Coming up fast on him was a thing with the body of a man, but a head that was just a white skull with an angry red light seeping out of its hollow orbs. Its clothes were black, tattered in part as if it had been wrapped in a shroud, but gleaming black armour lay beneath.
The creature shimmered as it bore down on the traveller, appearing to change shape slightly so that its limbs elongated, the hands stretching into bony talons. It swung one and took the traveller's head off at the neck.
One of the girls fainted, hitting the turf as a dead weight. Mallory could feel the desperate eyes of the other travellers heavy on him.
The thing fell down on the corpse, tearing with its talons in a frenzy until the body fell apart. Then it ducked down into the soft tissue and began to feed so ravenously that the blood flew like rain.
Mallory's first reaction was to look after himself, but he couldn't do it. He gripped the sword with both hands and took a step forwards.
At Mallory's movement, the creature raised its head, the bone now stained scarlet. Mallory wished it would let out some growl so he could characterise it as flesh and blood, but it was as silent as the grave. It launched itself towards him, eerily lighter than air as it tore across the distance between them.
The ghostliness wrong-footed him so that he wasn't ready for the force of impact. It felt as if someone had thrown a full oil drum at him. He went down underneath it as screams erupted all around.
It didn't use its talons immediately. Instead, those seething red eyes began to inspect him. Mallory had the feeling of being dissected, his hopes torn apart and thrown away, his fears peeled back. He could smell the traveller's fresh blood, but beneath it there was the odour of loam and rotting vegetation. It opened its mouth briefly, then closed it with a clack of bare teeth.
Mallory acted just as it launched its attack. When it shifted its weight to raise a bony hand he rolled to one side, brought up his knee and levered it off him. The thing was already flinging itself back at him like a cornered wildcat. He tried to bring up the sword, but there wasn't room and he could only jam it crossways between them awkwardly. The creature's talons were just a flash. If Mallory hadn't snatched his head away instinctively it would now be bouncing alongside the traveller's.
He tried to fend it off with his left arm, but to his horror it brought its skull down sharply and closed those ferocious jaws on his forearm. He yelled with pain, but at the same time seized his opportunity to arc the sword around into the creature's ribs. It felt as if he'd swung it into the trunk of an oak tree.
But it did enough. The creature released its grip on his arm and recoiled, still silent even when Mallory yanked the sword out, bringing part of a bone with it. In that instant, Mallory knew no earthly sword would have had any effect; the dragon-sword sang in his hands, setting his nerve endings alight.
Now the thing hung back, floating eerily from side to side, its hideous red-stained skull cocked as it surveyed him in a new light. It only took a moment to size him up before it attacked again, unannounced and with rattlesnake speed. Mallory had the merest instant to respond; he shifted weight, parried, but it was like trying to fence with a cloud of claws and snapping jaws.
For fifteen minutes the battle raged back and forth. Occasionally, Mallory would sneak through the creature's defences to slice into his unbelievably dense body. More often it would catch him a glancing blow that would make his teeth ring, or raise droplets of blood with a rake of its talons. But with each wound, Mallory felt the dull rage within him grow colder and harder, focusing his mind, sharpening his reactions. He couldn't see Sophie or the travellers — even their cries were lost to him. Everything was centred on the grinning skull, the abomination that had no right to cause suffering when so much already existed.
He saw the opening, instantly dissected tactics and all possible responses, then acted with a swiftness that turned his sword arm to a blur. The dragon-sword drove into the creature's chest, and then Mallory gripped it with both hands and drove down with all his strength. It felt as if he was forcing the blade through stone.
As the thing began to split in two, Mallory snatched the sword free and slashed. The red skull flew free, rattled on to the ground and bounced across the turf.
Mallory staggered back, catching his breath after the exertion, still shaking with the battle rage. Sophie stepped in to support him.
'Are you OK?' she said, with deep concern.
He steadied himself, then quickly herded her away from the carcass, still quivering with its death throes. 'Let's get moving.'
'You need to rest. We've got to treat your wounds.' She gently dabbed at a deep cut on his forehead.
'Too risky. Anything else out here won't give us time to rest.'
Reluctantly, she agreed. The travellers, who were now looking at Mallory with new eyes, grateful but awed, picked up Miller's stretcher and set off as fast as their weary legs would muster.
They hadn't gone far when the girl who had fainted cried out once more. Mallory followed the line of her pointing finger to the place of his battle. In a pool of moonlight, the creature was rising up from the ground, body rejoined, skull firmly reattached. It steadied itself for a second, then turned towards them.
'It's not going to let us go,' the girl moaned.
Mallory cursed, feared he wouldn't have the strength and the luck to defeat it again, wondered how many times he'd have to attempt it before the bony jaws were feeding on his own lights.
'Get moving,' he said.
'What are you going to do?' Sophie said.
'Just get moving. I'll catch you up.'
'You're stupid-'
Eyes blazing, he spun round, but his voice was low and moderated. 'You've got a responsibility to these people who trust you. And you need to get Miller back. This is my job, for better or worse. You do yours.'
She marshalled the others without further discussion. They headed off, but her voice floated back to him. 'Catch us up, Mallory. We need you.'
