Mekhmet felt he would die of fright in the emptiness, but then the Physical Realms erupted into his senses again, and he found himself on the Plain of Frostmarris. Bugles clamoured and orders were shouted as the Allied host regained its composure and realised that there before them was an army of Ice Demons waiting to be transported themselves through the Spirit Realms and far to the south. Above them squadrons of Vampires were harrying them with murderous attacks that carved great swathes through the ranks of the Ice Demon army.
They had them! They’d taken the enemy by surprise. Drawing her sword, Thirrin stood in her stirrups and gave the war cry of the Icemark: “The enemy are among us! They’ve taken our houses, they’ve killed our children! BLOOD! BLAST! AND FIRE! BLOOD! BLAST! AND FIRE!”
From every throat the reply crashed out: “BLOOD! BLAST! AND FIRE!” And as one the Allied army swept down on the demons, firing silver-tipped arrows and drawing weapons of pure iron.
Oskan stepped aside and watched the charge in silence, allowing himself one brief moment of peace before he began the hideous task that lay ahead. Confronting Medea and Cronus would be a mighty struggle, but whatever the cost, he must stop them, and he’d already come to the conclusion that there was only one way to do it. He hardly dared allow himself to think of the plan he’d been formulating ever since he’d learned of the invasion, and in fact, he now carefully packed his strategy away behind psychic shields of steel and adamant, so that his beloved father and daughter couldn’t read his mind and take steps to thwart his plans.
The outcome of the confrontation remained completely unclear. There were so many variables to take into consideration – not least his uncertainty that he could actually bring himself to do what he knew he must. Could any father inflict such a thing on his daughter? He didn’t know. All he could do was make a beginning, and leave the outcome to the Goddess.
Oskan now watched as Thirrin and her army smashed into the lines of the Ice Demons, and he raised his hand in a gesture that was part blessing and part farewell. Then, at last, assuming the form of an avenging eagle, he swept up into the sky and raged down on the citadel of Frostmarris, where he knew he’d find Medea and Cronus. Within seconds he’d located them in the highest room of the highest tower, where they’d been watching the triumphal mustering of their army as they prepared to transport them to the invasion of the Polypontus.
He wasn’t surprised to find them ready and waiting as he crashed through the roof and landed before them in his human form.
For a moment they stood immobile, but then they struck at him with a double blast of fire and psychic energy that demolished the room around them, so that they all stood exposed to the watching sky. Oskan struck back, sending Medea reeling away, but Cronus stood his ground and advanced, sending out great bolts of lightning and sheets of flame that engulfed his son.
With an almost contemptuous wave of his hand, Oskan drained the power away, and sent a flight of solid steel bolts that pinned Medea’s body to the charred floorboards and pierced both of his father’s eyes. With howls of rage, they wrenched themselves free and sent a rain of fire in return, setting Oskan’s clothes ablaze, and burning his flesh so that it hung in great weeping ribbons that smouldered and spat like cooking meat. Shuddering with pain and concentration as he drew power from the atmosphere around, he quenched the flames and healed his ruined flesh, then hit back with a vicious rain of pure acid that hissed and smoked as it ate away the remaining stones of the wall.
“You cannot win,” Medea suddenly shouted, her mind a turmoil of conflicting emotions as she was forced to fight her father again. “Our bodies are mere shells for our undying spirits. How can you kill the lifeless?”
“But I’ve told you before, I don’t want to kill you, Medea,” he answered quietly. “I just want to destroy your powers.” And, raising his hand, he slowly balled his fingers into a fist. A psychic force seized Medea’s very soul, and squeezed it in a vice-like pressure that dragged great howls and screeches of pure agony from her throat.
Her cries were unconsciously echoed by Oskan as he felt the true horror of inflicting such pain on his daughter. This was the child he’d raised and loved; this was the child whose psychic Gifts he’d helped to develop. And yet now he was forced to fight her.
“My most beloved son,” said Cronus lightly. “You will stop this, and you will stop it now!”
