The Paradise War

Chapter 31 King's Council

By day and by night the Demon Host prowled outside the walls, while we kept watch from the ramparts. Now and then one ventured close, and, seizing a handhold among the stones, skittered up the wall. Quick as spiders, the Coranyid could climb. And, if we were not alert, the demon might reach the rampart itself. Then the nearest warriors would stab the thing with their spears and heave the obscene carcass over the wall. Usually, however, a vigilant warrior would hurl a rock upon the creature's wicked head and dash out its watery brains before the odious thing had scaled halfway.

Each defeat served to keep the rest of the demons at bay for a time. I cannot say why. They seemed to possess no fear, yet they could not bear the loss of one of their number. It infuriated them, and those nearest the incident would shriek and scream, raising the most horrendous din.

Always, day or night, we stood in the cold and wind-wrack, keeping vigil lest we be overcome. As the days drew on, more demons joined the battle throng. We could see them toiling along the mountain pathways, summoned by their dread lord's wrath to the place of slaughter. Of Lord Nudd we saw no sign. But we often felt his lurking presence-a sudden laboring of the heart, a pang of nausea in the stomach, a daunting distress, a lingering despair.

Still, we were safe behind the stronghold's high walls. Rage though the demons might, they could not penetrate the stones like spirits, nor float over the ramparts like ghosts. As long as we kept the gates barred against them, they could not gain entrance. If we did not let them in, their rage and fury remained impotent.

The first days after reaching Findargad, we rested; we nursed our wounds and mourned our dead. The flight had exacted a terrible price. Of the six hundred who had begun the journey, fewer than four hundred remained; of these, only eighty warriors, and horses enough for sixty. It might have been worse, of course, but that was no consolation. Any loss is lamentable. The fact that we had succeeded in gaining Findargad, against every obstacle, appeared a small thing in our eyes compared to the loss.

On the sixth day of the demon siege, the king summoned those of his chieftains who were still alive-five in all-with the prince, Paladyr, and Tegid, to his council chamber. I, whose duty it was to remain always with Tegid, went too; and, although I had no right, I was included in the council.

Tegid it was who spoke the summons, and Tegid who opened the proceedings. The king sat in a chair of stag-horn, lined with rich furs. The others sat on the stone-flagged floor upon brown-and-white oxhides. A crackling fire flamed in the hearth around which they all sat. Tegid stood at Meldryn Mawr's right hand, his left hand resting on the king's right shoulder, so that there would be no doubt by whose authority the bard spoke. I found a place to sit near the door, so that my presence would not trouble anyone.

When all had assembled and taken their places, Tegid began. «Wise chieftains, Boars of Battle,» he said, «hear the words of your king, and give him the benefit of your wise counsel.»

Tegid inclined his ear to the king's mouth and Meldryn charged him with the words to say. «Thus says the king,» said Tegid, straightening slowly to address his listeners. «Strong are the Llwyddi, and proud in the strength of our arms. In battle we shrink not from any foe, neither do we falter in the defense of our realm. The indignity of defeat was not known among us from the time of our fathers to this.»

Meldryn Mawrnodded as Tegid finished, leaned close and whispered something more, then he raised his right hand and touched the bard on the mouth. Tegid straightened and turned to those gathered around the fire-pit.

«Thus says the king,» he intoned. «Our homes have been destroyed and the land laid waste. Wolves gnaw the bones of the brave, and ravens feast on the flesh of our children. Ashes drift like black snow where once fme halls stood; sheep and shepherd alike are slaughtered; timber walls are broken; stout houses have become tombs; hearthstones have been overturned and sweet mead poured out on the thirsty ground to mingle with the blood of good men. The owl and the fox cry where laughter once sounded. The kite and hawk make nests in the skulls of poets.

«More bitter tome than defeat are the deaths of my people; more bitter than the destruction of my strongholds is knowledge of evil in the land. We are men. But we are not like other men. We are Llwyddi: rulers in this worlds-realm since its beginning. It is not in us to yield our lands to the oppi~ession of usurpers. It is not in us to yield place to murderers. It is not in us to forget the blood-debt.

«Chieftains, hear your king! The voices of the slain cry out from their graves for vengeance; the innocent dead require recompense for the lives which were brutally stolen from them. It is the duty of the living to honor the dead. It is the duty of the warrior to slay the foe. It is the duty of a king to protect and defend his people, and to provide for them.

