Ghost King (22 page)

Later, as he sat in silent contemplation, Pendarric appeared, stepping into the cabin as if coming merely from another room.

Culain smiled and rose, and the two men gripped hands. A table appeared, then two divans, the table bearing flagons of wine and two crystal goblets.

'It is a fine night here,' said Pendarric. 'I have always loved the smell of lavender.'

Culain poured a goblet of wine and stretched himself on the divan. The king looked much as he always did, his golden beard freshly curled, his body powerful, his eyes ever watchful and masked against intrusion to his thoughts.

'Why did you come?'

Pendarric shrugged and filled his own goblet. 'I came to talk to an old friend on the night before he takes a long journey.'

Culain nodded. 'How is Thuro?'

'He is now Uther Pendragon and he leads an army. I thought you would like to know how he found it.'

Culain sat up. 'And?'

'He journeyed into the Void and brought back the Ninth Legion.'

'No?'

'And he has your sword, though I still do not know how.'

'Tell me ... all of it.'

And Pendarric did so, until he reached the point of calling Laitha to the central altar. 'I still do not understand why I asked her to do it. It was like a voice in my mind. I was as surprised as she when she produced the sword - doubly so when the ramifications are considered. She reached back into the past, to a time and a place in which she already existed. As we both know, that is not possible. It is a wondrous riddle.'

'You should speak to Maedhlyn,' said Culain.

'I would, but I do not like the man. There is an emptiness in him; he does not know how to love. And I am not sure I want the riddle solved. One of the problems with being immortal is that there are few questions which escape answers over so many centuries. Let this be one of them.'

'Can Thuro . . . Uther . . . defeat Goroien?'

Pendarric shrugged. 'I cannot say. She has great power. But at this moment I am more concerned with Culain.' He stretched his hand over the table and opened his fingers. A golden Sipstrassi Stone tumbled to the wood.

'I cannot take it,' said Culain. 'But believe me, I want to.'

'Can you win without it?'

'Perhaps. I am not without skill.'

'I never liked Gilgamesh, and it seemed to me that his inability to accept Sipstrassi power was a judgement far above mine. But it has to be said that he was a towering warrior . . . truly Rolynd.'

'As am I.'

'As are you,' agreed Pendarric. 'But he, I think, has no soul. There is nothing of greatness in Gilgamesh - there never was. I think for him the world was grey. When Goroien brought him back she doomed herself, for the Bloodstone enhanced his disease, giving it the strength to infect her.'

'I still love her,' admitted Culain. 'I could not hurt her.'

'I know.' The king poured more wine, his eyes moving from Culain. There is something else - and I am not sure, even now, whether it will aid or condemn you.' Pendarric's voice trembled and Culain felt a strange tension seep into his body. The king licked his lips and sipped his wine. 'Goroien does not know that I am in possession of this . . . secret.' He lapsed into a silence Culain did not disturb. 'I am sorry, my friend,' said Pendarric. This is harder for me than I can say.'

Then do not tell me,' said Culain. 'After tomorrow it will not matter.'

Pendarric shook his head. 'When I told you of Laitha and the sword, that was not all. Something . . . someone . . . bade me tell you the whole of the truth. So let it be done. You remember the days in Assyria when Goroien contracted a fever that brought her to the edge of madness?'

'Of course. She almost died.'

'She believed she hated you, and she left you.'

'Not for long!'

Pendarric smiled. 'No, a mere two decades. When she returned, was all as it should have been?'

'After a while. The disease took almost a century to leave her.'

'Did it ever truly leave? Did her ruthlessness not grow? Was the gentleness in her soul not vanished for ever?'

'Yes, perhaps. What are you saying?'

Pendarric took a deep breath. 'When she left you she was pregnant..'

'I do not want to hear this!' screamed Culain, leaping to his feet. 'Leave me!'

'Gilgamesh is your son and her lover.'

All the strength and anger flowed from Culain's body and he staggered; at once Pendarric was beside him, helping him to the divan.

'Why? Why did she not tell me?'

'How can I answer that? Goroien is insane.'

'And Gilgamesh?'

'He knows - it is why he hates you, why he has always desired your death. Whatever madness infected Goroien was carried on into him. When he could not accept immortality, he blamed you.'

'Why did you tell me?'

'Had you accepted the Sipstrassi Stone, I would not have spoken.'

'You think this knowledge will make me stronger?'

'No,' admitted Pendarric, 'but it might help to explain why you were so loth to fight him.'

