Wolfking The Omnibus: Books 1-4

by Sarah Rayne

  “You dislike it so much?”

  “I find it boring,” said Taliesin, and moved away, leaving Fergus at the centre of the hall.

  A soft light spilled into the chamber, and Fergus, trying to pierce the dimness, received the impression of shadowy archways and passages that might lead anywhere. At the centre of the chamber was a long dark table, polished to a mirror-bright shine, and carved chairs were ranged around it. Nine, thought Fergus, his eyes going over them. Yes, of course. Always the magical nine.

  There was a warm dry scent in the air — something exotic and unfamiliar — and there was a sudden feeling of being watched. Fergus felt the appraisal of the money lenders before he saw them, and he turned at once to see the hooded figures standing in the shadows at the far end.

  You are meant to be impressed by their sudden noiseless appearance, Fergus, came Taliesin’s mocking thoughts. Do not be too impressed if you would retain mastery of the situation. And Fergus, who was a little impressed, but who had long since learned how to hide his feelings, stayed where he was, and looked at the hooded figures, and waited for them to speak.

  The money lenders moved forward and seated themselves at the table. As the soft light touched them, Fergus saw that they were younger than he had expected. He thought that in the main they were not a great deal older than Taliesin.

  “But we are venerable in ways other than years,” said the one nearest, and Fergus jumped. “You seek money, do you, Captain?” he said.

  “I do seek it,” said Fergus.

  “For yourself?”

  “For the Court,” said Fergus. “But you know this.”

  “Yes. It is a great sum you ask,” said the man. “What do you offer as security? What is the Bond?”

  “Myself,” said Fergus, holding the man’s eyes unwaveringly. “As Head of the Queen’s Fiana, I pledge myself. Is that sufficient for your purpose, sir?”

  “It is unusual,” said the Tyrian in his soft voice, and studied Fergus thoughtfully. “You know of the enmity between your people and mine?”

  “A very little of it,” said Fergus cautiously.

  “You know that your people spurned mine, spat upon us, and called us dogs and curs? And yet, despite those courtesies, you still come to us for money?”

  “If I had any other choice, I should not do so,” said Fergus, rather harshly. “Had we access to the riches that still lie in Tara’s halls —”

  “Ah,” said the Tyrian softly, “but you do not have access to them, Captain. The necromancer Medoc holds Tara, and your armies and your people can not regain what is theirs.” He studied Fergus thoughtfully. “I am a practical man, Captain,” he said at last. “If I have money, I make it breed. Taliesin will tell you that, although —” A brief smile lifted his lips, “— although Taliesin regards the breeding of money as tedious.”

  “If studied to the exclusion of all else,” said Taliesin, “it is quite stultifyingly tedious.” He turned up the collar of his cloak and leaned carelessly back against the ancient stone wall, apparently disassociating himself from the meeting.

  “Taliesin is one of the finest usurers in the Street of Money Lenders,” said the man, regarding the bored Taliesin with something between exasperation and affection. “But it comes too easily to him, and for that reason it bores him.”

  Taliesin said, “Money is boring, wealth is tedious, life is an endless series of greedy grasping hands and avid eyes. I see no reason to pretend that I am not bored.”

  The Tyrian turned back to Fergus. “Your race has long since been at odds with mine,” he said. “Many years ago, when my people came to Ireland, they were harshly treated. Why, we cannot tell, for the Irish are a generous and hospitable race. Perhaps it is that we were a little too wealthy and a little too successful. Your people found that uncomfortable.” He smiled, and this time it was a truer smile, and Fergus relaxed for the first time. “The Irish are a brilliant but an erratic race,” said the Tyrian. “But they are improvident children. They are wild and irresponsible and quarrelsome.” Again the smile. “They were envious of us, Fergus, and that is unusual, for the Irish do not, as a rule, possess the taint of envy. But that is how the enmity between us began.”

  “I understand.”

