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feet.
    ‘What am I?’ he asked. ‘Another animated corpse like those that serve Cadman?’
    The Archon dipped his head for a moment before making his reply. ‘You are the same man risen, Shader, but you have seen things no one should see. I am not convinced that Aristodeus is right about you. You are the desperate plan of a desperate man, but it is the best we have. You may not have found your faith, but I will make you the gift of mine. Find your friends—they have fled this place; take counsel, and do not be swayed by power for that is the chief weapon of the Deceiver. Fulfil your task, Deacon Shader. It is a long road you must take. If it is the wrong one, then the error is Aristodeus’s, but the guilt is mine for permitting it.’
    ‘But why me? Why can’t you…?’
    White fire consumed the Archon, coalescing into a ball of flame and winking out of existence. Shader was left staring at his boots, feeling leaden and exhausted. It took all his will to lift his eyes and scan the emptiness surrounding him, the wreckage of the doors through which the Dweller had forced its entrance.
    Tajen’s contorted face came unbidden to his mind, flesh peeling from his skull, the blank look of despair filling his eyes. Shader shook his head and the image dispersed like mist in the breeze. Clenching his jaw, he drew back his shoulders and set off down the nave. All he could think of was the urgent need to gain some distance from the desolation of the templum.
     
     

PLANS AND PREPARATIONS
     
    S hader made his way through the deserted streets of Sarum. Occasionally he would glimpse a face peering at him through gaps in shutters, and once or twice he spotted dark clad vagabonds rifling the bodies of the dead. None approached him; he felt like a lion among hyenas.
    He made for Arnbrook House with the intention of enquiring about the fate of his friends. Passing the stone Arch of Welcome that had stood as long as Sarum’s ancient spires, he pressed himself flat against a wall as he was confronted with a gruesome sight that turned his stomach. Cadman’s deathly troops had apparently found new recruits amongst the plague victims. A vast undead army now filled the square before the council offices, spilling into the adjoining streets. To the rear of the horde he could see the horsemen of the Lost. In all there must have been a thousand rotting and animated corpses assembled, all waiting with the patience and stillness of the grave. Muttering a curse, he retraced his steps. If the others had survived, if they weren’t among the numbers of the walking dead, they’d have found somewhere to hole up in the city. The priests would stick out like diamonds in dung. Somebody must have seen them.
    In spite of the rule of undeath, the city had started to come back to some semblance of life now that the plague appeared to have relaxed its grip. Sarum’s drawn and haggard populace began to creep forth from their dwellings, still wary at first of contact with one another, still frightened and grieving. Here and there a market stall was erected where those with the foresight to store and preserve their wares now profited from the desperate hunger of their fellows. It was from such a stall that Shader learned that the priests were hiding in a dilapidated townhouse in Edgebriar. Apparently a fat man in a white robe had come this morning to purchase rations.
    Cadris screamed when he opened the door to Shader and then started blubbering about Nous and resurrection. Soror Agna almost genuflected, but opted instead for an open-mouthed look of astonishment. Ioana, when at last she came downstairs, looked for the wound in his back, noted its disappearance, and simply sniffed.
    Once the initial shock of his arrival had passed, Shader was bustled up three flights of stairs and a flimsy ladder to the attic.
    Gaston was sitting with his back against a joist. Soror Velda was stooped over him adjusting the blood-stained bandages that were wound about his