Wolf in Shadow

Get the men to hold back.'

'Back to your positions!' yelled Gambion.

Most of the men obeyed him, but one youngster — oblivious to the commands — raced down the slope. A fallen Hellborn rolled and fired his pistol at point-blank range and the youngster stopped dead, gripping his belly. A second shot exploded his head. Janus lifted his rifle and killed the Hellborn.

Outside the pass Alik regrouped his men. He knew he should lead them straight back, but fear gnawed at him and he dithered. He did not want to risk such slaughter again so swiftly.

'How many lost?' he asked his deputy, Terbac.

The man cantered his horse along the line, returning some minutes later. 'Fifty-nine, sir.'

'We'll go in on foot.'

'With respect, a charge could carry us past them.'

'On foot, I said.'

'Yes, sir.'

The men dismounted and tethered their horses.

Back in the pass Janus watched them, his brow furrowed.

‘They're coming in again,' he said, 'but without horses.'

'What are they playing at?' asked Gambion.

They probably mean to secure the entrance and push forward slowly.'

'Can they do it?'

'It's possible, but unlikely. Move the men on the far side about thirty paces to the right.' Gambion shouted his orders and the men moved into position.

'What now?'

'Now we wait, and take as many as we can. If they've got sense, they'll wait till nightfall. But I don't think they will.'

The first Hellborn reached the cleft and ran for the rocks… He didn't make it.

But the third did, and that gave the enemy a chance to return fire. Gambion crept along the ridge and shot dead the marksman. The Hellborn retreated back to the canyon.

Gambion moved back alongside Janus, looking at him expectantly. The young man knew then that the command had passed to him and he grinned ruefully.

'Ask your God for a cloudless night,' he said.

‘I’ll do that. But what if it isn't?'

'A man will have to stay down there — someone with sharp ears.'

‘I’ll do it.'

'You're the leader, you can't do it.'

'You're the leader here, Janus. I'm not too pigheaded to see that.'

'But your men don't know that. Send someone else.'

'All right. You don't think they'll come again today?'

'Not with any serious intent. I think we struck lucky, Ephram. I think there is a coward leading them.'

'You call being outnumbered ten to one lucky?'

'It's only eight to one now — and, yes, I'd call that lucky. If they'd started with a charge they could have cut through us and been on their way into Yeager by now.'

'Well, you keep on out-thinking them, son, and I'll be for ever in your debt.'

‘I’ll do my best, big man.'

Two days out from Castlemine, having found a gap in the mountains that allowed them to move west, Shannow and Batik found themselves in a cool valley edged with spruce and pine.

They stopped at the shores of a lake that sheltered beneath tall peaks and watered their horses.

Shannow had said little since they had buried Archer and Batik had left him to his solitude.

As the afternoon drew on, Batik saw a rider bearing down on them from the west. He stood and shaded his eyes against the falling sun and as the rider neared, Batik's eyes widened in shock.

'Shannow!'

'I see him.'

'It's Archer!'

'It can't be.'

The rider approached and slid from the saddle. He was a black man, over six feet tall and wearing the same style of grey shirt that Archer had sported.

'Good afternoon, gentlemen,' he said. 'I take it you are Shannow?'

'Yes. This is Batik.'

'I am pleased to see you. My name is Lewis, Jonathan Lewis. I have been sent to guide you in.'

‘In to where?' asked Batik.

'Into the Ark,' he replied.

'You are one of the Guardians?' asked Batik unnecessarily.

'Indeed I am.'

'Archer is dead,' said Shannow, 'but then you knew that.'

'Yes, Mr Shannow. But you made his passing more easy and for that we are grateful. He was a fine man.'

'I see you are armed,' said Batik, pointing to the flapped scabbard at Lewis' waist.

'Yes. Samuel could never see the point. .' He did not need to finish his sentence. 'Shall we go?'

They followed Lewis for more than two hours, turning into a wide canyon flanked by black basaltic rock.

Ahead of them lay another ruined city, larger than the first they had found before meeting Archer.

But it was not the city which caused the breath to catch in Shannow's throat. Five hundred feet above the marble ruins lay a golden ship, glowing in the dying sunlight.

'Is it truly the Ark?' whispered Shannow.

'No, Mr Shannow,' said Lewis, 'though many have taken it to be so, and in the main we do not disenchant them.'

The trio rode into the ruins, along an overgrown cobbled street to the foot of the mountain. Here Lewis dismounted, beckoning the others to follow. He led his horse to the rock and stopped to turn a small handle set within it. A section of the rock face then moved sideways leaving a rectangular doorway seven feet high and twelve feet wide. Lewis entered, Shannow and Batik leading their horses behind. Two men waited within the tunnel; they took the horses and Lewis led Shannow and Batik to a steel doorway which slid open to reveal a small room, four feet square and seven feet high. With the three men inside, the door whispered shut.

'Level Twenty,' said Lewis and the room shuddered.

'What's happening here?' asked Batik, alarmed.

'Wait for a moment, Batik. All will be well.'

The door opened once more, this time to a bright hallway, and Shannow stepped out. It was lighter than day here, yet there were no windows. All along the walls were glowing tubes; when Shannow reached up and touched one, it was faintly warm.

'You must have many Stones to produce this much magic,' said Shannow.

'We do indeed, Mr Shannow. Follow me.'

Another door opened before them and the three men entered a round room at the centre of which was a white desk in the shape of a crescent moon. Behind it sat a white-haired man, who stood and smiled at their approach. More than six-feet-six tall, his skin was golden, his eyes slanted and dark. His hair was long, sweeping out from the scalp like a lion's mane.

Lewis bowed. 'My Lord Sarento, the men you wished to meet.'

Sarento moved around the table and approached Shannow.

'Welcome, my friends. For my sins I am the leader here and I am delighted to welcome you.

Lewis, fetch chairs for my guests.'

With Batik and Shannow seated, and Lewis sent to bring refreshment, Sarento leaned back on the table and spoke.

'You are a remarkable man, Mr Shannow. I have followed your exploits for a number of years: the taming of Allion, the hunting down of the Brigand Gareth, the attack on the Hellborn and now the liberation of Castlemine. Is there nothing that can stop you, sir?'

'I have been fortunate.'

'Fortune favours the Rolynd, Mr Shannow. Have you come across the name?'

'Archer mentioned it, I believe.'

'Yes, dear Samuel… I cannot tell you how much his death depresses me. He more than anyone is responsible for the growth in Guardian wisdom. But I was speaking of the Rolynd. A wondrous race were the Atlanteans; they conquered mysteries which still baffled our elders eight thousand years later. They were the fathers of magic — and they understood the gifts men carried. Some could heal, others could grow plants. Still others could teach. But the Rolynd were special for they were lucky; they carried luck like a talisman — a personal god who would step in whenever needed. And with the Rolynd warriors it was needed often. Warriors like you, Mr Shannow, who could somehow hear a stealthy assassin creeping upon them in the mist of a storm. The Atlanteans believed the gift was linked to courage. Perhaps it is. But whatever the cause, you have the gift, sir.'