«I am Meldryn Mawr. I provide for my people in life and in death. Though the foe slay me, the sovereignty which I have held will continue; the kingship I have borne will not be extinguished.

«Thus says the king: there is even now an enemy raging outside our walls who seeks to destroy us-a craven who dares not challenge us on the field of honor, but only by stealth, treachery, and deception. And now that we are weak in the strength of our arms this enemy raises siege against us. We are made to endure the indignity of his taunts and the ~nsult of his vile presence before our gates.

«I ask you, Wise Leaders, what is this snow which falls .inceasingly from the wounded sky? What is this battering wind which all night long worries us with its howl? What is this ravening cold which every day sinks its teeth deeper into the land?

«And what is this grief which taints the water we drink and turns the bread bitter in our mouths? What is this wrath poured out upon us like scalding oil? What is this terror which grips our hearts and makes our blood run cold?

«Hear me now, Keen of Judgment, and answer if you can: what has silenced the Men of Song? What causes fair Modornn to tremble? What is this abomination among the peaks of Cethness? What drives the boar from the glens and causes the deer to fly from the forests? What is it that vexes heaven and steals the birds from the skies?

«While you are yet deliberating, consider this: Who stretches forth his hand over our realm in conquest? Who wastes our land? Who makes the tears of our people flow more freely than rushing streams? Who raises the outrage of war against us?»

Tegid paused to give his listeners time to ponder all he had said. When he continued, he asked, «Do you yet wonder? Does no one dare to speak the name aloud? Very well, I will say the hateful words. It is Nudd, Lord of Uffern and Annwn, Prince of the Pit, who is answerable for all these afflictions. It is Lord Nudd who has slain our kinsmen and makes of our bright realm a wasteland most wretched. It is Nudd the Accursed who turns our women into widows and our warriors into food for worms. It is Nudd, King of Eternal Night, who directs the demon kind against us.

«I tell you the truth, Companions of the Hearth, unless we make bold to end Lord Nudd's reign, the outrages practiced against Prydain must soon be known in Llogres and Caledon also. Then will the Three Blessed Realms be united-in misery, not in harmony; in distress, not in peace. And Albion, fairest island that is in the world, will writhe beneath the hateful torment of Nudd's Coranyid.»

As these words concluded, brows furrowed and frowns deepened on the faces of his listeners. Meldryn's chieftains peered at one another in despair. At length, Tegid broke the brittle silence. «You have heard. You have pondered. You have considered. Now it is time to share out the treasure of your wise counsel. Your king is waiting.»

Prince Meldron, in deference to his rank, was the first to speak. «Father and king, it has ever been our way to repay wound for wound, and grief for grief. Or have you forgotten this along with your ability to speak?» The prince could not resist twisting the knife in his father's heart. «Yet it is worth remembering. I say, let us collect the blood-debt which is owed to us. Let us assemble our warriors-and any who will ride with us-and make war on Nudd. Let us take up our weapons and banish him from our lands.»

Several of the chieftains, Paladyr the Champion among them, slapped their hands against their thighs and raised their voices in acclaim. The king listened without enthusiasm, and motioned for Tegid to step close.

After a brief consultation, Tegid turned and said, «The king has heard you, Meidron. It is in his mind that this evil will not be driven from our realm by force of arms alone. For there is a sickness at the heart of this matter that must be remedied before the land will be healed.»

«There is no affliction wrought by enemies that cannot be remedied by the sword,» boasted the prince.

Tegid listened patiently to the king's reply, and then spoke it out. «Thus says the king: Think you that the tribulation which has befallen us will succumb to the edge of a sword? I tell you that Lord Nudd is not afraid of your spears or swords. He fears one thing only: the True King in his stronghold. The foul lord is bound by one thing only: the Song of Albion.»

«As to that,» the prince replied haughtily, «I know nothing. It seems to me that this trouble which has come upon us is but the meddling of bards.» He turned the accusation towards Tegid. «None of this would have happened if you and your kind had held to your own domain.»

Tegid bristled at this. «Do you suggest that the bards of Albion had anything to do with encouraging this horror?

The prince did not deign to answer, but neither did he back down.

«So that you will know,» the bard snapped. «So that everyone will know the truth, I will speak plainly. Know you this: the Cythrawl is loosed upon the world.» At the name of the Ancient Evil, all gathered before Meidryn's hearth shivered within themselves. «Ollathir, Chief of Bards, faced the Beast of the Pit and was slain, but not before binding it with strong enchantments. Thus bound, the Cythrawl has summoned its servant Nudd to harrow and destroy what it could not possess. That is how this tribulation has come upon us.»

