Wolfking The Omnibus: Books 1-4

by Sarah Rayne

  We are cutting a swathe of light through the Dark Realm, …

  The thought was with him only for the briefest of instants, and then his breath was snatched from him by the night wind in his face, and his senses were turned upside-down by the sheer speed of the sea-horses, the creatures that Chaos had stolen from the magical underwater city and forced to carry his guests across the evil, blood-soaked NightFields of his Realm.

  Andrew could feel the pouring delight of the Uisce as the dark thralldom lifted, and he could feel, as well, the rainbow iridescence all about them, like a cloak, like a carapace, like a shield of purest brilliance, so that it must surely force open the Gateway into the True Ireland.

  The Samildanach forcing open the Gates …

  It is not my strength, and it is not my brilliance, he thought. But it is being lent to me. I can use it.

  Theodora’s eyes were shining and her cheeks were flushed with delight. Her dark hair streamed out behind her, and Andrew felt again the warm surge of protectiveness that he had felt in the Cadence Tower so long ago — another life, had it been?

  Behind them, Chaos’s armies were rushing towards Almhuin, the torchlight from their flambeaux spiralling into the darkness, lighting it to angry red life, the cold, evil music flooding the darkness. Almhuin was becoming bathed in the eerie glow of the torches, the black rearing towers and the jagged-toothed turrets sharply limned against the skies. Andrew reined in his mount and turned its head about for a moment, looking back at the Armies with their glinting armour and their thin black spears. He could see the Lord of Chaos quite clearly, and he could see the great churning millwheels of Murder’s grim chariot, blood-spattered and menacing.

  Far below them, in the huddle of houses that were the Almhuinians’ homes, lights were shining and people were scurrying about. Andrew and Theodora watched for a moment and, as they did so, a thin line of brave little torches appeared as the villagers started up the mountain track in defence of their Lady’s Fortress. Andrew thought: so in the end they will be loyal; they will fight Chaos’s people and try to save Almhuin. He spared a thought for the tiny, bricked-up cell with the single, terrible prisoner. Would Chaos find the Lady of Almhuin? And if he did not, what would happen to her?

  Alone in the dark for ever, condemned to die of hunger and thirst and madness without a single creature for comfort …

  But I had no choice.

  And then they turned away, knowing that they must flee from Almhuin if they were to survive.

  Theodora said, suddenly, ‘The Moher Gateway!’ And pointed, and there before them was the great outline of the Gateway, black and gleaming, rearing up against the black skies of the Dark Ireland.

  Andrew said, ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, that is the only thing it can be.’ Theo knew this was true. ‘There are only three Gateways left: the Well of Segais, where Chaos brought me and where you followed. The Cruachan Cavern, deep in the Wolfwood, and the Gateway of the Moher Cliffs.’ She pointed, and, as she brought her hand up, a faint shard of cool light irradiated it. ‘If you look, you can see the Cliffs of Moher beyond it,’ said Theo, and excitement rose in her voice.

  Always look beyond … For a moment, Rumour’s cool amused voice was with them both. Andrew thought: dear God, if only we had the sidh’s music! That would slice through the darkness for us!

  ‘Can we get through?’ he said.

  ‘I think we can.’ Theo pointed again. ‘See? The Gateway is open.’

  But Andrew paused, reining in the Uisce, remembering Rumour’s words and the warnings of the Amaranths, remembering that it was said to be the most difficult thing in the world for Humans to force open the great, mystical Gateways. Rumour and the Amaranths had believed that the sidh, s music could take them down through the Well of Segais and force the Gate open — but we have nothing that will help us now, he thought.

  And then he knew that, after all, they did have something. They had the soft, strong, pure radiance of the sea-horses, the gentle glowing iridescence of the sleek, beautiful creatures whom Theodora had rescued from Chaos’s dark thrall, and who had poured through the Dark Realm, sprinkling light where they went. Without warning, confidence, absolute and complete, surged up in him. He felt the strange brush of the creature called the Samildanach once more; he felt the sweet breath of that other One who had promised to return and who had vowed to cut a swathe through the darkness, and to force open the Gateways into the Real Ireland.

