Wolf in Shadow

'I care that Donna Taybard lives.'

'Are you bargaining with me?'

'Call it what you will.'

'I cannot kill, and rescuing her may take just that.'

‘Then you destroy the Mother Stone.'

'How could you ask this of me?'

'Let me understand you, Lady. You want me to risk my life against the Guardians? And yet you know they will try to stop me and that I will kill all who come against me. Apparently that sits all right with your principles. But to save a woman, and perhaps kill the Ungodly to do it — that is against your principles?'

'I will not argue, Mr Shannow. I have neither the strength nor the time. What I can do is to take Batik to Donna. Will that suffice?'

Shannow shook his head. 'I have no right to ask Batik to put himself in danger.'

'I wish I knew what you two were babbling about,' said Batik, 'and I'm fascinated to know at what point you bring me into this conversation.'

'It does not concern you,' said Shannow.

'What are you, my mother?' snapped Batik. 'You don't make decisions for me. Saving the world may be a horse I can't saddle, but pulling one wench from a dungeon in Babylon? Who knows, perhaps I can tackle that without falling over?'

'You know damned well it's more than that,' said Shannow. 'You owe Donna nothing — why should you put your life at risk?'

'If you're looking for selfish reasons, my friend, tell me this: Ruth says the world could perish if the Mother Stone is not destroyed. If that is the case, where would you suggest I hide?'

'Let me think on it,' said Shannow.

'What is to think about?' asked the Hellborn. 'You want to avenge Karitas? Sarento is the man responsible. Abaddon is a pawn in his game, and you don't win wars by killing pawns.'

'I will deal with Abaddon,' said Ruth. 'I promise you that.'

'And how will you get Batik to Babylon?'

'With my own magic.'

'I asked how.'

'I shall dismantle his molecular structure, absorb it into my own and reassemble him when I arrive.'

'Reassemble — what's she talking about, Shannow?'

'There is little danger to you, Batik,' declared Ruth. 'It is how I travel.'

'But you have done this before, with other people, yes?' asked the Hellborn.

'No,' she admitted.

'Why did you have to ask her, Shannow? I preferred it when she said by magic.'

'You still want to go?' asked the Jerusalem Man.

'I said so, didn't I?'

Try not to get yourself killed,' said Shannow, offering his hand. Batik took it and shrugged.

‘I’ll do my best. Tell me, Ruth, can you reassemble me without scars and with a less prominent nose?'

'No. Shall we go?'

'I'm ready,' said Batik. 'Good luck, Shannow.'

'And to you. Tell Donna I wish her joy.'

'Don't give up on her, her new husband's probably dead.'

Before Shannow could answer, Batik and Ruth faded from sight.

And the Jerusalem Man was alone.

Batik felt no sensation of movement. One moment he was looking at Shannow, the next he was lying face down in the grass on a hillside west of Babylon. Ruth was nowhere in sight as he stood and took a deep breath.

He wandered to the hill-top and gazed afthe city which lay squat and dark in the distance.

Covered by a pall of black smoke, it had improved little since he had fled it and he realized in that moment that he had missed the place not at all.

Ruth appeared beside him, and this time he did not react.

'How are you feeling?' she asked.

'Well. But you look tired.'

'I am weary,' she admitted. 'You have no idea of the energy I expend holding this body image in place. And as for carrying you across eight hundred miles. .'

'Sadly I recall nothing of the journey. Is Donna here yet?'

'No, the wagon is half a day due west. If you start now, you should sight their camp before dawn.'

'How many in the party?'

'Two hundred.'

‘I’m only carrying eighteen shells, Ruth.'

'I am hoping you will use your brain, young man, and that there will be no need for killing.'

'I might be able to get to her and untie her. Together we could run, I suppose.'

'There is something else you should know, Batik.'

'I don't think I want to hear it.'

'She is pregnant, and in a coma.'

'I knew I didn't want to hear it.'

'I shall pray for you, Batik.'

'That will be nice, I'm sure. I suppose you couldn't conjure up one of Sarento's guns as well?'

'Goodbye, Batik.'

'Farewell, Ruth,' he said, and watched as she became ever more transparent.

As he set off towards the west with a jaunty stride he pushed the problem of the rescue from his mind. The whole mission was palpably hopeless, and he decided to relax and enjoy the stroll.

Wondering what Shannow would have done, he chuckled as he pictured the Jerusalem Man riding up to the army and demanding the release of his lady. And he'd probably get away with it, thought Batik. Clouds scudded across the moon and an old badger ran across his path, stopping to squint at the tall man with the broad shoulders. Then it was gone into the undergrowth.

He came across the camp-site an hour before dawn. They were camped in a hollow, having erected tents in a circle around the wagon. Batik knelt behind a screen of bushes and watched them for a while until he was sure he had placed all the sentries. Then, just as he was making ready to move, he saw a dark shadow creep across his line of vision. Pulling his pistol into his hand he crept out behind the watcher, moving slowly down until he was almost alongside. The man was lean and bearded and dressed hi clothes of dark homespun wool. So intent was he on the camp-site that he failed to hear the approach of the Hellborn.

Batik cocked his pistol and the noise made the man freeze, but his body tensed and Batik knew he was about to do something rash.

'Don't be a fool,' he whispered. 'I only want to talk.'

'You've got the gun. Talk all you want,' hissed the man.

'You're obviously not Hellborn, so I wondered what you wanted from them.'

'None of your business. You finished now?'

'Probably. But I do have business here and I don't want you spoiling it.'

'Well, there's a shame, sonny.'

'Are you from Donna's settlement?'

The man rolled slowly to his side and gazed into Batik's eyes.

'What do you know of Donna?'

‘I’m a friend of Jon Shannow. He asked me to help her.'

'Why isn't he here himself?'

'He would be if he could. Why are you here?'

'Why do you think?'

'You want to rescue her?'

'That's the general idea, but there's a sight too many of the bastards. There's no way to sneak in; they've got seven sentries and a man inside the wagon.'

'I only counted six sentries.'

'There's one in that tall oak. He's got a long rifle and I don't doubt he knows how to use it.'

Batik uncocked his pistol and slid it into its scabbard.

'My name is Batik,' he said, offering his hand.

'Jacob Madden,' responded the other, sitting up and uncocking his own pistol which had been concealed beneath his coat. The two men shook hands.

'We came very close to killing one another,' remarked Batik.

'You came very close to dying,' observed Madden. 'Let's pull back where we can talk more freely.' Together they eased their way into the undergrowth and back over the brow of the hill.

Here, hidden in a grove of trees, were two horses. On the ground nearby Batik saw a man lying on his side, a pistol in his hand. His face was waxen and haggard and blood was seeping through the front of his shirt.

Madden knelt beside him. 'Can't get to her, Griff. There's too many.'

Griffin struggled to rise, then fell back.