by Sarah Rayne
The Trees seemed to be waiting for Tealtaoich to make the first move and the largest of the Oaks had inclined their heads quite courteously. ‘But,’ said Clumhach in one of his huge whispers, ‘you get the feeling that you could easily be made to feel a fool by them, don’t you?’
‘Speak for yourself,’ said Oisin, to whom this remark happened to have been directed.
‘Those Silver Birches don’t look very reliable. Still, I’d rather have them with us than against us,’ added Feradach.
Tealtaoich stood quite still, regarding the waiting Trees and seeing that they were listening and apparently politely prepared to hear anything he had to say.
‘You are well come,’ he said at last, and the Trees inclined their heads again.
‘They’ll like that,’ murmured Oisin to Snizort. ‘It’s the ancient welcoming Ritual and, in all of the stories, the Tree Spirits set very great store by rituals. And they’ll like the fact that it’s a Prince of Ireland who has been sent to talk to them.’
Tealtaoich, facing the Tree Spirits, was remembering this as well. Then, hoping he could remember enough of the ancient language of chivalry and selecting his words with extreme care, he said, ‘Good Trees, we ask your assistance,’ and saw the Elms nod to one another meaningfully, as if they had been expecting all along to be asked to do something for the Humans.
‘Tara is in the hands of the Dark Powers,’ said Tealtaoich, hoping that this was the correct thing to say, because nobody had seemed quite sure which side the Trees would be on. ‘It is in thrall to a Necromancer of the highest order and the Wolfking is dead.’ There was a rustle of emotion at this. The Beeches drooped their beautiful heads and their copper leaf-hair rippled across the forest floor. The Elms looked at them rather disapprovingly and then turned back to Tealtaoich.
Tealtaoich said, ‘You have always been on the side of justice, Trees; come with us and fight with us and for us, as you have done in the past.’ He lifted his voice slightly. ‘Come with us and help us to beat back the Dark Ireland once again.’ A pause. ‘Once before,’ said Tealtaoich, reaching into his memory, ‘once before, you answered the Wolfkings’ cry for help. It is a part of our history, that, and a part which we revere greatly. Once before, you rose up from the great forests of Ireland and came to the aid of our greatest King of all, Cormac of the Wolves. You turned the tide of a battle then, centuries ago.
‘We have kept that memory with us ever since and we have always believed that the Trees would ever be on the side of the Wolfkings and the Beastline and the One True Ireland.’ He paused for breath. ‘Will you fight with us and for us again?’ said Tealtaoich. ‘Will you come with us to Tara and help us sweep to victory? Will you fight for the descendants of the great Cormac and his daughter Dierdriu and the descendants of Grainne the Gentle and of Erin and of Niall of the Nine Hostages? And of all the Wolfkings and Queens who have made Ireland great?’
Tealtaoich paused again and stood waiting and a murmur of approval went through the others. Feradach whispered to Oisin that you had to give credit where it was due; Tealtaoich really did this sort of thing extremely well.
‘Yes, but I don’t know if he’s reaching them,’ said Oisin, his eyes on Tealtaoich’s slight form. ‘They’re rather overpowering, aren’t they?’
The Trees seemed to be thinking Tealtaoich’s words over and Tealtaoich, still standing before them, received the impression that they might be somehow conferring with one another in some silent fashion of their own. The Oaks bent their branchy heads closer and the Silver Birches rippled and chattered. And then the largest of the Oaks moved forward and Tealtaoich saw that he had the high, domed forehead of a scholar and a thinker and that his ancient eyes held wisdom and knowledge.
‘Son of the Wild Panthers,’ said the Oak, in a warm, woodsy sort of voice, ‘son of one of Ireland’s most ancient Bloodlines, is it solely to ask our help that you have woken us?’
Tealtaoich thought, rather grimly, that this was a nasty one. They had woken the Trees only so that they could ask for their help, of course. As he hesitated, searching for the proper words, the Oak spoke again.
‘We have slept the enchanted slumber, the Draoicht Suan, for many centuries,’ it said. ‘You will know of our history and you will know that we were sent into that slumber many hundreds of years ago, by the Dark Lords who held sway in the reign of the High King Cormac.’