Prince Meidron scowled and thrust out his chin. «It is the blather of bards in my ears.» He flicked an ear with his fingers. «What do I care how this happened? I care only about reclaiming what is mine!»

'Well said, lord,» replied Paladyr loudly. «We have shown that we can kill the Coranyid. Let us send the ogham spear to all the clans throughout the Three Realms and summon all kings and their warbands to a great hosting against Nudd and his Demon Horde.»

l'his plan was heartily approved by Meldryn's chiefs, who, contrary to Tegid's best efforts, would not believe the enormity of the evil facing them, nor credit the cause. For, despite all the hardship we had endured, and all we had seen of the enemy, they still trusted only to the weapons in their hands.

With the king's consent, Tegid dismissed the gathering and everyone withdrew, talking loudly of the great hosting and the glorious war which would be waged. They still thought that trouble could be averted by swordstrike and spearthrust they still thought Sollen would soon end and Gyd come again of its own.

After they had gone, the king rose slowly from his council chair and stood before the hearth, gazing into the fire's crimson depths, as if searching for the face of his enemy. After a long moment, he departed to his inner room. I saw his face illumined in the firelight as he turned, and it seemed to me the face of a dying man: eyes bright and hard, the flesh of his face stretched tight on the skull, the skin papery and pale. It was the face of a man who watches his life drain rapidly away, but is powerless to prevent it.

I approached the hearth and sat down on a speckled oxhide near the fire. Tegid noticed my worried expression. «The king is tired. He needs rest.»

«You did not tell them about the Phantarch. Why?»

Tegid prodded the coals with an iron. «You saw how they were. They would not have heard me.»

«Perhaps not. Even so, they had a right to know.»

«Then you tell them!» he shouted in a voice as raw as an open wound. «You have the Chief Bard's awen, you tell them. Perhaps they will listen to you.» He threw the iron down.

Anger flashed quick and hot through me. «Stop it, Tegid! You say I have received Ollathir's awen, and maybe I have. But I did not ask for it. In truth, I do not remember it!»

«Then it is lost! It is rich mead spilled out upon dry sand. It is wasted and that is the end of it.» And with that, Tegid rose and stormed from the council chamber and I saw no more of him that night, nor all the next day.

Two days after the king's council, I took my turn at watch on the wall. I was dismayed to see that there were yet more demons gathered outside our gates. I gazed out into the snow-swirled gloom and saw many hundreds, perhaps thousands, of Coranyid surging around the foundation of the fortress like a restless, angry sea. They grimaced obscenely at us, defecating and breaking wind in crude defiance of our hurled rocks. The din they made with their hideous shrieks was appalling. The stink rising up from their squalor and filth was worse. I retched before I could stop myself, involuntarily adding to the reek.

«There are more each day,» a warrior named Hwy confirmed. «No matter how many we kill, there are always more.»

It was true, and I soon learned why.

«What is that?» I asked, pointing to a red glow among a cluster of rocks swarming with Coranyid.

«It is their fire,» the warrior replied. «They warm themselves at it.»

I wondered at this. Where did demons find fuel to feed a fire? Why should Creatures of the Pit require warmth? They seemed immune to cold. They neither ate, nor drank, nor slept-nor required any other human comfort. Why did they need a fire?

The question persisted, so I walked along the rampart to the end of the wall for a better view between the towering rocks. I saw that, indeed, the enemy had made a huge fire. What is more, they had set an enormous cauldron to boil on the flames. The steam from this cauldron flew away in ragged wisps on the blustering wind. Scores of demons labored at the fire, stoking it, banking it. But what was its purpose?

My questions were answered at once. As I stood looking on, a cluster of Coranyid gyrating before the gate suddenly rushed forward, attempting to scale the gate timbers. The alert watchmen hurled rocks down upon them, crushing and killing three instantly, and injuring two others. The injured ones were also killed as they attempted to drag their mangled bodies away. It was over in but a moment. The others retreated, wailing horribly, and leaving five dead behind.

No sooner had the would-be attackers scurried out of range, than a dozen more rushed forward. But, instead of throwing themselves upon the gate as the first had done, these scampered to the crumpled corpses of their wretched dead, seized them, and dragged them away. A curious thing to do, I thought. And then I saw where they took the bodies, and what they did with them. I watched, and the marrow froze in my bones.

I turned at once and ran to find Tegid.