Knights of Dark Renown

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Manannan relaxed as the guards took hold of his arms, his head dropping on his chest. Then, in an explosive burst of movement, he tore his right arm free and hammered his elbow back into one guard’s throat. The man screamed and staggered. Twisting towards the second guard, Manannan rammed his forehead into the man’s face. Free once more, he dragged a dagger from the guard’s belt and leapt at Paulus, grabbing him by his long white hair and hauling him forward so that the knife-point rested against the wrinkled flesh of his throat.

The four other guards drew weapons, but stood by, uncertain.

‘Dismiss them,’ ordered Manannan, ‘or your life ends here.’

‘Get back,’ squealed Paulus. ‘Leave us!’ The guards helped their injured comrades from the room and pulled the door shut. Manannan dragged back Paulus’ head and pricked the skin of his neck, allowing a thin trickle of blood to seep down on to his white tunic.

‘You will now take us to my armour and my horse,’ hissed Manannan, ‘and then I might let you live.’ He flicked a glance at Morrigan. ‘Are you coming with me?’

‘Where else can I go?’

‘Then lead the way through the back of the apartments. The guards are probably there by now, but we’ll walk through them.’

Dragging the whimpering Paulus, they entered the gardens; the smell from the blooms was almost sickening. The black-cloaked guards had gathered, but they stayed back as Manannan followed Paulus’ directions to the stables beyond a high white wall. Kuan was there, standing statue-still. Manannan ran his hand over the stallion’s back, but the animal did not move.

‘What have you done to him?’ stormed the Once-Knight.

‘We made him better than ever he was,’ said Paulus, ‘as we were doing with you. Why can you not understand, Manannan? We have given you freely the gift of immortality!’

The Once-Knight flung the old man against a wall. ‘Immortality? You almost made me one of you — a drinker of souls.’

‘Do not be so romantic,’ snapped Paulus. ‘Do you not slaughter animals for meat? Where then is the difference? Or will you tell me that a bull has no soul? It is a living being made up of flesh and blood and bone — and that is all a man is. We perfected the elixir of life. What right have you to judge us?’

‘I will not debate with you, Vampyre. There is no point. Now, where is the armour?’

Paulus led him to a wide room at the rear of the stable. Here, on wooden trees, were nine suits of silver armour. Manannan’s anger soared and he swallowed hard.

‘This is all that remains of the true Knights who came here! The proud men who wore these are dead — just as you are dead, Paulus. You may walk under the sun, but you are dead: a ruined, corrupted thing.’ He turned to Morrigan. ‘Saddle Kuan.’

‘The guards are gathering outside,’ she told him.

‘Ignore them. Saddle my horse.’

‘They will not let us leave.’

‘Then I shall cut a path through them. Now, saddle Kuan.’

‘It is not too late for you, Manannan,’ whispered Paulus. ‘I spoke harshly before, but you could still join us. Wait and speak to Samildanach — he is your friend.’

‘He is dead, Paulus. I do not speak with the dead.’ Morrigan led the cold stallion into the room and Manannan moved to stand before his horse, pulling Paulus with him. He handed his knife to Morrigan. ‘If he struggles or moves an inch, kill him. Can you do that?’

‘It would be a pleasure,’ she said, holding the blade against Paulus’ throat.

He smiled thinly. ‘And how long, my dear, can you survive in the world of blood without your Ambria? You will need nourishment — and they will hate you for it. They will destroy you.’

Morrigan said nothing, but the Once-Knight saw the truth bring fear, to her eyes. He could find no words of comfort and moved to his armour.

‘Look out!’ shouted Morrigan and Manannan swivelled just as a lance hurtled towards his back. He threw up an arm to strike the missile aside, but the guard who had thrown it stepped from behind a stall and ran at him with sword raised. The Once-Knight reached out and drew his own shining silver blade from its scabbard on the tree.

‘You cannot stand against me,’ he told the guard. ‘Be sensible — and live.’

The guard shouted an obscenity and rushed in, whereupon Manannan countered the clumsy blow and slashed a reverse sweep across the man’s throat. The guard’s head toppled from his shoulders, body slumping to the hay-strewn floor. Swiftly Manannan donned his armour, buckling the breastplate and sliding the shoulder-guards into place. His stomach heaved and his body shook; sweat trickled from his face into his eyes.

