Wolfking The Omnibus: Books 1-4

by Sarah Rayne

  Joanna said, as if she was fighting something very strong, “We should be continuing our journey …”

  Cormac said, “Yes, so we should.” And neither of them moved.

  Joanna remembered again about being aware of danger, and frowned and tried to identify the tug of memory. Cormac, struggling against the suffocating fatigue, found himself remembering only that they were all cold and tired, and that after all, this was only a lady on her own. He found that he was looking to where the house stood, half hidden by trees, and he caught a glimpse of warm lights in the windows and the leaping flare of firelight in one of the downstairs rooms, and he almost fancied he could smell the savoury aroma of cooking meat. He remembered that it was a long while since any of them had had a proper night’s rest in a proper bed; he remembered that Joanna, unquestionably the frailest of their company, had often looked tired and pinched, but that she had never once complained, that she had always been cheerful, amusing them with tales of her own world, teaching them songs to sing as they marched, learning some of their own songs. Joanna deserved a good meal and a warm fireside and a deep soft bed for a few hours.

  The lady said, as if the outcome did not matter to her either way, “You are most welcome to a bite of supper and a glass or two of wine. My house is always kept ready for travellers. And if you should care to sleep here tonight and set out for the Mountains by first light …”

  It was the “set out by first light” that succeeded in dissolving the last of Cormac’s fears. He thought: of course I am not the victim of any spell, and of course she did not walk round us in that circle earlier on. She is offering us no more than a night’s lodging, and we shall be on our way in the morning. By first light we shall be on our way.

  He said, “If it would in truth be no trouble to you?” and she smiled and said warmly, “No trouble at all, I promise. Will you come through the gates? That’s right. Close them to and drop the latch.”

  They followed her along a tree-lined path to the white house, and although Joanna thought briefly that it was much farther from the road than it had seemed, and rather larger than it had looked, she was too tired to worry. There was an air of unreality about everything now, thought Joanna. It would be because they were all so tired. That was all. There was nothing to worry about.

  “There is nothing to worry about,” said the lady, and the four travellers nodded and said, “There is nothing to worry about.”

  “You will come willingly into my house,” said the lady softly, and again they nodded and said yes, they would come willingly into her house.

  Joanna hesitated at the last minute, and turned on the threshold, thinking she had heard something — a voice? — in the trees that clustered thickly about the house. But then the wind made a faint shushing sound in the leaves, and a small hooting night creature flew out of a branch, and Joanna thought: well, perhaps it was only an owl, and turned back again.

  The house had a massive studded oak front door with a huge brass handle; their companion stepped forward to turn it.

  “And now come inside,” she said, standing outlined against the warmly lit hall for a moment, and there was something subtly different about her voice. A gloating? A satisfied purring? But there was no time to identify it, for they were all over the threshold and into the house before they quite knew how it had happened.

  “That’s right,” said the lady. “All of you. All of you safely inside my house at last. Close the door and shut us all in together.

  “My two sisters will be so pleased to see you.”

  *

  As the light from the wall sconces flared, the heavy enchantment fell from the minds of the four travellers, and Joanna saw that Cormac had turned very white. Then he moved to the door, and the lady let out a peal of laughter. “Locked and barred, traveller, locked and barred. Or should I perhaps say ‘Your Majesty’?” She moved round, so that the light fell fully across her face, and Joanna shivered, and felt again something stir within the depths of her mind.

  “Dimbrim an t-aibhirseoir …” Begone, banish, adversary …

  An old old language, once learned, once known so well, never truly forgotten …

  She looked again at the creature before them, and saw that the lady was smiling, a forked tongue licking and darting between her lips. A sense of familiarity, the feeling that this was all an old, old battle that had been fought and won, and fought again, began to grow within her.

  “Dimbrim, an t-aibhirseoir …”

  The lady was not looking at Joanna. She was watching Cormac, and a sly, satisfied smile was on her lips. “So easily lured,” she said. “So easily enchanted by the Draiocht Suan,” and Cormac, whose eyes had never left the lady, said softly, “The Enchanted Slumber. Of course,” and the Lady laughed again.

