‘I hope Morrigan is all right,’ remarked Errin, as the silence grew. ‘One of us should have gone with her.’
‘I think you will find she is capable,’ said Elodan. ‘I watched her during the first encounter. She uses a sword like a veteran and her size belies her strength.’
‘Even so, she is a woman,’ said Errin.
Llaw chuckled. ‘Do not confuse women like Morrigan with the wasp-waisted courtesans you have known, Errin. No - nor Arian nor Sheera. They are women to walk the mountains with. Strong.’
‘I am no expert on mountain women, Llaw. I bow to your knowledge.’
Groundsel joined them, removing his helm and rubbing at his sweat-drenched hair. ‘When do we eat?’ he asked.
‘How can you think of food with the stench of death in the air?’ responded Errin.
‘I think of food because I am hungry. What has the smell to do with it?’
‘There is the woman,’ said Ubadai, pointing to the hillside. Morrigan rode into the glade and dismounted and Elodan rose and strode to meet her. She raised her hand arid lowered the helm visor masking her face.
‘Did you catch him?’
‘Yes, he is dead.’
‘Are you well, Morrigan?’ asked the Lord Knight.
‘I am fine. The sun is bright on my eyes, that is all. When do we leave?’
‘Most of the men are returning to the camp, but I would like you and Groundsel to head west. I am told there is a large settlement there, on a mountainside. It can only be reached by a bridge of chains. Some of the men have been there and they claim that the leader, Bucklar, has more than two hundred warriors. It would be good for us if he could spare a hundred for our cause.’
‘West?’ she queried. ‘That will bring us close to Pertia Port. I thought the enemy was there in force.’
‘So I understand. Take what supplies you will need.’
‘Does it have to be Groundsel? Why not Errin or Llaw - or even the Nomad?’
Elodan grinned. ‘Being the Lord Knight has certain advantages, Morrigan. I do not want him around me, so you have the pleasure of his company.’
‘He may not survive the journey,’ she said.
The Duke dismounted by the cave and stared long and hard at the blond youth waiting for them. ‘What do you want of me?’ he asked.
The youth smiled. ‘I want nothing, my Lord. All I ask is that you step into the cave and make a choice.’
‘No.’ The Duke turned to Manannan. ‘What is in there?’
‘A suit of armour,’ said the Once-Knight.
‘And I am to wear it? I am expected to fight alongside peasants and outlaws?’
‘More than that,’ Lamfhada told him. ‘You will be expected to die for them, if necessary.’
‘What madness! I am grateful that you saved my life - but I did not ask for your help and therefore feel no obligation to you. Why should I fight for your cause?’
Lamfhada stepped forward. ‘There is no reason why you should,’ he said. ‘If you desire to ride on, then you may. We will even give you supplies for the journey.’
‘And if I fight for you, what do you offer me?’
‘Nothing at all,’ came the answer.
‘You amaze me, boy. Tell me, Manannan, this suit of armour, is it silver like your own?’
‘Yes.’
‘You are asking me to become a Knight of the Gabala? It is beyond belief. Ask any man who ever served me and he will tell you I ani a hard man, maybe even a cruel one. I have lied and I have cheated and I have killed. All these things I have done to maintain my position - and had Okessa not turned on me I would still be serving the King. Is that the sort of man you wish to wear the silver helm? I think not.’
‘That was yesterday, Lord Duke,’ said Lamfhada. ‘Now let the armour choose.’
‘What do you say, Manannan? Should I enter the cave?’
‘Why should my opinion make a difference?’
‘Because you are a Gabala Knight. Do you want me for a companion?’
‘No, my Lord. But I am only a man. The armour is imbued with magic and it will choose. Enter the cave.’
The Duke stroked his thin beard and looked at the cave mouth. Then he shrugged. ‘Very well, I will look. But build no hopes, my friends.’
Swiftly he walked into the darkness and approached the solitary suit of armour. It was cold inside the cave and he shivered. Two flickering torches lit the walls, and reflected flames danced upon the breastplate. As a child he had been enchanted by tales of the Gabala Knights, but his father had always dismissed them.
‘Fools,’ he would say. ‘Lite is too short to spend riding the country interfering in other men’s disputes. What does it matter if a peasant loses a farm, or wins one? Who will care a hundred years from now?’
The words seemed to echo inside the Duke’s mind. He remembered his father’s funeral; not one tear had been shed.
‘And who will cry for you, Roem?’ he asked himself, then shook his head. What did it matter? Tears for the dead were a waste of time. The question now was a simple one - did he stay and fight, or leave for Citbaeron? Across the sea, with no wealth, he would find few friends. He would be forced to seek service with other rebels, perhaps as a captain of the guard, or as a Sabreur for some petty tribal chieftain. And here? Here he would fight alongside peasants and outlaws, men with no breeding: men not fit to kiss his hand.
