Wolfking The Omnibus: Books 1-4

by Sarah Rayne

  The Erl-King said, “Exactly, High King. And more …” He appeared to dismiss Cormac and moved on to where Joanna stood. The black eyes glittered.

  “Madam,” said the Erl-King, in a tone of deep satisfaction. “We have waited a long time for this, you and I.” He looked at her closely. “When Morrigan told me, I did not at first believe her. Dierdriu of the Nightcloak, the High Queen returned. But you were always ridiculously sentimental, my dear. You were always chivalrous. So you have come back to save your people from me, have you?” Again the dreadful smile. “You are too late, Dierdriu,” said the Erl-King, “for I have Ireland within my grasp, and all your puny enchantments and all your pure magic will avail you naught.” He leaned closer, and Joanna stood very still. “The last battle, Dierdriu,” he said, “and already you are inside my Citadel, and already you are locked within my Banqueting Chamber.”

  Joanna said very steadily, “It was a long time ago that we met, sir. But I do not forget any of it.”

  “Nor I, my dear.” The eyes flickered again, and the lascivious note crept into the beautiful voice again. “Do you recall the vow I made, Dierdriu?”

  “Let us say I have forgotten it.”

  A smile lifted the bony jaw again. “I vowed that one day I should defeat you, Dierdriu, and that when I did so, you would be forced to serve me as a woman.” His eyes raked her body. “And so you shall, my dear, so you shall. After the blood of your friends has aroused me to the highest pitch of human excitement, I shall have other appetites to satisfy. I think you have already experienced the caresses of Morrigan. I think you did not much care for them. Shall we see what happens when you are in my bed, Dierdriu? Shall we see how you respond when you are lying beneath me? I am an expert in every level of torture ever thought of, or dreamed of, or hoped for, Dierdriu. Before this night is over, you will be begging me to kill you. You may yet see the dawn break, but it will be a terrible dawn.”

  Joanna said very loudly, “If you touch me, I shall kill you,” and the Erl-King laughed, a low, blurred sound of mirth.

  “You would not even manage to lift your hand to strike me,” he said. “For I am bound by your own Enchantment, the magical Girdle of Gold you yourself coaxed the sorcerers to weave. How ironic, how beautifully and superbly ironic, that it should now be that very Enchantment that protects me from you.” He regarded her. “While I possess that, nothing can harm me.” He moved away with graceless gait, and seated himself at the stone banqueting table.

  “Commence,” he said to the hunchback, “for I grow weary with waiting. And I have waited a very long time.”

  As the hunchback went to the door, Morrigan moved eagerly to the brazier and lifted a shallow copper cooking pot on to the heat.

  *

  To the horrified prisoners, none of whom had ever watched or even heard of a theatrical performance, the most chilling part of what followed was the organised manner of it all, the sheer systematic smoothness. Every person who played a part in the Erl-King’s terrible banquet knew exactly what he had to do; every person did what he must quickly and efficiently, and with practised ease. Joanna remembered an old Lethe word: orchestrated, and she thought that the banquet was orchestrated. A ritual often repeated. Practised until it was perfect. Terrible. To begin with she thought she would be sick, and then she thought she would faint. But she did neither; she remained quietly where she had been put by the guards, and she saw, with absolute clarity, all that took place.

  The hunchback and the guards had brought in two prisoners that none of them had seen until now. Fellow captives in the narrow rock-lined cells? Yes, probably. Cormac, who knew a little more than the others about the Erl-King’s ways, thought the boys had probably been captured earlier that day by the hunchback, and brought up to the Citadel.

  The boys were very young. They were white-faced and trembling, but the elder of the two was putting up a heartbreaking show of bravery, eyeing the Erl-King with defiance, pushing way the restraining hands of the guards.

