Ghost King (10 page)

'What is happening?' cried Laitha and Thuro swung round. The window was shuttered and barred against the cold. The door to the back room opened and a dark shadow swept across the hearth. Laitha, half rising, slumped to the floor as a grey blade touched her flesh. Thuro dived to his left, rolled and rose. With preternatural speed the shadow closed on him and his blade flashed up instinctively, slicing through the dark, billowing cloak. There was an unearthly cry, and Thuro saw a corpse-grey face and opal eyes just before the creature vanished in smoke. A stench filled the room that caused Thuro to retch. Dropping to his knees, he crawled to Laitha; her eyes were open, but she was unmoving. He ran into the back room just as a second shadow darkened the window; his sword snaked out and the apparition fled back into the night. He slammed the shutters and barred them.

Returning to Laitha, he stared into her eyes. She blinked. 'If you can hear me, blink twice.' She did so. 'Now blink once for yes, twice for no. Is there any movement at all in your limbs?' Twice she blinked.

A crash came at the window and a sword-blade shattered the wood. Thuro, his own gla-dius burning with blue fire, ran to the window and waited. A second crash came from the back room, then another unearthly cry rose from outside the cabin and Thuro risked a glance through the shattered window.

Culain was standing alone in the clearing, his silver lance in his hands. Three figures moved towards him with blistering speed. He dropped to his knees, the lance flashing and lunging. Two cloaked assassins fell. Thuro tore open the cabin door and rushed into the night as four others closed on Culain.

'No, Thuro!' bellowed Culain, but it was too late for a Soul Stealer flew at the prince. Thuro blocked a thrust and sliced his silver blade across his enemy's throat and the creature vanished. Two others were on their way. Culain attacked the two facing him, blocking and cutting, despatching one with a thrust to the belly. The second advanced, but Culain pressed a stud in the lance and a sharp silver blade flashed through the air and into the Soul Stealer's chest.

Thuro managed to kill the first of the assassins, but the second sank a cold knife between his ribs. All strength fled from him and his legs gave way. He fell on his back and saw the grey face looming above him, huge hollow teeth descending towards his throat.

Culain ran forward three paces, then threw the heavy lance. It sliced into the creature's back, plunging through to jut from its chest. It vanished, and the lance fell to the ground beside Thuro.

Culain lifted the paralysed prince and carried him into the cabin where Laitha was beginning to stir. 'Get the fire built up and lock the door,' he said.

He moved to her bow and emptied her quiver. There were twenty arrows. He touched his Sipstrassi Stone to the head of each but nothing happened. Culain lifted Thuro's gla-dius; once more it was iron.

'What were they?' asked Laitha, rubbing limbs that ached with cold.

'Void killers. We are no longer safe here. Come here!' As she approached he lifted her hand. A copper bracelet graced her left wrist and he touched the Stone to it. 'If ever it shines silver, you know what it will mean?'

She nodded. 'I am sorry, Culain. Will you forgive me?'

"There is nothing to forgive, Gian Avur. I should have told you about my lady, but I have not seen her for more than forty years.'

'What is her name?'

'Her name is an old one, meaning Light into Life. She is called Goroien.'

*

Culain sat up through the night, but the Soul Stealers did not return. Thuro awoke in the morning, his head seemingly full of wool, his movements slow and clumsy. Culain took him outside and the crisp air drove the drowsiness from him.

"They will come again,' said Culain. 'There is no end to them. They did not expect you to be armed with silver.'

'I cannot stand against them, they are too fast.'

'I have spoken to you, Thuro, of Eleari-mas, the Emptying. It is something you will need to master. Skill is not enough, speed is insufficient; you must free your instinct, empty your mind.'

'I have tried, Culain. I cannot master it.'

'It took me thirty years, Thuro. Do not expect to excel in a matter of hours.' The sun was shining with golden brilliance and the events of the night seemed of another age. Laitha was still sleeping. The Mist Warrior looked gaunt and jaded, the silver at his temples shining like snow on the distant mountain peaks. Dark rings circled his eyes. 'Eldared has recruited an ally from the Feragh,' he said. 'No one else could open the Void. I thank the Source that you saw the vision, but who knows what will come next? Atrols, serpents, dragons, demons. The perils of the Mist are infinite. I blame myself, for I first used the floating gateways.'

'In what way?' asked Thuro.

'When I led Boudicca's Iceni against the Romans there was an elite Legion, the Ninth. They marched south from Eboracum to catch us and trap us between themselves and Paul-linus. But I sent the Mist and they marched onto it and out of history.'

'The legendary Ninth,' whispered Thuro. 'No one has ever known of their fate.'

'Nor will any man. Even I. They died out of sight of their friends, their families and even their land.'