  “In the end, we asked your Queen for help,” said the Tyrian. “We sought audience with your Queen’s grandmother, the Lady Dierdriu, and told her that if she would help us and support us, then she would have our unswerving devotion, and that if ever there was a service we could render to her line, we would do it unhesitatingly.” The smile thinned a little and became faintly calculating. “She knew our worth, your High Queen,” said the man. “She knew that we have always been clever and learned, and also that we are secretive and tenacious. We look to our own,” said the Tyrian, and a murmur of assent went round the chamber. “And we cleave only to our own kind,” he said, and by the foot of the stone steps, Taliesin sighed, and produced his wine flask.

  “Dierdriu helped us when no one else would,” said the Tyrian. “And for her and her descendants there is nothing we will not do.” He looked at Fergus. “That is why we will lend you the money,” he said. “Not for yourself, but for Grainne, Dierdriu’s granddaughter, who commands our allegiance.”

  “Yes. I am grateful,” said Fergus, and he heard Taliesin mutter, “O gratitude, thou burden upon our imperfect souls.”

  “You will ignore our brother’s mockery,” said the Tyrian, quite seriously it seemed to Fergus. “He keeps strange company and reads in strange annals.”

  “Also I am wedded to the daughter of the vine,” remarked Taliesin, apparently to nobody in particular.

  “Dierdriu rarely gave without ensuring that she would later receive,” said the Tyrian, who seemed to be accustomed to Taliesin’s methods of speech. “She helped us and we continue to be grateful to her.” He glanced at Taliesin as he said this, but Taliesin only smiled and said nothing.

  “In return, she asked us to work in secret for her,” said the Tyrian. “She summoned us to Tara one night towards the end of her reign, and charged us with a task of such immense importance that we have never been able to lose sight of it.”

  A sudden stillness fell over the other money lenders, and Fergus thought, They know what is coming, but still they feel apprehension. Why? This is something of such magnitude and such secrecy that these people have brought me to this hidden underground chamber to tell me of it.

  The Tyrian appeared to be selecting his next words very carefully, but when he spoke, he only said, “Will you be seated, Fergus?” and indicated the vacant chair at the foot of the table.

  Fergus sat, and the Tyrian said, “And — perhaps you will have a goblet of wine? Yes, that is better.” He sat back and sipped his own wine, and again appeared to marshal his thoughts.

  “Many centuries ago, the Royal line of your country had in keeping an ancient and strong enchantment,” he said. “It was known as the Enchantment of the Beastline, and it enabled the Royal Houses of Ireland to lie with the beasts of the forest and produce the beautiful cruel strong High Kings and Queens.” He looked at Fergus, and Fergus said,

  “Yes. The Enchantment was created by the sorcerers for the first High Queen of all, to deflect an ancient curse.” He narrowed his eyes and quoted the ancient curse softly. “(If ever Tara should belong to a pure-bred human, then it will fall into ruin, and the Bright Palace will be no more, and Ireland will surely die …’ It is a part of our heritage. There is a Panel of Judges who constantly measure the strength of the Beastline and pronounce when the line must be mated with the beasts. Then there is what is called the Ceremony of the Beastline, and the mating takes place. Contrary to what you would imagine,” Fergus said thoughtfully, “it is a rather solemn and ceremonious occasion.”

  “You have never been present at one of these ceremonies?”

  “No.”

  “Has it never occurred to you that the present Queen possesses only a thin trickle of the Enchantment?”

  Fergu
s started to speak and then stopped.

  “And that being so,” said the man, “has it never occurred to you to wonder why the Judges have not ordered the ceremony? For the Queen?” He looked very intently at Fergus, and Fergus had the impression that he was seeing very clearly those warm drowsy afternoons, those mist-shrouded mornings with Grainne. And, oh, my love, my dear love, how could I ever bear it if you had to lie with the wolves, and accept their seed, and give birth to a Wolfprince … Because the Wolfprince should have been mine! cried Fergus in silent agony.

  But he allowed none of this to show; he looked back at the Tyrian calmly and said, “The wolf blood is strong enough.”

  “No.” The Tyrian returned Fergus’s regard rather sadly. “Your Queen has only a trace of it. For all that she can sometimes summon what is called the golden strength of the wolves, she has only a thread of the Enchantment in her.” He leaned forward, his eyes hard and shining in the candle-glow. “If the Wolfline is to be saved, she must be joined with the wolves. She must give birth to a Wolfprince.”

