'What's that?' Halt's voice said out of the darkness ahead of him. Then Horace could make out the dim shape of the Ranger's face reflected in the green light. He was only a metre or so away.
'Malcolm gave it to me,' he explained. He heard Malcolm close up on the other side of him.
'It's not bright enough to be seen past the next bend in the tunnel,' the healer said.
'You're probably right,' Halt agreed. 'Regular bundle of tricks, aren't you?' But he knew of Horace's aversion to confined dark spaces and realised the small green glowing bundle wasn't posing any risk. 'All right, Horace. I'll go ahead. If you hear me click my fingers, it means I can see you coming. Cover it up as soon as you hear it.'
And with that, he melted away into the darkness again. Horace gave him a few seconds' start and followed on. In spite of his best efforts, his footsteps grated in the sand underfoot and his belt and scabbard tended to scrape against the rocks at his back. When they reached the first chamber, he decided, he'd take them off and carry them. There would be less chance of their snagging that way. He rounded another outcrop in the rock and realised he could see a dim grey light ahead. He covered the glowing bark and put the package away inside his jacket. The light grew stronger until he emerged into the chamber Will had described.
Shafts of light from the late afternoon sun struck through the clefts set high in the walls of the chamber. Horace breathed in deeply. The smaller of the two caverns wasn't the sort of place he would choose to spend time in. But it was a lot less constricting and challenging than the narrow, black tunnel he had just passed through.
Will and Halt had moved to the inner wall of the chamber and were crouched, listening. As Malcolm emerged from the tunnel in his turn, he and Horace moved across to stand beside the Rangers. Horace could see the small, low-level entrance to the next part of the tunnel. He set his jaw in a tight line. He wasn't going to like going through there, luminous bark or no luminous bark. Will glanced up, saw his pale face and grinned encouragingly.
'All right so far?' he asked.
Horace tried to grin in return but he knew it was a feeble effort. 'Loving it.'
Then Halt hushed them both with an impatient gesture, bending closer to the mouth of the second tunnel.
'Listen,' he said and they all gathered more closely around him. They could hear the faintest suggestion of a voice carrying down the tunnel. It was too faint to discern words, but they could hear the rise and fall of the cadence of the speech. Then the sound stopped and a fraction of a second later, a louder sound could be heard. This time it was recognisable. It was the sound of a large group of voices, responding to that first lone voice. They still couldn't make out the words – the echo created by the twists and turns in the tunnel and the muffling effect of the solid rock itself saw to that. But the enthusiasm and energy behind the response was unmistakable.
'Fanatics,' Halt said. 'Don't you just love 'em?' He glanced up at Will and jerked his head towards the tunnel.
'See what they're up to,' he said. Will nodded briefly. He crouched and disappeared into the black mouth of the tunnel.
Horace unconsciously felt inside his jacket for the package of luminous bark. Then, remembering his previous thought, he unbuckled his sword, wrapping the belt itself around the scabbard. Halt glanced up at him, saw the action and nodded.
'Good idea,' he said. He unslung his quiver from over his shoulder. For a second or two, he debated whether to unstring his bow. It would be easier to carry that way and less cumbersome in the confined space of the tunnel. But the thought of emerging unarmed at the far end was not one that held any appeal.
It was ten minutes before Will's face reappeared at the entrance. He grinned up at them.
'All clear,' he said. Then he scrambled out and stood erect. 'There's no guard in the tunnel or at the entrance,' he told them. 'Tennyson has an altar at the far end of the cavern and all the faithful are in a half circle, facing him.'
'And not the tunnel?' Halt said, a satisfied note in his voice.
Will nodded. 'We'll come out behind them, and at a forty-five degree angle to the way they're facing. Nobody will be looking in our direction. Even Tennyson will find it hard to see us. His end of the cavern is lit up by candles, torches and a large fire. We'll be more or less in darkness. And there are plenty of rocks to provide cover for us.'
The voices were discernible again as Tennyson began another sequence of question and answer with the crowd. It was all too familiar to Horace, Halt and Will. They'd heard it before. Malcolm, who had been appraised by them about Tennyson's operating methods, could guess pretty accurately what was being said in the cavern. As Halt had said, it would be a version of praise Alseiass and hand over your money. Although, the healer thought with a wry smile, perhaps a little less blatant.
