Wolfking The Omnibus: Books 1-4

by Sarah Rayne

  “It’s no more in order than anything else in this unnatural place,” said Dubhgall crossly. “This place reeks of evil, if Your Majesty will pardon me for saying so. The sooner we all get out of here, the happier I shall be. As for bobbing lights, when everything else’s been pitch black for the last two hours — well, I wouldn’t trust them, Your Majesty. Not by the breadth of a mouse’s whisker, would I trust them.” “Dubhgall’s right,” said Cormac. “Although I should feel happier if I knew who was carrying that light and coming towards us.”

  In the dark, his hand went to his sword, and Joanna said, “Oh please let’s get on. The houses are thinning out here — we must be quite near to the other city wall. If we can just reach that alleyway —”

  “There’s a light up in the Mill,” said Gormgall in rather a strangled voice. “And look! There’s another behind those houses. I don’t like this, Sire.”

  “And there’s another at the end of the alley,” said Dubhgall. “Gormgall’s right, Your Majesty. This bodes ill.”

  “We must keep walking quite naturally,” said Cormac. “As if we have nothing to hide. If we begin to behave suspiciously, we shall be lost.”

  It was harder than any of them would have believed possible to walk casually through the cobbled streets, keeping up a light conversation. Dubhgall resurrected the story of his fifth cousin, to whose house they were supposedly going, and related the tale of some mythical great uncle’s gout. Gormgall contributed his mite by saying “Oh really?” and “Is that so?” at intervals. Joanna clung to Cormac’s hand, and tried not to see the lights that flared and then died all around them, as if they were signals of some kind. Had that blaze of light from the Mill been the sign? A single sudden flare, and everyone down in Muileann had seen it and known what it meant, and said: aha! and oh ho! so there are enemies amongst us! Out and after them!

  The lights were not the solid comforting yellow squares of candlelight that Joanna had known in Tugaim. They were not, either, the warm, faintly scented flares used by Cormac and the Cruithin. Joanna liked those; they had a red glow and made you think of log fires and applewood burning, and of safely-bolted doors, and mulled wine, and tales told round the hearth.

  The lights of Muileann were dull and rather smeary looking. They burned up and then died quickly, but they showed you brief glimpses of narrow cul-de-sacs and dark corners, and Joanna began to have the impression that every time a light flared, it just missed showing you a something that had been lying hidden. It was particularly horrid to think of all those unseen somethings. But perhaps I am only imagining it, thought Joanna. Then she saw the gleam of red eyes from the shadows: she heard claws pattering across the cobblestones. Once there was the slither of a long tail across the stones, and once there was a sound that was like something scaly and damp creeping away to their right.

  And then the whispering began.

  Gormgall clapped his hands to his ears and said, “This is dreadful,” and Dubhgall turned white. Cormac set his jaw, and took Joanna’s hand and Joanna thought that even in the dull light, even dressed in a borrowed cloak and carrying a rush basket, he looked exactly what he was. The Wolfking of Tara … Oh God, don’t let him be recognised. Oh God, let us escape. Just as far as the next row of houses.

  The voices seemed to come from out of the shadows; they were on all sides of the travellers, first coming from the left, and then the right. Several times, the company turned sharply, expecting to see the Miller’s men rushing down on them, but each time the street behind was empty.

  The whispers had horrid hissing voices, they were malevolent and greedy and cold. You could easily imagine that the owners of such voices would be thin bony people with hard soulless faces and cold flat eyes. They would put you in a cage and prod you with their hard bony fingers to see if you had fattened up enough for the banquet … Someone will be devoured tomorrow night … No, no! I won’t listen! cried Joanna to herself and gripped Cormac’s hand harder.

  But it was impossible to shut the voices out, they echoed about the four travellers’ heads and ran slyly in and out of the tall warehouses on each side of the street.