  “The Judges have not ordered —”

  “The Judges have not ordered it,” said the Tyrian, “because the Enchantment has been lost.” He looked very straightly at Fergus. “The ancient and powerful Enchantment, spun by the first sorcerers of all to protect Tara from the long-ago curse, is dead.”

  *

  For a long time Fergus did not speak. He was distantly aware of the Tyrians watching him, waiting to see what he would do.

  The ancient Enchantment is lost …

  The strong bewitchment, the spell woven by the sorcerers in the very beginning so that a pure-bred human should never occupy Tara’s High Throne, was lost.

  Fergus knew the words of the ancient curse as well as and probably better than anyone else in Ireland. He knew that for the Beastline to die out, for the magical enchanted wolf blood to fade, would mean the fall of the Bright Palace.

  A human on the Throne, and the final triumph of the Dark Ireland.

  He turned back to the Tyrian and found the man was watching him closely. I must be wary, thought Fergus. I must be very wary indeed, for these are clever and subtle men. “Tell me what you know,” he said, and the Tyrian seemed for the first time to relax.

  “You did not know of this, Captain?” he said. “Of the Lost Enchantment?” and there was faint surprise in his voice.

  Fergus smiled into the Tyrian’s eyes. “Nothing is ever entirely secret at Court, sir,” he said with perfect courtesy. “But let us say that the little I know is a very little indeed. And let us say I should be glad to hear your part in it all.”

  “Our part in it …” said the Tyrian. “Yes, we have played our part, Captain. We shall continue to do so.” He sipped his wine, and Fergus received the impression that he was collecting his thoughts. “Once,” he said, sipping his wine reflectively, “there were the six great Royal Houses of Ireland who served the Wolfkings. All of them possessed the enchanted blood, and all were answerable to the Panel of Judges. The Eagles and the Wild Panthers were next in line after the Wolves, and were regarded as Princes of Ireland; after them came the White Swans, who were a very old and very strong noble line, and had intermarried with the Panthers. After them, there were three lesser, but equally noble houses: the Deers and the Lions and the Chariot Horses. It was a strictly ordered, but very well balanced, hierarchy.”

  “Yes,” said Fergus, and waited.

  “There were minor Beastlines, as well,” said the Tyrian. “Lesser, but important, nobility who were admitted into the Enchantment because of some service rendered to the King, or bravery in battle perhaps. We know of the Beavers and Badgers; Foxes and Hawks. But the blood has thinned and grown weaker in all of these Houses, Fergus, and although you may see traces of it here and there, it has almost disappeared.” He leaned forward again, his eyes still bright. “And it must be rediscovered, Fergus. Dierdriu knew that.

  “And so she asked us for help. She knew our sorcerers were amongst the finest in the world, and she knew that we could be entrusted with the secret. We have many faults,” said the Tyrian, “but we guard well those things which must be guarded. Dierdriu knew that the enchantment must be rediscovered or rewoven. The Princes of Ireland must be able to again lie with the beasts.” He paused. “Have you ever seen an enchantment being woven, Fergus?” he said. “It is a truly remarkable experience. The sorcerers use great looms, as the robemakers do, but the sorcerers’ looms are of pure soft silver, and the stuff they weave is not velvet and silk, but the dreams of men, and the living colours, and the music of the world made liquid, so that you can pour it between your hands. Beautiful and terrifying.” He stopped again, and no one moved.

  “Our work has taken us down some strange paths,” said the Tyrian. “We have suffered terrible defeats. But we have gone on, because we have never forgotten how Dierdriu helped us when no one else would, and we know that if Ireland — the true Ireland — is not to die, the Enchantment must be rewoven. Even so …” again the pause, and the faraway stare, “even so,” he said, “there have been dreadful travesties. Times when we had thought the Enchantment whole and safe, but when it was neither. Pitiable beings who we believed would found a new Royal Line, but who were little better than monsters. Can you imagine, Fergus, can you visualize the results of a union between animals and humans without the protection of an enchantment? Nightmare creatures.” He stopped again, and behind them, Fergus had the impression that Taliesin made a movement of distaste. But the Tyrian at the table seemed not to notice it. After a moment he said, “But since we pledged our help to Dierdriu, then we must also help her descendant. There is no question but that the Enchantment must somehow be found again, so that Medoc can be driven out of the Bright Palace, and there is no question but that you must go into the Future to chain whatever forces you find there and bring them back.”

