The Final Prophecy

‘The Final Prophecy’

Book Two of

‘The Ancient Knowledge’

By

Laura Hart

Published by

Lobo Publishing

Copyright 2012 Laura Hart

All Rights Reserved

ISBN 978-0-9570998-2-1

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Acknowledgments

Cover illustration Charli Vince

Formatted by Jo Harrison

Foreword

‘It is dangerous to be right in matters on which established authorities are wrong.’

‘As long as people believe in absurdities, they will commit atrocities.’

Voltaire

CONTENTS

Acknowledgments

Foreword

Part One – Becoming. Chapters 1 – 7

Part Two – The Scourge. Chapters 8 – 15

Part Three – Enlightenment. Chapters 16 – 19

Last Days – Chapter Twenty

Winter Solstice 2012 – Chapter Twenty-one

Part One

Becoming

Chapter One

Alice’s screams were swept away in the spinning maelstrom as the dream gate sucked her into the vortex.

Trapped in the centre of her captive mind, she fought the foul creature hijacking her soul with every atom of her being, but the Gremon’s laughter ricocheted triumphantly in the cold vacuum of her jail. The centrifugal force of the ferocious gate pinned her body to its roiling walls, restraining her with invisible bonds, forcing her to endure the demon’s searing venom boil through her veins.

The agony of the Demon Lord’s loathing blazed as twelve millennia of his memories splintered in her mind; tiny darts of bitter cruelty embedding themselves like tics, feeding on the very core of her being. Fragments of what it was, what it became and what it will become, imprinted like dark stains upon her soul.

She glimpsed Belial, the Gremon’s creator; his heart was as black as the obsidian glint in his ice cold eyes, his hatred of humankind abyssal and impenetrable.

She tasted the blood of countless humans and realm creatures cruelly savaged by the hatchling Gremon. Belial’s visceral despite was the closest thing to emotion that the beast would ever feel. The bitterness Belial festered toward his fellow Immortals corroded the last vestiges of his human soul like sulphuric acid. The Gremon was an extension of him, but he envied the creature its dearth of a cumbersome spirit, no matter how diminished his own had become.

Alice witnessed Belial’s creature birth demons from its foul body; mother and father to abominations designed to terrorise or kill. Offspring it would cheerfully murder as it would the children of Earth. Microcosms of atrocity flashed across Alice’s consciousness; infinitesimal slivers of time flaying her soul like shattering glass. Deeds so repugnant she howled with despair at the images branded into her memory.

But amongst the shards of wickedness, gems of perfect knowledge glinted like pristine diamonds: the memory of her Becoming. She grasped desperately at them, pleading for salvation, begging for her soul to be freed of the monster that slowly devoured all that was her. But the knowledge she possessed was safely locked in the deepest and most inaccessible region of her psyche; the fragments she glimpsed, merely shadows and echoes of distant dreams.

And then a soundless void snuffed the mind-shattering riot like a candle. The silence was immediately suffocating.

This was the place where present met future.

A well of renewed panic erupted in Alice’s crazed mind. NO! Please, not this!

The seething black foulness of the demon’s loathing turned to rivers of blood as the beast unleashed his vengeance upon the world. His revenge was served cold; relishing the deliciously slow and lingering demise of the weak and vulnerable humans suffering his torment.

A cold grey light filtered through the emptiness between present and future in serpentine tendrils, revealing the carnage of Earth’s catastrophic future in jagged gashes of horror laid upon horror.

Alice’s lingering wail resonated with profound desolation as her will to resist leached away like blood from an open wound. She felt her essence slipping into the maw of Oblivion; corrupted by the demon’s all-consuming poison. The beast could have all of her; she could not bear the indelible mark of it.

It would never let her live anyhow. She was powerless. Surrender to it. Just let go.

A familiar rhythm tugged at the edges of Alice’s waning consciousness. Was this the sound of her dying mind? Her personal heaven? Her valiant rescuer? The pounding drew closer. Soon she would be carried to safety. Yes. Take me home.

The beast had all of her now.

The instant of Alice’s death was swept quietly away on the rhythm of galloping hooves.

Merlin’s anguished cry had barely left his lips when he heard what sounded like rapidly approaching thunder.

