Always Forever (67 page)

All eyes turned to Church. "It does."

"Then this is what is suggested. There will be three lines of attack into the
city, until the Heart of Shadows' location is established. I will lead the drive from the north. My brother, whom you know as Lugh, will bring our forces from
the west. And the Master will take Wave Sweeper along the river into the centre
of the city."

"And that will be the most important," Church said, "because it will take
us directly to one of the entrances to the Fomorii lair."

Nuada's gaze was incisive. "You have access to secrets, Brother of Dragons."

Church gave nothing away.

Tom stepped forward. "May I speak?"

"Your exalted position is recognised, True Thomas."

"Then I would suggest the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons divide into
teams to ensure the best chance of success. Ruth and Ryan will join you in the
attack from the north."

Ruth went cold. Surreptitiously, she glanced over at Veitch, but his gaze
was fixed firmly on Nuada.

"Shavi and Laura will come from the west with Lugh," Tom continued.
"And I and the Bone Inspector will accompany Church through the secret tunnels. Though he is powerful, he is also young, and we have the experience to
guide him through the darkest turns."

Nuada nodded. "Your views are acceptable, True Thomas."

Laura smirked and whispered to Church behind her hand, "Fun day out
with the senior citizen club for you, boy. Hope you don't get in any fights or
there'll be Zimmer frames all over the place."

"Use the Quadrillax wisely," Nuada said. "You have already drawn the
Sword from the stone of disbelief. Now is the time to fire it with your heart. And
the others-each must be used at the right time, in the correct manner, with the
full weight of your essence behind you, and even then victory is not assured.
Much death and suffering lies ahead. This is a period of pain that will be remembered when the stars go out. Go well, Brothers and Sisters of Dragons. Your
world turns with you."

They left the tent to prepare themselves for what lay ahead. The joy of their initial reunion had dissipated, to be replaced by an oppressive sense of foreboding.
There were no jokes or smiles; they were lost to their own thoughts as they wrestled with their secret fears or searched for the depths of strength that would get
them through the coming hours.

Veitch was the last to leave. Before he had gone ten paces from the tent,
Nuada called him back.

"We have seen your sacrifice," the god said, motioning to Witch's bandaged
wrist. "I know only too well the pain of such a wound." He removed a glove that covered an ornately crafted silver hand that looked like it had come from some
futuristic robot. "The scars go much deeper than the skin."

Nuada's eyes felt like they were going right through him. "I had to do it to
bring my mate back. I'm not bitter about it."

"Not bitter, no." Nuada smiled knowingly. "Still, I understand your heart,
Brother of Dragons. Listen, then: if you are to be effective, you will need a new
hand. Would you like that?"

"Can you do it?"

Nuada indicated the silver hand again. "We are gods. We can do anything."

The tent was the deepest red, so that within even the air had the hint of blood.
It was enormous, bigger even than the marquee where the war council had met,
with numerous annexes and branching passages so it was impossible to see all of
it from one view. Nuada presented Veitch to Dian Cecht, who wore robes of
scarlet. He carried himself with bearing, his features as aristocratic as his
manner: a high forehead above a Roman nose, sharp, grey eyes and gunmetal
hair tied in a ponytail.

"We have little time," Nuada said, as Dian Cecht gently unfastened the
material on Veitch's wrist stump.

"It is a simple operation on a Fragile Creature." Dian Cecht examined the
burnt flesh, then shrugged and turned away, motioning for Veitch to follow.

They came to a room set with several tables. Cruel-looking silver instruments were laid out on small trays next to each table. Dian Cecht nodded for
Veitch to lie down, then busied himself at a large cabinet at one end. He
returned with a wooden box inlaid with gold, which he placed on the tray next
to Veitch. Inside, on a velvet inlay, was a silver hand the exact replica of the one
Nuada wore. "A spare," Dian Cecht said with a smile.

Veitch felt a faint flutter of excitement; the thought of being whole once
more was seductive. Dian Cecht gave him a foul-tasting potion to drink, which
instantly made him sleepy. After a moment he was drifting in and out of hallucinatory waking dreams, filled with strange, disturbing images, including one
of a black and a white spider fighting furiously over him. He was vaguely aware
of Dian Cecht working on his wrist with a long knife with three rotating blades;
the smell of blood filled his nostrils with surprising potency. A glimmer of silver
in the corner of his eye told him the hand was about to be fitted. He watched
with the curious detachment of a drug trip as Dian Cecht placed it against his
stump, now soaked with blood.

At the instant the blood touched the pristine silver, three arms snapped out
of the hand and poised erect; on each one was a row of sharp silver spikes. Veitch only had a second to consider what was going to happen next before the arms
suddenly sprung down, driving the spikes deep into the bone and muscle of his
wrist. Even through the sedation, he screamed in agony, but there was more pain
to follow: something within the hand was burrowing into his arm, wrapping its
way around ligaments and tissue, bonding with nerves and veins.

Witch's throat grew raw from screaming and a moment later he blacked out.

Church and Ruth stood behind their tent, embracing each other silently. The
weight of what they wanted to say was too great, crushing them silent. Ruth
blinked off tears as she pulled away. She forced a smile.

"We'll be meeting again soon," Church said gently. "In the hideous lair of
the one-eyed god of death. How about that for a one-off?"

"Oh, very romantic. Every girl's dream."

"At least you'll never forget it."

Neither could bring themselves to discuss the possibility that they might
not see each other again; the occasion called for sweeping optimism and hope
and faith.