A sensation of freezing cold enveloped Oskan as his father revealed all of the stored hatred and negativity that he had gathered during the long, endless aeons of his existence.
Gasping in pain and horror, the Witchfather fell to his knees.
“I was worried for a moment,” said Cronus to his fallen son. “What a terrible shock to find an army attacking our Ice Demons just when we were ready to invade the Polypontus. But you were never really a threat. And despite your disloyalty, I am still prepared to offer you life and power again, my son. Join with us; join with your daughter and father and become part of a triumvirate of unstoppable force that will sweep aside even the Goddess Herself.”
Oskan slowly raised his head, and with an effort focused his swimming eyes on the two evil Adepts who stood before him. “I will never turn to the Darkness!” he spat.
“But why not?” asked Medea, desperate to find a means of reconciliation. “With your power, you could . . . you could convert its polarity; you could make it a force for good!”
Even through his pain the Witchfather smiled sadly. “You know full well that the Darkness is evil in its purest form. Nothing could convert it; everything is corrupted by it!”
“Then consider this option,” said Cronus, and suddenly an image began to form, obscuring the chaos and destruction that surrounded them. It showed a room in the citadel of Frostmarris. A fire in the hearth gave off a cosy glow, and Cressida sat on a high-backed chair with twin babies cradled in her arms. Beside her sat a proud-looking Leonidas, as Thirrin looked on, her face wreathed in smiles. “Just imagine, my son, all of this could be yours, even now. All you have to do is join with us and you will live to see it. The need for fighting and death will be over. With the Power of the Darkness you can achieve immortality, and you can also confer immortality on whomever you wish. You and Thirrin could live and . . . love for ever!”
Oskan fell silent. Slowly he bowed his head to the scorched and pitted floor. For a moment he considered the possibility, desperately wishing it could be true. Then he looked up. “This happy little scenario you paint could never be; you know full well that the Darkness corrupts everything it touches. And, while I have the strength to prevent it, the purity of my warrior Queen will never be sullied by such evil! Rather than that I’d choose to be racked over a pit of white-hot lava for eternity!”
“That too can be arranged, if you’re foolish enough to reject us,” said Cronus quietly.
Down on the Plain of Frostmarris, Thirrin led the cavalry of the Icesheets in a charge that ripped into the ranks of the Ice Demons. All about her human troopers struck with iron swords at the massive bodies of the monsters, tearing great holes in their scaly flesh. But the demons were enormously strong and fought back ferociously, tearing gaps in the ranks of the cavalry, ripping bodies apart and throwing them contemptuously aside.
But then, with hideous screeches of challenge, the Vampire Queen and her squadrons dived at the enemy, while Cressida and Leonidas led a charge of Tri-Horns that powered into the enemy’s ranks, their huge three-horned heads throwing aside the demons like fallen leaves before a wind.
The enemy host was at last forced to realise that it was not going to be transported through the Spirit Realms. Something had obviously gone wrong, and the invasion of the Polypontus had been postponed. But now the Witches of the Dark Craft appeared, like the fetid rags of storm clouds, sending blast after blast ripping through the Allies’ ranks. The balance of power was tipped yet again. The witches’ screeching laughter echoed in triumph over the battlefield, and only Tharaman’s mighty roar of defiance challenged it.
&
nbsp; Back in the citadel Cronus watched his army of Ice Demons and smiled. “The army’s holding its own. The constant attacks of Her Vampiric Majesty have honed their fighting skills, which allows us to concentrate on your father.”
Medea smiled in answer, a rictus of agony stretching her mouth.
“Do you know, Granddaughter, I do believe the time has come for you to finally throw off the restricting chains of the family.”
“What do you mean?”
“I want you to kill your father.”
The words fell like small leaden weights into her soul. How could she kill the man who’d first shown her how to use her Abilities? How could she destroy her own father? For a moment, blank despair invaded her mind and she stood, head bowed, in the chaos of the destroyed citadel. But then, with a supreme effort of will, she turned her full attention on Oskan, who still grovelled under the terrible weight of Cronus’s hatred.
