Knights of Dark Renown

CHAPTER NINE

Errin opened his eyes and almost wept with joy at the absence of pain. By his bed sat an elderly woman in a high-necked dress of blue wool edged with silver thread. ‘You are healed, young man. The bone is knit.’

‘Thank you, lady. Your magic must be very strong.’

‘And expensive,’ she told him. ‘But do not thank me — thank the Lord Cartain, who has paid handsomely for my services.’ She rose and walked from the room and Errin sat up. He was in a small bedchamber with two oval windows; a fire was blazing in the hearth and he could hear the cries of gulls from the roof above. He lay back on the pillows. The ride along the forest road had been a torture beyond his ability to endure; his broken leg had swollen and a fever had taken him. Vaguely he remembered Ubadai tying him to the saddle. And there were people… His hazy recollection was of a column of refugees snaking their way along the Royal Road as the snow began to fall. And weird cries in the night… the howls of wolves? It was difficult to remember anything but the grinding pain.

Ubadai entered, bearing a tray on which was a bowl of broth and a plate of fruit. ‘Better you eat,’ he said. ‘You still look bad.’

‘Where are we?’ Errin asked the stocky tribesman.

Ubadai set the tray on the bed and wandered to the window, pushing it open against the snow on the sill. ‘Pertia Port,’ he answered. ‘Our ship leaves tomorrow for Cithaeron.’

Errin finished the broth, which carried just a hint of the flavour of beef, and ate two of the apples on the side plate. With the window open he could smell the sea. He smiled and felt good to be alive.

Alive?

Suddenly he saw again Dianu tied to the stake… the flames curling up beneath her, the look in her eyes as he rode through the mob, the hope dying as he bent his bow, the flight of the arrow as it ended her life.

He groaned and Ubadai strode to him, his dark slanted eyes full of concern. ‘Old witch said all pain gone.’

‘I am all right,’ Errin told him, blinking back the tears from his eyes-

Then why cry? Not good for a man.’

‘Tears for the dead, Ubadai. That’s all.’

The Nomad tribesman grunted. ‘Leg healed; you should stand. Test it before the witch leaves.’

‘It’s fine. I’ll get up in a while. Who is this Lord Cartain?’

‘No Lord,’ replied Ubadai. ‘Nomad merchant. He is waiting downstairs. Shall I send him away?’

Errin chuckled. ‘The man has just seen to my health. Why on earth would I send him away?’

Ubadai sniffed- ‘Nothing for nothing,’ he said, returning to the window. ‘Good ship. Makes Cithaeron trip three… four times a year. Good time to sail. No storms.’

‘What is bothering you?’

Ubadai swung to face his young lord, but Errin could read nothing in the flat, expressionless face. ‘You want me to bring him to you?’

‘Yes, I would like to thank him.’

Ubadai shook his head. ‘I think, maybe, we miss

that ship.’

‘Nonsense. Bring him up.’ Errin swung from the bed and moved to the chair by the window, where his clothes lay neatly folded; they had been cleaned and perfumed. He dressed swiftly and was pulling on his thigh-length riding boots when Ubadai returned. Behind the tribesman was a tall hawk-faced man, dark-eyed and wearing a gold circlet on his brow. The man bowed.

‘It is a privilege to meet you, Lord Errin,’ said Cartain.

‘I cannot see that it should be a privilege,’ answered Errin, offering his hand.

Cartain shook it briefly. ‘You risked your life to save the Lady Dianu — and fought one of the dread Knights. You are a man of courage.’

‘I failed,’ said Errin. ‘Let that be an end to it.’

Cartain smiled. ‘May I sit?’ Errin nodded and the merchant arranged his flowing purple robes and sat in a high-backed chair.

‘Why have you helped me? Were you a friend to Dianu?’

‘Not a friend exactly. I arranged her… escape. I was retained to organize the removal of the family wealth and saw to it that Dianu’s sister was safely escorted here. I was waiting for the Lady Dianu herself to follow us, but then word came that she was delayed… hoping, I think, that you would join her. And then…’ He spread his hands.

‘Still you have not explained why you helped me?’

‘There is nothing sinister in my actions, Lord Errin. I am now the… trustee, if you will, of the lady’s estate. I take my duties seriously. The Lady Sheera is now the beneficiary and I had hoped to deliver her to Cithaeron.’