Alexander, Jacob and Ruthergore’s swords chined simultaneously as they unsheathed their blades to meet whatever new abomination was heading their way, but they saw nothing more than shimmering heat-haze.

A tearful Shammerwack suddenly gasped with both mouths and pointed to an evanescent shadow materialising in the distance. No, don’t attack him! he cried, flailing his arms at the advancing men, his tail weaving frantically over his head. Lallafray clutched Shammerwack like an infant chimp clinging to its mother, her head buried in his withers, mouths whimpering and weeping in stereo. Her tail drooped with sympathetic forlorn.

The vague form Shammerwack had spotted – or more accurately, his tail spotted – grew more defined as it approached, until they could all see the magnificent creature thundering straight for the turbulent mouth of the dream gate.

Malacor! Shammerwack shouted as the black Unicorn swept past him, his golden horn glinting with motes of skittering flame.

The creature sped past them all and galloped straight at the old wizard, who had placed himself directly in the Unicorn’s path.

Out of my way, Merlin! Malacor bellowed and showed no sign of slowing.

You are too late, Malacor, don’t be a fool! Merlin hollered above the roar of the gate. He stood firm despite the half tonne of magical horseflesh rapidly descending upon him.

The Unicorn simply shortened his stride, sat back on his quarters and launched himself over Merlin’s snowy head, leaving a comfortable foot to spare. Merlin spun round to see the last of the Unicorn Kings disappear into the void after Alice and Magog.

He slumped to the dirt and gazed into the maelstrom, his hair whipping about his head like a frenzied weave of pale snakes. Malacor’s act of unfathomable lunacy had sapped the last of his strength.

I have failed her. I have failed us all. What madness will this bring forth? he murmured weakly.

Alice and young Magog were at the mercy of the gods now. If Belial’s priestess had the children . . . the game was all but over; just a matter of time before human life winked out on Earth and the Dream Realms along with them. But the Unicorn King, what was his part in this?

Shammerwack was frantic; his mutter mouth gulped air continuously whilst his witter mouth spluttered incoherently. Even his tail appeared to have lost its usually level head.

That, that was Malacor! He . . . we . . . that is to say, Alice . . . met him! At Catsuan Gorge. He was there. He spoke to Alice, I don’t know what he said to her, but she was so upset afterwards, and she . . .

He’d already roused the ancient wizard’s attention and the old sage was marching toward him, fatigue clearly forgotten. "What was that, my boy? You say Malacor met Alice?"

Shammerwack’s mutter mouth overcame its hyperventilation attack. Yes, yes. I wasn’t privy to the conversation, but they didn’t talk for long. I got the feeling that there was something very significant in the meeting, though. He waggled his twelve fingers and pulled a face. You know, when you feel that sort of . . . tingle . . . he said, searching for a better – and preferably longer – word.

His witter mouth failed, but interjected anyway. Charge! Yes, the charge that magic leaves in the air.

Varin’s shadow cast over them. Malacor would never speak of his past, Merlin, other than to say he would have vengeance. All realm creatures mourn the slaughter of the Unicorn herds. He snorted with fury and tossed his head at that. The pitiful remains of the herd take refuge in Sanctuary Forest. Mostly.

Unicorns and winged horses were, of course, cousins.

Varin heaved a long tremulous snicker. Malacor will not even tolerate mention of the genocide, he will say only that he was left alive for one reason alone, and that until he had fulfilled a purpose thrust upon him, he would never know peace.

Sarah slid a tiny hand over Varin’s shoulder and patted him gently. Tears had stripped pale rivulets down her grimy cheeks and the gentle little witch looked fragile enough to shatter.

It is rumoured that Malacor was spared only by the intervention of the Ancients. They took him as he fought to save his family, so it is said. He never forgave them for it. He’s just drifted from realm to realm for . . . for . . .

Near as dammit, ten thousand years. Ruthergore finished for her.

All turned to look at the wiry little soldier who, in true form, was casually scratching his rear.

He flinched melodramatically at the implied daggers emanating from numerous pairs of eyes. For crying out loud, how long are you lot going to keep regarding me like a death-hungry lynch mob every time I open my mouth? He placed bloodied fists on his hips and glared at them.

Varin stamped a hoof and laid his ears flat to his poll. Through bared teeth he hissed, "Because you are guilty of that genocide too!"

