by Sarah Rayne
There was a final wrenching pain, and he shuddered and cried out, and merciful blackness began to descend on him like great smothering folds, and the caves were receding, and the world was spinning, and the pain was fading and soon, soon he would feel them cut his soul free and cast it into the Prison of Hostages …
The Elven King sat watching from the carved silver throne, resting his chin on one hand, his eyes thoughtful.
It was some little time before he saw the soul emerge at the hands of the sidh, and stand before the silver throne, its head bowed humbly.
Aillen mac Midha said softly, “The soul of a traitor. I think we have no use for it.” And then, nodding to the waiting sidh, “Cast it into the River of Souls,” he said, “there to await rescue or the end of the world.”
He stood up and walked slowly to where the wet, formless thing that had been Lugh of the Longhand lay.
“A traitor,” he said again. “But he has served a purpose for us.” And then, giving himself a shake, he turned back to the waiting sidh.
“We must return to the world,” he said in his silvered voice. “For the Wolfqueen’s battle is not yet won.
“And the Lost Prince is still in the most terrible danger.”
*
As Fergus walked slowly and rather unsteadily across the grass, a great wave of delight washed over the watchers. As Bee was to say later, it was a truly remarkable moment.
The Captain of the High Queen’s Fiana; the warrior and fighter and lover, reputed to have been Her Majesty’s lover some years ago, reported as having lain with most of the women at Court, had returned. Amongst the soldiers, there was a great surge of confidence, and a feeling of: Now it will be all right. Now we shall be able to rout Medoc and restore the Wolfqueen. They began to cheer, and then fell quickly silent again without quite knowing why. Nearby, the Beastline creatures and the Cruithin stood very still and waited and watched Fergus approach. Dishevelled, exhausted looking, he was no different, and yet entirely different. The people nearest to him, one of whom was Tybion the Tusk, had the impression that although Fergus was back with them, he was not fully back with them. Tybion, who held Fergus in reverence, thought it was as if Fergus had experienced something so vast and so terrible and so truly awesome that he would never quite be able to be fully in the ordinary world again.
Fergus walked alone down the hillside, knowing that Taliesin and Annabel and the boys were deliberately keeping back, and feeling grateful to them for it. They did not fully understand, but they understood enough to know that this rejoining of his people, this reclaiming his army, was something precious and private and solemn. He stood still and felt the night wind lift his hair, and he looked at the waiting armies and the Cruithin, and felt an angry ache rise up within him. For, this is not how I wanted it! he thought. This is not the homecoming I visualised! He had wanted to come riding back in triumph, leading the boys, certainly with Taliesin and Annabel close by; riding at the head of them all, ready to topple Medoc, sure of a great victory.
And Grainne. He had always thought, in his visualising, that she would be there, watching, welcoming him back. She would have come running to him, her hands outstretched. Wouldn’t she?
She was not here. He knew it before his eyes had taken in the fact that she was not with them, and panic seized him. Had he, after all, endured so much and come so far for it all to be to no avail? Had Medoc taken her?
He stood looking at them all, absorbing the picture they made — the waiting armies, the creatures of the Beastline. Fergus paused at that, studying them, understanding at a level of his mind that was still detached that the Lost Enchantment was in truth awoken. I shall feel great joy at that some time soon, he thought. But for the moment, he could only think that Grainne was not here.
For a very long time, no one spoke. Fintan and Cermait said afterwards that Fergus had looked deeply happy, and then looked unsure of this, but Tybion the Tusk said quite positively that Fergus had looked unbearably sad. And while no one paid this much heed, because Tybion was always ascribing emotions to people who had probably not experienced any emotion at all, it was generally felt that Fergus had somehow changed.
“Although I could not say in what way,” said Fintan.
“He’s known trouble,” said Cathbad solemnly, shaking his head. “My word, he’ll have a few tales to recount. We’ll be able to gather round and hear them, I expect. Cinnamon wine and honey biscuits,” said Cathbad, nodding, because you could not tell a good tale without some kind of sustenance.
