‘It is not Llaw’s fault that stories about him have grown,’ said Lamfhada. ‘All he did was rescue some prisoners from Mactha.’
‘No, it is not his fault. Now I must continue with my work, and you should start gathering.’ But Lamfhada saw he made no move to pick up the hatchet.
‘Why did you go against the King?’ the youth asked suddenly.
‘You are full of questions, Lamfhada - but then so was I when young, and my questions were always of the empire. One of my ancestors marched with Patronius to conquer Fomoria and Sercia. Another fell when the Eagle was carried to the east and the Nomad tribes destroyed them. Twenty years later, his son led the Five Armies that smashed the Nomads and established cities across the Steppes to the Far Sea. Always the empire.’ Elodan picked up the hatchet and stared at the curved blade. ‘But - as all empires will - the Gabala failed. There is a truth that cannot be ignored. Empires are like men; they grow to maturity, then they age and wither. When there is nothing left to conquer, decay begins. A sad truth to understand. Ten years ago the Fomorians and the Sercians hammered that truth back at us with an uprising. Ahak led a brilliant counterattack - and he won. But he knew the victory would be short-lived, so he gave the lands back to the rebels and marched home.
‘I worshipped the man then; I saw in him the seeds of greatness. But he is an old-style Gabalan and he could not let the past rest. We talked of it often. Tell me, Lamfhada, what separates the civilized man from the barbarian?’
‘Learning, culture . . . architecture?’
‘Yes,’ Elodan agreed, ‘but even more basic than that: an abundance of food and wealth. The barbarian must battle for every crust. He has no time for the weak or the infirm. They die and only the strong survive. But we civilized people, we learn to care. We help the weak and we ourselves grow fat and lazy. We promote the seeds of our own destruction. Three hundred years ago we were a lean, barbarian people. We conquered much of the world. But twenty years ago the greater part of our armies were mercenaries from conquered barbarian tribes; only the officers were Gabalan. Do you see what I am saying?’
‘Not really,’ admitted the youth.
‘The King believes he can reverse the process: eradicate the weak, the tainted. Burn away the fat, and the Gabala will rise again.’
‘And that is why you went against him?’
‘No,’ said Elodan. ‘At the time I believed in everything the King was planning. But I stood for the nobleman, Kester, when he was accused of being tainted.’
‘Why?’
‘To repay a debt, Lamfhada. I killed his son.’
‘Oh,’ said Lamfhada, swallowing hard. He could not think of anything to say and his next question sped from his lips before he could stop it. ‘Was it a terrible thing to lose your hand?’ He looked up into Elodan’s eyes, which grew cold and distant; then his lean face relaxed and he smiled at the youth.
‘No. The terrible thing was to find a man who could cut it from me. Now let us work.’
The girl was not frightened when she was brought to Cairbre’s room by two of Okessa’s most trusted servants. Nor was she concerned when the Knight approached her in the candlelight, his armour still strapped to his lean frame. Her fear began when he smiled, and she saw the whiteness of his teeth and the cold gleam in his eyes.
An hour later Cairbre sat in the middle of the room, the curtains drawn, his eyes swamped in crimson. The girl’s body lay on the bed, curiously shrivelled like a tanned leather sack.
Cairbre placed his hands together as if in prayer.
The candles guttered and died; the room began to glow and seven circles of amber light formed before the Knight, swelling and brightening, coalescing into faces.
‘Welcome, my brothers,’ said Cairbre. All the faces were strangely similar, with short-cropped white hair and blood-filled eyes, yet one stood out from the rest. The eyes were almost slanted, the cheekbones high, the mouth full; it was a strong face, a leader’s face.
‘The Red is growing,’ said the leader. ‘Soon, we will have it all.’
‘How are your plans faring, my Lord?’ Cairbre asked.
‘Furbolg is quiet. We have begun to take our nourishment far from the city, where panic is less contagious. Also there are Nomad women, and none care when they disappear. But that is a small matter. When the Red takes control, the King will gather his army. The east will be the first to feel the might of the New Gabala. Now tell me, Cairbre, what of the wizard Ollathair?’
‘He escaped, my Lord. Okessa sent men to apprehend him, but they were terrified by his demon hounds. I believe he has sought refuge in the great forest.’
‘Have you located him?’
‘Not yet. It is a perplexing matter, but the Red does not seem to be growing there at the same rate. The White is strong - and the Black. I do not understand it.’
