William shook his head, bewildered and stunned into silence. He had been silent for the last quarter of an hour.
‘Count Ordrane has accounted for two Dar’uka as I understand it. One was documented in the Book of Man, The other is folklore. You can learn both from Father Antonio.’
‘I know,’ William conceded, echoing the words of Cardinal Devirus. ‘Father Antonio is the most learned man in the Church on matters of Mhorrer.’
‘Not just Mhorrer, but all of the Book of Man,’ Marresca marvelled. ‘There is little in that book that he does not know.’
‘So you know enough to come to a decision, ill-judged as it is,’ William begrudged.
‘Ill-judged to you maybe, Captain. You have only your friend as a gauge,’ Marresca replied as they arrived at a clearing which marked the top of the hill. He paused to look to the sky; the mists were fading above them. Behind them were clouds, gathering as they had in Prague.
‘A storm?’ Marresca ventured.
‘Not so natural,’ William remarked, and led them over to a nearby tree. He dismounted and tethered his horse to the trunk. Marresca did the same, wrapping the reins around a thick branch.
The clouds seemed to bulge outwards, spreading like ashen dough from the sky above them, radiating outwards. Their undersides began to crackle. A single flash tore the rolling formation in two, but then it merged again as the first drops of rain fell.
William put out his hand and felt the first drop hit his palm, and then the second. ‘They’re coming,’ he said.
Marresca stepped away from the tree, his face upturned to the clouds as the rain fell harder. Soon his face was awash, the rain running over his cheeks and down his chin. His long, blond hair straggled down over his eyes and slapped haphazardly across his forehead.
William elected to stay under the tree, where raindrops were few, but large. He felt them striking his head and shoulders and he pulled the jacket’s collar up as far as it could go.
There was a deep rumble and a bright flash lit up the clearing. Marresca smiled into the storm and raised his arms to the sky. William marvelled at how calm the young warrior was. Was he too naïve to understand his peril, or did he understand it better than William could?
Another rumble, this time louder and deeper, sent a tremor through the air and it appeared as though the cascading rains were shunted to the east. They reset themselves a moment later with a greater downpour that soaked Marresca through.
‘Can’t you feel it, Captain?’ Marresca shouted.
William shivered. He could, but would not admit it.
‘The power! Can’t you feel the power?’
Another thunderous groan pounded the air, but this time the sound was incredible. The whole hill shook and the horses panicked. William grabbed hold of his reins just as the animal reared, almost kicking William to the ground. But Marresca’s horse broke free and galloped away into the night.
William turned to warn Marresca what had happened, just as the entire clearing was lit up by a blinding and searingly bright glare. William threw his hand to his eyes as the world around him was rent apart by a deafening explosion of sound. The power shook William to the bones, bones that he could almost see through his closed eyes from the bursts of light landing nearby.
He cowered, painfully aware that he was doing so, and swore at the top of his voice, also aware that no one would hear him under the tremendous boom of thunder.
‘. . . stards!’ he finished as all fell quiet again.
His horse, once stunned, began to struggle again, causing the trunk to groan as it pulled and pulled. William did not fear the crazed animal would tear down the whole tree, m ore that it would break its own neck if it pulled any harder.
William looked over to Marresca and found him kneeling in the mud. There was a pool of water around him, and he knelt like the defeated and the humbled, his head bowed, The rain falling over him.
He was not alone.
To his left stood the albino warrior William had seen in Prague. To the right there was a man as tall as the albino, but more slender, his long arms tattooed with great black symbols. He was barely clothed apart from a loincloth and a flag draped around his shoulders that appeared to be Hispanic.
A third warrior appeared from a few yards away. He was oriental, with long black hair tied back against a white scalp. all three shared a common trait: they ignored William completely, interested only in Marresca.
Apart from Kieran, that is, who was staring across at William. ‘Why are you here, William Saxon?’ he asked. His voice seemed to fracture into many . They darted through the misty air, swirling about to where William stood, the intonations breaking upon his ears like driven rain.
