Ghost King (5 page)

The hut was sparsely furnished, but it was a welcome respite from the wind. There was a cot bed and several rugs, and an iron brazier was burning coal. An elderly woman bowed as they entered and fetched bowls of dark ale and some bread and cheese. The three men sat by the brazier and the ancient identified himself as Golaric, once the champion of the old King Cascioc.

'A fine king - good with sword or lance. He was murdered by his brother and that cursed Roman, Aurelius.' Golaric's bright eyes switched to Victorinus. 'It is not often that an Order Taker bothers to visit my small village.'

'I am not an Order Taker,' owned Victorinus.

'I know that. My teeth may be gone, but my mind is unaffected. You are Victorinus, the Centurion. And you, my wayward son, are Gwalchmai the Cantii, the Hound of the King. Word travels with exceptional speed.'

'We are hunted men, Father,' said Gwalchmai.

'Indeed you are. Is it true that bastard Roman is dead?'

'Yes,' said Victorinus, 'and I'll not hear that term used of him - alive or dead.'

'Short-tempered, is he not?' asked Golaric, seeing Victorinus' hand straying towards his gladius.

'You know these Romans, Father. No control,' said Gwalchmai. 'Why are you so open with your knowledge?'

'It pleases me to be so.'

Gwalchmai smiled. 'I know something of Bri-gante history. Cascioc was Eldared's elder brother; he was slain in his bed. There was almost a civil war amongst the tribes of the old Caledonian Confederacy. What part did you play in that, Father?'

'As I said, I was the King's Champion. I had a good arm in those days and I should have gone to Eldared and cut his throat, but I did not. The deed was done and I was sworn on Blood Oath to defend the king with my life. But Eldared was now the king so I left his service. And now he offers good gold to kill the men who are a danger to him. I am not interested in his gold; I am interested only in his downfall.'

'I cannot promise that,' said Victorinus. 'All I can say is that he will succeed if we do not reach Eboracum. Eldared bragged of having around fifteen thousand men at his call. Lucius Aquila has only four thousand at Eboracum. Taken by surprise, he would be routed.'

'I do not care whether a Roman survives at Eboracum, but I understand the point you are making. Your horses will be fed and watered tonight, but tomorrow you will leave. I will give you food to carry - not much, for we are a poor village. But be warned, there are hunting parties south and east of you. You must move west and then south.

'We will be careful, Father,' said Gwalchmai.

'And you can stop calling me “Father”. I never slept with a Cantii woman in my life -they were all bearded.'

Gwalchmai chuckled. 'He's right,' he told Victorinus. 'It's one reason I joined the king's army.'

'There's something else for you to think of,' said Golaric. "The huntsmen seem unconcerned about your capture; they say that Mist Magic is being used to track you. If that is true, I pity you.'

The colour drained from Gwalchmai's face. 'What does he mean?' asked Victorinus.

'Death,' whispered Gwalchmai.

*

Throughout the long day the two men rode together and Victorinus grew steadily more uncomfortable with the silence. The land was open, the wind bitterly cold, but it was Gwalchmai's frightened eyes that dominated the Roman's thinking. He had known Gwalchmai for four years, since arriving at Camulodunum as a raw eighteen-year-old fresh from Rome. In that time he had come to hold the man in high regard for his eternal optimism and his reckless bravery, but now he rode like a man possessed - his eyes unseeing, his manner echoing his defeat. They camped in the lee of a rockface and Victorinus prepared a fire.

'What is wrong with you, man?' he asked, as Gwalchmai sat passively staring into the flames.

'It is well for you that you do not understand,' said Gwalchmai.

'I understand fear when I see it.'

'It is worse than fear; it is the foreknowledge of death. I must ready myself for the journey.'

At a loss for a response, Victorinus laughed in his face. 'Is this Gwalchmai I see before me? Is this the King's Hound? More like a rabbit in the torchlight, waiting for the arrow to strike. What is the matter with you, man?'

'You do not understand,' repeated Gwalchmai. 'It is in the bones of this land ... in the Gods of Wood and Lake. This land was once the home of the Gods, and they still walk here within the Mist. Do not mock me, Roman, for I know whereof I speak. I have seen scaled dragons in the air. I have seen the Atrol walk. I have heard the hissing of dead men's breath. There is no escaping it; if the old gods walk our trail, there is nowhere to hide.'

