Wolfking The Omnibus: Books 1-4

by Sarah Rayne

  And if it should succeed, then my son would be High King of Ireland …

  *

  “Where are we going?” said Fergus, as Taliesin led the way along a narrow stone tunnel that snaked under the ground.

  “We are directly under the Street of Money Lenders now. We are going towards the place my people call the Chamber of Looms,” said Taliesin, “although I think that is the name given to all such places.”

  “Yes. At Tara there are many such.”

  Taliesin was leading them under the low-ceilinged tunnels, where the wall torches threw soft shadows and the walls gleamed with a gentle silver light. Fergus thought the light was some kind of phosphorescence, and then was not sure.

  “Escaped spells,” said Taliesin, reaching out to touch the glistening rockface. “Fragments of raw bewitchments that have seeped through the sealed walls of the Sorcery Chambers.” He glanced at Fergus, and Fergus said, “I am not sure if you are being serious.”

  “I am rarely serious and seldom sober,” said Taliesin at once. “But you have stood in the Street of Money Lenders at dusk, Fergus, and you have felt the enchantments on the air.”

  As they walked on, Fergus saw that now and then a thread of brilliant colour poured itself across their path, as if a length of iridescent silk had come alive, and he glimpsed vague drifting shapes, and was aware of strong exotic perfumes.

  The tunnel opened suddenly into a high-ceilinged cavern. There were more of the pointed arches that Fergus had seen on the upper floors, and he thought that tall shadowy figures, cloaked and hooded, stood waiting. The sorcerers! thought Fergus. The Tyrian sorcerers who have worked ceaselessly for Ireland’s Royal House. He looked at them, and remembered the old belief that sorcerers were not quite immortal, but not entirely temporal either. There had to be a vein of the ancient Amaranth blood in them, and it was something they preserved jealously. Were these true Amaranthine creatures?

  “Certainly we are, Captain,” said the nearest of them. “Although the strain is somewhat diluted in us.”

  “But then we are Tyrians, you understand,” said another. “We are Tyrians, and therefore we are little better than outcasts and vagabonds.”

  They were all about him now, courteous and approachable, but in the dimness, Fergus thought their eyes glittered and their hands seemed to be reaching for him.

  For a willing human is all that is needed at this stage …

  But after all, I have agreed to it, thought Fergus, and he allowed them to take him across the echoing cavern through a low pointed door at the far end. He was aware of Taliesin still at his side, and there was unexpected comfort in this.

  Beyond the low door was a silk-hung chamber, with gold symbols etched into the floor, and although Fergus had never penetrated to a Chamber of the Looms — he thought no one who had not the Amaranth blood could do so — he had several times been into minor Sorcery Chambers. He knew this at once for such a chamber, and in the carved symbols he thought he could make out the Cauldron of Dagda with the fire god’s horned features etched into it, and also the writhing shapes of the sidh, who were said to spin the strongest and purest magic in all Ireland. There were other shapes as well; Fergus recognised the Cup of Lyr, and the Nine Hazels of Wisdom, which the Druids used in some of their rituals.

  Opposite the door through which they had entered was a second door, a massive silver door, ornate and bearing immense seals, wreathed in symbols even more ancient than those on the floor, and this time carved with what Fergus knew must be the ancient Fertility Tree of Amaranth.

  Heat poured outwards from the silver door in great solid gusts, and Fergus flinched. In the same moment, he was conscious of a steady purring note and a continuous spinning palpating. He took a step nearer to the door and gasped as the heat engulfed him.