‘Had hoped?’

‘She is not here,’ said Cartain, his dark eyes locking to ErrirFs own. ‘She has it in her mind to avenge her sister and unbeknownst to me or my people, she engaged two men to lead her back through the forest. I believe she plans to kill Okessa.’

‘She is a child,’ said Errin. ‘Her scheme is madness.’

‘I know she has spent a number of years in Furbolg, Lord Errin, but to be seventeen is hardly a child. She is tall, well-formed and remarkably headstrong. I fear she has betrayed herself. Here in Pertia — though we are mercifully free from the terrors of the Realm proper — there are spies and assassins aplenty. And I had word yesterday that the King has ordered the fleet to Pertia; they will arrive in around ten days, and from then on the port will be closed to Nomad refugees.’

‘You said you feared Sheera had betrayed herself? Explain.’

‘One of the men she hired is known to be a King’s man. He is a spy and a killer; his reputation is loathsome.’

‘I do not see what I can do for you?’

‘Who else is there to bring her back? Your man here is said to be one of the finest trackers in the western lands. And there is something else, my Lord. There are strange tales of monsters loose in the woods. I would not like the Lady Sheera to suffer the fate of her sister.’

Errin sat back on the bed. ‘Nor would I, sir. But I am no warrior. Violence sickens me and I have no skill with weapons. Could you not find a more.worthy rescuer?’

‘It is my experience, Lord Errin, that you can rarely measure a man’s worth by his ability to deal injury to his fellows. But in that, at least, I can help you.’ With his left hand he lifted an apple from the discarded tray and, with his right, drew a dagger from his belt. With a flick of the wrist he tossed the apple in the air. His dagger flashed in a blur of movement and the fruit dropped neatly into his left hand. When he opened his fingers, the apple fell into four pieces.

‘A splendid trick, sir, but how does it help me?’ Errin asked.

Cartain stood and unbuckled the silver-edged leather belt he wore, passing it to Errin. ‘Please put it on, my Lord.’

‘I have a belt.’

‘Not like this. This was made by Ollathair, greatest of Craftsmen. Merely touch the buckle and whisper his name, and you will find your speed of hand and eye increased. It has saved my life on three occasions.’

Errin buckled the belt in place. ‘Now go to the far wall and say the name, my Lord.’ He did as he was bid. The buckle felt warm as his fingers touched it. ‘Ollathair,’ he whispered.

He watched as Cartain slowly rose. The merchant’s arm drew back and his dagger sailed towards Errin, who reached up and caught it easily. Ubadai, with uncharacteristic lack of speed, drew his own dagger and made his way on leaden feet towards the merchant.

Errin touched the belt once more. ‘Stop!’ he shouted, as Ubadai leapt for Cartain.

‘He tried to kill you!’ the tribesman stormed.

‘No,’ said Errin. ‘He was proving a point. I take it you hurled that dagger with all your might?’

‘I did indeed.’

‘This is a precious gift, Cartain; I have never seen the like. Why would you do this? It is more than merely a duty to a client.’

‘Yes. I fled Furbolg when the killings began, but even I did not realize how far the slaughter would go. I am now actively involved in financing an army to destroy Ahak — and hopefully all that he stands for. But it will take time. I need men like you, Errin — good men, loyal men, men of good family. No one will flock to the banner of a Nomad merchant, but they will to men like yourself. Fetch Sheera back within ten days and we will sail for Cithaeron and raise a force to free Gabala. Will you do it?’

Errin grinned as he heard Ubadai curse. ‘Of course I will do it. Tell me all you can about the men with Sheera.’

Cartain did so and they spoke until dusk. Then the merchant rose to leave. ‘I will have horses and provisions ready for you at dawn. There are snowstorms over the forest, and I understand the Royal Road is blocked. And there is one other thing you should know, Errin.’

‘What is that?’

‘Sheera hates you. She sees you as the reason her sister stayed behind, and she knows it was your arrow that killed Dianu. It is not just Okessa that she seeks to kill — you understand?’

Errin nodded. ‘I understand very well.’

Manannan waited in a grove outside the village while Ruad Ro-fhessa, the Armourer Ollathair, worked his magic in a granite cave hidden by the trees. Kuan cropped grass nearby. The Once-Knight had shaved and the wind felt good on his skin.

