Wolfking The Omnibus: Books 1-4

by Sarah Rayne

  The hunchback was laying out a selection of knives and saws, and Joanna began to hope very strenuously that Dubhgall would faint before it began.

  The Erl-King turned to look at her, as if he had caught the thought, and said, “We shall keep him conscious, Madam,” and Joanna thought wildly: he heard me! But he cannot possess the Samhailt! He cannot!

  The Erl-King said softly, “Not the Samhailt, my dear. But something much more effective,” and Joanna saw Cormac become very tense.

  “When I came out of the North, in the days when Tara was still only a barren rock,” the Erl-King said, “I, also, had my sorcerers and my necromancers. You were not the only one to harness the old magic, Dierdriu, I was there, also. But you know this.” He studied her. “And my sorcerers created for me not the Samhailt with its absurd restrictions and its honour,” the word was dragged out sneeringly, “but something much deeper and stronger and infinitely preferable.” He paused, and Joanna heard Cormac draw in his breath sharply, as if he knew what was coming.

  “They created for me the Stróicim Inchinn,” said the Erl-King, and Cormac and the two Cruithin gasped. The Erl-King glanced at Cormac. “Yes, you know of it,” he said. “Of course you do.” And then, to Joanna, “Roughly translated, the Stróicim Inchinn means to tear into the brain,” he said. “I can do that, Dierdriu. I can tear into your thoughts, as if I were clawing apart your mind. You can hide nothing from me, for if I care to, I can see your every thought.” The smile was genuinely amused now. “A valuable gift, my dear,” said the Erl-King. “But then you always knew me to be a formidable enemy, I think? The Stróicim Inchinn is one of the darkest and most powerful enchantments of the mind ever created.”

  “It is also,” said Cormac, unexpectedly austere, “totally and absolutely forbidden. By any rule and by any creed and by any academy of sorcerers or necromancers.”

  “I do not concern myself with your puny rules, High King,” said the Erl-King. “I can claw my way into your thoughts, and I can know your mind’s most secret recesses.” He leaned forward. “You can hide nothing from me, Cormac,” he said. “Nothing.”

  Dubhgall’s arm was bared and manacled, and between them, the hunchback and Morrigan selected knives. Then the hunchback lifted the first of the knives, and sliced down on Dubhgall’s forearm. Skin parted and blood seeped out and dripped on to the floor. Dubhgall moaned and sagged, and at once, the Erl-King turned his great black stare on to him. Straight away Dubhgall revived, and let out a deep moan, and Joanna knew that the insect-eyes had penetrated to Dubhgall’s brain, and that the Erl-King had called up the terrible Stróicim Inchinn.

  The Forbidden Enchantment of the Necromancers …

  Of course, Human Child … Did I not tell you? I can keep you all alive to the point of death and beyond …

  Aloud, the Erl-King said, “Since I came out of the North, Dierdriu, I have used the Stróicim Inchinn — oh, many times. I can call corpses out of the earth with it. Would you like to see my army of corpses, Dierdriu? It is the work of moments to summon them, and they are the most terrible sight you could ever see. Their bones are rotting and their skins hang from their skeletons, and their flesh is putrefying, for they have all long since died.

  “But I can summon them with the Stróicim Inchinn, and I can force them to do my bidding. They are my army, Dierdriu, and they have fought for me, not once, but many times.”

  Joanna said, “The Battle for the Trees —”

  The Erl-King said, “Of course. Do you remember that, Madam? How we fought, and how your sorcerers sent the Trees into their sleep by means of the Draiocht Suan” There was a faintly contemptuous note in the velvet voice now. “A minor sorcery,” said the Erl-King.

  “And yet one which preserved the Trees from your destructive wrath,” said Joanna calmly.

  “The Trees are still lost to you, Madam.”

  “They will waken when I call to them.”

  The Erl-King and Joanna looked at one another, then — “Do you remember, Dierdriu,” he said softly, “how I called up my Army of Corpses to fight in that battle?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you remember the pity and the terror and the stench of death and decay they brought with them?”

  “Oh yes,” said Joanna. “Oh yes, I remember that.” And you shall suffer as you never thought possible for that. You shall suffer a thousand times more than the poor wretches you keep bound to you, their minds and their souls chained to their rotting bodies.

