From far away I could hear a voice calling me. It was irritating, like the buzz of an angry insect. I tried to shut my mind to it, but already the warmth and comfort were drifting away. Angry now, I moved’my head. The cold stone rasped against my ear. I groaned and awoke, but the voice remained.
‘Beware, Owen! You are in peril!’Opening my eyes, I saw the image of Megan’s face floating before me, shimmering in the darkness. This was the Megan I knew, old and yet unbending. I blinked and yawned, my body slow to function. ‘Awake, Owen!’ she ordered me. My mouth was dry and I pushed myself to my knees, realizing that a powerful Sleep spell had been laid upon me. Swinging my head I saw that the others were sleeping heavily, sprawled by the dying fire.
Megan disappeared as I got to my feet. The stars were no longer shining, the sky was dark with cloud which sped by with unbelievable speed. I looked out into the night but there were no trees, only a rolling mist which swirled around the cabin.
‘Mace!’ I shouted, stumbling towards him. ‘Wake up!’ Grabbing his shoulder, I shook him savagely. His eyes opened dreamily, then shut again. Hauling him up, I slapped his face. Once. Twice. His eyes snapped open.
‘What in the devil. . . ?’Sorcery! Wake the others!’He rolled to his feet, snatching up his sword. As it slid from the scabbard it was shining, like moonlight trapped in crystal. I took a deep breath, gathering myself for the coming attack, trying to calm my mind, preparing it for whatever enchantment I could muster. Wulf awoke next and then Piercollo, Raul, the brothers and Scrymgeour.
But of Ilka and Astiana there was no sign.
The sound of chanting came from the mist, echoing around the cabin. At first there seemed no meaning within the noise, but riowly a single word became clear within the chant.
‘Golgoleth! Golgoleth! Golgoleth!’Raul had his own sword drawn but I moved alongside him, saying, That blade is useless against the foes we face.’ Wulf had drawn both his short swords and I took one from him, handing the glittering weapon to the astonished EarL Mace tossed his spare knife to Scrymgeour and we waited for the attack.
Black-cloaked shapes were moving in the mist and the chanting continued – low and insistent, sinister and threatening.
‘It is only noise,’ Mace pointed out. I nodded.
The mist slowly cleared. But there were no trees, no forest, no sky.
The ruined cabin stood now within a great, grey hall.
A hooded figure was seated upon a white throne, which could have been of ivory but was more likely, I considered, to be shaped and worked from bone. Around him stood many soldiers, their faces covered by dark helms, curved swords in their hands. One of the soldiers approached the cabin entrance and lifted clear his helm. His face was pale and bloodless, his eyes dark, and when he spoke elongated canines gleamed white in his lipless mouth.
‘Surrender the skull!’ he said, his voice cold.
‘This is a Hall of the Dead,’ I whispered to Mace. ‘He is . . .’I know what he is,’ snapped Mace, his gaze locked on the Vampyre’s.
‘Return it!’ echoed the order.
‘Come and take it!’ Mace told him.
We were standing with our backs to the hearth, bright swords in our hands. But then the thought came. If we were truly in a Hall of the Dead, then we had been drawn from our bodies. We were souls, not flesh. And in that instant I realized something else.
The cabin could not exist here!
‘Form a circle!’ I shouted, spinning on my heel, my dagger ready.
The walls of the cabin dissolved and a score of dark shapes rushed in. The brothers Ciarhan and Cearas had been placed behind us, in what we had hoped was a position of safety. Dark blades plunged into them and they fell. Wulf was the first to react; he charged at the attackers, his silver blade slashing through them. I leapt to join him with my dagger raised.
The Vampyres fell back, dismayed. I glanced down to see if the