Once more the strange howling came from the distant north. It was answered by a second howl to the east... and another from the south. Nuada shivered.
‘Wolves?’ he asked.
Arian stopped. ‘It must be a trick of the wind,’ she said, ‘or a twisted echo. Anyway, it will not trouble us. Wolves keep well clear of people - except in the worst of winter, when food is scarce. But even then they can be scared away by a hunter with nerve.’
‘That howling went through me like a winter wind,’ he said.
She smiled at him. ‘That’s because you are a city man,’ she told him.
‘So you are not concerned by it?’
‘Not at all,’ she lied.
*
Manannan, the Once-Knight, sat alone with Ollathair the Armourer. The cabin was empty, for Gwydion and the family had wandered out into the settlement square. Ruad waited for Manannan to speak, but the Once-Knight sat silently staring at the table. Finally Ruad spoke.
‘We need them, Manannan. If they are alive, they must be brought back.’
‘I cannot do it; I cannot pass the Black Gate.’
The Armourer reached over and gripped Manan-nan’s arm. ‘The nation is in great danger. The Colours are in disarray; the Red is swelling. Nomads are being murdered. Lust, greed and evil are swamping the Harmonies. Do you understand? The King has gathered to him eight Knights - Red Knights. I sense their evil. They must be countered, Manannan. Only the Knights of the Gabala could hope to stand against them.’
‘Then you should not have sent them,’ said Manannan, fixing his gaze to Ollathair’s.
The older man looked away. ‘You are right. It was folly of the worst kind. But I cannot put it right.’
‘Go after them yourself.’
‘I cannot. There is no one to open the Gate this side, and the spell may not be reversible in the other world. You must go.’
Manannan laughed and shook his head. ‘You don’t understand; you never did. I came to you the night before the quest began. I told you then of my fears. It was not death that troubled me. I knew that if I passed the Gate my soul would be in peril. But no, you would not listen. Well, they are gone, Ollathair. You cannot bring them back. They died in whatever Hell they found beyond the Gate.’
‘You cannot be sure.’
‘No, I can’t. But if Samildanach and the others were alive, they would have found a way back. I am sure of that. Samildanach was almost the wizard you are.’ Manannan poured water into a clay cup and drained it; then he stood and looked down at Ollathair. ‘On that last night, I saw Samildanach saying farewell to Morrigan; she cried and he left her. I went to her and dried her tears and she told me she had dreamt strange dreams of blood and fire, of angels and demons. In her heart, she said, she knew she would never see Samildanach again. What could I say? But when we stood before the Gate and I felt the cold wind blow through it, my courage died. It is the same now. But you do not understand, Ollathair. You never did. You never felt the fear that gnaws away at the soul. You could never understand what it is to find yourself a coward. Oh yes, I can face men in battle. I am confident of my skills. But faced with the Gate, I was lost. Even now when I think of it my heart races, my breath seems short. I panicked, Ollathair. I did it then - I would do it now.’
He walked to the door and turned. ‘I am truly sorry.’
‘Manannan!’ called Ruad and the warrior swung to face him.
‘What is it?’
‘I have known that fear... when the King had me in chains and they burned my eye from me. But a man must overcome his fears, or they will overcome him. You are not a coward. It is not death you fear; it is the dark, the unknown, the journey into night. Will you not try to conquer it?’
‘You still do not understand,’ said Manannan wearily. ‘If I could do it, I would. Can you not see that?’
‘What I see is a man who was once a Knight of the Gabala - a man who swore an oath to protect and defend the Order. Go from here, Manannan. I free you from your oath. Now you can do as you will.’
‘Farewell, Armourer,’ said the Once-Knight.
Outside in the sunlight, he mounted Kuan and rode from the settlement. Death was now assured, he knew; but then, death came to all men. He would find a place high in the mountains and he would cheat his fate. When the pressure on his throat grew great, he would find a way to die that pleased him.
He rode throughout the afternoon, ever higher into the tree line, passing cabins and skirting other settlements. Towards dusk he heard a high-pitched howling from the forest. Kuan’s ears pricked and Manannan felt him shudder.
