'And Cade?'

'He is bottled up in a nowhere pa.s.s where he can neither escape nor conquer.'

'That all sounds well, priest. Now tell me about Shannow. Tell me again how he died falling from a cliff.'

Achnazzar bowed low. 'It was an error, sire, but he is now a prisoner of the Guardians and they mean to kill him. The Jerusalem Man is a danger no longer. After tonight he will seem as the gnat in the ear of the dragon.'

'After tonight? The night is not yet over, priest.'

The morning of Walpurnacht dawned bright and clear and Batik awoke filled with a sense of burning antic.i.p.ation. His skin had become hypersensitive to touch, and his body trembled with suppressed emotion.

Even the air in the room seemed to crackle with static, as if a lightning storm were hovering over the city.

Batik rose from his bed and drew in a deep, shuddering breath.

The joy of Walpurnacht was upon him. His memory flashed images of past festivals when he had been filled with a holy strength and had coupled with a dozen willing women, never seeming to tire.

Remembering Madden and Griffen, anger washed over him.

What link did he have with such farm-working peasants?

How had he allowed himself to become involved with their petty squabbles?

He would kill them both and enjoy the day, he decided.

He moved to his pistol and settled the b.u.t.t in his palm. It felt good and he burned with a desire to kill, to destroy.

Jon Shannow leapt to his thoughts . . .

His friend.

'I have no friends. No need of friends,' hissed Batik.

But the image remained and again he saw Shannow standing in the dark of the dungeon hall.

His friend.

'd.a.m.n you, Shannow!' he screamed and fell to his knees, the gun clattering to the floor.

His joy evaporated.

Downstairs Jacob Madden was battling with his own demons. For him it was almost worse than for Batik, for he had never experienced the surging emotions of Walpurnacht. There was no joy for Madden - only the pain of his memories, his defeats and his tragedies. He wanted to run from the building and kill every h.e.l.lborn he saw; wanted them to suffer as he suffered.

But Griffin needed him, Donna Taybard needed him and for Madden a duty like that was an iron chain on his emotions. It would not break for a selfish motive.

So he sat in his misery and waited for Batik.

The h.e.l.lborn dressed swiftly and cleaned his weapons. Then he moved down into the wide living area and checked on Griffin. The man's colour was good and he slept peacefully.

'How are you?' he asked Madden, laying his hand on the man's shoulder.

'Don't touch me, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d!' snapped Madden, knocking the arm away and surging to his feet.

'Be calm, Jacob,' urged Batik. 'It is Walpurnacht - it is in the air. Breathe deeply and relax.'

'Relax? Everything I loved is gone and my life is now a sh.e.l.l. When do we go after Donna?'

Tonight.'

'Why not now?'

'In full light?'

Madden sank back into his chair. 'What is the matter with me?'

'I told you, it is Walpurnacht. Tonight the Devil walks and you will see him. But from now until he is gone, you will feel his presence in the air around you. During the next twenty- four hours there will be many fights, many deaths, many rapes and thousands of new lives begun.'

Madden moved to the table and poured himself a mug of water. His hands were trembling and sweat shone on his face.

'I can't take too much of this,' he whispered.

'I'll help you through it,' said Batik. Outside in the narrow alleys the sound of chanting came to them. From somewhere nearby a scream, piercing and shrill, rose above the chants.

'Someone just died,' said Madden.

'Yes, she won't be the last.'

The day wore on. Griffin awoke, and the pain from his wounds doubled. He screamed and cursed Madden, his language foul and his eyes full of malice.

'Take no notice,' said Batik softly.

Towards dusk, with Griffin asleep once more, Batik readied himself for the night, smearing his face with red dye. Madden refused to disguise himself and Batik shrugged.

'It is only paint, Jacob.'

'I don't want to look like a devil. If I am to die, I'll die like a man.'

Towards midnight the two men rechecked their guns and slipped out into the street, heading towards the centre of the city. In the main thoroughfare they came upon a huge crowd of dancing, chanting people." Scores of men and women writhed together in the nearby doorways and alleyways. Madden looked away.

A young girl, her scarlet dress spattered with blood, was slashing at herself with a curved knife. She saw Madden and ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck.