Ruthergore stepped defiantly toward the winged horse. "Of course I was bloody there, I’d just been snatched from my life on Earth; had my memory extinguished and was cursed into eternal servitude to a fu . . ."

Merlin thumped his staff in the dirt abruptly, startling everyone as a semi-accidental streak of white flame burst from its tip and incinerated a patch of scrub. His eyebrows had risen to familiar bushy peaks and his grin was radiant with sudden enlightenment. "Of course! Stupid old fool, I am. Malacor never even occurred to me. Hah!"

In inimitable style, Merlin simultaneously silenced and engaged his audience. They stood waiting for the punch-line.

He swivelled on his heel and marched away without another word.

Shammerwack spluttered and tutted. "Well aren’t you going to tell us, then? Merlin, where are you going. . . ?"

Merlin held his staff aloft, but kept up the pace. His bewildered companions started after him.

Get yourselves back to the outlaws’ camp. I have work to do then I’ll be in touch. Ruthergore, I suggest you accompany me before someone decides to kill you just for fun. He shouted over his shoulder.

Ruthergore pulled a face and made a crude gesture at Varin then gathered his kit and followed after Merlin, grumbling vociferously about sin and stones.

The moment he caught up with the old wizard, they vanished through one of Merlin’s secret portals.

Shammerwack threw his arms up and heaved a twin-mouthed sigh. Outlaws camp. Oh joy. Why not somewhere nice and warm with plenty of sun, juicy insects and beetles, pleasant company . . .

Company, move out! Alexander bellowed, eclipsing the garrulous Mutterwitter’s prattle. As one, Alice’s weary and battle-worn friends headed for the peace and safety of Outlaws Camp, in the heart of the deadliest swamp in the Realms.

Leona gagged as Lillian’s putrescent shadow invaded her body, contorting her mind with hideous images as it probed the pit of insane rage that had for so long remained imprisoned in her heart. The force behind Lillian’s assault was compounded by the ease with which she overcame the last vestiges of compassion left in her own black and bitter soul. Leona felt her sister’s smugness; she believed her bane had won. Distracted by the persistent guttural bark emanating from her altar room, Lillian detached herself from the ocean of loathing she’d spawned and strode away.

Leona seized the moment of her sister’s arrogance and complacency; this was the mistake she was bound to make. Easy though it was for Lillian to ignore the voice of compassion, the flip side to that was the infinite stamina and strength Leona had developed throughout twelve thousand years controlling her dark side. She laid bare her mind and let the agonising images drift into a murky, indistinguishable blur on the edge of her consciousness. The bane persisted, but now the source of its power was disconnected, it was losing influence. Leona fogged out the last of the images until her mind was able to tap into the core of her being. She felt her heart swell in response to the oppression of hatred and a spark of icy outrage arced through her. The purity of her true nature flooded her soul like a soothing balm, devouring Lillian’s hate bane as light consumes dark.

Leona knelt on the marble steps gasping for breath as the last of the poison succumbed to her indomitable spirit. Above her in the altar room, she heard the jagged crack of rapid ice formation as the soul-freezing cold of Abaddon opened its stygian maw at the centre of Lillian’s pentacle.

Lillian was preparing for the arrival of the Demon Lord. She was summoning Belial! She needed him to control his monster or she would likely end up a tasty morsel before she had a chance to kiss the Gremon’s scaly backside!

The celestial sword lay at Leona’s feet, glinting in the dim light cast by the last surviving light bulb in the battle-scarred hallway. As her eyes fell upon it, the cobalt sapphire at the centre of the hilt began to gently pulse with increasing luminesce, until the blue faded to pristine clarity and the hall was bathed in coruscating slivers of crystalline light.

Hecate’s hand.

Only once before, in her countless incarnations, had the power of the moon goddess so graced her. Leona was utterly stunned by the immensity of the phenomenon and for an aching instant she failed to understand its message.

The Moon, you idiot woman! she snapped hoarsely at herself. Grabbing up the sword, she sprinted down the stairs and out into the night. The moon’s face was blighted by a crowd of bilious, sullen clouds. Leona swung the blade tip skyward and lined her eye along the glistening edge until the thread of light stole her vision.

Sister, Mother, Daughter, Friend; eternal Companion, she whispered to the filament of undulating white fire. Grant me Hecate’s Hand this night that I may serve her wrath!