'You talk like an old woman. What I can see, I can cut. What I can cut, I can kill. There is no more to be said. Gods, indeed! Look around you. Where are the Atrols? Where are the dragons? Where are the dead that walk?'

'You will see, Victorinus. Before they take you, you will see.'

A cloud obscured the moon and an owl swooped over the camp-site. "There is your dragon, Gwalchmai. Out hunting mice!'

'My father angered an Enchanter once,' said Gwalchmai softly, 'and he summoned a witch woman. They found my father on a hillside -or rather, they found the bottom half of him. The top had been ripped away and I saw the fang marks on his back.'

'Perhaps you are right,' offered Victorinus, 'and perhaps demons do walk. But if they do, a man must face them. Fear is the killer here, Gwal.' A distant wolf howled, the sound echoing eerily through the glade. Victorinus shivered and cursed inwardly. He wrapped his blanket round his shoulders and stoked up the fire, adding fresh branches to the blaze.

‘I’ll keep watch for a couple of hours,' he said. 'You get some sleep.'

Obediently Gwalchmai wrapped himself in his blankets and lay down by the fire while Victorinus drew his gladius and sat with his back to a tree. The night wore on and the cold grew. The Roman added more fuel to the fire until the last broken branch was all but finished, then he pushed himself to his feet and stretched his back, moving off into the darkness to gather more dead wood. He put down his gladius and had stooped to lift a long windfall branch when a low, whispering sound alerted him. Still on edge following the conversation with Gwalchmai, he dropped the wood, swept up his sword and dived to the right. Something touched the skin of his back and he rolled, gladius sweeping up into the darkness that threatened to overwhelm him. The blade struck something solid and a bestial scream followed. Victorinus rolled once more as a dark shadow loomed over him, then with a battle-cry he leapt to meet his assailant. His sword plunged home, then a blow to the side of the head sent him hurtling back into the camp-site to skid across the glowing coals of the fire. The clouds parted, the moon shining her silver light upon the scene. Victorinus came to his feet - and froze . . . Before him was a creature some nine feet tall, covered in long brown hair. Its eyes were red, shining like fresh-spilled blood, and its fangs were the length of daggers and wickedly curved. The creature's arms were disproportionately long, hanging almost to the ground, and from the end of each of its four fingers grew gleaming serrated talons. A grey mist swirled around Victorinus' legs, rising even as he noticed it. The creature advanced. The Roman swiftly wiped his sword hand free of sweat and gripped the leather hilt of his gladius. It was the wrong weapon for this beast; he needed a spear.

'Come forward and die!' he called. 'Have a taste of Roman iron!'

The creature stopped - and spoke. Victorinus was so surprised that he almost dropped his sword.

'You cannot fight destiny, Victorinus,' it said, its voice sibilant. "This is the day of your passing. Cease your struggle. Rest and know peace. Rest and know joy. Rest . . .' The voice was hypnotic and as the beast advanced Victorinus blinked and tried to rouse himself from the lethargy it induced in him. The mist rose about his shoulders, billowing like wood-smoke.

'No!' he said, backing away.

Suddenly an unearthly scream pierced the silence. The mist parted and Victorinus saw Gwalchmai behind the beast, raising his bloody sword for a second strike. The Roman raced forward to plunge his blade into the hairy throat. The talons lashed at him, ripping the front of his robes and scoring the skin. Gwalchmai struck once more from behind and the creature fell. The mist thickened - then vanished.

The beast was gone.

Victorinus staggered back to the camp-site, gathering together the hot coals with his sword-blade and blowing flames to life. Gwalchmai joined him but they said nothing until the fire was once more lit.

'Forgive me,' said the Roman. 'I mocked in ignorance.'

'There is nothing to forgive. You were right -a man must fight for life, even when he believes all is lost. You taught me a lesson today, Roman. I will not forget it.'

'This is obviously a day for lessons. What was that thing?'

'An Atrol - and a small one. We were lucky, Victorinus. By now they will know they have failed and the next demon will not die as easily.'

'Maybe not - but it will die.'

Gwalchmai grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. 'I believe you.'

'One of us ought to,' said the Roman.