William held his ground. ‘To talk. To talk to you,’ he replied. After the quite blunt and one-sided argument with Marresca so far that night, he half-expected Kieran to tell him there was nothing to talk about.
‘Very well,’ Kieran agreed.
Yes, The night was full of surprises, William thought as he walked out from the cover of the tree. He was soaked through in moments, but it was worth it.
They walked from the tree to a small brook that ran from the hills above them to the town in the valley below. Despite the darkness and rain, they could see the valley laid out before them.
‘What do you want, William?’ Kieran said, his voices parting and merging in an unsettling weave of words. William hoped he would talk less and would just listen (he wasn’t sure how much he could take of this unfamiliar and uncomfortable sensation).
‘It’s about your decision to recruit Marresca,’ William said. ‘I’m asking you again to reconsider. I will be honest with you, Kieran, for the sake of old times . . . I ’ve tried to persuade Marresca not to join you.’
Kieran looked at William with those full black eyes, azure light crackling about their surface. ‘Why would you do that?’
‘Because I need him more than you do,’ William lied.
‘Explain yourself.’
William smiled coyly. ‘I thought you knew everything,’ he teased, but Kieran’s expression was unsettling. ‘Fine. As you do not know . . . I ’ve been given a mission. A mission of great importance.’
There was still no change in Kieran’s expression.
‘They’ve found the Hoard of Mhorrer,’ William said finally.
‘Mhorrer’s Hoard . . .’ came a flurry of voices, not just from Kieran but from the other three Dar’uka nearby.
‘Can it be true?’
‘The Hoard has been found?’
‘By whom?’
‘And the Rassis?’
All the words seem to jumble together into a maelstrom of nonsense and William flinched under the onslaught. ‘Enough!’ he shouted. ‘I can bear just one of you talking at once . . . My head feels ready to explode!’
Kieran held up a hand. ‘Is this true, William Saxon? Has the Hoard been found?’
‘Yes,’ William confirmed. ‘It is somewhere in the Sinai. I need Marresca’s help to retrieve it. He is a great soldier, and we will surely miss him, Kieran. Can you not see that?’
‘We have searched for the Hoard of Mhorrer for thousands of years,’ Kieran said.
William brightened. ‘Really? So Marresca can stay?’
‘No,’ Kieran replied. ‘He cannot. He must become Dar’uka.’
‘Always five there are, The five Dar’uka. No less, no more, To fight the war,’ said the Dar’uka in a jarring chorus.
‘I’ve heard this before,’ William said, raising his voice, ‘but you have just said that you’ve been searching for the Hoard for thousands of years . . .’
‘We have,’ Kieran conceded, ‘but there is more at stake than the Hoard of Mhorrer.’
‘What could be more important?’ William said, completely baffled.
‘The battle for the Gates of Hell,’ Kieran told him. ‘It was there that David perished, there that we almost lost the war, and it is there that we must prevail. All five Dar’uka must fi
ght to secure the Gates.’
‘The Gates?’ William said. ‘Where are these Gates?’
‘You would not understand,’ Kieran told him. ‘They are beyond this world. And beyond your comprehension. We will take Marresca to the Gates of Hell. As Dar’uka, he will help us seal the Gates for ever.’
William was feeling nauseous, either from the effect of Kieran’s fractured voices, or the bombardment of revelation upon revelation until everything grew meaningless. He staggered away and leant against the tree, stroking his horse’s neck to calm the beast as much as it provided an anchor to the familiar. His conversation with his best friend was requiring great leaps in a faith he did not possess, nor did he understand. ‘Look . . .’ he said, ‘you want the Hoard as well, don’t you?’
Kieran looked blank.
‘Then at least promise me you will come to our aid when we find it,’ William implored.
‘We cannot . . .’ Kieran said.
