by Sarah Rayne
Many things, but never those, my Lady …
Never that. There had even been a thread of affectionate amusement in the thought, as if he might be saying: of course he will not cow me and of course he will not subdue me.
Of course he will not, thought Fenella, torn between fierce pride and dread at what was ahead. Because wherever the Robemaker took Nuadu, wherever his terrible Dark Workshops were, they would surely be guarded, and there would be little hope of a rescue.
As if in response, the Robemaker turned the deep concealing hood to where Fenella stood, and said, ‘Your paramour will be out of your reach, Human,’ so that Fenella felt, as Floy had felt earlier, revulsion at the knowledge that the Robemaker could see with such ease into her mind.
‘He will be kept safe and he will be kept close,’ said the Robemaker, in the same fleshless, lipless whisper. ‘He will be my creature and he will work for me in the Workshops until he is bent and aged and until his back is breaking with the constant weaving of the Silver Looms. He will work until his legs are bowed and useless and the soles of his feet are flayed and raw from the treadmills that turn the Looms … ’ Once again the dreadful, bubbling chuckle rang out. ‘And when that has happened, Human,’ said the Robemaker, ‘when that has all happened — and it will not be so very long, for the creatures in my Workshops do not see the years accumulate into old age — then I shall take his soul and give it to the Soul Eaters, and his body will be flung to the River of the Dead.
‘And the baseborn son of the Wolves will never be seen or heard of again.’
Chapter Sixteen
The Robemaker had taken Nuadu, melting into the shadows, keeping them at bay with a glittering mesh of crimson lights, rendering them powerless.
And then the crimson lights had disappeared and, although the night air had smelt sweeter and fresher and lighter, they were alone on the dark road and Nuadu was gone.
Snodgrass thought there had been a mist that had come down to blur their vision. ‘So that he could get away with Nuadu,’ he said wisely. But Floy had thought it was simply that the Robemaker had gone, as he had come, in a swirl of darkness, in some terrible vortex of blackness, taking Nuadu with him.
Floy wanted to put his arms about Fenella and say that he understood that she was hurting and that he would bear it with her. If there was anything they could do, they would do it. He did not do this, because Fenella could sometimes be unexpectedly withdrawn; a shuttered look would come into her eyes and, although she would be entirely polite and even friendly, Floy would feel that a small, private part of her had been closed off.
Floy had not entirely understood Nuadu and he had been very wary indeed of trusting him, although he thought, trying hard to be honest, that this had partly been because of Fenella. I believe I may have been jealous, he thought, appalled. Am I, then, so possessive of Fenella?
He did not know. He had been proud of his sister; he had enjoyed her quick intelligence and her instinctive understanding, and he had encouraged and been interested in her schemes and her plans. It was rather dreadful to think he might have been jealous of Nuadu, who had called Fenella ‘My Lady’, and who had exchanged that look of sudden intimacy with her at the last. Well, he’ll have to be found, thought Floy. That’s all there is to it. Somehow we shall have to find him and rescue him.
Snodgrass was discussing the Robemaker with Fenella. ‘You saw how the spell — what did Nuadu call it? — the enchantment to call up the sidh was quenched before he even finished it.’ And then, taking her hand, and looked at her earnestly over his spectacles, ‘We shall try to rescue him, of course.’
‘We shall try and we shall succeed,’ said Floy, and Fenella looked at them both with immense gratitude. ‘And I believe,’ he said, looking across to the brilliance of Tara, ‘I do believe that we should continue with the original plan.’
‘Go up to Tara?’ said Fenella.
‘Yes. Inside Tara, we may learn where the Robemaker’s Workshops lie,’ said Floy and Fenella remembered that they had no idea where the Workshops were and that they had not even been able to tell in which direction the Robemaker had gone. They would have to try to find this out.
And so she said, ‘Yes, of course.’
‘We have to do something,’ said Floy, frowning. ‘And anyway, Nuadu and the others were so definite about the giants being stupid and easy to outwit. Now we have to outwit them on two counts instead of just one.’
‘Obtain the information about their guards for the Court,’ said Snodgrass.