“Even now, can you not agree to join with us? None of this has to happen; together we can stand against the corruption of the Darkness and change it!”
The beseeching tones reached the Witchfather in the extremis of his fear and pain, and slowly he gathered his willpower so that he could raise his head. “Medea, you know I can’t join you. No power can ever change the Darkness. It will always be evil in its purest form.”
Medea looked at him, her face expressionless. Then, slowly, she raised her arms and began to draw power from the air around her.
Oskan had to act now; he knew he had no choice. With the deepest sorrow, he turned to the Darkness. Shielding the core of his soul, he felt the boundless force of hatred channelling through him.
His body began to swell until it reached the proportions of an Ice Demon, and he lashed out with a mighty roar that smashed his father and daughter to the ground.
Medea’s body was a mere tangle of wreckage, but even now she fought back. Drawing on her powers as a Weather Witch, she called lightning and storm to blast Oskan where he stood. Winds howled, thunder crashed, and temperatures plummeted and then soared. The rending power of tornadoes and hurricanes raged against him. But Oskan hardly flinched, and a deep and hideous laughter burst from a mouth that was wattled and tusked was his only reply.
More and more of the Darkness flooded into his frame. Hatred and evil permeated his very soul, and he looked on the prostrate forms of his daughter and father with pure loathing. His mind quested forth, probing and examining his fallen enemies, looking for weaknesses in their defences. His mind swept over the figure of Cronus as he struggled to regain his feet and fight back. Oskan could now pierce the adamantine shields that had protected the core of his father’s mind in all their confrontations and meetings, and what he found made him shout aloud in shocked amazement.
Beneath the appalling corruption and evil of the Arc-Adept’s mind, Oskan found something else, something at complete odds with his entire mindset. Cronus the Mighty, Cronus, the enemy of the Goddess, loved his son! Like a tiny unsullied spark of brilliance in the entire quagmire and filth of his mind, Cronus harboured a secret love. A love he’d felt for his only child since the day he was born.
Oskan reeled; this . . . being had human feelings! How could he destroy him now, even if Cronus was still prepared to defy his own emotions and kill the son he had loved for so long?
Cronus at last scrambled to his feet and gazed at the monster that rose before him. “He has opened himself to the Darkness,” he whispered in horror. Convinced they were about to die, he called to Medea. “Quickly, Granddaughter, join your mind with mine. We have seconds to crush him before he becomes accustomed to his new strength.”
Medea had always hated looking into the evil abyss that was her grandfather’s mind, but now their very survival depended on their ability to act in unison. Gladly she surrendered her individuality, and together they created a greater Adept than the Worlds had ever known.
As their minds became one, a whirling void gathered and the very atmosphere froze, to fall as ice crystals before the depth of its evil. “Look on us! Look on us, my father-son!” boomed its voice. “Look on what we have become, and despair! Know your individual futility before my-our conjoined powers, and now prepare you to die!”
On the Plain of Frostmarris, the battle continued as the Witches of the Dark Craft advanced against their enemy. Still they danced like corpses on the gallows as they sent out bolt after bolt of plasma, and still the ranks of the infantry fell before the continuing blasts. But then, slowly, a light began to pulse and push against their advancing darkness, and at last the Witches of the Light began to fight back. On they advanced, and they, too, danced as they came, flowing like a smoothly incoming tide, sailing like swans in flight, and as they pushed forward they sent out blasts of white light that crushed the darkness, and sent it scurrying to find refuge in the deep shadows of vaults, in the darkness of noisome pits and in the lightless eye of the corpse.
Thirrin now felt the tide of battle turning. Raising her sword, she led her host to smash once again into the Ice Demons, who howled as they fell back before the power of the enemy. Now a small figure flew up from the ranks of the Allies, and, leading squadrons of Vampires, it swept down on the demons with barrels of flaming pitch that were dropped in a flaming cascade to burst in a mighty conflagration amongst the huge beasts.
