Mark Chadbourn - The Hounds of Avalon

Hunter said nothing, but his silence was answer enough.

Just beyond the King of Insects, Ruth directed the lightning and wind like a goddess come down to earth. Her face registered no emotion, but her eyes would have broken anyone’s heart.

Finally the King of Insects expired in a gush of flying creatures and a burst of purple mist. Even then Caitlin didn’t stop; she crushed carapaces underfoot and chopped at what remained of the thing’s form until there was nothing left but an ugly smear in the snow. Finally, the frighteningly intense cast of her face lifted to reveal the gentle, hopeful Caitlin who had been waiting within.

There were no more standing Lament-Brood in the street, though others were beginning to arrive at the far end. The Wild Hunt charged down to meet them head on.

While Mallory gathered his strength, Hunter ran over to Ruth. The winds dropped and the lightning faded away.

‘Why?’ was all he said.

‘There’s no escape from responsibility,’ she said bitterly. And this time Hunter knew exactly what she meant.

‘Church would have been proud of you,’ he said.

‘If he was still alive, I would have thought that worthwhile.’

Knowing there was nothing else to say, Hunter returned to the others, not realising the desperate pain that Ruth had suffered in the silence of her sanctuary after he and Laura had left her alone in Lincoln, not comprehending her grief at the memories of the man she had loved and lost, and what that man would think of her for ignoring such a call. As she had left Lincoln on horseback, a part of her had even hoped that she would die so that she could be with her love again. No one would ever understand the depth of her despair that she still lived on, to suffer more. Icily, she set off to seek out more Lament-Brood. She wouldn’t rest until they were all driven back to the darkness or torn asunder. And even then there would be no peace. If only she could see Church again, she thought. If only she could feel his strength, and his wisdom, and his sensitivity. But wishing achieved nothing.

In the complex deep beneath the echoing, empty corridors of Brasenose and Lincoln, the General sat in a bleak room, struggling with a half-remembered notion of a similar occasion when he had been surrounded by other hard men. The memory was elusive, and could well have been a dream, but it only added to his sense of desperation.

On the table before him was an ivory-handled pistol that had once belonged to his father. The knowledge that he had been called on in Britain’s darkest hour and found lacking was almost impossible to bear. He’d wrestled with his terrible failure for too long. The honourable thing would be to pay the ultimate price for losing the country to the invading force, yet he’d even failed there. He wished he was in his comfortable office in Magdalen, with its atmosphere of tradition and history, the wall of war art that spoke of his responsibilities; it would have been easier to make the decision there.

He thought of his family and wondered where they were. Still alive? He’d failed them, too, in so many ways.

All he wanted to do was to make amends, but the only option left to him would change nothing. No one would even know he had pulled the trigger.

Absently, he flicked through the very latest intelligence report that Reid’s department had prepared for him. It was about the gang of thugs who wore black T-shirts marked with a red ‘V’. They’d terrorised the country for months, growing in number with each passing week. All of them had now gathered in Hampstead to carry out some kind of crazed ritual in the belief that they could bring Ryan Veitch back from the dead. The population was dying in their millions and a bunch of nutters had decided to turn some rotting Brother of Dragons into a messiah. The whole world had gone insane, the General thought. What was the point in any of them carrying on?

Reid breezed in. He glanced at the gun and then at the General, but if he had any understanding of the situation he didn’t show it; he probably didn’t care, the General reflected.

‘The men need a pep talk,’ Reid said.

‘What’s the point?’

‘It’s not over yet.’

The General fixed a cold gaze on the spy. ‘Have you got something planned?’

‘Come on.’ Reid marched out, ignoring the question.

The General sat for a second in thought, then pocketed his pistol and followed. There would be time for honour later.

In the Divinity School, the survivors chatted with incipient hope that victory had been achieved. Thackeray, who knew the worst was yet to come, did nothing to dash their optimism — after all they had been through, these people deserved at least that. Instead, he quietly found Caitlin, who was squatting in one corner, catching her breath. When she saw him coming, she stood up and they hugged each other, and then they kissed passionately, which was a shock to both of them.

‘They’re already talking about you in the same breath as the Five who fought at the Fall. They’re going to put your name up in lights,’ Thackeray said.

‘Only if we win.’

‘You will. I have every faith in you.’

His words filled her with a powerful sense of the responsibility that had been bestowed on her.

They were interrupted by Hunter, who urged her to come with him and Mallory to the high-security wing under Brasenose. Laura approached, her hand now fully healed. ‘I’m coming, too,’ she said.

Hunter bluntly refused. ‘You have to find Sophie. We need her. Tell her she has to come to Brasenose immediately — she can’t waste a second. All five of us have got to get together to prepare for the Void.’ He turned to go, then added, ‘And when you’ve done that, go and help Ruth. She needs you.’

Laura nodded once in agreement, and departed without another word.

‘When are you going to fill us in on who the fifth Brother or Sister is?’ Caitlin asked as she ran alongside Hunter and Mallory through the frozen night.

‘When I’m sure that information isn’t going to prejudice our survival,’ Hunter replied.

On the journey through the cold night from Corpus Christi, Sophie had never let her attention waver from Manning. Sophie didn’t trust her at all, despite what Shavi had said about them having no other choice. The woman’s contemptuous nature made Sophie’s hackles rise, but there was some other troubling quality about Manning that Sophie couldn’t quite define.

The corridors they were now walking along were dark and quiet. Sophie didn’t know Oxford well enough to be able to work out where they were and Manning had refused to offer any guidance. Shavi wasn’t any help, either. Since they had left Corpus Christi he had been slipping in and out of a trance state, as if the ritual he had conducted earlier refused to let him go.

Manning suddenly stopped short, as though sensing something beyond Sophie’s range of perception. ‘There’ll be things coming down here soon,’ she hissed. She chose a door at random, then ushered Sophie and Shavi in.

Shavi slumped into a corner, barely conscious. Sophie turned on Manning, her patience gone. ‘You said you were taking us to the Void.’

‘I lied.’

The baldness of Manning’s response brought Sophie up sharp, but within a second she was preparing to summon up the power that the Craft put at her disposal.

‘Don’t try any of your witchy stuff on me. Really, it won’t do any good,’ Manning cautioned. ‘Let me rephrase: I lied about taking you to the Void, but that wouldn’t help you anyway. You’d be destroyed in a second. But I have brought you here for a reason.’

‘You’d better explain yourself quickly. I’m not going to be pushed around any more.’

‘All right. Now’s as good a time as any. You need to be here-’