Then it was just him and the thing sweeping over the grass, black shroud flapping in the wind, jaw open in a silent scream.
He fought for a half-hour this time, eventually stabbing the sword through its right eye socket before shattering its skull. He spent the next ten minutes chopping the body into chunks no bigger than a bag of sugar before lurching away, exhausted.
He caught up with the others, and this time they had fifteen minutes' grace before the thing came at them again.
Three more times he battled it. Each fight lasted longer, each time he grew weaker, picked up more wounds, undoing all the good works of the Court of Peaceful Days. After the last one he was convinced he wouldn't be able to do it again.
Sophie remained silent, but her eyes never left him. She understood his suffering, knew there was no point in discussing it, but in her silence there was a support that gave him an added reserve of strength.
The fluttering silhouette was against the now clear sky of the horizon when they came over a rise to find serendipity. Scattered across the downward slope were the picked-clean bones of soldiers, their shredded uniforms blowing in the breeze. A tank stood silently, a hole rupturing its side; Mallory had no idea what could have committed such a devastating attack. And beyond it was a covered truck, the driver's door sagging open where the occupant had been torn out.
Sophie saw it too, their hopes too fragile to voice. They ran down the slope towards it with the last of their energy. Mallory scrambled in and ducked under the steering column just as the creature whisked over the rise. He ripped out the ignition wires with ease — he'd done it enough times before — and sparked them. The lorry coughed, then fired.
The travellers had already piled into the back alongside Miller. Sophie took the seat next to Mallory.
'Everybody in?' He flicked the windscreen wipers to clear several months' worth of dust.
'Put your foot down, OK?' Sophie hadn't shown a glimmer of fear throughout their ordeal, but Mallory could sense it just beneath the surf
ace.
'Can't you do a spell or something?' he said, thumping the gear stick into first and lurching off.
'I told you, it doesn't work like that… not in the heat of things. I'll try to do something as we go.' She closed her eyes, whispering a mantra as she meditated.
In the side mirror, Mallory saw the thing bearing down on them. Now the crimson skull appeared to be the only thing of substance, its body a ragged black sheet billowing in the wind as it rushed on with alarming speed. It wasn't far behind the truck now. Something about it made him feel sick: its relentlessness, the sheer inhumanity of its attacks, the way he couldn't be sure of its shape.
What is it? he said to himself, desperately urging the truck to go faster. He kept his foot to the floor as he rammed through the gears, but the vehicle felt as if it was running through mud. It slowly began to build speed, churning up the turf as it juddered and skidded.
In the mirror, the skull loomed up just to the left side of the rear lights. Mallory could hear the screams from the back and a crashing noise as someone lashed out with an object they'd obviously found in the back.
Just as the truck began to hit thirty miles per hour, there was a sickening scream followed by a tumult from the rear. Mallory could see the reflection of the thing hunched over a flailing shape pinned to the ground, ready to feed. It was the girl who had fainted.
'What's happening?' Sophie said anxiously.
Mallory set his jaw. 'We've got away from it.'
The rest of the journey passed in near silence as Sophie and the travellers mourned their two friends and Mallory turned over the events of the night, sickened that he hadn't been able to prevent the deaths. In one brief period of conversation, Sophie had thanked him 'for being a good man', for his bravery and compassion, and he felt like such a fraud he couldn't look her in the face. She thought he was just exhibiting humility; another trait he didn't have.
They reached Salisbury at four a.m. The city was deserted, the houses and shops dark, not even a candle flame burning. Mallory expected someone to poke their head out at the long-lost sound of a combustion engine, but no one came to see.
Sophie pointed out the most unusual sight. There were barricades along some of the streets, and several doors and windows had been fitted with security covers. 'It looks as if everyone's boarding themselves in,' she said.
Apprehension tugged at Mallory's mind. What had been happening while they had been gone?
He pulled over on Castle Street so that the travellers could make their way to their camp without the guards on the cathedral walls seeing to whom he'd been giving a lift; no point making unnecessary trouble for himself. The remaining travellers came by one by one to thank him. He felt uncomfortable at the undiluted strength of their gratitude, yet touched, too, as he watched them troop sadly off in the direction of the tent city.
Sophie hung around until they were out of sight, then said, 'You look a picture.'
He leaned out to look in the side mirror. He was covered in blood and mud, his hair matted, a growth of beard shadowing his face. 'At least all the relevant bits are there.'
'I'm grateful for what you did for us, Mallory,' she said. 'You didn't have to help us… you could have abandoned us at any time. If all the knights are like you, I might have to reassess my judgement.'
She looked even more attractive in the cold moonlight. He seriously thought about asking her to go with him, just drive off, but he knew she would never abandon her responsibilities.
'And I'll stand by you, if you ever need me,' she continued. 'I won't forget what you did.'
She smiled properly for the first time on the journey. It was only a brief flash, but it was so honest it brought a shiver to his spine. 'Don't I get a kiss?' he said, only half-joking.
