Wolfking The Omnibus: Books 1-4

by Sarah Rayne

  They stood for a moment, huddled close together, trying to adjust to the darkness, trying to gauge their surroundings.

  Only Fael-Inis seemed at ease, but then, thought Annabel, he can probably see in the dark anyway. He is a creature of fire and light and speed, and I can not think of any danger he could not overcome. And then, because it was distinctly comforting to remember about fiery chariots that would probably ride full tilt at enemies and destroy them in a single glorious swoop, and about golden-eyed immortal beings who somehow crossed Time to save dying worlds, she held on to this rather firmly. If you had to be hiding inside an old dark mountain, it was a very good thought indeed to be able to hold on to.

  The darkness smelt warm and dry and very old. Annabel, still managing to conjure up visions of arrows of fire and rebellious and unbeatable angels, thought this was a very old place indeed. It had seen the world born, and it had seen it wax and wane and transform, and quite soon now it would see it die. Annabel shivered, and Taliesin put an arm about her, and there was a sudden surprised delight, because his arm was strong and firm and warm, and the dark old mountain did not seem quite so menacing.

  The patrol was nearly level with the narrow opening, and Fael-Inis, in a thread of a whisper, said, “Keep very still. Do not move or speak.”

  Annabel found herself counting the footsteps. Ten more, and they will be exactly level with us; if they go on for another ten, they will have missed us. And, What a marvellous thing it will be to have evaded them! she thought. She stayed very still, her heart pounding, and presently her eyes began to adjust to the dimness, so that she could see that they were in a kind of narrow cave that might lead somewhere deep into the mountain, or that might not lead anywhere at all. It was probably all wrong to hope it did lead somewhere, and that they would be able to find out where. Perhaps they would have to move further back, and then they would find out.

  She wished that her heart was not beating so furiously because the others must hear it, and if they could hear it, perhaps the patrol might hear it as well. They would hear, and they would listen, and then they would be able to track it to its source, like that really old story — Edgar Allan somebody, was it? — where the still-beating heart of the murdered man had lain beneath the murderer’s floorboards, beating so insistently that it had betrayed the murderer. I have a telltale heart, thought Annabel. They will hear, and they will find us, and we shall all be thrown into the Cuirim, and the Clock will go on to midnight, and the world will end, and it will all be my fault for having a heart that beat too loudly.

  The patrol was level with the jutting rock now, and the men were swishing angrily at the grass. They know we are here, thought Annabel, and pressed closer to Taliesin. We are hunted animals; rabbits or hares or foxes. We are being hunted in the way that people used to hunt foxes many years ago, and kill them. She shrank back into the solid wall of the mountain, and tried not to notice the old, old smell of the mountain, and tried, as well, not to think about the weight of mountain that must be directly above them. All that solid rearing mountain, directly over their heads, pressing down …

  It was then that they became aware of something moving at the far end of the cave.

  Fael-Inis heard it first; he touched Taliesin’s hands, and Taliesin, whose eyes had been constantly raking the darkness, felt his senses at once spring to attention.

  Something inside the mountain. Something coming stealthily closer. Something creeping and ancient and evil.

  Something with claws and teeth and a great grinning, dripping muzzle …

  Taliesin pushed Annabel back into the solid rock wall, shielding her with his body. Annabel, who was very frightened indeed of whatever it was that was creeping through the mountain towards them, gasped and, incredibly, experienced a sudden jolt of the purest pleasure. There was a breathspace of time when she did not think, I am inside a dark old mountain with what may be a ravening monster creeping up on us, but — This is the first time I have felt a man’s body like this … And was conscious of hard masculine strength and the feeling of warm breath on her cheek, and clean hair touching her face … And firm thighs, and a core of hard warmth between them …

  Taliesin felt, for a brief dizzying moment, Annabel’s instinctive response, and delight and desire spiralled upwards. And then the dark old mountain and the creeping danger closed about him again, and he half turned his head to rake the shadows, trying to sense how close to them the shuffling, clawing creature was. He could hear it quite plainly now, and he thought he could smell it as well. A dry, old, stale odour that was coming closer all the time.