Annabel stayed where she was, at Taliesin’s side, and saw Fergus approach the strange beings, and felt the remarkable enchantment of this blue and turquoise twilit land close a little more firmly about her, and felt the bleak stark world of the Drakon move a little farther back from her mind. She thought that very soon this world would cease to be strange and unfamiliar to her; she stood looking at the creatures assembled in the clearing and knew that she would come to know them, every one of them, and that some of them would become close to her.
This is the true Ireland, thought Annabel, a spring of complete contentment welling up inside her. This is the heart and the core, and it is so wonderful and so beautiful and so brimful of elusive enchantments that the air all about us is alive and thrumming. Her eyes went to the Cruithin, silent and alert, their eyes bright, and she saw that these small dark people were surely the ancient fey beings of legend and lore: human, but possessed of their own gentle woodland magic. Behind the Cruithin were the soldiers, and Annabel’s eyes widened because, for all her world’s fighting talk, for all its vainglory, and its history of war and battle, she had never come anywhere near to seeing the true trappings of war. Death or glory … yes, I can believe that people really did say that and think that, thought Annabel.
And then she looked to where the Beastline stood, and her eyes went from Bee, watchful and quiet, to Rinnal, whose head was tilted, and then to the others, the Beastline of the Chariot Horses and the Beavers and the White Swans. And Raynor, a little apart as always, his hair a golden cap, the dying bonfire glinting on his golden skin. She experienced delightful recognition. I have never seen such creatures. I know I have never seen them. But I know them from dreams, thought Annabel. From legends and race-memory. I never dared believe they existed, and yet I never ceased to hope that they did exist somewhere.
The remains of Cathbad’s fire burned up suddenly, sending a gentle glow on to the night, and sending sweet-scented smoke across the clearing. Fergus walked into the centre of them all and stood looking at them.
And then his eyes went to Raynor.
It was the most extraordinary moment anyone had ever witnessed. The two figures stood very still, looking at one another, and to the watchers it seemed that something very singular and very unusual was passing between them. One or two people felt distinctly uneasy, because didn’t they all of them know about Her Majesty and Raynor and the nights inside the Grail Castle, and weren’t they all beginning to look on Raynor as Grainne’s consort. And very suitable as well, they had all thought. But then after all, this was Fergus, the Fiana’s Captain, and if no one had known for sure that there had once been something between Grainne and Fergus, most people had guessed. It was to be hoped that this meeting would not be an awkward one, and it was to be hoped, as well, that nobody lost sight of the fact that whichever of them the Queen finally ended up with, she had still to be rescued from Medoc’s hands, and that pretty quickly as well.
Tybion the Tusk had been dashing about trying to marshal everyone into some kind of order, because there was no time to be lost, but even he stopped and stood stockstill and looked at Fergus and Raynor, and was thrilled to the depths of his romantic soul. He would have been hard put to have said which of the two he admired the more, or which of the two he was trying to visualise next to Grainne on Tara’s High Throne.
At last, Fergus said, “I give you courteous greeting,” and everyone relaxed a little, because this was rather an ancient but very chivalr
ous salutation.
Raynor, his eyes wary, said, in the same polite tone, “You are well come, Captain, and timely returned,” and people began to feel better, because both of them were exchanging ancient and extremely honourable words of greeting.
Fergus glanced at the assembled company, and the waiting soldiers, and a rather bleak smile touched his face. “You appear to be held in some esteem by everyone,” he said, and the listeners looked up in alarm, because there was the faintest challenge in Fergus’s voice.
Fergus felt the alarm that rippled through them and understood at once. But he stayed where he was, and he watched the golden eyes in front of him, and thought, Yes, the others are waiting to see what will take place here. Because there is something between Grainne and this one? I do not know it, not for sure, thought Fergus, but I can feel that there is something. Grainne, my dear lost love, is this the one I shall lose you to?