  “Wait and see,” said Joanna, and the Erl-King smiled. “Perhaps, Dierdriu,” he said, “perhaps that will be the end I shall decree for you and the Wolfking this time. A fitting end, I think.” He looked at Cormac. “Something for you to contemplate while you are eating your servant.”

  The hunchback was parting the gaping cut on Dubhgall’s arm, and Dubhgall was moaning. “Slowly,” said Morrigan, “for we do not wish to miss any of the pleasure of this, Master.”

  “Slow indeed,” said the Erl-King, returning to his seat at the table.

  No one dared to speak, although Cormac was snarling softly, and the chains that held him slithered to and fro on the stone floor as he tried to break free. To their right, Muldooney had gone shuffling off by himself, and seemed to be inspecting the stonework of the walls with minute attention, stroking the stones with a finger and licking the finger interestedly. But Joanna thought he glanced back at Morrigan, and saw that he knew that with Morrigan still wearing the cloak, their slender plan had no chance of working. If only she would remove it …

  The Erl-King had returned to the banqueting table, and was sitting watching them all. He indicated for a goblet to be placed beneath the table where Dubhgall lay, and at once Morrigan obeyed. Blood seeped through into the goblet.

  The hunchback had cut all round the thick fleshy forearm now, and he reached for a smaller pointed knife. Dubhgall was struggling and crying out, but the manacles held. Strips of flesh were pared from his arm and Morrigan laid them in the small pan over the brazier. The stench of cooking flesh once again filled the chamber.

  Dubhgall’s hand and lower arm were now only attached to his body by bone, gleaming white where all the flesh had been neatly cut away. Joanna and the others could see raw red muscle and shreds of skin.

  The hunchback chuckled and bent to pick up the golden goblet, by now full to the brim with Dubhgall’s blood. He handed it to the creature at the banqueting table, and waited as it was tasted. Blood ran from the Erl-King’s jaw, and as he lowered the chalice he said, “A good temperature. Warm. But continue.”

  The hunchback reached for the saw.

  With the sawing of Dubhgall’s bone, Joanna’s control broke. She managed not to actually sob, but her face twisted, and tears streamed down her cheeks. She tried to look away, but at once the luminous eyes of the Erl-King drew her back.

  “You must share in everything, Madam,” said the soft voice.

  Dubhgall was screaming now, hopeless anguished cries, and the rasp of the saw filled the chamber … the hunchback took his time … There was a dreadful smell of heat as the friction of the saw built up, steel teeth on solid bone … A kind of whitish dust flew and Joanna, who had seen trees sawed, and logs cut, more times than she could remember, knew it for bone-dust.

  Blood was congealing on the floor now, and the hunchback left off sawing to sluice down the floor. Water, red-streaked, ran down into the culverts and out through the drains once more.

  Dubhgall’s hand was severed altogether now, and he was free. He was panting and jerking, his face the colour of pale marble. Morrigan took his raw flesh and once more peeled thin slices from it. The pan sizzled and the herbs gave out their pungent scent …

  For what seemed to be a very long time, the only sound in the narrow chamber was the sizzling of Dubhgall’s pale flesh.

  At last, Morrigan said, “Ready, Master.” And to the hunchback, “Bind the Cruithin’s wound. We will need him again.” She carried the pan to the banqueting table, and began to dist
ribute the flesh on to the silver platters.

  “I should not dream of eating this feast alone,” said the Erl-King. “Bring the prisoners to the table, if you please.” And then, to the prisoners themselves, “I think you would not wish me to display such discourtesy as to partake of a meal without inviting you to join me.”

  Cormac said contemptuously, “The Gentleman.”

  The Erl-King at once replied, “I am well named, High King. When I brought the Dark Necromancers out of the North, they were uneducated fools. They were greedy, but they were quite unable to think or to plan. They were coarse, graceless. Uncouth.” He made an unexpectedly fastidious gesture with one hand. “Distasteful to me,” he said. And then, to Morrigan, “I am so glad you forbade your oafish sisters their presence here tonight, madam.”

  “Their presence would have disgusted you, Master,” said Morrigan, “their manners are repulsive.” She beckoned in peremptory fashion to the hunchback before dismissing him, and the prisoners were forced into chairs around the table. Before each of them was placed a platter which bore several strips of flesh, lightly cooked only, still oozing blood and juices, like a very lightly grilled steak. There was the scent of animal flesh, a slightly sweetish odour.