‘Ollathair is there,’ said the leader. ‘Perhaps that is the answer. It does not matter; he will be found and destroyed. I am loosing the Beasts.’
‘Will they not slay indiscriminately?’ asked Cairbre.
The leader smiled. ‘Of course they will; it is their nature. But do not concern yourself, Cairbre. The forest is a breeding ground for traitors. Loyal men do not go there. Therefore any life that is lost is already forfeit.’
‘And if the Beasts leave the forest?’
The leader’s eyes hardened. ‘Be careful, Cairbre, your weakness has not passed without comment. Why did you loan your sword to the traitor Errin?’
‘Because I was bored, my Lord. Without it he would have been dead in an instant.’
‘And yet, in giving it to him, you allowed him to wound you. That is why you needed the nourishment. You are a brother to me, Cairbre, you always were. But take no more foolish risks. The fate of the kingdom rests with us - and the future of the world. Our crusade against the evils of corruption and decay must not be allowed to falter. We have made great strides with the gradual elimination of the Nomad curse. Soon will come the real test.’
Cairbre bowed his head. ‘I am ready, my Lord.’
‘There is great talk in Furbolg of a rebel force in the forest, led by a man named Llaw Gyffes. What do you know of him?’
‘He is an outlawed blacksmith who killed his wife and one of the Duke’s relatives. He escaped from the dungeons of Mactha.’
‘Rather too many of our King’s enemies are escaping from Mactha,’ snapped the leader. ‘Llaw Gyffes, Ollathair - and now this rebel lord, Errin. Is the Duke a sympathizer?’
‘I do not think so. He is an opportunist.’
‘Watch him carefully. At the first sign of treachery, depose him and install Okessa in his place. His loyalty is without question.’
‘Indeed it is, my Lord, but the man is a snake.’
‘Snakes have their uses, Cairbre. Now, to return to Llaw Gyffes: is he building an army?’
‘I have no reason to believe that he is. But then the forest covers several thousand square miles and in it there are many valleys, and mountains and settlements. It is difficult to know what is being planned there.’
‘And the White is too strong for you to observe their plans?’
‘Yes, my Lord. I flew as close to it as I could last night, but the light almost burnt my soul and I had to flee to my body. That is also why I needed the nourishment.’
‘The Beasts will aid the Red, for they will inspire fear - more than fear. Stark and naked terror will radiate from that damned rats’ nest.’
The faces faded, and Cairbre was alone.
Terribly alone . . .
Bighorn sheep and a few wild long-haired cattle were grazing together on the hillsides, while a small herd of deer were drinking at a stream which bubbled over white rocks on its journey to the river far below.
At the brow of a hill, where marble boulders had been formed into a rough ring, the air began to crackle. Several sheep stopped their feeding and looked up, but their watery eyes could see no predator and there was no smell of wolf or lion upon the breeze. Warily they milled about. Lightning flashed from the boulders, and the sheep ran. A huge bull, his curved horns scarred by many battle trials, swung to face the boulders. A curious smell reached his nostrils, acrid as smoke, leaving a strange taste in the bull’s mouth. The air rippled before him, and a dark shadow fell across the hillside.
There in the circle of boulders stood a huge creature, its head elongated and vulpine, its grey-furred shoulders ridged with muscle. It ambled forward with jaws gaping - long, wicked fangs dripping saliva to its leathery chest. The bull had seen enough; he backed away.
The creature raised its snout as the wind changed and caught the scent of sheep and cattle. Its eyes widened and long talons slid from their sheaths in the flesh of its fingers.
It stood stock still for a moment, then raced at the flock with surprising speed. The sheep scattered, the cattle stampeding towards the stream. His cows threatened, the bull ducked his head and charged. The creature dropped to all fours as the bull approached and at the last second it leapt, high over the bull’s head, to land on its back. Long talons sliced deep into the dark flesh, then ripped clear.
Blood gushing from several gaping wounds, the bull bellowed in pain and rage and, in a wild effort to dislodge its tormentor, rolled to its back. The creature leapt clear. The bull’s head came up as it struggled to rise, exposing the huge jugular. Talons flashed out. The jugular parted and blood fountained from the dying bull as it sank to the grass, hooves scrabbling weakly. The creature snarled and launched a final murderous assault, ripping and smashing through skin and bone and muscle to finally tear out the heart of the bull. . .