‘And find out where the Robemaker’s Workshops are,’ finished Fenella.
‘Yes,’ said Floy, and the reckless light shone briefly in his eyes. ‘It’ll be easy,’ he said. ‘If we can’t fool a few giants, we aren’t worth much.’
Even so, they approached Tara with extreme caution.
‘Although,’ said Snodgrass in a practical manner, ‘there’s no call to let them know we’re afraid.’
‘We are afraid,’ said Fenella, staring up at the great bulk of the Castle and remembering that, no matter how dull-witted the giants might be, still they had managed to drive out the Wolfkings.
‘They didn’t do it by themselves,’ said Floy. ‘Don’t we know that already? They were simply the Robemaker’s pawns.’
‘And that other one — what did Nuadu call him? — CuRoi,’ put in Snodgrass. ‘But at least it means that they’ll know about the Robemaker, Fenella.’
‘And you can’t be afraid of pawns,’ said Floy.
‘I’m not afraid,’ said Fenella. And then, ‘Well, not very afraid.’
‘You don’t look at all afraid,’ said Snodgrass.
‘No, I’m believing that I’m brave. If I believe hard enough it might turn out to be true.’
As they drew nearer to the great Western Gate, where the soft radiance seemed to spill into the night until it surrounded them, Fenella found herself remembering that this was the place of Nuadu’s ancestors. He had never been inside it and now perhaps he never would. Was that why he had come with them? But that might mean that he had only been using them. And I refuse to believe that, thought Fenella. She would remember how he had called her ‘Lady’ and how he had been gentle and exciting, and how they were going to rescue him. They would be very subtle and clever with the giants, because giants were not really people to be afraid of. They were stupid and slow-witted, giants, and they were simply the puppets of the Robemaker and CuRoi. Once inside Tara, it would probably be quite easy to find out about the Robemaker and the terrible Workshops and the Silver Looms. They would not forget the quest for the creatures of the Forest Court though, because that was important, but they would make sure to find out the whereabouts of the Workshops.
But, said a tiny, whispery voice inside her head, but Nuadu should have been here. He should have been here with us, demanding admittance to the home of his ancestors … the Wolf prince returning … Only, of course, he was not really the Wolfprince, the rightful prince was somewhere deep in the heart of the Dark Realm.
The Palace of Tara, the legendary Shining Citadel, the Bright Castle of every tale ever told, was larger and more brilliant than anything they had ever seen.
Snodgrass was very impressed. ‘I’m very impressed indeed,’ he told them. ‘It isn’t at all what I expected. Is this the Western Gate? The one that Nuadu told us we would enter by? My word, it’s a massive affair, isn’t it? Was it originally built for giants, I wonder?’
‘I think it was just built to be awe-inspiring,’ said Floy, standing beneath the great soaring arches of brick, and looking all about him.
Snodgrass said that it succeeded, my word it did. ‘I ought to be taking notes,’ he said worriedly. ‘Snizort will be expecting a detailed account of all this, you know.’
‘Let’s get inside first,’ said Fenella, who was still reminding herself that she was not frightened.
They approached the huge iron-studded oak door which was pointed at the top and had great brass hinges and a round, carved kn
ocker with a wolfhead carved into it. The place of Nuadu’s ancestors … What had he said: I am bastard stocky but my mother was a Princess of the Royal House in her own right … So this is truly the place of his forebears, thought Fenella, and discovered an unexpected comfort in this. Was it because within these walls, she would always feel he was not so very far away? Perhaps. And any sort of courage is better than none at all, thought Fenella.
Seen close to, Tara was smooth and elegant and still bathed in the strong, vibrant light. Floy, who liked to know what made things work and what lay behind things, thought it was some kind of inner radiance. He thought it was not artificially produced, in the way that the early Earth-dwellers had apparently been able to produce bright lights, which was interesting. And then he remembered that the creatures who inhabited Tara were years and centuries and worlds before the Earth-people who had known how to make light and heat water and shine vivid lights that meant you could see as clearly by night as you could by day.
