Wolf In Shadow (23 page)

 There was no sign of the Jerusalem Man.

 An hour out from the ruined city and a fresh storm broke over the riders. Driving rain lashed their faces and a howling wind raged before them like an invisible wall. Shannow dragged his long leather coat from behind his saddle and swung it over his shoulders; it billowed like a cape as he struggled to don it. The gelding ducked its head and pushed on into the fury of the storm. Shannow tied a long scarf over his hat as the winds continued to increase in power.

 A tree nearby exploded with a tremendous crack as lightning ripped through it, and Shannow tried to ignore the weight of metal he carried in his pistols and knives. Batik turned in the saddle and shouted to him, but the words were torn away and lost in the wind.

 The trail wound slowly upwards, narrowing to a rocky ledge. Riding at the rear, Shannow found his left stirrup grazing the cliff-face while his right hung over the edge. There was no going back now, for there was nowhere for a horse to turn.

 Lightning flashed nearby, the gelding reared and Shannow fought to calm it. In the eerie light of the lightning’s afterglow, the Jerusalem Man glanced down to the raging torrent some two hundred feet below where white water raced over jagged rocks. Lightning flashed again and some instinct made him turn in the saddle and look back down the trail.

 As Shannow’s gelding leapt, the Jerusalem Man kicked himself from the saddle and spread his arms to steady his fall. Below him the rocks waited like spear-points and he tumbled through the air unable to control his movements. Down, down he fell, bringing his arms over his head, struggling to stop his dizzying spin. He hit the water at a deep section between rocks and the air was smashed from his lungs. He fought his way to the surface, sucked in a deep breath and was swept once more below the water. His heavy coat and pistol belt dragged him down; rocks cracked against his legs and arms as he battled the dreadful pull of the swollen river. Time and again, as he felt his lungs had reached bursting point, his head cleared the surface - only to be dragged below once more.

 Grimly he fought for life until he was hurled out into the air over a waterfall some thirty feet high. This time he controlled his dive and entered the water cleanly. The river here swirled without violence and he struck out for the shore, dragging himself from the water with the last of his strength. He grasped a tree root and hung on, gasping for breath, his legs still under water. Then, having rested for some minutes, he eased his way up into thick undergrowth. Exhausted, he slept for over an hour and then awoke cold and shivering, his arms cramped and painful. Forcing himself to a sitting position, he checked his weapons. His left-hand pistol had been torn from his grasp after he killed the lion, but the other gun was still in his scabbard, the thong over the hammer saving it. His gelding lay dead some forty paces to his right, and he staggered to the body, pulling clear his saddlebags and looping them over his shoulder.

 A dead lion floated by, half submerged, and Shannow smiled grimly, hoping that the Zealot who possessed it had died with the beast.

 With the storm still venting its fury over the mountain Shannow had no idea in which direction to travel, so he found a limited shelter in the lee of a rock face and huddled out of the wind.

 He could feel bruises beginning to swell on his arms and legs, and was grateful for the heat the throbbing caused in his limbs. Fumbling inside his saddlebags for his oilskin pouch, he removed six shells, then emptied his pistol and reloaded it. Looking round, he gathered some twigs from the ground close to the rocks. It was drier here and he carefully built a pyramid of tiny sticks. Breaking open the shells he had discarded, he emptied the black powder from the brass casings into the base of the pyramid and then reached into his shirt pocket to take out his tinder box; the tinder within was drenched and he threw it aside, but wiped the flint clean and worked the lever several times until white sparks flashed. Holding the box close to the base of the pyramid, he ignited the powder. Two sticks caught and he crouched down, blowing gently and coaxing the flame to life. Once the fragile blaze had taken, he gathered thicker branches and sat beside the fire, feeding it constantly until the heat drove him back. Then he pulled off his coat and laid it over a nearby rock to dry.

 A shimmering light grew before him, coalescing into the form of Ruth. At first she was translucent, then her flesh became solid and she sat beside him.

 ’I have searched for you for hours,’ she said. ‘You are a tough man.’

 ’Are the others all right?’

 ’Yes, they are sheltering in a cave twelve miles from here.

 ’The Zealots fled after you went over the ledge. I think their main purpose was to kill you; Batik is a much lesser prize.’