  “The heat from the Looms is the fiercest heat there is,” said one of the sorcerers. “And unless you know the protective spells, you should not venture too close.” He regarded Fergus. “When the Silver Looms are spinning, the force they harness is more powerful than anything you could comprehend; you would be pulled in to its heart and consumed by it.” He paused, and in the silence Fergus could hear the thrumming of the great Looms, and the slow rhythmic pulsating …

  For the Looms have been spinning ceaselessly, and now all that is required is a willing human … And I am the human, thought Fergus …

  The lights were not so dim here as they had been elsewhere in the house, but there was a reddish tinge, and there was the same silvering on the walls of the chamber as there had been in the tunnel. Here and there, a thread of colour showed, as if tiny streams of enchantment were trickling down the walls. There was a warm, dry scent, and as Fergus stood waiting, the wall torches seemed to burn with a steady pulsing beat. Like a mind or a heart throbbing, thought Fergus …

  He thought that the spinning of the Looms had increased — had it quickened? — and then he thought that the lights were deepening in intensity. The nearest of the sorcerers moved to the silver door and began to break the seals. Strong crimson light, shot with gold, poured into the anteroom, and with it curling tongues of flame, so that Fergus and Taliesin both fell back under the furious gust of heat and force and energy. Fergus, shielding his face with his hands, saw, in the belching flames, great shadowy edifices, rearing turrets of power that glinted and whirled in a maelstrom of light and colour. There were immense waterfalls of strong raw colour, as if living rainbows were pouring into the Chamber of the Looms, and Fergus, his eyes dry and burning, his skin prickling with the heat, thought there was a moment when the Looms became alive and reached upwards, almost like silver giants stretching their hands up to heaven to pull down primeval energy.

  And then the silver door closed to and the seals snapped into place and the sorcerer was facing Fergus with something between his hands that shimmered and undulated, and Fergus knew it for a newly spun enchantment.

  And then he saw the wolf.

  She was a golden-eyed, satin-sleek creature, and Fergus, looking down at her, saw that there was intelligence in her eyes. It was impossible not to think, But this is how Grainne looked at me that summer! and it was impossible not to remember that Grainne and this lean silky creature were of the same root. Fergus had thought that when he was brought face to face with the reality of taking a wolf, of embedding her with his seed, he would falter, but now, with the steady resonance of the Looms all about them, and with the golden glowing eyes of the wolf, he knew he would not. The steady thrumming from the Looms was invading his brain and descending low down into his body. He thought, I am to lie with a she-wolf, and the idea was immensely arousing now.

  He thought the sorcerers had moved back a little, and they had certainly begun a low, faintly musical chanting, and he thought that Taliesin was standing by the door, but he did not really notice.

  He fell to his knees and held out both his hands, and the wolf approached him cautiously, her head tilted, her eyes alert. Fergus ran his hands over her flanks — Beautiful! he thought. Oh, yes, my dear, we shall surely succumb to the Enchantment, and perhaps together we will make a Wolfprince for Ireland, my lady.

  She came closer to him, and as he began to caress her lean underbelly, he felt the nipples harden beneath his fingers.

  Heat rushed to his loins at once, and he spread his thighs, and turned the wolf about, still stroking her, his other hand going to the fastening of his breeches.

  There was no awkwardness, no fumbling … So natural, thought Fergus, his body on fire. How could I have thought I might falter?

  He did not falter. He pulled the wolf to him, feeling the strong smooth flanks quiver with delight, and, as he entered her, delight exploded within him, for the creature was tight and clutching, she was soft and smooth, and it was like driving into silk … He could feel the warm sable and black fur against his thighs, sensual and arousing. And after all, he thought, after all, the Wolves of Tara were once very nearly sacred … It is not so very long since the Royal House lay with t
hem to produce the Kings of Ireland … And perhaps I am now doing the same … Perhaps my son will be King of Ireland, thought Fergus, and the thought was so dazzling and so brilliant that delight exploded in his mind, and for a moment he could have believed that no enchantment was needed to achieve what the sorcerers wanted.

  The wolf was panting now, her eyes brilliant in the red glow from the wall sconces, and Fergus could feel her muscles bunch and tense. He was moving faster now, and he could hear the Looms still pounding and spinning, and they were going faster, and he was moving against the wolf frantically, and the lights were whirling all about them, and the Enchantment was surely being reborn … The colours of the room were merging and control was beginning to spin away from his grasp, only it did not matter, because this was what they wanted of him … a new Beastline … a Wolfprince …

  Fergus gave a low groan and felt the hot seed, the lifemaking fluid, gush from his body and flood the she-wolf’s womb.

