David Gemmell - Knights of Dark Renown

‘No drink tonight,’ he said.

‘Something troubles you, Lord?’

‘Why do you stay in my service, Ubadai? I freed you two years ago and you could go wherever you want — back to the Steppes; across the sea to Cithaeron, or into the east. Why do you stay?’

Ubadai shrugged, his dark, slanted eyes showing no emotion. ‘You should drink. Drink very much. Fall down, maybe.’

‘I do not think so. Go. Leave me.’

Errin watched as the Nomad turned on his heel and strode from the room. He gazed down at the wine and shivered. Having closed the window, he walked to the far side of the room where a log-fire blazed in a stone hearth. Dragging a heavy chair to the fireside, he sat and stared into the flames.

The meeting with the Seer, Okessa, haunted him — forcing its way into his mind again and again. He had never liked the man, whose shaven head and curved nose gave the impression of a vulture. And his eyes always seemed to shine with a malevolent gleam. No, Errin did not like Okessa.

‘It is rare that you take the time to consult me,’ the Seer had said as Errin entered his study.

‘Our paths seldom cross,’ Errin replied, gazing at the shelves and the tomes placed there. ‘You have some interesting books. Perhaps I could borrow some?’

‘Of course, my Lord. I did not know you were expert in the Dead Languages.’

‘I am not.’

‘Then, sadly, the books would be of no value. How can I help you?’

Errin sat in a high-backed chair opposite the Seer, who carefully laid his quill on the desk, pushing aside the book on which he had been working.

‘I have come to seek your advice. A youth — a runaway — shouted a word. I think it was some kind of spell casting, for his running speed increased. I wounded him, but he escaped to the Great Forest.’

‘And the word?’

‘Ollathair.’

‘You are sure?’

‘I believe so. My man, Ubadai, heard it also. What does it signify?’

Okessa leaned back and stroked his long nose with the index finger of his right hand, his pale eyes fixed on Errin. ‘A dead wizard — he shouted the name of a dead wizard. Are you sure his speed increased? Could not fear have spurred him to greater urgency?’

‘It is possible — but only just. I have never seen a man run faster and, as you know, I was Master of the Games last autumn in Furbolg. No, I think the word was one of Power. Is that possible?’

‘All things are possible, Lord Errin. Some… artefacts… of Ollathair’s survive, I believe. The King beyond Cithaeron has a golden falcon, and King Ahak possesses a Gabalic sword which can cut through anything, even steel. But these are priceless. How would a runaway slave obtain such an artefact?’

Okessa stood and moved to the bookshelves, drawing down a leather-covered tome. Returning to his seat, he opened the book and carefully began to turn the pages.

‘Ollathair,’ he said at last. ‘Yes, here it is. The son of Calibal, fifteenth Armourer to the Knights of the Gabala. Ollathair was apprentice to his father in 1157 at the age of thirteen. He succeeded his father in 1170, so, he would have been twenty-six then. In 1190 the Knights vanished from history and we are left with merely legend, the most enduring of which is that they rode into Hell to destroy the essence of all evil. Ollathair was arrested as a traitor the following year, and was put to death in the dungeons of Furbolg. There is also a brief description of his interrogation. No, I do not think you heard the boy correctly.’

‘Could there be more than one Ollathair?’ Errin asked.

‘If there was, my Lord, be assured I would have heard of him. Was there anything else?’

‘No, my Lord Seer, but I am grateful for your time | and effort,’ said Errin, rising.

‘Please, do not leave quite so soon: there is a matter I wish to discuss.’ Errin sat down. ‘It is the question of your household, my Lord. You have some six Nomad.-, retainers, I believe?’

‘Yes — and all loyal, both to myself and to the crown.’

‘The crown sees it differently. The King is about to issue an edict that all Nomads be detained and sent to Gar-aden.’

‘It is a desert!’

‘You question the King’s wishes?’ asked Okessa softly.

‘It is not for me to question my sovereign; it was merely an observation. However, the Nomads in my employ are not slaves and they are free to travel where they wish.’

‘Not so,’ said Okessa, smiling. ‘No Nomad can now enjoy citizenship, and all are under the King’s express command to gather at Gar-aden. Those who do not obey are to be hunted down and slain, their goods and chattels taken by the crown or the crown’s agents. In Mactha the agent will, of course, be the Duke.’

‘And how, may I ask, are we to describe who is a Nomad? They have been among us for hundreds of years; it is said that many noble families have Nomad blood.’

‘You know of such families?’ Okessa asked, leaning forward, his eyes gleaming.

‘Not with any certainty.’

‘Then be careful of what you say. It is decreed that the Nomads are a tainted people and they must be removed from the kingdom.’

‘Thank you for this advance intelligence,’ said Errin, forcing a smile. ‘Be assured I shall act upon it.’

‘I hope that you do. By the way, this matter of Ollathair intrigues me. Tell me, would you know of any craftsman or landholder around Mactha with only one good eye?’

‘I do not make it my business to mix with the lower orders, Lord Seer, but I shall have enquiries made for you.’

‘Thank you. Would you treat the matter with some urgency-?’-

‘I will indeed.’

Errin had gone straight to the Duke, who took him to his private apartments in the west tower.

‘It is not for us to question a royal decree,’ the Duke pointed out. ‘And let us not forget the question of increased wealth. You and I are in a fortunate position. Neither of us has any Nomad blood in our family lines; we can only benefit.’

Errin had nodded. He had always known the Duke was a hard and cruel man, but he had believed there was also a certain nobility of spirit in him. Now as he looked into the Duke’s dark eyes he saw only greed. The Duke of Mactha stood and smiled. Taller than Errin — who had once been his page — he was a handsome man approaching forty years of age, with a carefully cut and combed forked beard. ‘Do not fret about a few peasants, Errin. Life is too short.’

‘I am thinking of my manservant, Ubadai. He has been a faithful companion — and he saved my life. You remember? The bear hunt, when my horse fell? The beast would have torn me to pieces, but Ubadai leapt from his horse to the bear’s back.’

‘A brave move, but is that not what we expect from our followers? Give him money and send him to Gar-aden. Now, let us move to happier matters. The King is coming to Mactha in the spring and I want you to be the Lord of the Feast.’

‘Thank you, my Lord. You do me great honour.’

‘Nonsense, Errin, you are one of the finest organizers I know. The worst swordsman and the finest cook!’ The Duke had chuckled, and Errin had bowed and left the room.

Now, here before the fire, his heart was heavy and his mind full of foreboding.

Okessa was a snake, and it would be long before Errin would forget the malevolence in his eyes as he had asked, ‘You know of such families?’ It was that alone which had saved the one-eyed Craftsman, Ruad Ro-fhessa. Errin would never deliver any man into the hands of the Lord Seer. But where did that leave him?

Lost in thought, he did not notice Ubadai approaching. ‘Food,’ said the servant, placing a silver tray beside Errin’s chair.

‘I am not hungry.’

Ubadai looked long into Errin’s pale face. ‘Some bad thing, hey? No drink. No food.’