'Pendarrie was wrong, it seems. Who is the young warrior beside the King?'

'His son, Cormac. Are you a man given to prayer?'

'I am beginning to learn.'

'This is a good place to practise,' said the Brigante, lowering his head.

Lekky awoke in the hut; it was dark, and wind whistled in the thatch above her.

'Vader?' Fear sprang in her heart; the last thing she remembered was eating the soup the soldier had given her. She threw back the blanket and ran outside, but there was no one in sight; she was alone. 'Vader?' she called again, her voice starting to tremble. Tears flowed and she ran into the clearing, where suddenly a tall figure in white appeared before her like a spirit of the dark.

Lekky screamed and stepped back, but the woman knelt before her. 'Do not be afraid,' she said, her Saxon heavily accented but her voice warm. 'No harm can come to you here. Who are you?'

'My name is Lekky. Where is my father?'

'First let us go inside, away from the cold.' She held out her hand and Lekky took it, allowing herself to be led into a second hut where a warm fire glowed in an iron brazier.

'Would you like some milk?'

Lekky nodded and the woman poured the liquid into a pottery goblet.

'Now, who is your father?'

Lekky described him, in wondrous glowing terms.

'He is with his friends and will come for you soon. How is it that a small girl like you rides with such a warrior? Where is your mother?'

Lekky turned away, her lips tightening, her eyes filling with tears. Morgana reached out and took her hand. 'What happened?'

The child swallowed hard and shook her head. Morgana closed her eyes and stroked the girl's blonde hair. Drawing on the power of the Mysteries, she linked with the child and saw the raiders, the slaughter and the terror. She saw also the man, Galead.

She drew the child to her, hugging her and kissing her brow. 'It is all right. Nothing can harm you here, and your father will soon return.'

'We will always be together,' said Lekky, brightening. 'And when I am big, I shall marry him.'

Morgana smiled. 'Little girls do not marry their fathers.'

'Why?'

'Because ... by the time you grow up, he will be very old and you will desire a younger man.'

'I won't care how old he is.'

'No,' whispered Morgana, 'neither did I.'

'Do you have a husband?'

'No . . . yes. But I was like you, Lekky. I lived in a village and it was . . . attacked. A man rescued me too, and raised me and taught me many things. And . . .' Her voice faltered, her vision blurring.

'Don't be sad, lady.'

Morgana forced a smile. 'We must see about getting you settled down - otherwise your father will come back to his hut and be worried.'

'Did you marry him?'

'In a way. Just like you, I loved him as a child does. But I never grew up and he never grew old. Now I'll take you home.'

'Will you sit with me?'

'Yes, of course I will.' Hand in hrnd they returned to the hut. The fire had almost died and Morgana added fuel, shaking out the ash-pan to allow air to the flames. Lekky snuggled down in her blanket.

'Do you know any stories?'

'All my stories are true ones,' said Morgana, sitting beside her, 'and that means they are sad. But when I was young I found a fawn in the forest. It had a broken leg. My ... father was going to kill it, but he saw that I was very unhappy, so he set the leg and bound it with splints. Then he carried it home. For weeks I fed the fawn and one day we took off the splints and watched it walk. For a long time the fawn lived near our cabin, until it grew into a strong stag. Then it went away into the mountains where, I am sure, it became the prince of all stags. From that time he always called me Gian Avur, Fawn of the Forest.'

'Where is he now?'

'He . . . went away.'

'Will he come back?'

'No, Lekky. Go to sleep now. I will stay here until your father returns.'

Morgana sat quietly by the brazier hugging her knees, her memory replaying the events of her youth. She had loved Culain in just the way Lekky loved Galead, with the simple all- consuming pa.s.sion of the child whose knight has come for her. And now she knew it was not Culain who was wholly at fault. He had sacrificed many years to raise her and had always acted n.o.bly. But she, from the moment he had arrived at Camulodunum, had used all her wiles to pierce his loneliness. She it was who had drawn him into betraying his friend. Yet Culain had never reproached her, accepting all the guilt.

