Ghost King (17 page)

'I have little choice, Prasamaccus. I have no intention of dying here - not with my father's murderers tearing at the heart of my kingdom. If I could, I would summon the Demon King himself.'

The Brigante nodded and rose, 'I will leave you to your plans,' he said sadly.

Two hours later Laitha sat shrouded in misery at the edge of the hill beneath the light of the two moons. Since Thuro's return he had not spoken to her or acknowledged her existence. At first she had been angry enough to ignore this, but as the day passed her fury had melted, leaving her feeling lonely and rejected. He was the one link she had to the wonderful world of her childhood. He had known Culain, and knew of her love for him. With him she should have been able to share her grief and, perhaps, exorcize it. Now he was lost to her, as much as she was lost to Culain and the Cale-dones mountains.

And he had struck her! Before all those men. In retrospect she had been shrewish, but it had been only to bolster her confidence. Her life with Culain had taught her self-sufficiency, but she had always had the Mist Warrior close when real fear pervaded their world. She had felt Thuro was a true friend and had grown to love him in those early weeks, when his gentle nature had shown itself. His lack of skill with weapons made her feel protective. As he had grown in stature under Culain's tutelage, she had grown jealous of the time he spent with her man. All nonsense now.

A chill wind blew and she hugged her shoulders, wishing she had brought out a blanket but not desiring to return inside to fetch one. She wondered if the pain of Culain's passing would ever leave her. Something warm draped her shoulders and she looked up to see Prasamaccus standing by her. He had brought a blanket warmed by the fire. She gathered it around her, then burst into tears. He sat beside her, pulling her to him, saying nothing.

'I feel so alone,' she said at last.

'You are not alone,' he whispered. 'I am here. Uther is here.

'He despises me.'

'I think that he does not.'

'Uther!' she hissed. 'Who does he think he is? A new name every day perhaps?'

'Oh, Laitha! You cannot see, can you? The boy has flown. You have told me of the weakly child he was when you found him, but that is not him any more. Look at his strength when he stood alone against the Vores. He could not be sure he had the strength or the power to turn those cats, yet he did it. That was the work of a man. He says the power is almost gone and many men would flee. But not Uther. Other men would use the remaining magic to find the sword. Not Uther. He seeks to aid the people he has befriended. Do not judge him by yesterday's memories.'

'He does not speak to me.'

'All paths run in two directions.'

'He once said he loved me.'

Then he loves you still, for he is not a fickle man.'

'I cannot go to him. Why should I? Why should a man alone be allowed the virtue of pride?'

'I am not sure it is a virtue. However, I am here to be a friend. And friends are sometimes helpless between lovers.'

'We are not lovers. I loved Culain . . .'

'Who is dead. But no matter - lovers or friends, there is really very little difference that I can see. You do not need me to tell you how perilous is our situation. None of us can expect to survive long against the Witch Queen. Tomorrow she may return with a thousand men - ten thousand. Then we will be dead and your misery will seem even less important. Go to Uther and apologise . . .'

'I will not. I have nothing to apologise for.'

'Listen to me. Go to him and apologise. He will then tell you what you want to hear. Trust me ... even if it means lying.'

'And if he laughs in my face?'

'You have lived too long in the forest, Laitha; you do not understand the world. Men like to think they control it but this is nonsense. Women rule, as they always have. They tell a man he is god-like. The man believes them and is in their thrall. For without them to tell him, he becomes merely a man. Go to him.'

She shook her head, but stood. 'I will take your advice, friend. But in future call be Gian. It is special to me, it is the language of the Feragh: Gian Avur, fawn of the forest.' Then she smiled and wandered to the main building. She opened the door and stepped inside. Uther was sitting with the other men, and they were listening intently to his words. He looked up and saw her. Conversation ceased as he rose smoothly and came to her, stepping out into the night. Prasamaccus was nowhere to be seen. 'You wanted me?' he asked, his chin held high, his tone haughty.

'I wanted to congratulate you, and . . . and to apologise.'

He relaxed and his face softened, breaking into. the self-conscious grin she remembered from their first day.