Their roaring and bellowing unfurled like a banner of agony over the battlefield, and, as though in answer, the clamour of battle horns erupted from the Great Forest, and forward rode the armies of the Holly and Oak Kings to smash into the enemies of the Icemark. Now, too, the very fabric of the day ripped open, and with a great roaring and wailing a host burst from the Plain of Desolation and rode forth into the light of the world. Ghosts they were, and at their head flew a giant vampire bat whose screeches found an answer in the calls of the warriors of Her Vampiric Majesty. A pause now fell upon the battle as all looked to the ghosts, wondering which side would feel the wrath of their power. And then, with a great screech, the giant bat led his army to power into the ranks of the Ice Demons, tearing them limb from scaly limb.
With a despairing roar, the Ice Demons fell back before the many-headed beast that was their enemy, and then at last their ranks broke apart, and they scattered over the field like storm clouds before a cleansing wind.
Oskan fell to his knees as agony billowed over him in waves, and he almost gave himself up to despair. But then a small part of his mind that was not besieged by desolation made a plan, and he smiled.
Quickly he opened a doorway in the fabric of reality, and a black hole appeared that led into a place of nothingness: a void that contained neither light nor dark, sound nor silence. This was the negation of everything; the perfect prison for Medea and Cronus.
With a supreme effort of will, Oskan began to drag the swirling vortex of his enemies’ conjoined minds towards the black hole. But Medea-Cronus were too strong. They threw him off and pinned him to the ground.
Again the Witchfather was wracked by a terrible intensity of pain; he was literally being torn apart. But then, in the deepest parts of his brain, a small note of resignation and final acceptance sounded. Immediately everything fell silent, as though the world itself was holding its breath. An incongruous sense of peace settled over him amidst all the destruction and filth. He looked up to see a gentle figure in long flowing robes standing before him, her face relaxed and smiling, and he immediately recognised the Messenger of the Goddess.
“You have chosen, Oskan Witchfather, beloved of the Goddess?”
“I have chosen,” he answered simply.
The Darkness now drained away from his soul, and a sense of light and peace flooded in. The Goddess was with him. He knew that the conjoined minds of Cronus-Medea were completely unaware of the messenger, and of the Power of the Mother of All. Now he had the strength to fight back; now he had the chance to save the Icemark and the world, where Thirrin and Cressida, where Sharley and Eodred, might live and love, and find their true selves after achieving their appoin
ted ends.
The Ice Demons had broken, and were being destroyed even as Thirrin watched. But she knew that the main part of the struggle had nothing to do with weapons of iron and steel, and was still being fought in the citadel of Frostmarris. Turning her horse, she galloped away towards the city, and was soon charging through the empty and echoing streets. Before her the ruined tower still spat fire and lightning as the Adepts fought their war. Within minutes she was racing across the courtyard of the citadel, something driving her on to find the stairway and race up it towards where she could see and hear the titanic struggle going on.
She reached the top step just in time to see a hugely swollen creature lower its arms and stand waiting quietly for the jagged bolts of power that ripped their way into its chest. For a moment it stood, head thrown back as though exalting, but then more and more bolts burst huge holes in its body and it sank slowly to the ground as a single voice screeched in triumph.
Thirrin watched as the body rested back on its haunches and its head fell forward onto its chest. Yet more blasts pierced it through, and the wild yells of triumph rose to a crescendo. But there was another voice mingled with them, and it seemed to be screaming in despair.
It was then that the horribly injured body began to transform, losing its huge bulk and extreme ugliness to diminish to the shape of a tall and slender man dressed in black.
“No!” Thirrin screamed in pain and horror as she recognised Oskan.
“Oh, yes! He’s dying! We are victorious!”
Thirrin staggered into the destroyed room and ran to cradle her husband’s head. “No!” she screamed again.
A following silence was then broken as a sneering voice observed, “I do believe I have the pleasure of Queen Thirrin’s company!”
Thirrin looked up to see Medea and Cronus drawing apart as their minds regained their individuality. “You!” she hissed in devastated anger. “You’ve killed your own father.”