'I was afraid of him.'

That too. But the call of blood was touching your subconscious. I have seen you both fight and I know that the Culain of old could defeat Gilgamesh. You were always the best; he knew that. It only added to his hatred.'

'How did you find out?'

'During the last years of his life, Goroien would not see him. I went to him two days before he died. He was senile then, and calling for his mother. It is not a pleasant memory.'

'I could have raised him without hate.'

'I do not think so.'

'Leave me, Pendarric. I have much to consider. Tomorrow I must try to kill my son.'

The ten cohorts of Legio IX arrived at the plain before Perdita, the Castle of Iron, five days after the battle in which Agarin Finder's army was crushed. Uther ordered a halt and the twenty wagons bearing supplies and equipment were drawn into a hastily dug defensive enclosure. The rebel army now numbered more than six thousand men and Maggrig had been placed in command of the Pinrae warriors.

With Prasamaccus, Maggrig and Severinus, Uther walked to the edge of the trees overlooking the fortress, a cold dread settling on him as he gazed on the black castle rearing from the mist-shrouded plain. It seemed to the prince to resemble a colossal demonic head, with a cavernous mouth of a gateway. No troops were assembled to defend it, and the plain sat silent and beckoning.

'When do we advance?' asked Maggrig.

'Why has no further attempt been made to stop us?' countered Uther.

'Why count the teeth of the gifted horse?' said Prasamaccus. Maggrig and Severinus nodded agreement.

'We are not engaging an enemy force,' said Uther. 'We are fighting a war against a Witch Queen. No attempt has been made on my life; no other fighting force has been raised to oppose us. What does that suggest to you?' 'That she is beaten,' said Maggrig. 'No,' replied Uther. 'The opposite is the case. She used Agarin because his victory was the simple option, but she has other forces at her disposal.' He turned to Severinus. 'We have four hours before dusk. Leave a small force within the enclosure and march the Legion to where we stand.'

'And what of my men?' asked Maggrig. 'Wait for my order.' 'What do you plan?' asked Severinus. Uther smiled. 'I plan to take the castle.'

*

On the high tower Goroien's eyes opened and she, too, smiled.

'Come to me, sweet boy,' she whispered. Beside her Gilgamesh stood, his dark armour gleaming in the sunlight. 'Well?' he asked.

"They are coming ... as is Culain.' 'I would have liked the opportunity to kill the boy.'

'Be satisfied with the man.' 'Oh, I will be satisfied, mother.' Under the helm Gilgamesh grinned as he saw her shoulders stiffen and watched a crimson blush stain her porcelain features. She swung on him, forcing a smile.

'I wonder,' she said, her voice dripping venom, 'if it has occurred to you that after today you will have nothing to live for?'

'What do you mean?'

'All your life you have dreamed of killing Culain lach Feragh. What will you do tomorrow, Gilgamesh, my love? What will you do when there is no enemy to fight?'

'I will know peace,' he said simply. The answer shook her momentarily, for his voice had carried a note she had never heard from the Lord of Battle, a softness like the echoes of sorrow.

'You will never know peace,' she spat. 'You live for death!'

'Perhaps that is because I am dead,' he replied, the harsh edge returning.

'He is coming. You should prepare yourself.'

'Yes. Hong to see his face and read his eyes in the moment I tell him who I am.'

'Why must you tell him?' she asked, suddenly fearful.

'What will it matter?' he responded. 'He will die anyway.' With that he turned and walked from the ramparts. Goroien watched him depart and felt again the curious arousal his movements inspired. So graceful, so strong -steel muscles beneath silk-soft skin. Once more she gazed at the line of trees in the distance, then she also returned to her rooms.

As she entered the inner sanctum, she stopped before a full-length mirror and closely examined her reflection. A hint of grey shone in the gold of her hair, and the finest of lines was visible beside her eyes. It was growing worse. She moved to the centre of the room, where a boulder-sized Bloodstone rested on a tree of gold. Around it were the dried-out husks of three pregnant women. Goroien touched the Stone, feeling its warmth spread into her. The corpses vanished and a shadow moved behind her.

'Come forth, Secargus!' she commanded and a hulking figure ambled into view. More than seven feet tall, he towered over the queen -his bestial face more wolf than man, his jaws slavering, his tongue lolling. 'Fetch five more.'

He reached out a taloned hand to touch her, his eyes pleading.

