Carleth’s body fell to the ground, the head falling from Piercollo’s grip.
The giant took a deep breath and rose, moving towards Astiana. ‘He did not hurt you?’ he asked.
‘No. Where are the others?’Inside,’ he said. ‘I think all is not well.’That is the story as Astiana told it to me. And Piercollo’s words were uncannily accurate.
I took the stairs two at a time, Raul following me. I cared nothing now for life, for in my despair I thought nothing of a future without Ilka. All that drove me was the desire to see Golgoleth die. For with his death, the city would be free.
At the top of the stairs I halted. Ahead of me was a warren of corridors and I swung to Raul. ‘Where did you last see Mace?’ I asked him.
‘We came up here and separated. I went left, but the doors were all bolted. There’s a second stair leading up to the next level – I think Mace must have taken it.’I had never been in the governor’s palace, and I struggled to remember all I had heard of it. Built some two hundred years before by one of the Highland Angostin Kings, it now housed works of art, sculptures and paintings plundered from the continent during the Oversea Wars. There was a hall containing almost two thousand paintings, some of them hundreds of years old; that was on the third level. There was a window to my left, covered by a velvet hanging. Running to it I tore the cloth loose, allowing light to spear into the gloom of the corridors.
But it was moonlight.
I moved forward towards the rising stairs. A black cloak was draped across the banister rail at the top, all that remained of a Vampyre warrior. ‘You were right,’ I told Raul. ‘Mace went this way.’ The sabre hilt was slippery with sweat and I wiped it dry on my tunic. Then I mounted the stairs. From below we could hear the relentless hammering on the doors, the creaking and the groaning of the wood.
We came to the top of the stairs and I saw Mace’s bow and quiver lying in the hallway. More than this, we heard the clash of sword-blades coming from beyond an open doorway. Before I could stop him Raul had leapt ahead of me, running to aid Mace.
But my mind was cool, my thoughts clear as ice crystals. I ran to where Mace’s bow lay and looped the quiver over my shoulder. Then taking up the bow I moved to the left of the doorway, peering round the frame. The room beyond was full of dark-cioaked warriors forming a great circle around two swordsmen. I saw Raul overpowered and dragged forward, his arms pinned behind him, and then I watched as Mace and Golgoleth circled one another. The Vampyre King was tall, wide-shouldered and
powerful, moving with a speed both unnatural and chilling. For all his great skill, Mace looked like a clumsy farmhand, his sword flailing ineffectually.
Golgoleth was toying with him, taunting him. ‘You pitiful creature. Where has your skill gone? I expected more from you.’ The hall was lit by scores of red-glassed lanterns, whose light made the scene glow like a vision of Hell.
Mace was bleeding from many cuts to his face, arms and body, but still he stood – moving warily, sword raised. I glanced up. All around the hall was a balcony and many more Vampyres were crowded there, looking down on the battle. Golgoleth attacked once more, his body a blur, his black sword lancing out like a serpent’s tongue. Mace threw himself to his right, rolling to his feet; but a fresh cut had appeared on his right cheek and the skin was flapping, blood gushing to his jerkin.
‘You worm!’ roared Golgoleth. ‘For all that you have cost me I will make you suffer. There will be no eternity in the Darkside for you. I will not make you one of us. You will know pain no mortal has ever experienced, and I will not let you die.’Talk is cheap, you ugly whoreson!’ snarled Mace, but it was a defiance born more of courage than of hope.