This it devoured. Then, more calmly, it began to tear and bite at the carcass. Hunger satisfied, its head dropped back with snout pointing to the sky. An eerie, unearthly howl echoed through the hills. The deer raced for the sanctuary of the trees and the sheep ran in terror from the hillside.
The first of the Beasts had arrived in the Forest of the Ocean.
‘You are an idiot, poet,’ said Llaw Gyffes as the slender Nuada packed his spare clothes into a large travelling pack. ‘Groundsel is a notorious liar and a foul-mouthed thief. If he doesn’t like your stories, you could end up staked out on a hillside.’
Nuada chuckled. ‘Come with us, mighty hero. Protect us!’
‘Us?’
‘Yes. Arian is accompanying me.’
Llaw’s face flushed and his eyes showed a murderous gleam. He stroked his red-gold beard, struggling for calm. ‘You think it is wise to take a child into Groundsel’s lair?’ he asked.
Nuada laughed aloud and hoisted the pack to his shoulders. ‘Child, Llaw?’ he mocked. ‘Are you blind? She is a woman - and a damned fetching one. Surely you have noticed?’
‘What I notice, or don’t notice, is my own affair,’ snapped the outlaw. ‘How long will you be gone?’
‘Admit it, you’ll miss me. Go on, be a man, admit it.’
Uttering a foul curse, Llaw rose and stormed from the cabin, almost colliding with Arian but stopping at the last minute by grabbing her shoulders. Mumbling an apology, he stalked off towards the hills. Nuada was right. Llaw would miss him. He was bright company and his stories wove webs of magic that could make a man forget he lived in a forest, in a dark cabin. They could ease the pain of loss and make the world seem a place of heroes and enchantment. Without him this was merely another mud-swamped settlement with no hope and no future.
Llaw’s thoughts flew to Lydia, the wife of his heart — a beautiful woman, strong and yet caring. He found his feelings for Arian a betrayal of Lydia’s memory, and hoped her ghost would forgive him. Seeing Lamfhada and the cripple, Elodan, working to build the winter wood supply, he tried to walk past without stopping, but Elodan waved and he knew it would be churlish to ignore them.
‘How goes it?’ he asked.
‘There will be fuel for the winter,’ replied Elodan. ‘Has Nuada gone yet?’
‘No.’
‘He will be missed here, I think. I hope he is not away too long. I’ve never heard a finer story-teller,’ said Elodan. ‘I first knew him in Furbolg. He put on a performance for the King. It was the tale of Asmodin. Superb! The King — may the Gods rot his soul — gave Nuada a ruby the size of a goose-egg.’
‘He doesn’t have it now,’ said Llaw gleefully.
‘No, I understand he gave it to a lady for a single night of pleasure.’
‘The more fool him,’ snapped Llaw, thinking of the two-day journey the poet was about to undertake with Arian. But then all Nuada could now offer her was a second pair of woollen leggings and a threadbare blanket. Even so, the slender poet was a handsome man! Llaw cursed.
‘What is wrong?’ Elodan asked.
‘Nothing!’ said Llaw, striding off.
‘Is he sick, do you think?’ Lamfhada whispered.
‘No, he is in love,’ answered Elodan, chuckling. ‘But then, in my experience, that is very much the same.’
Llaw stopped at his cabin and sat staring at his spartan surroundings. Then with a muttered curse he packed his belongings in a canvas shoulder-sack, tucked a double-headed axe into his belt and walked from the settlement without a backward glance.
Cithaeron was the place to be, he decided. He could get work in a smithy there and build a new life.
As he topped the line of hills he heard a distant howl. It chilled his blood. The wolves were out early this year, he thought - and walked on.
Nuada stepped into the sunshine and watched the outlaw crest the-hill; Arian stopped beside him. ‘What are you looking at?’
‘Llaw. I think he is leaving us.’
‘Ridiculous!’ she snapped. ‘He is making his life here.’
Nuada looked at her and grinned. ‘Lead on, lady,’ he said. ‘I shall follow your beauty to the ends of the earth.’
‘Fool!’
‘Indeed I am. It is the fate of poets.’
He hoisted his pack to his back and waited. ‘What
about weapons?’ she asked.
‘I have little use for them. But I have no fear; you will be there to guard me from the evils of the wild.’ His violet eyes sparkled with humour. Arian was unsure of Nuada; in the days she had known him he had made no secret of the fact that he found her attractive, yet not once had he made a move to court her. But then, she reasoned, this was a man who had moved among the ladies of the court, with their soft perfumed skin and their clothes of silk.