The filament flared from her eye and streaked from the blade’s tip in a bolt of electric blue, shattering the cloud cover into a shower of glistening ice crystals as the moon made bright the night. The infinite power of the celestial touch was gossamer as it embraced Leona’s slender form. Its caress as warm as Lillian’s hate bane had been freezing; this was the antithesis, the ultimate source of Leona’s Ancient Knowledge. Hecate’s Hand imbued her with the courage, strength and Earth magic she needed to take on the scourge of the Realms and his vicious master, Belial.

The Hand closed around her completely and buoyed her up until she was bathed in a sphere of blinding white. Her raven hair spiralled in the light gale in ribbons of ebony fire, her eyes aglow as they channelled the might of Hecate’s Hand.

The sphere of power emblazoned the surrounding woodland in a monochrome dance of taloned shadows cast by naked trees. And then it was gone.

Leona lowered the celestial sword and closed her eyes against the rush of darkness. She remained motionless, allowing her body a moment to adjust to the occupation. Drawing a deep invigorating breath, she felt the energy flow through her veins and flood her muscles with inhuman strength. She whipped the bejewelled sword around in a tight figure of eight, swung her elbow back and over and poised the gleaming weapon, tip forward, above her head. A little routine she picked up in Japan about a thousand or so years back.

That might come in handy, she muttered and moved swiftly back to the freezing manor. The entire hallway was encrusted in glistening ice crystals; had it not heralded the boss-man of hell it would have been quite beautiful. Leona sent a pulse of heat through her body to the soles of her feet and the ice beneath them instantly turned to steam. Wouldn’t do to fall on her backside at a crucial moment. She sprinted silently up the stairs, save the tiniest hiss of steam accompanying each step. The closer she drew to the top of the stairs the more certain she became that Lillian’s work was almost done; the stench of rotting meat assailed her acute senses and she mustered supreme effort to keep from gagging. Stealthily she approached the door to the altar room and flattened herself against the wall to listen.

Lillian’s voice was growing hoarse with monotonous chant. Be-li-al, Be-li-al, Be-li-al . . . when came a roar of exquisite pain from the portal; Belial suffered the torment of his forbidden passage between dimensions. The inducements the Ancients created in order to deter the self-appointed anti-god from resurfacing must have been unimaginably severe to have kept him prisoner for so many thousands of years. His visit would still only be brief, a few minutes perhaps, before his incorporeal form would be dragged back to Hades. Lillian had to synchronise the arrival of both monsters to the minute, which could only mean the demon Lord of the Realms was also about to make an entrance.

Leona felt her heart flutter. Despite the power she now commanded, she also needed to time things just right; she would strike the moment Lillian extracted the demon from Alice. A moment too early or late and she risked losing the child in a fiery battle. She raised the sword across her chest and kept her breathing slow and low as a rumbling tremor announced the spinning vortex of the dream gate. The rumble grew in ferocity, vibrating through the granite walls of the crumbling manor until Leona feared the house would topple. A corkscrewing whirlwind very nearly sucked her into the altar room. She gripped the door jamb with all her might and flattened against the wall, bracing herself against the irresistible pull.

Flashes of brilliant white arced through the crack of the door, and with a final resounding roar, the gate closed. Leaves and light debris caught in the furore fluttered to the marble floor like a plume of thrown confetti. And then absolute silence.

The harsh grate of Belial’s voice cracked it like stone on glass. Beloved, you have done well. My son dwells inside the body of this waif, but you must summon him forth, the child’s body grows cold.

Leona’s heart crashed. Alice is dead?

Lillian’s voice now, smug and simpering at the same time. My Lord, the life spark has only just this moment left her.

Then be quick, Priestess. Belial urged.