'I think we should leave this place,' offered Gwalchmai. 'Now they have the scent, they will be close behind us.'

As if to emphasise his words, a dreadful howling came from the north. It was answered from the east and west.

'Wolves?' asked Victorinus, dreading the answer.

'Atrols. Let us ride.'

Thuro stared at the unsmiling Culain and for the first time in his young life felt hatred swell inside him. His father was dead, his own life in ruins and now he was at the mercy of this strange mountain man. He stood up from the floor before the fire.

'I'll work for my keep tonight,' he said, 'despite your trickery. But then I leave.'

'I fear not, young prince,' said Culain, stripping off his leather jerkin and moving to stand before the fire. 'The lower valleys will be cut off by morning and the snow will be drifting over ten feet deep. I am afraid we are forced to endure your company for at least two months.'

'You are a liar!'

'Rarely is that true,' replied Culain softly, kneeling to extend his hands to the flames. 'And certainly not on this occasion. Still, look on the summer side, Thuro. You do not have to see much of me - a few simple chores and you can keep Laitha company. Added to this, you may not be able to leave but neither can your enemies come upon you. By spring you will be able to make the journey home a far less dangerous one. You may even learn something.'

'You have nothing to teach me. I need to acquire none of your ways.'

Culain shrugged. 'As you will. I am tired. I am not as young as once I was. May I rest my old bones upon your cot, Gian?'

'Of course,' said Laitha. Thuro saw the look in her eyes and wished he could inspire such a reaction. Her love for Culain was a radiant thing and Thuro was amazed that he had not realised it before. He felt like an interloper, an intruder, and his heart sank. Why should the forest girl not love this man of action - tall and oak-strong, mature and powerful? Thuro turned away from the love in her eyes and wandered to the far window". It was shut tight against the weather and he made a point of examining the wood, noting the neatness with which it fitted the frame. Not a breath of draught troubled him. When he turned back Culain had gone into the back room, Laitha with him. Thuro returned to the fire. He could hear them speaking in low tones, but could distinguish no words.

Laitha returned a few minutes later and lit two candles. 'He is sleeping,' she said.

'Forgive me, Laitha. I had not wished to intrude.'

Her large brown eyes focused on him, her look quizzical. 'In what way intrude?'

He swallowed hard, aware that he walked a dangerous path. 'On you and Culain. You seem happy together and probably did not need . . . more company. I will be gone as soon as I am able.'

She nodded. 'You were wrong, Thuro. There is much you can learn here - if you use your time well. Culain is a good man, the best I have known. There is no malice in him - whatever you may think. But there is always a reason for his actions that has little to do with selfishness.'

'I do not know him as well as you,' said Thuro in his best neutral tones.

'Indeed you do not. But you might, if only you would start thinking instead of reacting.'

'I do not understand your meaning. Thinking is perhaps the one strength I have. In all my life, my mind has never let me down as have my legs and lungs.'

She smiled and reached out to touch his shoulder and he felt an almost electric thrill in his blood. 'Then think, Thuro. Why is he here?'

'How can I answer that?'

'By examining the evidence before you and reaching a conclusion. Think on it as a riddle.'

Here was a situation in which Thuro felt comfortable. Even the word riddle made him feel more at home, remembering his evenings with Maedhlyn in the oak-panelled study. His mind switched effortlessly to a new path. Culain had asked him to visit Laitha, bringing a message, but then had come himself, thus negating the need for Thuro's journey. Why? He thought of the long arduous climb to this lonely cabin, and realised that the mountain man must have set out soon after he had. He looked up and found Laitha staring at him intently. He smiled, but her face remained fixed.

'Have you come upon the answer?' she asked.

'Perhaps. He was watching out for me - in case I collapsed in the snow.'

Now it was her turn to smile and he watched the tension flow from her shoulders. 'Do you still see him as an ogre?'

'The fact remains that there was no necessity for me to come here at all.'

Think about that too,' she said, rising smoothly and moving to a long chest by the far wall. She removed two blankets and passed them to him. 'Sleep here before the fire. I will see you in the morning.'

'Where will you sleep?' he asked.

'Alongside Culain.'

'Oh. Yes, of course.'

'Yes, of course,' she repeated, the hint of fire in her eyes. He coloured deeply and looked away.

