Ghost King (21 page)

'Done! Three thousand men!' Uther rose to his feet, his eyes gleaming and advanced on Severinus. 'You killed them?'

'The man Korrin came to me with orders from you. We were to take the prisoners away in groups of a hundred and kill them out of earshot of the others. You did not give this order?'

Uther swung to the centurions. 'Find Korrin and bring him here. Now!'

The two men backed away hurriedly. Uther pushed past Severinus into the night, sucking in great gasps of air. He felt he was suffocating. Laitha, dressed in a simple white tunic, came out and placed her hand on his arm. 'Korrin has suffered greatly,' she said. Uther shook her hand loose.

Minutes later the two centurions returned with Korrin behind them, his arms pinned by two legionaries.

Uther moved back into the tent, returning with the sword of Cunobelin in his trembling hands.

'You wretch!' he told Korrin. 'You had to have your blood, did you not?'

'You were too tired to know what you were doing,' said Korrin. 'You didn't understand or you would have given the order yourself. Now release me. We have work to do - strategies to think of.'

'No, Korrin,' said Uther sadly. 'No more strategies for you. No more battles and no more murder. Today was the high point of your sad career. Today was the end. If you have a God, then make your prayer to him, for I am going to kill you.'

'Oh, no! Not before the Witch Queen is overthrown. Don't kill me, Uther. Let me see Astarte slain. It is my dream!'

'Your dreams are drowned in blood.'

'Uther, you cannot!' shouted Laitha.

The Sword of Cunobelin flashed up, entering Korrin's belly, sliding up under the rib-cage and cutting through his heart. The body slumped in the arms of the legionaries.

Take this carrion and leave it for the crows,' said Uther.

*

Back inside the tent Uther slammed the bloody sword into the hard-packed earth, leaving it quivering in the entrance. Laitha was sitting on the bed, her knees drawn up to her chest.

Severinus followed the prince inside.

'I am sorry,' he said. 'I should have queried an order of such magnitude.'

Uther shook his head. 'Roman discipline, Severinus. First, obey. Gods, I am tired. You had better send some men to the other Pinrae leaders, Maggrig, Hogun, Ceorl. Get them here.'

'You think there will be trouble?'

'If there is, kill them all as they leave my tent.' The soldier saluted and left. Uther moved to the sword jutting in the entrance, the blood staining the earth. He made as if to draw it clear, then stopped and returned to the divan beside the bed. Within minutes the rebel leaders were assembled outside and Severinus led them in. Maggrig's eyes were cool and distant, his emotions masked. The others, as always, avoided Uther's eyes.

'Korrin Rogeur is dead,' said Uther. That is his blood.'

'Why?' asked Maggrig.

'He disobeyed me and murdered three thousand men.'

'Our enemies, Lord Berec.'

'Yes, our enemies. That is not the point at issue. I had other plans for them and Korrin knew that. His action was unforgivable. Now he has paid for it. You men have two choices. Either you serve me, or you leave. But if you serve me you obey me.'

'Will you replace the Witch Queen?' asked Maggrig softly.

'No. When she is overthrown I will leave Pinrae and return to my world. The Ghost Army will leave with me.'

'And we are free to leave if we choose.'

'Yes,' lied Uther.

'May I speak with the others?'

Uther nodded and the men filed out. There was silence in the tent until their return. Mag-grig, as always, was the spokesman.

'We will stay, Lord Berec, but Korrin's friends wish him to be buried as befits a war leader.'

'Let them do as they please,' said the prince. 'In a few days we will reach Perdita. Strip the dead of weapons and arm your own men.' He waved them away, aware that the sullen expressions were still evident.

'You have lost their love, I think,' said Severinus.

'I want only their obedience. What were our losses today?'

Two hundred and forty-one dead, eighty-six seriously wounded and another hundred or so with light cuts. The surgeons are dealing with them,'

'Your men fought well today.'

Severinus accepted the compliment with a bow. 'They are mostly Saxon and, as you know, they are fine warriors. They take to discipline well - almost as well as true-born Romans. And if I may return the compliment, your strategy was exemplary. Eight thousand enemy casualties for the loss of so few of our own men.'