  Joanna thought: but this is impossible. I can’t eat Dubhgall. And she looked imploringly at Cormac. Cormac at once lowered his head, and Joanna thought: of course, the Erl-King can hear our thoughts. He can tear into our minds with the Stróicim Inchinn. It was a dreadful thought, but to Joanna, more terrible, was the Stróicim’s close kinship to the Samhailt, the ancient and sacred Mindsong bestowed on the Bloodline of Ireland.

  But the Stróicim Inchinn was ever the other side of the coin, my dear …

  The thought slid into Joanna’s mind unbidden, and she glanced involuntarily to where the Erl-King sat. Had that been the Stróicim, or something else?

  For every Enchantment ever woven by the sorcerers who serve the High Kings, there must always be its dark counterpart … or have you forgotten that?

  Dierdriu! breathed Joanna, and at once was the ruffle of sweetness and the gentle strength that was Dierdriu. I can bear it, thought Joanna. She is still with me, and I am still with her, and I can bear it. But she kept her eyes lowered as Cormac was doing, for although it seemed almost impossible to cheat the Stróicim Inchinn, eyes could be a window and a chink into the mind. Perhaps if we are very careful and very watchful, we may blur the Stróicim, thought Joanna, and looked down at the plate again. At her side, quite deliberately, Cormac picked up the small knife set out, and after a moment, Gormgall did the same.

  The Erl-King said, “Not hungry, madam? Perhaps you need a little assistance,” and Joanna remembered how he had threatened to force the flesh into their throats. She looked back at the platter, and thought: perhaps if I think of it as ordinary anonymous meat it will not be so bad. And it cannot hurt Dubhgall any more than he has been hurt already. Perhaps it will not be so bad …

  But it was. It was the most terrible thing she had ever had to do in her life. To begin with she tried to take very tiny mouthfuls, but that was no good because it only prolonged the ordeal. After that, she cut great lumps and swallowed them down whole, but they stuck in her throat, so that she coughed and gagged. And even then, every shred, every sliver seemed to lodge between her teeth, so that she had to work it loose with her tongue.

  Cormac ate savagely, as if he did not care, disdaining the small bone-handled knife at his place, tearing at the flesh with his hands and his teeth. The Erl-King said, “You are not so civilised as I had supposed, Your Majesty,” and Cormac growled and threw the flesh across the table at him. The guards moved, and Joanna, thought: this is the moment. Oh please let Morrigan discard the cloak. Now, when they are all looking at Cormac.

  Morrigan flung the Nightcloak over the back of her chair. Cormac half rose in his seat, and at the far end of the chamber, Muldooney broke into a mad little dance, humming to himself, circling the room, looking, thought Joanna wildly, like a great lumbering bear. Cormac was tearing at his chains now, overturning the chair he had been sitting on, and Muldooney danced farther away, blubbering his lips and twitching his face rather horridly. Joanna thought: I must either move in one great leap before they realise what is happening, or I must go inch by inch, stealthily and slowly. Which should it be? What would Cormac do? At once came the answer: Cormac would never do anything by stealth in his life. Then nor will I, thought Joanna, and strength poured into her, so that she felt huge, invincible, unstoppable.

  She moved then, a sudden whirl of colour and flying hair and blazing eyes, and she was across the chamber, the Night-cloak was in her grasp, and great bolts of light were sparking from it. Joanna swung it about her shoulders and lifted her arms and cried aloud: “Dierdriu! Help us! Send the nightmares! Help us!” And then felt a great tremor go through the chamber.

  Joanna was frightened and exhilarated and yet still filled with immense power. We are in the greatest possible danger, but we are also engaging in the greatest battle this Ireland has ever known, she thought. We are confronting the Erl-King, Tara’s oldest and strongest enemy. We are trying to defeat an ancient and very terrible evil. She stood rooted to the spot, and felt the power of the High Queen stream through her, and as she did so, the Erl-King suddenly turned his head.

  In the shadows, something was moving …

  They saw it all in the same instant. Something began to take form. Something that had eight legs and a great bloated body. Something whose eyes were at the top of its body, and whose gristly jointed legs could move at an astonishing rate.

  Araneida Arachnida.

  A giant spider.

  The five prisoners backed away at once, Gormgall dragging the injured, just conscious Dubhgall, and as they did so, the Erl-King began to scream, and they saw Morrigan stretch out a hand and fling a spear of white light at the spider.