  The Erl-King said softly, “So you will defy us, will you, my dears? I wonder how you will behave when we have you on the tables, little defiant ones?” The boy’s head came up, and Joanna, aching with pity for them both, saw their eyes dart to the hollowed-out centres of the two high tables. She thought that the boys were a bit dazzled and bewildered by the candlelit chamber, and she thought they had the not-quite-focussed look of people who have been kept captive in a dark place. They were blinking and flinching from the candlelight, and for some reason this roused a fierce anger in Joanna. She thought: but they are children! And remembered what Cormac had said at the very beginning. The Erl-King eats the children. Anger flooded her body and with it strength, and she tensed to spring at Morrigan and wrest the Night-cloak from her. But even as she drew breath to move, Morrigan leaned back and drew the cloak about her, tying the cords beneath her chin, and Joanna leaned back, because it would clearly be impossible to get the Nightcloak while Morrigan was wearing it.

  But she cannot wear it for long, Joanna … remember …? Only a purebred Human can use the Cloak, and only a purebred Human can wear it for any length of time … be watchful …

  Morrigan said suddenly, “Tie the prisoners tighter. The Wolfking is known for his chivalry, and the others may make some absurd attempt at a rescue.” She smiled the snake-smile. “My Master does not care to be interrupted while he is being pleasured,” said Morrigan softly. And then, as the guards moved, “Leave the High Queen,” and her forked tongue flickered. “My Master will wish her to be left free for she will not be going to the Table yet. We may both wish her left whole.”

  The other guards were dragging the boys to the two tables, and as their eyes adjusted to the light, the younger one seemed to become fully aware. He began to scream, dreadful trapped-hare screams, pleading and struggling as they dragged him across the floor. Joanna saw that his nails were scrabbling at the stones, trying to find something to hold on to, but the guards had him by his legs, and they pulled him with ease to the tables, his nails tearing from his fingers as he was taken.

  The Erl-King seemed to rouse. His great black eyes glittered, and he sat up a little straighter, watching the boy. Morrigan glanced at him and then said, “That one for the knife. The other one will watch.” And, turning to the five prisoners, “You will watch also. It will prepare you for what is ahead.” She raised the knife, lying by the brazier, and honed it on a rough whetstone, smiling as she did so. “There is nothing my Master likes so well as the warm fresh meat of a young boy,” said Morrigan softly.

  The guards had strapped the first boy down, and as Morrigan stood over him, seeming to tower to a great height, the boy, his eyes bolting from his head, sagged, his head rolling in unconsciousness.

  “Weakling,” said Morrigan, and lifted the knife.

  “A weakling indeed,” said the Erl-King, watching, his head rested on his hand. “But commence. Position the other one so that he can see what is done.”

  Morrigan stood back and the guards adjusted the leather straps. “Secure?”

  “Quite secure, Mistress.”

  “Then,” said Morrigan, “we shall commence.” She turned her head to look at the Erl-King.

  “Now!” exclaimed the Erl-King and Morrigan lifted the bright sharp knife.

  To begin with there was no sound, and then little by little, they became aware that there was a sound. The gentle cutting of flesh, the parting of muscle and the ripping open of tendons and skin. A ripping fraying sound. A snipping sound. Bits of flesh and lumps of skin.

  Once Morrigan said, “His skin is like a peach in full bloom. A pity I could not have had the use of him for a night or two.” A little later she said, “Tender, Master. He will serve us well. Turn up the heat, you,” and the hunchback lolloped across the room and flung more wood and strongly scented herbs into the brazier.

  Morrigan was calm and unhurried, and even graceful about her gruesome work. Once the boy seemed to revive a little, his head lifting, a deep moan breaking
from his lips, and Morrigan stood back and waited, and the Erl-King tilted his head. Then — “Dead,” said Morrigan contemptuously. “A weakling indeed. Shall I go on with him?”

  “Go on,” said the Erl-King.

  Morrigan bent over again, her long hair falling across her face. She was slicing into thicker flesh now; upper thighs and lower soft belly, fleshy arms. Blood had bubbled and spurted over and spilled into the deep channels at the sides of the tables. The hunchback moved quickly, placing golden chalices to catch it.

  Golden goblets for human blood … So it is true, thought the prisoners, and the Erl-King turned his head and smiled.

  “Yes, my poor victims, it is true.”