‘I do know,’ said Tealtaoich, and thought there was a note of reproof in the Oak’s tone, as if the Tree Spirits were angry at being summoned like this. They are not going to help us, he thought, and knew a rush of complete despair.
The Oak said, ‘But we have lent our aid to the Royal Houses of the Beastline in times of extreme danger and we have also fought to regain Tara for the rightful heir.’
The rightful heir … Taken and imprisoned and held fast in the black depths of the Dark Ireland. I wonder if they know about that, thought Tealtaoich. But he only said, ‘Will you join with us?’ and looked at the Oak very straightly.
There was a pause, and the Oak seemed to study him afresh with solemn, scholarly eyes.
‘Ireland is threatened by a terrible force,’ it said, and the listening Court held their breath. ‘It is menaced by the evil CuRoi and by the Robemaker.’ At the mention of the Robemaker, a shiver went through the Trees. ‘We know it and we feel it,’ said the Oak.
‘We do not promise to help you, Son of the Panthers. But we will attend a Council of War and hear your plans. If we believe that Ireland can be purged of the Dark Lords and the Wolfline reinstated, then we will join with you.’
The Oak regarded Tealtaoich severely. ‘For,’ it said, ‘unless the Wolfline is reinstated, Ireland is surely doomed for generations to come.’
Chapter Twenty-two
Floy and Snodgrass, with Balor accompanying them, set out from Tara at noon the next day.
‘Carrying,’ said Goibniu, ‘the new marriage proposal, and the designs for Flame’s jewels.’
The new proposals contained a revised list of the territories the Gruagach were prepared to cede to Reflection in exchange for her daughter but Caspar, who had managed to get a look at these, had told Floy that the Gruagach were only ceding some barren bits of wasteland surrounding the Robemaker’s Workshops, the Lake of Dhairbhreach — which nobody in their right minds would want — and a mountain or two. ‘It looks quite good on paper,’ he said. ‘In fact, it looks very generous. But it’s nothing more than a double-cross, really. Goibniu will never give away anything that is worth a button.’
The Gnomes had rolled the designs for the new Crown Jewels into cylinders and packed them carefully into long, hollow tubes, which they had brought with them for the purpose.
‘Best copper on gold,’ said Bith of the Bog-Hat. ‘Engraved with tongues of flame,’ said Flaherty, who had thought up this himself and did not want it overlooked.
‘I did the engraving,’ said Culdub Oakapple. ‘What you do is, you heat up an iron spike — ’
‘Don’t let Floy forget the chart of colours.’
‘ — until it’s so hot it’s white — ’
‘And there’s the pearl diadem we made, just as a bit of a gift — ’
‘ — I blistered my thumbs on it — ’
Floy said, ‘I shall not forget anything and I feel sure that Reflection and Flame will be greatly impressed by your sketches.’
The Gnomes broke into wide grins at this and said wasn’t impressing the thing and Floy in the right of it, and impress was what they’d set out to do and hadn’t Floy the way with words?
‘And if,’ said Bith of the Bog-Hat, ‘your impress-ship should ever be wanting an armlet or two, or maybe a plain everyday crown circlet, we’d be happy to oblige.’
The Gnomes chimed in, saying to be sure they would, obliging was what they were, and it the best thing of all to be, leave aside impressing, which was just as important.
‘And so,’ said Floy, looking at Fenella, wondering how all this might have been rece
ived on Renascia, ‘and so, we will set off.’
Fenella looked at Floy and remembered about the Robemaker and the way he had captured Nuadu and rendered them all helpless, and about the exiled Court and the sidh and the Tree Spirits that Miach had almost awoken, and which might turn out not to be friends, but enemies. And thought: and Floy is going off into the midst of all these and it is perfectly possible that I shall never see him again.
But it would not do to show any emotion before the giants, who had all gathered to see Floy and Snodgrass off, or before Balor, who was waiting in high good humour at the unexpected excitement of a journey to the Fire Court. And so Fenella said, ‘I wish you a safe journey,’ and was pleased that her voice came out firm and perfectly calm, as if she was quite accustomed to seeing her brother off on a journey to the Court of a Sorceress, which would take him past all manner of weird and darkly enchanted places.
