The White Wolf's Son (41 page)

I had another thought. Was this, in fact, an old sports arena? Were we going to be pitted against real lions or gladiators
or something? Was this reserved just for football—only with our heads as the balls?

“Should we be keeping quiet?” Jack’s voice was just audible in my ear.

Whispering back, I told him what I thought. “I can’t see how they would have made a mistake, given what’s happened. St. Odhran
pushed us down here deliberately.”

“Who’s St. Odhran?” he asked.

“He used to be a friend of mine,” I said. “Turns out he’s the worst villain of all.”

“Scottish bloke, is he?”

“Why, yes!”

“He’s been around for a while. He’s the one got me the original job in the forge testing those swords, I think. ‘Our mutual
friend’? I heard him talking to Klosterheim
before Oona got me out of there. Something about a sword, now I come to think of it! They seemed to be bargaining. I was part
of the bargain, though I wasn’t always sure it was actually
me
he was talking about. What’s the Stone?”

“I’ve heard them mention that, too. A religious object of some kind. With a lot of jewels in it, which is why it’s so valuable.
The Runestaff?”

“That’s the word. Only I thought they said ‘Moon-staff.’ I guessed they’d lost it and thought I could find it for them.”

I explained what little I knew. The whole time I talked I scanned our surroundings, trying to see if anyone else was here.
In this part of the amphitheater, the rock had a more volcanic appearance, as if lava had poured over the terraces and hardened.
They gleamed, reflecting all the grotesque heads, reminding me of my first impressions of the World Below. Maybe we weren’t
just underground, but in a bizarre mirror image of the World Above. We were definitely in a riverbed. Or maybe even a lake
bed. Were our pursuers going to flood the place, as Mirenburg had been flooded? It seemed an unnecessarily elaborate plan,
even for the baroque tastes of Granbretan.

I was desperately looking for another tunnel like the one which had brought us in here, but the closer to the ground things
were, the harder they were to see. Eventually I gave up and began looking for a way down into those terraces. It didn’t look
as if anyone on our level was meant to climb up into the seating areas. We were definitely the performers, rather than the
audience.

There didn’t seem much point in trying to retrace our steps. I decided to move us closer to the smooth side, so
that we’d be harder to see in the shadows. I honestly felt sorrier for Jack D’Acre at that moment than I did for myself. At
least I hadn’t been blind most of my life.

“Aaahhhh!” It was a hiss of pleasure from above. I looked up. I couldn’t see anyone.

I stopped. Although I found it hard to tell, we seemed to have reached roughly the middle of the amphitheater. Out there,
at the center, was an enormous square block of green stone, taller than me. It might have been a monstrous emerald. Slightly
opaque, it reflected the light from the pastel mold growing in patches along the rising tiers of that inverted cone. And now
at last I saw eyes glittering, too. Not many. A pair here. A pair there.

A wet snuffling, a grunting, a whine or two. It was truly horrible, as if we two were about to become entertainment for a
bunch of salivating beasts. Wet, slobbering noises. Little cackles and croaks. None were sounds I’d ever heard in the throats
of real animals, for they still had a trace of human origin.

Was the theater filling up with the nobles of the Dark Empire? I still couldn’t actually see any people. I drew Jack with
me to the side, into the deepest shadows. I surveyed the frozen lava of the tiers for signs of those beast-headed Granbretanners,
but only saw the odd shadow which, blending with the carved figures, might have been a household god, might or might not have
been human.

An echoing voice confirmed the worst.

“No need to be shy, my dears. All that we have sought is at last in place, save for the Runestaff. But that will manifest
itself soon. Like answers to like. Child answers to child. Blood answers to blood. You will bring it to us. The Staff cannot
remain hidden, just as you are now unable to remain hidden. That much we know. We have
waited what seems centuries for this moment. Now the Consanguinity is assured. See!”

A yellow light played over the great block of emerald stone. On it, laid out like an altar with its vestments, sat two shallow
golden bowls. And what I had not immediately seen was the huge black broadsword piercing the glowing green stone from left
to right. Scarlet symbols twisted and turned in the blade near the hilt, like somber neon. Like smoke trapped inside a jar.
The colors were incredibly vibrant, as if the objects had not just a life of their own but a soul as well.

Around me, overhead, I heard a creak, a jingle, a suppressed cough. There was no doubt we had a small audience.