'All right,' Halt said. 'Let's get going. Lead the way again, Will. And Horace, the minute you see light at the end of the tunnel, cover up that moss of yours.'
Horace nodded. Halt bent and disappeared into the low entrance. The tall warrior took several deep breaths, preparing himself. He felt a light touch on his arm.
'I'll be right behind you,' Malcolm said. 'Let me know if you're in trouble.'
The healer had personal knowledge of Horace's courage and he knew this fear of dark, confined spaces had nothing to do with physical bravery. It was something locked deep in Horace's mind – perhaps some incident in early childhood that he had long forgotten. Knowing this, he recognised the real courage that Horace was showing in overcoming his fear.
'I'll be fine,' the young warrior said, his face set in tight lines. Then he relaxed and grinned ruefully. 'Well, maybe not fine,' he admitted. 'But I'll manage.'
Holding his sword in one hand, he reached into his jacket for the canvas packet, then ducked down and shuffled forward into the tunnel.
After the brief period in the dim light of the cavern, the darkness of the tunnel seemed overwhelming once more. He reached up with his scabbarded sword, tracing the roof line above him. Then, as it receded out of reach, he stood slowly erect. Once again, he felt the terrifying sensation of blindness, the feeling that his world had been reduced to his own personal space, with nothing beyond it. The fear that his eyes no longer functioned. His heart began thumping more rapidly once again and he flipped back the cover on the luminous moss, seeing that wonderful little glow of light nestled in the palm of his hand. Behind him, he heard Malcolm shuffling along the tunnel.
Calmed by the little light source, Horace continued down the tunnel, moving with greater assurance now that the darkness wasn't total. He glanced up several times but the dim glow from the moss wasn't sufficient to reach the ceiling high above him. It was swallowed by the blackness. Rounding another twist in the tunnel, be became aware of a dim grey light ahead. Quickly, he covered the moss and made his way round one last corner of rock. Light seemed to pour in from the large cavern as he approached the end of the tunnel, where Will and Halt crouched, surveying the scene before them.
As Will had told them, the cavern was the size of a small cathedral, with a high, soaring roof that disappeared into the darkness above it. The far end of the high cavern was a blaze of light, where torches and candles were set in brackets. In the middle of the floor was a vast fireplace and the leaping flames from this cast shadows on the walls. Beyond the fire, and lit by what appeared to be scores of torches and candles, was an altar. It was the usual Outsiders' altar, built in gold and silver and decorated with precious gems. Yet if this one ran true to form, the gold was a thin veneer over wood and the silver and gems were fake. The real items would be safely stowed in Tennyson's packs.
Tennyson was in full flight, arms thrown wide, as he delivered an impassioned appeal to the assembly.
'Alseiass loves you!' he intoned. 'Alseiass wants to bring light and joy and happiness into your lives.'
'Praise Alseiass!' the congregation cried.
'You say the words!' Tennyson told them. 'But are your hearts sincere? For Alseiass only he
ars prayers from those who believe. Do you truly believe?'
'Yes!' the crowd replied.
Malcolm, his mouth close to Horace's ear, whispered, 'More to the point, do people really fall for this claptrap?'
Horace nodded. 'It never ceases to amaze me how gullible people can be.'
'There's danger in this land!' Tennyson continued. His voice now was full of foreboding. 'Danger and death and destruction. Who can save you from this danger?'
'Alseiass!' the crowd roared. Tennyson threw his head back now and looked up above them all, into the dark recesses of the ceiling of the cavern.
'Show us a sign!' he asked. 'Show us a sign, Golden Alseiass, god of light, that you hear the voices of these people before you!'
Malcolm eased forward a little to get a better view. He had spent years devising signs and manifestations in the depths of Grimsdell Wood – signs such as the one Tennyson was now asking for from his nonexistent god.
'This ought to be good,' he said, to no one in particular. Forty-nine Watching the fake preacher, Will noticed that, as he called for Alseiass to show a sign to the congregation, he glanced up at the jumble of rocks at the rear of the cavern – to a spot some twenty metres from the tunnel entrance where Will and the others crouched, concealed by the shadows.