‘Be strong, Manannan,’ Morrigan pleaded. He forced a grin and walked to Paulus.

‘Now, Vampyre, you have one last opportunity to cling to your half-life. Open the Gate between the Worlds.’

‘I cannot, not here. The beasts will enter. There must be space for the tunnel.’

‘Then you die here,’ said Manannan softly, pressing the sword to Paulus’ belly.

‘Wait!’ begged the old man. ‘I could reach Ollathair! He could open the Gate.’

‘Then do it!’

Paulus nodded and closed his eyes. A golden circle of light began to grow against the far wall and Manannan saw a cave packed with people and Ollathair talking to a tall man with a red-gold beard. He watched as the sorcerer stiffened and turned. Ollathair’s voice whispered inside Manannan’s mind.

‘Do not taunt me, Manannan. Begone! Join your brothers!’

‘I need help, Ollathair,’ said the Once-Knight, aloud. ‘Morrigan is with me. You must open the Gate.’

‘If this is some form of demonic trickery, you will answer for it.’

Manannan shook his head. ‘Just open the Gate, Armourer. I’ll give you answers.’

‘Consider it done,’ said Ollathair and the vision faded.

Manannan rested his sword on Paulus’ shoulder. ‘Morrigan, I think it best that you also don a suit of armour. Use the one furthest left; it once belonged to Pateus, and he was slim enough.’

He watched as she slid from her dress, then turned his attention to Paulus. ‘I ought to kill you,’ he whispered. ‘By the Source, you deserve it! But I will not.’

‘Do not take a high moral tone with me, Manannan, merely because my ways are different from yours. In your petty world, thousands die in wars and plagues and bloodshed. Their corpses serve no purpose. Here the deaths are relatively few, for we have no battles and no diseases. My people are a cultured race.’

‘You live on death, Paulus — on other people’s misery. Do you drag them screaming for mercy to their deaths? And do they feel fear as you did a few moments ago? Do they beg for their lives as you were prepared to do?’

‘I would imagine they do,’ Paulus admitted, ‘though the Ambria vats are in the north of the city and I have not found it necessary to visit them. But in your world, do not the kings and princes have men put to death? Do they not own slaves whose lives depend upon the whim of their owners?’

‘There is nothing either of us can say to reach the other,’ said Manannan. ‘You and your race are evil — but then that is just a word to you. You will be destroyed… in time.’ Glancing back at Morrigan, who was fastening silver greaves to her calves, he waited until she buckled the sword to her hip and then patted Kuan’s neck. ‘Come, Greatheart, we are going home.’

‘He does not hear you,’ said Paulus. ‘The stallion is dead. But you will find him faster than ever he was; he will not let you down.’

‘He would not have let me down in life — and that would have been his choice,’ Manannan told him. ‘Go, Paulus. You are free.’

The old man turned to find himself facing Morrigan, a sword in her hands.

‘What are you doing?’ whispered Paulus. ‘He said I was free.’

‘Perhaps he did,’ hissed Morrigan, ‘but I am of the Vyre, Paulus, and I am evil. I am what you made me.’

‘Don’t! Please. I beg you, Morrigan. I will bring you Ambria… I will…’

Her sword hammered into his side, ripping his entrails from his body, and he fell screaming to the floor.

Morrigan ran to Manannan and vaulted into the saddle behind him. ‘Ride!’ she shouted.

The dead stallion bunched its muscles and galloped from the stable. Guards hurled themselves aside as the horse thundered by. Arrows bounced from Manannan’s armour — and then they were clear and out into the countryside.

Ahead of them lay the trees and the dark shadow-haunted entrance to the Tunnel of the Gate.

‘Why did you kill him?’ shouted Manannan.

‘Why did you not?’ she countered.

Kuan ran on, his pace constant. Arrows jutted from his dead flesh and Manannan felt a great sense of loss and a heavy sadness. They entered the tunnel at a full gallop and all light vanished, but when Manannan held up his sword and shouted ‘Ollathair!’, the blade blazed with a white light which reflected from scores of eyes to the left and right.

‘The beasts are coming,’ screamed Morrigan and Manannan glanced back to see a pack of huge, lumbering wolf creatures running along the trail behind them. He turned his gaze to the front — the tunnel was ending.

And still the Gate was shut.

