Tell me of it,’ said the wizard gravely. Lamfhada explained about his first flight as a child, when he had seen the Knights ride through the Black Gate and had destroyed the wolf creature with a blast of golden lightning. Then he spoke of soaring over the Forest of the Ocean on a disc of gold and scattering the wolf pack, and reviving the stag. But he could not. yet bring himself to talk of the Knight, Pateus. Ruad listened in silence until the youth had finished his story.
‘I knew you had power, my boy. I could sense it in you. And I still recall how the falling feathers of your bird reversed their flight. The talent was buried deep within you; it still is. But it will surface again, and next time it will be stronger. Bear with it. Such power is not granted without reason. You will have need of it.’
Lamfhada stood and looked away. ‘I am not wise, Ruad. I do not know whether to speak. When I told Gwydion of my flight, and what happened, he grew upset and urged me not to tell you. But I think he was wrong. I hope you will not be angry - but I left something out of my tale.’ And slowly, falteringly, Lamfhada explained about the Red Knight, watching with growing apprehension as the colour faded from Ruad’s face.
‘Pateus? He said his name was Pateus?’
‘Yes, sir. Cairbre-Pateus. Who is he?’
‘He is a Knight of the Gabala, the eldest of my Knights. He is the sin of pride returned to haunt me.’ Ruad saw the fear in Lamfhada’s face. ‘No, no, boy, do not be frightened. You were right and Gwydion was wrong - very wrong. Some time ago, before I came to this forest, I saw a vision of eight Red Knights. Deep down I knew who they were, and I knew who led them. But I would not face my fears.’
‘What happened to them?’ asked Lamfhada, returning to sit beside the Craftsman.
‘They lost. Simply that. They found evil and it conquered them.’
‘How could that be? They were the greatest of Knights.’
‘I have no answers, save that evil rarely stalks the land with horns and fire. If it did so, all men would turn from it. Take me, Lamfhada... I sent nine good men into an unknown realm, filled with terrible dangers. Was that a good deed? I did it not for the world, but for my own glory. I tell myself it was not evil, but great evil has come from it. Do you wish to debate that with me?’
‘I am no debater, sir. But I see no evil in you.’
‘No? But then had you known Samildanach, or Pateus, or Manannan, you would have said the same.’
‘What can you do, Ruad? Are they as strong as before?’
‘If Pateus can now fly the Colours, he is stronger than ever he was. And only the Source knows how powerful Samildanach has become. I need to think, Lamfhada - best that you leave me for a while.’
The youth stood for a moment, wishing he could say something... do something to help the man who had befriended him. But there was nothing and he turned sadly away. At the bottom of the hill he found Elodan hurling stones at a target chalked on a tree. None of the missiles came close to the target and his throwing stance was disjointed and awkward.
‘A pox on it!’ snapped Elodan. Then he saw Lamfhada and grinned. ‘Never give up, boy, that’s the answer. It’s what separates men from the beasts of the herd. The problem is threefold, you see. A man is right-sided or left-sided - eye, hand and leg. I am trying to change the focus of my being: to become left-sided, if you will.’
‘Is that possible?’
‘I doubt it, but I will continue my efforts until my dying day. I can do no more. I will not sit in some hut until my hair turns,silver, dreaming of what once I was. Come, let us find some food.’ He glanced at Lamfhada. ‘What is wrong, boy?’
The youth told him of his conversation with Ruad and Elodan sighed. ‘That is grim news. I knew Samildanach. What a swordsman! It is hard to believe.’
‘Ruad says evil is not always ugly, but I’m not sure I understand what he meant.’
‘I’ll explain it to you, but first we’ll eat,’ said Elodan as they returned to the cabin, where the three golden hounds sat like statues. Gwydion was absent when they arrived and they prepared a meal of cold meat and cheese, washed down with cool spring water. Then Elodan stoked up the fire and sat facing the blond youth.
‘A long time ago, when I was young, I saw a woman who fired my blood. I met her in the King’s Park; she and her servants used to gather flowers there. She was beautiful, but she was married to a nobleman twice her age, and very unhappy. We met by chance, and then by design. I fell in love with her - hopelessly, completely. I dreamed of taking her away to my estates in the north, raising a family. But it could not be - not while her husband lived. I grew to hate him - though there was nothing to hate. By his lights, he was a good man. But I would fall asleep at night dreaming of his death. It could not be right, I decided, that someone so young and beautiful should be saddled with such a husband. Anyway, one day I told a friend of mine to whisper my name to the man, and to tell him I was seeing his wife in secret. The husband had no choice then but to challenge me to single combat. He was old, but still canny. But his years betrayed him - and I slew him. And that was an evil deed.’
Lamfhada swallowed hard. ‘But what of the woman?’
