Ollathair had hurried back to the Citadel and taken up the mirror, but only his reflection stared back at him. He tried the Colours: Black under the moonlight; Blue under the sun; Red with his own blood; but the mirror had lost its power.
Fear began to gnaw at him and he tried in every way to breach the Gate with his spirit, but it seemed that a wall - invisible and yet impenetrable - had been set before him. He contacted the King, to see if the messenger was still at Furbolg, but the man had returned to his own land. Ollathair was beside himself; all his powers wer useless.
He had one great hope - Samildanach, greatest of warriors, finest of men. A descendant of kings and the most complete Knight Ollathair had ever known. Whatever perils lay beyond the Gate, the Armourer was sure Samildanach would overcome them.
The days drifted by with agonizing slowness until the month had passed and Ollathair cast the spell that opened the Gate. Screeching creatures of nightmare gathered in the darkness beyond, but the Armourer’s powers hurled them back. Of the Knights there was no sign.
Night after night Ollathair conjured the Gate, until his powers were spent, his strength wasted.
Finally he had travelled to Furbolg. The King had greeted him like an old friend and had entertained him royally for several weeks. But then he had been asked to create weapons of power for the monarch and he had refused. As the Armourer of the Gabala Knights, he was not under Ahak’s rule.
The King had ordered him arrested, claiming his refusal bordered on treason. For days he had suffered torture - his eye burned from his skull, hot irons scorching his flesh. Then he had feigned death and been hurled into a shallow pit outside the city walls.
He had escaped, but it was almost a year before his strength and power returned. Then he had taken the name Ruad Ro-fhessa and moved to the north. And for three years had explored every means of breaching the world beyond.
At last he was forced to the inescapable conclusion that the Knights - his Knights - had been slain.
Samildanach, Edrin, Pateus, Manannan, Bersis, Cantaray, Joanin, Keristae and Bodarch - all dead. Ruad Ro-fhessa carried the blame like a burning coal in his heart.
Yet now, here on this wooden floor, the pain was worse than ever before. For the King had embarked on a reign of terror and had gathered to him other Knights, dread warriors strengthened by sorcery. And the world needed the true Knights more than ever.
At last Ruad fell asleep, but his dreams were of fire and blood and Knights in crimson armour hunted him with knives of cold steel. He awoke sweating in the pre-light of dawn. Gwydion slept on, as did the household. He sat up and added tinder to the ashes, stirring them and blowing the flickering embers to life. Brion awoke and stared down at his sleeping wife. He kissed her lightly and her eyes opened.
‘It was true,’ she whispered. ‘I am healed.’ Ahmta sat up. ‘There is no pain.’
‘When I woke I thought it was a dream,’ Brion said, cupping her face in his hands.
Ruad grinned and rose from the floor. ‘Good morning to you both. You slept well, I trust?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Brion, sliding from beneath his blanket and standing. ‘I promised you breakfast and you shall have it - eggs, bacon, and I shall borrow ale from Dalik.’
A low metallic growling came from outside and Ruad ran to the door and opened it. A small crowd had gathered silently to examine the hounds, and one man had tried to prise a golden scale loose. As Ruad appeared the crowd fell back. Brion ran from the house and swiftly explained the presence of his visitors, and the magic they had wrought.
Within an hour the news had spread to settlements nearby and a larger crowd had gathered - many of them sick, or with boils, or deep cuts, or swollen joints.
Ruad woke Gwydion. ‘You had best eat, my friend. I fear you have a busy day ahead.’
For most of the morning Gwydion plied his trade on the porch of the cabin, receiving payment in copper and silver coin, goods - a battered knife and two hatchets, three blankets, a small sack of flour, a side of ham, a barrel of ale, a pair of boots, a cloak, two chickens, seven pigeons and a silver ring set with a black stone - and occasionally just the promise of food and a bed for the night should he desire it.
By noon the old man was exhausted and he sent away the fifteen or so who were still waiting, promising to see them tomorrow. He gave the chickens and the ham to Brion and then Ruad, he and the family enjoyed the small barrel of ale.
‘Had I known my powers would be so great here, I would have come five years ago,’ said Gwydion. ‘The Green is easy to find, and very strong.’
At dusk a rider came to the settlement. People hid behind locked doors, watching the man from behind barred shutters as he reined in his stallion before the house that boasted the three golden hounds.
