Wolfking The Omnibus: Books 1-4

by Sarah Rayne

  ‘We cannot be sure that the — ah — child has anything to do with the Gristlen,’ said the Mugain rather portentously, when they all gathered in the banqueting hall, with sentries posted at both ends again. ‘It is highly probable that it will be a true Amaranth, a son or daughter of Cerball and Laigne. Cerball thinks so, anyway,’ he said firmly.

  It was unfortunate that Murmur should choose that precise moment to giggle; the Mugains both glared and thought, couldn’t you trust any close relation of Rumour to be frivolous and silly at a serious meeting? Murmur drew breath to say that it was extremely unlikely that Laigne’s unborn child had anything to do with Cerball, since she had what was virtually incontrovertible proof that Cerball (even under the most encouraging of circumstances), could not raise his flag much above half-mast. This was the kind of thing that her Cousin Rumour would have said, but Murmur, who had not yet Rumour’s panache (but was working on it), looked round at the company, and doubted her ability to carry the thing off. She apologised and relapsed into subdued silence.

  ‘I believe,’ said the Mugain, removing his frown from Murmur and tucking his chins into his neck solemnly, ‘I believe that it behoves us to keep our suspicions to ourselves, and not put extra anxiety onto Cerball at this difficult time.’

  Several people nodded, because hadn’t they all been saying this, and the Arca Dubhs sneaked conspiratorial looks at one another, and remembered the very good suggestion of Iarbonel Soothsayer to involve the Black HeartStealers in the plot to overthrow Cerball.

  ‘We’ll continue to work on the spinning of spells to reach Theodora and Echbel,’ went on the Mugain, who was rather enjoying himself by this time. ‘We’ll continue to do that, but meantime, what we’ll do is, we’ll be weaving a few extra bits as a protection against anything nasty that might be born.’

  Great-aunt Fuamnach wanted to know what kinds of bits of protection Himself had in mind, and the Mugain, who had not visualised anything more definite than a length of Rainbow Light, or maybe conjuring up the Mirror of the Sorceress Reflection, said firmly that they would work something out.

  They all gathered for supper that evening, a bit strained and a bit wary, and it was into this strained and wary company that Maelduin, watchful as a cat in the dark, came. He stood for a moment in the doorway to the banqueting hall, amused and curious about this Humanish practice of eating and drinking round a table, the food scents and the fragrance of the wine touching his senses. Hunger and thirst. A need for the companionship of their own kind. Yes, these were things the Humanish found important.

  He moved forward at Cerball’s bidding, and was made known to the Mugain and his Lady, and to several of the younger sorcerers. When asked his name, he replied, ‘I am called Maelduin,’ and heard his voice fall on the air with a faint silvery tone. He looked at them to see if they had detected any strangeness, but although Great-aunt Fuamnach looked at him sharply, and the Mugain paused in the act of replenishing wine chalices, no one appeared to find anything unusual. Cerball, who seemed to be some kind of Elder, said he was very welcome; there was always a place at their table for a traveller, and a bed for the night to follow.

  This was entirely keeping with what Maelduin knew of Humanish, and particularly of the Amaranths. They enjoyed the company of people not from their own territories; they liked to hear about other ways of life. Presently they would ask him, with perfect courtesy, where he had come from and what his journey’s end was. There were a number of replies to this; some truthful, some not. He would wait to see if the Amaranths were likely to be of any use to his quest, and also, whether he thought they could be trusted.

  He sat at the table, watching to see how they ate, interested in the instruments they used for eating, copying them with the oddly fashioned silver implements laid out for his use.

  The food was unfamiliar but very good. Maelduin, fastidious by nature, perceptive and receptive, precise and delicate in his movements, found it surprisingly easy to segment pieces of meat with the silver utensils, to scoop up portions of sauce, and then to sip at the wine placed next to his hand. The food was brought by servants; Maelduin, unused to such a concept, found this intriguing. Was this all they did? How did the Amaranths secure their subservience? Were they in some way a slightly lower form of Humanish? The sidh had known that the Humanish world had grades, levels, so that some were richer and better housed than others. But how was it decided? Was it just luck?