'You have nothing to apologise for. It has been hard for me to become a man. Culain taught me to fight and Maedhlyn, to think. Bringing the two together was left to me. But you have suffered greatly and I have bedn of little help. Forgive me?' He opened his arms and she stepped into his embrace.

In the background, crouched behind the rocks, Prasamaccus sighed and hoped they would not stand too long in the cold. His leg was aching and he yearned for sleep.

*

Uther returned to the building, gathered his blankets and took Laitha to the west of the hilltop, where a great stone had fallen - making a windbreak. He gathered wood for a small fire and spread the blankets on the ground. All this was done in silence, amid a growing tension of their bodies that did not affect the communion of their eyes. With the fire glowing they sat together and did not notice the limping Prasamaccus returning to his bed.

Uther dipped his head and kissed Laitha's hair, pulling her more closely to him. She lifted her face. He smelt the musky perfume of her skin and brushed his lips against her cheek. His head swam and a dreamlike sensation swept over him. He, the night and Laitha were one. He could almost hear the whispering memories of the giant stones, feel the pulsing distance of the stars. She lay back, her arms curling around his shoulders, drawing him to her. His hand moved slowly down the curve of her back, feeling the flesh beneath her tunic. He was torn between the urge to tear her clothes from her, and yet to savour this moment of moments. He kissed her and groaned. She tugged gently away from him and removed her tunic and leggings. He watched as her skin emerged from the clothing; it gleamed and glistened in the firelight. Stripping himself naked, he hesitated to pull her to him, his eyes drinking in her beauty. His hands were trembling as he reached for her. Laitha's body melted against him and everywhere she touched him seemed to burn. She pushed herself under him, but he resisted. Her eyes opened wide in surprise, but he smiled softly.

'Not swiftly,' he whispered. 'Never swiftly!' She understood. His head lowered to kiss her once more, his hand moving over her skin as gentle and warm as morning sunlight - touching, stroking, exploring. Finally, his head pounding, he rose above her. Her legs snaked over his hips and he entered her. Thoughts and emotions raged and swirled inside his mind, and he was surprised to find regret swimming amidst the joy. This was a moment he had dreamed of, yet now could never come again. He opened his eyes, looking down on her face, desperate to remember every precious second.

Her eyes opened and she smiled. Reaching up she cupped his face, pulling him closer, kissing him with surprising tenderness. Passion swallowed his regret and he passed into ecstasy.

For Laitha the sensation was different. She too had dreamed of the day she would surrender her virginity to the man she loved. And in a way she had. For Uther was all that was left of Culain and she could see the Mist Warrior in Uther's storm-cloud eyes. And Prasamaccus was right. The weakly youth in the forest had gone for ever, replaced by this powerful, confident young man. She knew she could grow to love him, but never with the wild, wonderful passion she had felt for Culain. As she thought of him, her mind blended her memories with the slow, rhythmic contact at the centre of her being and she felt it was the Lance Lord moving so powerfully above her. Her body convulsed in a searing sea of pleasure that bordered on pain. And in her ecstasy she whispered his name.

Uther heard it, and knew he had lost her in the moment of gaining her . . .

Baldric returned to Erin Plateau early the following morning. When the Vores had turned on the soldiers the lean huntsman had swiftly scaled a tree and watched as the carnage continued. The beasts had killed scores of men and horses, driving the army from the forest. Baldric had followed them for some distance and now reported that Mareen-sa was free of threat. Korrin sent out scouts to watch for the enemy's return, glancing at Uther for approval. Uther nodded.

The enemy will return,' said the prince, 'but we must make the delay work for us.' Uther summoned Prasamaccus, sending him and Hogun to hunt for fresh meat. Laitha went with them to gather mushrooms, herbs and other edible roots. Rhiall and Ceorl were sent to the city of Callia to see what effect the news of the soldiers' defeat would have.

Finally Uther called Korrin to him and the two men walked to the edge of the stone circle, looking out over the vast forest and the sweeping hills of Mareen-sa.