 ’Well, they failed, but not by much,’ said Shannow, shivering as he added wood to the blaze. ‘My horse is dead, poor beast. Best I ever had. He could run from yesterday into tomorrow. And he had heart - if he could have turned, he would have driven the lions away with his hooves.’

 ’What will you do now?’

 ’I'll find the Ark, and then Abaddon.’

 ’And you will try to kill him?’

 ’Yes, God willing.’

 ’How can you mention God in the same breath as murder?’

 ’Don’t preach at me, woman,’ he snapped. This is not Sanctuary, where your magic fills a man’s mind with flowers and love. This is the world, the real world. Violent and uncertain. Abaddon is an obscenity to both God and Man. Murder? You cannot murder vermin, Ruth, he has forsaken all rights to mercy.’

 ’Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord?’

 ’An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a life for a life,’ countered Shannow. ‘Do not seek to debate with me. He has chosen to visit death and destruction upon the woman I loved. He taunted me with it. I cannot stop him, Ruth; a nation separates us. But, if the Lord is with me, I shall rid the world of him.’

 ’Who are you to judge when a man’s life is forfeit?’

 ’What are you to judge when it is not? There is not this debate when a mad dog kills a child. You kill the dog. But when a man commits the blackest sins, why must we sermonize and rationalize? I am sick of it, Ruth. I’ve lost count of the number of towns and settlements that have called for me to rid them of Brigands. And when I do, what do I hear? “Did you have to kill them, Mr Shannow?” “Was there a need for so much violence, Mr Shannow?” It is a question of balance, Ruth. If a man throws his food on the fire, who will have pity on him when he runs around shouting, “I’m starving”? So it is with the Brigand. He deals in violence and death, theft and pillage. And I give them no pity. I don’t blame you, woman; you’re arguing for your husband. But I’m not listening.’

 ’Do not patronize me, Mr Shannow,’ said Ruth, without anger. ‘Your arguments are simplistic, but they carry weight. I am not, however, arguing for my husband. I have not seen him in two and a half centuries and he does not know I am alive, nor would he care greatly if he did. I am more concerned with you. I am not a prophet, yet I feel some terrible catastrophe looms and I sense you should not pursue this current course.’

 Shannow leaned back. ‘If I am not mad, Ruth, and it was not just a dream, then I can tell you the danger that waits. The world is about to fall again.’

 He told of his dream of Pendarric, and the doom the Blood Stones carried. She listened in silence, her face set; when he had finished, she looked away and remained silent for some minutes.

 ’I am not omnipotent, Mr Shannow, but there is something missing. The catastrophe fits with my fears. But the Blood Stones of the Hellborn? Small fragments of minuscule power. To tear the fabric of the universe would require a mountain of Sipstrassi and a colossal evil.’

 ’Do not seek to fit the facts to your theories, Ruth. Examine the facts as they stand. Pendarric says blood and death unleashed the power of the Stones. Abaddon has sent his armies into the south. Where else can the evil lie?’

 She shrugged. ‘I don’t know, I only know I feel very old. I was married eighteen years before the Fall, and I was not a young bride. I had such dreams, such romantic dreams. And Lawrence was not evil then.

 ’He was an occultist, but he was witty and urbane and very welcome at select parties. We had a daughter, Sarah. Oh Shannow, she was a lovely child.’ She lapsed into a silence Shannow did not disturb. ‘She was killed at the age of five in an accident and it broke Lawrence - cut him so deeply no one could see the scar. I just cried out my pain, and learned to live with it. He delved more deeply into occult matters, finding Satanism just before the Fall.

 ’When the earth toppled we survived with some three hundred others and before long, in the sea of mud that was the new world, people started dying. It was Lawrence who bound the survivors together - he was wonderful, charismatic, understanding, strong and caring.

 ’For three years we were almost happy and then the dreams began - the visions of Satan talking to him, making him promises. He left us for a while to go into the wilderness. Then he returned with a Daniel Stone and the Hellborn age began.