‘Was that the enemy?’ asked Llaw, as the glowing golden window faded.

‘I hope not,’ answered Ruad. ‘That was Manannan. I sent him through the Black Gate in search of the Gabala Knights and I must bring him back.’

‘But you said that the evil beyond the Gate overcame them. How do you know it has not affected Manannan? This could be a trick.’

‘If it proves so, he — they — will rue it. I am not without power. I will return here by morning.’ As Ruad moved towards the doorway, Llaw called out to him.

‘Shall I send men with you?’

‘No. If it is a trap, they will not be able to aid me, and if it isn’t I will not need them.’

The sorcerer walked out into the snow, glad to be free of the cave and the hope in the eyes of Llaw Gyffes. How could the man understand the ways of magic? He was a blacksmith and a man of little learning. As far as he was concerned, the enemy were just men. The fact that they possessed enormous power from the Red did not concern him. After all, the great Ollathair was now with the rebels.

‘Find me a way to kill them.’

Did.he think it was so easy? Samildanach alone had almost been a match for Ruad Ro-fhessa — and that was before they passed through the Gate. Who knew of what terrible deeds he was now capable? Ruad trudged on, reaching a low hill above the cave. The wind howled around him and he walked on into a circle of trees. Selecting a shaded spot, he gathered wood, building a rough pyramid. He needed no tinder. Reaching into the Red, he ran his hand over a branch; flames sprang from within the wood and he thrust it into the pyramid.

For a little while he sat lost in thoughts of all that could have been. Then he straightened his back and reached for the calm of the White.

Soon he would open the Gate, but first he had to think, to plan. If Manannan had been changed, corrupted, then Ruad would kill him. Morrigan, too. If not, he would seek the Once-Knight’s counsel and plan — as Llaw urged him — a defence against Samildan-ach’s evil.

Evil? He rolled the word around in his mind. What did it mean? Samildanach had been a Knight, pledged to fight injustice. He had always hated evil. Yet now he was the man Ruad feared above all others. And how did Samildanach view him? As evil? Was it all relative? A mere matter of perception? The Gabala Knights had patrolled the Nine Duchies dispensing justice — but they were backed by their skills with lance and blade, which meant that their power was inspired by fear. And fear was a cousin to evil.

Ruad shook his head. This was not the time for such a debate.

He pictured again Manannan’s face and the shadowy background he had glimpsed through the window. There was something there, he recalled, that had caught his eye. He concentrated on the memory, trying to bring the image into sharp focus. Something had gleamed in the background. A mirror behind Manannan? No, not a mirror. A warrior in armour? No, not quite. It was inert… lifeless… and yet, curiously familiar.

Think, man!

He lifted himself once more into the White, cleansing his mind, freeing himself from fear and doubt. All that mattered was the gleaming object. All else faded.

And then it was there: the ornate shoulder-plate he had made for Edrin. It was resting on a wooden armour-tree, and with it was Edrin’s silver armour.

Ruad opened his eye — his mouth dry and his heart beginning to hammer. He tried again to find calm, but it was impossible. The original armour of the Gabala Knights was within his grasp, for if Edrin’s armour was there, why not the others?

He thought of Manannan. The Gate would need to be opened soon, but thefe was still time. He needed power and floated towards the Black, filling his body with strength, feeling his muscles swell. Then he sought the Red. Fear touched him as the Colour washed over him — such a powerful spell would radiate far. He must be swift, or Samildanach would locate him and travel the Mist to kill him. He pictured the arms he had made for the Gabala Knights — the ornate helms, habergeons, greaves and gauntlets, and the swords of silver steel that would never dull. He drew the memories to him and reached out. His mind swam. Waves of pain blanketed him.

He had tried this before — six years ago — and been repulsed by a wall of sorcery. But now the wall had disappeared. Sensing the closeness of his creations, he opened the eyes of his mind and saw Manannan and Morrigan racing towards the Gate. The woman was wearing Pateus’ armour.

Swiftly he reached out again. There! In a wide room, seven suits of armour and seven swords. He returned to his body, holding the place in his mind, and said aloud the Words of Calling. The air crackled and his head ached; he groaned and felt the wetness of blood flowing from his nose.