Following the direction of his eyes now, Will saw a flicker of movement. Then there was the dull gleam of reflected light among the rocks and he made out the figure of a man there, hidden by the rocks from the worshippers below him.
He nudged Halt and pointed. As the older Ranger looked, a sudden ball of light seemed to sweep across the cavern's walls behind the altar where Tennyson was standing. There was a quick, collective gasp of surprise from those among the crowd who had noticed it, then a low buzz of excited conversation.
Then the flash of light travelled across the cavern again, this time in the opposite direction. As it reached a spot behind Tennyson, it described three flashing circles, then darted away again and disappeared. This time, alerted, more of the crowd saw it and there was a louder reaction. Tennyson let it die down a little, then raised his voice to speak over the excited muttering.
'Alseiass is the god of light and enlightenment!' he intoned. 'His light of mercy can be seen even in the darkest reaches of the earth. Do you see his light?'
Led by the white robes, the crowd took up the cry again. 'Praise to Alseiass! Praise the god of light!'
Halt beckoned Will closer and put his mouth near Will's ear to speak.
'He's got a helper up there with a mirror and a lantern,' he whispered. 'He's reflecting the lantern light on the walls.'
Will shook his head. 'Pretty basic trick,' he commented. But Halt shrugged.
'It's working. They can all "see the light".' He gestured to the pile of rocks where the man sheltered. 'Get up there and take care of him. Quietly.'
Will started to move away, then he hesitated and turned back. 'You want me to knock him out?'
Halt answered brusquely, wondering what the delay was about. 'No. I want you to invite him to dinner. Of course I want you to knock him out! Use your strikers.'
Will shrugged unhappily. 'I don't have them. Lend me yours?'
Halt couldn't believe his ears. He hissed angrily at Will, alarming Horace and Malcolm, who were sure he would be overheard.
'What do you mean you don't have them? They're part of your kit, for god's sake!' He couldn't believe that Will, a fully qualified Ranger, could be so undisciplined as to forget his strikers. Young people, he thought, shaking his head. What was the world coming to?
'I lost them,' Will said. He didn't add that he had lost them trying to capture Bacari alive, in order to save Halt's life. But he thought the older Ranger was being unduly harsh under the circumstances.
'You lost them? You lost them?' Halt repeated. 'D'you think we issue valuable equipment so you can just lose it?'
Will shook his head. 'No. But I…'
He didn't get any further. Horace interrupted their discussion, an incredulous look on his face.
'Will you two stop blithering on?' he demanded in a fierce whisper. 'Any minute now, someone will hear you and the fat will really be in the fire!'
Halt glared at him for a moment, then realised he was right. He thrust his hand into an inside pocket and retrieved one of his own strikers, which he shoved into Will's hand.
'Here. Take this! And don't lose it!'
On the altar, Tennyson was again exhorting the crowd to call upon Alseiass to show them another sign. There was a quick flash of light across the cave, followed by more cries of surprise and wonder. Watching carefully, Halt could see Will's dark shape climbing the rock pile, seeming to flow upwards across the jumble of boulders like a giant spider. He reached the spot where Tennyson's helper crouched with his lantern and mirror and paused, concealed from the man, a metre or so below his hiding place.
'Show us your light again, Alseiass!' Tennyson cried. 'Let these people know they are worthy of you!'
Halt saw the crouching figure at the lantern move slightly, preparing to send another flash of light across the cavern. Then Will rose behind him. The young Ranger's arm went up, then down, as he crashed the brass striker into the man's head, behind the ear. Tennyson's disciple slumped forward without a sound. Will turned to Halt and gave him a thumbs up. Halt waved acknowledgement, then gestured for Will to remain where he was. It was a good tactical position, with a clear overview of the cavern, but concealed from those below him.
'Alseiass!' Tennyson called, a little louder and with a slight edge to his voice. 'Let us see your light!'
Hidden among the rocks, Will raised the polished metal mirror the man had been using as a reflector and pointed to it, looking interrogatively at Halt. Did the senior Ranger want him to send light flashing across the cavern, the gesture said. Halt shook his head. He had another idea in mind and this seemed to be a perfect opportunity to put it into effect.