'It was not new,' said Uther. 'It was used by Pompey and by the divine Julius. Antony executed a similar move at Phillippi. Darius the Great was renowned for taking his Immortals on lightning marches, and Alexander conquered most of the world with the same strategy. The principle is a simple one: always act, never react.'

Severinus grinned. 'Do you always react so defensively to compliments, Prince Uther?'

'Yes,' he admitted sheepishly. 'It is a guard against arrogance.'

After Severinus had left, Uther saw that Laitha had still not moved. She sat, hugging her knees and staring into the embers of the brazier fire. He sat beside her, but she pulled away from him.

'Speak to me,' he whispered. 'What is wrong?'

She swung on him then, her hazel eyes fierce in the candle-light. 'I do not know you,' she said. 'You killed that man so coldly.'

He said nothing for a moment. 'You think I enjoyed it?'

'I do not know, Uther. Did you?'

He licked his lips, allowing the question to sink into his subconscious.

'Well?' she asked. He turned his face towards her.

'In that moment - yes, I did. All my anger was in that blow.'

'Oh, Uther, what are you becoming?'

'How can I answer you?'

'But this war was being fought for Korrin. Now who is it for?'

'It is for me,' he admitted. 'I want to go home. I want to see Eboracum, and Camulodu-num, and Durobrivae. I do not know what I am becoming. Maedhlyn used to say that a man is the sum total of all that happens to him. Some things strengthen, some things weaken. Korrin was like that. The death of his wife unhinged him and his heart was like a burning coal, desiring only vengeance. He once told me that if he won he would light fires under his enemies that would never go out. As for me, I am trying to be a man - a man like Aurelius, or Culain. I have no one to turn to, Laitha. No one to say, “You are wrong, Thuro. Try again.” Killing Korrin may have been a mistake, but if I had done it earlier three thousand men would still be alive. And now - if we win - there will be no fires that never go out.'

'There was such gentleness in you when we were back in the Caledones,' she said, 'and you were a hunted prince, ill-suited to sword play. Now you are acting the general and committing murder.'

He shook his head. That is the sad part. I am not acting the general, I am the general. Sometimes I wish this was all a dream, and that I could wake in Camulodunum with my father still king. But he is dead and my land is being torn apart by wolves. For good or ill I am the man who can stop it. I understand strategy and I know men.'

'Culain would never have killed Korrin.'

'And such is the way of legends,' he mocked. 'No sooner the man dies than he becomes a wondrous figure. Culain was a warrior; that makes him a killer. Why do you think the Ninth Legion were in the Void? Culain sent them there. He told me about it back in the Caledones. It was a regret he carried, but he did it while fighting a war against the Romans four hundred years ago.'

'I do not believe you.'

'You are a foolish child,' he snapped, his patience gone.

'He was twice the man you are!'

Uther stood and took a deep breath. 'And you are a tenth of the woman you ought to be. Maybe that's why he rejected you.' She flew at him, her nails flashing towards his face, but he brushed aside her attack and hurled her facedown to the bed. Swiftly he straddled her back, pinning her. 'Now that is no way for a wife to behave.' She struggled for some minutes, then relaxed and he released her. She rolled to her back, her fist cracking against his chin, but he grabbed her arms and pinned her beneath him.

'I may not be right all the time,' he whispered, 'and I may have struck a bad bargain with you. But whatever I become I will always need you. And always love you.'

Outside, Prasamaccus heard the argument die away.

'I do not think they will want to see you now,' whispered a sentry.

'No,' agreed Prasamaccus, hobbling away into the darkness.

*

For two weeks Culain had toiled and struggled to regain lost strength and speed. He was now fitter and faster than he had been for years . . . and he knew it was not enough. Goroien had been right. In accepting mortality, Culain had lost the vital edge of youth. His doubts were many as he sat on the hard-packed ground before the cabin, watching the sun sink in fire.

Once, as Cunobelin the King, he had allowed his body to grow old and grey, but it had been a sham. Beneath the wrinkles his strength had remained.

For two days now he had exercised not at all, allowing his tired body to rest and replenish lost energy. Tomorrow he would walk to the Castle of Iron and seek a truth he felt he already knew.