I heard Jack sniff. “Ugh. Bous-Junge’s here.”

“We can smell you, Mr. Bous-Junge,” I said. A cheap shot, but I had a feeling I wasn’t going to be up for anything much better.

“And that other one. I can smell him, too. What’s his name? Taragorm? They’re thick, those two.” Jack had some difficulty
speaking. His mouth was dry. “He’s just as bad.”

But no King Huon? I thought. No Baron Meliadus? Was the Countess Flana still a prisoner? And what about St. Odhran? Shouldn’t
he be here to relish his triumph?

I heard a sort of
phut,
a swish. I looked down at a dart sticking out of my arm. Another sound, and Jack was similarly shot. Quickly I pulled the
thing free of my arm, then yanked the other dart from Jack’s. But I was already feeling woozy. I leaned against the wall,
trying to hold steady. Those cowards! We might as well be feral cats!

“Bloody hell,” I heard Jack say. “The animals are
shooting us.” And then he crumpled to the hard, smooth, glassy surface of the amphitheater.

A moment or two later I went down, too.

Was I dreaming it, or did Bous-Junge’s unpleasant, tittering laugh fill the auditorium until the sound drowned out everything
else, including my consciousness?

When I came to, I thought I heard the last vibrations of that voice, fading away. But I guessed more time had passed than
that, because I was tied up, spread-eagled on one side of the stone itself. I guessed Jack must be on the other side. My arm
was very sore but not in the place where the dart had gone in.

Baron Bous-Junge wasn’t wearing his mask. His round, sly face smiled at me as he held up two glass vials with something red
in them.

It was blood. And I had a fair idea whom it belonged to.

“We are in time. We are in time!” This was an unfamiliar voice. Beyond Bous-Junge I saw a really peculiar, globular mask,
with four different styles of clock face, one like Big Ben, the famous London landmark. Hanging from it, extended over the
wearer’s body, was a wide pendulum, moving backwards and forwards so steadily that I thought they might be trying to hypnotize
us. The legs and arms extending beyond it were skinny and mottled with brown spots, like those of a very old person.

Baron Bous-Junge giggled. “What? I can see it in your eyes, child. Did you think we’d be wasteful with your blood? That which
flows in your veins makes you what we wish to be. When your blood flows in
our
veins, we become something of what you are. We take on your inherited power. We become guardians of the Grail. First we try
its potency
without
killing you. We’ll bring the
Staff to us. We have read all the appropriate books. The Staff heals all wounds and resurrects the recently dead. We have
to keep you fresh. You’re good for another few pints yet.”

“That’s the smelly bastard talking.” Jack’s voice came from the other side of the stone. “But who’s the ticking bastard with
him?”

“He means me.” The voice was curiously bleak, without nuance. “I’m Taragorm. We saved you from the moonbeam roads, didn’t
we? Onric, isn’t it? Or do you prefer Jack?”

“I don’t remember you!”

“Oh, you saw me once, Jack. Just the once.”

“You’re the bastard who blinded me!”

Taragorm’s silence didn’t deny the accusation.

“What did you do that for?” Jack wanted to know. He sounded calm.

“We needed to be able to find you,” said Taragorm. “If you escaped, you’d hardly get far blind. Our mistake. We had no notion
how many clever friends you have! Ah, here are our
own
clever colleagues at last.” There came a faint boom as if he struck the hour.

A little behind him I saw Klosterheim. His frame was dramatically thin compared to that of his bulky companion, Gaynor von
Minct.

“You are late, Prince Gaynor.” Bous-Junge sounded disapproving. “The time is near. There’s not a moment to be lost. We must
test the Stone and the Sword. Then we must fill the bowls. One with the male blood, one with the female. All countertypes
are prepared for the Balance. The intellectual”—he bowed to Klosterheim—“and the practical brute.” He bowed. “Greetings, Prince
Gaynor the Damned.”

“I wasn’t always this brute,” muttered Gaynor dully. I thought he mourned some other state, some time in his life when he
had fought nobly with us, rather than against us. This rogue Knight of the Balance glared over at me. Something unreadable
shone in his eyes. He sighed. “I have just come from the surface. It was difficult. I think we shall be safe for long enough.
And then it will be easy for us to reverse our losses.”

