‘Welcome, Hawklan,’ said Oklar. ‘I see that, as ever, you come to strike at the heart of your foe; like an assassin, silent and treacherous. You would have been wiser to keep Ethriss’s ringing sword sheathed. I heard it amid the heart of the destruction of your army and drove my steed to its death so that I could lay it and your carcass before my Master.’
Hawklan released a long breath. ‘I have no words for you, Uhriel. It is your Master from whom I seek an accounting. Stand aside or die. My sight is truer than it was.’
Oklar bowed. ‘Then see this, healer,’ he said, extend-ing his hands.
Hawklan felt the dreadful presence of the Uhriel in all his power, tearing through the fabric of the reality around him. It gave him an awesome measure of his own inadequacy.
And this is but a servant, a voice said somewhere inside him.
But then Andawyr stood in front of him, and the presence of the Uhriel receded.
‘You above all will be punished when this day’s work is finished,’ Oklar said.
‘No, Uhriel,’ Andawyr said quietly. ‘This day will be ours. Your time passed millennia ago when Ethriss struck you down. This is but a dream in the great sleep he sent you to.’
Oklar’s eyes blazed red through the mist. ‘The dream is yours, Cadwanwr,’ he said, his voice taut with fury. ‘Your brothers fail before us, your army falls before us. Where are your Guardians? And where is the great Heretic himself?’
‘The Guardians are all around us, Uhriel,’ Andawyr replied. ‘Did you not wonder why your once great power is so weak?’
Oklar’s anger was replaced by contemptuous amusement. ‘A detail, learned one,’ he said. ‘One that time will overcome for us, as you, above all, know. And time we shall have when these irksome peoples about our southern borders have been crushed.’
‘Enough,’ Hawklan said, moving forward to stand by Andawyr. ‘Each moment this puppet and his Master live, people are dying in bloody horror.’
Andawyr interposed himself again, but Oklar stepped forward and struck him a blow that sent him sprawling. With a roar, Dar-volci leapt forward, his great mouth agape.
Oklar swung round and caught him squarely with his foot. The felci arced into the air and fell with a thud near to the fallen Cadwanwr.
Oklar’s eyes blazed again. ‘Learn Cadwanwr, as your fellows did, that while your vaunted skills can stunt our powers for the moment, we were warriors great in a world of greatness before we bowed to His will. And as a warrior I shall slay you here.’
Hawklan stepped back involuntarily as Oklar drew his sword. It glowed a menacing, shifting red in the mist.
Hawklan took the black sword in both hands and let go such ties of fear as bound him.
The two assailants faced each other.
Then two objects landed with a dull thud on the ground between them.
As they rolled to a standstill, Hawklan stepped back in horror. They were the heads of Creost and Dar Hastuin, gaping and awful.
‘Have you no word for the Lord Vanas and the Duke Irgoneth, mighty Lord?’ said a muffled voice above his head. ‘Your erstwhile comrades-in-arms, and bloody perpetrators of His will.’
A horse pushed gently past Hawklan. It was Serian, foam-covered and steaming. Riding him was a visored figure.
Oklar knelt down to examine the two heads, then stared up at the newcomer.
His face was alive with emotion.
‘It cannot be,’ he said. ‘No ordinary blade could hurt them, Cadwanwr or no. Who…?’
‘Look at me, Uhriel,’ the rider said.
Oklar stared up at the figure and his eyes opened in terror. ‘It cannot be,’ he began again. ‘You wear the armour of the Lords of the Iron Ring; the true armour forged by the Heretic’s smiths.’
‘Why should I not, Lord?’ said the rider. ‘Did you not see me that day? Or did the ravens mocking you from above dim your true vision?’ Oklar’s hand clawed at the ground as he stared transfixed at the figure. ‘Did you not see me stare into His eyes and show Him His own soul, so that even He faltered at the horror of it and fell before Ethriss’s pity, and the Fyordyn’s arrows?’
‘It cannot be,’ Oklar said again, like a soothing re-sponse in a dreadful litany. ‘Who…?’
The rider moved forward and reached up to remove the visor.
‘Do you not know me yet… father?’
Oklar staggered back; for the moment, Uhriel no more, but a man. ‘Gwelayne?’ he said softly. ‘My… ’ His voice faded and Hawklan turned away from the torment in his face. Then Oklar let out a demented cry. ‘No, no, no. Gwelayne is gone. Gone even before I became… Gone into… ’
‘Gone where, father?’ the rider said. ‘Gone into leg-end? Into some misty cloud at the edge of your conscience?’ She leaned forward and her voice hissed with hatred. ‘Know this, father. That I have the gift you sought. The gift you so lusted for that you betrayed and sold me in the hope it would be given to you. Knowing what he was you sold me! Innocent and trusting; who could not have loved you more. Now it is I who have His greatest gift. It was His scornful, dismissive, blessing at our parting. "Be forever," he said, and I have walked the world ever since.’
Oklar shook his head, transfixed by the image in front of him.
The rider spoke again. ‘Now He has struggled to rise again, I shall cast Him down again, as I have these creatures. And so utterly that there will be no further awakening. I will deny Him the gift he granted me.’
Oklar’s head shook more and more, as if the action would dash all the words from his ears. ‘You could be His again,’ he gasped. ‘Rule as you did. Powerful, haughty… ’
He flinched back at some expression in the rider’s face that Hawklan could not see. Man and Uhriel fought for possession of him, then suddenly, he let out a great scream and, plunging forward, seized the heads of his slain comrades. Hawklan started towards him, ready to strike, for he was Uhriel again, whole and terrible-more terrible even than before.
‘Cadwanwr,’ he said, rising to his feet holding a head in each hand. ‘I see your hand in this foul charade, and you will live long to regret it.’ Andawyr raised a hand towards him, then stepped as if held by some great force. ‘I own I misjudged your power,’ Oklar continued. ‘But so did you mine. For in slaying these you gave me their power, and I am His equal now. His Will shall be mine. All things shall be mine.’
‘No, father. Please… ’ The voice was pleading.
Oklar’s eyes blazed and with a raging cry he swung his sword back to strike down this fearful spectre from his long-buried humanity.
The rider did not move, and briefly Oklar faltered in his terrible intent. As he did so Hawklan drove the black sword of Ethriss towards the Uhriel’s heart with all the skill and power he possessed.
With effortless ease, Oklar knocked it from his grasp. It clattered to the ground and he stood astride it.
‘Now no weapon can injure me,’ he said.
Strangely calm, his hand came round to point at Andawyr. ‘Your suffering shall begin now.’
But as he spoke, a sinuous brown body slithered from between the Cadwanwr’s legs and ran towards him.
Oklar hesitated, and Dar-volci scrambled nimbly up his lank form until he was on his shoulder. A mailed hand moved to dislodge him, but Dar-volci reached out a powerful claw and slashed a great gash in it.
Then he whispered in Oklar’s ear. ‘Know this, cor-rupter. We are creatures of the deep rock. Here before your time and brought unwilling to this new world.’
Oklar stared at the welling blood, and terror sud-denly filled his face. Desperately he reached back to seize the felci, but Dar-volci’s claws were already about his throat and his formidable teeth were closing around the back of his neck.
‘Noooo!’
Oklar’s scream rose above the sound of the crushing bones. It reached a terrible climax then faded suddenly and his long frame fell to the ground almost silently.
Dar-volci jumped clear of the tumbling destruction, then scratched his stomach and spat something out distastefully. The rider pulled the visor back over her face and dismounted. She bent down and with great tenderness lifted the dead Uhriel’s head into her lap.