Mark Chadbourn - Destroyer of Worlds

'All here, then,' Mallory said, clearly expecting there to have been some non-arrivals.

'Ruth's a frosty cow, but I don't like it that she's not here. I feel like a back-stabber. I'm a lot of things, but I'm not that,' Laura said.

'It would not be fair to place this burden on Ruth,' Shavi said. 'She cannot be expected to make rational choices.'

'You're just afraid she might stop you before you go insane,' Laura muttered.

'So you're opposed to it?' Caitlin pressed.

'Nobody's opposed to anything yet, because we haven't come to any conclusion.' Mallory took a chair in one corner where he could keep an eye on the door.

'I've got an entire book of cliches just for this occasion.' Hunter remained standing, arms folded. Laura was convinced he had chosen the position so the lamplight would illuminate the best aspect of his features. 'But I'll select one or two choice ones to start us off. War demands that people do unpalatable things because war is all about winning, especially this one where the stakes are higher than anything I ever dreamed of back in my not-so-glory days.'

'What about moral purity?' Shavi argued. 'Our fight is meaningless if we are as bad as the Enemy.'

'You think the moral high ground will look so pretty when your family and friends and… everybody… have been raped and slaughtered, and the bad guys win for all time?' Hunter responded. 'If you don't win, nothing matters.'

'The Morrigan is telling me this is the right thing to do, and not to be sentimental,' Caitlin said, 'but as a doctor, and having sworn the Hippocratic Oath, I can't condone hurting anyone.'

'Which is rich coming from the psycho with the axe,' Laura said. 'But we're on the same side.'

'You know why a lot of military and Security Service people haven't got any time for the protesters back home? Because they're like people who eat sausages, but don't want to know what goes into them,' Hunter said firmly. 'People have the luxury of arguing about the moral high ground because they don't have to make any of the hard choices at the sharp end. They pay people to do that, so they can sleep in their beds and put it all out of their pretty, civilised minds. But let's understand some of the realities of war here. It's nasty and brutish and thrives on the worst of human nature. Nobody loves it, nobody wants it, but we have to do it, or we die, and everything we believe in dies. Once again: are we prepared to say that we sacrificed all of humanity, but we played fair?'

'This isn't some hypothetical Officer Training debating point,' Laura snapped. 'It's personal. That makes it different.'

'No, it doesn't,' Hunter said.

'Okay, you seem to be arguing a very clear point here-' Mallory began.

'This goes against everything we stand for,' Shavi pressed. His voice cracked and he was close to tears of frustration. In someone so placid, the sight was shocking.

'There's no black and white,' Hunter said. 'No good and evil choices, whatever thoughts you might like to comfort yourselves with. It's grey, it's messy. And that's my final cliche of the day.'

'Moral relativism underpinned the Holocaust, and Apartheid,' Shavi said sharply.

Hunter bristled, and Mallory stepped in before he lost his temper, a first that would have been just as shocking as Shavi's desperation. 'Reviewing: events in the coming days are going to turn Church into the Libertarian. If that happens, Existence loses its champion and the Void wins. We all know that time, reality — everything is fluid. It shifts. New presents, subtle alterations to the past, anything to maintain the Void's control. If we can prevent the sequence of events that turns Church into our worst enemy, we stop the Libertarian existing and maybe… maybe… we win.'

'Maybe!' Shavi interjected bitterly.

'And if we can't prevent it happening, we kill Church. The Libertarian doesn't exist. The Void loses its prime agent.' Mallory looked around the faces slowly. 'You know we don't have a choice. We can't let Church become the Libertarian.'

Shavi looked away. Caitlin remained impassive. Laura nodded reluctantly.

'One of us has to be prepared to do it,' Hunter said. 'There's no point waiting until the crucial moment and then finding nobody is prepared to pull the trigger. So it looks like it's me. I've done it before. I can do it again.' A brief glimmer of self-loathing burned in Hunter's mind.

'No.' Veitch had remained so silent until now that the others had forgotten he was there, in the darkest part of the room between the two lamps. 'It's not right you should have to live with it, however much it needs to be done,' he said, stepping into the light. 'You know it has to be me. I've got nothing to lose. I'll kill Church.'

Mallory spent the rest of the afternoon preparing for that evening's ritual. An oppressive apprehension mounted with the fading of the light, and by the time night fell the feeling was so potent it appeared to have spread across the entire city. Fewer lights burned in the windows of the houses, and none of the familiar songs rose up from the inns and public squares. Beyond the walls, the war camps were silent. The Burning Man hung over all.

As Mallory looked out across the city from the window of his chamber, his attention was drawn by one particular light in the winding streets below. It was blue and moving from side to side in a manner that suggested it was signalling. After a moment or two, he became convinced it was signalling to him, although he knew how ridiculous that would have seemed to anyone else.

With little else to do until the ritual, he made his way down to the approach to the palace. To his surprise, the light still wavered gently in the street ahead. Intrigued, he headed towards it, only for the light to move away. He followed for a while, but when he stopped, the light stopped too, and that was when he realised it was leading him on. Remembering the Hortha in the palace loft, he let one hand fall to his sword and proceeded with caution.

Along winding streets, down alleys and across deserted courtyards, he pursued the light, always the same distance ahead. Just when he thought he really was taking an indiscriminate risk, he came to a part of the city he had never visited before, and an overgrown area in the centre of a square, fenced off by rusted, sagging iron railings. Stone monuments engulfed by ivy rose from the long, yellowing grass. It reminded Mallory of an abandoned Victorian cemetery. The gate hung open, and the blue light flickered amongst the statues and mausoleums.

'I've played the game this far. Time to own up,' Mallory said as he stepped through the gate.

'Brother of Dragons. Draw nearer.'

Mallory recognised the resonant voice. Relaxing, he pushed through the long grass until he encountered a towering figure waiting in the lee of a statue. A wild mane of black hair and a thick beard, coal eyes simmering beneath an overhanging brow. A belted shift of what appeared to be sackcloth. A thong fastened around his left forearm bore several cruel hooks. The blue light came from the dancing flame of a lantern.

'Caretaker,' Mallory said. 'You found your way to me again.'

Mallory recalled the first time he had encountered the mysterious stranger in Salisbury, and discovered that he was, if not a friend, then a benign guide through the dark places.

'I will always be near you, Brother of Dragons.'

'Why are you here, now?'

The Caretaker raised the lantern so the illumination picked out the strength in his features. 'My lamp. The Wayfinder. With this, I walk the boundaries of this world and all worlds. A light burning brightly in the long watches of the night.'

'I know the lamp. It's guided the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons on more than one occasion.'

'And so it shall again.' As the Caretaker lowered the Wayfinder, the flame moved with a life of its own. 'All there has ever been has been leading towards this time. Millions upon millions of interlocking events, grains of sand, one bumping into another, shifting the course of a mighty river. And I have shepherded them all. But soon my work will come to an end.'