  Was it the Conablaiche? If so, thought Taliesin, it will be greedy for our living hearts; it will tear them out and take them for Crom Croich … We shall be offered up on silver platters, and then all will be lost, and Annabel will certainly never see Ireland, and I shall lose her, and Medoc will have won …

  Annabel, her face half buried in Taliesin’s shoulder, was aware of a great listening. Whatever was out there in the dark underside of the mountain — could it be the Claw? — was sniffing the air, trying to decide where its prey was hiding. In just another minute it would know, it would smell them out, and it would come loping across the hard rock floor, and it would pluck them from this frail concealment, and spit them on the end of its talons, and it would tear them open …

  There was a growing feeling of immense evil now, and of something greedy and implacable approaching.

  And then moonlight pierced the cave, so that they saw the terrible black shadow fall across the rock floor. The stench of decaying flesh was all about them, and they knew that the Conablaiche, the Claw, the ancient, evil Servant of the Dark Ireland, stood in the cave with them.

  It could not see them. All three knew it at once. It stood for a moment, its eyes swivelling, turning this way and that, searching the dark corners.

  There is a tasty morsel somewhere here. I can smell it. There is a toothsome morsel for my Master in this cave … juicy gobbets of fleshy and warmy still-beating hearts that I shall offer up on a silver platter, dripping and steaming … Come out from your hiding place, humans, so that I may flay you and snap your ribcages and tear your hearts from their moorings …

  The moonlight lay across the floor, and they could see the creature in full, terrible detail; they could see that it was composed of every nightmare and every grisly story ever told or imagined or feared.

  Huge. Towering. Ten feet high at least. There was a head with a narrow bony skull and a great curving beak. A vulture’s head! thought Taliesin, unable to look away. A great vulture’s head, with protruding, fish-like eyes that could swivel on stalks and peer into the darkest recesses of men’s minds and souls. A hard, bony body, not quite skeletal, but not fleshy either. Rudimentary organs, not quite formed, clung to the hard discoloured bones. Taliesin thought, Yes, it is not quite human, but it has human appetites. He saw with revulsion that the creature possessed crudely formed genitals: penis and scrotum sack beneath, and thought again that it might have human appetites, and tightened his hold on Annabel.

  Annabel was managing not to scream, because if they made the slightest sound, the Claw would be upon them, it would reach out and spit them on its talons and tear them apart. The best thing, the sanest thing, would be to run back to the road, through the narrow opening, and out into the starlit night. That was what they ought to be doing.

  But the patrol was at the opening to the cave. All the time the Conablaiche had been creeping towards them, the patrol had been marching along the road, swishing angrily at the rowan trees, alert to fleeing rebellious people who were at odds with the Drakon. As the three travellers stood motionless, caught between the two enemies, they saw the thin light that had been filtering in suddenly blotted out as the patrolmen discovered the narrow opening and pushed their way into the mountain. The great echoing cavern was filled with the loud voices of the Drakon men, and with the stamping of their boots on the rock floor. Both Annabel and Taliesin saw the shadow of the Conab
laiche dart across the cave, and slither behind a crusted formation of stone at the far end. Taliesin, his every sense straining, caught the faint echo of the horrid bubbling chuckle he had heard in Calatin’s house, and he knew that the creature would lie in wait for the patrolmen, and that as soon as they were all safely inside the mountain, it would rear up from its shadowy corner and fall on them. And when that happens, there will be no escape … He looked to where Fael-Inis was standing, as still as if he was also made of stone, and he saw a look of furious concentration in Fael-Inis’s eyes. Could Fael-Inis somehow save them? thought Taliesin, and at once the response bounded back.

  There are spells I can summon, but we are in the world of humans, Taliesin, and we must try to escape by human means …

  Annabel, listening, caught this as well, and felt a terrible coldness. Were they, after all, to die like this, in the dark old mountain? And as the thought took shape, another followed it, like a sprinkling of light.

  We shall still use the fire and the light and the sunbursts, Annabel … Be sure of it …

  Annabel was instantly comforted, and thought, Well, yes, of course we will.