  His strength is being lent to me …

  They could both see the dark crags and they could hear the lashing of the ocean against the wild western coast of Ireland. The skies were dark and black clouds scudded across them, but it was the darkness of ordinary night, a darkness that would presently yield to dawnlight … Dawnlight, thought Andrew with sudden joy. The coming of the morning after the long, evil night of the necromancers …

  Theo, at his side, felt his sudden, soaring delight, and understood that they were nearly home; this was what she had thought about and planned for and imagined all those nights inside the Saraigli. This was the home-coming, and soon she would reach the Porphyry Palace, because soon they would be in Ireland again, the real True Ireland, the Ireland of blue mists and purple dusks, and deep forests where twilight slanted through the trees, and where the dawns were rose and gold, washing the tips of the Morning Mountains to such beauty that it hurt your eyes to see it …

  Andrew turned the Uisce’s heads about, and together they rode straight at the Gateway.

  *

  The Uisce streamed joyfully forwards, and the great shadow of the Moher Gateway fell across their path, no longer forbidding and menacing, but simply and cleanly a Gateway: a door through which to pass from one place to another.

  There was the sensation of swimming cleanly and swiftly through great, stagnant pools of evil and smothering clouds of malignancy; and, for the space of a heartbeat, the shadow of the Gateway was all about them. But then they were through it, the Uisce’s silken heads breasting a great, wine-dark sea, and the clotted evil and the darkness was falling from them, as if they were coming up from a dark, foul lake.

  There was a moment — breath-taking, awe-inspiring — when they both saw ahead of them a thin crescent arc, a ribbon of rainbow light, as if a dark sun were sinking and yielding to a rose and gold horizon.

  A sunset seen from beneath, thought Andrew, and drew in a deep breath, and felt the cold night air fill his lungs. He thought: yes, this is the real world, I can smell it and hear it and I can feel it. Beautiful.

  Night had fallen, true night, laden with purple mists and dusky, twilit fragrances. Ahead of them were the storm-lashed Moher Cliffs, stark and forbidding, thrusting up out of the ground, and wreathed in their own ancient magic. A little to their right, weaving slightly inland, was the cliff path, and as they turned the heads about, they both saw above them the huge, rearing bulk of the Grail Castle.

  Theodora reached out to Andrew’s arm, and he felt her fingers close about his wrist in fear.

  ‘There’s something lying in the shadows over there,’ she said.

  ‘And it’s waiting for us.’

  The exhilarating delight that Andrew had been experiencing shut off as abruptly as if a lid had been clapped down over it, and he felt the Uisce shiver beneath him.

  Something dark and formless, something that crawled on its belly and that was held in dark and terrible bondage to whatever lived inside the Grail Castle. Something that was soaked in old dark evil and that served a malevolent, hungering master … I can feel that it is all of those things! thought Andrew, staring at the crawling shadow in silent apprehension.

  The shape moved then, slithering and scuttling, and Andrew heard Theodora bite back a gasp of terror. He thought: but it is only an animal, some kind of beast that scuttles and crawls, perhaps a large weasel or a stoat. He thought the shape had the nearly-boneless appearance of a large snake or a huge, thick worm, and then he thought that it was exactly as if a man-sized serpent had
donned a cloak and a hood, and his skin crawled with revulsion.

  Quintus, helpless against the Fisher Prince’s curse, obedient to the thralldom that held him, reared up in front of them and stood blocking their way. The Uisce whickered in fear and Andrew felt the pain and fright from them.

  There was the impression of dark, swirling robes, a great black cowl pulled down to shadow the creature’s face. There was the sudden stifling miasma of old evil …

  ‘Follow me, wayfarers,’ said the Black Monk in a soft, beckoning voice, and in the same instant, Andrew and Theodora felt the terrible dark web of the ancient Enchantment of the Isle of Torach spin and whirl sickeningly and dizzyingly above them, and then descend in a great dark cloak of unknowing.

