The priest approached Antikas. ‘A long time ago there
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was a shrine here. The remains of the altar can still be found at the rear of the cellar. Great and holy spells were once cast here. They cannot enter.’
Antikas sheathed his sabre. ‘What are they?
‘The Entukku. Mindless spirits who live to feed. Some say they are born from the souls of the evil dead. I do not know whether that be true. But they swim in the air all around us now, like sharks, feasting on the dark emotions of the possessed. Usa is a feeding ground, and faces extinction.’
‘What can be done, priest?’
‘Done? Nothing.’
Antikas swung on the man, grabbing his white robes at the neck and hauling him close. ‘There is always something!’ he hissed. ‘ So think!’
The priest sighed. Antikas released him. ‘Are you a believer?’ asked the priest.
‘I believe in my skills and my sabre.’
The priest stood for a moment, staring out into the darkness. ‘You cannot kill the Demon Lord,’ he said, ‘for he is immortal. You could destroy the host body, but he would find another. And his strength is growing. You saw the mob. A few days ago the Entukku could merely inspire men to acts of violence. Skanda’s death gave them the ability to possess hosts utterly. How can you fight such power with a sabre? Were you to step outside this door the demons would descend upon you and then the great Antikas Karios would be running with the mob, screaming and killing.’
Antikas considered his words. ‘That may be so, priest,’ he said, at last, ‘but you say his power is derived from the murder of kings. What happens if he fails to kill the third?’
‘How can he fail? Who can withstand demons?’
Antikas stepped in close to the man. The words he used were softly spoken, but the priest blanched. ‘If I hear another negative phrase from you I will hurl you from this window, and out into the night. Do you understand me?’
‘In the name of mercy . . . !’ wailed the priest. Antikas cut him short.
‘I am not known as a merciful man, priest. Now answer the question. What if the third king eludes the demons?’
‘I am not sure,’ answered the priest. ‘The power he is using is derived from the previous sacrifices. Such power, though great, is finite. If he does not complete the third sacrifice in time then he will – I believe – be drawn back into his own world.’
‘What do you mean, in time?’
‘The pattern of the heavens is the clue. There are times when the strength of a spell is made immeasurably more powerful if cast with the right conjunction of planets. I believe this to be the case now.’
‘And how long does that give us?’
‘That is hard to estimate, for I am no astrologer. But no more than a month. That is for sure.’
Canta returned from his hiding place upstairs. He and the man by the fire up-ended a table, lifting it into place against the shattered window. Antikas lit several lanterns. ‘What are you doing?’ asked Canta, fearfully.
‘They cannot pass the portals of the tavern,’ said Antikas, ‘so let us have some light.’ He gestured to the priest to join him and returned to the table. ‘I need to get to my horse before dawn,’ he said. ‘Have you a spell to aid me?’
The priest shook his head. ‘My skills were not suited to magick.’
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‘What then, pray, are your skills?’
‘I am a healer.’
Antikas cursed, then lapsed into thought. They were silent for several minutes. Then the swordsman glanced up. ‘You say this place is holy. What makes it so?’
‘I told you. It was once a shrine.’
‘Yes, yes. But what remains here to keep it holy. Was a spell cast?’
‘Yes, many spells. They are held in the stone of the walls, and the wood of the beams.’
‘Therefore, if we were to move the shrine to another place, that would also be holy?’
‘I believe so.’
‘Come with me,’ ordered Antikas, rising and lifting one of the lanterns from its wall bracket. Together the two men moved through to the back of the tavern. Finding the door to the cellar Antikas moved down the steps. It was cold below ground, and he threaded his way past barrels of beer, wine and spirit. ‘Where is the altar?’ he asked.