Wolfking The Omnibus: Books 1-4

by Sarah Rayne

  But although they looked very hard and stood on the turret for quite a long time, nobody actually saw the Angry Sun. Goibniu said he thought he could just see a faint glimmer of light to the east — ‘A new bright star in the firmament, sire,’ he said, and Inchbad was pleased, because it would be a very good thing if people remembered him as the King during whose reign a new bright star appeared. It would probably stop them spreading wicked stories about giants, and telling one another how they all supped on Manpies and fattened up innocent children for the ritual of the Fidchell.

  Inchbad would admit to having had just a taste of Manpie now and again, and he would admit, as well, that this was usually after they had celebrated the Fidchell, which was all quite in accordance with Gruagach custom. Frizzle his Boots, said Inchbad crossly, what else were Humans for!

  Anyway, although he had not himself seen the Angry Sun, it was quite likely that it was only that he had arrived at the tower too late. Goibniu had certainly seen it, and the doorkeeper had seen it as well, and this would suffice.

  He said they would have to hold a feast to celebrate the new star that had appeared, and thought to himself that probably there was some kind of ritual that ought to be observed. Goibniu would know what to do. Probably there could be a huger than usual supper, with more than normal mulled wine. Caspar, who was the Court pimp, would be told to get up a search party to go out after the trail of the Feargach Grian and capture any Humans who might have been about. Perhaps he might supply a few village maidens as well, for a bit of a side-celebration, because he did not seem to do very much else these days and it was time he earned his keep. They might call in the Gnomes of Gallan to perform a few dances, as well. Say what you liked, there was no one the length and breadth of Ireland who could dance a jig as well as the Gnomes. On one or two occasions, Inchbad had allowed the Court sorcerers to call up a handful of demons, but demons were unruly and extremely vulgar as well, and their idea of a jig was not Inchbad’s. The Gnomes would be much better — and besides, Inchbad had a commission for them.

  Inchbad was quite light-hearted at supper and listened to Goibniu telling about how the new star heralded a new Golden Reign for Ireland, and how it would all be attributed to the Gruagach in general and Inchbad in particular, and how they might even create a new tax to mark the occasion. Several of the younger giants looked rather mutinous at this and Inchbad’s heart sank, because a mutiny in the ranks was something they could not really afford to have. Also, he knew very well that Goibniu always sent traitors and mutineers to the Robemaker. Inchbad pretended not to know what use the Robemaker made of the offerings sent to him by Goibniu, but of course he did know, because everyone in Ireland knew, and it was not a very nice fate, even for a traitor.

  But then somebody began to sing a ballad all about how the brightness of the star reflected the brightness of the Gruagach King, and the younger giants nodded and told one another that, after all, the Irish were not the only ones who could write a merry tune. Inchbad was relieved and prepared to sit down to the huger than usual supper and the more generous than normal mulled wine. He pretended not to notice that Goibniu, who had a taste for Humans, and whose appetites were nearly always aroused by mulled wine, had already sent one of the footmen out for Caspar, who was the Court pimp.

  Acting as pimp to the Gruagach was no picnic. It was, in fact, a particularly thankless sort of job. Caspar sat in his bed-chamber, and pretended not to hear the feasting and the shouting and felt glum and wished he had never heard of the Gruagach. He wished he had never seen Tara, and wished that Inchbad had never been thrown out of Gruagach by the Geimhreadh and her creatures, and wished he had never heard of the Geimhreadh either. His bed-chamber was splendid, like everything else inside Tara, but if you wanted the honest truth, Caspar would have been happier in a crofter’s cottage with a sod floor and a dinner of herbs. He would have been happier as a tinker with a donkey and cart. If it came down to it, he would probably have been happier as the donkey.

  Nobody had expected the Gruagach to attack Tara, because it was not the sort of thing that the Gruagach had ever done. People said, darkly, that they had been egged on to it (the Robemaker was a strong suspect for this), and that they were being used as pawns and puppets and straw leaders.