Tell me about the Ghosts,' said Uther. The woodsman shrugged.

'I have only seen them once - and that from a distance.'

'Then tell me the legend.'

'Is it wise to raise an army of the dead?'

'Is it wise for nineteen people to rebel against a Witch Queen?' responded Uther.

'I take your point. Well, the legend says that the Ghosts were soldiers of an ancient king, and when he died they marched into the underworld to fetch him back. But they became lost and now march for ever through the wilderness of the Void.'

'How many are there?'

'I have no idea. When I saw them I only took one swift glance, and that was over my shoulder while running.'

'Where did you see them?'

'Here,' said Korrin, 'on Erin.'

"Then why have we not seen them?'

'It is the moons - but then you would not know that. On certain nights of the year the light of Apricus, the large moon, cannot be seen. Only Sennicus shines. On those nights the Ghosts walk and the circle is shrouded in mist.'

'How soon before Sennicus shines alone?'

Korrin shrugged. 'I am sorry, Uther, I do not know. It happens about four times a year, sometimes six. Rhiall would know. His father studied the stars and he must have learned something. When he gets back I will ask him.'

Uther spent the day exploring the woodland around the hill, seeking out hiding places and trails the rebels might be forced to take when the soldiers returned. His frustration was great as he walked, for all the warriors whose lives had been researched by Plutarch had one thing in common. They each, at some time in their lives, ruled armies. There was little Uther could achieve with ten woodsmen, a crippled hunter and a forest girl skilled with the bow. And even should he be able to raise a force from amongst the population, how long would it take to train them? How much time would Astarte allow?

He shared the concern of both Prasamaccus and Korrin about using an army of corpses. Yet an army was an army. Without it they were lost.

Hungry and tired, he sat down by a shallow stream and allowed his thoughts to return to the subject he had forced from his mind. At the height of his passion, Laitha had whispered the name of Culain and this caused a terrible split in his emotions. He had worshipped Culain and was now jealous of him - even as he loved Laitha and was now angry with her. His mind told him it was not her fault that she still loved Culain, but his heart and his pride could not accept second place.

'Greetings,' said a voice and Uther leapt to his feet, sword in hand. A young woman sat close by, dressed in a simple tunic of shining white cloth. Her hair was gold, her eyes blue.

'I am sorry,' he said. 'You startled me.'

'Then it is I who am sorry. You seem lost in thought.'

She was quite the most beautiful woman Uther had ever seen. She rose and walked to stand beside him, reaching out to touch his arm.

As she looked into his eyes, he saw a strange look come into hers.

'Is something wrong, lady?'

'Not at all,' she said swiftly. 'Sit with me for a while.' The songs of the forest birds faded into what was almost a melody of soft-stringed lyres. The sun bathed them both, and all the colours of the forest shone with ethereal beauty. He sat.

'You remind me of someone I once knew,' she said, her face close to his, the perfume of her breath sweet and arousing.

'I hope it was someone you liked?'

'Indeed I did. Your eyes, like his, are the colours of the Mist.'

'Who are you?' he whispered, his voice husky.

'I am a dream, perhaps. Or a wood nymph. Or a lover?' Her lips brushed his face and she lifted his hand, pressing it to her breast.

'Who are you?' he repeated. Tell me.'

'I am Athena.'

"The Greek goddess?' She drew back from him then, surprised.

'How is it that you know of me? This world is far from Greece.'

'I am far from home, lady.'

'Are you of the Mist?'

'No. What other names have you?'

'You know of the Feragh, I see. I am also called Goroien.'

Now it was Uther's turn to show surprise. 'You are Culain's lady; he spoke of you often.'

She moved subtly away from him. 'And what did he say?'

'He said that he had loved you since the dawn of history. I hope you will forgive me for saying that I can see why?'

She acknowledged his compliment with a slight smile. 'His love was not so great as you think. He left me and chose to become mortal. How would you explain that?'

'I cannot, lady. But I knew Culain and he thought of you always.'

'You say “knew” and “thought”. Have you lost touch with him?'