As dusk approached the wizard stepped from the cave and stretched. His face was grey with exhaustion as he walked wearily to Manannan and sat beside him on the grass.

‘It is ready,’ said Ruad. ‘One Word of Power will open the Gate. But I am too tired; give me a few moments to gather my strength.’

‘Take all the time you need. I am in no hurry.’

‘I am sorry for all that I have caused,’ said Ruad. ‘I hope you can believe that. I wanted only what was good — for the Knights and the Realm.’

‘I know. I should have gone with them at the first. I too carry guilt, Ollathair. And I wonder what became of Morrigan. I should have gone to her; I know she never loved me in the way she cared for Samildanach, but I owed it to her to go.’

‘You would not have found her. I went to her home and she was gone. Her parents told me she had run off in the night, taking no clothing nor money. They think she took her own life.’

‘Poor Morrigan,’ Manannan whispered. ‘To fall in love with a Knight pledged to celibacy and then to watch him ride into Hell. Are we fools, Ollathair? We rode to the Nine Duchies. We strove to bring justice. And what did we achieve? Look at the world!’

‘The Knights of the Gabala were a force for Harmony for centuries,’ said Ruad. ‘What did we achieve? I ask your own question of you. Look at the world now the Knights are gone! Now come with me, I have a gift.’

Ruad pushed himself to his feet and led the way inside the cave, where two candles were burning. On a wooden tree, shining like ghostly silver, was Manan-nan’s armour restored to shimmering beauty. A new white plume had been added to the helm.

‘Put it on. I will help you.’

‘How did you do this?’

‘I made another Gate to the Citadel and retrieved it. Come, wear it, in pride and honour.’

Manannan stripped his clothing and donned the leather under-tunic, adding the mail habergeon. Slowly he buckled on the breastplate, fastened the shoulder-plates and stood while Ruad settled the greaves into place. He pulled on the silver gauntlets and lastly lifted the dread helm.

‘This held me prisoner for six lonely years. Will it do so again?’

‘No. There are no special spells, but the armour is still magic and will protect you against most weapons of evil.’

Manannan lowered the helm into place and twisted the neck-plates into the grooves at the base of the helmet. He lifted the visor. ‘It feels larger.’

‘You have no beard, Manannan. You are as you were on that night six years ago. Have you prayed?’

The Once-Knight smiled grimly. ‘Not for a very long time.’

‘Then do it now — Knight of the Gabala.’

‘To do so now would be hypocrisy. Come, Ollathair, open the Gate.’

They walked out into the waning light and Manannan called Kuan to him. He stepped into the saddle and waited. Ollathair knelt in prayer for several minutes, then lifted his arm and spoke two Words of Power.

Before the horseman the darkness gathered, forming into a great square. A hiss of escaping air came from the centre of the blackness and a long tunnel appeared, from which blew an icy wind.

Kuan backed away, but Manannan whispered words of comfort.

‘Ride now!’ shouted Ollathair. ‘I can hold it for but a few moments more.’

Fear rose in Manannan’s heart, colder than the wind from the tunnel. His body began to tremble and his heart pounded erratically. ‘Dear Gods,’ he whispered. Kuan reared as unearthly screams came from the tunnel and Manannan dragged his blade from its scabbard.

‘In the name of All Holiness — ride!’ screamed Ollathair.

Lifting a gauntleted hand to his helm, Manannan pulled shut the visor. Then, with a bellowed battle-cry, he kicked Kuan into a run and rode, sword in hand, beyond the Gate.

Lamfhada groaned in his sleep and began to shiver. Across the hut, Elodan stirred and sat up; he moved across to the youth, who was now rolling his head and moaning.

Elodan touched Lamfhada’s shoulder. ‘Wake up, you are dreaming.’

Suddenly Lamfhada screamed. His hand rose and a golden flash of light exploded from his fingers to hurl Elodan across the floor. The Knight struggled to his knees, gasping for breath, as Lamfhada awoke and swung his legs from the bed.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked, seeing the Knight crouched on the floor.

‘What the Hell did you do, boy?’

‘Nothing. I heard a noise and woke,’ answered Lamfhada, mystified.

