There was no way that Tom could get past him. Yet he could not go back and face Old Jack. There was only one thing he could do.

He would have to fight.

Young Jack sneered. For a moment his face was contorted in pure evil, and fear shivered its cold tendrils down Tom’s spine.

‘You are too weak to pass me.’ His adversary casually took the mace from its hooks and, lifting it, brought it down on the edge of the table, which shattered into splinters.

As quickly as the mace seemed to fly back upwards, Tom remembered what Rohenga had said to him in the wood.

You will find a way. Was it the sword? He half-pulled it out.

Jack smirked at him. ‘I see you have no knowledge of the sword. Then …’ He started forwards in a feint.

The only way he had was what Zita had shown him. He sensed the energy in the room, the power. All around him were the wild traces of the Captive. Young Jack radiated the black force he knew so well and hated so much. Gently, he reached out with his mind and touched the edges of the Samdhya energy and pulled it into himself. The room was glowing and glimmering

It filled him with new strength. Weaving as much of the Samdhya energy as possible into his own, he moulded it into a ball of furious power and propelled it at Young Jack, smashing it right into his stomach and forcing him to bend double at the waist.

‘A hit,’ gasped Young Jack. His knees were buckling, he crumpled, and Tom dashed towards the door.

A fraction of a second later, Young Jack straightened and drew his arm back, and the full force of a dark blast smashed Tom onto a crimson rug. He rolled over and jumped back upwards, crouching low to regain his energy.

He reached out once more to the traces of the Samdhya. But something was wrong. Young Jack was blocking him.

A heavy thump sounded to his left. The mace landed just by him. Tom scrambled back on his heels and slammed into Young Jack with a raging pulse.

Young Jack staggered backwards and dropped the mace. He was trembling now. Tom withdrew his sword from his scabbard and made a dash for the door. Just before he reached it, his adversary drew himself up and threw one final burst of power at Tom.

But Tom deflected it, meeting it with his own.

He reached the door.

‘You will not succeed.’ Young Jack, sunk to his knees, gasped. ‘The Captive is bound with such power as you do not, cannot understand. You are a pawn. You are nothing. You and the others will die. I, James Swinton, will live. I will live longer than the powers that beset us now. I will be the last.’