  The blood was running sluggishly now, and there was the stench of it in the room, and a taste like tin on the air. Morrigan lifted the raw slices of pale flesh and transferred them to the waiting copper pan, and then placed it over the heat. She turned back to the boy, cutting again, gouging into the stomach. The inner organs began to spill out. Liver, lungs, kidneys … a layer of rich yellow fat just beneath the skin … the glimpse of raw stringy muscle and the whiteness of ribs …

  The smell of the sizzling flesh cooking was filling the stone chamber now. Incredibly, the smell was barely indistinguishable from the smell of roasting pork, and to Joanna’s horror, a pang of involuntary hunger twisted her stomach, to be followed by an abrupt nausea.

  The Erl-King stood up and leaned forward. “The feast!” he said in a high excited voice. “The feast! Quickly!” and Morrigan began transferring the slices of cooked flesh to the silver plates.

  Silver platters for human bones …

  The Erl-King fell upon the pale meat, holding up each piece and inspecting it before conveying it to his mouth. Rivulets of warm fat ran down his jaws and his body quivered. Once he looked towards Cormac and said, “Your turn before long, Wolfking,” and Cormac snarled and turned away. Joanna, who had been waiting for Morrigan to discard the Nightcloak, thought they must surely try to save the second boy, but Cormac threw out a warning at once.

  You will never get the cloak while Morrigan is wearing it …

  With the thought, Joanna saw Morrigan shift uneasily, and put up a hand to loosen the cloak’s fastenings. Hope welled up inside her, and she thought that of course Cormac was right, and of course Morrigan would not be able to bear wearing it for very much longer. If only the Nightcloak was strong enough …

  The Erl-King was hunting amongst the litter of plates, almost sniffing at them, as if to ensure that no morsel of edible meat remained. Once he lifted the golden chalice and they saw it stain his jowls with red. A film of yellowish grease covered the silver plates now, and shreds of the pale meat lay cooling.

  The Erl-King lifted his head from the feast at last, and looked at the second prisoner, and a smile widened his jaw.

  “My appetites are fully aroused now,” he said softly. And then, to the guards, “Is he fast?”

  “Well fast, Master.”

  “I should not like him to escape,” said the Erl-King. “You know what will happen to you if he escapes.”

  The man blenched, but said firmly, “He is quite secure, Master.”

  The second boy was screaming again, and straining against the wide leather straps. His eyes were starting from his head in terror, and he was crying for mercy. Joanna, held tightly by the guards, found herself crying, tears streaming down her cheeks, and Gormgall’s hand came down on her arm.

  “You can do nothing, my lady. And this one will be quick.”

  “How do you know?” said Joanna, in an agonised whisper.

  “I know what is going to happen. In all of the stories —” Gormgall stopped and said in a very low voice. “But I did not until now believe any of those old tales.”

  Dubhgall was the nearest to the table where the second boy was being strapped down, and as the boy writhed and cried for mercy, and as the Erl-King stood up, he gave a sudden wrench to the men who held him, and in one swift movement, was at the table, tugging at the leather straps, his hands frantic. Joanna’s heart bounded — was this the moment? — and once again she braced herself to spring at Morrigan.

  But in an instant, Morrigan was there, towering over Dubhgall, the cloak hissing into its silken folds about her ankles, her eyes glittering darkly.

  “Fool!” said Morrigan contemptuously. “You must know that once on my Master’s Tables, no one ever escapes. Did you really think you could rescue him — and escape my Master’s wrath?”

  “Begging your pardon, Mistress,” said Dubhgall with his own voice brimful of contempt, “but I thought at least I’d try. As for the wrath of the creature you serve — well, it seems to me that we’re all at the whim of his fancy anyway. One more or one less shred of wrath won’t make so much difference.” He glared at the Erl-King as he said this, and the Erl-King inclined his head in a gesture that was very nearly courteous.

  “Will it not make any difference, servant?” He leaned closer, and Dubhgall flinched. “There are many levels of pain and there are many heights to which agony may aspire, and before this night is over, I promise you that you will all have aspired to the very greatest heights.” The black eyes moved down over Dubhgall’s body. “And now I shall ensure that you shall have special treatment.” He nodded to the guards, but Dubhgall had already been taken and held by three of them. “I think we will carve you as we did the first one,” said the Erl-King in his beautiful corrupt voice. “And we shall make it very slow, servant, so that you do not miss savouring one second of pure pain.” He considered Dubhgall, his head on one side. “And we will begin with your hands,” said the Erl-King, “for there is nothing so tasty as a little braised hand. Your friends will perhaps share the dish with me?” He looked at them and smiled. “But yes, yes you will,” said the Erl-King. “You will help me to eat your friend, even if every mouthful has to be forced into your unwilling throats.” He smiled again and then looked at the guards. Something unreadable flared in his eyes.

