Knights Of Dark Renown (40 page)

Lamfhada rose to his feet. ‘I can help you with that,’ he said softly. ‘I can join you. But the risks are very great.’

‘Do it,’ Manannan told him.

‘No!’ cried Elodan. ‘It is a burden I could not bear. To risk death myself is one matter, but to know that all of you could die? No, I will not agree.’

‘I am not a brave man,’ said Errin, ‘but the cause is more important than the lives of five men. And if we can give you strength, then let us do it.’

Elodan looked from one to another. ‘Only if all are agreed,’ he said, switching his gaze at last to Ubadai. ‘You speak, my friend. Always you are silent at our meetings. And yet, when Errin led his troop into the enemy camp, you insisted on going with him. You never shirk danger. I would value your counsel.’

Ubadai grinned. ‘I say no, and it is no?’

‘Exactly,’ said Elodan.

The Nomad turned to Errin. ‘You want this?’

‘I do.’

‘You too?’ Ubadai asked Llaw.

The warrior shrugged. ‘I don’t know what extra strength I can supply - but, yes, I am willing.’

‘All is madness,’ said the Nomad. ‘But I am mad too. Angry mad. Let us kill the whoreson together.’

Lamfhada walked to the centre of the circle and sat down. ‘I want you all to join hands,’ he said, ‘then close your eyes and picture Elodan in your minds.’ Lamfhada’s spirit rose from his body; he covered the circle in a glowing sphere of Gold and moved to Manannan, then to Llaw and Errin, and finally to Ubadai.

Elodan felt the influx of power from the Once-Knight in a surge of confidence that bordered on arrogance. The strength of a man who had never been bested in battle flowed through him. But he rode above it - for he had lost, and in that knowledge of despair lay strength. Llaw’s soul came next and with it the extraordinary endurance of the common man - born without wealth or privilege, yet possessing the ability to withstand the many and varied perils of this bloody time. Like an oak was Llaw, deep-rooted and enduring. Errin followed. Nobility of spirit and the courage to overcome his fears flowed with him. Lastly the Nomad Ubadai, fiercely loyal to the master he loved and ready to die to protect him.

Elodan’s eyes opened and he gazed at Lamfhada. ‘You did well, Armourer,’ he said. ‘I thank you.’ The other Knights were lying back on the grass, scarcely breathing.

Rising, Elodan said, ‘It is time, I think.’

‘The Source of All Life be with you, Elodan,’ said Lamfhada.

Elodan strode to his stallion and mounted. He saw Samildanach waiting, and behind him the army of the King stretching across the valley.

Touching spurs to his mount, the Lord Knight of the Gabala rode down the long hill.

Samildanach watched as the Lord Knight of the Gabala cantered his mount towards him. He had been prepared for combat, but had not anticipated the tremendous shock of seeing his own armour on another man. Worse, he had the impression that he was watching himself ride out to battle. He remembered the sense of pride he had experienced when first he donned the silver helm.

Images ripped through his mind: Morrigan in the garden, andj then dying on the floor of the King’s bedchamber; Cairbre lecturing him on points of duty and honour, Cairbre in the pale coffin; Manannan debating the chivalric code, Manannan calling him a demon.

Somewhere deep inside him a chain snapped and he shook his head, fighting to force away the memories.

Ollathair, gentle Ollathair, smiling at the success of a golden bird as it soared under the sun; Ollathair sagging to the ground, Samildanach’s knife in his belly.

Stop it! Leave me alone!

Elodan dismounted and walked some yards to the left, drawing his sword and plunging it into the earth. From the forest all around them came the fighting men of the rebellion. Silently they marched down to sit facing the army of the King. Samildanach lifted his leg over the pommel of his saddle and slid to the ground. Kill him, he thought. Return to the Vyre. There they will tend your restless spirit.

The voice of the girl child as she was led into his chambers the first time he needed Nourishment came to him: ‘Please don’t hurt me! Please don’t hurt me.

‘Are you ready?’ Elodan asked.

‘Yes,’ Samildanach answered. ‘I am ready.’ Now Morrigan’s voice was echoing in his mind:

‘Can you not see what. . . we have become? Oh, Samildanach! We are corrupting everything we . . . touch . . . I loved you more than life. And now ... I don’t even know what it means.’

‘Don’t talk. Let me bind your wrists; we can save your life.’

‘There is nothing to save. I died back in the City of the Vyre when I became one of the Undead -just like you, my love.’

‘What is wrong with you? Draw your sword,’ said Elodan.