Too late now to halt the process. ‘Come to me!’ he shouted. ‘Come to Ollathair!’ A flash of light leapt from the ground before him, scattering his fire. He brushed the cinders from his lap and fought his way through the burning pain in his chest. His left arm was growing numb, and he could feel panic welling in him. If his heart gave out now, it would all be for nothing.

Calm! Be calm, he told himself. ‘Come to me!’ he whispered.

Glowing lights formed a circle around Ruad, shimmering in the moonlight, translucent and almost transparent. He watched as they formed, growing more solid. Slumping back to the ground, he sucked in a deep breath. Around him, like ghostly Knights, stood the armour of the Gabala — and with this, allied to Ruad’s own enormous powers, Llaw Gyffes might have a chance. He eased himself to his feet.

He must open the Gate for Manannan. He gathered his fading strength, took one last look at the eight silent statues and then began the Spell of Opening. Pain tore at his chest and the fingers of his left hand grew numb.

The Black Gate appeared. Ruad knew he was close to the limits of his strength, that he would only be able to hold the Spell for a few seconds once the Gate was open. It would be more than tragic if he opened it too soon… and yet, too late would be no better. He recalled the speed at which Manannan had been riding into the tunnel and reckoned he should be at the Gate soon — if not now. And that meant the Chaos Beasts would be closing on him. He groaned as his agony grew and clutched his chest. His breathing was ragged and sweat dripped into his eyes as he sank to his knees and fought to calm his erratic heart. The pain eased a litde. Ruad slowly began the completion of the Spell.

A creaking sound came from his right. He twisted and scanned the circle, blinking sweat from his eyes. All was now silent, the moonlight gleaming on the eight suits of armour. Eight? There should only be seven! A power like unseen hands dragged him to his feet and drew him towards the nearest armour. Ruad glanced up to see the visor slowly opening and struggled to hold his position, but he was too weak. Closer and closer he came, and now he could do nothing save stare at the moving visor. The pull on him ceased. He wanted to run, but could not take his eyes from the plumed helm and the blackness within.

The moon came out from behind a cloud. Silver light washed over the figure and Ruad watched the armour darken until it was deep crimson.

Two blood-red eyes gazed down on him.

‘Time to die, traitor!’ said Samildanach. Too late Ruad saw the dagger in the gauntleted hand. It plunged into the sorcerer’s belly, ripping up through the lungs.

Ruad crumpled to the ground…

Samildanach stepped back — and vanished.

The sorcerer tried to roll to his belly, but the pain was colossal. Blood bubbled into his throat and he tried to swallow it back, but coughed, spraying bloody froth which stained his beard and tunic.

Knowing he had scant seconds to live, Ruad fell back and pointed his arm at the Gate.

‘Open!’ he hissed, completing the Spell. A great warmth flowed through him as he gazed up at the stars and all pain vanished. He saw again the day when he had become the Armourer, and recalled the joy on the faces of his Knights.

‘With you at our head we will change the world, my friend,’ Samildanach had told him.

‘You will not need me for that, Lord Knight,’ Ruad had replied.

The stars grew faint as the snow-clouds gathered and Ruad could hear a sound like a rushing sea. ‘I don’t want to die,’ he whispered. ‘I want to…’ A large snowflake touched his eye and melted to become a single tear that flowed down the dead man’s face.

Three of the beasts were down — one of them writhing across the path, clutching the stump of its severed arm. Manannan and Morrigan backed away to the Gate as a score more of the monsters advanced warily. The undead stallion, Kuan, stood by unmoving, ignored by the pack; they were interested only in living meat.

A huge creature, larger than a bear, dropped on all fours and rushed at Morrigan. She drove her silver sword into its mouth, plunging it deep down the beast’s throat. The impetus of its charge carried it forward, even in death, and it hammered her into the Gate.

Manannan had no time to help her. Cutting left and right, his silver sword held the other beasts at bay, but they were growing more daring — darting in and back, slashing at him with long, curved talons. A gigantic wolf slunk down on all fours, creeping into the shadows on Manannan’s left. The Once-Knight did not see the beast until it was too late, when suddenly it sprang and he was hurled from his feet, his sword spinning from his hand. Twisting under the wolf, he crashed a mailed fist into its face. Instantly the other creatures were on him, ripping at his armour, sinking talons into his helm, pulling and tearing, seeking the warm flesh beneath the silver steel.

