On the edge of the battle, Decebalus drove his horse in close and swung his axe. Heads leaped from bodies like sparks flying up a chimney. Decebalus retreated just as quickly before a blow could be laid on him.
Lightning crashed into the midst of the Ninth, blasting bodies asunder. The wind gusted in unnatural eddies, slamming against shields with the force of a battering ram, Lucia was using her Craft to direct nature in their favour.
Church drew his sword and its illumination cut a swathe through the darkness more effectively than any lantern. In the blue glow, Church saw scores of black eyes snap towards him as one. It might have been wishful thinking, but he was sure he saw a glimmer of unease in those still, dead faces.
Shields went up to deflect Church’s first three attacks, but eventually he found a way through the defences. His blade sliced through the skull of one of the white-faced legionnaires as if it had no substance. The Blue Fire filled his system, driving out his rational thoughts until he and the sword were one, and in that moment he felt what he was supposed to be – a champion empowered by the energy of Existence.
He fought until his body shook with exhaustion, retreating every time the Ninth’s cavalry moved towards him, only to return to the fray moments later. Decebalus fought in a berserker rage, his axe never resting.
Yet despite their attempts to sway the battle, the soldiers of the Ninth Legion were too numerous and too inhuman. They crushed all who lay before them with machine-like efficiency.
‘Retreat. Regroup,’ Decebalus gasped to Church. Blood streamed from many wounds and a broken arrow shaft protruded from one arm. ‘They will not be held back. We need something more.’
Church was so exhausted he could barely lift his sword. ‘Where’s the help Aula promised?’
They retreated to where Lucia and the others waited, and Joseph did what he could to tend their wounds. Lucia was flagging from her exertions with her Craft and had little left to offer.
Under the shelter of an oak, Secullian sat cross-legged in the grip of a trance. He rocked back and forth, speckles of spittle flying from his mouth.
‘How long has he been like that?’ Church asked.
‘Too long, but we are afraid to wake him,’ Aula said grimly. ‘He felt some contact from the Otherworld—’
Aula’s words caught in her throat as Secullian’s remaining eye snapped open, the white glowing in the dark. He raised one trembling arm to point to the battlefield. ‘Across the worlds they dance …’
At that moment, the undead legionnaires overran the Sixth Legion. The moor was covered with the mangled bodies of Roman soldiers. The spider-legionnaires marched over the remnants towards Eboracum.
As Church watched an event history had never recorded, his vision was briefly obscured. When it cleared, at first it looked as if the moon had come down to the rain-lashed earth. A silvery glow suffused the bleak moor. Church blinked once, twice, and then realised what he was seeing. Cernunnos had been true to his word. A new army now stood where the Roman legion had fallen, their armour gleaming silver. Church recognised the banner of the Court of Peaceful Days. At the front, a goddess Church presumed was Rhiannon led a ferocious assault.
‘The gods were true to their word. For once.’ Decebalus flopped wearily onto the sodden turf, oblivious to the lashing rain.
‘But will it be enough?’ Lucia asked.
‘And are we simply exchanging one invading force for another?’ Joseph said.
‘Bring on the days when we can defend ourselves.’ Decebalus tore the arrow from his arm with barely a flinch. ‘Gods. Devils. May a pestilence fall on all of them.’
11
The battle raged for nearly two hours until the first light came up on a grey, sodden day. Church’s initial hope for an easy victory had quickly waned as he watched the two forces fighting themselves to a standstill. For every white-skinned spider-soldier crushed beneath the onslaught of the silver army of the Court of Peaceful Days, one of the Tuatha Dé Danann was brutally dispatched.
Clouds of golden moths burst upwards towards the lowering heavens at regular intervals. It was a mesmerising sight that had a strange hallucinogenic beauty in the washed-out landscape, yet what it represented chilled Church to the bone. Niamh had been devastated when a handful of her guards had been ‘wiped from Existence’, as she had described it. How, then, would Rhiannon react to hundreds if not thousands of her own court dying?
Secullian stood beside Church, calm now the delirium of his visions had left him. ‘Who are the enemy, and why do they choose this moment to march on Eboracum?’ he asked.
Church couldn’t answer either question.