  This-s-s one — this-s-s one for the Master’s table — A fine fat feas-s-st — that one we’ll mince and that one we’ll stew and that one we’ll cut into cold collops-ss — oh, a fine fat feast — set the Millwheels up my dears — turn the handles and open the gates — grind the bones and there’ll be silver platters for human bodies and there’ll be golden goblets for human blood — stew and mince and roast, my dears-s-s — that one first and that one next — fetch the cages, my dears, and lay the table …

  Joanna said, “Oh God, this is unbearable.”

  “With respect, Sire, shouldn’t we make a run for it now —”

  “We’re within sight and sound of the dark lands on the other side of Muileann, Sire.”

  Cormac said, “Yes. Yes, you’re right. All hold hands. On no account become separated.” And Joanna drew a great lungful of breath for the run and searched for Gormgall’s hand.

  “… and sharpen the knives-s-s,” said the voices. “Grease the pans and heat the fat — that’s the way, my dears …”

  “Ready?” said Cormac.

  “‘Light the fires and heat the pots

  Sizzle the fat in the waiting vats.

  Mince and stew and roast and batter,

  Pour the juice in the Erl-King’s platter.’”

  Cormac shouted “Run!” and Joanna felt Gormgall start forward. And then two things happened at once. The bobbing light they had spotted earlier came round a curve in the road; a dark shape barred their way. And the whispers shut off as abruptly as if a door had been slammed on them.

  The four travellers stopped and Joanna felt Cormac’s thoughts flow outwards to them.

  Steady. Behave as if we have nothing to hide. On no account make a run for it now. Courage.

  The blessed darkness that lay beyond the city wall was suddenly as remote as the stars. Joanna felt a great wave of despair. Had they then come this far only to be caught on the very edge of the Miller’s territory?

  They moved forward, walking quite normally, and the figure with the lantern came nearer.

  Cormac laid a restraining hand on Joanna; he called out, “Trathnona maith agat,” and Joanna whispered to Gormgall, “What is he saying?”

  “He’s bidding the person good evening.”

  “There’s precious little that’s good about it,” said Dubhgall, but he said it in a mutter, so that the stranger would not hear.

  Cormac said, “You are as late abroad as we are.” And there was the smallest pause. Joanna thought: we are being inspected. To see if we are of interest? And waited, hardly daring to breathe.

  Quite suddenly there was a low feminine chuckle, and a soft voice said mischievously, “Oh, I am up to no good, or so the people of Muileann would tell you,” and Joanna thought: a woman! and heard Gormgall draw in his breath sharply.

  Cormac said, quite smoothly, “We are on our way to our kin in the Morne Mountains, and must pass through the valley. But for sure, this is strange countryside. Tell me, Lady, what do they call this place?” and Dubhgall, who was bringing up the rear of the party, muttered to Joanna, “Oh ho, so he’s using that trick, is he? Making her tell us what she’s up to, instead of waiting for it to be the other way about. My word, he’s his father’s son and no mistake.” He rubbed his hands gleefully, and Joanna, who wanted to hear the conversation properly, snapped, “Be quiet.”

  The lady had lowered the lantern so that the light fell across her face, and they saw that she was tall and slender and rather pale. But her mouth is greedy, thought Joanna, and felt a prickle of wariness.

  There was the pause again, as if the lady was considering how best to answer Cormac. Then, “This is Muileann,” she said. “They call it the town of the Giant Miller, but of course, that is just an old legend.”

  “Is it?” said Gormgall.

  “Well,” said the lady, drawing closer. “I�
�ve never seen any Miller.” She smiled, and Joanna found herself thinking that after all she was rather attractive. It was only that her lips were too full and too red.

  All the better to eat you with …? No, of course not!

  “You have a long journey ahead of you,” said their new companion. “And you will surely not reach the Morne Mountains before the morning.”

  “It is a long journey,” said Cormac equably.

  “And that being so, we’d best get on with it,” put in Gormgall.

  “Of course. But you are surely going in the wrong direction for the mountain path?”

  “This looked to be the best way,” said Cormac, and the lady smiled rather engagingly.

  “It will get you there, of course. And you cannot miss the mountains. But you could take a quicker route. Would you allow me to be your guide? As far as the city gates? I am not of Muileann, but I know its highways.”