‘And a speedy return,’ said Caspar, winking plumply on the side that the giants could not see. ‘That’s important. A speedy return.’
They were to depart from the Western Gate. ‘Which,’ said Caspar, ‘is where all important journeys start from.’
‘It will be our first real sight of Ireland,’ said Floy to Caspar, as if there was nothing more on his mind other than surveying the land they were about to travel through.
He stood for a moment, framed in the great gateway, and Fenella saw how the early morning light touched his dark hair and brought out red glints in it and saw, as well, that his eyes were shining, as if he was already looking ahead to the dangers and the adventures. Yes, perhaps it will be all right. Of course it will be all right.
Snodgrass was discussing with the Gnomes the best route to take and Caspar was making sure that they had packed the maps and Inchbad and Goll the Gorm and Arca Dubh were nodding and smiling and, of course, there was nothing sinister in their smiles — and there was certainly nothing in the least sinister in the way that Goibniu was looking at Fenella, thumbs hooked in his belt, his wide greedy mouth curving into a satisfied grin …
Balor was going to let down the drawbridge so that they could ride across it. ‘Seeing that it’s a special occasion,’ he said, and Goibniu had procured two horses for Floy and Snodgrass to ride. Balor would walk, because giants did not ride.
‘There aren’t horses that would carry them,’ muttered Caspar. ‘And on horseback you’ll get a better chance of losing him.’
The provision of horses was unexpected, but curiously cheering, because it seemed to show that the giants were sending Floy and Snodgrass off in reasonable style, as if they expected them to return.
‘Of course you will return,’ said Goibniu. ‘The lady will be here, waiting for you.’ There was another of the smiling glances at Fenella. ‘She will entertain us every evening after supper,’ said Goibniu and Floy nearly abandoned the entire thing there and then, because there had been something so meaningful in the way that Goibniu had said entertain that he wondered how they could ever have considered leaving her here alone.
‘I suppose,’ said Floy, thoughtfully, fixing Caspar with an equally meaningful stare, ‘that we can trust you, can we?’ and Caspar said, ‘Oh, for the — Floy, I’ve been trying to get away from these creatures ever since they took Tara!
We’ll meet you on the road leading to Lake Dhairbhreach as we arranged.’
‘Yes,’ said Floy. ‘All right.’
Neither Floy nor Snodgrass had ever actually seen a horse, let alone ridden one. ‘But it is not really so very difficult,’ said Snodgrass, after he was hoisted into the saddle and discovered how to take up the reins.
Floy stood where he was for a moment, looking up at the great, shining edifice that was Tara, Ireland’s Bright Palace, the great legendary Citadel of Light, the home of the Wolfkings … Shall I ever see this again? And then, with a pang of real anguish: shall I ever see Fenella again? he thought. But there was nothing to be done; Goibniu had made it a request that Floy and Snodgrass travel to the Fire Court leaving Fenella alone. It had been courteously framed, but Goibniu had arranged for Balor to go with them and Floy had known — and everyone had known — that it had not really been a request but a command.
There was a quick, rather fierce embrace. ‘Go safely, Floy,’ whispered Fenella, who thought it safer not to say more, and then one of the stable hands brought the second horse forward and Floy found, as Snodgrass had, that it was actually quite easy to spring into the saddle and it was rather a safe feeling to be seated astride a horse like this.
And then the drawbridge was falling, with a clanking and a whirring of machinery and the light was pouring into the courtyard and the Gnomes were cheering and the giants were nodding to one another, and there was nothing for it but to ride away with Snodgrass, with Balor loping along at their side, with Fenella behind in the hands of the Gruagach.
It was a rather dreadful feeling to know you were alone inside a castle of giants. Fenella, tidying her hair for supper, thought she had never felt quite so alone in her life. Probably everything would be all right and probably there was nothing to be afraid of. Probably Inchbad and the others would be extremely friendly and entirely courteous. Also, the Gnomes would still be there. Fenella, who had almost forgotten about this, was cheered, because it was impossible to be afraid (well, almost impossible) with Bith and Culdub and Flaherty and the rest of them.
Caspar came to collect her before supper. ‘In case you miss your way,’ he said, but Fenella had heard the key turn in the lock earlier and knew she was still being treated as a prisoner.