  None of this made the Gruagach any easier to put up with. Caspar did not like giants, even when they had a dash of Human blood for leaven, and he was not going to change the opinion of a lifetime just because the Gruagach were housing him and feeding him and being jolly to him. He was, of course, very pleased to be housed in luxury inside Tara (a south-facing bed-chamber it was, which caught the evening sun nicely), and it had to be said that the food that came to the massive carved banqueting table every evening and every noon was extremely good, not to say plentiful (giants were nearly always greedy). The jollity was sometimes a bit exhausting, because the Gruagach’s notion of what was funny was not always Caspar’s. This was something that had to be endured, however, if you liked south-facing bed-chambers and laden supper tables.

  But say what you liked about all creatures being the same under the skin, giants were different. They were not Human, and all the pretending, and all the dressing up in Human clothes and pretending to follow Human ways did not make them Human. Facts had to be faced — and the fact was that the Gruagach were giants.

  And it was all very well for the ordinary Human people down in the village to smile slyly and nudge one another, and say that, to be sure, hadn’t Caspar the fine old job of work up at the Shining Citadel, never mind that it was the giants he served, and wouldn’t it do your heart good to know that your only task was to go off out hunting for comely girls to bring up to the castle?

  It was not a fine job of work at all, and it did Caspar’s heart not the least bit of good. In fact, it frequently gave him indigestion and if anyone thought it was an easy life, all Caspar could say was they were all welcome to it.

  It all came of the Gruagach being giants. Caspar had coped quite easily with the ordinary, everyday Court which had been sensible and normal and what they were all used to. He had quite enjoyed being a part of all that, seeking out young girls for whoever commissioned his services, occasionally sampling the wares for himself on the side, because it was a sorry old world if you could not take a perquisite for yourself now and then. Caspar was not over and above partial to that sort of thing really, but you had to conform.

  The Gruagach were trying to conform now. That was mostly the trouble. They thought they ought to be bawdy and rollicking, and they thought they ought to bed everything that was beddable — which meant a great deal of extra work for Caspar because, as everyone knew, giants were lazy and would not be going off out to look for suitable bed partners for themselves. And if anyone thought it was easy to find females who were willing to go to bed with a giant who were pretty enough to satisfy the Gruagach as well, then all Caspar could say was just let them try it.

  Human females were apt to be extremely apprehensive about getting into bed with a giant and, when you thought about it, you couldn’t blame them. Caspar was always careful to explain to likely candidates that, in fact, giants were possessed of unusually small penises and that they were very quickly satisfied (in fact the King nearly always nodded off halfway through), but Caspar was not always believed. It made life very difficult.

  He was not especially pleased when the summons came for him to go down to the Sun Chamber, because he knew that this meant that the giants were bored, or perhaps they had decided to celebrate something or other, and they would want Caspar to be bringing up a prisoner or two, and they would probably want him to help them devise some kind of entertainment for the evening. It was a sorry old life at Tara these days and, as Caspar donned a fur-trimmed robe (because the Sun Chamber was apt to be a bit cold at times), and combed his hair into neatness, he thought it was to be hoped that the giants were not planning on celebrating the Fidchell. Caspar was no more and no less squeamish than the next man, but the Fidchell was the grisl
iest ritual he had ever come across.

  In the great Sun Chamber, Goibniu was setting out the floor for the celebrating of the Fidchell and the others were cheering and beginning to lay bets, because it was quite some time since the Fidchell had been celebrated. They had celebrated it quite often at Gruagach of course, where there was never any interference and where there would usually be a few Human travellers who had lost their way or were on an adventure, or a quest.

  It had all been easy and friendly, because everyone who had approached Gruagach and requested a night’s shelter could be assumed to know the dangers. Humans who walked up to a giants’ Castle and demanded admittance could be regarded as fair game, said Goibniu, and they had all agreed. But here, at Tara, they were in the Humans’ own land and they had to be a bit cautious. Also, you could not go rampaging down into the villages and the towns and just pluck up as many Humans as you felt like, because you would soon find yourselves without any Humans left.