Madden hurled her from him, but another woman took her place, running her hands over his body and whispering promises of joy. He pulled himself clear and thrust his way into the crowd after Batik.

The crowd moved on towards the temple square and all the chants merged into a single word, repeated again and again.

'Satan . . . Satan . . . Satan . . .'

As they neared the long steps to the temple, the night sky blazed with red light and a shimmering figure appeared, hundreds of feet tall. Madden's mouth opened and he shrank back from the colossus. It had the legs of a goat and the body of a powerful man, but the head was b.e.s.t.i.a.l and double-horned.

A huge hand reached down towards the crowd and the young woman with the blood- drenched dress was lifted by the men around her and hurled into the taloned hand. It closed about her and lifted to the gaping mouth. The girl disappeared and the crowd cheered.

This way,' shouted Batik, pulling Madden towards an alley beside the temple. 'We don't have long.'

'Acolytes' entrance,' said Batik as they reached an oval wooden door at the side of the temple. It was locked but he lifted his foot and sent the door crashing open. They stepped inside and Madden drew his pistol.

'We must get up to the temple - they will be bringing Donna out to him any moment now.'

'You mean he's going to eat her?' asked Madden incredulously.

Batik ignored him and set off at a run. Meanwhile a temple guard rounded the corner but Batik shot him down and hurdled the body, taking the stairs beyond two steps at a time.

They reached another corridor and two more guards appeared. A sh.e.l.l shrieked past Madden's ear and he dived for the floor, triggering his pistol twice. One guard pitched backwards, the other staggered but lifted his rifle once more. Batik fired twice and the man crumpled to the floor.

At the top of another winding stair, Batik paused before the door. He loaded his pistol and turned to Madden.

This is it, my friend. Are you ready?'

'I've been ready all my life,' said Madden. 'I believe you,' replied Batik, with a grin.

Shannow pushed Sarento into the elevator and stepped in behind him. The doors closed and the giant smiled.

'Level G,' he said and the elevator shuddered. 'You have a number of surprises still in store, Mr Shannow. I hope you enjoy them.'

'Stand against the door, Sarento.'

'But of course, though your fears are groundless - there are no guards in the cavern. Tell me, what do you hope to achieve? You cannot destroy the Stone.'

The doors opened suddenly and Sarento spun and dived through. Shannow followed him and opened fire but the bullets ricocheted from a huge stalact.i.te. The Jerusalem Man looked around him at the immense cavern with a spherical roof that glistened with gold threads and shining stones. Stalact.i.tes hung like pillars. He moved into the glowing light near the centre, where a small black lake surrounded an island on which stood a circle of standing stones, black and glistening.

'You stand at the heart of the empire, Shannow,' came Sarento's disembodied voice. 'Here every dream is a reality. Can you feel the power of the Blood Stone?'

Shannow scanned the cavern, but there was no sign of the giant. Walking to the edge of the lake, he saw a narrow bridge of seasoned wood on the other side of the stones. Traversing the lake, he mounted the bridge and crossed to the circle. At the first monolith he stopped to examine the sides. A deep indentation met his fingers. He pressed inside and heard a latch drop. A small section dropped away but when he thrust his hand inside it was empty.

'Did you think I would leave the gold there?' said Sarento.

Shannow spun to see the giant was standing at the altar. He was dressed now in the armour of Atlantis, a golden breastplate with a golden stone above the heart. Upon his head he wore a plumed helm and in his hands was a sword.

Shannow fired, but the bullet screamed away up into the cavern roof. Taking careful aim he fired once more, this time at the grinning face.

'Pendarric's armour of invincibility, Mr Shannow. Nothing can harm me now - whereas you are defenceless. It is fitting that we should meet like this: two Rolynd warriors within the great circle.'

'Where is the Mother Stone?' said Shannow, sheathing his pistol.

'You are standing on it, Shannow. Behold!' The ground beneath his feet blurred, the covering of dank earth shimmering into nothing, becoming red-gold veined with slender black. All across the circle the ground glowed like a lantern.