Elodan rose. He lit a lantern and held it in front of his chest; the skin was red and burned in a wide circle from his neck to his belly.

‘What is that? How did you do it?’ Lamfhada asked.

‘I didn’t. You did. You were dreaming; I tried to wake you, then lightning flashed from your hand.’

‘I don’t remember anything — except the hooded man. It was a nightmare — I have had it often: A man chanting on a hillside; then he turns into a giant wolf. And there is a mist and a sword. But it is all hazy now.’

‘Well, the lightning was real, Lamfhada. You have a magic in you.’

Elodan moved back to his bed and sat down, while Lamfhada added fuel to the dying fire in the brazier and stoked it to life. The Knight sat in silence for some moments, lost in thought, then he glanced up at the blond youth. ‘A traveller came to the village today. He talked of a wizard and a Healer in the forest to the east of us; a one-eyed wizard, Lamfhada. I think it must be the man you spoke of.’

‘It is,’ said Lamfhada softly. ‘I sense his presence in the forest when I fly the Yellow. I wish I could go to him.’

‘Why should you not?’

‘I would be lost as soon as I passed out of sight of the village.’

‘Does he have a great power?’ asked the Knight.

‘Yes.’

‘Could he… heal this?’ Elodan raised the stump of his right arm.

‘I do not know. I think that he could… I think he can do anything he wishes.’

‘Then I will help you to find him.’ Lamfhada looked away. ‘He may not be able — or willing — to help you, Elodan. He can be a hard man.’ The Knight shrugged. ‘Then I will be no worse off than I am. We will leave in the morning.’

‘I don’t know…’

Elodan smiled grimly. ‘You are thinking of the stories of the beasts in the greenwood. Have you seen any?’

‘No, but old Tomar saw one and he said it was ten feet tall. And the howling…’

‘You think these village huts would stop such a creature? Well, they would not. You are no safer here than out in the forest. Will you travel with me?’

‘Yes, I will. I need to see Ruad again.’

‘Good.’

They set off into the snow-shrouded forest at first light. Elodan had borrowed a thick sheepskin jerkin and a cloak of white wool. He wore a small canvas pack filled with oats and dried meat, and carried a hatchet with a large curved blade. Lamfhada had cut slits in two blankets and wore them both like capes, belted at the waist. He took Arian’s spare bow and a quiver of arrows. By mid-afternoon the walkers had travelled some eight miles to the east.

Twice they had seen large tracks, and once had heard a weird howling to the north.

Just before dusk they arrived at the banks of a wide river. A thin sheet of ice had formed on the surface.

‘How do we cross it?’ asked Lamfhada.

‘We’ll search for some narrows,’ said Elodan, setting off towards the south. They walked for another hour, but found nowhere to cross. At last they came to an abandoned hut; inside Elodan built a fire and they ate some oats and meat.

In the night Lamfhada awoke to the sounds of bestial screams. He walked to the door and looked out into the darkness, but could see nothing. He built up the fire and settled down once more.

At dawn the travellers emerged into the cold air. Elodan stopped and pointed at the ground before the hut where huge paw-marks could be seen in the snow.

The Knight stood and examined the hut walls. They were made of thin timbers, crudely nailed into place. ‘Help me,’ he said. Then he walked to the corner of the building and wedged his hatchet-blade between two timbers, levering an edge loose. Lamfhada took hold of the wood and between them they ripped out a plank some ten feet long and two feet wide. ‘One more,’ said Elodan. They carried the planks to the river’s edge and Elodan moved up and down the bank, seeking out a place where; the ice seemed thickest. Then he slid one plank out on to the ice and, lifting the other plank to his shoulder, carefully stepped on to the wood. The ice crunched and crackled, but did not give. He walked slowly out on to the river, then laid the other plank in front of the first and stepped on to it. ‘Now you,’ called Elodan. Black cracks snaked out from the ice and Lamfhada moved swiftly forward.

Together they eased the first plank round and pushed it to the front.

Slowly, and with great care, they inched their way across the frozen water. With the opposite shore close they heard a hideous growl and Elodan turned.

Behind them on the bank stood a towering creature with black scaled skin, grey-furred at the shoulder. It dropped to all fours and charged across the ice towards them.

‘Run!’ Elodan ordered Lamfhada.

‘But the ice!’

