‘How do we know that?’
‘Because they would have destroyed everything,’ said Will.
No army on earth could stop them. Will saw the vision that had overwhelmed him when his fingers had grazed the Shadow Stone: the Shadow Kings on their shadow steeds, a torrent of darkness that nothing could hold back. But now he saw it happening in London, the Shadow Kings sweeping over the city, killing everyone they found, forcing the others to their will, until there was no resistance, only those who served the Dark, and those who were dead.
‘We’re safe here for the moment,’ said Cyprian. ‘The wards opened for Marcus because he was a Steward.’ He flushed slightly when he said his brother’s name, but he didn’t falter. ‘They’ll hold against Simon. But if he does release the Shadow Kings—’
‘If he releases the Shadow Kings, we fight,’ said Violet.
Something bitter rippled across Sarah’s face. ‘You think the Stewards didn’t try to fight? Leda and the guard didn’t even have time to draw their swords. One shadow … One shadow killed our greatest fighters … even Justice … killed by his own shieldmate. It had no pity, no humanity, just the ravening desire to kill.’ Sarah looked out at all of them. ‘If Simon releases the Shadow Kings, all we can do is hope that they can’t get through the wards.’
The thought of being holed up here, while dark winds raged outside, made a terrible claustrophobia claw in Will’s throat.
‘We still have time,’ said Will. ‘He hasn’t released the Shadow Kings. We still have a chance to stop him.’
‘He’ll release them,’ said Sarah. ‘At any moment—’
‘No,’ said Will, knowing it right down to his bones. ‘He’s waiting for something.’
‘For what?’
It was why he had gathered them all here. He had seen the defeat they each felt. The thought that if the Stewards couldn’t beat Simon, what good would the five of them do? But from the moment Will had seen the destruction Simon had wrought on the Hall, he had felt a new resolve hardening inside him.
‘James said that Simon was searching for something. An artefact. Do you remember? We questioned James with the horn, and he said there was an artefact that would make Simon the most powerful man alive.’
James had fought the Horn of Truth desperately to try to keep that secret. He had fought harder than he had to hide the location of Marcus. Will remembered his panting breath and the furious look in his blue eyes.
‘When we captured him, he had just learned where to find it. A man named Gauthier who had come back to England and was staying at Buckhurst Hill. James didn’t want us to know about it. If it’s that important—’
‘Maybe it’s what Simon needs to release the Shadow Kings,’ said Cyprian.
‘Or a weapon we can use against him,’ said Violet.
There was a silence. Cyprian scrubbed at his face.
‘It’s all we have,’ said Cyprian.
‘Do you know the place?’ said Will. Expecting a response, he found himself instead looking into the blank faces of a novitiate and two janissaries who knew everything about morning chants and ancient swords and nothing about the basic geography of London.
It was Violet who answered. ‘Buckhurst Hill. It’s north of here, a scattering of houses near the stagecoach route to Norwich. The three of us should make good time on horseback.’
The three of them – that meant Will, Violet and Cyprian. A stab of pain at that: there were only three horses left. The two janissary girls nodded.
‘And if Simon’s men are there?’ Sarah demanded.
Everyone was afraid; Will could see that in their faces. That a ride into the countryside was all that stood between them and the release of the Shadow Kings seemed a tenuous hope. But he lifted his chin and returned their gazes.
‘Then we fight.’
It was an old farmhouse on the outskirts of Buckhurst Hill. The first two farmsteads they searched had been empty. This one looked empty too, tiles missing from the roof, a deteriorating fence and overground fields without farm animals. Until Will saw a glossy black horse tied up outside. Every nerve in him came screaming to life.
‘They’re already here,’ said Violet in a tense voice.
Will said, ‘It’s only one horse.’
His heart was pounding. They tied their own horses to the trunk of a birch out of sight and crept forward cautiously.
The farmhouse was a large building of grey stone, the approach a deserted tangle of brambles and high grass. The faded farm sign said Paquet, and the nearest glass windowpane was broken, like a jagged black tooth. The door swung open soundlessly.