The Bitterbynde Trilogy (157 page)

‘What did he say?' Tahquil asked, momentarily forgetting her apprehension regarding the nygel.

‘“I'm after a huzzie wi' yellow birss,” quo' the Glashan uncouthly,' said the urisk somewhat unintelligibly.

‘“For what purpose?” quo' I.

‘“For taen her tae the Lord Huon,” quo' the Glashan, “and the Lord Each Uisge.”

‘“Spier some ither birkie,” quo' I, and I went on my way.

‘Next, I happed tae meet wi' the nygel. Quo' he, couthly, “I'm after a lass wi' hair of yellow.”

‘“Wi' what purpose?” quo' I, for I's no be the agent of ane that delivers ye to the likes of Huon and his louns.'

Here the urisk bowed neatly to bleach-haired Viviana, who stared at him blank-faced.

‘So the sonsy waterhorse here,' he continued, tell'd me about his debt. “Come alang wi' me,” quo' I. “For gin the luck is wi' tham, bye and bye the yellow lass and her sisters will arrive in the
Talam Meith
, the koontrie men call Cinnarine.”'

He paused, frowning.

‘But I see the lass wi' yellow hair is not the yin ye sought, nygel, and 'tis the dark yin after a'!'

‘How did you know me, sir?' Tahquil quickly asked the water wight.

‘I did nat, at first,' he replied, ‘because yarr hair is changed. Nearerr, I catched the tang av ye and the way in yarr standing. Lang back in the city I marked ye well, be sarrtain.'

Tahquil folded her arms and commenced pacing back and forth in agitation.

‘This wight, this Glashan, told you that the Lords of Wickedness hunt after a yellow-haired girl,' she said abruptly. ‘Tell me more, urisk, prithee. Tell me about Prince Morragan—all that you know.'

‘I ken only what the nygel tell'd me. I've fared in faraway corners this many a lang year and hae not ventured into the heigh, broad world. A solitary I be, like all urisks. We only meet once every nine years, on the banks o' Loch Katrine, and I've missed the last couple o' gatherings.

‘I hae heard no ither news, except that when the black wings o' the three Crows o' War unfolded tae darken Erith's skies and pass intae the west, there was naething o' eldritch, whether seelie or
unket
, domestic or wild, shape-shifter or shape-stayer, solitary or trooping, dwelling in high places or low, in water or woods, that did not alarum tae that sally-forth. What hae ye done, that they should hunt ye so?'

Tahquil shrugged and turned her face from the urisk, unwilling to reveal anything to any wight.

Moonlight blinked out in the small glade, blinked on again. A shadow had passed between the sky and the ground. A hooting cry sounded far overhead and the nygel craned his neck skywards. He snorted.

‘What goes there?' demanded Tahquil, squinting at the sky. Stars sprinkled its dark dome.

‘Ainly a birrid,' said the mane-haired nygel-man. ‘Sit ye dane and I'll tell ye the tale ye've requested. I'll tell ye whay all acruss the land the hunt is an for a lass wi' hair of yellie.'

‘Very well.' Tahquil nodded guardedly. ‘I am eager to hear your story.'

They lowered themselves onto the grass, Caitri and Viviana at a short distance from Tahquil, wary of the two wights. The nygel began to speak.

He commenced with the story of Morragan, Crown Prince of the Faêran, who had been exiled with his elder brother the High King. For many years after the Closing of the Gates to the Fair Realm, the exiled Faêran lords and ladies had walked the known lands, and that period was known as the Era of Glory. Eventually tiring of Erith, however, these two Faêran lords had both chosen to lie locked in the Pendur Sleep for centuries, surrounded by those of their knights and other retinue who had been exiled with them. Under two hills had they slept—two hills many leagues apart, with the whole of Erith stretched between, for the brothers' feud had waxed more bitter than ever since the Closing of the Gates to Faêrie.

In the Erithan year 1039, Morragan had woken under Raven's Howe. Perhaps, as the tales would have it, he had been awakened by some foolish shepherd wandering where he should never have ventured, or maybe something else had disturbed this mighty Prince of the Faêran. Some surmised that he had merely chosen to leave the stasis and the timelessness of the Pendur Sleep in order to experience a variation on eternity. Whatever the reason, out into the world, unlooked-for, he had passed. With him went the knights and ladies who had accompanied him, first in exile and then in sleep under Raven's Howe.