‘She inherited his wealth - and married her lover. I was merely the instrument of her freedom. But I believed I was doing right; I had convinced myself he was evil and cruel. Self-deception, Lamfhada! That is why I stood for Kester against the King. Her husband was Kester’s son. You understand now something of what Ruad meant?’
‘I’m not sure. There are stories of terrible deeds in Furbolg, of Nomad families being massacred. How can the men responsible not see that as evil? It is not the same as being in love with a beautiful woman and fighting a duel.’
Elodan shrugged. ‘We were talking of self-deception. Samildanach loved the Realm the way most men love a woman. If he came to believe that the Nomads were responsible for the nation’s fall from power, I would guess he could come to hate them. But I cannot answer for him.’
‘They believe Llaw Gyffes has an army and they are coming here in the spring. I think it will be terrible when they arrive.’
Elodan nodded and gazed down at the stump at his wrist. ‘Even were I not crippled, I could not stand against the Gabala Knights. Cairbre took me as simply as I took the husband. Damn Llaw Gyffes!’ Elodan pushed himself to his feet. ‘I need to return to my work. I will see you later.’
Lamfhada watched him go, then cleared away the plates and cleaned them behind the cabin. Glancing up, he saw a stag in the distance. Suddenly its head came up and it sprinted for cover. Lamfhada scanned the countryside, looking for sign of wolves...
And saw the five hundred black-cloaked riders silhouetted against the skyline.
As the riders thundered across the half-mile of snow-covered meadows, Lamfhada raced back into the village shouting at the top of his voice. People streamed from the huts, saw the raiders and began to run for the shelter of the trees. Elodan gathered up a hatchet and joined Lamfhada.
‘Get to Ruad. He must not be taken,’ said the crippled warrior.
‘What will you do?’
‘I’ll stay with the stragglers.’ Some of the men had armed themselves with bows and knives and Elodan bellowed at them to make for the trees: ‘Stay together and form a line at the top of the hill.’ There were fourteen bowmen in the party, including Brion, the husband of Ahmta.
‘Why are they attacking us?’ Brion asked, as they ran. ‘There’s nothing here for them.’
‘Ask them when they get here,’ snapped Elodan.
The raiders, swords drawn, galloped into the village. An old man - slower than the other refugees - was the first to be caught as a lance took him high in the back, lifting him from his feet. For a second or so his legs flapped in the air, then the lance snapped and he tumbled to the ground beneath the pounding hooves. A child ran from a cabin, screaming with fear; her mother, on the hillside above, turned and sprinted back for her. The child was trampled to death, the mother speared.
Then the soldiers w
ere clear of the cabins and heading for the hillside. Elodan formed the bowmen into a line. ‘Ignore the riders. Aim for the horses and bring them down. It’s the only way to stop the charge. And do not loose the shafts until I order it.’
Longbows were hastily strung and arrows notched to the strings. ‘Draw!’ bellowed Elodan. The riders were slowing now as the hill took its toll on their mounts, but still they were closing fast. At forty paces, Elodan’s raised arm swept down. ‘Now!’ he shouted. The arrows hammered home at the centre of the line and horses reared and fell. But the wings of the charging line continued forward, sweeping round towards the bowmen. ‘Left!’ ordered Elodan. The bowmen smoothly notched more shafts and loosed them. Horses tumbled to the snow, hurling their riders to the ground. ‘Now to the right!’ The horsemen were almost upon them and two of the bowmen broke and ran for the trees. Elodan ignored them as the remaining archers bent their bows and loosed their shafts at point-blank range. ‘Now run!’ shouted Elodan, turning and sprinting towards the trees. He heard a horse close behind him and turned to see a lancer bent low over the saddle, his weapon aimed at Elodan’s heart. The crippled warrior drew back his arm and flung the hatchet with all his might. It sailed over the horse’s head to bury itself in the rider’s face and he tumbled back from the saddle.
One of the archers was down, hacked to death. The others were racing for the trees. Elodan cursed. They would never make it.
Suddenly a score of arrows flashed from the undergrowth, ripping into the riders. Then again... and again. The soldiers turned and fled down the hillside.
Llaw Gyffes stepped out to stand beside Elodan. ‘You are a man of iron,’ said Llaw.
‘That must be a compliment - coming from a blacksmith?’
‘It is. I sweated blood when I saw you form that fighting line.’
‘They’ll be back, Llaw - and we do not have the men to hold them. But I’m glad you came when you did!’
‘A man needs some luck,’ said Llaw. ‘I came upon a hunting party from this village and they said you were here, so I came with them. Then we heard the screaming and took up positions in the bushes.’
‘So,’ whispered Elodan, ‘the great hero, Stronghand, was seeking me? Might I enquire why?’
‘I need a man who understands the ways of war.’
‘Then you are to gather an army! It’s about time, Llaw. Well, this cripple will help you - if you’ll have him.’