  They could all see this quite well, but for tonight, with the Angry Sun rampaging about the skies and surely carrying Humans with it, they could permit themselves a little indulgence. As Goibniu said, with one of his bellyshaking laughs, it was a very long time indeed since they had made the Humans jump and scurry and it was even longer since they had sampled Manpie afterwards. If Caspar had a few Humans in readiness, they might as well have a bit of a taster, said Goibniu.

  ‘What has he in the cages at present?’ asked Inchbad, and the younger giants looked about them greedily, because everyone knew that Caspar was under orders to keep a nice little supply of Humans in the dungeons. You never knew when you might be wanting a Human for a bit of entertainment. Some of the very young giants hoped they would be allowed to stay up late, because they had never actually seen the Fidchell performed and they had certainly not tasted Manpie.

  ‘An elegant taste,’ said Goibniu, who believed in keeping to the old ways. And then, ‘Although of course, it depends on the particular Human. They will gorge themselves on roast boar and too much poteen, and it makes them fat.’ He looked round, and said, rather more sternly, ‘And where is Caspar?’

  But Caspar had arrived by now and was crossing the floor, looking rather small and insignificant compared with the Gruagach. He furrowed his brow on being questioned and said he thought they had a couple of poachers and maybe a tinker or two in the dungeons, and if their honours would allow him a few minutes — well, perhaps quarter of an hour, he would have them all up inside the Sun Chamber ready for the Fidchell.

  ‘But,’ said Goibniu, leaning down and thrusting his large brutish face closer to Caspar than Caspar cared for, ‘but, Master Procurer, there is to be no escape for the prisoners, contrived or otherwise. Or we shall make you squeal in the Fidchell yourself.’

  ‘Let them escape? My word, I should think not indeed,’ said Caspar, shocked to his toes at the very idea. ‘Bless us all, what would things be coming to if we allowed Humans to escape when your honours were wanting a play at the Fidchell.’

  ‘That’s better,’ said Goibniu, straightening up, and smiling in a way Caspar did not like. ‘And after you have supplied us, Master Procurer, you had better be off to find the Feargach Grian.’ He grinned again, because wasn’t there something especially comical about sending a Human to trap one of its own kind.

  Caspar muttered an assent and took himself off to the dungeons, where the Gruagach had set up cages and where, despite their protestations and their ridiculous attempts at wearing nearly human clothing and pretending that they shaved and could grow beards if they wanted to, they were still sufficiently giantish to want a supply of captured Humans for the cat-and-mouse game of the Fidchell. They liked to think of the dungeons as their larder and, in fact, Goibniu was not above coming down here himself, just to see what prisoners there were. Which made it extremely difficult to release people furtively, which was what Caspar tried to do whenever he could. He would have to think of another way of releasing the prisoners, because no Human who was forced into the grisly Fidchell ever escaped.

  Caspar wondered, not for the first time, whether the game was worth the candle.

  Chapter Eight

  Fael-Inis was leading the way out of the cavern with the chasm and the rushing Fire River, and down a wide rocky tunnel with the firelight pouring over the walls. Tunnels and passages led off at unexpected intervals. ‘Like a honeycomb,’ said Snodgrass, who had once attempted to keep bees. Fael-Inis turned at that and said, ‘That is astute of you, Human. In the legends of this world, this is known as the Road of the Honeycombs.’

  ‘You say “this world”,’ said Floy.

  ‘Yes. It is a world in between worlds. A Corridor. Presently you must pass out of it.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I will take you.’

  ‘Oh. Yes. Of course,’ said Floy, and Fael-Inis laughed.

  ‘It is strange and bewildering, but it is not so very strange as all that. You are in a Corridor of Time. There are no doorways into Time, you see. The Time Curtain that was drawn down at the very beginning was intended to prevent worlds overlapping. Any such overlaps would have created problems of a magnitude that Mankind could probably not have survived. You have -I think you would say you have been forced through a tear in the fabric.’

  ‘By falling into the vortex?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is this your world?’ asked Fenella.

  ‘No.’

  ‘What is your world?’

  ‘Perhaps there is no such place. Perhaps I am condemned to search all the worlds until I find my place,’ said their host, and sent them one of his strange, slanting looks. ‘But for the moment I dwell here. And, for the moment, it is my task to rescue creatures who lose their way.’

