Cywen jumped up and ran. Away from Corban, back towards the giant that had thrown her. She crouched down beside his still form, a hand reaching out to probe his neck.
She’s checking for a pulse.
Then Buddai and Storm reached her. Corban saw her throw her arms around Buddai, then tense as she saw Storm, her first reaction to leap backwards. Then she must have realized. She tentatively reached out to Storm, the wolven sniffing her hand, pushing close to lick her face and rub against her, knocking her over. Cywen leaped to her feet, looked around, and saw him and his mam.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHTEEN
CYWEN
I must be dreaming.
Figures were pouring into the chamber, swift and silent, any sound of their movement masked by the throbbing hum emanating from the cauldron. At their head were a man and woman. She stared at them, knowing them instantly, despite the changes. Older, leaner, a grimness about them, in their eyes. And a joy as well.
Mam. Corban.
She felt her heart lurch, as if a fist had grabbed and twisted it.
Then she was running to them and they were together, the three of them, hugging, crying, no words, just a deep heart-swelling euphoria.
Her mam was holding her face, kissing her. ‘I’m sorry,’ she was saying, over and over again.
‘You left me,’ Cywen said, remembering in a flood how she’d woken up in Dun Carreg, finding herself alone and abandoned, and all she had been through since then. A swell of fresh emotion welled up in her. ‘You left me,’ she repeated.
‘We thought you were dead; we were told you were dead,’ her mam said. Corban just looked at her with his sad, tear-filled eyes.
‘Why are you here?’ Cywen asked then.
‘For you, Cy. We came to get you,’ Corban said.
She felt hot tears flood her eyes again at that and she hugged them both, so tight, squeezing as if she’d never let them go.
‘No!’ a voice screamed, shrill above the deep reverberations.
Cywen looked up and saw Calidus close to the cauldron. His eyes were wide, rage twisting his features.
Something was changing in the room; the throbbing hum was dying. The black lances of non-light were shrinking, folding back upon themselves towards the cloud above the cauldron. The cloud boiled, expanding then contracting, streaks of lightning sparking inside it. Then with an ear-splitting crack it burst apart, shreds of dark vapour exploding outwards, slamming those about it onto their backs. The constant droning hum was gone, replaced with a sudden silence, leaving an emptiness falling in its place. The sense of fear that she had felt earlier returned.
Something bad is about to happen.
‘We need to get out of here,’ Cywen said.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND NINETEEN
CORBAN
Corban gazed at Cywen’s face a moment longer, saw emotions sweeping her like ragged clouds across the moon.
We’ve done it. We’ve found you. It did not feel quite real.
Now we just have to get out of here. He looked away, saw that his friends and companions had formed a loose line before them. Gar was closest, Dath and Farrell and Coralen beside him.
Gar turned to Cywen and gently cupped her cheek, his smile gentle, surrounded by the dead.
‘Time to get you out of here,’ he said.
‘That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day,’ Dath hissed.
‘Am I dreaming?’ Cywen said through a grin, tears staining her cheeks.
A noise from deeper in the chamber drew all their eyes.
‘It might be too late for leaving,’ Farrell said.
Figures were rising, pulling themselves upright: the Jehar, those closest to the cauldron first. There was something different about them. Though they stood the same height and build there was a presence about them, as if their frames were filled with a new power, greater than the eye could comprehend.
One turned to face Corban and he heard Gar whisper a name.
‘Sumur.’
The man stretched, a ripple that flowed from head to foot, like a cat. Something was wrong with his face. It was moving, as if insects were crawling under his skin, or fingers were clawing for escape. He gripped his clothing with both hands — a leather cuirass of boiled leather, beneath it a coat of mail, and tore it off as easily as Corban would tear a loaf of bread.
Others were rising about him, performing similar rituals.
The one called Sumur smiled as his hands travelled his body, fingers stroking, probing, the skin pale, translucent, dark veins threading it, pulsing. Then Corban saw his eyes: they were black, no iris, no pupil. Sumur threw his head back and howled.
The whole room filled with the sound as others joined him. Hundreds of them. Corban put his hands over his ears, trying to keep the sound out; it felt like a vapour, filling his senses, creeping into every part of him, drowning him in anguish.
Others were rising now, the Jehar on the outskirts of the room. They looked different to the first — ordinary, appearing dazed, wearing expressions of confusion. One close by looked at Gar and frowned.
‘Garisan?’ he said.
Gar stared at him.
‘Akar?’
The Jehar drew his sword and took a step towards Gar. ‘I’m guessing you still follow your mad fool of a father.’
‘Who’s the mad fool? Look who you’ve followed.’
Akar paused and glanced towards the cauldron, saw his sword-brothers and sisters transformed. Colour drained from his face.
‘You’ve become the servants of the Black Sun.’
‘No, it cannot be. .’
‘Out of here, now,’ a voice shouted. Meical. He was standing, sword in hand, staring at the thing that had once been Sumur. About the creature more of its kind turned to face Meical.
Then they began to run. They moved awkwardly at first, lurching across the floor, quickly becoming smoother, like newborn animals, the process condensed into a few heartbeats.
Other Jehar were in their way. The first one that Sumur met was sent spinning through the air. At the second one Sumur slowed for an instant, lifting the man from the ground with a strength that did not seem even closely approximate to a man’s capabilities. With a savage wrench, a cracking and tearing sound, Sumur tore the man in two. Blood and gore drenched him and he hurled the two parts of the man in separate directions.
‘They are demon possessed!’ Meical yelled. ‘The Kadoshim are amongst you.’
That seemed to break the spell that Sumur’s grisly act had cast. All about, the untainted Jehar drew their swords, joined by Tukul and his company, uniting to face this new enemy.
Corban saw Tukul grin.
This is a fight they’ve waited for all their lives.
The two sides met, a thunderclap of sound, the Kadoshim powerhouses of destruction, the Jehar swirling about them in their skilful dance of death. Corban saw Tukul chop into ribs with his axe, in the same breath drive his sword into the creature’s chest, straight through its heart. It sagged a moment, shuddered, then backhanded Tukul, sending him spinning through the air. Corban stared open mouthed as the creature pulled the sword from its chest and tossed it away.
They cannot die.
A roar filled the room, echoing, and Corban saw a draig from faery tales stamping into the fray.
We cannot win this battle. We must get out.
He spun to look at his mam and Cywen, his friends about them.
‘Out,’ he said.
Then something crashed into them, sending them flying in different directions.
Corban rolled, staggered back to his feet. One of the Kadoshim had fallen into them, surrounded by a handful of Jehar, chopping, slicing, stabbing, then spinning away. It had a dozen wounds, all leaking blood, though even that was different. It was dark and thick, as if part congealed. And it was angry: enraged, lashing out, trying to catch the swift forms about it. Lifting its head, it bellowed, flailing its arms, a fist striking one of the Jehar, hurling him from his feet.