by Sarah Rayne
And when we are dead, he will eat us.
I can’t bear it, thought Joanna, and in the next moment, knew that of course she must bear it. I won’t despair, she thought determinedly, I will not. We are not counted dead until all is done, and I will not believe that all is yet done. A thin, rather uncertain vein of confidence trickled into her, and she clutched at it and held it, because it was a good thing to hold on to in this terrible place, and anyway, there was nothing else. But they were not dead until all was done.
They were surrounded by guards the minute the carts jolted to a halt. “Do not let these ones escape!” cried Morrigan, her cape whipped about her like bats’ wings in the wind. She stood watching as they were pulled from the carts by the guards.
“Well, Your Majesty?” she said, smiling the snake-smile. “I bid you welcome to my Master’s house.” And then, to the guards, “Take them below.
“We shall meet at supper, Sire,” she said to Cormac. And then, looking to where Joanna stood, “And there will be a very particular welcome waiting for you, Madam.”
They were pulled and pushed by the guards into a dark narrow doorway with an iron grille in the door.
“The Gentleman’s special apartments,” said the guard with a leer, and Cormac snarled and rounded on him, lunging and clawing at his face, drawing blood. The guard jumped back and clapped a hand to his face.
The hunchback was at his side at once, his whip snaking out. “Mind that one,” he said. “Vicious. Half wolf. My Master likes wolfmeat.” He moved ahead of them with his quick lurching step, rattling a great bunch of keys, and the prisoners were forced along by the guards.
The passages were narrow and low ceilinged, and so sharply angled that at times it seemed as if they were about to walk into solid rock. The walls had the faint bloom of damp, and a constant drip of water from somewhere. Joanna shivered, because the sound conjured up vast dark caverns with great still pools of black water … there was something very sinister about large masses of stagnant water.
They were thrust into a single cell which had been hollowed into the rock, so that it had three solid stone walls and one of iron. The water sounded louder here, and there was an echo.
Cormac fought as they pushed him into the cell, and Gormgall and Dubhgall struggled; even Muldooney, who was by now frightened, but who was not going to be thought a coward by such company, managed to land a good square punch on one of the guard’s jaws. The man retreated and eyed Muldooney unpleasantly.
“You’ll regret having done that, son of the Pigline,” he said, and Muldooney, flown with his show of bravery, made a rude noise at the guard.
To be sure, this was a very strange situation they were all in, but Muldooney would not be the man to be found wanting. He had been quite surprised to see Joanna again, and he had an uncomfortable suspicion that he had not acquitted himself perhaps as well as he might have done that afternoon in the farmhouse bedroom. He thought to himself that it behoved him to appear in a good light to Joanna, and he was certainly not going to allow the other three men to find him at a loss. He had not the slightest idea of where they all were, but he supposed that someone would tell him at some point. For a moment he toyed with the idea of asking, but it would not do to admit his ignorance, and anyway, everyone else seemed to know. Muldooney would bide his time and listen very carefully, and probably he would quite soon find out what was going on. Ah, they all of them thought him dull-witted, but he was cannier than any of them realised. He sat down in a corner and waited to see what came next.
Cormac had been standing by the bars, and now he said to the hunchback in an imperious tone, “You! Come here!” and Joanna, who was nearby, thought that even like this, beaten and captured and under certain sentence of death, he was unquestionably the High King.
The hunchback regarded him, and then came lurching back.
“Well, wolf?”
“Something to sit on for the lady, if you please,” said Cormac, and stared at the hunchback unblinkingly. For a moment, Joanna’s heart leapt; she thought the hunchback flinched beneath that hard golden stare, and hope bounded up in her. Then the hunchback grinned, and beckoned to the gaolers and pointed.
“He wants something for his lady to sit on!” said the hunchback derisively, and looked closely at the guards, almost, thought Joanna, as if he was waiting for their reaction; certainly as if he was saying: well you scum? Haven’t I made a joke? Then laugh with me!
There was a split second of silence, as the gaolers seemed to search for the requisite response. Then it came.