‘Goddammit, Kieran!’ William cried out. ‘I have never, ever, asked for your help before now. I’ve hoped for it, even prayed that you or your friends would come to our aid at the worst of times, but you never have. Now I am asking you . . . Please help me. I don’t want to beg.’
‘You do not have to, William,’ Kieran replied. ‘Begging will not change anything. There is no swift return from where we are going. For the time it takes to travel to the Gates of Hell, many weeks will have elapsed here on this world. And the battle at the Gates will not be short, believe me.’
‘Then you will not?’ William said angrily, teetering between fury and despair.
‘We cannot,’ Kieran said and then faltered. ‘But we will try.’
‘You will?’ William asked hopefully.
Kieran nodded just the once.
‘That is all I ask for,’ William said with relief. He wanted to shake Kieran’s hand to seal the pact, or to embrace his friend, believing that the impasse had been overcome. But the light that stroked Kieran’s eyes, crackling over his hands, repelled him. He kept his distance and his fear of Kieran returned.
William retreated to his horse and untethered it. It bucked, but steadied, and he whispered calming words. He walked the animal through the rain to where Marresca knelt. Crouching down, he put out a hand to him.
‘Good luck, Lieutenant,’ he said. ‘It was a pleasure to have you under my command.’
Marresca looked up beneath his straggly wet fringe, his face drenched. He smiled and shook William’s hand. ‘Thank you, Captain.’
William mounted his horse and turned about to look on the eerie and washed-out scene before him. The rains had not relented and the Dar’uka stood dispassionately under the downpour, steam rising and hissing from the power coursing over their bodies.
‘William,’ Kieran called out. It surprised him, and also William’s horse, which stirred and pulled. ‘Do not underestimate the cult of the Rassis. They are cunning. They are strong. They have been fighting this war longer than you. In our absence, you should find allies where you can.’
William stared over at Kieran and gave a short nod. He wanted to say something, maybe even thank him, though he did not know what for.
Kieran had made no promises. Kieran had offered nothing, but took much. All William could do was ride away through the rain and let Marresca’s fate be decided for him.
II
The villa was quiet. Even the crickets had been silenced, and only a few brave dogs in the yards of Villeda were barking, roused by the distant storm that had since faded with the midnight mist.
William stood in the gloom of the bedroom and undressed, pulling away his sodden shirt. He dried himself with a towel and slipped under the sheets to lie next to Adriana, her warm, soft body bringing comfort after a hopeless cause.
The ride back to the villa was dominated by thoughts of the mission to the Sinai. There was much to do, and much to prepare for, now that his most valued soldier was gone – blazing away through the storm with the four other lights that erupted from the top of that hill.
William had watched them leave, and watched some measure of hope leave with them. But his own words to Kieran came back to him: ‘Everything we have succeeded in doing has been done without you. We don’t need you . . .’
He had made that claim all those weeks ago in Prague, through rage and frustration. But now its clarity and truth was irrefutable. And inevitable.
Will?’ Adriana murmured, stirring by him.
‘I’m here, my love,’ he whispered and kissed her neck.
‘Is it done?’ she asked sleepily.
William knew what she meant: was everything resolved? He kissed her neck again and smiled, holding her close. ‘Yes, my love. I know what I must do now.’
CHAPTER SIX
Leaving Again
I
William disliked prolonged partings, so it was with a muted farewell that he left Adriana after breakfast. He leaned down from the saddle and kissed her on the lips, cupping her cheek with one hand while holding the reins with the other.
‘I will return. I promise,’ he said to her, more in hope than certainty.
Adriana was strong; she did not cry and bit her lip against the desire. She knew William hated seeing her upset, and she would do right by him. But once he had ridden out of sight, the tears would fall without control. Every time she watched him leave it felt painfully final.
As he cantered down the path under the arch, she cried out, unable to contain herself any longer: ‘I love you!’
William half-turned and waved back, gathering his composure as he rode away.