Yet, at least, here he had a chance to regain his position, to win back his father’s Duchy.
He sat on the cold stone floor staring up at the armour. What chance of victory did these rebels have - even with the Knights reborn? Realistically? Against Ahak’s legions, his lancers and his scouts? Little or none. So what was the real choice? Alive in Cithaeron or dead in the Gabala!
Alive? Penniless and without honour - that was not life.
So then, what else is there, Roem? You can either live out your span, despised by your fellows, or fight alongside men you despise.
He stood and walked to the armour, seeing his lean angular face reflected in the breastplate. ‘Put a cloak over your contempt, Roem,’ he whispered. ‘Stand alongside these men and win back your birthright. And then, when the battle is won, the peasants can be herded back into their place.’
He reached out and touched the armour.
Outside the cave in the village beyond, the victorious rebel army had arrived safely home. Women and children streamed to meet them. Manannan sat down on a boulder and watched as Elodan, Llaw, Errin and Ubadai rode up to the cave.
‘It is good to see you safe,’ Elodan greeted them, stepping from the saddle. ‘Did your mission go well?’
‘He is in the cave,’ said Manannan.
‘What of Cairbre?’
‘I killed him. Let us talk no more of it.’
‘Who is in the cave?’ asked Llaw. ‘What was this mission?’
Lamfhada moved in front of Llaw. ‘The Duke of Mactha,’ he said softly.
All colour fled from Llaw’s face. ‘What mockery is this? The whoreson sentenced me to death for a crime he knew I did not commit. He is a King’s man!’
‘No,’ said Manannan. ‘He was on trial for his life; the King was to have him executed.’
‘Which just shows that even a bad King cannot be wrong all the time. This is a mistake, but I will put it-to rights. Get out of my way,’ said Llaw, drawing his sword.
‘Put it down!’ Elodan commanded. ‘This instant!’
Llaw swung on him. ‘So? You patricians want to stick together, do you? Fine. What else should I have expected?’
‘You are wrong, Llaw,’ said Elodan softly. ‘I am the man you asked to lead your army. Your army. But I am also the Lord Knight of the New Gabala. If the armour chooses him, then he is with us. If not?’ He shrugged. ‘Then he is yours. Does that suit you?’
Llaw backed away. ‘If the armour chooses? Had I known he would be among us, I would never have agreed to wear it myself.’ Slamming his sword in its scabbard, he stalked to his horse, mounted and rode for the village.
‘Thank you, Elodan,’ said the Duke, stepping out into the open, his armour blazing in the sunlight.
‘Lord Duke,’ said Elodan, ‘welcome to the Order.’
‘I am the Duke no longer. My name is Roem,’ he said, holding out his hand. Elodan shook it. Errin removed his helm and strolled forward.
‘I see we have a fine cook,’ commented Roem. ‘We must be a force to be reckoned with.’
Arian found Llaw Gyffes high on the south meadow in a grove of beech trees overlooking the forest. He was sitting by a small fire, staring into the flames, and did not hear her approach. She sat beside him and reached out to touch him, but stopped. Encased as he was in his armour, there was no point.
‘Llaw?’ she whispered but he did not turn his head. ‘Come, Llaw, speak to me.’
‘There is nothing to say. I am lost, Arian . . . lost.’ She moved closer to him.
‘No, you are not! You are Llaw Gyffes, the strongest man I have ever known. How can you be so downhearted? You have triumphed over your enemies and your army grows by the day.’
He shook his head. ‘None of it matters. My life was destroyed when Lydia died. And now I too must die -just as the Dagda said. And you know what will happen then? Nothing. If the King should prove victorious, the world will go on as before. If we should defeat him, then the Duke of Mactha - or someone like him – will rule and the world will go on as before. We change nothing by what we do.’
‘What were you expecting, Llaw? Back in the village, there are people who would now be dead but for you and Elodan, and the others. At Groundsel’s settlement there are Nomads who would have frozen to death but for you and Groundsel and Nuada. Ask them if you made a difference. Take your eyes from the stars, Llaw. Look to the earth.’
She rose to kneel by his side, her fingers pulling at the leather straps of his breastplate. ‘What are you doing?’ he asked.
‘Get out of this metal,’ she ordered. ‘Put it aside. Then we will walk for a while in the mountains and you will feel the air on your skin.’ He helped her, laid the armour beside the fire and stood. She moved to him and ran her hands along his arms.
‘I am tired of waiting for you,’ she said. ‘And don’t tell me you are not ready; I am sick of it. You are a man - so stop running from the past and fearing the future. All we have is the Now. All we will ever have is the Now.’