‘You have nothing to fear from wolves, Greatheart,’ he said, patting the stallion’s neck. ‘It is not yet winter.’
He rode on, following a narrow track peppered with the spoor of deer. The trees were thicker here and he ducked low over his saddle to avoid overhanging branches. At the bottom of the track the ground opened out and he saw a cabin and a tilled field. Before the cabin lay a man with blood seeping from a terrible wound in his side. The Once-Knight drew his sword and rode warily towards the body. The man was dead; his right arm and half his chest had been torn from him. Kuan whinnied as the smell of blood came to him. By a roughly-dug well lay a woman, her head smashed; there was no other wound in evidence.
Manannan dismounted and searched the ground. There was no spoor in the immediate vicinity, but he followed a trail of blood from the man’s body until he reached softer earth. Here he found paw-marks of great size - like the pad of a lion, but almost a foot across. He knelt by the track and stared off into the undergrowth. The beast had obviously moved off to feed. But why? The bodies could have been devoured where they lay. The beast must have been disturbed.
By his arrival? If so, that meant it was still close by. He stood and backed away from the undergrowth. A beast of this size was not something to anger.
At that moment a child came running from the trees, saw Manannan and screamed. She was around nine years old, with long blonde hair, and wearing a tunic of homespun wool.
A creature from nightmare moved out behind her. It was huge and double-headed, in part like a lion but wider at the shoulder. Its fangs were long and curved, and each head showed two great incisors long as sabres. In that instant Manannan realized the beast had not been disturbed by him but had moved off in pursuit of the child. He ran towards the girl, but knew he would never reach her before the beast bore her down. He cut to the left, shouting at the top of his voice.
The creature’s heads swung towards him.
‘Here, Ugliness!’ Manannan bellowed. ‘Come to me!’
The sound of its roaring filled the clearing — and it charged!
The Once-Knight stood his ground, his sword held double-handed over his right shoulder, ready for the slashing sweep. As the beast closed on the slender figure, Manannan saw it crouch for the spring and as it leapt he dropped to one knee, his sword flashing in a disembowelling arc. The blade buried itself in the beast’s side as it swept over him, and was almost torn from his hands. In his desperation to keep his grip, Manannan was dragged several yards; he rolled swiftly, but the beast - blood gushing from its side - turned and was upon him. The stallion, Kuan, galloped forward and hearing the sound of the charging warhorse, the monster hesitated. Manannan gained his feet and hammered the blade through the neck of the nearest head. The great jaws snapped shut and the head toppled to hang by a sinew. Blood fountained from the neck. Kuan turned his back on the beast, lashing out with his hind legs, his hooves thundering against the creature’s body and hurling it into the air.
Manannan rushed in and clove a mighty blow to its remaining head; his blade smashed the skull asunder. The beast reared and a massive claw raked out at Manannan, catching his helmet. The Once-Knight was torn from his feet as the beast fell and died.
Manannan rose. Never had he seen a beast like this - nor heard of any such in the Worlds of Civilization.
The sound of sobbing broke across his thoughts and he turne
d to see the child kneeling by her mother, pulling at the woman’s arm. He sheathed his sword and walked over to the child, lifting her to his chest.
‘She is dead, girl. I am sorry.’
Several men came running from the trees, carrying bows and lances, but they stopped, awe-struck, by the body of the beast. As the Once-Knight carried the child to them, her arm reached up to touch his helm and the metal slipped. Swiftly he passed the child to a waiting man and took hold of the helm. The claw had torn away a hinge at the top of the neck-plates and he raised his hands to the metal, but at that moment a thick-set man spoke.
‘What is this creature?’ he asked, staring down at the two-headed monster.
‘I don’t know,’ replied Manannan. ‘But I hope it lives alone.’
The man held out his hand. ‘I am Liam. We saw you tackling the beast, but we did not think we could reach you in time. Are you a King’s man?’
‘I am no one’s man. Excuse me.’ He walked slowly away from the group and lifted his hand to the spring bar on his helm. It slipped sideways... His mouth was dry, and he was almost too frightened to raise the helm. Taking a deep breath, he gripped the metal and straightened his arms... the helm grated against the neck-plates and then slid loose. His matted hair caught in the rotting leather padding within, but he tore it free. Without the helm in place the neck-plates fell away, draping his shoulders. The wind was cool on his face; his beard was matted and filthy, and sores stung his skin.
