attack, drove Llyrwyn hard into the creature’s belly and then used all his strength to rip upwards. As it flopped backwards hanging in two halves, Mallory grabbed Shavi’s arm and yanked him to his feet.
‘Leave me here,’ Shavi said. ‘If you try to get me out they will have you, and that will be the end of all hope for humanity. You are the important one now, not me.’
Mallory looked around. The Lament-Brood were moving towards them from all directions through the ghostly trees. Shavi was right: if he ran, he could escape through the gaps to reach the horses. If he had to manhandle Shavi, he wouldn’t have a chance.
He let Shavi sink gently back to the ground and headed for a clear path. But he’d only gone a few paces before he realised that he couldn’t leave Shavi behind, whatever the cost. He ran back and before Shavi could speak, barked, ‘Don’t say anything! Just keep behind me!’
Shavi pressed against an ancient oak, continually wiping the blood from his eyes. Mallory gripped his sword tightly, set his legs apart and braced himself. It was too late to change his mind: the Lament-Brood had closed their ranks and were drawing nearer. In the dark, Mallory couldn’t work out how many were approaching, but there were certainly more than he could destroy. But if this was to be his last stand, he would go out fighting.
For half an hour, Mallory battled fiercely, the air filled with the clash of steel and the hacking of flesh as brilliant blue light soared and fizzed and flashed as though they were at the centre of an electrical storm. The bodies of the Lament-Brood piled up all around, forcing Mallory to clamber on top of them, fighting for his footing so that he could strike again and again. And still the Lament-Brood came.
For Mallory, it was his finest hour. Blood seeped from a thousand cuts. His cloak was in ribbons, his shirt sliced open so that the cold bit into his bare chest. Every muscle was on fire, every ligament hurt and exhaustion always seemed but a hair’s breadth away. But still he fought, scything and hacking, parrying, stabbing, chopping, with a skill that exceeded anything he thought he had within him.
Determination clouded his mind and weariness wrapped it in cotton wool until he had little idea how long he had been there or even what he was doing. There were only the constant shapes looming out of the night, the purple mist, the attack, the body in front of him falling, and then the next enemy approaching.
And then he found himself lashing the sword back and forth but no longer feeling the juddering impact of steel on bone. Yet still he continued to fight, blinded by the fury of battle, until he felt a hand on his shoulder and a calming voice just behind his right ear: ‘Mallory, it is over.’
It felt as if a spell had been broken. His eyes cleared to reveal a mountain of bodies, parts scattered all around. Snow was falling softly on the still, motionless copse.
The exhaustion finally caught up with him and he staggered backwards into Shavi’s arms. ‘You proved yourself a Brother of Dragons tonight,’ Shavi whispered. ‘But you must not rest yet.’ Shavi’s face was covered with dried blood, but he was smiling. ‘We must be away, Mallory. Escape, before more come.’
Mallory nodded and somehow found some last vestige of strength in his limbs. He forced his way through the trees to where the horses waited. Shavi helped Mallory into the saddle and pulled himself on to his own mount. They scanned the snow-covered countryside, saw that there were no further Lament-Brood in the immediate vicinity and then rode as fast as they could over the treacherous ground.
At first, Mallory barely had the strength to cling on, but when the lights of Oxford finally sparkled on the horizon, he raised himself up in his saddle and looked to Shavi. ‘We did all right, didn’t we? Not such a pair of losers after all. Maybe there is still hope.’
Shavi smiled. ‘There is always hope,’ the seer said.
When they entered the city’s outskirts, Mallory and Shavi dismounted. They had hoped to sneak in quietly, but there was activity ahead. A makeshift barricade was being thrown up across the road from building to building: old vehicles, metal sheeting, household furniture piled high. Sparks from welding equipment arced in several places and