  “The Enchanted Slumber, indeed, Cormac. The very spell that your ancestress Dierdriu summoned to send the Trees into their Great Sleep. And still you did not suspect!” She studied him. “Cormac of the Wolves,” she said. “And the exiled High King of All Ireland. I salute you, Sire, and I am very glad to have you in my house. But then, you knew that one day I should do?”

  Cormac was standing very still, his eyes never leaving her. “Yes, I knew it, for it is bred in to all the High Kings, madam. You are Ireland’s enemy and you are the adversary of all who rule from Tara.”

  Adversary … Banish adversary … Joanna frowned, and then turned her attention back to the others.

  “I know you very well indeed,” said Cormac, and the lady laughed again, and Joanna shivered and thought: yes, she is very beautiful and yes, she is quite dreadfully evil.

  “I and my sisters live in your folklore and your legends. Am I not the hag your old men whisper of, and the sorceress your mothers protect their children from?” the lady said. She moved closer and looked into his face. “I fought your ancestress, the High Queen Dierdriu, and I vowed to be avenged on her line for ever.” She paused. “But truly, Sire, am I so ill-favoured? Could your loins not harden for me, and could you not spill your seed for me?” She pressed against him, her hips writhing, and a look of the purest revulsion flickered across Cormac’s face.

  He did not move, but screamed, in a voice Joanna had never heard him use, “Get from me, filth!” The lady laughed again, a cascade of delight that sent icy trickles of terror down Joanna’s spine.

  “Oh, you will be in my bed soon enough, Wolfking. You will obey my bidding.” She leaned closer, the forked tongue flickering in and out. “And then I shall cut out your heart and your kidneys and cook them. I shall ladle your blood into a golden goblet and drink it. I shall quaff you and devour you, Wolfking, and your puny kingdom will be my Master’s forever!”

  As she moved away, a red glint showed in Cormac’s eyes. His teeth gleamed white, and a snarl broke from him. He leapt for her, claws curved, eyes slitted and blazing, and for a moment, Joanna thought he would reach her, that he would rake those cruel nails across her flesh, and sink his teeth into her white skin.

  And he is capable of doing that, thought Joanna, caught between horror and a wish to see Cormac succeed. He is capable of it …

  But the lady was gone before he reached her. There was a hiss, as if cold water had been dashed into a blazing fire, and there was a wisp of thick, sour smoke, and all that was left were peals of mocking laughter echoing round the room.

  Cormac remained motionless for a moment, as if unable to believe what had happened. Then he turned. “I have led you into the most dreadful danger,” he said, and there was such a humility and such a defeat in his voice, that a knife twisted in Joanna’s heart. She went to stand beside him, not liking to show emotion before Gormgall and Dubhgall, but wanting to reach out and take him in her arms and somehow take away the hurt look from his eyes.

  “You could not know. None of us could know.” And she thought: oh damn! Why can I not be more articulate. Will he know what I am thinking? Yes, of course he will.

  Gormgall and Dubhgall were nodding their agreement. “It was
the enchantment, Sire,” said Gormgall. “The Draiocht Suan. Dear me, I never thought I’d succumb to that one.”

  Dubhgall said it just went to show you should never trust strangers. “I knew how it would be,” he said. “The minute we set foot in Muileann, I knew how it would be.”

  Joanna said, “But surely we couldn’t know, not really, what would happen?” And struggled to come to terms with a place where enchantments were there for the weaving, and people could be sent into drowsiness so profound, that they followed enemies and were lured into traps.

  “I did know,” said Cormac. “I knew with my heart and my guts that it was wrong to follow her.”

  “But you were the victim of a spell, Sire,” said Gormgall, as if that excused everything. “We were all of us victims of a spell.”

  Dubhgall said he had never trusted spells — nasty unpredictable things. “Mark my words, Sire, we won’t get out of this in the flicker of a gnat’s eyebrow,” he said, and stumped over to the window to see could they get out that way.

  “It’s bolted and barred,” said Gormgall, who had tried it himself not ten minutes before.

