Ghost King (14 page)

'Exactly, Baldric. There is no evidence of an end to the search. It follows that either they found the source at the very last, or they did not find it. The latter is more probable.'

'If they did not find it, how can we?'

'We know where not to look. Help me clear the mess.'

'Why? No one lives here.'

Trust me.' Together the two men righted all the furniture, then Uther sat down once more staring at the walls of the main room. After a while he stood and moved to the bedroom. The quantity of books and scrolls showed Andiacus to be a studious man. Some of the manuscripts were still tied and Uther studied them. They were carefully indexed.

'What are we looking for?' asked the huntsman.

'A Stone. A golden Stone, black-veined, possibly the size of a pebble.'

'You think he hid it before they killed him?'

'No. I think he hid it as a matter of course, probably every night. And he did not have it with him when they captured him, which could mean they took him in his sleep.'

'If he hid it, they would have found it.'

'No. If you hid it, they would have found it. We are talking of an Enchanter and a magic Stone. He hid it in plain sight, but he changed it. Now all we must do is think of what it might have been.'

Baldric sat down. 'I am hungry, I am tired, and I do not understand any of this. But last night a creature of darkness tried to kill us^ and I would like to be gone from these mountains before nightfall.'

Uther nodded. He had been thinking of the Soul Stealer and wondering whether it had been sent by Eldared or Astarte, or was merely a random factor associated with neither. He pushed his fears from his mind and returned to the problem at hand. Maedhlyn had often told him not to waste his energies on matters beyond his knowledge.

The murdered Enchanter either hid the Stone or transformed it. Had it been hidden, the searchers would have found it. Therefore it was transformed. Uther rose from the bed. Any one of the scattered objects on the floor could be Sipstrassi. Think, Uther, he told himself. Use your mind. Why would the Enchanter disguise the Stone? To safeguard it, so that no one would steal it. Around the room were ornate goblets, gold-tipped quills, items of clothing, blankets, candle-holders, even a lantern. There were scrolls, books and charms of silver, bronze or gold. All would be worth something to a thief and therefore useless as a disguise for a magic Stone. Uther eliminated them from his thoughts, his eyes scanning the room - seeking an object that was functional and yet worthless. There was a desk by the window, the drawers ripped out and smashed. Beside it lay piles of scattered papers . . . and there in the corner, nestling against the wall, an oblong paperweight of ordinary granite.

Uther pushed himself from the bed and moved to the rock. It was heavy, and ideal for the purpose it served. He held it over the desktop and concentrated hard. After several seconds his hand grew warm and there appeared two platters of freshly roasted beef. The granite in his hand disappeared, to be replaced by a thumbnail-sized Sipstrassi Stone with thick black veins interweaving on the golden surface.

'You did it!' whispered Baldric. 'The Dream Shaper's magic.'

Uther smiled, holding his elation in check, savouring the feeling of triumph - the triumph of mind. 'Yes,' he said at last, 'but the power of the Stone is not great. As the magic is exhausted, these black veins swell. When the gold is used up, the power is gone. Enjoy the meat. We cannot afford to waste any more enchantment; we must heal Pallin.'

The food was as close to divine as either man had tasted. Then gathering their weapons, Uther and Baldric left the house, the younger man carrying the Sipstrassi Stone in his hand. As they passed the skeleton the Stone grew warmer and Uther paused. A whisper like a breeze through dry leaves echoed inside his head and a single word formed.

'Peace.' It was a plea born of immense suffering. Uther remembered Baldric's word about the army of rebels who had been crucified and yet not allowed to die. Stooping he lifted the skull, touching the Stone to its temple. White light blazed and the voice inside Uther's head grew in power.

'I thank you, my friend. Take the Stone to Erin Plateau. Bring the Ghosts home.' The whisper faded and was gone, and the black threads on the Stone had swelled still further.

'Why did you do that?' asked Baldric.

'He was not dead,' answered Uther. 'Let us go-'

*

Maedhlyn hurled the black pebble to the table-top where Culain swept it up. Neither man said anything as Maedhlyn poured a full goblet of pale golden spirit and drained it at a swallow. The Enchanter looked in a dreadful condition, his face sallow, the skin sagging beneath his beard. His eyes were bloodshot, his movements sluggish. For seven days he had tried to follow Thuro, but the Standing Stones above Ebor-acum merely drained the power from his Sipstrassi. The two men had travelled to another circle to the west, outside Cambodunum. The same mysterious circumstances applied. Maedhlyn worked for days on his calculations, snatching only an hour's sleep in mid-afternoons. Finally he attempted to travel back to Ebor-acum. but even that could not be achieved.

