'Stay where you are.'
Tom seized the old man by the neck.
'Don't move ... or he dies.'
The men in grey stared back like electronic toys robbed of instructions. More soldiers arrived. The priest seemed encouraged by their presence.
'Foul servant of the dark.'
Tom let him scream.
'Pitiful abomination of the Great She Whore.'
There was something repetitive about the old man's vocabulary. Tom recognised the dull rant of a dull mind. Four swordsmen now confronted him. His only asset was a priest and a staff with a golden disc. It wasn't much but it was better than nothing.
'Guards!'
The old man screamed and two of the soldiers sprang forward. Tom brought one down with the golden disk and used the butt of the staff to dispose of the other. Then, with the priest over his shoulder, to protect his rear, he plunged into the bushes and charged off downhill.
The old man recited a curse. Tom scarcely heard it. His attention was on a welcome sound. He recognised it from his childhood. It was the sound people in red coats made when they hunted foxes. They blew on small conical horns like those carried by the charioteers in his new realm. The long meadow was at the bottom of the slope. He reached the stream that separated it from the sanctuary and waded across.
Chariots were practising manoeuvres, reeling backwards and forwards and executing tight turns. They came into line when he appeared and charged towards him. Tom recognised the warrior in the lead chariot and waved the staff with the golden disc.
'Hail. Griffin son of Dragon.'
The chariot halted a few paces away.
'Hail. Sky Warrior.'
Griffin returned the salute and the priest yelled at him.
'Foul Fiend. You who consorts with the Great She Whore. You who brought this monster into our midst. Your soul light shall not escape the consequences of your foul abominations.'
Tom saw the alarm on the Chariot Master's face.
'Shut up!'
He swung the priest round and stared him in the face.
'Shut up ... or I'll screw your stupid head off.'
He held the white-robed figure at arm's length and walked towards the stream. Men in grey watched from the other side and he tossed the priest towards them.
Griffin watched in awe.
Tom sauntered back to him.
'Who was that nasty little sod?'
'He's the Grand Master of the Duideth,' the Chariot Master gasped. He is a priest from the south lands ... a custodian of great knowledge and power.'
'He didn't come over like that to me.'