They could see Tara very clearly indeed.
‘Massive,’ said Snodgrass. ‘My word, it must stretch for miles.’
‘It’s awe-inspiring,’ said Floy. ‘And it’s beautiful. Fenella, isn’t it beautiful?’
Fenella was standing with the other two, staring about her, her eyes huge. She said, softly, ‘I think it is the most beautiful thing I ever saw in my life.’
Set in the saucer-shaped valley, bastioned in light and bathed in its own iridescence, Tara was a fairy-tale palace, a shimmering castle, a walled city of beauty and colour and brilliance.
And it was inhabited by the usurping Giants of Gruagach. If there was to be any point at all to this strange quest, and certainly if they were to help the captured Nuadu Airgetlam, they must knock boldly on the great oak door and request admittance.
It was Floy who did it in the end. ‘Of course it was,’ said Snodgrass, ‘I was mortally afraid. I don’t care who knows it.’
‘It wasn’t easy,’ said Fenella.
‘You were the least afraid of us all.’
‘I was very afraid indeed,’ said Fenella.
‘No one would have known.’
But by now, Fenella was not as afraid as she had expected to be. Was it possible that Nuadu was still touching her mind and that he was imbuing her with his own yearning for Tara?
I don’t understand it, thought Fenella. I am not even sure if the thoughts are my own thoughts any longer. But I don’t think I shall question it.
Floy had walked under the brick arch, which was not built of the ordinary red-brown warm bricks they knew on Renascia, but of some kind of pale, smooth, faintly luminous substance. He stood squarely in the centre of the courtyard, his hands on his hips, his feet planted firmly on the cobblestones.
He was not particularly afraid, although, like the others, he knew that they would have to be very wary indeed. But he was fascinated by the remarkably beautiful place called Tara, and he was intrigued by the tales of its history. They would not forget Renascia or its people, but it was difficult to think about Renascia, lost beyond recall to them. He wanted to know more about these people and their world, and he certainly wanted to know more about Tara. Beautiful, thought Floy, staring up at it. And then: I wonder what kind of creatures we are about to meet?
There was a grille with a bell rope and Floy reached up and pulled it. A vast, rather hollow-sounding clanging sounded somewhere inside the castle and then there were footsteps coming down some kind of vast corridor. The three travellers moved together almost without realising it. For warmth? wondered Fenella, and realised, in the same moment, that it was not for warmth at all, but for security. They would have to keep very close together throughout whatever might be ahead of them.
The grille opened with a rather horrid grating sound. ‘Needs oiling,’ muttered Snodgrass, ‘Dear me, they don’t keep house very well, these giants,’ and was told to hush by Floy who was trying to gauge the size of the owner of the footsteps.
‘Giants vary,’ he said.
‘Will he be very large?’ said Fenella, who had been thinking about the height of things like old apple trees, or three-storeyed houses, or even the masts of ships; there were not very many ships on Renascia, because there was not very much sea, but there had been pictures of ships in the Mnemosyne, because some of the Earth-people had been a sea-faring race.
Floy started to say that he thought the owner of the footsteps did not sound alarmingly large, when there was the sound of bolts being drawn back and keys turned in locks. The iron-studded door swung to and they were confronted with their first giant.
* * *
Inchbad’s first thought, when the gatekeeper brought up the news about the Humans requesting admittance, was that it had something to do with the appearance of the Angry Sun. You could not always be telling quite how these things would work and it was quite likely — well, it was very likely really — that the Humans had in some way come from the Angry Sun. There was no accounting for the ways of Humans, any more than there was any accounting for Beastline creatures, although, of the two, Inchbad would far rather deal with Humans. Beastline creatures were neither quite one thing nor the other, when you looked at it plainly. Inchbad did not like dealing with the Beastline, and he very particularly did not like dealing with the Wolfline, who made him nervous and unsure of himself, which was not something a King ought to be made to feel.
He turned his attention rather frowningly towards the gatekeeper-quarter-witted, poor soul, but you could not have everything these days — and listened to the story about the Humans, two men and a girl, asking could they be given food and shelter for the night.