‘Damn the ice! Run!’ Lamfhada leapt from the plank, slithered and almost fell, but then began to run. The ice crunched beneath his feet, but did not give until he was almost at the bank. He dropped into a few inches of water and pulled himself to solid ground. Swinging round, he saw Elodan standing on the plank, axe in hand. Then the Knight leapt from the platform and moved to his right where the ice was weakest. Lamfhada saw him dive forward, his arms and legs spread, and watched his body slide further out on to the ice. The beast changed direction — and charged Elodan. The Knight rolled to his belly and lifted the hatchet smashing it to the ice again and again. Great cracks rippled out. A sheet of ice tipped Elodan into the water. The beast tried to stop, but another sheet gave way and with a great splash it toppled into the river. For a moment only its head came clear, then it was sucked away below the surface. Lamfhada saw Elodan holding on to the ice. The youth stood and ran along the bank, seeking a way through to the knight.

Elodan saw him. ‘Stay back,’ he shouted and tried to pull himself up on to the ice, but with only one hand he could not gain purchase. The ice gave once more… and Elodan slid from sight. ‘No!’ Lamfhada screamed.

He scrambled along the river bank for almost a mile, for he could see the dark form of his friend floating beneath the ice. But after almost half an hour he knew it was hopeless.

Lamfhada sat down on a fallen tree. Fatigue and shock hit him and he began to weep, but at last his tears ran dry and wearily he stood and looked out over the river. Some thirty paces downstream he could see the black shape he knew to be the body of Elodan under the ice near the bank. He moved closer to it. The current created the sensation of movement in his friend, the arm appearing to thud against the ice. Lamfhada took up a heavy branch and smashed it against the surface. Twice more he struck — and the ice parted. Reaching down, he grabbed Elodan’s jerkin and hauled the body clear.

‘Get a… fire… going, for… pity’s sake,’ whispered Elodan. Lamfhada dragged the Knight back from the bank and into a small hollow shielded by trees. He cleared snow from the ground for a fire and gathered wood and tinder, but his fingers were too cold to hold the fire flints. He rubbed them furiously and tried again and at last a small flame began to flicker. Carefully he blew it to life and added small twigs and branches. After what seemed an eternity, a bright blaze burned. He helped Elodan from his frozen clothes and rubbed life into his arms and chest. Then he removed one of his blanket capes and lifted it over Elodan’s head. He built up the fire until the flames were over three feet high.

‘I would not want to go through that again,’ said Elodan at last, some colour back in his features.

‘How did you survive so long below the water?’ Lamfhada asked. ‘Are you also a magician?’

‘No — but I know nature. Between the ice and the water there is a gap of around two inches. I swam on my back, cutting across the current, looking for a place near the bank where the ice was thin. But it was the cold that almost beat me; I did not have the strength to break through.’

‘It was brave of you to risk your life against the beast.’

Elodan shook his head. ‘Do not confuse courage with necessity. When a man has only one choice, it is not a question of bravery.’

‘You could have run.’

‘The ice would not have supported me.’

‘You do not know that, sir Knight,’ said Lamfhada.

‘No, I do not. Now let us speak no more of it. Tomorrow we will seek out your wizard. But for now — I must sleep.’

The wounds in Groundsel’s back required more than forty stitches, yet still he was sitting in his chair when Nuada stood on the central table to tell the gathering of the fight with the beast. Llaw Gyffes and Arian sat beside Groundsel and the hall was silent as the poet began.

He spoke first of the heroes of the past — his words lyrical, almost hypnotic. Then gradually, imperceptibly, the tone changed. He talked of blood and death, and the horrors of the damned. Men shivered despite the blazing fires. He spoke of evil, and the works of evil.

