Ghost King

  “They have attacked the camp. Many are dead, but there is no sign of Korrin, Prasamaccus, or Laitha.”

  “You think they have been taken?”

  “I do not know, Baldric. Where else could they be?”

  The man shrugged. “We are lost.” He sat down and buried his face in his hands. Uther saw a shadow flash across the ground and glanced up to see a huge eagle circling high overhead. The prince gripped the stone and focused on the bird. His head swam, and his mind merged. The forest was far below him, and he could see as he never had before: a rabbit in the long grass, a fawn hidden in the undergrowth. And soldiers moving toward a high hill on which stood a circle of jutting black stones. There were some three hundred fighting men on foot, but walking ahead of them was a line of Vores held in check by forty dark-garbed woodsmen. Uther returned to his body, stumbled, and almost fell.

  Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he began to run, ignoring the slumped Baldric. Up over the narrow trail and down into a muddy glen he slipped and slithered.

  A huge stag bounded into his path. He lifted the stone, and the creature froze. Swiftly Uther clambered to its back; the deer turned and ran toward the hill. Several times Uther was almost dislodged, but his legs gripped firmly on the barrel of the creature’s body. It leapt into the open and raced up the flanks of the hill, swerving to stand before the Vores. Behind him Uther had seen Prasamaccus, Laitha, and several others waiting with arrows ready. Ahead of him the soldiers came into view, dark-eyed men in helms of bronze, black cloaks billowing.

  The stag stood statue-still.

  “Withdraw or die!” called Uther. After the initial shock of seeing a blond youth riding a wild deer, there had been silence among the soldiers. Now laughter greeted his words. A command rang out, and the dark-garbed woodsmen released the chains on the forty Vores. They leapt forward, their roars washing over Uther like thunder. He lifted the stone, his gray eyes cold as Arctic ice.

  The Vores stopped their charge and turned, raging down into the massed ranks of the soldiers. Claws raked flesh; fangs closed on skull and bone. Horses reared and whinnied in terror as the mighty beasts ripped into the startled fighting men. Within seconds the savage carnage gave way to a mass panic, and the soldiers fled in all directions as the Vores continued their destruction. Uther turned the stag and slowly rode up the hill. At the top he slid from the creature’s back, patting its neck. The deer bounded away.

  From the forest the awful screams of the dying filled the air. Korrin approached Uther.

  “Are you a god?”

  Uther glanced down at the stone. It was no longer gold with black threads but black with golden threads. There was little magic left.

  “No, Korrin, I am not a god. I am just a man who arrived too late. Yesterday I could have saved Pallin and the others.”

  “It is good to see you, Thuro,” said Prasamaccus.

  “Not Thuro, my friend. The child is dead. The man walks. I am Uther Pendragon, son of Aurelius. And I am the king, by right and by destiny.”

  Prasamaccus said nothing, but he bowed low. The other men, still shocked after their escape, followed suit. Uther accepted the honor without comment and walked away to sit alone on a broken rock overlooking the stream, where Prasamaccus joined him.

  “May I sit with you, lord?” he asked with no hint of sarcasm.

  “Do not think me arrogant, Prasamaccus. I am not. But I have killed the undead and flown on the wings of an eagle. I have ridden the forest prince and destroyed an army. I know who I am. More, I know what I am.”

  “And what are you, Prince Uther?”

  Uther turned and smiled softly. “I am a young man, barely of age, who needs wise counsel from trusted friends. But I am also the king of all Britain, and I will reclaim my father’s throne. No force of this world or any other will deter me.”

  “It is said,” offered Prasamaccus, “that blood runs true. I have seen the reverse at times—the sons of brave fathers becoming cowards. But in your case, Prince Uther, I think it is true. You have the blood of a great king in your veins and also the spirit of the warrior Culain. I think I will follow you, though never blindly. And I will offer you counsel whenever you ask for it. Do I need to kneel?”