‘How long have you been wearing that?’ asked Liam, moving to stand beside Manannan.
Too long. Do you live far from here?’
‘No. You are welcome to eat with us.’
‘Hot water and a razor would be a blessing beyond my power to describe,’ Manannan told him.
In the distance came a terrible howling.
‘Something has tasted blood,’ said Liam.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ruad heard the screaming and ran from his cabin. In the square beyond, a scaled creature was dragging a man back towards the trees. The beast was over ten feet long, with six legs, and a long snout which had fastened to his victim’s leg.
Several villagers ran at the creature, hammering at it with picks and axes. It released the screaming man only to lunge at a villager, who jumped back. The beast swung, and Ruad watched as its tail cracked out like a whip to circle the legs of one of its attackers and haul him towards its gaping jaws. Ruad knelt beside his golden hounds and whispered the word of power, then he pointed at the beast and spoke again. The hounds leapt across the square. The first sprang to the creature’s back, sinking its steel fangs through scale and bone. The second lunged for the beast’s throat, ripping apart flesh and artery. The third fastened its terrible teeth to the tail trapping the villager; the jaws snapped shut and the tail parted, green gore pumping from the wound. The ruined tail thrashed wildly, spraying blood across the square, and the hounds backed away. For several seconds the creature snapped its great jaws at the air, then it settled slowly to the ground and died.
The villagers gathered round the wounded man and Gwydion came running from a nearby hut to lay his hands on the man’s gashed leg. The blood stopped flowing immediately, and Gwydion ordered the injured villager to be carried to his hut.
The hounds padded back to Ruad. He touched each on the head - and they froze once more into statues. For several hours the villagers, armed with bows and axes, searched the woods for more of the creatures. At dusk they returned, having seen tracks but no monsters.
Brion dropped the club he had been carrying and walked to where Ruad sat beside his hounds. ‘What manner of beast are they?’ he asked.
Ruad shrugged. ‘It is too complex to explain, my friend. But they are not from here.’
‘I know that,’ the villager snapped. ‘Speak plainly.’
‘They are from a world beyond our own - summoned here by a sorcerer of great power.’
‘For what purpose? Merely to kill? Who does that serve?’
‘I do not know,’ answered Ruad, turning away, but Brion was not to be ignored.
‘It seems strange to me that first you come with your magic beasts, and then these things follow. I am not a fool, wizard. Do not treat me like one.’
Ruad looked into the young man’s square, honest face. ‘It may be that they were sent to kill me. I do not know - and that is the truth. The world outside this forest is sliding inexorably into evil.’
Brion was about to say more when the sound of horses’ hooves came to them and a rider cantered into the village. He appeared tall, and his freshly-shaven face was ghostly pale. He rode to the cabin and hurled a helm at Ruad’s feet; it bounced against the door, rolled, and came to rest against the flanks of a golden hound.
‘There,’ said Manannan, ‘is your magic helm - the one that could not be released save by the magic of the Gate. Explain that to me, liar! And be convincing, Armourer. Much depends on it.’ He dismounted and stalked to stand before Ruad.
‘Be so kind as to leave us, Brion,’ requested Ruad, placing his hand on the young man’s shoulder. ‘I will be leaving tonight, and your home will be your own once more.’ The young villager nodded, gave Manannan a long stare and then backed away.
‘I am pleased for you,’ said Ruad. ‘And yes, I lied. I wanted you to pass the Gate. The spell on the helm was loosed the moment we spoke. Are you going to kill me?’
‘Can you think of a reason why I should not?’ Manannan retorted.
‘Only that I desire to live - and I think I am needed,’ admitted Ruad.
Manannan shook his head. ‘I never was one to kill for the sake of it.’ He glanced at the dead beast, still oozing green blood to the dust. ‘I killed a creature with two heads today. Now this... what does it mean, Ollathair? Where are they from?’
‘Beyond the Black Gate. Someone has decided to bring terror to the forest.’