Lillian began her incantation to separate the beast from Alice’s essence before it left her forever. Leona could do nothing but wait, her heart pounding with fury and grief. Lillian could bring Alice back so easily, yet she chose a quick extraction from her barely dead body. The window of opportunity for Leona’s rescue plan was diminishing rapidly. She drew a deep, slow breath and focused her newly acquired power, centring it at the solar plexus and radiating it outward, so that each of her limbs received equal strength, speed and agility. Grasping the sword firmly, she stepped around the door and quickly surveyed the scene before her, steeling herself to maintain reserve at the sight of Alice’s tiny body lying in the centre of the crystalline pentacle. She directed a lightening strike of ice white fire at Lillian’s recently awoken changeling demon, slicing its ugly head like a hot knife through butter. There was no sign of her altar guardians; they’d probably been dispatched by the earthen warriors. Lillian stood at the Northern point of the stygian pentacle, her black gown clinging to her curves and purling to the ice-laden marble floor in oily swathes. She looked like a writhing cobra, which was about right. There was no sign of Ashabath, but Leona couldn’t be sure if Lillian had sent the demon back to the underworld or on another death-reaping mission. One less monster to worry about at the present moment, at least. And then her eyes fell upon Belial; he occupied the body of the poor soul Lillian drained of blood for her protection mantle. The waxy pallor of the boy’s corpse suited its new occupant admirably and the cadaver smiled evilly as her eyes met his.

Leona! Belial whispered with mock delight, So glad you could join us, my dear. You’re looking as gorgeous as ever, I see.

Lillian was momentarily distracted from her task, but had reached the crucial passage of her summoning and could not stop. She need say nothing, though; her expression of absolute boiling fury said it all. Leona allowed herself a slight smile; if ever there was a moment when Lillian would have loved to spit one of her tirades of profanity, it was now. A movement caught her eye and she snapped up a hand to repel the flight of poison barbs Belial spat her way. He merely tested her and his rasping laughter was supremely annoying. There was nothing she could do to destroy him; only the body he occupied, but that could take considerably more punishment than her own, given that it was already dead.

As Lillian screeched the last phrase of her incantation, Belial’s laughter turned to a feral snarl. He sped across the altar room at Leona; the cadaver popping and cracking as dead set limbs were forced into action. Belial’s unearthly black eyes hungered for a real kill, his bloodlust and fury spewing forth from the dead boy’s mouth like sewage outflow. As Belial reached for her, the cadaver’s fingers turned to a fistful of spitting serpents, their bodies elongating and heads enlarging to monstrous proportions as they whipped through the air.

Leona’s reaction was lightening fast and with a deft swipe of Hecate’s blade two snake heads dropped to the floor, reforming to dead fingertips as they fell. The remaining three abominations snapped and hissed just out of reach of Hecate’s vengeful blade, their bodies weaving and swaying in an attempt to distract her. Belial spat the cadaver’s teeth and five poison-tipped barbs shot towards her. Leona snatched them from the air with her free hand whilst slicing and twisting the heavy sword with such ease and fluidity, the weapon appeared a shimmering extension of her arm. Belial was still toying with her, diverting her attention from Lillian’s task.

Anger fuelled the celestial fire burning in her chest and with a furious roar she leapt through the space between her and Belial’s pallid host. Twisting her torso like a falling cat, she swung the sword and carved the snake-bearing arm from its body.

Go back to your pit, Belial! she screeched as the rank cadaver ducked out from under her and spewed black fire from its foul jaws. The Ancients will punish you for this!

The suppurating carcass laughed; a gurgling sloshy sound as its festering flesh yielded to corruption. Nooo, Priestess, it is I who will punish the Ancients. Punish and banish!

A sudden bolt of infernal agony scorched Leona’s side and she wheeled round to face the direction of its source. The demon, Ashabath, roared lividly as it rose from the pages of Belial’s book of shadows resting on Lillian’s altar. The beast’s scorpion pincers dripped with Leona’s blood and it lapped a sinuous black tongue in anticipation of more. Leona sent a tendril of Hecate’s power to seal the wound. Belial’s eldritch laughter echoed about the chamber in chattering waves, infuriating Leona beyond the reach of pain. With a growl that emanated from the pit of her gut, she wielded Hecate’s blade in a flash of impossible speed.

An instant later and the waxen head of Belial’s host dropped to the marble floor with a dull thud. It didn’t stop Belial from laughing, however, and the boy’s head spun like a perverse spinning top, its blue-black lips curled in a lupine snarl. She kicked the head aside and wheeled on the emerging Ashabath just as the beast’s gleaming ebony pincers snapped together a hair’s breadth from her own neck.