Supper was rather an odd meal. Fenella was seated next to Inchbad, who patted her hand and said she was a pretty little thing, but seemed preoccupied. Goll the Gorm sat on her left and devoted all his attention to the food and Goibniu was two seats down. The Gnomes sat at the far table, eating and drinking happily, whiling away an amiable half hour by telling anyone who would listen the entire history of the Crown Jewels and the history of the Gallan forges. Flaherty took a drop more of the giants’ mulled wine than was good for him and very nearly disgraced his fellows by reciting an extremely improper poem, describing the exploits of a fair maiden who had fallen foul of a wicked and lustfully intentioned knight, but who had then escaped by invoking a demon who withered the knight’s passion. The Gnomes thought this very funny and Caspar laughed loudly but Inchbad and the giants missed the point.
‘Stupid,’ mouthed Caspar at Fenella, under cover of the serving of half a dozen roast boars. ‘I told you. We ought to be able to creep out easily when they’re all asleep,’ he added and Fenella frowned at him, because they could not risk the giants guessing what they intended to do.
They were three quarters of the way through the meal when Caspar, who did not miss anything any of the giants said and who had, in fact, long since perfected the art of listening to three different conversations at once, suddenly went rather white and made frantic gestures to Fenella.
‘What’s the matter?’ said Fenella as Caspar trotted round to her chair, under cover of bringing round a Human-sized bowl of fruit. ‘And do, for heavens’ sake, be watchful or they’ll suspect us of collusion.’
‘What’s that?’ said Caspar. And then, ‘No, don’t tell me, we haven’t got time.’ He took a deep breath and glanced round at the giants. ‘They’re going to celebrate the Fidchell again,’ he said.
‘Yes?’
‘Yes. With you and the gnomes. They’re not overly partial to gnomes, but they think it’s too good an opportunity to miss.’
‘But they were going to wait for Floy to get back! I was going to tell them about Renascia and the Angry Sun and — ’ Fenella trailed into silence, staring at Caspar.
‘They aren’t going to wait for Floy to come back,’ said Caspar. ‘In fact, from what Goibniu said, I rather think they don’t expect him to get back at all.’
‘Oh,’ said Fenella, suddenly feeling rather sick. ‘But that means — ’ And stopped.
‘It means,’ said Caspar, ‘that you and
the Gnomes are going to be impaled on spikes and partly roasted on the Fidchell board. And then you’ll be finished off in the sculleries.
‘And then they’ll eat you,’ said Caspar, and Fenella stared at him in horror.
It was difficult to make the Gnomes understand. Caspar and Fenella had to explain it four times, and a fifth for Flaherty, who was still recovering from his overindulgence in the matter of the mulled wine.
To begin with, the Gnomes thought it a fine idea to be part of the traditional Fidchell and Bith of the Bog-Hat told how the Wolfkings had played it during the Winter Solstice with solid gold figures studded with ivory and pearl, which the Gnomes always had the supplying of. Flaherty said to be sure this was true, although he misremembered the last time they’d been called on to supply them, it being all of two years since the Wolfkings had been driven out by the Gruagach.
It was all very difficult.
‘And dangerous,’ said Caspar, with a backwards glance to where Goibniu was standing before the fire in the characteristic pose, thumbs in belt, surrounded by half a dozen or so of the others. He got down to the serious matter of explaining to the gnomes that the intricate, almost scholarly, Fidchell that the Wolfkings had enjoyed, bore no resemblance to the horrid gruesome version that the Gruagach played.
Fenella was watching the giants, feeling cold inside at the way in which they all kept glancing slyly in her direction. There had to be something they could do.
‘Couldn’t the gnomes do something?’ she said. ‘Bith, Culdub, can’t you think of something we can do? You know more about this kind of thing than I do. What do people do when they’re threatened by giants?’
‘If we don’t do something extremely soon,’ said Caspar, who was watching the giants furtively, ‘they’ll be heating up the squares any minute.’
One of the older Gnomes, who had a face like a wrinkled nutcracker and bright twinkly eyes, asked would a bit of magic be of any use anywhere, because wasn’t magic a powerful thing when you had a difficulty, and the other Gnomes said to be sure it was.