The Sorceress (31 page)

“The Alchemyst, Flamel, and the children are with the Saracen Knight and the Bard behind their makeshift metal fortress. You want me and the Wild Hunt to force an entrance for you.”

Cernunnos had not revealed anything new, either. It was merely repeating a fact—a fact Dee already knew—and then stating the orders it had received from the Elder. It had only made it sound as if it were reading Dee’s thoughts.

Dr. John Dee laughed softly. The creature was certainly ancient, powerful and undoubtedly deadly. But suddenly, it didn’t seem quite so frightening.

Gripping the sword tightly, he slipped through the entrance into the narrow metal alleyway. He could hear the fire; it was closer now, crackling and moaning, painting the walls in dancing darting shadows. Dee realized that with every step, he sent up billowing clouds of gritty dust. Squeezing his lips tightly shut, he pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it to his mouth: he didn’t want to breathe in the gritty remains of the Wild Hunt. He’d been a magician, a sorcerer, a necromancer and an alchemist for too long, and could easily imagine what foul properties the dust contained. He certainly didn’t want them in his lungs.

He walked over stone-tipped wooden arrows and leaf-bladed spears and discovered that the ground was littered with short crossbow bolts. The sight took him back to his youth. He’d attended sieges, had studied warfare at the court
of Elizabeth and could tell from the broken remains what had taken place: the defenders had trapped most of the Wild Hunt in the narrow alleyway and reduced them to dust. But why had they not held this position and continued to fire down and into the attackers? he wondered. Because they had run out of ammunition, he thought, answering his own question, and had been forced to withdraw to a more defensible position. Beneath the white handkerchief, Dee’s lips broke into a broad smile. History had taught him that once the defenders started to retreat, the siege was coming to an end. Flamel and the others were trapped.

Emerging from the metal alleyway, he spotted the flaming moat. It completely encircled a mean-looking metal hut in the center of the camp. Dee hurried forward; he knew a dozen spells that would put out the fire, or he could transmute the oil into sand and use a separate Persian spell that would turn the sand into glass.

The Alchemyst and the twins stood on the opposite side of the fire, the boy and girl close together. Firelight turned their blond hair red and gold. Two other humani stood alongside them, one tall and bulky in black armor, the other short and slight in mismatched armor. Red-haired Gabriel Hounds, in both human and dog shapes, gathered protectively around the shorter man.

The Archon stood outlined before the dancing flames, firelight playing on its rack of antlers, while behind it what remained of the Wild Hunt waited patiently. The wolves’ human faces tracked Dee’s movements as he picked his way
across the potholed expanse of mud. Without moving its body, Cernunnos twisted its head around to regard the Magician. The Horned God’s eyes fixed on the stone blade in his hands, which had now started to leak a cold blue smoke.

“Excalibur and Clarent together in the same place,” Cernunnos’s buzzing voice murmured in Dee’s skull. “These are indeed momentous times. Do you know when last these two swords were united?”

Dee was about to tell him that both swords had been in Paris the previous day but decided not to say anything to irritate the creature. A terrifyingly nasty plan was beginning to form at the back of his mind, something so incomprehensible that he was almost afraid to focus on the idea—just in case Cernunnos really could read his thoughts. Taking up a position to the left of the creature, he held Excalibur in his right hand and folded his arms across his chest. The glowing blue blade painted the left-hand side of his face in chill color. “I believe it was here, in England,” Dee said. “When Arthur fought his nephew Mordred on Salisbury Plain. Mordred used Clarent to kill Arthur,” he added.

“I killed Arthur,” Cernunnos said softly. “Mordred too. And he was Arthur’s son, not his nephew.” The Horned God’s head turned back to the fire. “You are a magician; I presume you can douse these flames?”

“Of course.” A new smell permeated the already foul air: the rotten-egg stink of brimstone. “Can you not cross through the fire?” he asked, deliberately testing the limits of the Horned God’s powers.

“The flames are laced with metal,” Cernunnos said shortly.

Dee nodded. He knew from experience that some metals—especially iron—were poisonous to Elders. And to Archons, too, he’d just discovered. He wondered if the two races were related in any way; he had always assumed that while they were similar, they were separate, like Elders and humani.

“I can kill the fire,” Dee answered confidently.

The Archon leaned forward, its ripe forest odor suddenly strong as it stared hard into the fire and beyond. Dee followed the direction of its gaze and found it was staring at the boy, Josh. “You can have the twins, Magician, and your pages. I claim the three immortal humani and the Gabriel Hounds for my own.”

“Agreed,” Dee said immediately.

“And Clarent. I claim the Sword of Fire.”

“Of course you can have it,” Dee said without hesitation. He deliberately allowed his aura to blossom yellow and stinking around him, knowing it would blanket his thoughts. He had no intention of giving Cernunnos the sword. Dee had spent centuries searching for Excalibur’s twin blade and was not prepared to see it disappear into some distant Shadow-realm with the Horned God. His outrageous plan suddenly came together. “I would be honored to present the sword to you myself.”

“I would allow that,” the Archon said, a touch of arrogance in its voice.

Dee bowed his head so that the creature would not see the triumph in his eyes. He would stand before the Archon, Excalibur in his right hand, Clarent in his left. He would bow
to the Horned God and step forward … and then plunge both swords into Cernunnos. The Magician’s brimstone aura flared brighter and brighter with excitement. What would it feel like, what would he learn, what would he know after he had killed the Archon?

oughing, eyes streaming, Sophie, Josh and the three immortals scrambled away from the searing heat, slipping and falling on the muddy ground. They were safe behind the wall of fire, but they were also trapped.