'I did not mean to offend. Truly.'

'Your words are not as offensive as the look in your eye.'

He nodded and spread his hands. 'I am jealous. Forgive me.'

'Why should I forgive you? What is your crime? You see and you do not see. You make judgements on the flimsiest evidence. Do not be misled, Thuro, as to your strengths. True, your body is not as strong as your mind. But what does that tell us? Your body is so weak that you have mistakenly inflated the true power of your intellect. Your mind is undisciplined and your arrogance unacceptable. Good night to you.'

He sat for a long time watching the fire burn, adding logs and thinking on what she had said. He should have known that Culain had followed him from the moment the tall warrior entered the cabin - just as he should have known why he had been told to come here. True, it was to trap him in the mountains for the remainder of the winter, but there was no gain in it for Culain; only for Thuro, safe now from his enemies. He lay on the floor with the blanket over his shoulders, feeling foolish and young and far out of his depth. Laitha first, and then Culain, had saved his life. He had repaid them with arrogance and lack of gratitude.

He awoke early, having slept dreamlessly. The fire was down to grey ash, with an occasional glowing ember. He carefully shifted the ash, allowing air to circulate, and added the last of the logs. Then he rose and left the cabin. Outside the snow had stopped and the air was fresh and bitterly cold. He located the wood-store and took up a long-handled axe. His first stroke sliced a thick log and he felt pride roar through him. He grinned and drew in a deep, searing breath. The blisters on his hand had dried, but the skin was still sore. He ignored the growing discomfort and continued to chop the wood until twenty logs had been rendered to forty-six chunks. Then he gathered them and sat down on the chopping ring, sweat dripping from his face. He no longer felt cold, he felt alive. His arms and shoulders burned with the raw physical effort, and he waited a little while until his breathing returned to normal. Then he took up three chunks and carried them back to the hearth. Just like the day before, he began to feel light-headed after several trips, so he slowed his action and rested often. In this way he completed his task without collapse, and felt a ridiculous sense of achievement when the hearth was full. He returned to the wood-store and hammered the axeblade into a log. His hand was bleeding again and he sat staring at the congealing blood, as proud of it as of a battle scar.

A brightly coloured bird fluttered down to sit on a branch above his head. Its breast was reddish brown, while its head was black, as if a little cap was perched there. On its back the feathers were grey, like a tiny cape, and the ends of its wings and tail were black with a white stripe - like the symbol of a Pilus Primus, a first centurion.

Thuro had seen birds like this before in Ebor-acum wood, but had never stopped to examine their beauty. It gave a soft, piping whistle and then vanished off into the woods.

'It was a Pyrrhula, a bullfinch,' said Culain and Thuro jumped. The man's approach had been as silent as the arrival of dawn. 'There are many beautiful birds in the high country. Look there!' Thuro followed his pointing finger and saw the most comical sight. It was a small orange bird with a white beard and black moustache, looking for all the world like a tiny sorcerer. 'That is a Panurus Biarmicus, a bearded tit,' said Culain. 'There are very few left now.'

'It looks like a friend of mine. I wish he could see it.'

'You speak of Maedhlyn - and he has already seen it.'

'You know Maedhlyn?'

'I have known Maedhlyn since the world was young. We grew up in the city of Balacris, before Atlantis sank. And you asked about my title - Culain lach Feragh: Culain the Immortal.' He smiled. 'But not any longer. Now I am Culain the man and the happier for it. I greet every new grey hair as a gift.'

'You are from the Land of Mist?'

'Maedhlyn and I, and several others, created the Land. It was not easy, and even now I am not sure it was worthwhile. What do you think?'

'How can I answer that? I have never been there. Is it wondrous?'

'Wondrous dull, boy! Can you imagine immortality? What is there that is new in the world to pique your interest? What ambitions can you foster that are not instantly achievable? What joy is there in an endless sequence of shifting seasons? Far better to be mortal and grow old with the world around you.'

'There is love, surely?' said Thuro.

'There is always love. But after a hundred years, or a thousand, the flames of passion are little more than a glow in the ash of a long-dead fire.'

'Is Laitha immortal?'

'No, she is not of the Mist. Are you taken with her, Thuro? Or are you bored, stuck in these woods?'

