Forgive me, my ghostly friend, for this departure from the tale, but it has relevance.
I thought I saw a darting shadow in the trees, and I did not mention it to Mace or to Wulf. I wish I had, but in my mind at the time I dismissed it as a trick of the fading light or a fox moving stealthily.
But it was Cataplas… and I should have guessed it and warned Mace. We could have hunted him down and prevented so many tragedies. Yet I did not think of it. Perhaps Cataplas protected himself with a spell, perhaps I was tired. I do not know. And, despite the whispering memory of my father’s advice, I still regret that missed moment.
We moved into the shelter. Raul was talking to Astiana, while Piercollo and Ilka were preparing supper. The brothers and Scrymgeour were gambling, using bone dice, and Wulf was sitting by himself with the wrapped skull in his lap.
It was a warm evening, with a gentle breeze blowing over the ruins, and I played my harp after supper, summoning sweet melodies of summer dances to entertain the company. Wulf did not join in with his flute and Piercollo, despite my cajoling, declined to sing.
The hours flowed by. Wulf and Ilka were asleep, but Astiana was entertaining the others with tales of the Elder Days. At first I listened, for there were several I had not heard, but then she moved on to the stories of the Gabala Knights and I wandered away to sit facing the forest, staring out into the darkness.
The stars were bright and there were few clouds. Wrapped in a blanket I sat for perhaps an hour before I felt the need to sleep. It was like warmth stealing over me, bringing with it the memories of childhood — fires in the hearth, my brothers nestling alongside me, the great warhound Nibal on the floor beside the bed, his huge head resting on his paws. I leaned my head to the wall beside me. But I could feel no rough stones; it was as if a feather pillow had been placed there. My body felt light, my mind drifting, and it seemed that I floated gently down, through warm water, into the mindless security of pre-birth.
From far away I could hear a voice calling me. It was irritating, like the buzz of an angry insect. I tried to shut my mind to it, but already the warmth and comfort were drifting away. Angry now, I moved my head. The cold stone rasped against my ear. I groaned and awoke, but the voice remained.
‘Beware, Owen! You are in peril!’
Opening my eyes, I saw the image of Megan’s face floating before me, shimmering in the darkness. This was the Megan I knew, old and yet unbending. I blinked and yawned, my body slow to function. ‘Awake, Owen!’ she ordered me. My mouth was dry and I pushed myself to my knees, realizing that a powerful Sleep spell had been laid upon me. Swinging my head I saw that the others were sleeping heavily, sprawled by the dying fire.
Megan disappeared as I got to my feet. The stars were no longer shining, the sky was dark with cloud which sped by with unbelievable speed. I looked out into the night but there were no trees, only a rolling mist which swirled around the cabin.
‘Mace!’ I shouted, stumbling towards him. ‘Wake up!’ Grabbing his shoulder, I shook him savagely. His eyes opened dreamily, then shut again. Hauling him up, I slapped his face. Once. Twice. His eyes snapped open.
‘What in the devil…?’
‘Sorcery! Wake the others!’
He rolled to his feet, snatching up his sword. As it slid from the scabbard it was shining, like moonlight trapped in crystal. I took a deep breath, gathering myself for the coming attack, trying to calm my mind, preparing it for whatever enchantment I could muster. Wulf awoke next and then Piercollo, Raul, the brothers and Scrymgeour.
But of Ilka and Astiana there was no sign.
The sound of chanting came from the mist, echoing around the cabin. At first there seemed no meaning within the noise, but slowly a single word became clear within the chant.
‘Golgoleth! Golgoleth! Golgoleth!’
Raul had his own sword drawn but I moved alongside him, saying, ‘That blade is useless against the foes we face.’ Wulf had drawn both his short swords and I took one from him, handing the glittering weapon to the astonished Earl Mace tossed his spare knife to Scrymgeour and we waited for the attack.
Black-cloaked shapes were moving in the mist and the chanting continued — low and insistent, sinister and threatening.
‘It is only noise,’ Mace pointed out.
I nodded.
The mist slowly cleared. But there were no trees, no forest, no sky.
The ruined cabin stood now within a great, grey hall.
A hooded figure was seated upon a white throne, which could have been of ivory but was more likely, I considered, to be shaped and worked from bone. Around him stood many soldiers, their faces covered by dark helms, curved swords in their hands. One of the soldiers approached the cabin entrance and lifted clear his helm. His face was pale and bloodless, his eyes dark, and when he spoke elongated canines gleamed white in his lipless mouth.
‘Surrender the skull!’ he said, his voice cold.
‘This is a Hall of the Dead,’ I whispered to Mace. ‘He is.. ’
‘I know what he is,’ snapped Mace, his gaze locked on the Vampyre’s.
‘Return it!’ echoed the order.
‘Come and take it!’ Mace told him.
We were standing with our backs to the hearth, bright swords in our hands. But then the thought came. If we were truly in a Hall of the Dead, then we had been drawn from our bodies. We were souls, not flesh. And in that instant I realized something else.
The cabin could not exist here!
‘Form a circle!’ I shouted, spinning on my heel, my dagger ready.
The walls of the cabin dissolved and a score of dark shapes rushed in. The brothers Ciarhan and Cearas had been placed behind us, in what we had hoped was a position of safety. Dark blades plunged into them and they fell. Wulf was the first to react; he charged at the attackers, his silver blade slashing through them. I leapt to join him with my dagger raised.
The Vampyres fell back, dismayed. I glanced down to see if the brothers were still alive, but there was no sign of them nor of the slain Vampyres. The stone floor of the hall was bare.
We stood in a circle now, with the Vampyres all around us.
‘We cannot fight them all,’ said Wulf. ‘What do you suggest, Mace?’
‘Take my sword,’ Mace told Piercollo, then moved back to where Wulf’s bow lay. Notching a gleaming arrow to the string, he stepped forward and aimed the shaft at the herald. ‘Send us back!’ he ordered.
‘I faced the first death like a man,’ the herald sneered. ‘I can face the second in the same way.’
I moved alongside Mace and whispered, ‘Ignore him. Take the one on the throne!’ Mace swayed to his right, the arrow flashing through the air — a gleam of silver light that sped towards the breast of the hooded figure. Just before it struck the figure disappeared and the shaft hammered into the throne. The bones fell apart, crashing to the floor of the hall.
The world spun crazily and I recall the sensation of falling, spinning through the air.
I awoke with a start to see Astiana leaning over me. As I opened my eyes she whispered, ‘Thanks be to God!’
I sat up. Mace was on his knees, rubbing his eyes. Wulf was groaning. Piercollo was sitting by himself with his head in his hands. The Earl was kneeling, with Scrymgeour, beside the bodies of the brothers. There were no marks upon them, but they were cold and dead.
‘Where is it?’ shouted Wulf suddenly, the sound making me jump. ‘Where is the skull?’
‘The enemy has it,’ said Astiana softly.
‘What are you talking about?’ hissed Mace. ‘We fought them off.’
She shook her head. ‘Last night a vision came to me, warning me of great danger. I tried to rouse you all, but only Ilka awoke. Then a man appeared from the forest — a tall, thin man with a straggly beard. Ilka had her sabre ready and he did not threaten us. He merely said that unless we gave him the skull none of you would wake. At first I did not believe him, but then he told me to check the heartbeat of the Earl’s men. Two of them were already dead. Then I knew he spoke the truth.’