Josh helped his sister to her feet. Her bangs had been seared to crispy curls and her cheekbones were bright red, her eyebrows little more than smudges.

Sophie reached out to trace a line over Josh’s eyes. “Your eyebrows are gone.”

“Yours too.” He grinned. He touched his cheekbones. His face felt tight, his lips dry and cracked, and he suddenly realized how lucky they’d been. If he’d been standing a couple of inches closer to the moat, he would have been badly burned. Sophie reached out and pressed her little finger against his cheek and he smelled vanilla as a soothing coolness touched his scorched skin. He caught his sister’s hand and
lifted it away from his face; the pad of her little finger was coated with silver. “You shouldn’t be using your powers,” he said, concerned.

“It’s a simple healing—laying on of hands, Joan called it. It uses little or no aura. We’ll never have cuts or bruises again.” She smiled.

“I’ve got a feeling we’ll need to be worried about more serious things than cuts,” Josh said. He turned to look through the burning curtain of fire. The Horned God stood patiently on the far side of the flames. Its arms were folded across its massive chest, and the smoldering ruin of its club lay at its feet. Although hundreds of the Wild Hunt had turned to dust, at least twice that number still remained. Most had gathered in a semicircle behind Cernunnos, either sitting or lying down, their shockingly human faces staring fixedly at their master. Josh turned in a complete circle. The rest of the Wild Hunt had taken up positions around the camp. They were completely surrounded. “What are they doing?” he wondered aloud.

“Waiting,” Palamedes rumbled from behind him.

Josh turned. “Waiting?”

“They know the fire will not burn for long.”

“How long?”

“An hour. Maybe two.” He turned his face to the skies, gauging the time. “Maybe till midnight, but that’s not long enough.” He shrugged. The knight’s black armor was streaked with mud and dirt and smelled of oil. It squeaked and creaked with every movement. “We built this fortress more for privacy than protection, though it has kept us safe
from some of the less savory creatures that haunt this land. It was never designed to keep something like Cernunnos away.” He suddenly looked sidelong at Sophie as a thought struck him, his eyes liquid in the reflected firelight. “You have mastered Fire. You could keep the flames alive.”

“No,” Josh said immediately, instinctively moving in front of his sister. “Even attempting something like that could kill her, burn her up.”

The Alchemyst nodded. “Sophie would need to keep the fires burning till dawn; she’s not strong enough for that. Not yet. We need to find an alternative.”

“I know some spells …,” Shakespeare began. “You too, Palamedes. And what of you, Nicholas? Working together, surely we three could—” And then the Bard’s head snapped around, nostrils flaring, eyes narrowing.

“What is it?” Palamedes asked, turning to squint through the wall of fire.

“Dee,” Shakespeare and Flamel said together. Even as they were speaking, the figure of a small man standing alongside the Archon was outlined in sulfurous yellow. He was holding a smoldering blue sword.

“With Excalibur,” Flamel added.

As the group watched, the Magician plunged Excalibur into the fiery wall and twisted the blade. Hissing and sizzling, the stone sword pierced the fire, and then a sudden down-draft of icy wind opened a perfectly circular hole, like a window, in the raging flames. Dee peered through the opening and smiled, the fire reflecting off his teeth, bloodred. “Well, well, well, what have we here? Master Shakespeare—apprentice
to both the Alchemyst and the Magician. Why, it is practically a family reunion. And Palamedes, the Black Knight, reunited—almost—with the swords that ruled and ruined your master’s life. And the twins, of course. So nice of you to bring them home to me, Nicholas, though it would have been so much more convenient if we had concluded this business on the West Coast. Now I’ll have to return them to the States. However, surrender them now and we can avoid a lot of unpleasantness.”

The Alchemyst laughed, though there was nothing humorous in the sound. “Aren’t you forgetting something, John?”

The Magician tilted his head to one side. “You seem to be trapped, Nicholas, behind flames, and surrounded by the Wild Hunt.” He jerked his thumb at the huge figure standing by his side. “And, of course, Cernunnos. This time, there is no escape. Not even for you.”

“We three immortals are not without power,” Flamel said quietly. “Can you stand against all of us?”

“Oh, I don’t have to,” Dee said. “All I have to do is douse the fire. Even you cannot prevail against an Archon and the Wild Hunt.”

Josh stepped forward, Clarent a blaze of black light in his left hand, the dancing shadows making his face look older than its fifteen years. “And what about us? It would be a mistake to forget about us,” he snapped. “You were in Paris. You saw what we did to the gargoyles.”

“And Nidhogg,” Sophie added, at his side.

Clarent moaned and then Josh snapped it forward toward
Excalibur. The swords met in the circular opening in the midst of the fire, the two blades crossing in an explosion of black and blue sparks.

And Dee’s thoughts washed over Josh.

Fear. A terrible all-consuming fear of beastlike creatures and shadowy humans.

Loss. Countless faces, men, women and children, family, friends and neighbors. All dead.

Anger. The overriding emotion was one of anger—a simmering all-consuming rage.

Hunger. An insatiable hunger for knowledge, for power.

Cernunnos. The Horned God. The Archon. Lying dead in the mud with Dee standing over him, holding Clarent and Excalibur in either hand, the swords blazing red-black and blue-white flames.