  He looked round the great banqueting chamber, interested to see how the Amaranths arranged their possessions and embellished their rooms. There were wall-hangings — a bit stifling, but interesting — and standing against the walls were massive wooden frames, on which were placed tureens of soup and platters of meat and fish and bread. The rich reds and vivid blues of the walls were oppressive to one used to the cool ice-fires of Tiarna; the floor was covered here and there with very beautiful silk, the colours glowing and vivid. And they had a rather attractive way of making light: positioning small burning twists of wood or perhaps wax in silver holders on the walls. The tiny flames burned up, casting a soft radiance over the assembled company. Maelduin found this beautiful and intriguing.

  He listened to them carefully, hearing how they addressed remarks to one another, and then interposed comments of their own. A kind of tossing to and fro of speech, as if it were a game. If he half closed his eyes, he could see, very faintly, the glistening threads of their discourse, twining and spinning, touching first one of them and then another, occasionally rolling up into a huge silver globe, being thrown to someone else, and then unravelling again. He found it rather endearing that they should share their thoughts and their feelings in this way. Was it something he could do?

  When Cerball, turning to this unexpected, rather unusual looking guest at his table, said, ‘And may we know whence you come, Maelduin?’ Maelduin said, choosing his words with care:

  ‘I must carry out a quest for my family who have suffered grave illness.’ And thought: I believe that is ordinary and acceptable.

  It was ordinary and entirely acceptable to everyone. The Amaranths were used to people engaged on quests and pilgrimages and crusades. It was not considered to be in the best of good taste to ask for details of the quest or the pilgrimage, unless of course the traveller proffered the details voluntarily. Then it was usually very interesting, and everyone listened and asked questions and sometimes offered advice. Rumour, in fact, had woven a whole series of enchantments simply from listening to travellers’ tales; she had called them the Tapestry Enchantments, and when they were invoked, each one was in the form of a huge, glittering tapestry which Rumour could unroll and spread at people’s feet like a vivid carpet.

  But the young man called Maelduin, with his brilliant turquoise eyes and hair like a cap of molten silver, did not say very much about his quest. He was quiet and appeared interested in his hosts, and although he was not like anyone they had ever seen before, most of them were used to the heterogeny of people who came to the Porphyry Palace, or to the smaller castles of the rest of them. Hospitality to all comers was an Amaranth tradition.

  Great-aunt Fuamnach murmured to Bodb Decht that the boy had not the look of a pure-bred Human, and Bodb Decht, who was still engrossed in the newly discovered spell to infiltrate Almhuin, looked round and said, ‘I daresay he isn’t entirely Human. A great many people in Ireland aren’t.’

  Cerball, slightly puzzled by Maelduin, saw that he was listening to the various conversations that were going on round the table, his head tilted, almost as if he might be hearing their voices at a different level. Cerball thought: I hope we are not being infiltrated by something from the Dark Realm, and knew a stab of panic. Surely there were no more horrors for them to meet? Surely they had their share at present?

  Maelduin was beginning to enjoy himself. He found the Amaranths attractive and interesting, and he found their way of life intriguing. He had seen at once that each of them possessed the ancient vein of Amaranth blood, the strange, mystical, flame
-like power of Ireland’s true sorcerers, and he had seen that some possessed it in greater quantity than others. The Arca Dubhs caused him some disquiet, for he had seen at once the black stirring that was fermenting within them. He studied them, thinking there was something there that threatened the others, and that it would be a pity if these charming creatures were thrown into disruption or civil war. But it was nothing to do with him; he was here purely to find out if he could reach the Cadence, and then to embark on his search for the Gristlen and the sidh’s lost music.