‘And that someone is... ?’
‘I know of no sorcerer powerful enough. But ultimately it must be the King’s doing. Perhaps they are looking for me. Perhaps for another. It seems to me that evil never needs a sound reason for such deeds as this. Will you help me, Manannan?’
To do what?’
‘To fight the evil. To be what you were trained to be: a Knight of the Gabala. Once it meant a great deal to you.’
‘That was a long time ago.’
‘But you have not forgotten?’
‘How could I forget? What would you have me do?’
‘You know what is needed.’
‘No!’ hissed Manannan. ‘It is folly.’
‘The Knights must return; I can see no other hope. It is my belief that this evil emanates from the Red Knights of the King. Only the true Gabala can stand against them - surely you see that?’
‘What I see is a man with a lunatic dream. The past is gone, Ollathair. Dead. Find yourself some new Knights — I’ll even help you to train them.’
‘We do not have five years, Manannan. We may not have five months. Ride through the Gate,’ he pleaded. ‘Find Samildanach and bring him home. He was the greatest warrior I have ever known; the finest swordsman and the noblest of men. He could help me with the Colours; he could stand against the Red slayers. Together we could rid the land of this evil.’
‘Now there is a story I have heard before. Rid the world of evil! I did not accept it the first time.’
‘That was an abstract. And I was wrong! Wrong! Is it so terrible to be wrong?’
‘My friends died for the privilege of you being wrong.’
‘You do not know that, Sir Coward-Knight!’ snapped Ruad.
‘No, I do not.’ He swung on his heel and walked out into the darkness to stand on the porch, feeling the freshness of the night air on his face. He pictured again the Black Gate and heard the hideous sounds of the hidden beasts beyond. His heart raced, his hands trembled. He could not pass that portal. He had told Ollathair he was afraid for his soul but that had been a lie — a falsehood enabling him to save face.
And yet, would any beast be worse than the horror he^had faced today?
Even the monsters of the dark?
I can’t! I’m afraid!
‘Come inside,’ said Ruad behind him. ‘There is someone I want you to see.’ He turned and stepped into the doorway, where the one-eyed sorcerer held out a silvered mirror. Manannan took it and gazed at a face he had not seen for six years. The eyes accused him and he looked away.
‘You cannot run away any more, Manannan. You cannot live your life wondering if your friends are trapped in some deep, dark dungeon. I know you; it will haunt you all your days. And you are no coward; I would never have chosen you otherwise.’
‘Why did you choose me?’
‘Because you were strong in the broken places.’
‘Always riddles with you, Ollathair. I am free now, you said that yourself. Free of my oath - free of that cursed helm. I do not have to pass the Gate.’
‘You are correct in that. It is your choice. But if it would please you, I will beg - I will beg on bended knees.’
‘No,’ said Manannan softly. ‘I would not like to see that. I will journey with you to the Gate and I will sit Kuan as I did before. But I promise nothing, except to try.’
‘I will open the Gate here in the mountains,’ said Ruad, ‘and once through it you will find a city. They will have news there.’
‘And they are friendly?’
‘They are gods, Manannan. Wise and immortal. And you will find Samildanach; I know you will.’
Groundsel sat in the long hall staring at his treasury -three oak chests, the first half full of gold coin, the second brimming with silver, the third a gleaming pile of jewels and rings and brooches. The Royal Road was now a rich source of income, as Nomad families streamed along it to distant Cithaeron in the hope of a ship to safety. At first Groundsel had robbed and killed the merchants as they travelled, but the numbers of refugees had halted that simple plan. Had he continued, the Road would have become choked with bodies. Now he levied a toll on the escapers and soon he would be rich enough to leave this accursed forest and sail for warmer climes, where he would buy a palace and fill it with nubile slaves. Groundsel squirmed in his seat at the thought. He knew he was not a handsome man: short, squat, wide-shouldered and bulky, he had none of the clean lines of the athlete. His muscles were ridged and ugly, his body hairy, his arms inordinately long. As a slave he had been called Ape, and the masters and other servants laughed at him. Then he became Groundsel, for his job was to collect seeds for the feeding of the chickens. The name had weighed on him like a rock.
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