Raynor said with deliberation, “Were you thinking I have taken your place, Captain? You must surely know that I could never do that.” And looked at Fergus with his straight golden stare. “That would be impossible,” he said.
“You are generous,” said Fergus, and a smile touched his lips.
“I have learned to recognise facts, Captain.” There was a sudden unconscious arrogance in Raynor’s voice, and Fergus felt the pain twist like a knife-thrust in his heart because, for sure, this was the one who had supplanted him with Grainne. This strange golden creature, neither quite human nor quite eagle. So this was her choice. This was the one who would rule Ireland at her side. He does not yet know it, thought Fergus, but I know it, and the others know it as well. He has authority and integrity, and that curious blend of gentleness and strength and imperiousness. I have lost Grainne to him, and I think I shall lose Ireland to him as well.
This is going to hurt, thought Fergus. This is going to hurt more than I thought possible. I think I shall bear the pain for a long time to come. And then without warning, he thought, But will I? and a tiny greenshoot of hope uncurled. Am I not already through the whirlwind, and am I not already through the tempest, and have I not already found the eye of the storm? And I always knew that I could never have Ireland, thought Fergus. I always knew that.
The eye of the storm, the centre of the maelstrom … I am not quite there yet, thought Fergus, still looking at Raynor. Not quite yet, my dear precious girl.
But I shall let you go, my lady, my love, and I shall pretend, and the world will never know what has happened to me, and I think that in time the pretence will grow into reality.
He moved then, and touched Raynor on the left shoulder, in the customary gesture of friendship and acceptance. He saw Raynor smile, and he saw that there was acknowledgment in the smile, and understanding.
The watchers relaxed, and nodded to one another, and began to feel safe, because Fergus was back with them, the Fiana’s head was in their midst again, and he would lead them in the battle against Medoc and the Dark Lords, and surely, surely, with such an army, they could not fail to be victorious?
But would it be in time to save the Queen?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
As moonlight silvered the Sun Chamber and lit the scene to eerie life, Grainne and Erin, bound and helpless, watched Medoc return, the Dark Lords and Damnaithe walking in procession behind him. Grainne saw that Medoc’s eyes were glowing, and she felt a cold, dark evil emanating from him.
He stood at the exact centre of the Sun Chamber, at the heart of the curious pointed symbols and carvings etched into the floor. In the uncertain light, Grainne thought that she could have believed the floor to be of solid silver, and at once Medoc turned to regard her.
Silver indeed, my dear, for the sorcerers have always known the power of precious metals.
Behind him was the great dais, where once the Ancient Throne of Niall of the Nine Hostages had stood, and where the great Cormac of the Wolves had held court, and where Dierdriu had entertained lovers and diplomats and travellers. Where once Grainne herself had held court for a few short months.
The Dark Star of Necromancy gleamed on Medoc’s breast, sending out spears of light, so that he appeared to be at the heart of a gathering darkness, with a nimbus of light all about him. The Lad of the Skins crouched at his feet, neither quite in nor quite out of the silver light, his dark eyes huge and watchful, and Damnaithe stood with her eyes fixed on Medoc.
Medoc threw back his head and held out his hands, palms upwards in the age-old gesture. Grainne, who had seen the sorcerers and occasionally the Druids do this, knew at once that Medoc was drawing down power, that he was harnessing and channelling the force poured into Tara at the very beginning by the first sorcerers, and by the sidh who had known that Tara must be protected from the Dark Ireland.
The power would not be the gentle, safe, pure blue force of the strong and good enchantments, but the terrible force of the necromancer. As they watched, the light surrounding Medoc became darker, shot with crimson, and Grainne felt a chill enter her heart, for this was in truth the dark and cold evil that would summon Crom Croich, and that would eventually destroy Tara once and for ever.