 ’I stayed for another eightNyears, but one day when Lawrence was away on some blood-filled raid, I walked from the settlement with eight other women. We never looked back. From time to time I heard of the new nation, and the madman who called himself Abaddon. But the real disaster came eighty years ago when Abaddon met a man who gave him the key to conquest. He was another survivor from before the Fall, and though his early years had been spent in another career his abiding hobby had been weapons - pistols and rifles. Together he and Abaddon reconstructed the science of gun-making.’

 ’What happened to the gun-maker?’

 ’Sixty years ago he rivalled Abaddon in evil. But he repented, Mr Shannow, and fled the vileness he had helped to create. He became Karitas, and tried to build a new life among a peaceful people.’

 ’And you think I should spare Abaddon in case he suffers just such a repentance? I think not.’

 ’Why do you mock? You think God cannot change a man’s heart? You think his power so limited?’

 ’I never question his power, or his actions,’ said Shannow. ‘It is not my place. I don’t care that he wiped out men, women and children in Canaan, or that he caused Armageddon. It is his world and he is free to do as he likes without criticism from me. But I cannot see Abaddon walking the Damascus road, Ruth.’

 ’What about Daniel Cade?’

 ’What about him?’

 ’Can you see him walking the Damascus road?’

 ’Speak plainly, Ruth; this is no time for games.’

 The Brigand chief is now leading the people of the south against the Hellborn. He says he is being led by God, and he is performing miracles. People are flocking to him. What do you think of that?’

 ’Of all the things you could have told me, Lady, that gives me the most joy. But then you do not know, do you? Daniel Cade is my elder brother. And believe me, he will not be preaching forgiveness, he’ll smite the Hellborn hip and thigh, as the Good Book says. By Heaven, Ruth, they’ll find him harder to kill than me!’

 ’It seems I am preaching a lost cause,’ said Ruth sadly. ‘But then throughout history love has taken second place. We will talk again, Mr Shannow.’

 Ruth turned away from him . . .

 And vanished.

 Daniel Cade received a number of shocks in that early Spring campaign, the first being that he became a man apart. People would approach him with disquieting deference, even men he had known for years. When he approached camp-fires, bawdy tales would die in an instant and the tellers would look away embarrassed. When men swore in his presence, an apology would be instantaneous. At first he had been amused, thinking that such displays would cease after a few days, or perhaps a week. But far from it.

 The second shock was from Sebastian.

 Cade was in his shack with Lisa when he heard the shouts and emerged into bright sunshine to see men streaming down the slope towards a small party of refugees. His knee was paining him and he used his cane to help him as he limped towards them. In the lead was a middle-aged woman, followed by four adolescent girls and some dozen children. They were leading a horse, across the saddle of which lay a body.

 When the grey-haired woman saw him, she ran forward and threw herself to her knees. Around Cade the crowd drew back. Many were farmers who still retained some suspicion of the former Brigand and they fell silent as the woman wept at his feet. Cade stepped forward and selfconsciously raised her and her eyes met his.

 ’You are free from trouble, sister,’ Cade told her.

 ’But only through you and the Hand of God,’ she answered, her voice trembling.

 ’What happened to you, Abigail?’ asked a man, pushing forward.

 ’It is you, Andrew?’

 ’It is. We thought you were lost to us.’

 The woman sank to the ground and the man knelt beside her. Cade felt lost and curiously alone standing at the centre of the circle, but Lisa joined him and took his arm.

 ’We had taken the children into the high hills for a picnic,’ said Abigail, ‘when the riders descended on the valley. We knew we could not return, so for days we hid in the caves on the north side, eating berries and roots and nettle soup. In the end, young Mary suggested trying for the Yeager mountains.

 ’For two days we moved only at night, but on the third we took a chance and struck out across the wide meadows. That’s where the riders found us - evil men, cold-eyed and vile. Six of them there were, and I swear they were not human.’ The woman lapsed into silence; by now, all the onlookers were seated round her in a wide circle, save for Cade whose stiff knee prevented him from stretching himself on the grass.

 ’Our terror was great, too great even for tears. One of the children passed out in a faint. The riders climbed down from their horses and removed their black helms, but instead of lessening the fear it increased it. For here were human faces so bestial they froze the blood.

 ’One of them struck me and I fell to the ground. I will not tell you what they then did to certain of us, but I do tell you there was no shame in it for those who suffered, for we were incapable of fighting back.