  “Which of you let the servant go? Ah, you was it? How foolish. Take him below.” And then, as the guard was led out, “Secure the others,” he said. “You know what will happen if you let another one break free.”

  The guards twisted the prisoners’ arms high up behind their backs, and Joanna’s heart sank, for there was no hope of any of them breaking free. Only Muldooney continued to roam aimlessly about the room.

  The Erl-King approached the second table slowly, his head on one side, considering his victim. The boy looked up at him, and Joanna saw his lips frame yet another plea.

  “Let … me … go …”

  If the Erl-King heard, he gave no sign. He moved nearer and then made a sudden pouncing movement, leaping on to the table and straddling the helpless boy, so that he was crouching over him.

  The hard fly’s jaw quivered and the Erl-King began to salivate copiously, the thick fluid running out of his mouth and down on to the boy. Joanna shuddered and bit her lip.

  The Erl-King crouched lower, the pointed shiny mandible quivering. The thin curved claw-hands came out to fasten on to the boy’s shoulders, and Joanna saw the blood spring to the surface. The boy screamed again, a dreadful abandoned hopeless helpless sound, and then the Erl-King lowered his fly’s head and buried his maw in the boy’s stomach. A liquid sucking sound filled the chamber.

  Gormgall said in a strangled voice, “He’s eating him. He’s eating through his stomach.”

  Joanna said in a low voice. “This is terrible. Can’t we do something …”

  But each of them was held firmly by the guards, and each of them knew that their only hope was the Nightcloak. And Morrigan was still wearing it.

  Blood was seeping into the gulleys of the second table and trickling down into the drainage outlet, and the hunchback again placed the golden goblets to catch the flow.

  The boy had not screamed again, but they could see that his lower lip was bitten through, and Joanna remembered — and wished she had not — the Lethe accounts of a
ncient religious martyrs who had taken vows of silence under torture, but who had screamed through the nose.

  The Erl-King resettled on the boy’s body, and as he lifted his head, they saw that his jaws were bloodied and smeared.

  “This one is soon done also,” said the Erl-King, and now the beautiful voice was thick and clotted.

  “Already dead, Master?”

  “Cooling,” said the Erl-King, and moved from the table. “Remove him. Sluice down the floors.” He reseated himself at the banqueting table, as the hunchback emptied buckets of water, sending the blood and the thick fluids gushing down and out through the drains.

  The Erl-King was studying the five prisoners now, the blood-stained mandible seeming to smile.

  “My hunger is upon me,” he said, and Joanna realised that the voice had returned to its soft caressing tone. He glanced across to Muldooney, and away again, and the four prisoners thought it was as if he had considered Muldooney and then dismissed him.

  “The witless hold no interest for me,” said the Erl-King, “although my hunchback may like him to toy with for an hour or two.” The black eyes slewed round to the others. “And the High King and his Lady shall be kept whole until I have had my fill of them,” he said, and his voice held a note of immense pleasure. “But the insolent servant shall be dealt with now.” He nodded to the guards. “The Table,” he said. “Do it.”

  Dubhgall was dragged to the centre of the room, and then lifted, struggling, on to the Table which had held the first victim. Morrigan moved to the brazier and placed a small copper pan on the heat, throwing in a handful of scented herbs. “For my Master likes his flesh to be spiced.”

  Gormgall said defiantly, “It is strange to see you doing servants’ work, Morrigan,” and she turned to look at him as if she had only just discovered that he was there.

  “This would normally be my sisters’ task, son of peasants,” she said. “But for tonight, I do not care to share anything.” She smiled. “And when you, in your turn, receive my undivided attentions, and those of my Master, you will understand a little better.” The narrow eyes smiled. “They are useful, but for tonight they will do my bidding and we shall not be troubled by their petty squabbles and their conceits.”