  Chapter Forty-four

  The Almhuinians had not gone straightaway to the Castle when Chaos’s Armies marched through the mountains and up to the great Stronghold that had dominated their lives for so long. They had not done so, because it did not do to be hasty.

  They were not precisely short on courage, they said, holding a rather furtive meeting in Diarmuit’s cellar. And it was not that they jibbed at facing the Lord of Chaos and his henchmen, because they would take on Chaos, yes and Murder, Misrule and Anarchy with him! they said, sinking determined draughts from the tankards of apple wine served out by Diarmuit.

  But if there was going to be some kind of final decisive battle: if the simmering hatred between Chaos and Almhuin’s Lady was about to erupt into a scalding explosion of necromantic savagery, the Castle was no place for any of them for the time being. Best to keep clear until it was seen which way the wind was blowing, and which wind it actually was. Best to be practical and efficient.

  But caution allowed, this was precisely the time when their spying skills might be profitably utilised. There was no reason why a couple of spies could not be sent up to the Castle. There was no reason why one or two of them could not slink in the shadows and listen and watch and find out what was happening. And they all knew the Castle; they knew where you could conceal yourself, and where you could hear and see. Somebody suggested that Diarmuit’s elder son and Black Aed’s boy be sent. It would be good to give the younger ones a chance. And it would be the best way to discover what was going on.

  Because once they knew who was holding the Castle, and who had beaten whom, they could decide where their best advantage lay.

  *

  Diarmuit’s elder son and Black Aed’s boy arrived back, a little out of breath but glowing with achievement. There was not hide nor hair nor whisker of the Crimson Lady, they said. She had vanished from the Castle as if she had never been there.

  ‘Not even Chaos knows where she is,’ said Black Aed’s son.

  ‘And Chaos has taken the Castle over,’ said Diarmuit’s son.

  ‘The soldiers are quartered in the keep and Chaos’s Lords are holding a huge banquet in the hall of the tapestries.’

  And so their best advantage lay with Chaos. It was clear-cut and unequivocal. It was maybe not so very surprising when you looked at it sensibly, because most of them agreed that the Crimson Lady had been becoming something of a twice-told tale lately. She was burned out, getting beyond her best. Only look at how she had vented her rage on poor Black Aed. It was small wonder that Chaos had been able to vanquish her with such apparent ease. Diarmuit asked was there no sign of the Lady at all: were they sure she had not been flung into one of her own dungeons or maybe trussed and chained to provide entertainment for Chaos’s people?

  But the two sons, who had performed this very important grown-up mission seriously and thoroughly, said, No, nothing like that. Simply the Lady was nowhere to be found. Yes, they were quite sure; they had listened to the soldiers talking about it, and they had even heard Anarchy refer to the Lady’s absence: ‘The bird has flown,’ he had said, and he had sounded very regretful as if he had been looking forward to a confrontation.

  Whatever had happened to Almhuin’s Lady, everyone was agreed that the thing to do now was to swear allegiance to the Lord of Chaos, and that as quickly as possible. Any creature found still loyal to the Lady would be very summarily dealt with! they said, nodding wisely. No one wanted to find himself at the wrong end of Chaos’s wrath, and no one wanted to find himself being crushed to death beneath the millwheels of Murder’s chariot. Everyone in Almhuin knew the tales of the entertainments that Misrule devised for his Lord, and no one wanted to end up roasting on one of Misrule’s spikes (with, or without his mouth sewn up) simply to give extra light to the revels inside the Castle of Infinity!

  And so, when Diarmuit said they would just go along and offer their services to Chaos and his people, everyone thought this a splendid idea.

  *

  Even so, it felt odd and a bit uncomfortable to make their way along the steep mountain path, just as they had done so many times in the past. Ahead of them, the great mountain stronghold of Almhuin looked exactly as it had always looked; it was rather disconcerting to know that it was no longer the dwelling of the Lady whom they had served for so long.