He was glad now that he had used up the Stone in that wonderfully extravagant flight. The temptation to use its power on himself would today have proved irresistible. His thoughts turned to Gilgamesh, seeing the warrior as he had first known him, strong and proud, leading a hopeless fight against an invincible enemy. Goroien had taken pity on him, which was unlike her, and helped him overthrow the tyrant king. Gilgamesh knew glory then and the adulation of a freed people. But it was not enough; there was a hunger in the Lord of Battle that no amount of victories could ease. Culain had never understood the demon that drove him. Three times Gilgamesh challenged Culain, and three times the Mist Warrior had refused to be drawn. Many in the Feragh had wondered at Culain's reasons. Few had realised the truth. Culain lach Feragh was afraid of the strange, dark quality within Gilgamesh that made him unbeatable.

Then came the day when news of his death had reached Culain. His heart had soared, for deep inside he had begun to believe the Lord of Battle would one day kill him. He recalled the day well - the sun clear in a cloudless sky, distant cornfields glowing gold and the high white turrets of Babylon cloaked in dark shadows. Brigamartis had brought the news, her face flushed with excitement. She had never liked Gilgamesh. Before his arrival she had been considered one of the finest sword duellists in the Feragh, but he had defeated her with ease in the Shade Games.

'There was something wrong with his blood,' said Brigamartis gleefully. 'It would not accept Sipstrassi power. He aged wonderfully; in the last two years even Goroien would not visit him. He had begun to drool, you know, and he was half-blind.'

Culain had waited five years before crossing the Mist. Goroien was as beautiful as ever, and acted as if her affair with Gilgamesh had never taken place. His name did not cross her lips for another three centuries.

Now the Lord of Battle had returned and Culain lach Feragh would truly taste the terrors of mortality. It was galling to live so long, only to face such bitterness. Thuro and Laitha were trapped in a world he could not reach, victims of a goddess he could never kill and menaced by a warrior he could not conquer.

He lifted his lance and drew the hidden sword. The edge was lethally sharp, the balance magnificent. He looked down at his reflection in the silver steel, gazing into his own eyes as if expecting to see answers there.

Had he ever truly known courage? How simple it had been for an immortal warrior to battle in the world of men. Almost all wounds could be healed, and he had on his side the knowledge and acquired skill of centuries. Even the great Achilles had been a child by comparison, the outcome of their duel never in doubt. Only his opponents had known courage. Culain smiled. His fear of Gilgamesh had made him run like a child in terror of the dark - and like all runners, he had hurtled headlong into greater fear. Had he killed Gilgamesh all those centuries ago Goroien would not now have taken into her body the dread disease that was killing her. From that he could reason that she might never have become the Witch Queen. So the terrors of this age came squarely to rest on Culain's shoulders.

He accepted the burden and sought the sanctuary of Eleari-mas, the Emptying. But his mind drifted into memory. He saw again the curiously beautiful end of the world. He was fifteen years old, standing in the courtyard of his father's house in Balacris. He saw the sun sink slowly into the west and then hurtle back into the sky. A great wind came up, and the palace of Pendarric began to glow. He heard someone scream and saw a woman pointing to the horizon. A colossal black wall was darkening the sky, growing ever larger. He had stared at it for some moments, thinking it a great storm. But soon the terror struck. It was a thundering thousand-foot wall of water, drowning the land. The golden glow from the palace spread over the city, reaching the outer sections just as the sea roared over them all. Culain had been rooted to the spot, desperate to draw the last second of life. As the sea struck him he screamed and fell, only to open his eyes and gaze at the sun in a blue sky. He stood, and found himself on a hillside with thousands of his fellow citizens. The horizon had altered; blue-tinged mountains and endless valleys stretched out before him.

It was the first day of the Feragh, the day Pendarric had rescued eight thousand men, women and children, turning Balacris into a giant gateway to another world. Atlantis was now gone, her glory soon to be forgotten.

Thus began the long immortal life of Culain lach Feragh, the Warrior of the Mist.

Unable to reach the heights of Eleari-mas, Culain opened his eyes and returned to the present. A thought struck him, easing the tension in his soul. Achilles and all the other mortals who died beneath Culain's blade must have felt as he did now. What hope was there for a mortal who stood against a god? Yet still they had taken swords in hand and opposed him, just as the mortal Culain would oppose the immortal, undead Gilgamesh. It was good that Culain's last earthly experience would be a new truth. At last he would know how they felt.