What had he said that day on the Tor? 'The sc.r.a.p of guilt' at her feet. Well, she had raised it to her face and taken it to her heart.

'I am sorry, Culain,' she whispered. 'I am sorry.'

But he was dead now and could not hear her.

And her tears melted the years of bitterness.

Goroien stepped into the audience hall, dressed in armour of blazing silver with two short- swords strapped to her slender hips. Cormac, Maedhlyn and the Romano-Britons all stood.

'I will aid you, Cormac,' she said. 'In a while, Gilgamesh will come to you and tell you that the army of the Witch Queen is ready to march.'

Cormac bowed deeply. 'I thank you, lady.'

The Queen said no more and left the hall without a backward glance.

'What did you say to her?' asked Maedhlyn.

Cormac waved away the question. 'How can we be sure that Wotan will be absent from the Keep? You said the men there are called Loyals, but they would not be loyal to something they never saw.'

'Very shrewd, prince Cormac,' said the Enchanter.

'Leave the empty compliments,' snapped Cormac. 'Answer the question.'

'We cannot be sure, but we know he lives in the world of flesh and that will take most of his time. We have all seen both worlds. In which would you choose to live, Cormac?'

'I mean to keep faith with Goroien,' said Cormac, ignoring the question, 'and that means that I need to know what you plan. You have been wonderfully helpful, Maedhlyn. You were there when I arrived in this forsaken land ... as if you were expecting me. And that nonsense with the coin - you knew I was not dead.'

'Yes,' admitted Maedhlyn, 'that is true, but my loyalty was to Uther - to bring him back.'

'Not true. Not even close,' said the prince. By now Victorinus and the other Britons were listening intently and Maedhlyn was growing increasingly nervous. 'What you desire, Wizard, is to regain your body. You can only do that if we take Wotan's soul.'

'Of course I wish to return to the flesh. Who would not? Does that make me a traitor?'

'No. But if Uther is released and returns to the world, he will attempt to kill Wotan. And that would doom you here for ever, would it not?'

'You are building a house of straw.'

'You think so? You did not wish us to come to Goroien; you argued against attacking the Keep.'

"That was to save your souls!'

'I wonder.'

Maedhlyn stood, his pale eyes scanning the group. 'I have aided those of your blood, Cormac, for two hundred years. What you suggest is shameful. You think I am a servant of Wotan? When Uther was in danger, I managed to escape this world briefly and warn him.

That is why he still lives, for he managed to hide the Sword of Power. I am no traitor, nor have I ever been.'

'If you wish to come with us, Maedhlyn, then convince me of it.'

'You are right, I knew you were not dead. Sometimes I can breach the Void and glimpse the world of flesh. I saw you fall in the Caledones woods, and I also saw the huge man with you carry you into the hut and lay you on the bed. You wore a Stone, and its power was unwittingly unleashed by your companion. He told it to keep you alive. It did -and it does.

But I knew you were on the point of death and I travelled to the Gateway to await you.

And, yes, I want to return to the world, but I would not sacrifice Uther's life to achieve it.

There is nothing more that I can say.'

Cormac swung on Victorinus. 'You know this man, so you choose,' he said.

Victorinus hesitated, his gaze locked on Mae-dhlyn's. 'He always had his own game, but he is right when he says there is no treachery in him. I say we should take him with us.'

'Very well,' said Cormac, 'but watch him carefully.'

The door opened and Gilgamesh entered. He was fully-armoured in black and silver, a dark helm once more covering his face. He approached Cormac and as their eyes met Cormac felt his hatred like a blow.

"The army is a.s.sembled and we are ready to march.'

Cormac smiled. 'You do not like this situation, do you?'

'What I like is of no consequence. Follow me.' He turned on his heel and strode from the room.

Outside the mountain entrance a vast horde of men and shadow-beasts were gathered, red-eyed creatures with sharp fangs, monsters with wings of leather, scaled men with pallid faces and cruel eyes.