Meanwhile, under Eagle's Howe, Angavar High King and his retinue slept on.

Changes had occurred in Erith since the end of the Era of Glory, that early period when Angavar and his knights had imparted much knowledge to humankind, and mighty cities had been raised and great deeds performed, and splendid songs had been wrought. The Crown Prince and his Faêran entourage from Raven's Howe found a world much altered. Most of the cities lay abandoned and overgrown. Men had forgotten much that had once been known. While the Faêran slept, war had riven the lands. The dynasty of D'Armancourt had been cast down in the Dark Ages and had arisen again with James the Uniter. Stormriders now ruled the skies. Yet wights still roamed, haunting inglenooks and millponds, lurking beneath hearthstones, inhabiting wells. Those of unseelie ilk preyed, as ever, on humanity.

Morragan's contempt for the races of Men had not diminished. He did not mingle with mortalkind. Eldritch wights were drawn to him, attracted by his power, by the forces of gramarye that played about him like silent, invisible lightnings. Driven to frustration by ennui and hatred of exile, their company he tolerated. He was inclined to favour those of unseelie, whose antics and pranks at the expense of humans proved diverting.

‘An attitude typical of the Faêran,' Tahquil interjected with bitterness. ‘The deaths of mortals seem of little concern to them—they have no love in their hearts. Merciless are they, unjust and arrogant.'

‘Ye ken not o' whom ye speak,' said the urisk, glancing over his shoulder as though fearful of listeners.

‘Behold, I am confirmed. Even the gentlest of wights fears their wrath,' Tahquil said with a sigh.

Shaking his head warningly, the nygel resumed his narrative.

Long ago the six greatest unseelie wights, sometimes called the Lords of Wickedness or the Nightmare Princes, had formed an Unseelie Attriod, with the formidable Waelghast at its head. Eventually they had been deprived of their leader, without whom the structure of their collective was rent asunder, and the Unseelie Attriod was dispersed.

Locked out of Faêrie at the Closing, these Nightmare Princes had scattered, to wander Erith through the long years, bereft of purpose. When the Raven Prince returned to wakefulness and emerged from Raven's Howe, the Unseelie Attriod reformed around him. The Lords of Wickedness claimed him as their chieftain, and while he hardly acknowledged their claim, neither did he gainsay it. Grouped in this structure, they once again became a powerful force in Erith. Whiling away their immortal spans, they amused themselves with numerous sports and depredations, including predatory forays against Men. Yet in these Hunts, the Faêran themselves did not take part, being more inclined to chase Faêran deer, a quarry more elusive and worthy of their prowess.

Then the nygel recounted how in Autumn of 1089, in the month of Gaothmis, an intruder had been detected in Huntingtowers, the stronghold of the Antlered One. The spy had escaped, been hunted down and, as it was believed, had perished beneath a cave-in of the old mines. In wrath, Morragan demanded to know how such a mortal intruder had penetrated Huon's fortress. This was not revealed, until months later a certain duergar was discovered furtively making his way towards the mountains. In his possession was a swatch of golden hair, which had been partially plaited into a whip. In his terror of Huon and hope of deflecting punishment, the hapless duergar loosened his tongue and told all, explaining that he had received the hair in exchange for a foolish mortal's clandestine entry to Huntingtowers. He had taken the precaution of rendering mute the potential spy, merely out of malice, but he had augured that the wench would not long remain undetected in the fortress of Huon.

Despite his confession, no mercy was shown him. His fate at the hands of Huon's servants had been most terrible, as was Huon's way with all those who angered him. Throughout the length and breadth of Erith the word went out from Prince Morragan and from the Unseelie Attriod to all creatures of eldritch—
find the yellow-haired spy.

‘Therefarr,' concluded the nygel, ‘I'll warrant the Prince is after ye tae take reprisal because ye were eavesdrapping an him. That is a crime utterly candemned by the Faêran. He will nat farrget ye.'

At this point the nygel's story ended, for he had passed into remote regions and heard no further tidings. Having deserted Millbeck Tarn after his capture there, he had gone looking for another pool to inhabit. He found himself moving northward, impelled by the strange and continuous Call that made all things eldritch lift up their eyes and hearken, and one by one to leave their haunts and respond: the Summoning Call issued by the Raven Prince.

‘Och, but we owe no allegiance tae the great lords,' interjected the urisk, ‘and although I lo'e the Faêran weel, I'll not dance to Prince Morragan's tune gin he's hand in glove wi' those who would do ye harm, lass.'