  Uther chuckled. “My first command to you is that you never kneel in my presence. My second is that you must always tell me when you feel that arrogance is surfacing in my nature. I have studied well, Prasamaccus, and I know that power has many counterpoints. My father had a tendency to believe himself right at all times merely because he was the king. He dismissed from his service a warrior-friend who had grown up alongside him. The man disagreed with him on a matter of strategy, and my father had him branded disloyal. Yet Aurelius was not a bad man. I have studied the lives of the great, and all become afflicted with pride. You are my champion against such excesses.”

  “A heavy burden,” said Prasamaccus, “but a burden for another day. Today you are not a king; you are a hunted man in the forest of another world. I take it from the manner of your arrival that you found the Dream Shaper.”

  “I did. He was dead, but I have the source of his magic.”

  “Is it strong enough to get us back home?”

  “I do not think so. It is almost gone.”

  “Then what do you plan?”

  “The spirit of the Dream Shaper came to me and told me to bring the ghosts home. Baldric says the ghosts are an army of the dead. I will try to raise them against the queen.”

  The Brigante shivered. “You will raise the dead?”

  “I will if I can find Erin Plateau.”

  Prasamaccus sighed. “Well, that should not prove too arduous. You are sitting on Erin Plateau, and that is the sort of luck I have come to expect.”

  “I have little choice, Prasamaccus. I have no intention of dying here—not with my father’s murderers tearing at the heart of my kingdom. If I could, I would summon the Demon King himself.”

  The Brigante nodded and rose. “I will leave you to your plans,” he said sadly.

  Two hours later Laitha sat shrouded in misery at the edge of the hill beneath the light of the two moons. Since Thuro’s return he had not spoken to her or acknowledged her existence. At first she had been angry enough to ignore this, but as the day passed, her fury had melted, leaving her feeling lonely and rejected. He was the one link she had to the wonderful world of her childhood. He had known Culain and knew of her love for him. With him she should have been able to share her grief and perhaps exorcise it. Now he was lost to her, as much as she was lost to Culain and the Caledones mountains.

  And he had struck her! Before all those men. In retrospect she had been shrewish, but it had been only to bolster her confidence. Her life with Culain had taught her self-sufficiency, but she had always had the Mist Warrior close when real fear pervaded their world. She had felt Thuro was a true friend and had grown to love him in those early weeks, when his gentle nature had shown itself. His lack of skill with weapons had made her feel protective. As he had grown in stature under Culain’s tutelage, she had grown jealous of the time he had spent with her man. All nonsense now.

  A chilly wind blew, and she hugged her shoulders, wishing she had brought out a blanket but not desiring to return inside to fetch one. She wondered if the pain of Culain’s passing would ever leave her. Something warm draped her shoulders, and she looked up to see Prasamaccus standing by her. He had brought a blanket warmed by the fire. She gathered it around herself, then burst into tears. He sat beside her, pulling her to him, saying nothing.

  “I feel so alone,” she said at last.

  “You are not alone,” he whispered. “I am here. Uther is here.

  “He despises me.”

  “I think that he does not.”

  “Uther!” she hissed. “Who does he think he is? A new name every day, perhaps?”

  “Oh, Laitha! You cannot see, can you? The boy has flown. You have told me of the weakly child he was when you found him, but that is not him anymore. Look
at his strength when he stood alone against the Vores. He could not be sure he had the strength or the power to turn those cats, yet he did it. That was the work of a man. He says the power is almost gone, and many men would flee. But not Uther. Other men would use the remaining magic to find the sword. Not Uther. He seeks to aid the people he has befriended. Do not judge him by yesterday’s memories.”

  “He does not speak to me.”

  “All paths run in two directions.”

  “He once said he loved me.”

  “Then he loves you still, for he is not a fickle man.”

  “I cannot go to him. Why should I? Why should a man alone be allowed the virtue of pride?”

  “I am not sure it is a virtue. However, I am here to be a friend. And friends are sometimes helpless between lovers.”

  “We are not lovers. I loved Culain …”

  “Who is dead. But no matter—lovers or friends, there is really very little difference that I can see. You do not need me to tell you how perilous is our situation. None of us can expect to survive long against the Witch Queen. Tomorrow she may return with a thousand men—ten thousand. Then we will be dead, and your misery will seem even less important. Go to Uther and apologize.”