  “Thank you, but I believe we must not trouble you,” said Cormac with exquisite courtesy, and Joanna breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Then I will walk with you if I may,” said the lady, “for my house is on the edges of Muileann and I should be glad of some company.” She drew a little nearer, and said in an amused voice, “Truth to tell, I have been visiting a gentleman, and it would not do for it to be known.” A grin and a shrug. “People are so narrow, you understand. And I believe our ways lie together.”

  It was, of course, impossible to refuse. In Joanna’s world, as well as in this one, there was a kind of unwritten law of chivalry amongst travellers. Company could be sought and offered; a person travelling alone could be given the protection of a larger party. A lady travelling alone could expect such protection almost as a right. Joanna wished she could rid herself of the feeling that their companion neither sought nor needed protection.

  The lady was watching them, waiting, an amused look on her face. Cormac said the only thing he could say: “We should be glad of your company,” and she smiled, her eyes crinkling up at the corners.

  “I am rather unprincipled,” she said. “But I promise you I am not an enemy.”

  At the back of the party, Dubhgall murmured, “I wonder is that meant to make us feel better?” but nobody heard him.

  “This is an odd township,” said Cormac, as they walked through the now silent streets, their footsteps ringing out on the cobblestones. Joanna noticed that he was keeping the lady a little apart from them. In case there was some kind of attack from her? So that three of them at least should escape? No, surely that was ridiculous. Even so, Joanna wished that their companion had not that greedy red mouth.

  “Muileann is rather odd,” agreed the lady. “It has a gruesome history, of course. You have heard of the Miller? Yes, I can see you have. He must have been a terrible figure.”

  “Does he no longer exist?” queried Gormgall.

  “I don’t think he has existed for many years,” she said. “Although I believe his people preserve his memory. To keep unwanted strangers out, you understand. No more than that.” She hesitated. “Tell me,” she said, drawing a little closer to them, “did you have the misfortune to stray into the Street of the Whisperers?”

  For a moment no one answered, then Cormac said, “We heard something we could not entirely explain. But it may have been a trick of the night. The wind, perhaps …”

  “It is no trick,” said the woman and looked about her. “Men say it is the echo of a dark and evil race who once lived here and served the Miller. Many have heard the Whisperers. I too, once —” Her voice broke off. “It is a frightening experience,” she said. “I beg you, do not let us speak of it any more, for it is said that the echo can sometimes hear … But I daresay it is all only fancy.” She smiled at them.

  Presently Gormgall said, “I see the city wall directly ahead of us,” and Joanna saw it as well, and felt a rush of thankfulness. The city wall. Nearly there. Nearly through this strange sinister place. If we can once reach the wall and be through the gates.

  “Yes, that is the wall that girdles Muileann,” said their companion. “A little beyond it lies my house.” She hesitated and looked at them all one by one. “I wonder — would you step inside and rest for a while? You have been kind enough to bear me company —”

  “I think we should continue our journey,” said Cormac, and Joanna felt Gormgall and Dubhgall each give a sigh of relief.

  “Of course,” said the lady. “You are making for the house of your kin. No doubt you are expected. Forgive me.” She appeared to lose interest, turning to point out to Cormac some ancient tower or other that could be seen against the sky, and Joanna thought: perhaps after all she is only a chance-met traveller. Perhaps she is no more and no less than she appears.

  They walked through the great north gate of Muileann unchallenged, as they had been when they came into the town. “Oh, there are no sentries or guards now,” cried the lady, amused. “People come and go all the time. Travellers and pilgrims …” She smiled in the flickering light of the lantern. “I have given many of them hospitality,” she said. “For I like to talk with people from other lands. One should always listen and learn, do you not agree? It keeps the mind alert and young, and it is my belief that where the mind is young, so is the body.” She grinned, gamine fashion. “I freely confess that there have been one or two gentlemen kind enough to tell me that my philosophy has worked for me.”

  Cormac said with instinctive gallantry, “I am sure it is not kindness that prompted them, madam,” and in the rear Dubhgall sneezed disgustedly.

