Within a minute, the pack arrived, surging through the alleyway that led to Tudor Square from wherever they had been sequestered, ready for the final stage of the Hunt. Church's heart froze at the sight of the demonic, red and white hounds; they were almost insect-like in the way they swarmed amongst the horses at the foot of the building.
The Erl-King gave them some silent order, and the sight that followed made Church's breath catch in his throat. The dogs were mounting the building; making inhuman leaps on to the garage roof, on to the window ledges; some even appeared to be climbing sheer faces.
'Jesus Christ!' Veitch's face was as milky-white as the dogs' hindquarters. As they advanced, their snapping needle teeth glinted menacingly.
Church and Veitch pushed their way back from the edge in shock and then stood up, frantically looking around for an escape route. The jumbled slate roofs stretched out all around them in a mix of angles and pitches that befitted the buildings' age, but there seemed only one way: further into the mediaeval quarter where the streets were narrow enough to leap across.
Veitch led the way, slipping and sliding on the tiles. Church was relieved the day had been dry, otherwise they would easily have skidded over the edge. Even so, the gutters remained unnervingly close. Church had never had a problem with heights, but he felt a tight band form across his chest as he glimpsed the street far below during their progress from house to house; and his head was spinning so much he was afraid he might black out or make a mis-step.
At ground level the Hunt was following their progress, ready to catch their prey if either of them plummeted. And behind, Church could hear the clicking of the dogs' nails as they clambered over the guttering on to the slates. He told himself not to look back, but he couldn't resist. The dogs were mounting the roofs in force, their white patches glowing in the moonlight like small spectres. They snapped and snarled venomously.
Church was amazed at how Veitch kept his attention singlemindedly on their escape. When a street opened up ahead of them, he paused, took a few steps back, then launched himself across the gulf, clattering on the tiles ahead and somehow clinging on.
He turned and beckoned to Church. 'Come on! They're almost on you!'
Church looked down at the dizzying drop and knew at once that was a mis take. The only way he could control himself was to close his eyes and jump blind. Suddenly there was a wild snapping at his heels and he threw himself across the gap. The wind whistled past his ears and his heart rammed up into his throat until he felt his feet touch down on the opposite roof. But his relief vanished when he realised he had mistimed his leap; he was toppling backwards, his arms cartwheeling.
Veitch reached out to grab his jacket and pull him forwards at the last moment and they tumbled together on to the slates.
'Try keeping your eyes open next time,' he snapped.
Out of the corner of his eye, Church saw the dogs leap the gap. He scrambled up the pitch after Veitch. The first few missed and fell howling to the street below, but others caught on to the guttering and somehow managed to pull their way up.
Church was breathless from exertion and anxiety. The dogs were relentless. He could hear the gnashing of their teeth so close behind that if he paused for a second they'd have him. At the next street, Veitch cleared the gap easily, but he still had trouble clinging on to the opposite roof's steep pitch. Church felt a brief flurry of relief when he recognised the block where their B amp;B was situated.
He couldn't stop to time his jump. A dog had almost sunk its teeth into his trousers, the teeth clacking so close he felt the vibration. But at the moment he launched himself, his foot skidded on the slate and he lost his momentum. He clamped his eyes shut again, and somehow his fingers clasped on to the guttering, which creaked ominously.
Veitch desperately tried to reach him, but before he could get within a foot, the guttering's supports wrenched out of the brick and Church was falling, still clinging on to the fragile metal.
That act saved his life. The guttering broke his fall enough so that he blacked out for only a second when he slammed into the road. But when he opened his eyes the Hunt had him surrounded.
The horses dragged at him roughly with their hooves, and when he saw the sharp teeth in their mouths he wondered briefly if the Huntsmen were going to allow their mounts to eat him alive. Then the Erl-King dismounted and strode over to Church, his terrible face emotionless, his red eyes gleaming. He stood astride Church and pressed the sickle end of the pike against Church's chest; the blade felt hard and icy cold even through his jacket.
Slowly he bent forward until Church could see the scales of his skin and the bony protrusions which reminded him of the Fomorii, but were somehow very different. In his eyes, there was nothing Church could comprehend; they were alien, heartless.
Just as he had in Calatin's torture chamber, Church felt an uncanny peace come over him as he felt death near. He closed his eyes, and an instant later there was a brief flurry of movement as the pike slashed through his jacket and skin.
It took him a moment to realise he wasn't dead. When he opened his eyes he saw his jacket and shirt had been torn open and a stinging cross had been marked in the flesh of his chest. But astonishingly, that was the extent of his injuries.
Pushing himself up on his elbows, he watched in incomprehension as the Erl-King mounted his horse and led the riders to the end of the street. He gave another blast of his horn, and the dogs swarmed from the rooftops, down the side of the buildings, to gather behind the Hunt.
For one second, the Erl-King glanced at Church with a look that made his blood run cold, and then he spurred his horse and the Hunt galloped away with the hounds howling behind. A minute later, a silence fell on the deserted street as if the Hunt had never been there. With the threat gone, the shock and the pain proved too much and Church crashed back on the road in a daze.
Chapter Seventeen
Veitch clambered down from the roof, unable to grasp exactly what had happened. The moment he'd seen Church slip he'd been convinced his friend's life was over; if not the fall, then the hounds or the Huntsmen themselves would dispatch him in an instant. But there Church lay in the deserted street, dazed but alive. It made no sense.
Still half-thinking the Hunt might return, Veitch quickly checked Church for any serious injuries, then supported him back to the B amp;B. The owner eyed them suspiciously as they made their way up the stairs, but said nothing; he'd seen worse.
The others were waiting in Tom's room, both relieved that Church and Veitch were back safely and irritated that they hadn't returned earlier. 'Typical testosterone-addled minds,' Laura sneered. '`Let's stay out late and show how brave we are.''
While Shavi tended to the wound on Church's chest, Veitch attempted to explain what had happened. Tom watched the scenario from his bed, saying nothing.
'Were they afraid of you?' Ruth looked exhausted, on the verge of breaking down.
'They wanted to terrify you,' Shavi suggested. 'It was a power game.'
'Partly that.' Church tried to ignore the pain lancing through his ribs. 'But more, I think it was because they couldn't afford to kill me.'
'What do you mean?' Ruth knelt next to him and searched his face.
'Their instinct was to hunt, which is what they were doing, but when they came to the kill they couldn't see it through because the Fomorii want us alive.' He closed his eyes and lay back in the armchair; his head was still swimming. 'The Fomorii can't touch the talismans directly. Unless they're wrapped in something. But they know how dangerous those things are-'
— so they want us to do all the dirty work finding them, and then they're going to take them off us,' Ruth