“Something to sit on?” said one. “We’ll give her something to sit on.”
“I know what I’d like to give her to sit on,” said the other, eyeing Joanna. “And it wouldn’t be a chair, neither.”
Cormac said frostily, “She is frailer than the rest of us. A chair, of your mercy.”
“Oh, a chair!” said the gaolers. “And of our mercy! She’ll sit on the floor like the rest of you!”
They picked up their lanterns and began to move away down the passage, and Muldooney got up to frown because Joanna had been looking at him and it was always a good idea to spring to a lady’s defence. He remembered how he had punched the gaoler, and began to feel quite pleased with himself.
The hunchback lingered, staring at the prisoners, and inspecting John Grady who was slumped against the far wall.
“Him. What’s the matter with him?”
“He’s witless,” said Gormgall shortly.
“No concern of yours,” added Dubhgall.
“Witless, is he? Best thing for him in here then,” said the hunchback. “You’ll all be joining him before the night’s over.” He leered at them again, and then shuffled off, taking the remaining light with him, the lantern throwing weird fantastic shadows on to the rock face as he went.
For a long time, nobody in the narrow cell spoke. Muldooney was just summoning up the courage to ask did any of them know exactly where this place was, when Gormgall said, practically: “Has anyone any means of making a light of some kind?” and Muldooney was quite glad he had not asked, because it seemed as if nobody else was wondering where they were. He remembered that he had decided to listen and bide his time.
The silence that followed Gormgall’s question about a light was rather dreadful, because they were all suddenly aware of the dark. Dubhgall said in an aside to Joanna that it was probably not as bad for Cormac as for the rest of them, because wolves had some nightsight, but Joanna did not feel any better for knowing this.
Nobody appeared to have any method of making a light, and Joanna had just begun to wish Gormgall had not made the suggestion, when Muldooney suddenly said, “I have a tinder box,” and Cormac said crisply, “Excellent.”
Muldooney turned beet red with pleasure, and thought he was not acquitting himself so ill. He might not know just where they were, but he had stuck up for Joanna when the gaolers had been so rude (well, he had frowned at them anyway), he’d punched one of them quite hard, and now he was able to provide everyone with some kind of light. He fired the tinders carefully, and bunched together a piece of old sacking and some straw so that it made a rough but serviceable torch, and Gormgall stuck it into an ancient wall bracket. There was a bad moment when they feared the straw to be too damp to burn, but after a moment it caught and flared up, shedding a welcome light on them.
Dubhgall was just wondering could they tunnel their way out, and inspecting the floor to see how solid it was, when Cormac said, in what both the Cruithin recognised as his battle tones — “My friends! We must hold a Council of War!” Everyone sat up a little straighter, and Muldooney thought wasn’t it a grand thing to find you had a leader amongst you, and got up to make a second torch, so that they’d all see the clearer, and also so that everyone would remember his contribution with the first one.
Gormgall and Dubhgall exchanged looks, each thinking: His Majesty’s in fighting mood again, and Joanna leaned forward, clasping her hands about her bent knees, a
nd hoped they would be able to think of something effective.
Cormac fixed each one of them with a penetrating look, and despite her fear, Joanna felt herself responding. There must be a way out. Surely they would find it.
Cormac said, “We are in the bowels of the most terrible fortress ever known,” and Muldooney nodded wisely to show that he had known this all along. “We are in the power of a creature who has at his beck some of the strongest necromancers in all Ireland, and we must consider, one by one, the ways we may use to outwit him.” He looked at them again, and Joanna suddenly understood that Cormac was deliberately and calculatedly making them think; he was making them turn their minds and their energies to forming a plan. He was rallying them.
“Well? Surely each of you can come up with a suggestion?” said Cormac. “Or am I served by creatures of no imagination! Gormgall, let us hear from you first. Speak man!”