Tonight,' she said. 'I will make you a man again, and you can share my bed. Would you like that?' The huge head nodded and a low growling moan escaped the twisted mouth. 'Now fetch five more.' He ambled away towards the dungeons where the women were kept and Goroien moved to the Stone; the black lines were thick in the red-gold. For some time she remained where she was, waiting for Secargus to bring the women to their timely deaths.

*

On the ramparts once more, Goroien waited patiently. The mist swirled on the plain, but her excitement grew as she waited for the inevitable moment of victory. With an hour to go before dusk, she saw the Legion march from the trees in battle order, ranks of five, spreading to form a long shield wall before their spearmen. On they came into the mist: five, thousand men whose souls would feed her Bloodstone. Her hands were trembling as she watched them advance, their bronze shields gleaming like fire in the dying sunlight. She licked her lips and raised her arms, linking her mind with the dread Stone.

Suddenly the plain was engulfed in fire, white-hot and searing, the heat reaching even there on the battlements. Within the mist the soldiers burned, human torches that crumpled to the earth, their bodies blistering and burning like living candles. Black smoke obscured her vision and she returned to her rooms.

Culain would soon be arriving and she transformed her clothing into a tight-fitting tunic and leggings of forest green with a belt of spun gold. It had always been Culain's favourite.

Back at the edge of the woods, Uther collapsed. Prasamaccus and Severinus knelt beside him. 'It is exhaustion,' said Severinus. 'Fetch some wine!'

Maggrig stood close by, staring into the Mist where the vision of death had appeared. He was appalled, for he would willingly have led his own men across that plain and now would be lying scorched and dead on the blackened earth. Berec-Uther had halted the Legion within the woods, then knelt facing the plain.

Under the startled eyes of the rebel army Berec had lifted his hand, which glowed as if he held a ball of fire. Then a vision had appeared, of the Legion marching - a truly ghostly army. When the fire erupted and the heat washed over the watchers, Maggrig's stomach had heaved. The illusion had been so powerful he had almost smelt burning flesh.

Uther groaned. Severinus lifted him to a sitting position and held a goblet of wine to his lips. The prince drank deeply. Dark rings circled his eyes and his face was gaunt and grey. 'How did you know?' asked .the Roman. 'I did not know. But she is too powerful not to have one more weapon.'

"This fell from your hand,' said Prasamaccus, offering Uther a black pebble with threads of gold. The prince took it.

'We will advance on the castle at midnight. Find me fifty men - the best swordsmen you have. The Legion will follow at dawn.' 'I will lead the raid,' said Severinus. 'No, it is my duty,' responded Uther. 'With respect, Prince Uther, that is folly.' 'I know, Severinus, but I have no choice. I alone have a source of magic to use against her. It is weak now, but it is all we have. We do not know what terrors wait inside the castle - Void warriors, Atrols, Werebeasts? I have the Sword of Cunobelin, and I have the Stone Pendarric gave me. I must lead.' 'Let me go with you,' pleaded the Roman. 'Now that would be folly, but I am grateful for the offer. If all goes well, the Legion will follow at dawn and I shall greet you in the gateway. If not . . .' His eyes locked to Severinus' gaze. 'Make your own strategy - and a home for yourselves in Pinrae.'

‘I’ll pick your men myself. They will not let you down.'

Uther called Laitha to him and the two of them wandered away from the gathered men to a sheltered hollow near a huge oak.

Swiftly he told her of the attack he would be leading - explaining, as he had with Severinus, the reasons for his actions.

'I will come with you,' she said.

'I do not want you in danger.'

'You seem to forget that I also was trained by Culain lach Feragh. I can handle a sword as well as any man here - probably better than most.'

'It would destroy me if you were slain.'

'Think back, Uther, to the day we met. Who was it that slew the first of the assassins? It was I. This is hard for me, for I accept that as your wife I must obey you. But please let me live as I have been taught.'

He took her hand and drew her to him. 'You are free, Laitha. I will never own you, nor treat you as a servant or slave. And I would be proud if you were to walk beside me through the gate.'

The tension eased from her. 'Now I can truly love you,' she said, 'for now I know that you are a man. Not Culain, not his shadow, but a man in your own right.'

He grinned boyishly. 'This morning I washed in a stream and, as I looked down, I saw this child's face staring up at me. I have not yet needed to shave. And I thought how amusing Maedhlyn would find all this - his weakly student leading an army. But I am doing the best that I can.' 'For myself,' she admitted, 'I saw a tree this afternoon that seemed to grow into the clouds. I wanted to climb it and hide in the topmost branches. I used to pretend I had a castle in the clouds, where no one could find me. There is no shame in being young, Thuro.'