Uther licked his lips, suddenly nervous. 'He is dead, lady. I am sorry.'

'Dead? How?'

'My enemies destroyed him: Soul Stealers from the void.'

'You saw him die?'

'No, but I saw him fall - just before the Circle brought us to Pinrae.'

'And who are you?' she asked, smiling sweetly, her left hand on his back. As she spoke the nails of the hidden hand grew long and silver and hovered over his heart.

'I am Uther.' The talons vanished.

'I do not know the name,' she said, rising and moving to the centre of the clearing.

'Will you help us?' he asked.

'With what?'

'This world is ruled by a Witch Queen and I seek to overthrow her.'

Goroien laughed and shook her head. 'Foolish boy! Sweet, foolish boy. I am the Witch Queen. This is my world.'

Uther rose. 'I cannot believe that!'

'Believe it, Prince Uther,' said Prasamaccus, stepping from the shadow of the trees.

'Ah, the cripple,' said Goroien, 'with the magic arrows.'

'Shall I kill her?'asked the Brigante, a shaft aimed at her heart. Goroien turned to Uther, her eyebrows raised.

'No!'

'A wise choice, sweet boy, for now I will let you both live . . . for a little while. Tell me, how long has your name been Uther?'

'Not long, lady.'

'I thought not. You are the boy Thuro, the son of Alaida. Know this, Uther. I slew your mother; I planned your father's death; and I sent the Soul Stealers into the Caledones mountains.'

'Why?'

'Because it pleased me.' She turned on Prasamaccus. 'Loose your arrow, fool!'

'No!' shouted Uther, but the Brigante had already released the string. The shaft flashed in the sunlight, only to be caught in a slender hand and snapped in two.

'You said sweet words to me, Uther. I will not kill you today. Leave this place, hide in the world of Pinrae. I shall not seek you. But in four days I will send an army into this forest, with orders to kill all they find. Do not be here.' She raised her hand in a cutting motion and the air beside her parted like a curtain. Beyond her, in a room adorned with shields, swords and weapons of war, Uther saw a tall man wearing a dark helm. And then they were both gone.

'She came to kill you,' said Prasamaccus.

'But she did not.'

'She is capricious. Let us fetch Laitha and leave this place.'

'I must wait for the one moon.'

'You asked me to be a wise counsellor ..."

'This is not a time for wisdom,' snapped Uther. 'This is a time for courage.'

*

Under a bright moon a lone figure scaled the outer wall of Deicester Castle, strong fingers finding the tiniest cracks and crevices. Culain moved slowly and with great care. His horse and lance had been hidden in the woods two miles away, and his only weapon was a long hunting-knife in a scabbard at the back of his belt.

The climb would not have been difficult in daylight, for the castle was over two hundred years old and the outer walls were pitted and scarred. But at night he was forced to test every hand- and toe-hold. He reached the battlements just after midnight and was not surprised to find no sentries. For who did Eldared fear in the Caledones? What army could penetrate this far into his territory? He swung his body over the wall and crouched in the moon shadows below the parapet. He wore dark leggings of dyed wool and a close-fitting leather shirt as soft as cloth. He stayed motionless, listening to the sounds of the night. In the barracks below and to the right were only a dozen soldiers. He had counted them from his hiding place during the day; now he could hear some of them playing at dice. To his left the gate sentry was asleep, his feet planted on a chair, a blanket round his shoulders. Culain moved silently to the stairwell. The steps were wooden and he moved down them keeping close to the wall, away from the centre of the slats where the movement and therefore the noise would be greatest. Earlier he had noted the flickering lights at the highest western window of the keep, the rest of the upper living quarters dark and silent.

He crossed the courtyard at a run, halting before the door beside the locked gates of the keep. It was open. Once inside he waited until his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness within, then found the stairs and climbed to the upper levels. A dog growled close by and Culain opened the pouch at his side and pulled clear a fresh-cut slice of rabbit meat. He walked boldly into the corridor. The dog, a grey war-hound, rose threateningly, its lips drawn back to reveal long fangs. Culain crouched down and offered his hand. The dog, smelling the meat, padded forward to snatch it from Culain's fingers. He patted the hound's wide head and moved on.

