A desert wind scoured them with millions of sharp grains and dust-devils spun towards them in squadrons of small tornadoes, ripping at their skin, shrieking like demons as they passed. Jack led them on, trudging mile after mile until they reached a tall rock outcrop.
Corriwen walked round the rock. It was taller than they were, and worn from years of wind-blown sand. On its lee side, old lichens formed a thin dry skin.
"This looks like a statue," she observed.
It did look like an old statue. Like a kneeling man, head bowed. But it was so worn there were no features, just a vague shape.
"It's just shape cut by the wind," Jack said. "It'll wear it away to nothing eventually."
A few hundred yards further, another stone stood out on the sand.
"That's definitely a statue," Kerry said, pointing up at it. "Look, you can make out the eyes and nose."
It towered over them, broad and solid. It was clearly the carved figure of a man, standing with feet apart and arms by his sides. His face was tilted upwards and the mouth opened in an eternal, silent cry.
"Who'd put statues out here?" Kerry asked. "That guy looks as if he's been blasted between the eyes."
It was worn and cracked, corroded by the wind, but unmistakeably a human. The figure looked as if he was in perpetual agony. Jack was glad when it was behind them and they walked wards, guided by the steady beat of the heartstone. The further they walked, the stronger came a smell of burning and hot stone, and with each step, Jack felt a sense of oppression settle heavier on him.
Beyond the sand, the ground became bare rock, riven with cracks. Tremors shuddered under their feet and pieces of stone shaled off to fall in noisy avalanches. Misshapen creatures clambered in and out of the fissures and gaped hungrily at them, but came no closer.
When they reached another statue, exhausted and footsore. Kerry fetched the canteen and they all drank gratefully. This figure was less eroded than the last, as if it had been carved more recently. The man was down on one knee, head bowed, resting his weight on a wide-bladed sword. He looked every inch the warrior. But for the worn stony surface, he looked as if he might wake, get to his feet and do battle.
"Looks like a tough guy," Kerry said.
"He reminds me of my brother," Corriwen said. "He was a fine warrior."
Kerry screwed the lid back on the canteen. "That's the water half-done. We won't get much further."
Jack looked ahead. The dark smudge on the horizon was noticeably closer, but in the hot, dry air, its shape wavered like a mirage and he couldn't tell whether it was a hill or a distant mountain. As they got closer it began to look ominously like the Black Tomb in Temair where Mandrake raised the Morrigan and her terrible power from eons of sleep.
Corriwen shaded her eyes and stared at it sombrely, lips compressed. Jack understood how she felt. Neither she nor Kerry nor himself would ever forget the nightmare time they'd spent within the Morrigan's lair. He put his arm around her shoulder and drew her attention. Corriwen tried to smile, but there was nothing much to smile about.
Another, final statue stood out like a sentinel. When they reached it, they stopped and looked up at the tall figure. This last one could have been carved only yesterday. Every detail of the man was etched with such craftsmanship that even the weave of his cloak and tunic were clear to see. He stood with one hand held high. In the other he grasped a long, jagged spear.
Jack looked at the statue's face, strong and handsome, with a short beard and hair held back by a braided band. Its stone eyes stared ahead blindly. He looked at the spear and his heart did a double-thump.
Hedda, the Scatha warrior woman of Eirinn had wielded a great spear she called the Gae-bolg, a deadly weapon with great barbs raking forward like thorns. This was an exact replica. He stepped nearer, marvelling at the similarity.
"It's Hedda's spear," Kerry said. "Exactly the same, even down to the spikes."
"It's an awful weapon," Rionna said. She reached out to touch it and as she did, Megrin's staff flared with electric blue light. Jack felt the heartstone vibrate and the great sword trembled in his hand. He moved to pull Rionna back, but she turned unexpectedly and his fingers touched the stone hand that wielded the spear.
The heartstone flashed. A spark leapt between his fingers and the statue's hand. It seared through every nerve of his body. White light exploded behind his eyes and all sound and vision faded.
Jack staggered backwards, buckling at the knees. Kerry caught him before he fell.
"Jeez, Jack, what happened?"
The ground shuddered. Out on the plain, thin cracks opened in crazy zig-zags. In the far distance, thunder rolled across the sky and lightning forked upwards.
As Jack's vision began to clear, Kerry was yelling something in his ear. For a few moments he didn't know where he was. The heartstone was vibrating, thrumming hard. The great sword felt as if it was trying to leap out of the scabbard.
A harsh crack, like a gunshot, rang out and Corriwen let out a cry. Jack felt Kerry haul him backwards.
"It's going to fall," he bawled, pointing at the statue.
Another crack rent the air, and another, and then a whole fusillade of them.
"Watch out!" Corriwen grabbed the back of his tunic and she and Kerry dragged Jack back.
"What's happening?"
There was a pop in his ears and sound came back with great clarity.
And then the statue moved.
The raised arm flexed. Pieces of stone broke off. The mouth opened in a snarl. The spear swung forward. Shards flew off in all directions.
The man-shape took a step forward. It swayed and shook its head. Then the grey stone began to change colour in a terrifying transformation.
Jack saw the weave of the cloak fold and sway, turning from solid stone to a green fabric. The grey hand opened and closed and became flesh-coloured.
"It's alive," Rionna cried. The blue light was flickering up and down the length of Megrin's staff. At the sound of her voice, the living statue turned towards her. Its beard was now jet black and the hair dark and streaked with grey. But the eyes, though they were wide open, remained the colour of polished stone.
The statue let out a low cry and swung the spear towards them. Jack swept Rionna out of the path of the savage point.
The figure spun again, stabbing blindly and the spear-point slashed through the hood of Kerry's tunic as if it were paper. Kerry yelped, dodged away, fell over his back-pack and sprawled on the stony ground.
Jack dashed forward and slammed the spear down with the sword. Another jolt of power sizzled up the blade and into his arm with such a shock he almost dropped it. The blind fighter stalled. Kerry found his feet, the bolas in his hand, the three stones whirling on their strings. He threw it and the weights wrapped the strings round their opponent's legs.
The moving statue bellowed again, a great cry echoing over the barren plain, as it tried to take a step and fell headlong with an almighty crash. But still it managed to kick out, almost catching Corriwen on the side of the head, and quickly freed its legs from the entanglement. It was back on its feet in a flash.
"To hell with this," Kerry bawled. "It can't even see us."
With that, he bent scooped up a stone, slotted it into his sling and let fly. The rock caught the man on the back of the head. He went down on one knee, shook his head violently. Jack saw two small objects spin away.
The statue turned and when he did, his eyes were open and they were piercing blue. The eyes found his and locked on. A line of blood trickled down the man's cheek.
"Who are you?" he asked, in a Scottish accent almost exactly like the Major's. "And what in all the worlds are you doing with my sword?"