  Joanna heard herself laugh, “Oh no Morrigan, you cannot destroy this by your incantations. This is your Master’s nightmare, and all know that the nightmares of others do not respond to sorcery.”

  The great spider had remained motionless in the corner, its huge body swelling. It became gross, bloated, a monstrous black crouching thing, a nightmare …

  The Erl-King’s nightmare …

  The spider was six feet across now, it was eight, ten … perhaps more. Joanna, speechless with horror, thought that the spider’s body must be all of twelve feet across. The legs were great sinewy protrusions, as thick as tree trunks, steely strong and bristling with the spider’s coarse black hair. A man’s neck or his spine would snap like a twig in the grasp of the creature’s legs …

  The short-sighted eyes on the top of the spider’s body were swivelling towards every corner, as if they searched for something in particular. They were bulbous and almost blind, but there was a terrible intelligence in the jellylike mass. It can barely see, thought Joanna, but it can smell. It can smell that there is fear in here, and it scents that there is something in this chamber that it will savour.

  Morrigan was chanting and walking in a circle about the spider, but Joanna and the others saw, with a great upsurge of hope, that the Erl-King was backing away.

  He is frightened! thought Joanna, and felt a burst of confidence so great that she thought she could have slain the Erl-King with her bare hands. In the same moment, there was a blaze of Mindsong from Cormac.

  Yes, he is frightened! And there is nothing to be afraid of except his own fear!

  The fear of a fly for a spider.

  And the Stróicim Inchinn? cried Joanna’s own mind warningly. There was a ripple of delight from Cormac.

  “Look at him!” cried Cormac aloud. “He can no more summon the Stróicim at this moment than he can move.” And indeed, the Erl-King was helpless against the wall of his own Banqueting Chamber, his eyes never leaving the menacing bulk of the spider.

  The spider was moving now, a sudden scuttling movement, and they knew that it had picked up the Erl-King’s terror-
filled scent. It will smell its way to him, thought Joanna, horrified, and moved closer to Cormac. On the other side, Gormgall was holding the half-conscious Dubhgall, and across the room Muldooney stood irresolute, and then began to tiptoe round the perimeter of the chamber towards the others. Joanna at once held out a hand to him, because after all he had done, it was not to be thought of that Muldooney should not be with them.

  In the flickering light, they saw silken threads begin to emerge from the spider’s body, and Joanna knew that it had begun spinning its sticky prey-trapping web.

  The Erl-King had seen it as well. He retreated further into his corner and quite suddenly began to scream at Morrigan, a dreadful high-pitched whinnying sound that made Joanna’s teeth wince.

  “Forget your spells, fool! Kill it! Kill it/”

  Morrigan was chanting frantically now, pointing her long boneless fingers at the spider. Shafts of light pierced the dark stone chamber, and bounced off the spider’s fibrous skin.

  “KILL IT!” screamed the Erl-King again. “Fish filth! Useless snake filth! Hack it to pieces! Let us roast it over the braziers! You! Guards! Rend the creature apart and throw the pieces on to the streets of my City! Or must I summon my Army of Corpses to make you!”

  The guards moved uncertainly, and one of them made as if to draw his sword. The spider darted at him, and clamped one of its gristly legs about his waist, lifting him, and then dashing him to the ground. There was a sickening, crunching sound, and the guard lay still, his head at an unnatural angle, his spine broken.

  The Erl-King was still shrieking, hurling threats, screaming to Morrigan to destroy the spider, but Morrigan was sounding frantic now, and the Erl-King was standing with his back to the wall, one hand held out before him to ward off the spider’s attack. The guards were huddled together, by now as frightened of the giant spider as they were of the Erl-King, and it was clear to Joanna and the others that the guards would not do anything. Muldooney and Gormgall rushed to bar the doors of the stone chamber, and the Erl-King, rallying briefly, screamed at them. “Fools! Locked doors will not keep my armies out! I shall call them up, the rotting corpses and the carrion. You will have the stench of graveyard filth for ever in your nostrils! You will see at close quarters the worms that feed on men’s flesh, and you will see how fat and bloated those worms are with their skins bursting with the juices of the dead flesh they feed on! They will crawl all over you, and you will be taken into the embrace of rotting arms and you will be covered in graveyard mould and smothered with the kisses of putrefying lips!”