  *

  The Street of Money Lenders was cold and fresh and there was a clean sharpness in the air. Fergus stood for a moment, drawing in great lungfuls of air and, at his side, Taliesin grinned.

  “You are purging your soul of magic and the sorcerers’ manipulating?” he said, and Fergus said thoughtfully, “It feels as if it was just a dream.”

  “That is all enchantments are,” said Taliesin, and then, “When do we leave?” he said.

  Fergus turned round to look at him. “‘We’?”

  “My dear Fergus,” said Taliesin lazily, “did you really think the Elders would permit you to go from here alone? In possession of their great secret? Dear me, how trusting of you.”

  “You are coming with me to Innisfree?”

  “I am coming with you to the Future,” said Taliesin, and in the thin dawnlight, there was no mistaking the brilliance of his eyes. “I am resigned to it,” he said solemnly. “As the Elders decree, so must I obey.”

  “It will be extremely dangerous,” said Fergus, who thought he would very much like to have Taliesin with him.

  “Will it really? Dear me, how tedious.” Taliesin was walking along the street now, his shoulders hunched against the cold, raw morning. “Even so, the idea of saving the world is a stirring one.” He sent Fergus a sideways glance.

  “Is that the only reason?”

  “No. I am bored,” said Taliesin. “I am bored with usury. I have too long endured the greed of the fools who seek me out, and I have too long dwelled in the dusty purlieus of money lending. I am at odds with the world that measures success and contentment by the wealth a man has amassed.” The amusement flickered in his eyes again. “Also,” he said, “I find that I have a wish to be a hero. Shall we save the world, Fergus?”

  “I don’t know,” said Fergus, who did not.

  “Well, even though it is a tedious world, I am still intrigued by the notion of saving it. And it will certainly be a far better thing than anything I have yet done here. Probably it will be a far better world than anything I have yet seen here as well, although that remains to be discovered.” The mockery was still in his voice, but there was something else there, as well, that made Fergus think he would be unexpectedly strong.

  “I am as inconstant as the moon when it comes to bravery,” Taliesin said at once, and he grinned at Fergus again, and this time a chink of light from a nearby window made pinpoints of light dance in the depths of his eyes, giving him the look of a devil.

  “Oh, I am not a devil,” said Taliesin. “If you would meet a devil, Fergus, you should wait until we have found Fael-Inis, for that is the only sure way to cross Time, and Fael-Inis is called, and truly, the rebel angel from the beginning of the world.

  “But if we travel in the Time Chariot, you will find that out for yourself. Wine?”

  *

  They returned to a depleted Court, since Grainne had already left to find the Grail Castle, and Lugh Longhand had taken most of the army onto the mainland to spy out the land there.

  Lugh had, in fact, told a great many people that they were going to be preparing the way for victory, and that a good many people would be very surprised indeed at the outcome of what was ahead.

  Dorrainge had gone with them, because he said that somebody should represent the Druids, and Fribble was holding to his absurd idea of going with Fergus into the Far Future. He would take Cathbad with him, said Dorrainge, and Cathbad looked up and said, “Onto the mainland with the army? Oh, dear me, all that fighting. Couldn’t I stay here?”

  But Dorrainge said no, because for one thing, Cathbad could cook, which nobody else in Lugh’s party could, and whatever else they did, they were not going to starve.

  Fribble said, “Trust the fat fool Dorrainge to think of his stomach,” but Cathbad, who rather prided himself on his skill with the cookpots, brightened up, and began to enumerate the dishes he would prepare for Lugh’s men. “And they will not be too dainty, because there will be all those warlike men.”

  “They’re like sheep,” said Fribble, who had been woken up by Lugh’s early departure. “I didn’t think Her Majesty had so many sheep in our Court. I’m very glad they’ve all gone.”

  Fribble was pleased to see Fergus, whom he liked, and explained to him about Lugh and his idea of spying on Medoc, and creating a base for them to mount a final attack on Tara.

  “Lugh’s taking that fat fool Dorrainge with him,” said Fribble. “We’re very glad about that. Cathbad’s going as well. I don’t know about him, he’s very odd. Are we leaving now? Oughtn’t we to take some wine with us? It won’t do to find ourselves utterly wineless in the Future, you know.”