The dark blade snaked into the air and Elodan blocked, but only just in time, and the combat commenced. He fought for his life against the greatest swordsman he had ever known. Cairbre had been more than talented, but Samildanach’s skill was astounding. Speed, balance and lightning reflexes confounded all Elodan’s attempts to attack. The dark sword crashed against his breastplate, smashing a hinge and severing the brass-edged leather straps. The armour sagged. Elodan ducked under a sweeping blow and thundered a stroke against Samildanach’s shoulder that ripped loose a crimson plate. Samildanach staggered back.

‘What happened to that glorious young knight?
’ whispered Morrigan, from the caverns of his soul.

The dark blade flashed forward, but Elodan blocked it with ease and sent a counter that tore through a curved hip-plate, sending it spinning to the grass. Samildanach returned to the attack with a riposte of blistering speed, his sword ripping into Elodan’s helm. Stars exploded before the Lord Knight’s eyes and his vision swam. He hurled himself back and - more by luck than skill - blocked a sweep that would have torn his head from his shoulders. Samildanach moved in for the kill - and stopped.

‘Please don’t hurt me!
’ came the child’s voice from his memory.

‘Leave me alone!’ screamed Samildanach.

Elodan staggered and drew a deep, shuddering breath. His vision cleared and he saw his opponent staring at the sky: ‘Leave me alone!’

‘Samildanach!’

The Red Knight swung. ‘I’ll kill you,’ he shouted and once more the battle was joined. Elodan fought off the frenzied attack, landing counter-blow after counterblow against the crimson armour. A great crack appeared down the centre of Samildanach’s breastplate and his visor was hacked away. Yet still he came on. A second blow loosened Elodan’s helm, which twisted, partially blocking his vision. Samildanach ran in, holding his great blade doub|f-handed; Elodan ducked sharply, and the hissing sword swept over his head. Off balance for the first time, Samildanach stumbled to the earth. Elodan swiftly dropped his sword and lifted clear his damaged helm. Bareheaded, he gathered his blade as Samildanach regained his feet.

‘You are not me!’ screamed Samildanach. ‘You can never be me!’

‘I would not wish to be,’ replied Elodan, staring into the haunted eyes of the Red Knight.

‘None of us is what we would wish to be,’ said Samil-danach. ‘And now it is time for you to die.’ His sword hissed down with tremendous force and Elodan dropped to his knees, sweeping his blade above his head to block the killer blow. The swords clanged together . . . and Elodan’s silver blade snapped a foot above the hilt.

Samildanach’s sword swept up, his eyes gleaming with the joy of triumph.

‘What happened to that glorious young knight?’
Samil-danach froze . . . and swiftly Elodan rammed the broken sword through the crack in the Red Knight’s breastplate, plunging it deep into his chest. Blood welled from the wound, spilling over Elodan’s hand. Samildanach staggered, but the dark blade rose again above Elodan’s unprotected head.

Down it flashed — to stop an inch short of Elodan’s neck. The blade tapped gently on Elodan’s right shoulder, then crossed to touch lightly on the left. Samildanach dropped to his knees. Inside him all was turmoil, and he could feel the souls of his Knights struggling to be free of his dying body. But he held them trapped.

Elodan moved to him. ‘Why did you let me live?’ he asked. ‘Why?’

‘What happened to that glorious young knight?
’

‘I died ... a long . . . time ago,’ whispered Samildanach, falling forward into Elodan’s arms. The Lord Knight laid the corpse on the grass and rose to a roaring cheer from the rebels.

A stout middle-aged man walked out from the King’s army. He halted before Elodan and bowed.

‘My name is Kar-schen. The war is over, sir Knight. I offer myself- and my regiments - to your cause.’

‘I have no cause,’ said Elodan. ‘I am the Lord Knight of the Gabala.’

‘Welcome back,’ greeted Kar-schen.

EPILOGUE

Llaw Gyffes refused the opportunity to march on Furbolg and seize the crown, and Kar-schen returned to the city and the Ebony Throne. Errin and Ubadai surrendered their armour and rode back to Errin’s estates. Kar-schen gave Errin the Duchy of Mactha and the new Duke asked Sheera to be his Duchess. She pondered the proposal for four months, and they were married in the temple of Furbolg on the last day of autumn.

Arian and Llaw were wed in a simple ceremony attended by Bucklar, Ramath and the other rebel leaders, after which they journeyed deep into the mountains to build a home where the air was clean, the rivers pure and the stars close.

Lamfhada renounced his role as Armourer and became the Dagda, the Guardian of the Colours. He roamed the Forest of the Ocean as a Healer and a Seer, and waited ninety-four years, eleven months and three days to pass on the mantle to a surprised youth who did not want it.

Elodan and Manannan rode through the Black Gate to aid the Nomads brought as victims for the Vyre.

They did not return.