‘Kuan!’ he yelled. ‘To me!’ The undead horse trembled. The shout came again and Kuan backed away, shaking his great head. Then the light of life stirred in his blank grey eyes.

‘Kuan!’

The stallion bunched its muscles and charged the pack — hooves hammering, hind legs kicking out with awesome force. They scattered before the horse and Manannan reached up and grasped the reins, hauling himself to his feet. He gathered his sword.

Morrigan eased herself from behind the enormous carcass of the bear-beast and advanced to stand beside him. At first the pack had been dismayed by the stallion’s sudden attack but now they were gathering themselves for another charge.

Manannan patted Kuan’s neck. ‘Welcome home, Greatheart,’ he said.

As the pack swept forward the stallion hurled himself into their midst. Manannan tried to stop him, and watched in horror as the dreadful talons tore into his body. A shaft of moonlight lit the scene. Manannan spun to see the Black Gate slowly opening, and beyond it the stars of his own world. ‘Back!’ he yelled to Morrigan; she needed no second bidding and leapt through the narrow opening.

‘Kuan!’ bellowed Manannan, but the stallion was beyond hearing. Still it lashed and kicked at the beasts, but grievous were the wounds… terrible tears and deep, deep cuts.

‘Manannan!’ yelled Morrigan. ‘The Gate is closing!’ For a moment more Manannan stood, watching the last moments of his stallion. Then he turned and ran for the Gate. It shimmered before his eyes and he hurled himself over the last few yards, hitting the snow-covered ground and rolling on his back. When at last he stood and looked back, the Gate had vanished.

Morrigan touched his arm. He swung to see the ghostly circle and the grimly silent Knights of the Gabala.

‘Sweet Heaven,’ he whispered. Then he saw the still figure of Ollathair and ran to him. Blood had drenched the man’s tunic and stained the snow around him.

‘Look,’ pointed Morrigan. The snow beside Ollathair’s corpse showed a set of footprints that seemed to appear from nowhere.

‘Samildanach,’ said Manannan. He pulled the gauntlet from his right hand and gently closed Ollathair’s eye.

‘What now?’ asked Morrigan. ‘Without him, what chance do we have?’

The Once-Knight could find no words. A long time ago, Ollathair had been his mentor and his friend. The Armourer had been almost a father to them all, and the Knights had adored him. He had been gentle and wise, and the Colours had brought him many gifts. Now he lay silent in the snow, killed by a friend.

‘Not a fitting end for such a man,’ Manannan whispered.

‘I have no sympathy for him,’ said Morrigan. ‘He fashioned his own doom when he sent the Knights through the Gate. Let us go from here. It is cold.’

Movement caught Manannan’s eye and he watched as a large group of men marched over the hill-top bearing torches. He waited until they approached the circle. A tall warrior with a red-gold beard stepped inside.

‘So, you bastard, it was a trap!’ said Llaw Gyffes, drawing his axe from his belt.

‘I did not kill him,’ answered the Once-Knight. ‘Look there at the footprints.’

‘Defend yourself!’ roared Llaw, rushing forward. Manannan ducked under a clumsy sweep and crashed a right hook to the warrior’s jaw. Llaw Gyffes hit the ground hard, but rolled to his feet.

‘Enough of this nonsense!’ said Manannan. ‘The man was my friend.’

Llaw gathered himself to attack again, but Lamfhada pushed through the crowd to kneel by Ruad’s corpse. As Llaw Gyffes advanced on Manannan, the boy called out to him.

‘Look at the wound,’ said Lamfhada. ‘It was not a sword, but a narrow blade like a dagger. And he has no knife.’

Llaw knelt and examined the wound, then looked up at Manannan.

‘I still don’t trust you,’ he declared, ‘but I suppose it matters little now. The enemy is gathering a great army, led by wizard Knights, and we have no sorcerer to defend us.’ He turned away and stared off into the distance.

The Once-Knight moved to stand beside him. ‘You will grow to trust me,’ he said, ‘for I do not lie and I am true to my friends.’

Llaw smiled. ‘A lot of good that will do us! I am trying to plan a war against an enemy I cannot defeat. I am no general.’ He swung to stare at the circle of faces lit by the flickering torches. ‘Look at them,’ he said. ‘Foresters, runaway farmers and clerics. There is not a mail-shirt among them. What do we do when the enemy arrives?’