“Losses?” Bous-Junge raised an eyebrow. “They had crossed the sea bridge. Are they now in the capital? There can be no doubt
the crystal aids them. Yet I thought it smashed …”

“They have a fragment. They only need a fragment. The fraction is as great as the whole, remember? Hawk-moon’s killed or badly
wounded. He’s disappeared, but Count Brass has taken Londra,” Klosterheim told him. “They summon armies from nowhere. And
so many of your own have gone over to his cause! King Huon is destroyed. Meliadus pronounced himself king for about half an
hour. The little red-haired brute, Oladahn, wounded him and he crawled away, to die somewhere I’d guess. The last I heard,
they were trying to find where you’d imprisoned Flana. They wanted to make her queen.”

“She’ll not be queen, that traitoress. Her mask sits on a spike at the river gate, and her head’s food for her dead husband’s
pet beasts.”

“Then who—?” began Taragorm.

“We’ll form a republic,” said Bous-Junge. “And rule without responsibility …”

Prince Gaynor the Damned gave out a great snort of laughter. “Aye. Kings and queens have a habit of carrying the blame for
whole catalogs of injustices.”

“Count Brass will not have long to relish his victories,” sniggered Bous-Junge. “Within the hour we’ll be masters of the multiverse.
Merely with a thought, any one of us will be able to destroy entire worlds and create fresh ones. We shall each of us take
the four quarters of our stations and rule those quarters by agreement. And by agreement, none shall enter nor seek to influence
the quarter of the others. So we maintain our own balances, without need of that thing …”

He pointed towards me. Obviously he meant the rock Jack and I were slung over like two parts of a saddlebag.

The square emerald rock grew noticeably warmer, and I could have sworn I heard it give a faint moan. It felt like flesh against
my own skin. It quivered in time to the sword vibrating within its green depths.

Klosterheim came to stand, regarding me, his cold eyes full of unreadable despair. He uttered a deep sigh. “Now do you still
think my colleague was wrong in refusing to accept the reconciliation of Heaven and Hell? Look what has become of it all.
Hysteria of self-knowledge, monotony of self-analysis, introspection spreading like a disease. What is all that but the infection
communicated over the unpurified borders of death? The spirits of the mortal world were never meant to be so neighborly with
the spirits of the other. I have done all I can for you now. You have used my knowledge to ensure not only the death of God
but the death of Lucifer, too. So be it.”

With a grunt of impatience, Prince Gaynor reached towards the hilt of the black sword, which I could just see from the corner
of my eye. Even as he began, Baron Bous-Junge’s hand moved out and laid itself on Gaynor’s wrist. “You know that only one
of their blood can handle the damned blades. First you must
become
of their blood.
That’s why drinking their blood is so important for other reasons. Bide your time.”

St. Odhran stepped jauntily into the arena. He was, for all his treachery, very attractive.

“All you wanted was to trick the albino. Bring him underground.” St. Odhran was smiling that mocking, crooked smile. “You
have almost all you seek.”

“We’re grateful to you, sir,” Klosterheim said.

“You’ll be well rewarded, Scotchman,” said Prince Gaynor, his big face full of other thoughts. “But you’ll not get a fifth
of the power we share. That’s divided between us. We concocted this scheme together from the beginning, Klosterheim, Bous-Junge,
Taragorm and I. Years it took. We knew the Conjunction of Conjunctions would come. We knew we could gather together all the
elements of the Balance. We found the Stone, which some have called the Grail, and brought it from von Bek’s in London. Down
here. Waiting. You, St. Odhran, supplied the Sword. You, gentlemen, brought the two golden bowls. The children will give us
the blood of twin immortals to represent all the opposites and complementary elements of the world, Law and Chaos, which must
be taken from twins who share shamanistic ancestry. All we lack is the Staff. I know in my bones that the Staff will be inexorably
drawn to the other elements, for it cannot exist without them. It will manifest itself as a result of our ritual. Yet what
form it takes, we do not know.”

“It will come. When we bleed the twins, it will come. It will be drawn to heal its defenders.”

“Twins?” I said. “What on earth makes you think we’re twins?”

And this
did
stop them in their tracks! I think they realized
for the first time how unlike each other Jack and I were. Not twins. Not even the same age. How had they rationalized that?
Then I remembered my grandmother. Could she actually be Jack’s twin, and could he actually be Zodiac’s son? In all the convolutions
of the multi-verse, I suppose it was possible…