The companions had returned to the capital on horseback where Maedhlyn searched through his massive library, seeking inspiration and finding none.

'I am beaten,' he whispered, pouring another goblet of spirit.

'How can it be that the Standing Stones no longer operate?' asked Culain.

'What do you think I have been working on this past fortnight? The rising price of apples?'

'Be calm, Enhancer. I am not seeking answers, I am searching for inspiration. There is no reason for the Stones to fail. They are not machines, they merely resonate compatibly with Sipstrassi. Have you ever known a circle to fail?'

'No, not fail. And how can I be calm? The immutable laws of Mystery have been overturned. Magic no longer works.' Maedhlyn's eyes took on a fearful look. He sat bolt upright and fished in the pocket of his dark blue robe, producing a second Sipstrassi Stone. He held it over the table and a fresh jug of spirit materialised; he relaxed. 'I have used up the power of two Stones that should have lasted decades, but at least I can still make wine.'

'Have you ever been unable to travel?'

'Of course. No one can travel where they already are, you know that. Law number one. Each time scale sets up its own opposing forces. It pushes us on - makes us accept, in the main, linear time. At first I thought I could not follow Thuro because I was already there. No Circle would accept my journey on that score. Wherever he is, and in whatever time, then I am there also. But that is not the case. It would not affect a journey from Cambodunum to Eboracum in the same time scale. The Circles have failed and I do not understand why.'

Culain stretched out his lean frame on the leather-covered divan. 'I think it is time to contact Pendarric.'

'I wish I could offer an argument,' said Maedhlyn. 'He is so dour.'

'He is also considerably more wise than both of us, your arrogance notwithstanding.'

'Can we not wait until tomorrow?'

'No, Thuro is in danger somewhere. Do it, Maedhlyn!'

'Dour is not the word for Pendarric,' grumbled the Enchanter. Taking his Stone he held his fist over the table and whispered the words of Family, the Oath of Balacris. The air above the table crackled and Maedhlyn hastily withdrew the two jugs of spirit. A fresh breeze filled the room with the scent of roses and a window appeared on to a garden, wherein sat a powerful figure in a white toga. His beard was golden and freshly curled, his eyes a piercing blue. He turned, laying down a basket of perfect blooms.

'Well?' he said and Maedhlyn swallowed his anger. There was a wealth of meaning in that single word, and the Enchanter remembered his father using the same tone when young Maedhlyn had been found with the maidservant in the hay wagon. He pushed the humiliating memory from his thoughts.

'We seek your advice, Lord,' muttered Maedhlyn, afraid that the words would choke him. Pendarric chuckled.

'How that must pain you, Taliesan. Or should I call you Zeus? Or Aristotle? Or Loki?'

'Maedhlyn, Lord. The Circles have failed.' If Maedhlyn had expected Pendarric to be ruffled by the announcement, he was doomed to disappointment. The once-king of Atlantis merely nodded.

'Not failed, Maedhlyn. They are closed. Should they remain closed, then yes, they will fail. The resonance will alter.'

'How can this be? Who has closed them?'

'I have. Do you wish to dispute my right?'

'No, Lord,' said Maedhlyn hastily, 'but might I enquire the reason?'

'You may. I did not mind the more capricious of my people becoming gods to the savages -it amused them and did little real harm - but I will not tolerate the same lunacy we suffered before. And before you remind me, Maedhlyn, yes, it was my lunacy. But the world toppled.

The tidal waves, the volcanoes and the earthquakes almost ripped the world asunder.'

'Why should it happen again?'

'One of our number has decided it is not enough to play at being a goddess; she has decided to become one. She has built a castle spanning four gateways and she is ready to unleash the Void upon all the worlds that are. So I have closed the pathways.'

Maedhlyn spotted a hesitation in Pendarric's comment and leapt on it: 'But not all of them?'

The king's face showed a momentary flash of annoyance. 'No. You were always swift, Talie-san. I cannot close her world . . . not yet. But then I did not believe any immortal would be foolish enough to repeat my error.'