‘Nothing is untouched by it,’ he said. ‘For it is like a plague, spreading through the hearts of men. Some it touches and corrupts instantly, others carry the seed within themselves. Only the very strong can withstand it.’ He paused, his eyes scanning the crowd. There were more than one hundred and fifty men gathered here, many having arrived that morning with their families to escape the beasts roaming the forest. ‘Only the very strong,’ he repeated. ‘Now we have heard how these Demon-beasts came among us. One was seen by a boy; he watched it appear in a flash of lightning on a hillside. Perhaps it was that very creature,’ said Nuada, pointing to the giant head impaled on a lance at the back of the hall. ‘Now in the Elder times such beasts were well known, and knights and heroes rode out to slay them, armed with magic swords or lances, their bodies encased in armour strengthened by spells. Yet last night a group of men, ordinary men, walked the same perilous path as those legendary heroes. But there were no magic swords, no sorcery — only strength, and courage. Two of those men are not here in the flesh; they gave their lives to end the terror. But they are here in spirit, honoured guests among their comrades. They stand proud. No matter what deeds they may have committed in life, in death they are forgiven and exalted. Their names, which will live for ever in song, are Askard and Dubarin. There they stand, by the fire. Let them know how much you value them.’

All around the hall men raised their weapons — swords, lances, knives and axes — and a great cheer went up.

Nuada waited for several moments, then raised his arms for silence.

‘And now my friends, my heroes of the forest, Askard and Dubarin, will hear their tale for the first time. And then they will rejoin the other heroes of history in the fabled Halls of Heaven, to drink of the Wine of Life, to savour the joys of glory.’

Groundsel leaned forward and winced as the stitches pulled at his flesh, but his eyes shone as the events of the night before came to life. The tracking and the grisly find, the bowmen in the trees, the leader and Llaw Gyffes sitting in the open by the fire. The nerves, the fear, the dread anticipation — all were recaptured by the poet, and Groundsel felt himself back by the fire waiting, waiting… saw again the massive jaws of the Demon-beast as it bore silently down upon him, felt the stomach-wrenching panic as its forepaws closed around him.

‘And seeing the lovely bow-woman in mortal danger, Groundsel flung himself at the towering monster. Look! Look at the fangs, and picture it in life with its dreadful talons. But Groundsel did not flinch from the danger. With two short swords he charged, burying them deep into the belly of the beast. Its talons ripped into him… as he knew they would. But other heroes were close by.’

The story moved to its climax and Groundsel tore his eyes from the poet and gazed at the men in the room. Their faces were shining, their eyes fixed as the tale neared its end. Askard and Dubarin had given their lives. Llaw Gyffes had clung to the monster’s back. And every man had followed Groundsel, conquering their fears, to slay the Demon-beast.

Each feverish, horrific moment blazed into life. Sweat dripped from Groundsel’s face and his heart hammered wildly within him. He felt he could take no more, wanting to run from the hall. But the tale ended, with Nuada swinging to point at Groundsel and his companions. ‘And there, my friends, are the leading heroes of the tale. The warrior maiden who stood so recklessly before the beast, the man of the axe who rode the demon, and the Forest Lord who stepped into its deadly embrace and lived. Let them hear your cheers.’

A mighty roar went up and Arian could feel the timbers vibrating beneath her feet as men stamped and cheered. Groundsel stood, but his legs were weak and he staggered. Llaw Gyffes rose beside him, supporting his arm. The crowd surged forward, knocking over tables and chairs; seizing Groundsel, they lifted him high as the applause thundered around the hall. Arian took Llaw’s arm and led him out into the open air.

‘He told it well,’ she said, ‘but not like it was.’

‘Where was he wrong?’

‘Groundsel did none of it for pure motives. He wanted to be in another tale of heroes — and he wanted to show me how brave he was.’

‘Is that so terrible? Did he not save you from the creature?’

She hooked her arm in his and led him to the stockade wall. The forest was dark and menacing, but there was no howling to be heard. ‘Yes,’ she admitted, ‘he saved me. So did you. What I did was foolish, and I too enjoyed being part of the new forest legends. Will we have some peace now, do you think?’

‘Peace? We will kill all the beasts, but that will not bring us peace. Why are they here? What force sent them? No, we will have no peace, Arian. I think this is the beginning of a war.’

‘You believe the King is sending these demons to the forest?’

‘No, not the King. One of his sorcerers.’

‘Then maybe you are right. Maybe we should leave the forest and head for Cithaeron.’

‘We?’ he asked, drawing back.

‘I want to be where you are, Llaw. You must know that I love you.’

He took her by the shoulders, holding her from him. Her eyes were bright with tears, and her hair shone silver in the moonlight.

‘The last woman I loved was brutally murdered. I am not ready, Arian, to suffer such pain again. I think I will never be ready.’

And he left her there, alone on the ramparts.