The men did so. Batik would have killed them, but he only had five shots left and knew there were more enemies in the courtyard below. 'Bring them out, Shannow,' he yelled and then ran for the stairs, taking them two at a time and emerging into the shadowed doorway of the main entrance. Outside, several men were crouching behind hastily built barricades constructed of water-barrels and grain sacks.

'What now, general?' asked Batik as Shannow moved alongside him in the shadows.

'Now we talk,' said Shannow and moved forward. 'Hold your fire,' he called, descending the steps and moving slowly towards the crouching riflemen.

That is far enough,' called a voice.

Shannow stopped. 'Inside there are seven dead men -some of them were probably friends of yours. Eight others surrendered and tonight they will be with their families enjoying supper. You decide what you want to do. Batik! Bring them out.'

The Jerusalem Man stood calmly before the-riflemen as the first of the Wolvers stumbled into the daylight. One by one the guards put down their rifles and stood. Batik led the former slaves through the gates and out into the main street of the town, where the Wolvers huddled together behind the black-garbed h.e.l.lborn.

Back in the courtyard, a terrible scream tore through the air as the skeletal, bearded widower ran into the open clutching the flintlock pistol. He looked at Shannow and the guards and then ran out into the street behind the Wolvers, stopping only when he saw the crowds lining the buildings. He screamed again and fell to his knees, staring down at his filthy body and the pus-filled sores on his skin.

His wild eyes raked the crowd. 'You took it all!' he shouted, lifting the pistol under his chin and pulling the trigger. Blood gushed from his throat and he toppled forward.

Shannow rode from the castle, leading two horses. He paused by the body and then looked at the silent crowd. There were no words to convey his contempt and he rode on. The guards had carried Archer to the porch by the store; the black man was coming round, but he could not stand.

Take him inside somewhere,' ordered Shannow. 'Find him a bed.'

'Bring him to my place,' said Flora. 'I'll see to him.'

Shannow nodded to the woman. The Wolvers were sitting in the centre of the street, some of them still holding their pick-axes. Shannow dismounted and moved to Batik. 'Get some food from the store for them. Clothes, suppplies . . . Jesus! I don't know. Get them anything they need.'

The storekeeper, Baker, walked out on to the street.

'Who is going to run the mine?' he asked.

Shannow hit him and the man fell to the dust.

'There was no need for that,' whimpered Baker.

Shannow took a deep breath. 'You are correct, Meneer Baker, and I cannot begin to explain it.' He left the man and walked to the Wolvers, moving in to kneel amongst them.

'Can any of you understand me?' he asked. They looked at him, but did not speak; their faces were cowed, their eyes dull. Flora approached, bringing with her the young boy who had stabled Shannow's horse.

'They do understand you,' she said. 'Robin here has lived with them.'

'We are going to get you some food,' Shannow told them. Then you are free to return to the plains, or the mountains, or wherever you call home.'

'Ree?' said a small dark figure to the right, his head tilting, his eyes fixed on Shannow's.

The voice was piping and high, almost musical.

'Yes. Free.'

'Ree!' The creature blinked and touched one of its comrades on the shoulder. Shannow saw it was a female. It placed its arms around her shoulders and their faces touched. 'Ree,' the Wolver whispered.

'Archer wants to see you,' said Flora. Shannow stood and followed her through the eating- house and up a flight of rickety wooden steps to a bedroom above the kitchen.

Archer was dozing when Shannow entered, but he awoke when the Jerusalem Man sat on the bed beside him.

'Nicely done, Shannow,' he whispered.

'I was lucky,' said Shannow. 'How are you feeling?'

'Strange. Light-headed, but there's no pain. I'm so glad to see you, Shannow. When you went over that ledge I had a sinking feeling in my heart.' The black man leaned back and closed his swollen eyes; his face was badly cut and gashed and his words were slurring badly.

'Rest now,' advised Shannow, squeezing his shoulder. 'I'll come back later.'

'No,' said Archer, opening his eyes, 'I feel fine. I thought for a while that Riggs and his friends were going to kill me, and I knew Amaziga would be so angry. She's a fine woman and a wonderful wife, but nag? She's always telling me to take a weapon with me. But then how many enemies does a man meet in a dead city? You'll like her, Shannow; she made me wait eight years before agreeing to marry me - said I was too soft, that she wasn't going to risk falling in love with a man who would be killed during his first hostile encounter. She was nearly right. But my charm won her in the end. Tough lady, Shannow . . . Shannow?'

'Whal is it?'

'Why has it gone dark? Is it so late already?'

The sun was shining brightly through the open window.

'Light a lamp, Shannow. I can't see you.'

There is no oil,' said Shannow desperately.

'Oh well, never mind. I like the dark. Do you mind sitting here with me?'

'Not at all.'

'I wish I had my Stone - then these bruises would be gone in seconds.'

There'll be another at the Ark.'

Archer chuckled. 'How could you attack a fortress?'

'I don't know; it seemed like a good idea at the time.'

'Batik told me you are unable to comprehend impossible odds and I can quite believe him.

Did you know that Ridder was a priest?'

'Yes.'

'Strange religion you have, Shannow.'

'No, Archer. Just that some very strange people are attracted to it.'

'Including you?'

'Including me.'

'Why are you sounding so sad? It's a fine day. I never thought to get out of there alive - they just kept kicking me. Batik tried to stop them, but they beat him down with staves.