‘Ollathair!’ he called. ‘Come forth!’
Ruad opened the door and stepped into sight. The man looked familiar, but his face was hard to see, for he wore a helm and though the visor was up the sun was behind him.
‘Who calls for Ollathair?’ Ruad asked.
The man dismounted. ‘One who knows him well,’ said the rider, approaching the Armourer. All colour fled from Ruad’s face as he recognized the workmanship of the battered helm and the grey eyes of the Once-Knight.
‘Manannan?’ he whispered. ‘It cannot be!’
‘It is Manannan,’ said the Once-Knight. ‘It is the traitor, Manannan. I have no right to ask this of you, but it would be pleasant if you would remove this damned helm. I fear the beard within the neck-plates is strangling me to death. I have worn it for six years.’
‘How did you get back?’
‘I never went. As Samildanach beckoned us forward, something inside me snapped. Fear swept through me like a storm, and I turned my horse away into the shadows.’
Despair struck Ruad anew. ‘Then you do not know what became of them?’
‘No. Will you help me?’
‘I cannot, Manannan. If I could, I would do it in an instant. But the spell I cast was to protect you in the inferno beyond the Gate and the Gate is the key. All spell-locks were made to be undone the moment you passed back through the Gate.’
‘What are you saying? That I am doomed to die in this metal cage?’
‘No,’ said Ruad softly. ‘I am saying you must pass the Gate and return.’
The Once-Knight staggered as if struck. ‘Pass the . . . alone? When I could not do it surrounded by the finest warriors in the world? Impossible!’
‘You would at least know the fate of your friends. You might even find them and bring them home. The gods know how they are needed now.’
‘And that is the only way for me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Let me inside, Ollathair. Let me sit and think.’
CHAPTER SIX
The country estates of the Lady Dianu covered six hundred acres, at the centre of which was a wooded valley. On the high ground to the west, some twelve miles from Mactha, was the old castle - derelict now, but still used by the local villagers for the May Dance and for open-air banquets in the summer. Beside it was the New House built by Dianu’s grandfather and boasting forty bedchambers, a central hall, two libraries and a lower hall with sleeping quarters for sixty slaves.
The windows were wide and the house had been built without concern for defence. At present only twelve servants were in residence, and the two upper floors were closed.
On the ground floor in the main, circular library, Dianu and her sister Sheera were meeting with the merchant Cartain, who had arrived in the night, travelling alone with false papers.
‘You must leave now,’ Cartain snapped. ‘Why do you not understand the danger? Okessa has been researching your family records. Believe me, there will be troops on the way.’
‘Errin would have warned me,’ said Dianu. ‘Have no fear, Cartain. Take Sheera and the two Nomad servants. I will meet you in Pertia Port.’
The sun was shining through the open window and Dianu moved to the sill, enjoying the scent of the roses below. The gardener waved at her.
‘I think we should listen to Cartain,’ said Sheera. She was dressed in riding buckskins, wearing tight well-fitting trews under a brushed hide tunic.
‘I do not think it becomes you, sister, to dress like a man,’ said Dianu. ‘Whatever will the servants think?’
Sheera shook her head. ‘You still think he is coming, don’t you? You believe that Errin will surrender his status and his lands to journey with you to Cithaeron? Well, he will not. Cartain has risked his life to help us escape. I think your attitude is selfish - and very foolish.’
‘I have five men waiting in the woods, my ladies,’ said Cartain. ‘If we leave now, we can be in Pertia Port in four days. Much of your wealth has already been shipped. You achieve nothing by delaying your departure, Lady Dianu, but you risk much.’
‘I do not believe the risk is as great as you say,’ Dianu maintained, smoothing the front of her white silk dress. ‘But very well; you go ahead with Sheera. I shall follow tomorrow, I promise you. I will need to pack, and I have ordered five wagons to be delivered here.’
‘Ordered . . . are you mad?’ hissed Cartain.
‘How dare you use that tone with me, sir! You think I would leave here without my mother’s heirlooms?’
‘This was to have been a secret departure, Lady Dianu. How secret will it be when it is known — as known it will be - that you have ordered five wagons?’
‘The people of Mactha have been loyal to my family for generations, Cartain. They will say nothing.’
The merchant shook his head and turned to the taller sister. ‘Will you travel with me now, my lady?’