Llaw clapped him hard on the shoulder. ‘That hatchet throw was a good one. I’d say you were coming on.’
‘I was aiming for the horse,’ snapped Elodan. ‘I missed it - at less than ten feet.’
‘I’ll not tell a soul,’ Llaw promised. ‘Now let’s get back. Brion is heading the villagers for the long caves. But we’ll need food, and firewood.’
‘Might I suggest something?’
Llaw grinned. ‘You are our general.’
‘Leave me twenty men and I will form a rearguard while you move on.’
‘Be careful, Elodan. I don’t want to lose you this early in the fight.’
‘They’ve made it a war, my friend. Now they must learn what that means.’
Bavis Lan, the leader of the raiders, dismounted before the cabin where sat the three golden hounds. He walked under the rough-hewn porch and knelt by the statues. ‘By Chera! They’re gold,’ he whispered. His aide, Lugas, joined him and stood by silently as Bavis examined the statues. ‘Well?’ snapped the leader. ‘Don’t just stand there, Lugas. Make your report!’
Lugas saluted crisply. ‘We lost eighteen horses and nine men dead. Eight other men have injuries. Shall we pursue them into the trees?’
Bavis stood, a tall, lean man in his middle forties. He removed his helm and ran a hand through his silver-streaked hair. ‘No. Once inside the tree line they would pick us off with ease. We hit two settlements today, and we’ve given them something to think about. We’ll camp here, and strike north along the valley tomorrow.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What do you make of these statues?’
‘They’re beautiful, sir.’
‘Aren’t they just? I shall take them back to Mactha as a present for the King.’
The cabin door opened and a thickset man appeared. Bavis turned, his hand reaching for his sword. The man was powerfully built and sported an eye-patch of bronze; behind him stood a blond youth, his eyes fearful.
‘Who the devil are you?’ Bavis asked. ‘The owner of the hounds. I fear they are too precious to put before a dullard like Ahak. He would not appreciate them - they have no blood, you see.’
‘Your conversation brands you a traitor,’ snarled Lugas, dragging his sword clear.
‘And your deeds brand you a butcher,’ responded the man, dropping his hand to touch the head of the nearest hound. ‘Ollathair,’ he said.
The hound’s jewelled eyes snapped open and as Lugas’ sword came up it leapt, sinking Its teeth into the officer’s forearm. Before he could even scream, the hound’s jaws snapped shut and the arm and hand were torn clear. Lugas sank to his knees, staring in horror at the blood seeping from the stump at the end of his arm.
The general was frozen to the spot. The man with the eye-patch stepped back into the cabin, the three hounds following him. The door closed.
A flash of golden light streamed from the open window. Bavis Lan blinked and then ran forward, kicking the door from its hinges. The cabin was empty.
‘Help me!’ pleaded Lugas. ‘Dear Gods, help me!’
‘Surgeon!’ bellowed Bavis. ‘Someone find the surgeon!’
High on the hillside the air split with a flash of light and Ruad stepped clear, followed by Lamfhada and the hounds. The sorcerer’s face was grim, and his hands were shaking. He turned and dragged the blood-drenched arm from the jaws of the hound and hurled it out onto the hill.
‘A curse on them all!’ he hissed.
‘We should find the others,’ said Lamfhada softly, unable to tear his eyes from the dismembered limb on the snow.
Ruad did not hear him. He stared down at the village, watching the soldiers running to aid the crippled officer.
‘I will make you pay for this, Ahak,’ he swore. ‘Somehow, Ollathair will make you pay.’ He turned away and walked swiftly into the trees, the hounds padding alongside.
They reached the long caves at dusk and found Gwydion tending an injured man. Fires had been lit inside the caves and the refugees were gathered round them. Llaw Gyffes approached the one-eyed sorcerer.
‘Are you the Craftsman?’
‘I am,’ said Ruad. He looked closely at the broad-shouldered blond warrior, noting the pale blue eyes and the red-gold beard. ‘And you are Stronghand. I hope the name fits you, boy - you’ll have need of your strength when the snow clears.’
‘I know. The Dagda spoke of the King’s army. Will you aid us?’
‘I will do what I can. But you should know the King’s forces are led by the Knights of the Gabala, and they will prove deadly enemies.’
Llaw smiled. ‘If I put my mind to it, wizard, I think I can be just as deadly. Have a little faith.’
‘It’s not faith I lack, Stronghand. But the Knights wear armour protected by spells, and carry swords of eldritch power - and even without these... gifts... their talents are extraordinary.’
Llaw put his huge hands on Ruad’s shoulders. ‘Do not tell me of their powers, wizard. Devote your mind to the problem of defeating them.’
‘It is not going to be quite that simple.’
‘I do not doubt it. But they live and breathe, so they must also be able to die. Find me a way to kill them.’
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?’