'It is said that to kill a Rolynd brings great power,' said Sarento, moving forward with sword in hand. 'We shall see. How do you like the sword, Shannow? Beautiful, yes? It is a sword of power. Sipstra.s.si. In the old tongue they were called Pynral-ponas: swords from the Stone. What they cut, they kill. Come, Mr Shannow, let me cut you.' Shannow backed away towards the bridge. 'Where can you run? Back to the t.i.tanic and my guards? Face me, Rolynd. Meet your death with courage. Come, I do not have much time.' 'I'm in no hurry,' said Shannow. Sarento leapt forward, the great sword flashing in the air, but Shannow dived under the blade and rolled to his feet. 'A nice maneouvre. It is always interesting to see an animal run for its life but what will it gain you? A few more seconds.'

As Sarento ran at him Shannow vaulted to the altar and jumped down on the other side.

'Terean-Bezek,' hissed Sarento and two stone hands grabbed Shannow's ankles. He looked down and saw the bloodstone fingers trapping him, as Sarento laughed and moved slowly round the altar.

'How does it feel to lose, Jerusalem Man? Does your soul cry out in its anguish?'

'You'll never know,' hissed Shannow. As the sword came up, he looked away, down at the surface of the altar. There, engraved on the top, was the image of a sword with upswept hilt.

The sword of the dream!

Shannow reached out. Something cold touched his palm and his fingers clenched around the hilt. Then the sword flashed up and the ringing of steel upon steel filled the cavern.

Sarento stepped back. Gone was the perpetual smile. Shannow lowered the blade to the stone hands gripping his ankles and as the sword touched them, they disappeared.

'You were right, Sarento. This cavern holds many surprises.'

'That is Pendarric's sword. I never could find it, I could never understand why I was unable to find it, for it was said to be awaiting a Rolynd.'

'You are Rolynd no longer, Sarento. Your luck just ran out.'

The smile returned to the giant's face. 'We'll see. Unless of course you can find some armour?' As he moved in, his sword slashing towards Shannow's head, the Jerusalem Man blocked the blow and his riposte thundered against Sarento's neck. It did not even break the skin.

Now the giant took his blade two-handed and attacked ferociously. Shannow was forced back, blocking and parrying. Three times more Shannow's sword thrust or cut at Sarento's armour, but to no effect.

'It is as useless as your pistol.'

Sweat flowed on Shannow's face and his sword-arm was weary, while Sarento showed no sign of fatigue.

'You know, Shannow, I could almost regret killing you.'

Shannow took a deep breath and hefted his sword, his eyes drawn to the giant's breastplate as Sarento stepped forward. The golden stone set there was now almost black.

Sarento's sword whistled down, Shannow blocked it and risked a cut to the head. The blade bounced away, but Sarento was shaken; his hand flew to his brow and came away stained by blood.

'It's not possible,' he whispered. He looked down at the stone and then screamed in fury, launching a berserk attack. Shannow was pushed back and back across the centre of the circle and Sarento's sword slashed through his shirt to score the skin. He fell. With a scream of triumph the giant slashed his blade downward, but Shannow rolled to his knees, blocking another cut and parrying a thrust. The two men circled one another warily. 'You'll still die, Shannow.'

Shannow grinned. 'You're frightened, Sarento; I can feel it. You're not Rolynd - you never were. You're just another Brigand with large dreams. But they end here.'

Sarento backed away to the altar. 'Large dreams? What would you know of large dreams?

All you want is some mythical city, but I want the world to be as it was. Can you understand that? Parks and gardens, and the joys of civilization. You've seen the t.i.tanic.

Everyone could enjoy its luxury. No more poverty, Shannow. No starvation. The Garden of Eden!'

'With you as the serpent? I think not.'

As Sarento's sword lunged towards him, Shannow moved in side-step and plunged his own blade under the breastplate and through Sarento's groin. The giant screamed and fell across the altar. Shannow wrenched the sword clear and as the cavern shuddered, almost lost his footing. A stalact.i.te tore itself from the roof and plunged into the lake.

Sarento hauled himself on to the altar.

'Oh, my G.o.d,' he whispered, The t.i.tanic!' His blood-covered hands scrabbled at the altar top. Shannow's sword touched his neck and he rolled slowly to his back. 'Listen to me. You must stop the power. The t.i.tanic . . .'