Gormgall looked unhappy. “Well, Your Majesty,” he said and stopped, and Cormac frowned. “Well, Your Majesty,” said Gormgall a little louder, “normally I’d say create a diversion and then, just as you’ve got the other side properly confused, nip out under cover of it all.” He looked a bit doubtful. “I know it isn’t brilliant,” he said.
“No matter, it is a thing to consider. We might incorporate it into a larger plan. Dubhgall?”
“I say tunnel, Sire,” said Dubhgall, pointing to the hard-packed earth of the cell floor. “We mightn’t get out, but we’d get somewhere, and that somewhere might be a place we could hide in for a time.”
“Yes. And — Muldooney?” Cormac eyed the man with a blend of curiosity and amusement, as if he had never encountered his like before, and Joanna thought: oh my, I believe that Cormac is actually enjoying this, and at once caught the flare of a thought from him.
Enjoyment is not the right word, my dear. But I am alive again; I am face to face with the real enemy at last! I may lose my life before the night is out, but I shall at least be fighting for all I hold dear! He smiled at her, and Joanna smiled back.
“Muldooney,” said Cormac in a decisive tone. “We should have met under happier circumstances, but here we are, and we will be glad of your ideas for escape.”
Muldooney was, truth to tell, rather awed by Cormac. He had grasped by now that Cormac was some kind of King, and although he was not accustomed to such things, he was glad to know that he was not the man to be intimidated. Ideas about nobility and about titles were Lethean of course; Muldooney would certainly not be dazzled by them. Even so, Cormac was like no one he had ever encountered, and Muldooney found himself deferring. He did not exactly tug his forelock, but he spoke very respectfully indeed. To himself he thought that if he could come up with a plan that Cormac approved, it would be a very good thing. And then he remembered about impressing Joanna as well, and he began to think that it would really be a rather good thing to stand well in the sight of these two. When at length he spoke, he found himself doing so clearly and simply.
He was a man of limited imagination, he explained, tucking down his chins. And there was no good pretending he had ideas and plans, because he did not. This was not quite what he had set out to say, but he saw the look of approval in Cormac’s eyes, and he saw Joanna smiling at him, and he thought that after all, you could not beat truth. There was the thing; to tell the truth and be honest.
He did not quite say that with the provision of a light for them all, he had expended his reserves, but he implied it, and everyone present privately agreed with it. Gormgall, in fact, considered that His Majesty was wasting his time on this fat, rather stupid person, but he was too polite to say so. Dubhgall, who would not have considered politeness, thought it as well, but did not say it because it might have started a fight, which was the last thing they wanted, and anyway they hadn’t the room.
Muldooney, after losing himself in a welter of opening sentences and circumlocutions, finally said they should negotiate terms. It was what was always done, he said. Hadn’t they any of them heard of all the wars where leaders had done that? You negotiated terms, said Muldooney, beginning to think the expression had a good sound to it.
Nobody, with the exception of Joanna, knew what he was talking about. But Cormac thanked him with such exquisite courtesy that both the Cruithin instantly thought: well, at least His Majesty has this fool’s measure!
Then Cormac said, “Joanna?” and Joanna felt her heart lurch, because she knew at once that Cormac wanted her to come up with the solution.
“Nobody ever escapes from the Erl-King’s Citadel,” she began, and quite suddenly, she knew what Cormac wanted.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The plan had slid into Cormac’s mind whole and complete, its edges neatly trimmed, its surfaces planed smooth. He thought it was not the most watertight of plans, but he thought it might work. Energy coursed through his body, for he had spoken truly when he sent Joanna the thought: I am alive again!
He felt more alive than he had through the dreary years at Scáthach; he knew that the greatest battle of his reign lay ahead, for the Erl-King was Tara’s oldest and strongest adversary. He was not afraid, for he had in his veins the blood of the High Kings, and he would meet death if he must. But he would not meet it passively, and he would put up the wildest fight the Citadel had ever seen. And the fight would begin with the plan.
Joanna, the dear brave child, had seen it as well, of course, he knew that, she had picked up his thoughts easily and clearly. It was from Joanna that it must come. Only she, of them all, had the right. He fixed his eyes on her face and willed her to speak.