'Five thousand men,' said Thuro. "That is power indeed.'

'I would not do such a thing again . . . but someone has.'

'Who has the power?'

'Maedhlyn. Myself. Maybe a dozen others. But that pre-supposes the lack of intellect and imagination in any of a hundred thousand worlds within worlds that make up the Mist. Perhaps someone has travelled a new road.'

'What can I do? I cannot just remain here until they find me, and it puts both you and Laitha in peril.'

'You must find your father's sword and your own destiny.'

'Find . . . ? It was taken by a ghostly hand below the surface of the lake. I cannot travel there.'

'Would that it were truly so simple. But the sword is not in the lake -I have searched there. No, it is in the Mist and we must travel there to find it.'

'You said there were thousands of worlds within the Mist. How will we know where to search?'

'You are joined to the sword. We will take a random path and see where it leads us.'

'You will forgive me for saying that it does not sound very hopeful.'

Culain chuckled. 'I will be with you, Thuro. Though, yes, it will be like searching for one pebble in a rock-slide. But better than waiting here for the demons to strike, yes?'

'When do we leave?'

Tomorrow. I must prepare the path.'

'And we must spend one more night waiting for the Soul Stealers?'

'Yes, but we have an advantage now. We know they are coming.'

'A slim advantage indeed.'

'Perhaps as slender as the difference between life and death.'

Prasamaccus was grateful for the tears Helga shed so publicly as he mounted the huge black stallion, chosen this morning from Victorinus' stable. No warrior should leave on a dangerous hunt without such a display from a loving wife. He had been lucky, for Maedhlyn had been forced to wait five weeks after his magic disclosed to him that the passes into the Caledones mountains were all blocked by heavy snow. Prasamaccus had used the time well, getting to know Helga and she him. Happily they both liked what they found. The house on the outskirts of Calcaria had been bought by Grephon at a fraction of its value, the owner being terrified of the coming war. At the back of the small white building was a ramshackle paddock, and two fields that could be given over to crops.

Now Prasamaccus leaned over his saddle. 'Hush woman!' he said. 'This is not seemly.' But Helga's tears would not cease and it was with a happy heart that Prasamaccus rode alongside the Enchanter towards the remnants of the stone circle above Eboracum.

For his part Maedhlyn was less than happy with the choice of messenger-escort he was sending to Thuro. The slender blond cripple was obviously a man of wit, but hardly a warrior. And could he be trusted?

The Brigante cared nothing for the doubts he saw in Maedhlyn's sullen expression. The Caledones were, in fact, sparsely peopled, and the Vacomagi that did dwell in the foothills were renowned as a friendly tribe. With luck his mission would require no more than a six-day round journey and a swift return to his white palace. He glanced nervously at the sky; he had kept his face blank, but the gods had a way of reading men's eyes.

Only two broken teeth remained of the circle and Prasamaccus stood now where he had appeared six weeks before, overlooking the fortress city.

'You understand? Six days,' said Maedhlyn.

'Yes. I'll notch a stick,' replied Prasamaccus.

'Do not be flippant. You will appear above Pinnata Castra. In the mountains you will meet a man named Culain; he is tall, with eyes the colour of storm-clouds. Do not anger him. He will take you to the prince.'

'Storm eyes. Yes, I'm ready.'

With a muttered curse Maedhlyn produced a yellow-gold Stone and waved it over his head. A golden glow filled the circle. 'Ride west,' said the Enchanter and Prasamaccus mounted and headed the stallion forward. It shied, and came down running, directly at the largest stone. Prasamaccus closed his eyes. A smell like oil burning on cloth smote his nostrils, and his ears ached. He opened his eyes as the horse charged out of the circle where he had killed the Atrol.

He pulled Vamera from his saddle pouch and strung her swiftly. Then, with an angry oath he hung the bow on his pommel.

'Stupid wizard,' he said. 'This is the wrong circle. I am days from the Caledones.'

*

Throughout the day Culain worked to assemble a circle of slender golden wire in the clearing below his cabin. He looped the wire around four birch trees, then marked the earth within the circle in a series of pentangles highlighted with chalk. At the centre of the circle he constructed a perfect square, measuring the distances with great care from the angles of the square to the furthest points of the pentangles.

At noon he stopped and Thuro brought him a goblet of wine, which he refused.

This needs a clear head, Thuro.'

'What are you doing?'

'I am re-creating the base layout of a minor Circle - creating a gateway, if you like. But if I am more than a hair's breadth out in my calculations, we will end up in a world or a time we do not desire.'

'Where is Laitha?'

'She is watching the valley for sign of Elda-red's hunters.'

'Can I fetch you some food?'

'No. I must finish the circle and lay on the lines of magic. It will work only once; we will not be able to return here.'

'I will watch with Laitha.'