‘I will, Cartain,’ she agreed. Sheera rose and walked to her sister. ‘I think you are wrong, Dianu, but I hope to see you in Pertia Port.’
‘Safe journey,’ said Dianu, leaning to kiss her sister’s cheek. ‘I will be several days behind you. The wagons will be slow-moving.’
‘Might I ask,’ enquired Cartain, ‘how you intend to protect this valuable cargo when you pass Groundsel’s realm?’
‘I have hired soldiers to escort me,’ Dianu told him.
‘I thought you might have done,’ said Cartain softly. ‘You will not, by any chance, have trumpets sounded as you leave?’ Without waiting for an answer, he spun on his heel and strode from the room. Sheera caught up with him by the doorway as he stepped into the sunlight.
‘You should not have been rude, Cartain.’
He breathed a deep sigh. ‘No, I should not. Her rank demands respect, but her stupidity is hard to bear.’
‘It is not stupidity, sir merchant. It is stubbornness. There is a difference,’ she said, swinging herself into the saddle of a tall black gelding.
He mounted his own bay mare. ‘Yes, there is,’ he admitted, ‘and I will accept your point if she is proved to be right. But we are dealing here in life or death. And to risk life for a few pretty pieces of silver is not wise.’
He spurred his mount down the gravel path as Sheera swung in the saddle. Dianu had leaned out of the window and plucked a red rose, which she waved at her sister.
Sheera raised her arm in farewell, then thundered her mount after the merchant.
Dianu was arrested by the soldiers she had hired to protect her and brought under guard to Mactha - her servants with her, her wagons piled with her possessions.
The Duke visited Errin with the news. ‘You realize, Errin, that you can no longer stand for her? She is now an accepted traitress, never mind her Nomad blood. It frees you from this insane battle.’
Errin sat by the narrow window, staring out over the countryside. He looked at the Duke and smiled.
‘How does it free me, my Lord? I love the woman; I cannot stand by and see her shipped to Gar-aden.’
The Duke poured himself a goblet of wine and drank deeply. ‘She will not be sent to Gar-aden,’ he said, his voice almost a whisper.
‘What? Why?’
‘That is for Nomads.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘You know what I am saying, Errin. She is to be tried as a traitress and sentenced to death, probably at the stake.’
‘Sweet Heaven, is the world mad?’ said Errin, rising and slamming his fist against the stone of the sill.
‘There is nothing you can do. Nothing! Cairbre will kill you in seconds — and what will it achieve? One more noble line ended. Is a stupid gesture worth your life? It would be different were you an Elodan, but you are not. Errin, my page could best you with the sword.’
‘I fear that is no longer the point, my Lord. What sane man would desire to live in a world such as this? And how could I look at myself in a mirror, knowing I had done nothing to save the woman I love?’
The Duke poured a second goblet of wine and drained it; he was looking tired, and his eyes were bloodshot. ‘Cairbre does not want to fight you. He has asked me to see you ... to implore you to reconsider.’
‘I will be at the field tomorrow and it will be decided by the laws of the Gabala,’ said Errin. ‘I am sorry, my Lord. You must find another Lord of the Feast for the King’s visit.’
‘You realize this is what Okessa wants? You know that his is the only victory?’
‘I care nothing for Okessa. He told me I would die in five days - and that is tomorrow. Long may he laugh.’
‘Would you like me to practise with you?’
Errin gazed at the Duke and realized the man was sincere. It touched him. Greedy, cruel, lustful - all these vices the Duke had and yet, still, there was a place for compassion. ‘Thank you, but no,’ said Errin. Suddenly he chuckled. ‘You think I can become a champion in one day?’
The Duke smiled. ‘You remember the year I won the Silver Lance? You were my page. You brought me my sword and the scabbard slipped between your legs, sprawling you to the dust. I knew then you’d never be a knight. Come Errin, let us get drunk.’ He offered his friend a full goblet of wine, but Errin shook his head.
‘Will you allow me to see Dianu?’
‘Of course . . . for as long as you want.’
‘Privately?’
‘I guarantee it, my friend.’
An hour later Errin was led through the dungeon corridor to a long room at the end. Dianu was there. There were no chains, and a comfortable bed and two chairs had been placed at her convenience. She was dressed still in her riding clothes, a grey velvet doublet and black hose. Her dark hair flowed free now, making her seem younger than her nineteen years.