The huge half man, half scorpion broke free of Belial’s foul collection of shadows. Lillian stepped into the fray and lassoed Leona’s free arm with a fizzing whip of blue fire. She snapped her fingers at Ashabath and the beast’s vast claw grabbed Hecate’s blade. Enough meddling, sister, now you get to watch the Demon Lord devour this whelp before you join her in the Underworld!

For an agonising instant Leona was suspended between the two abominations in a pose of crucifixion, her captors gloating as the disembodied head of Belial’s host gurgled its approval. Ashabath jerked on the sword to pull it from Leona’s grasp, but the celestial meld would have none of it. The mere touch of the damned creature enraged the power enlivening Leona’s body and a sliver of moon fire erupted from the sword tip. It rose above the demon’s hideous head in a gyring sphere of crystalline fury before exploding into a cascade of lethal dust. The hellish hybrid screamed and writhed as the glistening shower engulfed its body; consuming the arachnid’s armour with voracious fervour.

Leona easily slid the blade from Ashabath’s crumbling grip and sliced it through Lillian’s lasso. Her repugnant sibling disgorged a vent of sizzling profanity and retreated back to the gelid confines of her circle of dark power to re-arm. Leona marched purposefully toward the pentagram her flawless face set hard with grim portent.

Alice comes with me, Lillian. The Gremon can accompany your putrid lover back to . . . Her breath caught in her throat as Alice’s fragile little corpse convulsed demonically and sat upright like a marionette worked by invisible strings. The child’s pale, angelic face darkened malevolently and her eyes flicked open, revealing the putrescent yellow orbs of her parasitic possessor.

It glared at Leona and a crooked smirk blighted Alice’s lips. She tasted sooo sweet, witch. It flicked Alice’s tongue over sallow lips. "Like honey!" It cackled then, and the sound of the Gremon’s voice emanating from Alice’s cooling body seared like a hot knife through Leona’s raging heart.

As crushing guilt and grief overcame rage, the sustenance of Hecate’s celestial fire was momentarily snuffed. In that instant Belial’s host leapt to dead feet and locked its arms about her, pinning hers. Lillian seized the opportunity and snatched Hecate’s blade from Leona’s faltering hand with her fiery lasso. It dropped to the ice-encrusted floor with a steely clang and fused itself into the marble, spurning Lillian’s attempted theft.

Frozen in the glacial embrace of horror, Leona observed in breathless silence as the scourge of the Dream Realms extracted himself from Alice’s pitiful remains. The dead child’s jaws opened to unnatural proportions, her blue lips stretching to knife-edged seams, deathly pallid eyes bulging under the pressure of the monster forcing its way out of her frail body. The demon birthed in a mucous-covered cocoon; slug-like and squirming in its glutinous restraints.

Alice’s empty corpse flopped to the ice-laden floor soundlessly.

Leona’s heart erupted with fury, fired by the excruciating agony of loss. Stomach churning with revulsion, she snapped out of her petrified stupor with a resounding, enraged roar. Twisting in the grip of her headless captor, she sent the body spinning into the altar room wall with such brutal force its remaining bones shattered with a sickening crunch. The disembodied head bellowed with frustration as the rest of Belial’s host twitched uselessly. Hecate’s blade leapt into Leona’s hand, and snarling like a feral hound, she advanced on the emerging demon with teeth bared.

She bounced off the invisible boundary of Lillian’s closed circle.

Lillian’s shrill laughter reverberated about the marble walls in cacophonous peels. "The executor of the Final Prophecy has arrived, Leona. And isn’t he glorious!"

A glistening black talon sliced through the grotesque membrane constricting the beast, and a scaly reptilian hand slithered from the gelatinous constraints.

Leona grasped the celestial sword with both hands and thrust at the circle of dark power with the insuperable force of ancient, unrequited rage. She pounded the sword tip at the ethereal barrier, over and over; a gush of hot tears coursing her cheeks as she screamed, "Alice! Alice! Alice!" whilst the grotesque metamorphosis of the child’s murderer unfurled before her stinging eyes.

Lillian whirled about the emerging monster laughing and clapping her hands appreciatively as the demon forced out its infernal head and bellowed triumphantly.

Leona shut out the taunting lest it undermine her determination; she heard only the chining of Hecate’s vengeful blade against the eldritch circle and the harsh rasp of her own breath. Her heart thrummed like a toiling engine, beating out a steadily mounting rhythm. As it rose and fell with the thrust of her sword, Leona felt a powerful presence piercing the veil between dimensions; a pure spirit bearing implacable, pitiless resolve. And then she heard it; the thundering hooves and heaving breath of a galloping horse.

