The Nadir defenders returned to the wall, taking up bow and spear and sending shaft after shaft into the milling men.

The Knights of Blood broke and ran.

The little Nadir leapt down from the wall and walked away without a word.

Miriel approached Angel. 'You should sit down. Your face is the colour of snow.'

'I've never known such a fear,' he admitted.

'But you didn't run,' she pointed out.

Ignoring the compliment he gazed after the Nadir shaman. 'I take it that was Kesa Khan. He doesn't waste a lot of time on conversation, does he?'

She smiled. 'He's a tough old man, but he's exhausted. That spell will have weakened him more than you could possibly know.'

Senta joined them. 'We can't hold this place,' he said. "They almost broke through this morning, twice. Only the Source knows how we held them off.'

A cry went up from one of the defenders. Senta swung to see hundreds of Gothir warriors charging into the pass. Drawing his swords he ran back to the wall.

'He's right,' said Angel. 'Talk to the old man! We must find another place.' Then he too ran to join the defenders.

Bodalen followed the torch-carrying Gracus deep into the bowels of the castle, through endless corridors and down stairways of metal. Everything was twisted, unnatural, and a low humming filled the air, causing Bodalen's head to pound.

Behind the tall Drenai came the other eight Brotherhood warriors, grim silent men. The ninth had taken the horses into the mountains, and now all hope of fleeing this sorcerous place was gone from Bodalen.

Down, down they journeyed, through five levels, the humming growing ever more loud. The walls of the castle were no longer of stone, but sleek, shining metal, bulging and cracked in places. Beyond the cracks were wires of copper and iron, gold and silver, wound together, braided.

Bodalen hated the castle, and feared the secrets it might contain. But even through his cowardice his fascination grew. On one level there was a set of steel doors, which Gracus and two other men forced open. Within was a small room. There was no furniture, but one wall carried a small ornament, like a carving table, twelve round stones set in brass, each stone bearing a symbol that Bodalen could not decipher.

There was little of interest save for the ornament and the warriors moved on, seeking stairs.

At last they came to a great hall that was lit as if by sunlight, bright and cheerful. Yet there were no windows, and Bodalen knew they were hundreds of feet below ground. Gracus dropped the spluttering torch to the metal floor and gazed around him. There were tables and chairs, all of metal, and huge iron cabinets, ornately decorated with bright gems that sparkled, the light dancing from them.

Panels of opaque glass were set all around the hall, and these glowed with white light. Gracus drew his sword and struck one of them, which shattered, spilling fragments to the hall floor. Beyond the panel was a long, gleaming cylinder. A second warrior strode forward, thrusting his sword into it. There was a flash and the knight was lifted from his feet and hurled twenty feet across the floor. Half the lights in the hall dimmed and died.

Gracus ran to the fallen man, kneeling beside him. 'Dead,' he said, rising and turning to the others. 'Touch nothing. We will await the master. The spells are mightier than we can understand.'

Bodalen, the humming so loud it made him nauseous, moved across the hall to an open doorway. Beyond it he saw a huge crystal, some three feet in circumference, floating between two golden bowls. Tiny bolts of lightning flickered and shone all around it as it spun. Bodalen stepped into the room. The walls here were all of gold, save for the far wall, which had been partly stripped, exposing carved blocks of granite, twisted far beyond their original squares.

But it was not the crystal, nor the walls of gold that caused the breath to catch in his throat.

'Gracus!' he shouted. The Brotherhood knight entered the room – and gazed down at the immense skeleton stretched out by the far wall.

'What in the name of Hell is it?' whispered Bodalen.

Gracus shook his head. 'Hell is where it came from,' he answered, kneeling beside the two skulls, his fingers tracing the twin lines of vertebrae leading to the massive shoulders. The beast, whatever it was, had boasted three arms, one of which sprouted from below the enormous ribs. One of the knights tried to lift the thigh bone, but the rotted sinew held it in place.

'I cannot even get my hands around this bone,' said the man. 'The creature must have been twelve feet tall, maybe more.'

Bodalen glanced back at the doorway, which was no more than three feet wide and six feet tall. 'How did it get in here?' he asked. Gracus moved to the doorway. There were great tears in the metal around the frame, exposing the stone beneath.

'I don't know how it got in,' said Gracus softly, 'but it tore its fingers to the bone trying to get out. There must be another entrance. Hidden.'

For some time they searched the walls, seeking a disguised doorway. But there was nothing. Bodalen felt a great weariness settling on him and his headache worsened. He started for the doorway, but his legs gave way and he slumped to the floor. Fatigue overwhelmed him, and he saw Gracus stumble to his knees before the spinning crystal.

'We must . . . get out,' said Bodalen, trying to drag himself across the gleaming golden floor. But his eyes closed and he fell into a deep, and at first dreamless, sleep.

Awareness came to him slowly. He could see a cottage, I built by a stream, a cornfield beyond it, blue mountains, hazy in the distance behind it. There was a man walking behind a team of oxen. He was ploughing a field.

Father.

No, not Father. Father is Karnak. He never ploughed a field in his life.

Father.

Confusion flowed over him like a fog, swirling, unreal. He looked up at the sun, but there was no sun, just a spinning crystal high in the sky, humming like a thousand bees.

The man with the plough turned towards him. 'Don't spend your day lazing, Gracus!' he said.

Gracus? I'm not Gracus. I am dreaming. That's it! A dream. Wake up!

He felt himself rising from sleep, felt the awareness of flesh and muscle. He tried to move his arm, but it seemed lodged, trapped. He opened his eyes. Gracus was lying beside him. Close beside him. He must be lying on my arm, thought Bodalen. He tried to roll, but Gracus moved with him, his head lolling, his mouth open. Bodalen struggled to rise. He felt an unaccustomed weight on his right side and swung his head. There was another man lying there.

And he had no head.

I am lying on his head, thought Bodalen, panic gripping him. He surged up. The body on the right rose with him. Bodalen screamed. The headless body was part of him, the shoulders bonded to Bodalen's flesh.

Sweet Heaven! Calm down, he told himself. This is still a dream. Just a dream.

His left arm had disappeared, embedded into and merging with Gracus' shoulder. He tried to pull it clear, but the limp body of the Brotherhood knight merely moved closer. Their legs touched – and bonded.

The crystal continued to spin.

Across the room Bodalen saw the bodies of the other knights, melding together, twisting as if involved in some silent, unnatural orgy. And between them, lying still on the golden floor, was the huge skeleton.

Bodalen screamed again.

And passed out.

It awoke with no memory, but stretched its huge muscles and rolled to its belly, its three legs levering it upright, its two heads striking the golden ceiling. Rage suffused the beast, and one of the heads roared in anger. The other remained silent, grey eyes blinking at the light from the crystal.