He chuckled. 'I thought I had put that name behind me, but I love to hear you say it. It reminds me of the Caledones when I did not know how to light a fire.'

Just short of midnight Severinus noisily approached the hollow, clearing his throat and treading on as many dry sticks as he could see. Uther came towards him, laughing, Laitha just behind.

'Is this Roman stealth I hear?' asked the prince.

'It is very dark,' answered the Roman with a grin.

'Are the men ready?'

The grin vanished. 'They are. I shall follow at dawn.'

Uther offered his hand, which Severinus took in the warrior's grip, wrist to wrist.

'I am your servant for life,' said the Roman.

'Be careful, Severinus, I shall hold you to that.'

'Make sure that you do.'

*

Culain lach Feragh stood before the gates of Perdita, the winds of Skitis Island shrieking over the rocks. He wore his black and silver winged helm and silver shoulder-guard, but no other armour protected him. His chest was covered merely by a shirt of doeskin, and upon his feet were moccasins of soft leather.

The black gate opened and a tall warrior stepped into the sunshine, his face covered by a dark helm. Behind him came Goroien and Culain's heart soared, for she wore the outfit he had first seen on the day they met. Goroien climbed to a high rock as Gilgamesh advanced to stand before Culain.

'Greetings, Father,' said Gilgamesh. 'I trust you are well.' The voice was muffled by the helm, but Culain could hear the suppressed excitement.

'Do not call me Father, Gilgamesh. It offends me.'

‘The truth is sometimes painful.' Now there was disappointment in the voice. 'How did you find out?'

'You told Pendarric, but probably you do not remember. I understand you were senile at the time.'

'Happily you will not suffer the same fate,' hissed Gilgamesh. 'Today you die.'

'All things die. Do you object to me saying farewell to your mother?'

'I do. My lover has nothing to say to you.'

Suddenly Culain chuckled. 'Poor fool,' he said. 'Sad, tormented Gilgamesh! I pity you, boy. Was there ever a day in your life when you were truly happy?'

'Yes - when I bedded your wife!'

'A joy shared by half the civilised world,' said Culain, smiling.

'And there is today,' said Gilgamesh, drawing two short swords. 'Today my happiness is complete.'

Culain removed the winged helm and placed it at the ground by his feet.

'I am sorry for you, boy. You could have been a force for good in the world, but luck never favoured you, did it? Born to a mad goddess and diseased from the moment you first sucked milk. What chance did you have? Come then, Gilgamesh. Enjoy your happiness.' The lance slid in two, revealing the slanted sword. Culain laid the haft next to the helm and drew a hunting-knife from his belt. 'Come, this is your moment!'

Gilgamesh advanced smoothly and then leapt forward, his sword hissing through the air. Culain blocked the blow, and a second, and a third. The two men circled.

'Remove your helm, boy. Let me see your face.'

Gilgamesh did not answer but attacked once more - his swords whirling in a glittering web, but always blocked by the blades of Culain. On the rocks above, Goroien watched it all in a semi-daze. It seemed to her as if she viewed two dancers moving with impossible grace to the discordant music of clashing steel. Gilgamesh as always was beautiful, almost catlike in his movements, while Culain reminded her of a Same leaping and twisting in a fire. Goroien's heart was beating faster now as she tried to read the contest. Culain was stronger and faster than he had been when the shade of Gilgamesh had defeated him. And yet he was failing.

Almost imperceptibly he was slowing. Gilgamesh, with the eye of the warrior born, saw the growing weakness in his opponent and launched a savage attack . . . but it was too early and Culain blocked the blows and spun on his heel, his sword snaking out in a murderous riposte. Gilgamesh hurled himself backwards as the silver blade scored across his stomach, opening the top layers of skin.

'Never be hasty, boy,' said Culain. 'The best are never reckless .v No blood seeped from the wound. Gilgamesh tore his helm from his head, his golden hair catching the last of the sunlight and Culain saw him with new eyes. How could he ever have missed the resemblance to the mother? The Mist Warrior was growing tired -but not as weary as his body appeared. He was grateful now to Pendarric, for had he not known the truth he would be dead by now. He could not have fought so well while struggling to come to terms with the awful knowledge.

'Are you beginning to know fear, little man?' he asked. Gilgamesh mouthed a curse and came forward.

'I could never fear you,' he hissed, his dead grey eyes conveying no emotion.