Culain leaned forward. 'May I speak, Lord?'

'Of course, Culain. Are you standing by your decision to become mortal?'

'I am. When you say your error, you do not mean the Bloodstone?'

'I do.'

'And who is the traitor?' asked Culain, fearing the answer.

'Goroien.'

'Why would she do it? It is inconceivable.'

Pendarric smiled. 'You remember Gilga-mesh, the mortal who could not accept Sip-strassi immortality? It seems he had a disease of the blood and he gave it to Goroien. She began to age, Culain. You, of all of us, know what that must have meant to her. She now drains the life force from pregnant women into her Bloodstone. It will not be enough; she will need more souls, and more again. In the end a nation's blood will not satisfy her, nor a world's. She is doomed and will doom us all.'

'I cannot accept it,' said Culain. 'Yes, she is ruthless. Are we not all ruthless? But I have seen her nurse a sick faun; help in childbirth.'

'But what you have not seen is the effect of the Bloodstones. They eat like cancers at the soul. I know, Culain. You were too young, but ask Maedhlyn what Pendarric was like when the Bloodstone ruled Atlantis. I ripped the hearts from my enemies. Once I had ten thousand rebels impaled. Only the end of the world saved me. Nothing will save Goroien.'

'My grandson is lost in the Mist. I must find him.'

'He is in Goroien's world, and she is seeking him.'

'Then let me go there. Let me aid him. She will hate him, for he is Alaida's son - and you know Goroien's feelings for Alaida.'

'Sadly, Culain, I know more than that. So does Maedhlyn. And, no the gates stay closed - unless, of course, you promise to destroy her.'

'I cannot!'

'She is not the woman you loved; there is nothing but evil left in her.'

'I have said no. Do you know me not at all, Pendarric?'

The king sat silent for a moment. 'Know you? Of course I know you. More, I like you, Culain. You have honour. If you should reconsider, journey to Skitis. One gateway remains. But you will have to slay her.'

Storm-clouds swirled in Culain's eyes and his face was white. 'You survived the Bloodstone, Pendarric, though many would have liked to slay you. Widows and orphans in their thousands would have sought your blood.'

The king nodded agreement. 'Yet I was not diseased, Culain. Goroien must die. Not for punishment - though some would argue she deserves it - but because her disease is destroying her. At the moment she sacrifices two hundred and eighty women a year from ten nations under her control. Two years ago she needed only seven women. Next year, by my calculations, she will need a thousand. What does that tell you?'

Culain's fist rammed to the table. 'Then why do you not hunt her? You were a warrior once. Or Brigamartis?'

'This would make you happy, Culain? Bring you contentment? No, Goroien is a part of you and you alone can come close to her. Her power is grown. If it is left to me to destroy her, I will have to shatter the world in which she dwells. Then thousands will die with her, for I will raise the oceans. Your choice, Culain. And now I must go.'

The window disappeared. Maedhlyn poured another goblet of spirit and passed it to Culain but the Mist Warrior ignored it.

'How much of this did you know?' he asked Maedhlyn. The Enchanter sipped his own drink, his green eyes hooded.

'Not as much as you think. And I would urge you to follow your own advice and be calm.'

Their .eyes met and Maedhlyn swallowed hard, aware that his life hung by a gossamer thread. 'I did not know of Goroien's illness, only that she had taken to playing goddess once more. That I swear.'

'But there is something else, Enhancer -something Pendarric is aware of. So out with it!'

'First you must promise not to kill me.'

‘I’ll kill you if you do not!' stormed Culain, rising from his chair.

'Sit down!' snapped Maedhlyn, his fear giving way to anger. 'What good does it do you to threaten me? Am I your enemy? Have I ever been your enemy? Think back, Culain. You and Goroien went your separate ways. You took Shaleat to wife and she gave you Alaida. But Shaleat died, bitten by a venomous snake. You knew - and do not deny it - that Goroien killed her. Or if you did not know, you at least suspected. That is why you allowed Aurelius to take Alaida from the Feragh. You thought that Goroien's hatred would be nullified if Alaida chose mortality. You did not even allow her a Stone.'

'I do not want to hear this!' shouted Culain, fear shining in his eyes.

'Goroien killed Alaida. She came to her in Aurelius' castle and gave her poison. The babe took it in and it changed Alaida's blood. When she gave birth, the bleeding would not stop.'