‘Fight or run,’ replied Manannan. ‘They are the only two choices.’

‘We cannot run. A man came yesterday to tell us that the King’s fleet has docked at Cithaeron, bringing a thousand soldiers. There is no retreat now; they will hunt us down like wolves.’

Manannan remained silent for a moment. ‘Look around you,’ he said at last. ‘The forest is an awesome size — not the easiest place for an army to force a pitched battle. Do not let the evil deeds of tonight bring you to despair. Come, let us bury Ollathair and say a few words of farewell to his spirit.’

There was a sudden flurry of movement from the back of the circle, and men stepped back to allow Nuada and Groundsel to move forward. The squat outlaw leader looked down at the corpse.

‘So,’ he said, ‘that’s the great wizard. Well, he was a big help.’

‘What are you doing here?’ asked Llaw. ‘Isn’t this a little far from your normal hunting-grounds? There’s no one to rob.’

‘Yes, it’s good to see you too, Llaw,’ said Groundsel, grinning. ‘But I am here, so Nuada tells me, because it is my destiny. He spoke to the Dagda and they decided that the hero Groundsel needed to meet the wizard Ollathair. Well, I’ve met him. It was a short meeting, but that is life. I’ll be going home in the morning.’

‘Wait!’ said Nuada. ‘That wasn’t what the Dagda said, and you know it. But this is not the place or the time to discuss it. Let us bury this man, and I will say a few words for him.’

‘You’ve never said a few words in your life, poet,’ said Groundsel. The outlaw looked closely at Manannan, his eyes narrowing, then he turned away without a sound and walked back through the circle of men.

Llaw ordered Ruad’s body to be carried to the caves, and other men struggled to bear the Gabala armour. Manannan rejoined Morrigan, who had been strangely silent throughout the encounter.

The Once-Knight stared into her face. It looked sickly and pale in the silver moonlight. ‘Are you all right, Morrigan?’

‘Leave me alone,’ she whispered. ‘I must get away from here.’

‘Why?’

‘I am tired. I need… to rest. Let me go.’

‘Let us go to their camp. You can rest there. And eat…’ His voice faded to a whisper. ‘That’s it, isn’t it? You need Ambria, or… Listen to me, Morrigan, you must fight it. You must.’’

‘I will. Just leave me for a while; I need to be alone.’

‘That is what you do not need.’

She tore her arm free from his grasp, her eyes blazing. ‘Get away from me!’ she hissed, but he stood his ground.

‘I know that you only had eyes for Samildanach,’ he said gently, ‘and I was merely a friend with whom you shared your confidences. But I loved you, Morrigan, I still love you.’

For a moment more the air was electric between them, then she seemed to sag. ‘Dear Gods of Light,’ she whispered. ‘Help me!’ He stepped forward and took her in a clumsy embrace, encumbered by the armour they both wore.

‘Come with me,’ he said, and led her after the torch-lit column.

Once in the caves, Morrigan stripped herself of the armour and ate a little meat and dried fruit. Then she took some borrowed blankets and moved back into the shadows at the far end of the cave to sleep.

Many of the men accompanied Llaw and Nuada to watch the burial of the sorcerer Ollathair, and to listen to Nuada’s oration.

As they made their slow way back to the caves, one man lingered behind the rest. He was tired and he had an ache in his knee from an old injury when his horse had fallen, pinning him to the ground. He stopped and sat for a while on a storm-toppled tree.

He rubbed at the knee until the pain subsided and made as if to stand. Then he saw the woman standing close by. She was young and pale, and beautiful, her hair silver in the moonlight.

‘Best be getting back,’ he advised. ‘It’s cold out here.’

‘I too am cold,’ she said, sitting beside him and resting her head on his shoulder, her hand on his thigh. ‘But the cave is so crowded. Stay with me for a while.’ He turned towards her and ran his hand inside the blanket she held around her, sliding his fingers up across her flanks and feeling the softness of her flesh. He could hardly believe that she did not stop him… his hand curled over her breast.

Her face lifted and they kissed. The cold was forgotten as the man fumbled at her clothing.

‘I can’t believe it,’ he whispered. ‘Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. What a night for my luck to change.’

Morrigan said nothing.

And her lips moved to his neck…