'I am not bored. And yes, she is beautiful.'

'That is not what I asked.'

'Then I cannot answer. But I would not presume to approach your lady - even were she to receive me.'

Culain's grey eyes sparkled and a wide grin crossed his features. 'Well said! However, she is not my lady. She is my ward.'

'But she sleeps with you!'

'Sleeps, yes. Was life so sheltered for you in Eboracum? What can Maedhlyn have been thinking of?'

'And yet she loves you,' said Thuro. 'You cannot deny it.'

'I would hope that she does, for I have been a father to her - as best I could.'

For the first time in his short relationship with the Mist Warrior, Thuro felt strangely superior. For he knew that Laitha loved Culain as a man; he could see it in her eyes and the tilt of her head. Yet Culain could not see it; this made him truly mortal and Thuro warmed to him.

'How old are you?' he asked, switching the subject.

"The answer would dazzle you, and I shall not give it. But I will say that I have watched this island and its people for over seven hundred years. I was even the king once.'

'Of which tribe?'

'Of all the tribes. Have you not heard of Cunobelin?'

"The Trinovante king? Yes. That was you?'

'For over forty years I ruled. I was a legend, they tell me. I helped build Camulodunum. Seutonius wrote of me that I was the Brittano-rum Rex - the king of all Britain - the greatest of the Belgic kings. Ah, but I had an ego in those days and I did like so to be flattered!'

'Some of the tribes believe that you will return when the land is threatened. It is taught around the camp-fires. I thought it a wonderful fable, but it could be true. You could come back; you could be king again.'

Culain saw the brightness of hope in the boy's eyes. 'I am not the king any longer, Thuro. And I have no wish to rule. But you can.'

Thuro shook his head. 'I am not like my father.'

'No, there is a great deal of your mother in you.'

'Did you know her?'

'Yes, I was there the day Maedhlyn brought your father home. Alaida gave up everything for him, including life. It is not a subject it pleases me to speak of, but you have a right. Alaida was my daughter, the only child I have fathered in my long life. She was nineteen when she left the Feragh, twenty when she died. Twenty! I could have killed Maedhlyn then. I nearly did. But he was so penitent I realised it was a greater punishment to leave him be.'

"Then you are my grandfather?' asked Thuro, savouring the feel of the word and seeing for the first time that Culain's eyes of wood-smoke grey were the image of his own.

'Yes,' said Culain.

'Why did you never come to see me? Did you hate me for killing my mother?'

'I think that I did, Thuro. Great age does not always ensure great wisdom - as Maedhlyn knows! I could have saved Alaida, but I refused to allow her to take a Stone from the Feragh.'

'Are the stones magical there?'

'Not all of them, but there is a special Stone we call the Sipstrassi, and it is the source of all magic. What a man can dream he can create. The most imaginative of men become Enhancers; they liven an otherwise tedious existence with their living dreams.'

'Maedhlyn is one of these,' said Thuro, 'I have seen him conjure winged horses no longer than my fingers, and whole armies to battle on my father's desk-top. He showed me Marathon and Thermopylae, Platea and Phillipi. I saw the great Julius fought to a standstill in Britain by Caswallon. I listened to Antony's funeral oration

'Yes, I too have seen these things,' said Culain, 'but I was speaking of Alaida.'

'I am sorry,' said Thuro, instantly contrite.

'Do not be. Boys and magic make for excitement. She had her own Stone but I would not allow her to take it from the Feragh. I thought, somehow, that when she needed me she would call. I knew I would hear her wherever I was. But she did not call. She chose to die. Such was her pride.'

'And you blame yourself for her death?'

'Who else would I blame? But that is in the past and you are the present. What am I to do with you?'

'Help me get back to Eboracum?' 'Not as you are, Thuro. You are only half a man. We must make you strong; you will not survive a day as the weakling prince.'

'Will  you  use  Stone  magic  to  make  me strong?'

'No. Earth magic,' said Culain. 'We will look inside you and see what we can find.' 'I am not cut out to be a warrior.' 'You are my grandson and the son of Aure-lius and Alaida. I think you will find that blood runs true. We already know you can swing an axe. What other surprises do you hold in store?' Thuro shrugged. 'I do not want to disappoint you, as I disappointed my father.'