David Gemmell - Knights of Dark Renown

‘Please let me speak,’ interposed Gwydion, ‘for the debate is moving out of hand. Manannan is correct, the Knights were special. Few people understood this when they rode. They were a force not just to aid the dispossessed, or the weak, but to affect the Colours themselves. What they did was to bring hope to those without hope, and fear to those who would rule by fear. They were the balance. For each dispute they settled, ten… twenty… a hundred more would be settled because the Knights existed. Yet now — out in the world beyond — there is despair and hatred and terror. We need the Knights. And I support Nuada in this. We must find special men, strong men, good men.’ He sat down once more beside Lamfhada.

Groundsel began to chuckle; shaking his head, he rose to his feet. ‘Strong men? Good men? Here? I am a killer and a thief. I do not say this as a boast, nor am I ashamed of what I am. The world is a harsh place. Watch the wolf as it hunts the stag, or the hawk as it kills the rabbit. You want holy men in silver armour? You will not find them in the Forest of the Ocean. Now, all I am interested in is survival. An army is gathering to destroy us and the route to the sea has been cut off- So the choices are simple: win or die. And I have no intention of dying. If dressing up in those pretty suits of armour will give us a chance, let us do it.’

‘And what do you say, Llaw Gyffes?’ asked Gwydion.

The former blacksmith added wood to the fire and sat watching the flames. He did not rise, nor did he look at the men around him.

‘I lean towards Groundsel’s view,’ he said. ‘The return of the Knights would be a massive blow to the King and would make us the focus of rebellion. But after that the problems would begin. People would expect the Knights to ride fearlessly against the enemy. Could we do that — and survive? Manannan thinks not. I cannot — will not — make a decision here. I think we should vote on it, and only if all agree should we go ahead.’

Elodan stood and raised his right arm, the leather-covered stump glowing in the firelight. ‘All my life I dreamed of being asked to become a Gabala Knight. I never was. My friend Edrin was chosen, and I remained. But look at my arm before you decide. I was a fine Knight and a great swordsman, yet I could not stand against Cairbre — much less Samildanach. You — Groundsel — seem a strong man. But I could defeat you even with a near-useless left hand. How will you fare when against a Red Knight? When your body is encased in unfamiliar armour and your vision is restricted by the strips of steel in your visor? And you, Llaw Gyffes, can you ride? Can you control a warhorse with your knees while holding a shield and bearing a lance? And you, Manannan, how long did it take you to master the mace, and the hand axe and the sword?’

‘Twenty years,’ answered Manannan softly. ‘And even then I am less able with the axe than many.’

‘We have perhaps a month before we must face the might of Ahak’s army,’ said Elodan. ‘No peasant could begin to master the basics in that time.’

‘I have made swords,’ said Llaw, ‘and hefted them for weight and balance. My arm is strong. I can fight, but I accept what Elodan says and…’

‘ You might accept it,’ stormed Groundsel, ‘but I do not. I do not need some defeated cripple to tell me what I can — or can not — do. Listen to him. Like all patricians, he wants to make us believe there is something extraordinary about a knight. Pigswill! A sword is a lump of iron with which you hammer at an opponent until he is down. Strength, courage and will are all you need. I vote the Knights should return.’

Llaw nodded. ‘I agree. Manannan?’

The Once-Knight looked at each man. ‘I will agree — but on one condition. If we become Gabala Knights, there must be iron discipline under the elected Lord Knight and the Armourer. No dissension. Total obedience. If that is understood, I agree.’

‘And I take it you will be the Lord Knight?’ asked Groundsel, sneering.

‘No, I could never assume that role. It should be Elodan.’

‘Why?’ asked Llaw. ‘He was never chosen in the first place — you were.’

‘He was chosen,’ said Manannan softly, ‘on the day he quit the King’s service and fought Cairbre. Trust me on this.’

‘Do not bring religion into this,’ said Groundsel. ‘I will not have it. He was chosen to have his hand cut off, that is all.’

‘Groundsel is right,’ put in Elodan. ‘It would be inconceivable to have a crippled Knight.’

Manannan shook his head. ‘If you are not elected, I take no part in it.’

Nuada raised his hands. ‘There are eight suits of armour, therefore we must find eight men. Groundsel, Llaw, Elodan and Manannan make four. Where do we go for the others?’

‘Why always men?’ said a voice from the cave mouth and they turned to see Morrigan moving into the firelight. ‘I can fight with sword, spear or bow. I can ride like a centaur. Ask Manannan. Any man who wants to take my armour can fight me for it — and die.’

‘Wonderful,’ said Groundsel. ‘A cripple leads us and a woman rides beside us.’

‘Beware, little man,’ Morrigan hissed. ‘It is not wise to offend me.’

‘Be still, my quaking heart,’ jeered Groundsel, but Nuada moved swiftly between them.

‘We will not begin such a venture by warring amongst ourselves. Elodan, do you accept the role of Lord Knight?’

‘If it is the will of all,’ he answered, looking at Groundsel.

The outlaw leader shrugged. ‘Why not?’ he said.

‘Then I accept. But who will be the Armourer? You, Nuada?’ Before the poet could answer, Lamfhada pushed himself to his feet.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I will.’ Llaw Gyffes looked hard at the youth and said nothing.

But Groundsel burst into laughter. ‘Who else could it be but a runaway slave boy?’

Lamfhada raised his hand and looked Groundsel in the eye. ‘Please be silent, sir, until I have finished speaking,’ he said quietly. ‘I studied with Ruad Ro-fhessa, and I have found my Colour. I am not a sorcerer, but I have talent. And I have the will to walk the paths Ruad walked, and the desire to see an end to this evil. I also know how you may choose your Knights and be sure of them.’

‘How?’ asked Llaw Gyffes.

‘Come with me.’ The boy turned and they followed him to the wooden armour-trees. ‘There, Groundsel, choose your armour.’

The outlaw leader walked along the line of trees. ‘There is nothing here to fit me; it will need to be altered.’

‘Take the suit that beckons you,’ Lamfhada advised.

‘What does that mean?’ snapped Groundsel. ‘I hear no voices.’

‘Choose, Groundsel.’

‘Do not order me, boy!’ He looked around. ‘That one; that will do.’

‘Now put it on.’

‘It won’t fit; it’s too high and narrow. Oh, all right…’ Groundsel reached up and took down the breastplate. Manannan stepped forward and helped him into the habergeon, then buckled the breastplate into place. Piece by silver piece the armour was fitted to the squat outlaw, until he stood arrayed in the full splendour of a Gabala Knight. He looked at the helm and lifted it. ‘Well, this will never fit,’ he said. ‘Look at it!’ He lifted it to the top of his head and lowered it gently, waiting for the touch of metal to his skull. The helm settled into place. He lifted it clear again. ‘So I was wrong. It only looked too small.’

‘No,’ said Lamfhada. ‘Pick up a gauntlet — just one — do not touch the other.’ Groundsel did so. It was black, with silver mail across the knuckles. He slid it on and was amazed to find that it fitted his short, thick fingers exactly. ‘Now place it beside its partner and observe them,’ instructed the boy. Groundsel obeyed and Elodan and Llaw leaned over to see that the gauntlet he had tried was now shorter than the other, the fingers thicker. ‘Now the other,’ said Lamfhada, and Groundsel was not surprised when the second glove fitted as well as the first.