'No,' said Culain sharply, 'you are necessary here. This whole circle is geared to you and your Harmony. It is our only hope of finding the sword.'

Towards dusk Laitha came running into the clearing.

'There is a single rider moving up the valley,' she said. 'Shall I kill him?'

Culain looked bone-weary. 'No. No needless slaying. I am almost ready. Thuro, go with Laitha and see the man. Gian, stay hidden and if the rider has hostile intent, shoot him down.'

'I thought you needed me,' said Thuro.

"The work is nearly done, the destination set. We will leave at dawn.'

'Would it not be safer to leave now?' asked Laitha.

'The sun is almost gone, and we need its energies. No, we must survive one more night in the mountains.'

Thuro and Laitha set off to intercept the rider, moving swiftly down the forest trails. As Thuro ran behind the lithe girl he found his mind straying from concern at the horseman to appreciation of the supple, liquid grace of Laitha's movements.

Thuro spotted the rider moving carefully up the mountain trail and squatted down with Laitha behind a thick bush. The man rode a tall black stallion of almost seventeen hands and was dressed in a cream woollen tunic edged with braid and black troos decorated with small silver discs; he carried a dark bow of horn. He was in his early twenties, with fair hair and a straggly blond beard.

Thuro stepped out on to the path as Laitha notched an arrow to her bow.

'Welcome, stranger,' said Thuro.

The man reined in. 'Prince Thuro?'

'Yes.'

'I have been sent to find you.'

'Then step down from your mount and draw your sword.'

Laitha had no intention of allowing Thuro to fight and loosed her shaft. At that moment an owl fluttered from a nearby branch and the stallion shied. Laitha's arrow took the horse in the throat and it fell, throwing the rider into the bushes beside the trail. Thuro was furious. He ran forward and helped the man to his feet, noticing for the first time that the rider was a cripple. Laitha stood with a second arrow notched.

'Damn you!' yelled Thuro. 'Get out of my sight!' He moved to the horse which was writhing on the ground, and opened its jugular with his hunting-knife. 'I am sorry,' he told the man. 'It was none of my doing.'

'It was a fine horse - best I ever owned. I hope you have others?'

'No.'

The man sighed. "The Gods give, the Gods take away.'

'Where is your sword?' asked Thuro.

'For what should I need a sword?'

‘To fight me, of course. Or were you intending to use your bow?'

'Maedhlyn sent me to fetch you home. My name is Prasamaccus; I have been staying with Victorinus.'

'Thuro!' called Laitha. 'Look!'

Further down the trail some dozen riders were following the tracks left by Prasamaccus.

'Your friends have arrived,' said the prince.

'No friends of mine. What I told you was true.'

'Then you had better follow me,' said Thuro. 'Here, let me carry your bow.'

Prasamaccus handed him the weapon and the trio set off, keeping away from the path. The sun was sinking now and the three faded from sight in the gathering gloom. They moved on for more than a quarter of an hour, forced to walk slowly to allow the limping Prasamaccus to keep up.

They reached the cabin as the moon cleared the clouds and Culain ran forward to meet them.

'Who is he?'

'He says Maedhlyn sent him,' answered Thuro, 'but Eldared's hunters are only minutes behind us.' Culain cursed.

A gasp came from Laitha and the three men swung towards her. She was holding up her arm and staring at the bracelet on her wrist; it had begun to glow faintly.

'The Soul Stealers,' whispered Thuro.

'Would it be possible to have my bow back?' asked Prasamaccus.

Culain drew a silver knife and held it gently to the Brigante's throat, then he took the Sip-strassi Stone from his pocket and touched it to the man's temple. 'Tell me why Maedhlyn sent you?'

'He said to bring the prince to the Circle of Stones near Pinnata Castra. Then he would spirit us both home.'

The knife returned to Culain's sheath. 'Give him his bow, and let me have the arrows.' The Mist Warrior touched his stone to each of the twenty arrow-heads and handed the quiver to Prasamaccus.

He notched an arrow to the string. The head shone with a white-blue light. 'Very pretty,' he said. A dark shadow sped from the trees and before Laitha could react Prasamaccus had drawn and loosed. The shaft took the assassin in the chest; the dark cloak billowed and fell to the ground, the Brigante's arrow beside it.

'Into the circle!' yelled Culain. More dark shapes moved into sight. Prasamaccus and Laitha both loosed shafts while Culain ran forward, sweeping up his lance from the ground beside the golden wire. 'Move to the central square,' said Culain. As Thuro, Laitha and Prasamaccus clambered over the wire, the Mist Warrior swung in time to block the thrust of a grey blade, cutting the lance-head through the assassin's neck. More of the shadows converged towards the circle. Culain leapt the wire, but a cold knife cut into his shoulder. As his limbs lost their power, he shouted one word. A golden light filled the circle, forcing the shadow killers back. Bright as noonday, the glare was blinding. When it faded the circle was empty, the golden wire gone, the earth smouldering.