They pulled away, ready to meet the others, but Ruth turned and caught
Church's arm. "Be careful," she said with a quiet intensity that moved him.

Tom poked his head round the corner of the tent. "For God's sake, get a
move on! They're not going to hold up the end of the world for you."

The others were waiting quietly. Veitch looked pale and drained, but his
new hand was a source of wonder and he appeared proud of it. The others were
not so sure. "What did they demand in return for that?" Tom asked harshly.
When Veitch told him nothing, he said, "I'm very disappointed in you," before
walking away.

"Just be careful, Ryan," Church said to him. "They can't be trusted. And
they're not known for their charity."

"'Course I'll be careful." Veitch couldn't help examining the hand in the
light. "I'm whole again. That's what matters." He was patently oblivious to the
foreboding that filled the rest of them.

At that time, though, they couldn't hold it against him. They hugged in
turn-even Veitch and Tom. They knew each other well enough not to need to
say anything more.

Once they were all on their horses, Church couldn't part without adding
something. "This is what it's all been leading to, all that pain and hardship and
suffering. We've been to hell and back and we've come through it. Of all the
people who could have been here at this point, I'm glad it's you, all of you.
You're the best there is, and I'm proud to be one of you."

Veitch looked to the horizon, his cheeks flushed. "Yeah, well, we're not
going to let you down, boss. Death or glory, and all that."

"Just glory," Laura corrected.

In the moments before they departed, Church found himself turning over the wild
parade of events that had led them to that place. At the start it had seemed so
simple: a straight fight between good and evil for the sake of humanity. Instead,
they had found themselves probing the very mysteries of existence, travelling
through worlds where reality and illusion intermingled until it was impossible to
tell what was real and what was not. There had been so much hardship, pain and
death on every side, yet, ironically, it had been the best time of his life. He had
become a better person because of it, although he knew he still had a way to go.

Now it was back to being a simple fight once more: humanity against all
the alien powers that were attempting to deny its destiny. And all to be decided
in two short days. He hoped they were up to the obligation that had been placed
on their shoulders.

They rode over a slight rise to see a massive army spread out across the countryside in the wan October sunlight. As the call went out somewhere at the head,
a charge of excitement ran through all of them. A grin jumped like wildfire from
one to the other. After the weariness of all the buildup, the culmination came
like a jolt of energy. Veitch gave a triumphant yell and then they spurred their
horses to join the others, lost to the pump of the blood in their heads.

When they were finally in motion, it looked like a sea of gold was sweeping
across the countryside towards the capital. Within it, Church and the others felt
enveloped in a dreamy, yellow haze, where figures and horses faded into the
background, to be replaced by an amorphous feeling of wonder.

The journey passed in a blur, faster than they could ever have galloped on
normal horses. They only slowed when London hove into view, and in that
instant all brightness drained from them. In the centre of the city, the monstrous
black tower rose up, its summit lost in the clouds that swirled continually overhead. Greasy black smoke lapped up towards them from the fires that burned all
around. There were things flying, and things moving on the ground, but
Church didn't focus on any of them.

All he could think of was the prophecy of him watching a burning city that
had haunted his nights since his visit to the watchtower between the worlds. It
had felt like the ultimate in desolation, and as he sat there, watching the scene
for real for the first time, he understood how true that feeling had been.

espite all they had seen, Laura and Shavi were still overwhelmed by the
incongruous sight of an army of otherworldly beings trooping along the
M4, where tourist buses and cars and articulated lorries had once trundled
bumper to bumper. Occasionally they passed an abandoned vehicle, windows
smeared in thick dust, that only added to the sense of dislocation.

There had been a brief flurry of activity as they came into London past the
now-silent Heathrow Airport. A group of Fomorii had attacked, shrieking and
howling, but it had been half-hearted and directionless, and the attackers had
drifted off once their casualties had started to mount. The Tuatha De Danann
were armed with a terrifying array of weapons constructed by Goibhniu and his
brothers in their secret smithies, some of which could deal death at a great distance, but it did not appear that this show of strength was the cause of the
retreat. Many of the Fomorii had disappeared into the houses that lined the
motorway, while the flying Night Walkers had retreated into the bank of thick
clouds.

"I expected greater defiance," Baccharus said as the road wound past
Osterley towards Brentford. "They will not allow us to drive directly into the
heart of their nest, where their most sacred thing resides."

The atmosphere didn't help the growing apprehension. When the wind
blew in the wrong direction, Shavi and Laura had to cover their mouths and
noses with scarves to keep out the choking smoke filled with sickening chemical undertones. It was cold, too, the sun mostly obscured by the clouds; they
were wearing several layers of borrowed clothes beneath their old jackets.

The fires blazing near to the motorway brought little warmth, but cast a
hellish red glow across the empty houses, shops and business premises. Homes
stood with doors torn off and windows smashed. In some the roof had caved in,
while in the worst places entire streets had been demolished. Although many
areas appeared relatively untouched, it was almost impossible to imagine the
Fomorii occupation, and how terribly the residents must have suffered.

Shavi continually scanned the buildings on either side, until Laura said,
"Can't you do something? You're supposed to be the big magician."

"Any abilities I might have are shamanic. I prefer a quiet space to meditate,
something to put me into the right frame of mind."

"You set all those animals on the Bone Inspector at Rosslyn Chapel. Can't
you send an army of ... I don't know, badgers, on ahead?"