  “I will not. I have nothing to apologize for.”

  “Listen to me. Go to him and apologize. He will then tell you what you want to hear. Trust me … even if it means lying.”

  “And if he laughs in my face?”

  “You have lived too long in the forest, Laitha; you do not understand the world. Men like to think they control it, but that is nonsense. Women rule, as they always have. They tell a man he is godlike. The man believes them and is in their thrall. For without them to tell him, he becomes merely a man. Go to him.”

  She shook her head but stood. “I will take your advice, friend. But in future call me Gian. It is special to me; it is the language of the Feragh: Gian Avur, fawn of the forest.” Then she smiled and wandered to the main building. She opened the door and stepped inside. Uther was sitting with the other men, and they were listening intently to his words. He looked up and saw her. Conversation ceased as he rose smoothly and came to her, stepping out into the night. Prasamaccus was nowhere to be seen.

  “You wanted me?” he asked, his chin held high, his tone haughty.

  “I wanted to congratulate you, and … and to apologize.”

  He relaxed, and his face softened, breaking into the self-conscious grin she remembered from their first day.

  “You have nothing to apologize for. It has been hard for me to become a man. Culain taught me to fight, and Maedhlyn to think. Bringing the two together was left to me. But you have suffered greatly, and I have been of little help. Forgive me?” He opened his arms, and she stepped into his embrace.

  In the background, crouched behind the rocks, Prasamaccus sighed and hoped they would not stand too long in the cold. His leg was aching, and he yearned for sleep.

  Uther returned to the building, gathered his blankets, and took Laitha to the west of the hilltop, where a great stone had fallen, making a windbreak. He gathered wood for a small fire and spread the blankets on the ground. All this was done in silence, amid a growing tension of their bodies that did not affect the communion of their eyes. With the fire glowing, they sat together and did not notice the limping Prasamaccus returning to his bed.

  Uther dipped his head and kissed Laitha’s hair, pulling her more closely to him. She lifted her face. He smelt the musky perfume of her skin and brushed his lips against her cheek. His head swam, and a dreamlike sensation swept over him. He, the night, and Laitha were one. He could almost hear the whispering memories of the giant stones, feel the pulsing distance of the stars. She lay back, her arms curling around his shoulders, drawing him to her. His hand moved slowly down the curve of her back, feeling the flesh beneath her tunic. He was torn between the urge to tear her clothes from her and the need to savor this moment of moments. He kissed her and groaned. She tugged gently away from him and removed her tunic and leggings. He watched as her skin emerged from the clothing; it gleamed and glistened in the firelight. Stripping himself naked, he hesitated to pull her to him, his eyes drinking in her beauty. His hands were trembling as he reached for her. Laitha’s body melted against him, and everywhere she touched him seemed to burn. She pushed herself under him, but he resisted. Her eyes opened wide in surprise, but he smiled softly.

  “Not swiftly,” he whispered. “Never swiftly!”

  She understood. His head lowered to kiss her once more, his hand moving over her skin as gentle and warm as morning sunlight, touching, stroking, exploring. Finally, his head pounding, he rose above her. Her legs snaked over his hips, and he entered her. Thoughts and emotions raged and swirled inside his mind, and he was surprised to find regret swimming amid the joy. This was a moment he had dreamed of, yet it could never come again. He opened his eyes, looking down on her face, desperate to remember every precious second.

  Her eyes opened, and she smiled. Reaching up, she cupped his face, pulling him closer, kissing him with surprising tenderness. Passion swallowed his regret, and he passed into ecstasy.

  For Laitha the sensation was different. She, too, had dreamed of the day she would surrender her virginity to the man she loved. And in a way she had. For Uther was all that was left of Culain, and she could see the Mist Warrior in Uther’s storm-cloud eyes. And Prasamaccus had been right. The weakly youth in the forest had gone forever, replaced by this powerful, confident young man. She knew she could grow to love him, but never with the wild, wonderful passion she had felt for Culain. As she thought of him, her mind blended her memories with the slow, rhythmic contact at the center of her being, and she felt it was the Lance Lord moving so powerfully above her. Her body convulsed in a searing sea of pleasure that bordered on pain. And in her ecstasy she whispered his name.