'Alseiass! We need to see your light!' Tennyson called. It was more of a command than a prayer, Halt thought. The people in the congregation were beginning to look restless.
Halt leaned close to Malcolm and indicated a large boulder a few metres away on their left.
'I'm going to move over to that boulder,' he said. 'When I call out to Tennyson, lob one of your mudballs in front of me.' Malcolm nodded his understanding. He crouched, gingerly set the wooden case down and opened the lid. Halt slid through the shadows to the boulder he had indicated. Malcolm took one of the balls out of the case, closed the lid and stood upright again. He made eye contact with Halt and the Ranger nodded to him. Malcolm saw Halt discard his cloak and don the leather circlet that Horace had made up – a replica of the simple crown of Clonmel. Using his fingers, he roughly combed his hair to either side, parting it in the middle and holding it in place with the leather loop.
Malcolm readied the ball for an underarm toss. At that moment, Tennyson chose to implore Alseiass once more.
'Alseiass! Show us a sign, we beg you!'
Halt took a deep breath, then shouted in a voice that rang through the cavern, waking the echoes.
'Tennyson! Tennyson! You are a fake and a liar!'
Heads turned, seeking the source of the words. As they did, Malcolm tossed the ball underarm, lobbing it high in the air to land on the spot just in front of Halt. The sand covering the cavern floor was relatively soft. But the ball came down from a considerable height and, as Malcolm had pointed out, it was extremely volatile.
There was a loud BANG! followed by a giant cloud of yellow-brown smoke. A trickle of sand and pebbles, loosened by the vibrations set up by the explosion, slithered down from the ceiling of the cave.
Then Halt stepped forward, passing through the cloud, and people gasped as he appeared to materialise out of the smoke.
'Tennyson! Your god is false. And you are a liar!'
Tennyson was completely startled by this turn of events. He peered through the smoky interior of the cavern to see the slight figure standing
at the rear of the cave. He took in the hair, parted in the middle, held back from the face by the simple leather circlet, and the neatly trimmed beard. Suddenly, with a rush of fear, he knew who this was.
'You!' he cried, before he could stop himself. 'But you're dead! I k-' He stopped, just a little too late.
'You killed me?' said the figure. 'Yes, you did. But I've come back. And I want my revenge.'
'No!' Tennyson cried, holding up one hand as if to ward off the apparition before him. Taken by surprise, he was completely unnerved by the sight of the man he had believed dead. He knew to be dead.
'Say my name, Tennyson. Say my name and I may spare you,' Halt demanded.
'It can't be you!' Tennyson shouted. But the doubt was obvious in his voice. Aside from one brief meeting, he had never seen Halt at close quarters and then the Ranger's hair and beard had been long and unkempt. But he knew Ferris when he saw him, and the voice, with its distinctive Hibernian accent, was instantly recognisable. And he knew Ferris was dead. The Genovesan assassin had assured him of the fact. He had shot Ferris from behind, with a poisoned crossbow bolt. There was no possibility that the King could have survived. Yet here he was, calling for revenge. And there was only one way that could have happened. Ferris had returned from beyond the grave.
Halt moved forward, forcing his way through the assembled worshippers. They moved back from him, clearing a path, as they sensed Tennyson's uncertainty and fear.
'Say my name!' Halt demanded. As he advanced, Tennyson drew back a few paces. He glanced desperately to one of his white robes, a heavily built thug armed with a spiked mace.
'Stop him!' he cried, his voice breaking in fear.
His henchman started forward, the mace rising in his right hand. Then his face contorted with pain as his right leg collapsed underneath him. The weapon dropped from his hand as he fell awkwardly to the sand, clutching at the arrow that had suddenly appeared in his thigh.
'Good boy, Will,' Halt muttered to himself. The people around him whispered fearfully and drew back further. In the dim light of the cavern, none of them had seen the arrow in flight. And only a few of them could see it now. All they knew was that the white robe had suddenly been struck down in agony. Tennyson saw the arrow and now he knew a new fear. The next could well be aimed at him, he knew. And he knew that those mysterious cloaked archers who had dogged his steps from Dun Kilty and through Celtica very rarely missed what they aimed at.
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