‘Does it not frighten you that I must die soon?’
‘Yes, it terrifies me,’ she told him. ‘But it will be the worse for me if you should be gone having never loved me.’
His arms circled her. ‘I love you,’ he said simply. ‘You are never far from my thoughts.’
She drew him down beside the fire and kissed him, but he groaned and weakly pulled away.
‘Forget the stars, Llaw,’ she whispered. ‘Forget the stars.’
Later, as they lay closely together, it seemed to Llaw that a burden had been taken from him. He could not recall the moment when it had passed, nor even what it was that had weighed him down. He could smell the newly growing grass and feel the wind of spring upon his face. He could hear the birds in the trees above and sense the joy of growth in the forest. The world of kings and knights and peasants seemed a fragile, insubstantial matter as Arian snuggled against him, her right leg curled over his thigh. Rising on his elbow, he looked down at her. She was sleeping. He touched her skin and kissed her hair and her eyes opened.
‘I was dreaming,’ she said.
‘Are you happy still?’
‘You fool,’ she answered. She rose swiftly and ran to the stream and he followed her, watching her bathe. ‘Come in,’ she called.
‘It looks cold.’
‘The great Llaw Gyffes fears a little cold water? Come in.’
He waded in alongside her and sat down. ‘Gods of Heaven!’ he exclaimed. She laughed and splashed his chest and face; he grabbed her and they rolled under the water.
‘I surrender,’ she shouted as they surfaced. ‘Truly.’
He said nothing and pulled her in to his embrace. ‘You should have come to me long ago,’ he whispered.
‘I did, Llaw, but you were not ready. Will you regret this day?’
‘Never.’
‘Good. Now get dressed and go back to your Knights - all of them.’
His face darkened. ‘I cannot face the man. I think if I did, I would kill him.’
‘You are too strong for that. Trust me, Llaw. In this, I think I know you better.’
He stood and shivered. Arian grasped his arm and hauled herself upright. Sensing his changing mood, she remained silent, following him back to the fire. He dressed swiftly and started to walk back to his horse which was tethered to the root of a nearby beech. But he stopped and looked back; then suddenly he grinned. ‘Will you ride with me, my lady?’
She pulled on her tunic and trews, gathered her boots and knife and ran to him.
He left her in the village and rode back for the cave. The other Knights were sitting with Elodan and Lamfhada. Llaw dismounted and tethered his horse. No one spoke as he joined the circle and looked across at the Duke of Mactha.
‘I am Llaw Gyffes,’ he said, extending his hand.
‘I am Roem. I am pleased to meet you,’ responded the other, taking his hand and gripping it firmly.
‘Now the new Order is complete,’ said Lamfhada, ‘and it is time to prepare for the Day of Blood. Nuada is carrying our banner to all the settlements of the forest. Morrigan and Groundsel are seeking allies close to Pertia Port. The King’s army is almost ready to move. They will be at our southern borders within ten days; we must be ready to oppose them.’
‘How many men do we have?’ Roem asked.
‘Close to two hundred now, but the numbers are swelling daily. Nuada’s prowess has rarely been put to better use.’
‘The King has ten thousand men,’ said Roem. ‘Two thousand lancers, six thousand foot-soldiers, fifteen hundred archers, and five hundred scouts, used to the ways of the forest. You cannot hold them with two hundred, nor a thousand.’
Elodan raised his hand. ‘It is not important that we have a large army, only that the King thinks we have. Now Lamfhada says he has placed a spell over the forest and the Seers of the King cannot breach it. That being the case, all the King has to go on is that his five hundred lancers have been wiped out. I do not think he will immediately venture into the forest in force. He will send in his scouts and then advance slowly. We must eliminate those scouts.’
‘That sounds plausible,’ said Errin, ‘but do we fight a holding action from now until the King dies of old age? Somewhere there must be a conclusive encounter.’
‘Indeed there must, and we must recognize the opportunity when it arises,’ answered Elodan. ‘But until then, as the weaker side, we must hit and run -strike them where we can - make them think they are facing a force ten . . . twenty times greater than we are. And all the time we will be growing.’
Llaw spoke. ‘There is something else to consider: supplies. We have the forest and the deer, and sheep are plentiful. The King has ten thousand men and they will need to be supplied from the south. We must have a raiding force behind their lines. Empty bellies make for discontent.’
‘I will lead that force,’ said Roem. ‘It is my Duchy and I know all the roads. Give me fifty men; we will live off the land and force them to send back troops.’
‘You will be alone,’ Lamfhada pointed out. ‘We cannot support you.’
‘Do not fear for me, Armourer. I am not ready to die yet.’
