‘How long till the dawn?’ I asked.
Mace stared up at the sky. ‘Four hours. Maybe five.’The first of the Undead reached the top of the battlements. Drawing my dagger I thrust it at the blackened face. As the blade touched the decaying skin, the creature’s hold on the stone loosened and it fell. A second appeared and Mace beheaded it with a savage cut. Still more and more reached the tower. Unarmed, Piercollo took hold of one Undead warrior, throwing him back over the parapet. Wulf, short sword in hand, moved back and forth across the tower, plunging his blade into Undead bodies.
Piercollo swept up a rusted sword and clove it through the rib-cage of a tall skeleton, but the creature moved on as if nothing had happened. Ilka ran in, the shining silver sabre sweeping across the skeleton’s back. Instantly it crumbled to the battlements.
I do not know how long we struggled and fought, for time seemed to drag by ever more slowly as we tired. Mace was indefatigable, his shining sword a blur of light as he darted across the tower. But eventually the attack slowed and then faltered. I risked a glance over the battlements, but could see no more dark shapes clinging to the walls.
The graveyard was also still, the churned earth unmoving now.
Some corpses still lay on the tower, and these we threw over the walls. The skeleton that had been there when we arrived, we let be. In ages past he had barred the door against an attack and had died there, lost and alone, his flesh devoured by carrion birds, his bones white and clean. It seemed right somehow to let him lie.
On the ramparts below the corpse warriors still gathered, huddled in a silent mass, faces staring up at us.
Cataplas moved out into the open by the graveyard, a tall, slender figure. Looking up, he saw me. ‘You are in bad company, Owen!’ he called, his voice pleasant as always.
‘You vile creature!’ I stormed. ‘How dare you say that? I at least stand alongside men of courage – not torturers, like Azrek. You disgust me!’There is no need for rudeness,’ he admonished me. ‘You are an Angostin. How is it that the son of Aubertain could seek the friendship of a murdering peasant, a known robber and rapist?’I was astonished. Here was a sorcerer leading an army of the Undead, daring to speak to me of manners. I stared down at him. He was too far away for me to be able to see the wispy beard and the sad grey eyes, but the robe was the same, faded velvet trimmed with gold. ‘The company I keep is my own affair, Cataplas,’ I called out. ‘Now say what you have to say, for I do not wish this conversation to last a moment longer than necessary.’As you wish,’ he replied, no trace of anger in his tone. ‘You seek to thwart me in my quest for knowledge, though for what purpose I cannot ascertain. I have two now in my possession, the third I will find. Nothing you or your band of petty cut-throats can do will stop me. And what will you do with the last should you find it before me? You cannot use its power. The three need to be together. You are a magicker, Owen, with little gift for sorcery. What is your purpose in opposing me?’I could not fathom the riddle of his words, but I answered as if I understood his every phrase. ‘I oppose you because you are evil, Cataplas. Perhaps you always were.’Evil? A concept invented by Kings to keep the peasants in order. There is only knowledge, Owen. Knowledge is power. Power is right. But I will not debate with you. I see now that you are no threat. Have you yet found a god to follow?’Not yet,’ I told him.
‘Then find one swiftly – and send up your prayers, for you will meet him soon.’He raised his arm and I watched the fireball grow upon his palm, then soar into the sky towards us.
Jarek Mace leapt to the battlements, bow bent and arrow aimed at the sorcerer.