Piercollo swept up a rusted sword and clove it through the rib-cage of a tall skeleton, but the creature moved on as if nothing had happened. Ilka ran in, the shining silver sabre sweeping across the skeleton’s back. Instantly it crumbled to the battlements.
I do not know how long we struggled and fought, for time seemed to drag by ever more slowly as we tired. Mace was indefatigable, his shining sword a blur of light as he darted across the tower. But eventually the attack slowed and then faltered. I risked a glance over the battlements, but could see no more dark shapes clinging to the walls.
The graveyard was also still, the churned earth unmoving now.
Some corpses still lay on the tower, and these we threw over the walls. The skeleton that had been there when we arrived, we let be. In ages past he had barred the door against an attack and had died there, lost and alone, his flesh devoured by carrion birds, his bones white and clean. It seemed right somehow to let him lie.
On the ramparts below the corpse warriors still gathered, huddled in a silent mass, faces staring up at us.
Cataplas moved out into the open by the graveyard, a tall, slender figure. Looking up, he saw me. ‘You are in bad company, Owen!’ he called, his voice pleasant as always.
‘You vile creature!’ I stormed. ‘How dare you say that? I at least stand alongside men of courage — not torturers, like Azrek. You disgust me!’
‘There is no need for rudeness,’ he admonished me. ‘You are an Angostin. How is it that the son of Aubertain could seek the friendship of a murdering peasant, a known robber and rapist?’
I was astonished. Here was a sorcerer leading an army of the Undead, daring to speak to me of manners. I stared down at him. He was too far away for me to be able to see the wispy beard and the sad grey eyes, but the robe was the same, faded velvet trimmed with gold. ‘The company I keep is my own affair, Cataplas,’ I called out. ‘Now say what you have to say, for I do not wish this conversation to last a moment longer than necessary.’
‘As you wish,’ he replied, no trace of anger in his tone. ‘You seek to thwart me in my quest for knowledge, though for what purpose I cannot ascertain. I have two now in my possession, the third I will find. Nothing you or your band of petty cut-throats can do will stop me. And what will you do with the last should you find it before me? You cannot use its power. The three need to be together. You are a magicker, Owen, with little gift for sorcery. What is your purpose in opposing me?’
I could not fathom the riddle of his words, but I answered as if I understood his every phrase. ‘I oppose you because you are evil, Cataplas. Perhaps you always were.’
‘Evil? A concept invented by Kings to keep the peasants in order. There is only knowledge, Owen. Knowledge is power. Power is right. But I will not debate with you. I see now that you are no threat. Have you yet found a god to follow?’
‘Not yet,’ I told him.
‘Then find one swiftly — and send up your prayers, for you will meet him soon.’
He raised his arm and I watched the fireball grow upon his palm, then soar into the sky towards us.
Jarek Mace leapt to the battlements, bow bent and arrow aimed at the sorcerer.
‘No!’ I shouted. ‘Strike the fireball!’At the last moment he twisted his arm, sending the silver shaft singing through the air. It smote the glowing fireball in the centre, sundering it, and the arrow exploded in a brilliant burst of white light that near blinded us. Jarek Mace stumbled upon the battlements and I threw myself forward, grabbing at his jerkin and hauling him back to safety.
He notched a second arrow to his bow and sought out Cataplas.
But the sorcerer had gone.
Piercollo moved forward, his face grey with weariness. ‘Will they come again?’ he asked.
I shrugged, but Mace clapped the giant on the shoulder. ‘If they do, we will turn them back.’
Unconvinced, Piercollo merely nodded and walked back to the ramparts, sitting down with his back to the wall. Wulf settled down opposite him, lying on his side with his head on Piercollo’s pack. Ilka squatted between them, staring down at the sabre in her hands.
‘The enchanted blades saved us,’ I told Mace.
‘Yes, they are sharp and true.’
‘It was not the sharpness. We did not even have to plunge them home. As they touched the corpses, all sorcery was drawn from them.’
‘A lucky find,’ he agreed absently, ‘but what did the old man mean about the three and the one?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You must,’ he insisted.
‘Truly, I don’t.’
‘Then think on it!’ he snapped. Turning from me he began to pace the battlements, keeping a watchful eye on the cadavers below. I sat down with my back to the cold stone wall and thought of all Cataplas had said.
I have two now in my possession, the third I will find. Nothing you or your band of petty cut-throats can do will stop me. And what will you do with the last should you find it before me? You cannot use its power. The three need to be together.
Two in his possession. Two of what? You cannot use its power. What power?
No matter how much I forced my brain to concentrate, I could make no sense of the words. The three need to be together.
Stretching out on the wooden floor, I pillowed my head upon my arm and slept. Mace woke me with a boot in the ribs and I grunted and rolled, scrabbling for my dagger. ‘Are they back?’ I whispered hoarsely.
‘No, but I’m getting bored with my own company. Have you thought about the problem?’
‘I have — but to no avail.’He sank down beside me, his handsome face taut, the eyes red-rimmed and tired. ‘The old man wants something, and he thinks we know more than we do. Why? What have we done to make him think so, save by coming here?’
‘You think these ruins are the key?’ I asked him.
‘They must be. I do not believe he came here just to kill us; he wanted to make a bargain. You said he was a man interested in knowledge. Power. He wasn’t here looking for gold or treasure, but something else entirely. I would guess it is in that cellar. Something we didn’t find — a magical trinket perhaps? A holy relic?’
‘I don’t believe so. There are few such pieces, save in myth. The Cup of Arenos, the Spear of Gtath. And as for holy relics… Cataplas has moved beyond such things. They would burn him now, were he to touch them.’
‘Then think, Owen! What is there about this place? What is its history?’
‘How many times must I tell you that I don’t know!’ I said, my voice rising. Piercollo stirred but did not wake, but Wulf grunted and sat up.
‘How long now to the dawn?’ asked the hunchback.
‘Another hour,’ Mace told him. Wulf rubbed circulation back into his cold limbs, then joined us.
‘I told you no good would come of entering this place,’ he grumbled.
‘We’re alive, aren’t we?’ responded Jarek Mace.
‘For now,’ muttered Wulf. ‘We’ll all end up like him,’ he added, pointing to the skeleton.
‘No, we won’t,’ said Mace forcefully. ‘That graveyard does not contain an inexhaustible supply of corpses, and we have enchanted blades to cut our way through what remains of them. And we will, come daylight. Put aside your fears, Wulf. Think of this, there may be many of them but what opposition do they offer? Their muscles are rotten, they move as if through water. Not one of them has so far laid a blade upon us, and if they did they are so rusted as to be useless. They do not pose a real danger, save for the terror they inspire in us with their appearance. But they are not real. They are filled with sorcery, but they are not the men they were. You might just as well fear a few sticks joined together with rotted string.’