  He was not aware that he was being inspected with strong interest, or that several of the ladies, particularly Murmur, were eyeing him with anticipatory delight. One or two felt the brilliant narrow eyes rest on her for a moment, and felt in that moment a bolt of such shattering light that it was necessary to look away instantly. A sorcerer? But he was not anyone that any of them had ever heard of. Like Cerball, they began to wonder about this exotic, beautiful young man who was most certainly not entirely Human.

  *

  Maelduin retired to the bedchamber allotted him, and regarded his surroundings with a faint air of amused curiosity. So this was how they slept when they rested; this was how they lay down, covering themselves with lengths of silk and velvet and fur. He stroked the bed-coverings, finding them soft and sensuous to his touch, and then turned to examine the ewers of hot scented water put out for him (servants again!), and the thick, thirsty towels, and the silver combs and brushes. In the oval mirror, he could see his reflection more clearly than he had done in Tiarna’s silver walls; his eyes were smoky in the candlelight, and his hair was so pale as to be nearly colourless. He studied his reflection, and thought that, in a world where a goodly number of creatures were not entirely Humanish, he passed as well as any. If there was a difference, it was in his eyes and his long-fingered, slender, sensitive hands.

  He plunged them into the warm water, and then splashed his face, liking the freshness it gave him, intrigued by the idea of lying down in the great deep bed, seeing the nightfall of the Humanish, and then the thin, beautiful dawnlight.

  He undressed only partially, for he was still not entirely accustomed to this habit of discarding certain clothes at certain times, and donning others for different occasions. The bed, as he had thought, was soft and comfortable and warm. Did they lie beneath the coverings or on top of them? He tried both, and found it was warmer and more comforting to lie beneath. Humanish luxury. Someone had lit a fire in the hearth, which he had believed he would dislike, but which was actually rather pleasant. He could lie and watch the flames wash the walls with vivid colour.

  He was not exactly falling asleep, for he would have said that sleep was not a thing he understood. But he was very close to it, for it had been a long and arduous journey, and he was still finding the fleshly cloak and the ivory bones awkward and unfamiliar.

  He was totally unprepared for the tap on his door, and the sound of the door being pushed open. There was a drift of feminine fragrance, and the sensuous sound of silk brushing the floor.

  *

  Murmur had dressed — rather say undressed, she thought with a grin — very carefully for this really rather daring adventure. At times, you had to take what you wanted, and at times you had to risk a rebuff. Rumour had taught Murmur this, although it was difficult to imagine anyone ever rebuffing Rumour, who was the most dazzling creature Murmur had ever seen.

  The exotic young traveller called Maelduin was fascinating. Murmur had sat quite quietly during supper, not really listening to the conversation, certainly trying to avoid Cousin Cerball’s eye. Cousin Cerball, nasty old man, had subjected her to a bout of rather embarrassing fumbling in the library, and Murmur, who believed you should find out all you could about these things, had actually felt a bit cheapened by Cerball’s puffing exertions. She had allowed him to stroke her breasts and her thighs, and had even slid her hands obligingly into his breeches. It had been really quite insulting to discover that his manhood was barely aroused, and that even Murmur’s attentions could not arouse it any more. In the end, the whole thing was reduced to a middle-aged sorcerer, a bit stout, standing with his breeches round his ankles, sweatily trying to get himself into the necessary physical condition. It had all been very embarrassing, and Murmur thought it served her right for being so vulgarly curious.

  Maelduin was different. He was so different that Murmur had barely been able to take her eyes off him. He had looked across at her just once, his eyes seeming to see straight into her mind, and Murmur had experienced a bolt of longing so intense that she had thought she might faint. But he had looked away then, and continued his rather quiet discourse with the others.

  But you have to take what you want, my dear, and risk the occasional rebuff … Murmur could hear Rumour saying the words.

  And so, following her cousin’s excellent example, Murmur had perfumed her small, feline body, and rubbed aphrodisiacal ointments everywhere, and had brushed her hair until it shone. She slid into a thin wrap of cream-coloured silk with silver embroidery, and tied it loosely, so that it would fall open at the least touch, and thrust her feet into dainty slippers, in which she could tiptoe along the corridor to Maelduin’s room.