'Mother of Mithras!' whispered Victorinus. 'These are our allies?'

Goroien stood at the centre of the ma.s.s, surrounded by a score of huge hounds with eyes of fire.

'Come, Prince Cormac,' she called. 'March with Athena, G.o.ddess of war!'

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

The Keep loomed like a black tomb over the landscape of the Void, a vast single-towered fortress with four crenellated battlements and a gateway shaped like the mouth of a demon, rimmed with fangs of dark iron.

Around it loped huge hounds, some as large as ponies, but of Molech's army there was nothing to be seen.

'I do not like the look of that gateway,' said Victo-rinus, standing beside Cormac at the centre of the shadow horde.

'Well you might not,' said Goroien. "The teeth snap shut.'

'Is there a mechanism that operates them?' Cormac asked.

'There is,' said Maedhlyn. 'Molech based that design on one I created for him at Babel; there are a series of wheels and levers behind the gateway.'

"Then some of us must scale the walls,' Cormac said.

'No,' said Goroien, 'it will not be necessary to climb them.' Raising her hand, she called out in a language unknown to the Britons and the beasts around her made way for a group of tall men -their skins ivory pale, dark wings growing from their shoulders. 'These will bear you to the battlements.'

'Do they know we are here, do you think?' whispered one of the Britons.

'They know,' said Goroien.

'Then let us waste no more time,' said Cormac. Goroien threw back her head and a high- pitched chilling howl issued from her throat. Her own hounds leapt forward, hurtling across the dark plain. From the Keep came an answering howl and the beasts of Molech ran to meet them.

'If you cannot keep the gate open, we are lost,' Goroien told Cormac and the prince nodded. Winged creatures with cold eyes moved behind the Britons, looping long arms around their chests. Dark wings spread and Cormac felt himself sag into the creature's arms as it rose into the air. Dizziness struck him, and the beating of the wings rounded like a coming storm in his ears. High above the Keep they soared, and now Cormac could see the armoured warriors of Molech's Loyals manning the battlements. Arrows flew up towards him, arcing away as the winged beast rose above their range. Again and again the beast dropped within range, only to soar once more as the shafts were loosed. Around him Cormac could see the other winged carriers following the same tactic.

Then, without warning, they dropped together and Cormac heard several screams from among the Britons as the Keep rushed towards them. The bowmen on the walls let fly with their last shafts, but hit nothing, and men scattered as the diving beasts spread and beat frantically to slow their fall. Cormac felt the arms around him loosen as he was still ten feet above the battlements. Bracing himself and bending his knees, he was ready when the creature released him and landed lightly, his sword sliding into his hand. Around him the other Britons gathered themselves, and alongside him appeared the dark-armoured Gilgamesh.

The winged carriers departed and for a moment there was no movement on the battlements. Then, seeing how few were the attackers, the Loyals charged. With a wild cry Gilgamesh leapt to meet them, his swords a blur that clove into their ranks. Cormac and the Britons rushed to his aid and the battle was joined. There were no wounded or dead to enc.u.mber the fighting men. Mortal wounds saw the victim fall... and disappear. No blood, no screams of agony, no snaking entrails on which to slip and fall.

Victorinus fought, as ever, coolly and with his mind alert - missing nothing. He saw with wonderment the incredible skills of the warrior Gilgamesh, who seemed to float into action without apparent speed. This, Victorinus knew, was the mark of greatness in close combat: the ability to create s.p.a.ce in which to think and move. Alongside him Cormac hacked and slashed in a frenzy, his pa.s.sion and his recklessness achieving the same result as the more graceful Gilgamesh; warriors falling before him like leaves before an Autumn storm.

Slowly the Loyals were pushed back along the narrow battlement.

Out on the plain the shadow horde had reached the gateway - and the teeth snapped shut.

Once again Goroien sent up the shadow-beasts who harried the defenders on the battlements, swooping and diving, cold knives sweeping across unprotected throats.