  They were admitted to the Castle by the strange, silent servants, and they were received with apparent courtesy by Chaos himself, who was seated in the great central hall, with the remains of a banquet on the massive oak table, exactly as the two boys had reported. Candles burned in the tarnished holders, shedding soft light on the decaying tapestries, the rotting velvet drapes, crumbling panelling and the stonework. The immense depiction of the famous Dark Passing Over hung directly behind his chair, and for a brief space the Almhuinians had the eerie impression that the tapestry had come to life and that they were seeing a living enactment of the historic night when the necromancers had gathered about Medoc to sup with him before his death and defeat.

  Chaos’s people were seated at the table, with Murder and Anarchy on each side of him. They would be the foremost necromantic Lords, of course, which Chaos would have brought with him to vanquish the Lady. They would not be as powerful as Chaos, but they would have to be reckoned with. The silent servants stood in the shadows, blending rather sinisterly with the Twelve Tapestries that hung around the hall, and had come to be known as the Twelve Stories of the Lady of Pain. The Almhuinians paid the tapestries scant attention, because they had seen them innumerable times, but they glanced uneasily at the servants, because didn’t everyone know the kind of people who served Chaos? Unnaturally bred creatures they were, raised from strong necromancy, born from the Draoicht Roghnacht. You could admire and revere a Dark Lord capable of such things; the Almhuinians did admire and revere him, and they were perfectly prepared to offer their allegiance to him. But they did not much like the results of the Roghnacht.

  Chaos greeted them courteously, and asked, in his soft, cultured voice, the purpose of their visit.

  The Almhuinians had sorted this out before leaving the village. You could not have upwards of a dozen people all talking at once, and so two of them had been selected by the drawing of the ivory sticks. The two were, in fact, Diarmuit himself, who had long since discovered a way of rigging the stick-drawing ritual, and Black Aed’s wife, who had naturally been very upset at Aed’s death, but who was very pleased to forget her grief for a while and join in such an important event. And so it was these two who moved to stand before Chaos, leaving the others grouped worriedly by the door.

  Chaos watched their approach, his narrow, dark eyes unreadable, his long slender fingers curled about the stem of his wine chalice. He was accoutred for a battle, in the gleaming black armour of his House, with a scarlet velvet cloak thrown negligently about his shoulders, and the Silver Star of Medoc glinting on his breast. Diarmuit and Aed’s wife thought he must have arrayed himself for a battle against the Crimson Lady. But there were no signs that a battle had been fought, let alone won, which was puzzling. Had Chaos, then, been victorious so easily and so swiftly? What had happened to the Lady?

  But it would not do to ask, and so they stood respectfully before him, seeing that on his left, Murder sat silent
and fearsome in the swirling black cloak, his face and his eyes in shadow. Anarchy sprawled in the chair at his right, a look of determined alertness on his slightly immature face, rather as if he was hoping people were watching him and seeing how intelligent and how deeply involved in everything he was. Diarmuit and Aed’s wife had never seen Anarchy, and they were surprised at how extremely young he was.

  But when Chaos asked their business, Diarmuit, who had prepared a bit of a speech, spoke out firmly, explaining how they’d come to offer their services and their fealty to the Lord of Chaos and his people. They hadn’t the necromantic powers, said Diarmuit (it had been felt as well to emphasise this from the beginning), but they had other skills which could be of use. They had the knowledge of fighting, and the experience of spying, and the inherited skills of creeping up on enemies in the dark and infiltrating their castles. All good, useful skills in a battle. And they’d be honoured, said Diarmuit, they’d be honoured and proud if Chaos would take them into his Armies and allow them to fight on his side …

  There was a moment of profound silence, and the other Almhuinians looked furtively at one another, because although Diarmuit’s speech had sounded very good indeed (the use of the word ‘fealty’ had been a master-stroke), no one had moved or spoken all through it, and no one was moving or speaking now. Chaos remained seated, resting his chin lightly on one hand, his entire pose gracefully relaxed, his face pale, his eyes deep, burning pits. The burning gaze of those eyes was a bit uncomfortable, truth to tell.

  And then Chaos said, in his soft, gentlemanly voice, ‘So, you are prepared to desert your Lady are you? Now that I find immensely interesting,’ and the Almhuinians thought that, put like that, it sounded a bit unpleasant.