  “I know it is,” said Dubhgall crossly. “I’m only making sure.”

  Cormac sat down and looked at them all. “I did succumb,” he said, “I ought to have known what she was doing. I did know, really, deep down. It was only that —”

  “It was the mention of the fireside and the comfortable beds,” said Gormgall.

  “And the supper and being able to set off early tomorrow morning,” said Dubhgall. “That was clever of her.”

  “It was the Draiocht Suan,” said Gormgall firmly. “We all know what it was.”

  “I wanted Joanna to have a night’s rest. I wanted us all to have a good supper.” Cormac looked at Joanna as he said this, and Joanna wanted to cry.

  “The thing is,” said Gormgall, “if the Draiocht Suan had failed, she’d have tried something else. She’d have got us all in here by some means or other. Your Majesty knows that. She’s been the enemy of all the High Kings and Queens, ever since Dierdriu. She swore revenge all those centuries ago, and she has never stopped trying to find a way back to Tara.”

  “She will never rest until she has brought down the Royal House, Sire,” Dubhgall said.

  “Yes.” Cormac looked at them all. “And so I am face to face with her at last,” he said, and Joanna drew in her breath sharply.

  “You always knew that you would one day be confronted with her, Sire,” said Gormgall.

  “Yes.” Amusement lifted Cormac’s lips briefly. “At least she has not sought out the usurper. At least she recognises me as the true King.”

  “Begging your pardon, Sire, but I shouldn’t think that’s going to be much comfort to us before the night’s out,” said Dubhgall.

  Joanna, looking at them bewildered, said, “But what does any of it mean?”

  Cormac moved from the hearth and seated himself on a deep window seat. “She is the leader of the dread Morrigna,” he said. “The Three Sisters. And she is one of the most feared of all my family’s enemies. My ancestors have fought her down the generations, and although they have kept her at bay, they have never quite managed to destroy her.”

  Gormgall said, “Your own father, Sire, believed her to be indestructible.”

  “Yes.” Cormac frowned, and the firelight fell across his face, so that pinpoints of red light danced in his eyes. “I never agreed with him. I believe that one day she will be destroyed.” The grin lifted his face again. “I would very much like to go down in our history as the King who made an end to her, but she is the Queen of Phantoms, and she is very powerful and very clever.”

  “Tell me about her,” said Joanna, who was extremely frightened, but trying hard not to be. She thought it might be worse, rather than better, to know more about Morrigan, but she thought that at least it might give them an insight into the creature’s nature. Insights into your enemy were useful things to have.

  Cormac rearranged himself on the window seat, and Joanna thought that everything he did, every movement he made was just very slightly wolfish. Surely if anyone could get them out of here, he could.

  “At the beginning of Tara’s history, Morrigan and her two sisters, Macha and Scald-Crow, came out of the wild desolate northern isles,” Cormac began.

  “The people of those isles always coveted Tara,” explained Gormgall in an aside to Joanna, “and it is countless centuries since they gave allegiance to the Erl-King who promised them that he would one day rule from the Sun Chamber.”

  “Oh,” said Joanna, “I see. Thank you.”

  “There were many battles in those days,” said Cormac, “for Tara was not then the invincible palace it is now, and the first High Queen Dierdriu had to repel many invaders.

  “The Morrigna were the most powerful of all the invaders, for they had at their beck and call a truly fearsome army. The Dark Ireland,” said Cormac, his lips thinning in fastidious disgust. “Hags and crones and harpies: Macha’s family of monsters — numberless and endless, nourished on the filth of graveyards and suckled on the rotting flesh of battlefield corpses. Scald-Crow’s ability to become anything she chose, to suck whole armies into her eyes, and to swallow entire battalions with her maw. And Morrigan’s strong evil sorcery. Among them the Sisters summoned every dark enchantment ever known, so that their Master, the Erl-King, could possess Tara and crush Ireland.

  “But Dierdriu’s people beat them back. They fought long and dreadful wars — for Morrigan had no scruples about using her dread powers, and a war where sorcery is used is a terrible thing. But she was beaten back, and although she was not destroyed, in the end she retreated.