Culain awoke in a broken circle of stones on the side of a high hill overlooking a deserted Roman fortress. He sat up and breathed deeply until the unearthly drowsiness left his limbs. The fortress below had partially collapsed, and several huts nearby had been constructed partly of stone from the ruined building. Culain glanced at the sky; a single moon hung there. The sky was clear and he examined the stars. He was still in Britain. He cursed loudly.

A glow began to his left and he swept up his lance and waited. Maedhlyn appeared.

'Oh, it's you,' said the Enchanter. 'Where is the boy?'

'Gone seeking his father's sword.'

'Alone?'

'No, he has a girl and a cripple with him.'

'Wonderful,' said Maedhlyn.

Culain pushed himself to his feet. 'It is better than him being dead.'

'Marginally,' agreed Maedhlyn. 'What happened?'

'Soul Stealers came upon us. I sent Thuro and the others through a gateway.'

'Which one?'

'I made it.'

'Made? Oh Culain, that was foolhardy indeed.'

'Worse than you know. I had to send them at night.'

'Better and better.' Maedhlyn sniffed loudly and cleared his throat. 'You look older,' he said. 'Do you need a Stone?'

'I have one, and I look older because I choose to. It is time to die, Maedhlyn. I have lived too long.'

'Die?' whispered Maedhlyn, his eyes widening. 'What nonsense is this? We are immortal.'

'Only because we choose to be. I choose not to be.'

'What does Athena say about this?'

'Her name is Goroien. We left that Greek nonsense behind centuries ago - and I have not seen her in forty years.'

'It is cold here. Let us return to my palace; we'll talk there.'

Culain followed him within the glow and the two walked down the long hill to Eboracum and the converted villa Maedhlyn owned near the southern wall. Inside a fire burned brightly in an ornate stone hearth. The Enchanter had always heartily disliked Roman central heating, claiming it made his head thick and disturbed his concentration.

'You used not to think it nonsense,' said the Enchanter, as they sat together drinking mulled wine by the fire. 'You made a wonderful Ares, a fine god of war. And we did help the Greeks after a fashion; we gave them philosophy and algebra.'

'You always were a capricious meddler, Maedhlyn. How do you maintain your appetite for it?'

'People are wonderful creatures,' said the Enchanter. 'So inventive. I never tire of them and their gloriously petty wars.'

'Have I mentioned before that I dislike you intensely?'

'Once or twice, Culain, now I come to recall - though I cannot understand why. You know I would have given my life to save Alaida . . .'

'Do not speak of her!'

Maedhlyn settled back in his deep leather chair. 'Getting old does not suit you,' he said. Culain chuckled, but there was little humour in the sound.

'Getting old? I am old - as old as time. We should have died with the waves that destroyed Balacris.'

'But we did not, thank the Source! Why did you leave Goroien?'

'She could not understand my decision to become mortal.'

'That's understandable. If you remember, she fell in love with the hero Gilgamesh and watched him age; some problem with his blood that the Stone could not overcome. But I can see how she would not want to watch such an event again.'

'I liked him,' said Culain.

'Even though he took Goroien from you? You are a strange man.'

'It was a passing fancy, and it is truly ancient history. What are your plans now, my Lord Enhancer? Now that someone else is playing your game?'

'Enchanter, if you please. And I am unconcerned. Whoever it is can never play as well as I. You should know that, Culain; you have witnessed my genius through the ages. Did I not inspire the building of Troy? Did I not take Alexander to the brink of domination? To name but two small achievements. You think Eldared's petty sorcerer can oppose me?'

'As always, your arrogance is a joy to behold. You seem to forget how it has humbled you in the past. Troy fell, despite your attempts to save it. Alexander took a fever and died. And as for Caligula . . . what on earth did you see in that boy?'

'He was bright as a button - much maligned. But I take your point. So who do you think is behind Eldared?'

'I have no idea. Pendarric has the power, but he tired of mortals long ago. Brigamartis, perhaps.'

'She took to playing the Gods' game with the Norse, but she's gone now. I haven't heard of her in a century or more. What of Goroien?'

'She would never use the Soul Stealers.'

'I think you forget how ruthless she could be.'

'Not at all. But not for someone else - not a petty king like Eldared. He couldn't pay enough. However, that is your problem now, Enchanter. I want nothing more to do with it.'

'You surprise me. If Eldared has the power to summon the Soul Stealers and open a gate on your mountain, then he has the power to send assassins after the boy wherever he is. I take it you left nothing belonging to the prince on the mountain?'