  Fergus, grinning, said, “Sir, there’ll be enough wine in the Far Future to drink the entire Court into oblivion,” and Fribble said, “Well, then, I think we ought to take them some as a gift, don’t you? It would be polite. Are we ready? I don’t want to be kept standing around all day. And if we’re taking the tilt cart, I’ll have a cushion to sit on.”

  “We’re quite ready, sir,” said Fergus. “We’re going to the House of Calatin.” And Fribble, who had been stowing away a large leather skin of the Court’s best woodsorrel mead, turned round and said, “Are you sure that’s a good idea? I heard that Calatin and the Sons haven’t done very much in the way of decent sorcery for several seasons. And it’s quite a long way.”

  “Well, we thought —”

  “Of course, they’ve only got one eye and one foot each,” said Fribble. “It’s something to do with relinquishing the human side of their natures.”

  “A very old ritual,” Taliesin said gravely.

  “They’ve always been very loyal to all the High Kings,” Fergus said.

  “Yes, but you can’t go through life on one foot,” said Fribble. “That’s very awkward. Does anybody know if the Sons of Calatin hop everywhere, or do they have a walking stick?”

  Fergus said, “We none of us know, sir, because none of us has ever met any of the Sons. And we’re going to Calatin, because he’s the most faithful of Tara’s sorcerers.”

  “Also,” Taliesin said in dulcet tones, “he is cheap.”

  “Rubbish,” said Fribble at once. “No sorcerers are cheap. Who’s this person? Is he coming with us? We’ll probably have to go in the Chariot of Fael-Inis, always supposing Calatin can summon it, and there won’t be much room. Does he know that? Fergus, have you told him?”

  Taliesin said, “Sir, I am as insubstantial as the pageantry of dreams, and I am as a wraith in the night, and I shall take up no more room than a shadow.”

  “Wraiths? Wraiths? I hope we aren’t having any of those with us, nasty chilly things,” said Fribble, and he shivered and had to be given a drink from Taliesin’s flask.

  “Only for warmth,” he said. “I don’t want to take cold and miss anything. It’s very good wine, this. No, I won’t have any — well, I daresay another drop won’t hurt. Did Fergus say you were a money lender? I’ve never met a money lender.”

  “I am a dealer in people’s dreams an
d I am a merchant of souls,” said Taliesin.

  “I suppose you’re a Tyrian,” said Fribble. “Yes, I thought you were. Still, you brought your own wine, I have to allow that. Are we starting now? Isn’t it a bit early?”

  “We don’t want to arrive too late,” explained Fergus. “We’re not sure of our way.”

  “Nor of our welcome,” murmured Taliesin.

  *

  Neither Fergus nor Taliesin was faint-hearted; both, indeed, possessed a strong vein of courage. Taliesin, who had said that he cared for no man and no man cared for him, had, beneath his indifference, a restlessness and a desire to know other worlds and other cultures. He had sat out the dreary years in the Street of the Money Lenders because there was nothing else that a Tyrian in Ireland could do. But for all of that, he had been bored. He had derived cynical amusement from challenging the shibboleths that bound his people, and although he had tried not to think Is this all there will ever be? he had thought it many times.

  Now, riding through the dark forest with Fergus at his side and Fribble behind them in the cart, Taliesin knew that after all, it had not been all there would ever be. There was more, there would be difficulties, and there would certainly be dangers, but, I shall be alive, he thought, and felt a tremendous anticipation. I am coming alive again.

  Even so, it takes an unusual degree of courage to ride up to a sorcerer’s house by night and demand admittance therein, and as they saw the trees begin to thin and glimpsed the outline of a huge grey house, both Fergus and Taliesin reined in their horses.

  “Is that it?”

  “I believe so.” Fergus sat very still on his horse.

  “I do not admit to apprehension, you understand,” said Taliesin, “but I could wish, Fergus, that you had chosen another way for us to travel to the Future.”

  “It is the only way,” said Fergus, and he grinned. “Only a sorcerer with Calatin’s power could summon Fael-Inis —”