"I don't remember this many on the ship," Ruth said.
"They must have been joined by some of the other Courts." Church tried not to be engulfed by the wonder of what he saw, but it was impossible. Whatever he might think of the gods, they were a source of remarkable magic.
They urged their exhausted mounts slowly down the slope, but they hadn't gone far when they heard a sound like wind in a mountain pass. A second later there was movement all around. Figures barely more than ghosts separated from the dark landscape to form a barrier between them and the camp. They were lower-born Golden Ones, in strange shimmering armour offset by red and white silk, with helmets that looked like enormous seashells.
"Fragile Creatures," one of them said to the others.
"We are a Brother and Sister of Dragons," Church pronounced. "We are here at the behest of the First Family."
There was sudden activity beyond the ranks. The guards fell roughly aside as another god strode through. From the more intricate designs of his armour, he looked to be of higher rank, but he had a cold, cruel face that Church instantly disliked. When he laid eyes on Church and Ruth, he gave a dark, cun- ping smile and did a bow that could easily have been mockery. "Greetings, Brother and Sister of Dragons. Your reputation precedes you. I am Melliflor, of the Court of the Yearning Heart. I welcome you to this place, though it lacks the charms of our home." He stepped aside and motioned to a path that had opened up between the guards. "Come, let me take you to my Queen. She will be eager to learn the latest from the world of Fragile Creatures. You will be able to rest and eat and drink your fill-"
"Hold, Melliflor." The voice was stern and a little threatening.
The guards moved to one side as another group marched up, their silver armour bearing designs based on an avian motif. Their leader's face gave nothing away, but it had none of the unpleasant qualities of his opposite number.
"Greetings, Gaelen. I was about to lead these two weary travellers to partake of the hospitality for which the Golden Ones are famed."
Gaelen barely looked at Melliflor. "I think the Brother and Sister of Dragons would rather be spared the hospitality of your Queen."
Melliflor bristled. "Step carefully, Gaelen. My Queen would not-"
"I have orders to take these two directly to the Lady Niamh. That is the desire of the First Family."
Melliflor appeared to consider challenging this, but eventually backed down. He gave another dislikeable smile to Church and Ruth and bowed once more. "Another time, then. I hope you do not regret missing the comforts on offer, nor the information my Queen could have imparted." He turned on his heel and marched away, with his guards trooping behind.
Gaelen nodded curtly before leading Church and Ruth slowly to the camp. They dismounted on the outskirts where one of the guards led their horses away for food and watering.
Within the camp their perceptions became increasingly distorted. They felt like they were drifting through a dream where everything was fluid, strong enough for them to wonder if they would remember any of it once they left. Their senses were stifled beneath the constant assault of sounds, smells and sights. As they passed, eyes turned towards them, some filled with contempt, others accompanied by a smile of greeting. They saw no one they recognised. Many of the gods were of the lower caste, but on two occasions they caught sight of burning golden lights unable to stay in one shape.
Gaelen halted at a large purple tent made of a heavy material that resembled velvet. Over it fluttered a flag showing two dragons, red and white, either in embrace or fighting. The god pulled aside the flap and bid them enter.
The inside was cosy with sumptuous cushions scattered on a richly par terned carpet. Lanterns hung from poles at intervals around the perimeter, but the flames were turned down so the light was soft and hazy. Baccharus slumped in a low chair, his legs stretched out before him, drinking from a wooden flagon studded with four rubies. He lifted it in greeting, but didn't rise.
Niamh stood next to a trestle table in the centre of the tent, poring over a large map that had previously been rolled around large brass spindles. She hurried over to Church, smiling broadly. She made to embrace him, but when she saw Ruth, her face lost its sheen and she turned away sadly.
"You completed your mission, then, Brother?" Baccharus said.
"I did," Church replied. "The land is alive again. That should at least give us something for the fight."
Baccharus sipped from his flagon. "We can feel it. It is a powerful defence. Even my kind fear the force of the Blue Fire."
Church and Ruth flopped wearily on the cushions while Niamh sent out for food and drink, "all given freely and without obligation," a statement that told Church this was a Court of the Tuatha De Danann in all but location.
"You've already agreed a plan?" Church asked as he ate his fill of fruit and bread.
"The Golden Ones you know as Lugh and Nuada have overseen the battle planning," Niamh said. "The Night Walkers are well established in their den and it will not be easy to unseat them. The dark ones are a foul infestation. They swarm everywhere. But a direct assault on several fronts should weaken them. We come from the North and the West. The Master will lead Wave Sweeper along the river to split their force in two."
"What about us?"
Perhaps it was a trick of the flickering lanterns, but she suddenly looked deeply sad. "Though some of my kind refuse to admit it, you are the key to defeating the Heart of Shadows. You must find a way into its lair and use the Quadrillax to wipe it from existence." She turned away, pretending to unfurl another map.
Ruth's hand fumbled for Church's and gave it a squeeze. "We'll do our part," she said.
Baccharus and Niamh left them alone to eat and doze in the warm atmosphere, but they were too tense to get much rest. Four hours later, the tent flaps were roughly thrown aside. Church automatically jumped to his feet, his hand on the Sword hilt, but he was almost bowled over by a large figure that crossed the tent in seconds and threw its arms around him tightly.
"Ey, you bastard!" Veitch lifted Church off the ground and hugged him until he felt his ribs were about to crack. "I thought you'd have done a runner by now."
"You can't get rid of me that easy." He clapped Veitch on the shoulder, more pleased to see him than he would have believed.
Shavi slipped in behind, smiling quietly, and then Tom, looking tired and irritable. Veitch turned and waved the stump of his wrist at Shavi and Ruth. "Beat you both, as bleedin' usual."
Ruth stared in horror for a while, then followed his gaze down to where the finger was missing on her hand, and over to Shavi who sported the same gap. They all burst out laughing together.
But then Veitch could control himself no longer. He marched over to pull Ruth to him tightly, burying his face in her hair to hide the emotion that rushed through him. After a few seconds, he pulled back to kiss her gently on the head. Ruth went rigid in the face of his show of feeling, knowing it wasn't the time to tell him about Church, unsure what to do, but Veitch didn't appear to notice her reticence. She flashed a glance at Church, who gave one quick shake of his head.
Veitch smiled with a mixture of affection and embarrassment. "Sorry about that." His eyes were fixed on hers, wide and childlike; there was a flush to his cheeks. "I've missed you."
Ruth smiled back awkwardly, but said nothing. The moment was deflated by Shavi who hugged Church and Ruth in turn, his emotions also close to the surface. "It feels good to be together again," he said quietly. "Now all we need is Laura."
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence before Church said, "She's dead."
"No, she's not," Veitch said, puzzled. "Shavi was the only one who was dead."