  Uther heard it and knew he had lost her in the moment of gaining her …

  13

  BALDRIC RETURNED TO Erin Plateau early the following morning. When the Vores had turned on the soldiers, the lean huntsman had swiftly scaled a tree and watched as the carnage continued. The beasts had killed scores of men and horses, driving the army from the forest. Baldric had followed them for some distance and now reported that Mareen-sa was free of threat. Korrin sent out scouts to watch for the enemy’s return, glancing at Uther for approval. Uther nodded.

  “The enemy will return,” said the prince, “but we must make the delay work for us.” Uther summoned Prasamaccus, sending him and Hogun to hunt for fresh meat. Laitha went with them to gather mushrooms, herbs, and other edible roots. Rhiall and Ceorl were sent to the city of Callia to see what effect the news of the soldiers’ defeat would have.

  Finally Uther called Korrin to him, and the two men walked to the edge of the stone circle, looking out over the vast forest and the sweeping hills of Mareen-sa.

  “Tell me about the ghosts,” said Uther. The woodsman shrugged.

  “I have seen them only once—and that from a distance.”

  “Then tell me the legend.”

  “Is it wise to raise an army of the dead?”

  “Is it wise for nineteen people to rebel against a Witch Queen?” Uther responded.

  “I take your point. Well, the legend says that the ghosts were soldiers of an ancient king, and when he died, they marched into the underworld to fetch him back. But they became lost and now march forever through the wilderness of the Void.”

  “How many are there?”

  “I have no idea. When I saw them, I took only one swift glance, and that was over my shoulder while I was running.”

  “Where did you see them?”

  “Here,” said Korrin, “on Erin.”

  “Then why have we not seen them?”

  “It is the moons—but then, you would not know that. On certain nights of the year the light of Apricus, the large moon, cannot be seen. Only Sennicus shines. On those nights the ghosts walk, and the circle is shrouded in mist.” br />
  “How soon before Sennicus shines alone?”

  Korrin shrugged. “I am sorry, Uther, but I do not know. It happens about four times a year, sometimes six. Rhiall would know. His father studied the stars, and he must have learned something. When he gets back, I will ask him.”

  Uther spent the day exploring the woodland around the hill, seeking out hiding places and trails the rebels might be forced to take when the soldiers returned. His frustration was great as he walked, for all the warriors whose lives had been researched by Plutarch had had one thing in common. They each, at some time in their lives, had ruled armies. There was little Uther could achieve with ten woodsmen, a crippled hunter, and a forest girl skilled with the bow. And even if he could raise a force from among the population, how long would it take to train them? How much time would Astarte allow?

  He shared the concern of both Prasamaccus and Korrin about using an army of corpses. Yet an army was an army. Without it they were lost.

  Hungry and tired, he sat down by a shallow stream and allowed his thoughts to return to the subject he had forced from his mind. At the height of his passion Laitha had whispered the name of Culain, and this had caused a terrible split in his emotions. He had worshiped Culain and was now jealous of him, even as he loved Laitha and was now angry with her. His mind told him it was not her fault that she still loved Culain, but his heart and his pride could not accept second place.

  “Greetings,” said a voice, and Uther leapt to his feet, sword in hand. A young woman sat close by, dressed in a simple tunic of shining white cloth. Her hair was gold, her eyes blue.

  “I am sorry,” he said. “You startled me.”

  “Then it is I who am sorry. You seem lost in thought.”

  She was quite the most beautiful woman Uther had ever seen. She rose and walked to stand beside him, reaching out to touch his arm. As she looked into his eyes, he saw a strange look come into hers.

  “Is something wrong, lady?”

  “Not at all,” she said swiftly. “Sit with me for a while.” The songs of the forest birds faded into what was almost a melody of soft-stringed lyres. The sun bathed them both, and all the colors of the forest shone with ethereal beauty. He sat.