Joanna took a deep breath. She said, “I do not think we can beat the Erl-King and the Morrigna by human tricks, or by human strength either.” And unwittingly, used the words of Bricriu the Fox. “We must fight sorcery with more sorcery.”
“Sorcery to beat sorcery,” said Gormgall, and nodded. “Sound reasoning, my lady. Go on.”
“We cannot get help from outside,” said Joanna. Gormgall said, “Forgive me for interrupting, but Sire, the Samhailt —”
“— cannot get through the Girdle of Gold,” said Cormac.
“Ah. Forgive me, but has Your Majesty actually tried —?” “Yes,” said Cormac in what was very nearly a growl. “Forgive me,” said Gormgall again. “It’s only that it would have been grand to think of the Wolves streaming into the Citadel.”
“Forgive me,” said Cormac, and his hand briefly touched Gormgall’s shoulder. “But to see the Girdle of Gold like this — in the hands of Dierdriu’s great enemy —”
“Yes, it’s a bad thing,” said Gormgall solemnly. “And of course, her ladyship’s right; we cannot expect any help from outside.” He looked back at Joanna expectantly.
“And,” said Joanna, “since the only way to fight sorcery is with more sorcery …” She paused and looked at them all, “we must get the Nightcloak from Morrigan.”
Gormgall said slowly, “But it has already been used against Morrigan.”
“Yes. Or against her creature — the Miller, which apparently amounts to the same thing.” Joanna leaned forward, her face serious. “But if we used it against the Erl-King …” They all looked at one another, and Muldooney adopted an air of concentration. At length, Dubhgall said, “But would it work against him? Would it be strong enough?”
“And,” said Gormgall, “how would we get it away from Morrigan?”
Joanna said, “I don’t know if it would be strong enough to defeat the Erl-King. I don’t know what it would call up.”
“The nightmares of the victims,” said Gormgall slowly. “Yes. A terrible thing,” said Joanna, who was trying very hard not to think of what sort of creature might be expected to strike fear into the Erl-King.
Cormac said softly, “Pan was not terrible.”
“No,” said Joanna, looking up. “Nor he was.”
“But the cloak must first be got back,” said Gormgall. Joanna, speaking rapidly, not looking at any of them now, said, “When we are taken to the Banqueting C
hamber, the Erl-King’s attention, and Morrigan’s also, will be on the Wolfking and on me … That’s not vanity,” said Joanna, anxious to explain, “it’s a statement of fact. Morrigan wants to avenge herself on me because of what I did to her in Muileann. We know that. And both of them have always wanted the King. We know that as well.
“I don’t think they will kill us straight away,” said Joanna, looking and feeling rather sick. “I think there will be — well, preliminaries. It won’t be very nice, but we shall have to — to do the best we can.
“Now — they will keep an eye on the rest of you, of course. That’s you Gormgall and you Dubhgall, and Muldooney and on — my father. But probably not such a close eye. So it will be up to one of you to create a diversion of some kind, so that while their attention is distracted, I can take the cloak.”
There was a thoughtful silence.
Gormgall said, “I don’t see how we could do it, my lady.”
“You yourself suggested a diversion of some kind, Gormgall.”
“Yes, but not —” Gormgall looked round uneasily, and then, lowering his voice, “not in the Banqueting Chamber itself!”
“But it’s the only place where we can be sure Morrigan will be present.”
“That’s true,” put in Dubhgall. “She’d never miss seeing her great enemies defeated and humiliated. If only we could be sure she’ll have the Nightcloak with her.”
“I think she will,” said Joanna. “I think she will want to use every weapon she can to taunt us.”
Gormgall said, “Can she actually use the cloak as a — well, to call anything up?”
“No,” said Cormac. “Only a purebred human can do that. And we know how strongly the cloak responds to Joanna.”
Gormgall said, “But what kind of diversion — I’m sorry Sire, but I don’t think it will work. The very minute one of us steps out of line, he’d be whipped straight back.”