Lillian plainly felt it too and ceased her maniacal dance, falling silent as she sought to determine the direction of the approaching storm. The demon finally heaved itself from the sticky cocoon and like a newly hatched insect began pumping unearthly blood about its scaly body; gradually inflating its form. For the moment it was as impotent and harmless as a newborn babe, but the depraved monster would not be defenceless for long.

The pounding of invisible hooves grew closer, the rhythm echoing about the altar room in ominous waves. Leona continued to chip away at Lillian’s circle; whatever approached was not another adversary, she could only hope that Merlin managed to send help, though such a thing had never been possible before. No creature could pass between dimensions without a host . . . Magog, perhaps? But his effigy was back at Sunday Cottage; he should be there if he too had made it back through the dream gate. As she glared through the invisible barrier, she saw the shimmering outline of her potential ally thundering into physical form.

Malacor, the Unicorn King! And upon his back, riding like a seasoned pro, Alice’s spirit!

Lillian screamed furiously, her attention split between the hatchling demon and the Unicorn King descending upon her with overwhelming force. As Malacor’s magnificence fully materialised, his golden horn ablaze with magical fury, he reared up and smashed his hooves into Lillian’s invisible shield. It shattered like thin glass and dissolved away in a wisp of black smoke, razed to oblivion by the Seraph’s touch.

Leona wasted no time, her enlivened senses reacting to the urgency of the moment. She darted across the boundary of the circle, leapt over the now snarling demon and scooped Alice’s body from the ice-laden floor. Malacor turned on Lillian, who backed away uncertainly, her feline gaze darting back and forth between emerging abomination and crusading hero as she calculated an apparently untenable position. The Unicorn swung his powerful quarters and lashed out at her, narrowly missing her head as she prudently dropped to the deck.

‘Climb aboard, Priestess,’ he bellowed in Leona’s mind, just as the Gremon rose from the marble floor in a towering, spitting rage of lashing talons and razor-sharp teeth. Malacor laid flat his ears and levelled the tip of his gleaming horn at the beast’s snarling visage whilst Leona hefted Alice’s body onto his broad back and swung effortlessly aboard.

The Gremon, not quite yet his lethal self, growled and hissed; his sallow fangs dripping with glutinous saliva. Take the pathetic corpse, if you must, Seraph! He roared at Malacor. It served its purpose!

The disembodied head still hosting Belial’s black soul, roared in cadence with the emerging beast, his fury and frustration echoing about the icy chamber like wailing sirens.

Malacor snorted derisively and without further delay launched himself clear of the vile circle.

And then they were gone.

Nothing remained but a faint hammering of galloping hooves as the gods’ champion vanished into the ether.

Chapter 2

Merlin and Ruthergore ate ravenously of bread, meat and fruit, washing it down with copious pints of alcohol-free ale. Ruthergore had naturally balked at the ‘alcohol-free’ aspect until he’d tasted it. Merlin’s sorcery replaced the effect of alcohol with something less debilitating, but just as gratifying; his unarguable reasoning, that in spite of their need to over-indulge, he saw no point in adding a hangover to their woes.

Doodling his finger in a pile of fine salt, Merlin heaved his hundredth weary sigh of the afternoon and pulled absently at his grimy beard. We need to know more about Malacor, he is instru . . . He paused to extract a fragment of Razorgoth claw from the tangled mess under his chin. He’s instrumental in the Ancients’ plans for Alice and Magog. He dropped the claw splinter into a crucible and muttered, That might be useful . . . He resumed foraging and sighed again, deep in thought.

Ruthergore belched and quickly pardoned himself; Merlin’s brew was no less combustible in the gut than its alcoholic counterpart. The Gremon wanted the Unicorn’s invisibility magic, he said and belched again. "But it vanished when the Unicorns died, ironically. It drove him nuts. He captured many and cut off their horns whilst they were still alive. The magic still worked for a time after the beasts . . . er, Unicorns, were parted from their horns, but they always died within a couple of hours of it being removed. The invisibility magic died with them, leaving just the healing and other useless powers the horns