  “Yes,” said Fergus. “Yes, I see all that.” He sat back and looked at them all. “Your loan will pay our own sorcerers,” he said. “Only with their help can we hope to travel to the Far Future.”

  “And then you will return to repay the loan and its interest, will you?” said the Tyrian, rather cynically.

  “You have my word,” said Fergus in frosty tone.

  “And the Head of the Fiana’s word should be sufficient?”

  “Amongst my own people it would be. And once we have regained Tara, there will be the riches and the wealth of the High Kings. We could repay your loan many times over.”

  “Once with interest will suffice,” said the Tyrian.

  “I will return,” said Fergus seriously, “and if our attack on Medoc fails, then you may claim the Bond, and I believe I should die gladly. But you may believe that I will return.”

  “We do believe it,” said the Tyrian. “But we are a people who believe in bonds, Fergus.” He regarded Fergus with the same thoughtful appraisal, and Fergus caught a movement from Taliesin. “And so,” said the Tyrian, “we are going to — persuade — you to make a commitment to us before you leave for the Future. You are to pay a little of the Bond in advance.”

  The silence that followed his words was so sudden and so complete that for a second, Fergus thought he had misheard. A myriad of different thoughts churned through his mind, but at length, he said, quite calmly, “Would you explain that, please?” and the money lenders seemed almost to relax.

  “I have told you of how our sorcerers are pledged to help your Royal House, and to rediscover, or reweave a new Enchantment of the Beastline.”

  “Yes.”

  The Tyrian paused, and then said, “In order to test their work, it is necessary to — make use of humans.” He regarded Fergus. “You understand my meaning, Captain? It is necessary to mate humans with animals, within the confines of the Enchantment, and study the results of that mating.”

  He waited. Fergus did not speak.

  “And so,” said the Tyrian, “we require you to — assist the sorcerers, Fergus.

  “Before we release you
from this house, and before we agree fully and unreservedly to the loan you ask for, you must lie with a she-wolf.”

  And then, as Fergus did not speak, “If you agree,” said the Tyrian, “we shall view your petition seriously.

  “No human who willingly gives his seed to a wolf is other than deadly serious in purpose.” And then, the glint of amusement in his eyes, “Well, Captain?” he said.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Fergus sat in the anteroom and eyed Taliesin. “You knew.”

  “Yes.”

  “You did not warn me.”

  “You will accept,” said Taliesin, “that it was a little difficult to explain.” His expression was bland, but a glint of amusement showed in his eyes. But he said, quite seriously, “It is the only way they will lend you the money, Fergus. Our sorcerers are forever studying the Enchantment and forever making new attempts to reweave it. And although it will be strange and bizarre, they are serious about what they are trying to do.” He eyed Fergus. “The Silver Looms have been spinning ceaselessly for many nights now. The sorcerers are ready to —”

  “Create another monster?” said Fergus harshly. “Bring into the world another poor mutilation born of a mating between a beast and a human without the true Enchantment?”

  Taliesin regarded Fergus. “You have never seen a spell being woven, Fergus,” he said unexpectedly. “They say it is the most marvellous sight you could ever witness. The stuff that dreams are made on.” He leaned back. “But to weave the Enchantment properly, the sorcerers require a willing human …”

  A willing human …

  “And you are going to do it, aren’t you,” said Taliesin very softly.

  “Yes,” said Fergus, staring at him. “Yes, I believe I am.”

  For Grainne. He would do it for Grainne, and he would do it for Ireland, and for the loan that would enable him to travel into the Far Future. For no other reason? said his mind cynically. What of the hidden ancient bewitchments you are certainly about to witness, and what of the secret arts of the sorcerers which you will almost surely be party to? To see a spell being woven, perhaps actually to witness the re-creating of the Lost Enchantment of Tara …