  ‘“Task”?’ queried Floy, and again there was the sideways look.

  ‘You would prefer me to say “punishment”?’ said Fael-Inis lifting his brows and giving Floy one of his remote looks.

  ‘Is it a punishment?’ asked Floy, returning the stare.

  ‘It depends how you regard punishment,’ said Fael-Inis, unruffled as a cat. ‘There are Manmade laws which decree that the sin prescribes the punishment.’

  ‘That is a rather good arrangement,’ said Floy, thoughtfully.

  ‘It is the only one I would bow to,’ said Fael-Inis, unexpectedly. And then, before anyone could say anything else, ‘We have to go along here,’ he said. ‘And the roof is rather low.’

  The roof was very low indeed and they all had to bend over to avoid it, except Fenella who was smaller than the rest. The tunnel floor was somehow soft, and Fenella saw that their feet were sinking, just a little, into its surface, as if they were walking on thick, springy grass. Only it was not grass, it was fire, but it was silky and only faintly warm.

  ‘I control the fires,’ said Fael-Inis, apparently picking this up easily. ‘If I did not keep them banked down, the poor creatures in the townships surrounding the Fire Country would freeze.’

  ‘The fires would suck all the heat from them,’ said Fenella, and Fael-Inis turned to regard her appreciatively.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I see you understand better than most, Mortal,’ and Fenella felt quite absurdly pleased.

  ‘Also,’ said Fael-Inis, apparently considering that more information was needed, ‘also, to drain the heat from any one place is to render it vulnerable.’

  ‘To — cold?’ asked Floy.

  ‘To the Geimhreadh and her terrible armies,’ said Fael-Inis. And then, as Floy looked up questioningly, ‘The Geimhreadh leads the dread race of the Frost Giants,’ he said. ‘She is a necromancer of the highest order and she will hold Court anywhere that is sufficiently cold and sufficiently bleak and desolate.’ He sent them a mischievous glance. ‘You are in unknown worlds, now, Mortals. Have I not told you you will encounter creatures who will hunt you for sport, and creatures who will stalk you for your souls, and perhaps even creatures who will stalk you for your bodies?’ The golden eyes were impersonal, although Fenella d
etected a glint of amusement again.

  ‘But if you are to sojourn in this world,’ said Fael-Inis, ‘you should know something of its dangers.’ He grinned. ‘I am heedless and uncaring of the laws of all the worlds, but I give you a warning, you see. Perhaps you will have had dangers and enemies in your own world?’

  ‘Yes, but not quite in the same way,’ said Floy, remembering Quilp.

  ‘But you can understand. You will understand that there are creatures to be wary of. You should be wary of the Gruagach,’ he said, suddenly, his expression serious.

  ‘What are they?’

  ‘They have in them giantish blood, and they hunt Humans for their supper tables,’ said FaeHnis, and Fenella shuddered, and Snodgrass said, rather faintly, ‘Dear me.’

  ‘They are stupid and brutish and, if you are clever, you may outwit them.’

  ‘And the Geimhreadh?’ said Floy.

  ‘Oh, you must be very wary of the Geimhreadh,’ he said, and then, with another of his mischievous looks at Floy. ‘She is endlessly eager for the bodies of beautiful young men.’ He regarded Floy and appeared to derive faint amusement from Floy’s start of surprise. ‘You do not have such beings in your world?’

  ‘Well, we do,’ said Floy, ‘only that they are not so — ’

  ‘Blatant?’

  Floy said carefully, ‘It was not considered — acceptable — to admit to the appetites of the flesh in our world, you see.’

  ‘But it didn’t really make people any different,’ said Fenella, who thought they ought to defend Renascia a bit and who did not want to make it sound too meek.

  Snizort, rather unexpectedly, said that he had recorded a few quite amazing things in his Diaries about the Renascians in general and Quilp’s Council in particular. ‘He wasn’t all he seemed, that Quilp,’ he added darkly. ‘My word, I could have told a few tales, my word I could.’