  “But before she did so, she cursed Dierdriu,” said Cormac. “Vilely and venomously she cursed her. It is from that curse that the founding of the Bloodline — the half-human, half-beast rulers — springs.”

  He stopped, and Joanna, scarcely daring to breathe, said, “Tell me.”

  “Morrigan could not injure Dierdriu,” said Cormac, “for Dierdriu was protected by the wisest and most scholarly sorcerers of Ireland. She had, as well, the Druids on her side, and although it is many centuries since the Druids swore allegiance to anyone other than themselves, they did swear allegiance to Dierdriu at the beginning.

  “Between them all, they created for the Queen the enchantment known as the Girdle of Gold — the strongest and most potent protection that has ever been known. It can encircle an entire City and render that City safe from any form of attack, and although it has long since been lost to my family, in those days Dierdriu possessed it and because of that, Morrigan could not harm her. They say she hovered over the battlefield in the last and most famous battle — the Battle for the Trees — and that the skies darkened and the air was filled with the screeching of her dark armies and with the beating of wings. But Dierdriu rode through them and they could not touch her.

  “Morrigan towered above the Queen herself then, her hair a mass of writhing snakes, her eyes molten, and sent out a curse that splintered the skies and brought drops of blood raining from the heavens. She cursed Dierdriu’s line for a hundred generations; she said, “Your line shall end with you, madam, and your children will die in the womb. Your seed shall never occupy Tara’s Throne, for it is destined for my Master.’

  “But Dierdriu bargained with the sorcerers, until at length a new enchantment was written into the Book of the Academy of Necromancers — and that,” said Cormac, “is something which can only be done when the Bright Palace itself is in the utmost peril.

  “The enchantment allowed the Royal Line of Ireland to lie with the animals, and to produce half-human, half-beast people who would rule from Tara and be immune to Morrigan’s curse. For,” said Cormac, “Morrigan’s curse was that of a sorceress cursing a pure human, and Dierdriu knew that if her descendants could become other than purely human, the curse would not touch them.”

  “That is why,” said Gormgall, as Cormac fell silent, “no purebr
ed human can ever occupy Tara’s Throne. That is why the Enchantment of the Bloodline is kept alive by our sorcerers, so that every third or fourth generation —”

  “Or when the Judges decide it is necessary,” put in Dubhgall.

  “Yes, or when the Judges decide it is necessary, the Great Ritual is celebrated, and the Enchantment invoked.”

  Joanna, listening, fascinated and absorbed, received a sudden fleeting impression of a forest at night, and a solemn procession, torch-lit and formal, converging on the forest’s heart, the Wolves waiting there, their eyes bright, their fur sleek.

  The Draiocht Prionsa den Fhiorfhuil … The Enchantment for the Princes of the Blood … And once I knew it so well … Once I stood at the forest’s heart and welcomed that torch-lit procession, and once I stood and watched as the first Bloodline of all was created. Strength welled up inside her, and with it the beginnings of a very great anger.

  Begone Morrigan … banish, adversary …

  Dubhgall was explaining about the curse placed on Tara by Morrigan. “And once a curse is uttered,” he said, “properly uttered, with full knowledge and full understanding, it’s very nearly impossible to kill it. You can turn it aside if you are very clever — as Dierdriu did — but you can’t unmake it. Nasty soulless things, curses. Personally, I wouldn’t touch one.”

  “Morrigan has never ceased to hate Dierdriu’s line,” said Cormac. “She vowed to seek out every descendant of Dierdriu who occupied the Ancient Throne and kill them, by trickery or sorcery, or ordinary human violence.” He looked at Joanna as he said this, and Joanna felt again the implacable anger against Morrigan.

  Cormac said softly, “My friends, we are in the hands of one of Ireland’s greatest enemies, and if we do not outwit her, then Tara will fall into the hands of Morrigan’s master.”

  “Her master?” said Joanna.

  “The Erl-King,” said Cormac, and for a moment a terrible silence fell.