‘You are very kind,' said Tahquil.

‘Ye're the make o' a lassie I once kenned. One o' the Arbalisters. I hav'nae dwelt wi' a family for some centuries.'

‘Myself also.'

‘Among them I kept an un-name, a kenning. “Tully” they ca'ed me.'

‘May I address you by that kenning?'

‘Aye.' The urisk's eyes shone. He was, after all, a domestic wight and although a Solitary, he belonged at the fringes of company, the outer edges of firelit circles. The wilderness was not his preferred haunt.

Again, Tahquil raised her eyes to the sky, as though she feared a presence there.

‘If Morragan is able to hold converse with the morthadu,' she said, ‘which I doubt not, then the beasts of Black Bridge might already have sped to him with tidings of three wandering damsels—a notable trio in the wilderness.'

‘Even so,' agreed the urisk, nodding his cornuted head solemnly, ‘even so.'

‘There's one av the white kine as dwells in yon green tarrn,' interjected the nygel, changing the subject unexpectedly—it appeared his equine mind was erratic and seldom able to remain focused. ‘She is av the
Gwartheg Illyn
and will allow harrself to be milked, this night.'

‘We have no pail.'

‘Suck't fram her dugs.'

‘'Tis not our way.'

‘Marr's the pity for ye.'

‘For almost two years,' Tahquil resumed, directing her discourse at the urisk, ‘Prince Morragan has been toying with the armies of Erith—why, I can only surmise. Possibly, his disdain of mortal men grows and he wishes to set us at each other's throats, leading to our eventual destruction. Or perhaps the Prince's brother, Angavar High King, has woken and these two Lords of Gramarye use us as pawns in their war games, to while away the tedious years of Erith.

‘For, who would Morragan wish to harass, if not his brother who exiled him? Of course, one who sleeps dreamlessly beneath a hill is hardly a worthy adversary. I would warrant that, like the Raven Prince himself, Angavar High King of the Fair Realm is indeed awake and walks the lands of Erith or holds Faêran Court with his followers in some remote fastness—even in the leafy bowers of some light-dappled greenwood such as this!' She paused reflectively. ‘Yet surely there would be some hint of his presence in Erith, some flavour? How could Aia's greatest potency of gramarye reawaken and it not be sensed in every blade of grass, known in every stone, sung in the wind, borne on the water, shouted in thunder, whispered in the leaves? Does he yet sleep, the High King of the Faêran, or has he woken?'

‘To my knowing,' said the urisk with a shrug, ‘the Righ Ard sleeps yet. But I ken little o' the ways o' the warld. I hae kept tae mesel' these past decades. Mickle a drap o' water has passed beneath mony a bridge since Tully last heard fresh tidings.'

There was a short silence, filled with apprehension.

‘Via,' Tahquil turned to the courtier, ‘it appears Morragan and the Unseelie Attriod and untold numbers of wights hunt yet for a
yellow
-haired girl wandering in the wilderness. With your bleached locks, in my company, you are in danger. Dark dye for your hair must be found!'

Viviana scowled. Her hair, unkempt, was a tangle of dry yellow straw. Close to the scalp it resembled brown silk threads.

‘And for my own pale regrowth as well!' Tahquil added. ‘We shall look out for dyestuffs as we travel,' she promised, rising to her feet. ‘For the nonce, it is urgent that we continue on our way. Sir Waterhorse, if you truly mean to aid me, I shall not discharge you. Accompany us if you will. Your help may prove invaluable during our journey north.'

The nygel bared his square teeth in a horse-smile.

‘I will join ye.'

‘Och, and mesel' also,' said the urisk.

‘Oh, fither,' snapped Viviana, recidivating into broken slingua. ‘Now we must contend with yet another uncouthant half-beast that minces its vowels and otherwise butchers the Common Tongue. Storfable, Es raith-na?'

‘Ignore her—she is half-spelled,' said Tahquil quietly.

‘I am uneasy with this creature,' Caitri murmured in Tahquil's ear. ‘It is one thing to travel in the company of an urisk, a domestic wight, but quite another to journey with a waterhorse.'

‘A waterhorse indeed, but one of the most harmless type of all, and he says he owes me a favour.'

‘Owes
you
, m'lady.'

‘Depend on it, I shall ensure the favour extends to my friends.'