Mark Chadbourn - Destroyer of Worlds

The axe crashed into the Hortha's torso, but as soon as Caitlin withdrew it, the blackthorn was already growing back into place with a snap and a pop.

'I taste your thoughts,' it said. 'There is nowhere to run now.'

Caitlin and Mallory attacked together, but the Hortha evaded them with a speed that made it a blur. It used the folding mist to hide itself before coming at them rapidly from another direction. They cut off chunks here and there, a hand, half a leg, but it regrew just as quickly, and their sense of futility mounted with their unease.

Hailing them from the cover of a mausoleum, Callow beckoned frantically. Mallory signalled to Caitlin with his eyes, and when the Hortha withdrew into the mist, they both ran.

'We're just wasting our time,' Mallory said breathlessly as they moved away through the cemetery. 'We're never going to stop him like that.'

'How did he follow us here from the temple?' Caitlin said. 'We left no trail.'

'No time for that now,' Callow said. 'The great Lord gave us brains to use in situations like this. Brute strength is all well and good, but it pales behind the advantages of the grey matter, used well and wisely.'

He led them on a fast, winding path through the grave markers until he came to a mausoleum that had been marked with a red cross on the door.

'What's so special about this one?' Mallory asked.

'These are all houses of the dead,' Callow replied, 'but some are home to worse things than the dearly departed. Once I open the door, venture no further than the light reaches into the dark. Stand on either side of the door, and when your friend enters, emerge victorious!'

At first Mallory wasn't convinced, but when he read the repressed fear in Callow's face as he wrenched the stone door open, he stepped in with Caitlin right behind.

Callow had been right. The light died unnaturally quickly and sound was deadened close to the source. Beyond the few inches of grey illumination around the doorway, the darkness swam like oil. It had dimension, and texture, and gave off a quality that made them feel dread.

As they stood on either side of the door looking into the dark, their skin prickled and they had the unmistakable sense of something looking back at them. Their fears were confirmed when a faint voice whispered, 'Closer.' There was nothing inherently threatening in the tone, but it chilled them nonetheless.

The Hortha was in the mausoleum before they realised, moving low like an animal, rapidly searching the dark depths. Caitlin planted her axe in its back to disable it while they both darted out. Callow slammed the door shut the moment they were in the light.

The sounds that emanated from the mausoleum were chilling: a high-pitched shriek, a frantic rustling, something crashing from wall to wall and a wild thrashing noise. Then an unnerving silence.

Callow gave a deep bow. 'No more will your enemy trouble you.'

'What was in there?' Caitlin asked.

Callow blanched and held up a hand. 'Speak of the devil and he will appear. In some aphorisms, there is a deeper truth. Trust the wisdom I have learned in hedgerow, field and forest: there are times when it is best to speak, and times when silence must rule. Shall we?' He swept an arm to guide their way. 'And, perhaps, a word of thanks?'

Caitlin, who had once again lost the dark sheen of the Morrigan, said with a smile, 'Thank you, Mr Callow, you were a great help.'

'And I intend to carry on in that manner. Indeed, it is my hope to make myself indispensable to you, my travelling companions. Oh, the joys of being part of a band once more! Let us walk on and not look back!'

But Mallory couldn't resist one final glance at the silent mausoleum, and at the others that lay all around, and wondered what other threats lay hidden in the mist.

The blizzard continued to tear its bitter path between the mountain peaks as Laura became the final surviving member of their band to make the precarious journey from the last section of the shattered bridge to the terrace that lay before the Groghaan Gate. The mood was desperate. Church, Veitch, Ruth and Shavi stared into the middle distance, while Tom sat in a nook in the rocks, smoking.

Veitch extended a hand to help Laura up onto the terrace. 'I know we've given each other a hard time,' he said awkwardly, 'but you saved us here. And I wanted to say, you know, thanks.'

'All right, tattoo-boy — don't get all misty on me. Just doing my job.'

They exchanged a moment of silent communication before Shavi came over. 'I am concerned about Church,' he whispered. 'The loss of the Two Keys, Virginia and Hunter has hit him hard.' He glanced back at Church, who had one hand on his forehead, deep in thought. 'I am afraid that despair might be setting in. He fears the mission is already lost. And-'

'And you're worried this might be the point when he stops being Church and starts becoming the Libertarian,' Veitch continued.

Shavi nodded.

'That's awful,' Laura said. 'I mean, if one thing had to tip him over the edge, it would be this, right? But still… God.' She looked away, chewing a lip.

'I'll keep an eye on him,' Veitch said, 'and if I see anything dodgy…' He steeled himself. 'I'll do what I have to do.'

Hugging her arms around her for warmth, Ruth called them over. 'We can't stand around here talking — we'll freeze to death.'

'Mate, you want to carry on?' Veitch said to Church.

Church inspected the Groghaan Gate arching up at least twenty feet above their heads, the top lost in the snowstorm. It was constructed of some unknown material that sparkled like the sun, and from it came a feeling of electricity. 'What else can we do? Go back and die? Go on and die?'

Behind him, Shavi, Veitch and Laura looked at each other uneasily.

Church reached out to the shimmering arch, his fingers tingling as they brushed the warm surface. 'This is marvellous. The Drakusa must have passed through here every day, between Winter-side and Summer-side. Such an amazing thing to do, moving between worlds. They must have thought they owned everything. Kings of the world. And now they're gone.' He turned back to the others defiantly. 'We might not be able to win, but that doesn't mean we give up. We're going to make life a misery for the Enemy. We're going to show it what it means to stand for Existence. What it means to have the Pendragon Spirit. What it means to be a Fragile Creature. We're going to tear the whole damned thing down. From this point on, this is a suicide mission. As long as we know that, we're not going to be disappointed how it turns out.'

The others nodded without a moment's thought.

'No happy endings,' he said, before turning back to the gate. 'Let's go.' He stepped through the arch and with a shimmer he was gone.

In the blistering morning sun, the sands beyond the jungle's edge shimmered in a heat haze that gave an illusory quality to the rolling, golden world. From the shade of a canopy on the terrace, Church watched the barrens, deep in thought, smelling the dry desert wind as he sipped the hot, spicy drink brought to him by the scaled cafe owner.

Through the haze, the figure of the Burning Man glowed like coals in smoke, still there, always there, but closer now, looming so large Church was convinced he would soon be able to feel the heat.

From the moment they had stepped through the Groghaan Gate, the journey had been hard, but at least the exhaustion and the strife had left little space for black thoughts. The Halls of the Drakusa on Summer-side had been reclaimed by the landscape an age ago. They rested beneath a grassy mound in the northlands beyond the foothills of the mountains, a few crumbling stones all that remained on the surface to mark the glory of the once-mighty Drakusa, and even they were so weathered that they were easily mistaken for an outcropping of natural rock.