At the furthest door he stopped. A light still showed faintly in the cracks around the frame. He drew his hunting-knife and stepped inside. A candle was guttering by the bedside and in the broad bed lay a man and a woman. Both were young - the woman no more than sixteen, the man a few years older. They were asleep in each other's arms like children, and Culain felt a pang of regret. The woman's face was oval and yet strong even in sleep. The man was fair-haired and fine-boned. Culain touched the cold knife-blade to the man's throat. His eyes flared open and he jerked, cutting the skin alongside his jugular.

'Do not hurt her!' he pleaded. Culain was touched, despite himself, for the man's first thought had been for the woman beside him. He gestured Moret to rise and, gathering the candle, led him through the bedroom into a side chamber, pushing shut the door behind him.

'What do you want?'

'I want to know how you contacted the Witch Queen.'

Moret moved to stand beside a high window overlooking the Caledones mountains. 'Why do you wish to see her?'

'That is my concern, boy. Answer me and you may live.'

'No,' said Moret softly. 'I need to know.'

Culain hesitated, considering killing the man and questioning the woman. But then if she knew nothing his mission would be ruined, for Gael and Eldared were away at war.

'I plan to destroy her;' he said at last.

Moret smiled. 'Go from here to the Lake of Earn. You know it?' Culain nodded. 'There is a circle of stones and a small hut. Before the hut is a tiny cairn of rounded rocks. Build a fire there when the wind is to the north. The smoke enters the hut and Goroien comes forth.'

'Have you seen her?'

'No, my brother travels there.'

Culain returned his knife to his scabbard. 'It is against my better judgement to allow you to live, but I shall. Do not make me regret the decision, for I am not an enemy you would desire.'

'No man who seeks to destroy Goroien could be an enemy of mine,' answered Moret. Culain backed to the door and was gone within seconds. Moret stood for a while by the window, then returned to his bed. Outside the door, Culain heard the bed creak and returned his knife once more to its scabbard.

*

Rhiall and Ceorl returned from Callia in high spirits. Behind them was a convoy of three wagons, sixty-eight men and twelve women, two of them pregnant. The huge youth bounded up the hill, grabbing Korrin's arm.

'The soldiers ransacked the town. They took twenty pregnant women and burnt the shrine to Berec. Two council leaders were hanged. The place is in an uproar.'

'What are they all doing here?' asked Korrin, staring down at the crowd forming a half-circle below the hill.

They've come to see Berec reborn. The story is spreading like a grass fire that Berec has returned to earth, riding a forest stag and ready to overthrow the Witch Queen.'

'And you let them believe it?'

Rhiall's face took on a sullen look. 'Who is to say it is not true? He did ride a stag, just like Berec, and his magic vanquished the soldiers.' 'What is in the wagons?' Rhiall's   good   humour   returned.   'Food, Korrin. Flour, salt, dried fruit, oats, wine, honey.   And   there   are   blankets,   clothes, weapons.'

Uther approached and stared down at the gathering, which grew hushed and silent. The sun was behind him and he appeared to the crowd to be bathed in golden light. Many in the group fell to their knees.

Rhiall and Korrin joined him. 'How many fighting men?' asked Uther. 'Sixty-eight.'

Uther grinned and laid his hand on Rhiall's shoulder. 'That is a good omen. In my land the men fight in Centuries of eighty warriors each. With our own people and these we now have a Century.'

Korrin grinned. 'Your arithmetic is not as strong as your magic. Surely a century is one hundred?'

'True, but with cooks, quartermasters and camp followers the fighting strength is eighty. Our army is formed by such units. Six Centuries equal four hundred and eighty men, or one Cohort, and ten Cohorts make a Legion. It is a small beginning, but a promising one. Korrin, go down among them and find out who the leaders are. Get the men in groups of ten. Add one of your own men to each group, two to the last. Find the groups work to make them feel part of the brotherhood - and weed out the weak in heart, for they will need to fight within four days.'