‘Has the Star fallen to Earth?’ he asked, very cunningly, because the Gruagach could be very cunning indeed if they had to. It was not in Inchbad’s nature to be cunning, but he could do it if it was necessary. And so — ‘Has the Star fallen?’ he asked, and the gatekeeper, who was called Balor, and who was in fact not nearly as quarter-witted as he let the Gruagach King believe, said, ‘I wouldn’t be knowing, Sire,’ but said there were two Men-Humans and a Girl-Human, and looked more wooden-brained than usual, so that Inchbad recalled the tale about the boy’s grandsire breeding from a Human, and remembered that what was in the meat came out in the gravy and thought you could always tell.
Inchbad looked to Goibniu for direction about the Humans, because Goibniu always knew what ought to be done. He was always a great help to Inchbad. He looked, as well, at Caspar, because there was a Girl-Human with the travellers and Inchbad was quite partial to a young toothsome Girl in his bed now and then. Humans were very pretty; they were much prettier than giantesses, if a bit on the small side. Inchbad would be very interested in the Girl, and perhaps something could be arranged for later. Caspar would see to that, of course.
‘Bring the Humans in,’ said Goibniu, in his rather rumbling voice and Balor took himself back to his cubbyhole by the Great Western Gate, thinking that, to be sure, didn’t His Majesty appear addle-brained at times and bethought himself of the old gossip that told how the King’s granddam had mated with one of the Ogres of Ole Acha than whom you could not get more stupid. These things often had the way of skipping a generation, but say what you liked, you could always tell the tree by looking at the fruit.
Goibniu had been rather pleased at this unexpected piece of good fortune. It was not often you got Humans actually asking to be let in. They would make the most of this.
He stood before the fire that they all liked to have lit in the evenings and hooked his thumbs into his belt and prepared to be affable. Inchbad, who was looking forward to seeing the Humans, and who was especially looking forward to the Girl, thought that Goibniu was becoming a bit obese these days. He was fond of his supper of course. Well, so were they all fond of their suppers. But Goibniu took the thing a bit too far. Inchbad had heard the younger ones sniggering about the village wenches that Caspar brought up for Goibniu and about how Goibniu had squashed three of them one night because he had rolled over in bed
before they were ready for him.
Inchbad had thought this extremely vulgar of Goibniu and it had caused great trouble from the villagers who would not be letting their daughters (pretty little things) come up to the Castle to be squashed and rolled on by thoughtless giants. You might as well be baked and served up in a Manpie, said the villagers angrily, and they had actually marched on Tara by night, carrying flaring torches and brandishing pitchforks, and shouting things like ‘Death to the Giants!’ and ‘Tara for the Irish!’ and ‘No more Manpies for Goibniu the Greediguts!’ Some of them had even had the temerity to get up a Petition, which they had presented at the Western Gate, which had said they were sick of the Robemaker scouring the land for victims for his horrid Workshops and they were tired of hiding their strongest young men whenever he walked abroad and they were going to ride on the Workshops and slay the Robemaker.
This was extremely worrying, because the Gruagach did not dare to offend the Robemaker, particularly not when they were settling into Tara so very nicely and particularly when Goibniu was in the very process of arranging the weighty matter of Inchbad’s marriage. And although Inchbad had not been altogether happy about the plan to invade the south and wrest Tara from the Wolfkings, he was beginning to agree with Goibniu that matters were turning out very nicely.
To begin with, Fenella thought it was not so very bad. She thought she could cope with it. She thought she could certainly manage not to be afraid, or at least not very much.
The gatekeeper had been quite affable. He was probably not so very large as giants went although, as Floy was to say, it depended on your previous experience, of which they had none whatsoever.
Balor the Gatekeeper was somewhere around twelve feet high and dressed in a leather jerkin and moleskin breeches with the ends tucked into leather boots which had the tops rolled over. He had surveyed them with his thumbs hooked into his belt (they discovered later that this was a characteristic pose for most of the Gruagach), and he had a thatch of straw-coloured hair and rather small eyes, with a wide grinning mouth below.