Villeda was already awake with the news that Captain William Saxon was leaving again. As he rode to St Laurence, a farmer and several children waved over to him, and William returned the gesture, but awkwardly. Like Adriana, it all felt strangely climatic.
‘You’re being foolish,’ he muttered to himself as he galloped up the mile or so of road to the monastery Under the arches of trees and ivy, his horse took William proudly to the gates of Saint Laurence, where a handful of monks were waiting. He greeted each in turn, dismounting quickly.
The brothers jostled forward, eager to take his horse, leaving William to march under the big stone arch towards the courtyard inside the monastery.
How quiet it was.
He walked around the edge of the quad and looked about the stone benches, pots of white flowers at each corner, the chimes ringing gently from the gallery. He closed his eyes for several minutes and drew in a deep lungful of air, smelling the primroses close by.
William relaxed and his doubts lost their potency. How many times had he trained in this courtyard? Many, he recalled, since Lieutenant Cazotte had tried to make an example of him in front of the other initiates years ago. It was a strangely fond memory.
‘My friend . . .’ he murmured. ‘What would you have made of me now?’
An initiate – shaven-headed and younger than Marco – appeared at the gallery.
‘Boy,’ William called, ‘bring me Lieutenant Peruzo.’
The initiate bowed and William sat down on one of the benches, resting in the sun. The morning remained calm, and William made the time to relax. If they were to leave soon, there would be little time to rest until they left Naples.
Peruzo appeared at the steps to the courtyard, looking guarded. William sensed him nearby and turned to him, smiling. ‘Ah, my friend,’ he said.
The lieutenant came over, his hands behind his back. ‘Is it true?’
‘That the Hoard of Mhorrer has been found? Yes, it’s true,’ William confirmed.
Peruzo blew out his cheeks and looked skyward in thought. ‘All those years, and finally . . .’
‘Yes, finally,’ William said impatiently. ‘Lieutenant Vittore is already in Rashid with one full company and one half company from Spain. Regardless, I want you with me.’
Peruzo smiled slyly. ‘Me? But with Lieutenant Vittore . . .’
‘Vittore is a good officer, but I want someone I can
trust and who thinks as I do. I won’t be the first captain to have two lieutenants under his command. Unless you refuse, of course.’
‘I will not,’ Peruzo replied boldly, barely hiding his enthusiasm. ‘This will truly be a mission for the ages.’
‘I hope so,’ William said quietly. ‘And your leg?’
The elder lieutenant shrugged, slightly self-conscious. ‘It is almost healed. Healed enough to ride with you.’
‘I promised Brother Jericho he would be sent on the next available mission to recover his courage,’ William said.
‘And you think this one would be appropriate for him?’ Peruzo said doubtfully.
‘Brother Jericho is a good man,’ William reminded him, ‘if a little young. If Jericho survives then it can only make him stronger.’
Peruzo nodded. ‘I will tell him to pack. And I’ll raise Marresca . . .’
‘There’s no need,’ William interrupted.
‘But Captain . . .’
‘Marresca is not coming,’ William said. ‘He has already been sent out on a mission.’
Peruzo appeared puzzled. He looked over to William with an expression that begged for an explanation.
William wasn’t about to provide one. ‘Be quick, Peruzo. We must leave within the hour. The Iberian is waiting at Naples and will sail the evening after next,’ he said instead. ‘We have much ground to cover between now and then.’
Peruzo frowned, but bowed again, leaving swiftly after.
William considered calling on the armoury before Engrin Meerwall appeared at the arch to the courtyard. The old man huffed and puffed over to him before settling down on one of the benches, breathing heavily.
William went over, his face grave. He had never seen Engrin so frail.
‘I can get you a drink if you wish,’ he fretted.
Engrin shook his head. ‘I am not a child, nor am I at death’s door!’ he scowled. ‘Do not treat me as such.’
‘My apologies,’ William said, looking down at him for a moment.
Engrin sighed. ‘If you must know, I feel better than I have in days. I am recovering, so I kindly request you keep your pity to yourself.’
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