  The Drakon patrol had spotted them. Annabel, who knew the whispers that Drakon people could sniff out rebels as if an extra sense had been bestowed, waited with a sense of inevitability for them to pounce. And although they would fight of course (Annabel thought she could inflict quite a good deal of damage by kicking hard at the men’s groins and perhaps by jabbing at their eyes), they could certainly not fight the creature that was hiding at the far end of the cave. And they were trapped between the Drakon men and the Claw.

  The patrol was surrounding them; the tallest of the men, who seemed to be the leader, and who had the cold, hard eyes of all Drakon servants, stood regarding them, his hands on his hips. Taliesin, who had released Annabel but still held her arm, returned the man’s appraisal, and Annabel, glancing at him, saw with delight that he was as unruffled as a cat. Confidence surged back, because of course they would outwit these cold-eyed humourless men, and of course they would somehow escape the Claw.

  Taliesin said urbanely, “Good evening. You are travelling in strange paths, sir,” and the Drakon patrolman stared at him, as if he found him rather odd.

  At Taliesin’s side, Fael-Inis said, “Have you also lost your way in these dark roads?” and both Annabel and Taliesin heard that he had quenched his usual silken, warm timbre. He did not sound entirely human, because he was not entirely human, but, thought Annabel, he sounded nearly human.

  The patrolman said, “We’re on lawful Drakon business.”

  “Which,” said another at his side, “is the taking up of people who break Curfew and pry.” He looked to his leader, who nodded slowly, and then inspected Annabel, as if he found her of interest.

  “Dear me,” he said, “here’s a pretty bit. I could get a thousand crumens for you in the Procuration Hall.”

  Taliesin said at once, “Her price is very much higher than that, my friend,” and the patrolman looked at Taliesin coldly.

  “You know the rules,” he said.

  “I know the laws,” said Taliesin, who did not know them at all, but remembered procuration was forbidden on pain of death.

  The patrolman made a contemptuous sound, and spat derisively on the ground. “Put that one up on the Procuration Floor, and she’d only reach Level Two. Is she broken?”

  Fael-Inis made a quick movement and then was still, as if he was saying, I leave this to you, human.

  Taliesin looked the man up and down, and there was a glint in his eyes. “If anyone is to put her up on the Procuration Floor,” he said, “I shall do it. This one is mine.”

  “Ho,” said the patrolman, “a rival. Friend, do you not know the punishment for procuration?”

  “Yes,” said Taliesin steadily. “Do you?”

  The patrolman laughed. “I am in a privileged position,” he said. “You procure for the masses. I procure for the Drakon inner body.” He rubbed a thumb and forefinger suggestively. “A rich calling,” he said. “And the Drakon is used to having the best. You wouldn’t believe the opportunities I have to acquire the choicest little bits for them. And they would pay me well for this one.”

  Taliesin said courteously, “I see you are a man of some acumen, sir. But I, in my own circles, am very highly regarded.” He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “I think if we put it to the test, we should find that I am your superior,” he said, “and that being so, you had really do better to leave her to me. Otherwise, you may find you are in a very embarrassing position, sir.”

  The man laughed. “One of the Drakon’s inner circle, are you?” he said. “In that case, you will know very well that procurers do pretty much as they like. And I have the fancy to put this one up for bidding.”

  Annabel said coldly, “I have not the least intention of being put up for bidding by anyone. But if I was put up,” she said, “then I should reach at least Level Four” She glared at him, and the man laughed and said, “Come here,” and made a sudden grabbing movement.

  Annabel was wrenched from Taliesin’s grasp and sent sprawling on the cave floor. Taliesin moved at once, but the patrolmen were before him, slamming him back against the side of the mountain. Fael-Inis stayed where he was, but Annabel, her senses still spinning, saw light kindling in his eyes.

  “Strip her,” said the patrolman, and now his eyes were no longer cold, but hot and greedy. “We’ll see if you’d reach Level Four.” He nodded to two of the waiting men, who moved at once, pinioning Annabel’s arms behind her, standing her up between them. Taliesin fought against the two patrolmen who still imprisoned him, but their arms were like steel bands and he could not move. “Strong,” said the one on his right, grinning and exposing a row of broken and discoloured teeth. “Practice against those who break the Drakon’s laws,” said the other, who had a brutish face and short, bristly hair.

