building. Lugh held up his hand. ‘Hold your sword, Brother of Dragons. She is one of you once more. A Sister of Dragons.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Caitlin said when she stood before them. ‘I made a mess of things. But I’m all right now. I can help.’
‘How did that happen?’ Mallory asked suspiciously. He couldn’t forget the unbridled ferocity he had seen inside her on the frozen river.
‘I think saving Sophie was the key,’ Caitlin replied hesitantly. ‘I don’t know… It might have been some kind of test.’ She shrugged, smiled. ‘Whatever, I passed. The Pendragon Spirit came back into me.’ She closed her eyes beatifically, revelling in the surging energy she could feel inside her. ‘I’m a Sister of Dragons again… and I’ve still got the Morrigan inside me. But I can control her now.’
‘Nearly a full complement of the true Five,’ Mallory said.
‘Nearly.’ Hunter’s jaw was set. He wondered if Hal was really going to let them all down when they needed him the most.
The teeth-jarring drone of the King of Insects rose up once more, the noise echoing even more loudly off the closely packed buildings. Lugh gave an order in a language that Hunter couldn’t understand, and the gods fanned out across the street.
‘We should be standing with you!’ Mallory yelled to Lugh.
‘You will get your chance to fight, Brother of Dragons,’ the sun god said. ‘You form the second rank. Any of the Lament-Brood who break through must be dispatched by you.’
Hunter, Mallory, Caitlin and Laura exchanged silent glances. They all knew that it was too late to consider tactics, too late to give in to despair at their diminishing chances of survival. They were in the twilight hours and the light was fading fast. All that was left to them was to immerse themselves in the moment, to fight the battle before them, and to hope that others would save the day.
The Lament-Brood came first, a purple-tinged wave breaking against the golden shore. Hunter speculated that the King of Insects had sent them ahead to test the defences. The monstrous being hovered back, watching intensely, wasps swarming around its head. The Lament-Brood slashed and hacked with the weapons embedded in their limbs, not caring whether they lived or died. The first wave fell like corn at harvest time, but their ranks were replenished in seconds. They would not be repelled, they would not be beaten.
Even so, the Tuatha De Danann fought with breathtaking skill and fury. Hunter, a dedicated student of the art of war, had never heard of anything like it in the annals of human history. The fluid movements of the gods’ swords became a golden blur flashing back and forth, lightning strikes that sent heads and limbs flying and made a growing mountain of the desiccated, soulless bodies of the Lament-Brood. In that moment, Hunter saw clearly why the Celts had considered them gods. The Tuatha De Danann were glorious; their human form made them appear commonplace and understandable, but they were far, far beyond human, refined power like electricity briefly taking a shape humans could recognise.
Lugh was in the forefront of the battle, one foot braced against the bodies of the Lament-Brood as he cut down all who came at him, seemingly with no need for rest. To Hunter, he looked like the sun itself, for a powerful light shone off him the more invigorated he became; and seeing the dedication with which the Tuatha De Danann threw themselves into the defence of Fragile Creatures, Hunter wondered if there was a chance they could win, despite the odds.
Like the others, he was gripped by the battle and the clashing of steel, but his attention was disturbed by a presence beside him. It was Ceridwen, floating like a ghost from the Divinity School. ‘You are seeing the twilight of a race,’ she said. Tears glistened in her eyes.
And as if in answer to her words, the first of the Tuatha De Danann fell. A flurrying cloud of golden moths soared up to meet the falling snow from the place where his body had been sundered by a Lament-Brood axe. In that instant, Hunter knew that he had been fooling himself. However great the Tuatha De Danann were, they were just a handful against a multitude, and like the rocks on a beach they would slowly be eroded by the pounding waves.
Laura darted forward and retrieved the sword dropped by the departed god. She offered it to Hunter. ‘A going-away present,’ she said with a wry smile. ‘Use it wisely.’
Hunter gripped it tightly, enjoying the way it appeared to sing in his hands. ‘Get set,’ he shouted.
‘There’s just too damn many of them,’ Mallory said bitterly.
Another of the gods fell in a burst of golden wings. Caitlin removed one of the axes fastened to her back. A chill ran through Hunter as he saw the odd cast of her face: the Morrigan was preparing for battle.
‘Since the first glimmer of light in the universe, my people have been bound into the heart of Existence,’ Ceridwen continued in a low, mournful tone that oddly rose above the sound of battle. ‘We thought we would always be here, always standing proud with a view across the many lands. But now our age is coming to an end.’
‘You don’t have to die here,’ Hunter said.
Ceridwen shook her head. ‘We have chosen to make a stand with the Fragile Creatures, our kindred now. We will not let you down, whatever is to become of us. The Golden Ones will fight to the last.’
She bowed her head slightly, then returned to the Divinity School as if the battle had already ended.
At the far end of the street, beyond the looming bulk of the King of Insects, Hunter could just make out a disturbance, rapid movement, the flash of steel.
‘The Wild Hunt,’ Mallory said in awe.
Otherworldly horses, filled with power and ferocity, cut a swathe through the Lament-Brood. Their riders brought down scores of the enemy with long pikes affixed with sickle-shaped blades. Every now and then, strange red and white dogs ran up sheer walls before descending on the Lament-Brood with snapping jaws.
Though the Hunt fought ferociously in and out of the surging currents of the Lament-Brood, there were not enough of them to make any significant impact. Hunter felt his mouth grow dry, his palms sweaty, familiar signs that told him instinctively that battle was not far away.
Four more of the Tuatha De Danann fell on one edge of their defensive line, leaving a gap through which the Lament-Brood surged. Caitlin bounded forward in an instant with a blood-curdling yell and a flash of an axe, and the first of the Lament-Brood dropped to its knees, its head cleaved in two at the level of the top of its ears. Caitlin followed through with a backhand slash that took down another. And then she was fighting wildly, using not just the axe, but tearing at throats with nails and teeth if her strokes were constricted. Eyes were torn out, ribs dug open and snapped, jaws ripped off.
And then Mallory was at her side, the blazing blue flames of Llyrwyn adding a majestic counterpoint to the Morrigan’s horror of blood and death. Together they plugged the gap.
Yet there was only the briefest lull, for more gods fell at the other end of the line and Hunter threw himself into the fray to fight alongside Laura, who was using both a short sword and her own abilities to send nature rampant in the vicinity, bursting bodies with suddenly sprouting trees or tying others up in constricting ivy.
In the thick of it, there was no room for distraction; every iota of concentration and energy was given over to staying alive. Each opponent was only inches away from Hunter’s face, their eyes glassy, their flesh peeling back to reveal the bone beneath. And as each one fell, another took their place. Wounds multiplied across Hunter’s body.
Then an axe came crashing down towards him. Hunter barely avoided it, but the blow continued to fall and sheared Laura’s sword hand off at the wrist.
‘Don’t worry!’ she cried. ‘Don’t worry!’ She staggered back, clutching at the stump, her face drawn. But there was no blood.
Hunter had no chance to check whether she had crawled back to safety, for the Lament-Brood were instantly forcing their way through the gap in the line, driving the other defenders back.
‘Retreat! Regroup!’ Lugh yelled.
Hunter ran into the shadow of the Divinity School and only then did he see with dismay that a mere seven of the Tuatha De Danann remained. Lugh stood amongst them, heroically organising his dwindling band for their final stand, and though his face remained stoic and committed, Hunter knew what desperate thoughts must be raging through his head at the impending destruction of his race.
Lugh saw Hunter staring and said, ‘We stand and fall as brothers, our two peoples joined for all time. Equals. What do you say, Brother of Dragons?’