'Don't push it, Mallory. This isn't the Middle Ages where the shy, retiring damsel has to reward her knight.' She slipped out, but before she closed the door she poked her head back in. 'You know where I am.' It wasn't much, but there was a substance to it that excited him.
He waited as she hurried down the street, hoping she'd turn back but sure she wouldn't; she knew he was watching her and she wouldn't give him that advantage. When she'd finally disappeared, he took a deep breath and moved the truck slowly in the direction of the cathedral.
But as he turned on to High Street and the final stretch to the compound gates, the shock of what he saw made him slam on the brakes.
Instead of the lone spire rising majestically from the cathedral's bulk, an enormous building of black stone now covered most of the area within the compound. The cathedral was still there at the core, but it had been expanded into a massive gothic construction that mirrored the original in the fundamentals, but had been elaborated into a feverish vision of gargoyles, towers, cupolas, stained-glass windows — some of them forty feet tall — statues, carvings and insanely pitched roofs branching out all over the place. It would have taken decades to build with hundreds, if not thousands, of skilled craftsmen. The dislocation made him queasy; Mallory felt as if he had been transported back to the Otherworld, but everything else in the surroundings was as it always had been.
He let his eyes drift over what appeared to be a mad architect's dream. If the first cathedral had been an elegant vision of God's Glory, this was something much, much darker.
Chapter Seven
Alpha And Omega
'Appearances are a glimpse of what is hidden.'
— Anaxagoras
Mallory allowed the truck to trundle slowly up to the gates. Disbelief kept his gaze firmly fixed on the unbelievable, monumental construction; nothing, however bizarre, could begin to explain what he was seeing. When he did finally break his gaze, he saw guards ranged all along the walls, crossbows trained on him from several quarters. Everything had changed.
Cautiously, he turned off the engine and wound down the window. 'It's me, Mallory. A knight,' he yelled. 'I've got another badly wounded knight in the back.'
There was a long period of silence before a voice barked, 'Get out!'
Slowly, he clambered on to the flagstones, hands raised.
'Move closer to the gates.'
Two enormous torches blazing on either side of the entrance cast a shimmering pool of light in front of the gates. Mallory entered it tentatively, hoping the mud and blood didn't obscure too much of his uniform. For five minutes, he listened to dim chatter above as the guards debated whether to allow him entrance.
'Look, you can see I'm a knight,' he protested. He spotted a guard he recognised. 'You know me.'
'Not good enough,' the commander of the watch replied.
'What do you mean, "Not good enough"?' His temper flared. 'If you don't let me get my friend inside he might die, and then I'll make you bastards sorry.'
His anger did little good. He was forced to remain there for another ten minutes until finally the gates opened a crack. 'Approach carefully,' a voice warned.
Mallory walked forwards until he could see between the gates. The entire Blue squad waited on the other side, armed with swords and crossbows, a Second World War-era rifle and shotguns. 'What is wrong with you?' he shouted.
The gates were flung open and the Blues surged out and around him. Some ran to the back of the truck. 'He's telling the truth,' one of them shouted back. 'There's an injured knight here.' They picked up Miller's stretcher and rushed it into the compound. Mallory was roughly manhandled inside, too, his protestations ignored. The gates slammed shut immediately behind him, heavy bars drawn across solemnly to seal it.
Mallory looked at these new defences, then at the faces of the Blues. What he saw there made him wary. 'What's been going on here?' he asked.
No one would talk to him, and after a while he gave up asking questions and concentrated on the worries rattling through his mind.
From the gate he was led across a cobbled courtyard through a sturdy oak door with cast-iron fittings into a long stone corridor that hadn't been there days earlier. He had to tell himself again that he
wasn't back in the Court of Peaceful Days, for there was something about the architecture that reminded him of that place, although the mood was significantly different.
Under heavily armed guard, they rushed him across tapestry-hung halls and up winding staircases to a debriefing room where he was thrust into a chair with two crossbows trained on him, as if he were not a knight at all, but a spy ready to betray the entire religion. After half an hour Blaine entered, looking tired and irritable. Behind him marched Stefan, proud and resolute. Mallory had had his doubts about the chancellor ever since he had heard the grim relish in Stefan's voice when he told James that the library was off limits; his appearance there only confirmed Mallory's suspicions.
'What's happened to this place?' Mallory blurted.
Stefan eyed him suspiciously before retreating to a corner to watch like a raptor, his hands clasped behind his back.
'All the new buildings,' Mallory continued. 'Where did they come from? You couldn't have built them-'
'Where have you been?' The harsh tones of Blaine's Belfast accent were even more pronounced. His very demeanour threatened violence. 'And where did you get that sword?'
'I found it,' Mallory said, making light of the weapon. 'We can never have too many swords, right?'
Mallory explained what had happened at Bratton Camp, but said nothing of the Court of Peaceful Days. 'I was badly injured, on my last legs,' he continued. 'I was wandering for days before I summoned the strength to make it back here.'
Blaine's eyes narrowed. 'I'm surprised you did come back here.'
'Despite what you might think, Blaine, this is the place for me,' Mallory lied. The tension was palpable and he wasn't going to take any risks speaking his mind. 'Did the others make it back?' he asked.
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