  The leader was undressing Annabel now, discarding the dark trousers and boots and the thick woollen cloak she had donned for the journey. “Nice,” he said, and now a clotted note had crept into his voice. “Certainly I could get a thousand crumens.” His eyes flickered over her. “Let’s see what’s under the shirt,” he said in a thick voice. Annabel drew back and braced the muscles of one leg to kick him, and at once the two patrolmen lunged downwards and held both her ankles.

  “A very well-known ploy,” said the leader, grinning at her. “What a little cat you are.” He closed in on her, and slid his hands beneath the thin cotton shirt, and the fact that he did not remove the shirt gave his actions a repulsive intimacy. Annabel closed her eyes and felt horror run over her. He had red meaty hands, and the nails were dirty, and he was beginning to breathe hoarsely. His breath blew in her face, and it was dry and unfresh, and all the while his hands were exploring her body, stroking her skin … I could be a piece of merchandise, a side of beef that people used to prod before they bought it in the days when you could still buy beef, thought Annabel wildly. I can’t think what to do, except that there must be something … One of the patrolmen was still holding her ankles, one in each hand, and the other had her wrists tight in an iron grip. If he gets any closer, I could bite him, thought Annabel hopefully. I could bite him very hard. This is so unbelievably horrible that I don’t think it is really happening. She could see Taliesin struggling, and she could see Fael-Inis motionless in the shadows. Taliesin was powerless for the minute, but Fael-Inis would certainly do something to rescue her — what had he said? Spells I can summon. And then she thought that he would expect her to fight for herself first.

  The patrolman withdrew his hands, and said to the one who had her ankles, “Hold her legs apart,” and as he did so, Annabel saw with a shudder of revulsion his left hand creep between his own legs, and make a sudden involuntary rubbing motion with the flat of his hand.

  And then the other one was jerking her feet apart, which made her feel quite unbearably vulnerable, and the patrolman was advancing again, his eyes glitte
ring, a sly intimate grin on his face. “Just to see how much you are really worth, my dear,” he said. “Just to see if you have kept the laws.”

  Annabel said, “I don’t —” and gasped as he slid his right hand inside her shirt again, between her legs. There was a moment of the purest loathing, and she felt the thick dry hand on her thighs, and then there was a sudden jab, and the man’s finger was pushing upwards, exploring, probing … Annabel closed her eyes and remembered about death or glory, and about fiery-eyed angels who would come blazing to the rescue if you really needed it, and tried to think that surely this was nothing so very terrible compared with what might be ahead. If the men who held her would just relax their grip, she would certainly bite this revolting creature, even if she could not kick him.

  He withdrew his hand at last, and stood looking at her, and Annabel, who was feeling a bit sick, but who would have been torn apart by wild horses before she would have let anyone know, tried not to notice that his other hand was still on his groin, caressing the hard ridge that had risen there.

  “So,” said the man softly, “so you are a true obedient child of the Drakon. Untouched. And my masters are partial to that.” In the far corner, Taliesin struggled, and was again thrown back against the mountain wall by his two captors.

  “It would be a pity,” said the leader, his eyes still on Annabel, “a very great pity not to — make use of this one before we put her up for procuration.” He glanced at Taliesin, and the greedy I-am-superior smile slid over his face again. “One of the benefits of the job,” he said. “As you will know.”

  “I never lie with my own merchandise,” said Taliesin, sounding bored, and the patrolman said at once, “Are you sexually warped, perhaps, friend?”

  “Not to the extent that you and your patrol are,” said Taliesin coolly.

  The man looked at Taliesin. “That was unwise,” he said. “We are not always particular about whether we relieve ourselves on men or women.” He turned back to Annabel, and began to unfasten his trousers, and the patrolman who was holding Annabel’s ankles chuckled slyly and said, “Share it out a bit, won’t you?” and the leader said sharply, “Wait your turn,” and opened his trousers fully, and let Annabel see the rearing stalk of flesh.