The Lad of the Skins was silent, but the Twelve Lords had moved, and Grainne saw Damnaithe turn to watch them, and clasp her hands tightly together with lascivious anticipation. The Lords took up a stance around the walls, as if they were sentinels surrounding Medoc. And where before there had been emptiness, a void behind the dark visors, now something was stirring … Damnaithe shivered with pleasure, and began to prowl round the walls, peering into the visors, stroking the dark armour. From where she lay, Grainne could not see directly into the visors, but she knew that behind every one, eyes would be opening.
The Twelve Dark Lords were waking …
With the thought came the names Grainne had sought to remember earlier and been unable to. Now, staring at the figures, she did remember; she knew every one of them, and their names tumbled into her mind as easily and as clearly as if they had been written on the Sun Chamber’s floor.
Debauchery. Lust. Greed. Decadence. Selfishness. Conceit. Perversion. Jealousy. Hatred. Deceit. Vice. Avarice.
All there. All here now inside the dark lair of the necromancer. The Twelve Evils. The Twelve Wickednesses. The sins of Men and the evils personified …
They were becoming more solid and more alive every minute, and Grainne could feel the evil lying on the air now, tangible and real, clotting the Sun Chamber and curdling the shadows, so that you could easily believe that creatures lurked in every corner, and that eyes peered at you from the darkness.
Damnaithe was still moving round the Sun Chamber, occasionally pausing before one of the Dark Lords, running her hands over the unyielding surface of the armour, shuddering with animal lust. Grainne, watching, saw Damnaithe move now upright and now on all fours, and saw the slavering cruel features of a ravening wolf again.
Yes, she is more wolfish than ever I believed it possible, but it is the evil, merciless side of the wolf … Grainne glanced to where Erin still sat quietly at her side, and remembered that they too possessed the same strange blood, and for the first time was afraid of her inheritance.
For this mad ravening creature is my mother, and this evil dark lord is my father …
She would not remember it. She would see these two for what they were, and she would see Medoc as beautiful but corrupt and steeped in evil and in vice.
If they are evil, then surely we are strong and good …
The thought sliced into her mind like a spear of light, and she knew it was Erin, and confidence returned.
And if we can but call up the Wolves of Tara we shall surely be safe …
Can we do it? said Grainne silently, and at once came the response, swift and sure, and with a child’s conviction, that if you believe strongly enough you can do anything in the world.
Yes! Yes, we can do it!
I do believe, thought Grainne. It is our only chance. And then: But even if we can do it, will it be in time? And
will it be enough without the army? For we are still alone here. Raynor and the others are far away on the cold hillside of Folaim, held in Medoc’s evil bewitchment. And Fergus is trapped somewhere between this world and that of the Future … Grainne spared a thought for Fergus, whom she might never see again, and knew that if he had been able to come to her, he would certainly have done so long since.
There had been no news of his quest, and surely he would have returned if he could. There was a rather terrible pain at the thought that Fergus might be dead, but it was not something she could yet give attention to. There would be time to grieve when Medoc was defeated … Only let Fergus be all right, prayed her mind. Let him be all right somewhere, and oh please, please let him be able to know Erin.
Erin, the One True Future King …
He caught that, of course, and there was a flare of amusement. Not for a very long time, madam … you have many years left …
And despite the danger and despite the nearness of Medoc, Grainne knew a swift sharp delight, because of all the things Erin might have turned out to be, he was turning out to be brave and filled with the reckless charm of his great-great-grandfather. He might be Cormac born again, thought Grainne.
The Sun Chamber was becoming suffused with the heavy reddish light that Medoc was drawing down, and he was bathed in the crimson glow, a slender figure, silhouetted against the coruscating light. Grainne, unable to take her eyes from him now, was conscious of a deep, secret fascination. I am witnessing a necromancer calling up the Dark Ireland. I am seeing things which no High Queen of Tara has ever seen before. And this is my father …
It was a thought to be shaken off at once, and also to be shaken off was the sudden wish to know more, to explore the strange shadow realm where Medoc ruled …