Staves . . . I'm very tired, Shannow. I think . . .'

'Archer . . . Archer!'

Flora moved forward and lifted the man's wrist. 'He's dead,' she whispered.

'He can't be,' protested Shannow.

'I'm sorry.'

'Where is Riggs?'

'He was in the meeting hall.'

Shannow strode from the room and down the stairs, emerging into the sunlight where Batik was pa.s.sing food amongst the Wolvers. Batik saw the expression on his face and moved to join him.

'What's happened?'

'Archer is dead.'

'Where are you going?'

'Riggs,' said Shannow tersely, pushing past him.

'Wait!' called Batik, grabbing Shannow's arm. 'He's mine!'

Shannow turned. 'What gives you the right?'

'Poetry, Shannow. I'm going to beat him to death!'

Together the two men entered the meeting hall. There were two dozen tables and a long bar running the length of the room. At the back sat three men, all of them armed. As Shannow and Batik moved forward slowly, two of the men eased themselves to their feet and edged away from the third.

The man hurled the table away and stood. Riggs was over six feet tall and powerfully muscled, his face flat and brutal, his eyes small and cold.

'Well?' he said. 'What's it to be?'

Batik handed the pistol to Shannow and moved forward unarmed.

'You must be insane,' said Riggs. Batik hit him with a crashing right-hand blow and he staggered and spat blood from his mouth. The fight began. Riggs was the heavier, but Batik moved with speed and landed more blows, yet the punishment each man took was appalling to Shannow's eyes.

Grabbing Batik in a bear-hug, Riggs lifted him from his feet, but Batik hammered his open palms into Riggs' ears and broke free. Riggs kicked Batik's legs from under him and then leapt feet-first at his head. The h.e.l.lborn rolled and rose to his feet; then, as Riggs rushed at him he ducked under a left hook and hammered a combination of punches to Riggs'

belly. The big man grunted and backed away and Batik followed, thundering blows to Riggs' chin. Both men were bloodied now and Batik's shirt was in tatters. Riggs tried to grapple, but Batik swung him round and tripped him. The bigger man landed on his face and Batik leapt on his back, grabbing his hair and his chin.

'Say goodbye, Riggs,' he hissed, then wrenched the chin up and to the right. The sound of the snapping neck made Shannow wince. Batik staggered to his feet, then moved to a nearby table where Shannow joined him.

'You smell awful,' said Shannow, 'and you look worse!'

'Always words of comfort from you just when they're needed.'

Shannow smiled. 'I'm glad you are alive, my friend.'

'You know, Shannow, after you went over that ledge and Archer and I raced clear of the lions, he talked about you. He said you were a man to move mountains.'

'Then he was wrong.'

'I don't think so. He said you would just walk up to a mountain and start lifting it a rock at a time, never seeing just how big it was.'

'Maybe.'

'I'm glad he lived long enough to see you attack a castle single-handed. He would have enjoyed that. Did he tell you about Sir Galahad?'

'Yes.'

'And his quest for the Grail?'

'Yes. What of it?'

'Are you still planning to kill Abaddon?'

'That is my intention.'

Then I'll come with you.'

'Why?' asked Shannow, surprised.

'You might need a hand lifting all those rocks!'

Ruth floated above the fabled palaces of Atlantis, gazing in wonder at the broken spires and fractured terraces. From her position just below the clouds, she could even see the outlines of wide roads beneath the soil of the rolling prairies. Around the centre of the city was a flat uninspired wasteland which must once have housed the poorer quarters of Atlantis, where the homes were built of inferior stone long since eroded by the awesome might of the Atlantic Ocean. But now, once more, the gleaming marble of the palaces glistened beneath a silver moon.

She wondered what the city must have been like in the days of its glory, with its terraced gardens and vineyards, its wide statue-lined ways, its parks and colosseums. Part of die city to the north had been destroyed by a volcanic upheaval, and now a jagged mountain range reared above the ruins.

Wishing herself downwards, she floated gently to an open terrace before a gaunt and shadowed sh.e.l.l which had once been the palace of Pendarric. Wild gra.s.s and weeds grew everywhere, and a tree had taken root against a high wall - its roots questing like skeletal fingers for a hold in the cracked marble.

She stopped before a ten-foot statue of the king, recognizing him despite the artificially curled beard and the high, plumed helm. A strong man - too strong to see his weakness before it was too late.

A sparrow settled on the helm and then flew off between the marble pillars of a civilization which once had stretched from the sh.o.r.es of Peru to the gold mines of Cornwall. The land of fable!

But even the fable would fade. For Ruth knew that hi centuries to come, her own age of technology and s.p.a.ce travel would become embroiled in myth and legend to which few would give credence.

New York, London, Paris ... all synonymous with the fiction of Atlantis.

Then one day the world would topple once more, and the survivors would stumble upon the statue of Liberty protruding from the mud, or Big Ben, or the Pyramids. And they would wonder, even as she did, what the future held now.

She turned her gaze to the mountains and the golden ship lodged in the black basaltic rock five hundred feet above the ruins.

The Ark. Rust-covered and immense, and strangely beautiful, she lay broken-backed on a wide ledge. Within her thousand-foot length the Guardians laboured, but Ruth would not go amongst them. She wanted no part of the old world, nor the knowledge so zealously guarded.

Ruth returned to Sanctuary and her room. As always when her mood was sombre, she created a study without doors or windows, lit only by candles that did not flicker.