  They walked on down the road, and Joanna wondered whether it was only her fancy that it was a much darker road than any they had travelled. There was a rather disturbing feeling of hidden watchers again, of shapeless, nameless things that waited.

  Presently their companion lifted her lantern and pointed, the wide cloak falling back a little to reveal a slender white arm. “My house. You see? Behind the trees. Lights are always burning at my windows for weary travellers, and inside there is always a good meal prepared, roaring fires in the rooms and comfortable beds.” She stopped and looked at them, and for a moment it seemed as if the narrow green eyes slanted and grew larger, and as they did so, the four travellers, who had all been feeling quite reasonably fresh and well, became abruptly aware of extreme fatigue.

  Joanna, who was nearest to the lady, thought: a comfortable bed! and tried to remember when she had last slept in one. It did not matter, of course, not really, because she had become quite at home with Cormac’s people and with the rigours of marching and camping. She had rather enjoyed it. But now, quite unexpectedly, the idea of a comfortable bed that you sank into and that welcomed you with a feather-stuffed base and perhaps feather-lined pillows as well, was overpoweringly seductive. She could almost feel the thin cool sheets brushing her skin … she could certainly feel how the fatigue would smooth out from her aching limbs. But she thought they ought not to enter anyone’s house without seriously considering what they were doing, and she thought they definitely ought not to enter anyone’s house in Muileann, because Muileann was where all the dangers were … For a moment, she thought that the Nightcloak stirred and then she thought it had only been a breath of wind. For another second, she thought there was something familiar about the lady — or had that been in another life somewhere? — and then the feeling vanished, and the fatigue was back, and really, it would be so wonderful to surrender to sleep, to sink into that deep soft bed …

  Gormgall and Dubhgall, were aware of fatigue as well, although Gormgall was also aware of hunger, and was thinking, rather guiltily, how very good it would be to sit down to a meal, properly cooked, piping hot, where you did not have to remember that you were on the march, and that rations had to be shared. Dubhgall, who felt the cold, even with an extra jerkin, and whose chilblains had been troublesome at nights, dwelled hopefully on the idea of roaring fires so fiercely hot that you had to back away from them. And surely, surely, it could not matter to accept an hour or two’s hospit
ality from this really very ordinary, chance-met traveller, and even though they were inside Muileann where the dangers might be, even then, surely it could not matter …

  Cormac was the last to surrender to the drowsiness that had overcome the others. He had been the most alert since they entered Muileann, because he, of them all, knew the tales and the dreadful legends that surrounded Muileann and the Miller. He had known that they would almost certainly be the victims of some kind of attack, and when the lady had appeared, friendly and welcoming, every sense had responded, and he had thought: is this it? Is she a friend, or is she something quite different? And thought that for sure it would be a strange thing indeed to meet a truly friendly soul in Muileann.

  He had opened his mind to its utmost, and he had used the Samhailt to its greatest limits, and he had been able to read nothing at all from the lady’s mind. There had been a brief blur of greyness and coldness, and then there had been nothing at all. He thought she had deliberately set up a barrier so that he should not see her thoughts, and he thought that after all that in itself was not sinister, because people who did not possess the Samhailt themselves, were often aware of it. A ripple on the air. A feeling that their minds were being pierced. But there was that coldness and there was certainly the blurred greyness, and Cormac, summoning up every drop of wolfblood, thought: I do not know she is evil, not logically or sensibly. But I smell that she is.

  The lady smiled, and appeared to concentrate all her attention on him, and Cormac, looking at the narrow green eyes, thought that after all she was not so very frightening. She was only one woman on her own. And they were all of them tired … He shook his head to clear it of the sleepiness, and he thought: but she is walking round us in a circle, and fought against the heavy drowsiness, because every enchantment ever woven by the sorcerers called for a circle in some form or another. The circle was the most powerful of all the spells … I do not trust her, thought Cormac, feeling his eyelids become heavy, we must be very careful indeed … we must not fall into any traps … It is only that I am so tired, and the others as well …