In his other form he is the terrifying deity of nature whose approach fills humans with terror – the word ‘panic’ is derived from his name. Now his sphere of influence has widened and he is worshipped by the goat mages of Ireland. After eight days of human sacrifice, Pan passes through a portal from the dark and briefly enters the body of a goat. He distorts the shape of that animal into a thing awful to behold …
‘It’s a really short entry,’ I commented. ‘We don’t know very much about Pan, do we?’
‘You’re right there, lad,’ my master replied, ‘so we’ll learn what we can while we’re here. Things have changed since I wrote that. Now we know that the ceremony takes place twice a year rather than once. But what I’ve always found interesting is the duality of Pan. In one form he’s a musician who seems almost benign. His other shape is terrifying and clearly belongs to the dark.’
‘Why should there be such a thing as the dark?’ I asked. ‘How did it begin?’
‘Nobody knows that for sure – we can only guess. I have little to add to the speculations I made in my Bestiary many years ago. But I still believe that the dark is fed by human wickedness. Human greed and lust for power make it ever stronger and more dangerous. If we could only change the hearts of men and women, the dark would be weakened – I’m sure of it. But I’ve lived long enough to know that it would be easier to hold back the tides than achieve that. We can only hope.’
‘If we manage to bind the Fiend, it would be a start,’ I suggested.
‘It certainly would, lad.’ The Spook frowned. ‘Things couldn’t be much worse than they are at present. Why, even Farrell Shey, an enemy of the dark, is prepared to use torture in order to prevail. It shows just how bad things have become.’
I suddenly realized that the cannon had fallen silent. ‘The gun’s stopped firing,’ I said. ‘Maybe it’s overheated and the barrel’s cracked.’
You needed lots of water to keep a barrel cool. If gunners became careless about that, a gun could even explode, killing all around it. Those men weren’t experts. There was a real danger of that happening.
Before the Spook could reply, a messenger rapped on the door and came into the room without being invited. We were urgently summoned to the battlements.
As we climbed the stairs, we were jostled by armed men, who were also on their way up. Something must be afoot – was it some new threat?
Alice was already up there; she came towards us as we blinked into the sun, which was sinking towards the sea. She shielded her eyes and pointed. ‘The mages are gathered around the gun,’ she said. ‘They’re up to something. Shey is really worried.’
No sooner had she mentioned his name than the landowner strode across to us, the soldiers on the battlements stepping aside to allow him through. ‘I think they’re going to attempt some type of magic,’ he told us. ‘There was little danger of them harnessing the dark in Killorglin because we only faced two of them. There are nine now, and they are combining their strength …’
I looked down towards the cannon. The mages had formed a circle around it. Then I realized that the focus of their attention wasn’t the big gun itself: the gunners were kneeling, and the mages were laying their hands on their heads and shoulders. They were transferring power to them in some way. What kind of power? I wondered. The knowledge and skills of expert gunners? It seemed likely.
On the battlements the defenders had fallen silent. But we could hear the wind from the sea sighing in the distance, and the faint chanting of the mages. Waves of cold ran up and down my spine. Even at that distance I was able to detect the use of dark magic. It was strong and dangerous.
Just how dangerous we found out ten minutes later, when the cannon started up again. The gunners’ first shot made a direct hit on the wall, low and just to the left of the main gate. So did the second and the third. They were striking almost exactly the same spot with each cannonball. Even in the hour before dark we could see clear damage. The wall was thick, but the outer layer of stones was already beginning to break away. There was a small mound of debris on the grass below.
Darkness brought respite from the assault, but it would no doubt resume at dawn, and it seemed to me that they might well breach the wall by the next sunset.
DAWN BROUGHT CLOUD and the approach of rain, but the mages’ gunners recommenced their attack with their new-found accuracy. Though now the wind was blowing from the south rather than directly from behind the gun, our archers were able to rain arrows down in the vicinity of the weapon, causing a delay of about an hour while it was repositioned out of range.
That greater distance made no difference to the aim of the gunners, however, and the same point on the wall was subjected to a heavy pounding, cannonballs striking the same spot about every five minutes, with longer pauses while they used water to cool the weapon.
By late afternoon the situation had become critical: a small hole had been punched right through the castle wall. According to Shey, it would not take much further damage to undermine the battlements above, creating a heap of stones beside the gate over which our attackers could swarm to capture the castle.
In desperation, he led a force of about twenty mounted men through the main gate; they charged directly towards the gun, intending to kill the gunners. They were intercepted first by enemy riders and then by foot soldiers. Despite the enemy’s defences, things seemed to be going their way: Shey’s men were gaining ground, fighting their way towards the gun. Within a couple of minutes they would have achieved their aim, but then someone intervened.
A large muscular man with a shaven head and goatee beard joined the fray. He carried a huge double-bladed battle-axe and used it with deadly effect. He cut two of our soldiers down from their horses, each with a single blow, and immediately the tide turned. Our enemies fought with renewed vigour, and Shey was forced to improvise a retreat back towards the gate. It was barely closed before the enemy were at the walls.
They didn’t stay long. The Alliance archers killed and wounded a few; the rest withdrew behind their gunners. I’d expected them to commence firing again right away, but instead the large man approached the gate alone. He carried no white flag but had that huge axe resting on his shoulder. Unlike the messenger, he looked confident and walked with a swagger.
Shey climbed back up to the battlements and stood beside the Spook. ‘That’s Magister Doolan, the Butcher, the leader of the mages,’ he told him.