  As she slipped into the room, the silk robe parted a little, showing slender hips and gleaming thighs and pink-tipped breasts. The musky perfumes were heavy on the warm room.

  Maelduin regarded his unexpected guest from the bed, and something totally outside of his experience leapt within him. He thought: seduction. And by this remarkably lovely Humanish female. He lay back and watched her approach, his eyes raking her body with such cool allure, his lips curving in such a beckoning smile, that Murmur fell a little deeper into his strange, fey bewitchment.

  The small core of Maelduin’s mind that was still purely sidh knew that he was about to be initiated into the Humanish custom of love-making, and he found it amusing that he should be embracing the ways of the Humanish so fully. But alongside the amusement was a deep sensual stirring, a hard warm arousal between his thighs. So this was how it felt. This was how the Humanish felt when they took their women and laid their plans for love-making and feasting and libation to their gods of love and eroticism.

  Murmur dropped the silken wrap to the floor, and stood for a moment looking down at him. Maelduin said, very softly, ‘I believe you are well come, madame,’ and smiled the beckoning smile again; the smile that said, Come closer, my dear, and come nearer … Let me see you and let me touch you and know you and let me feel you …

  He reached out a hand and traced her body, feeling with delight the soft smoothness of skin, and the gentle curve of bone and muscle; feeling, as well, the heat of alien Humanish blood … Lovely! thought Maelduin, pleasure and passion flooding his entire body now. Hair and eyes and skin and teeth …

  Murmur found herself swept into the most remarkable maelstrom of emotions she had ever known. There was a moment when there was nothing but pounding anticipation, the knowledge that he had not rebuffed her; that, so far from rebuffing her, he had welcomed her with his cool, alien beauty and his secret, exciting smile.

  And then there was another moment, when something else entered her mind, slyly and insidiously, but so strongly that she felt it happen, as clear as a curse, as definitely as a door opening … Fear trickled through her mind and into her body …

  He was regarding her with amused delight, as if they were about to share something marvellous and secret and entirely wonderful, and she was naked now, standing before him, the warmth of the room and the rising heat of her body making the musky fragrances stir. The fear receded, and in its place was only the purest, most undiluted delight, and with it exultation. Rumour was right! There are times when you have to reach out and take the things you want!

  And then he reached for her, and Murmur arched her back with pleasure, half closing her eyes, waiting for the ecstasy, more ready for his touch than she had ever been for any other lover. His touch, when it came, was gentle and strong; his hands were e
xciting and silky and it was going to be the most exhilarating thing she had ever known … But as Maelduin caressed her body, his hands pouring over her skin like thin water, she felt again the flicker of fear.

  His hands were soft and silky, but Murmur opened her eyes startled, because there was the sudden feeling of a creature in the bed who did not possess ordinary Human blood, and who was cool and shining and alien. A half-forgotten memory stirred in her mind, that of strange half-Human beings who lured victims into their arms and so to their deaths, using cold, sly bewitchments, and she thought: But he did not seek me out! He did not beckon to me! I came here of my own accord! A tiny treacherous voice said: oh, but did you? Can you be sure? Can you be sure that the beckoning was not so subtle, so practised that you did not even feel it?

  I am sure! cried Murmur silently, but the fear swam a little nearer, and the throbbing desire lessened.

  He was pulling her down beside him, his skin against hers, his eyes brilliant with passion, and surely it was all right, surely there was nothing to be afraid of …

  But they were together in the deep soft bed, and his body felt light and supple, and in some curious way weightless, so that you could visualise him as a soaring creature of light and speed, not needing, not wanting Human limbs and Human strength and muscle and bone … able to pour effortlessly through the skies and the seas and the worlds …

  He was covering her with his body now, and yes! he was very nearly weightless, there was no sense of heavy masculinity, there was only slender, glinting strength, the flare of brilliant aquamarine eyes with, deep behind them, iridescent colours …