‘Very well,’ agreed Elodan. ‘Select your fifty men and train them; you have ten days.’
‘What of the rest of us?’ asked Manannan.
‘Your day is coming,’ said Lamfhada, looking away.
Morrigan sat under the stars, her memories vivid and painful. Her love for Samildanach seemed from another age, when the world was young and innocence a joy. Her six years in the City of the Vyre had drenched that innocence in blood and lust and depravity. She could no longer recall the numbers of men and women who had shared her bed, nor see all the faces. All she could remember clearly was the taste of the Ambria, and the surging strength it brought to her limbs. She had told Manannan that Samildanach had tired of her, but it was not strictly true. Faced with the myriad pleasures of the Vyre they had drifted apart - seeking new sensations, more pleasure and pain.
Now Manannan claimed to love her. But he did not know ... he loved the woman who once had been. She shivered as the night wind rolled down from the snow-covered peaks.
The general had died swiftly, his body shrivelling as his life filled her. He had not even known he was dying. She had left the empty hide-covered sack of bones where they fell. How soon would she need to feed again? A day? Two days?
She could hear Groundsel snoring by the fire. Detestable little man! You will be next, she promised herself. But then what? Manannan? Llaw Gyffes? Or merely another innocent stranger, like the man with the injured knee?
Was life so enchanting that she could not bear to leave it?
She knew the answer. Of course it was. To see and hear, to breathe and feel - how could anyone bear to die?
‘Can’t you sleep?’ asked Groundsel, sitting up and running his fingers across his scalp. ‘Damned lice,’ he said. ‘Nothing shifts them.’
‘Try bathing once in a while.’
‘What are you doing?’ he asked.
‘I am thinking.’
‘Do you never sleep? How do you manage to keep your strength?’
‘I draw it from the company of men, Groundsel. Strangely, I am feeling rather weak at the moment.’
He grinned at her. That’s the first time I’ve seen any sign of humour from you, Morrigan. Perhaps you are beginning to like me. Why don’t we start afresh? Come and join me; I’ll give you a little strength.’
‘Beware, Groundsel. I might just do that.’
He yawned and stood. She turned away as he urinated against a tree. ‘Who are we supposed to see?’ he asked.
‘The leader is a man called Bucklar. You should like him, Groundsel - he has built his kingdom the way you built yours, on blood and murder. I think that’s why Elodan thought you were the man to accompany me. You think Bucklar will send men to aid Llaw’s army?’
‘That depends. If he feels threatened by the King, then he will. If he thinks he’s safe, he’ll wait - and when the other forest leaders send men, he’ll attack their lands and extend his power.’
‘It is doubly important, then, that he helps us. For without him the other leaders will also hold back.’
‘True, lady.’ He began to climb into his leggings.
‘I thought you wanted me,’ said Morrigan, rising and striding towards him.
‘I did,’ Groundsel said, grinning. ‘But you didn’t say please. Dawn’s coming up; we should be moving.’
Samildanach walked to the coffin and gazed down on the face of his oldest friend. His anger had gone and he was aware of a terrible emptiness deep within him. He knew that he had loved Cairbre as a brother, but that had been so long ago - before the crusade, before the Vyre, before the dawning of the New Age. Now he searched for that love and could find nothing. All he could see was a pale corpse, hands folded across a crimson breastplate.
The other Knights moved forward, circling the coffin and observing the body, and Samildanach looked from face to face. All wore the same expression. A shiver passed through the Lord Knight.
‘We all know,’ declared Samildanach, ‘why our brother died. He had ceased to take the Nourishment his body desired; he was physically weak. I do not know why Cairbre acted as he did, but it should be a lesson to us all. Our crusade is a holy one. We must restore the civilization and the power of the Gabala, and introduce to it the wonders of the Vyre.’ His words seemed hollow and they echoed in the high arched tomb. He saw again Manannan riding on to the field, his silver armour ablaze.
They had been friends . . .
Friends? The concepts of friendship, of love, of brotherhood moved in his mind like wisps of smoke, close but unobtainable.
‘Are you well, Samildanach?’ Edrin asked.
‘Yes. I feel there should be words to say over our . . . friend. But I can think of none.’
‘Then let us cover him and be gone,’ said Bersis. ‘This place is cold and inhospitable.’
‘Yes,’ whispered Samildanach. ‘Cover him.’ He turned and strode for the stairs. The tallest of the Knights, he was wide-shouldered and narrow-hipped and his movements, even in armour, were smooth and sure. He led the Knights to the Upper Room, where they seated themselves around the oval oak table.
‘It is time,’ said Samildanach, ‘to gauge the strength of the enemy. The boy sorcerer has placed a barrier around the forest, and now is the moment to breach it. Give of your strength, my friends.’