David Gemmell - Knights of Dark Renown

‘The armour is waiting,’ said Lamfhada. ‘They will choose the new Knights.’

‘And what of me?’ Morrigan asked.

‘You are already chosen, Lady, as are all here. But others will come. Two will be here tomorrow — and one awaits rescue.’

‘What has happened to you, boy?’ asked Llaw, placing his hand on the youth’s shoulder.

Lamfhada smiled. ‘I flew too high and saw too much.’ Gently he lifted Llaw’s hand from his shoulder. ‘Tomorrow, Elodan will begin to teach you all what it means to be Knights of the Gabala. But before he does, one fact must be made plain. When the final battle is over, some of you will be dead. You must understand that and accept it, or there is no point in continuing.’

The warriors stared hard at the youth, but nothing was said until Manannan moved forward.

‘You have a task for nie, I think?’

‘Yes,’ Lamfhada told him. ‘I am sorry.’

‘Do not be sorry, Armourer. It is a long time since I felt the Colours move so strongly. I knew before you spoke that you were chosen, as I knew that Elodan would lead us.’ He swung to face the others. ‘The Gabala Knights are reborn, and I pledge my life to their cause. Any man who disgraces that cause will answer to me. There is no oath to swear, no holy relic to hold. But you will make a promise to yourselves. From this day on no evil shall touch you, and nothing you do will be for selfish gain. From now, until the end, the Knights will represent justice. Win or lose, there is no compromise. If any here feel they cannot live to these ideals…’ he stared hard at Groundsel, ‘walk away now. Do not look back. Do not even consider moving on.’

‘I’ll do my share,’ promised Groundsel. ‘I do not need to be preached at. And the armour chose me — isn’t that right, boy?’

‘You were the first to be chosen,’ said Lamfhada. ‘Is that not true, Nuada?’

‘Yes,’ admitted the poet. ‘And now, since I am no longer needed here…’

‘But you are,’ Lamfhada told him.

Nuada swallowed hard. ‘I am not a Knight. I cannot use a sword. I…’

‘You can hear the armour calling you. Take it.’

‘I can’t! I won’t. I… don’t want to die here. Do you understand?’

‘We all understand,’ said Llaw Gyffes. ‘Don’t worry, poet. Go. back to the village.’ Nuada nodded and walked away for several steps… then he stopped and turned. His face was ghostly pale and he stared at the armour. He closed his eyes as if in pain, then opened them and took a deep, shuddering breath. As the others watched, he walked forward and touched a suit of armour. It shimmered and changed. Slowly he drew the sword from its scabbard and held it before him. Jagged black lines snaked along the blade, the steel splitting into shards that tumbled to the floor.

‘What in Hell’s name does that mean?’ whispered Groundsel.

‘Time will tell,’ answered Lamfhada, with a broad smile.

As dawn touched the sky, Elodan walked beside Lamfhada to the rear of the cave. Ruad’s three golden hounds sat before the armour.

‘How did they come here?’ asked Elodan.

‘I summoned them,’ the boy sorcerer told him. ‘They may prove useful, though I hope not to use them. You know which armour must be yours?’

‘Yes,’ answered the Knight, moving to stand before the white and silver helm of Samildanach. An eagle adorned the visor and filigree work of exquisite beauty covered the helm. The breastplate too was embossed with shimmering leaves, as were the greaves and leggings.

‘This armour is worth more than my entire estate,’ whispered Elodan, reaching out and resting his hand on the metal. ‘It is magnificent.’

‘Wear it with pride, Elodan.’

‘Wear it? I am not fit to touch it.’ He lifted his stump. ‘And how do I even put it on?’

‘I will help you.’

Elodan laughed. ‘This is a sorry jest, Lamfhada. The shades of past Gabala Knights would burn with shame.’

‘I do not think so, Lord Knight. It always took more than a steady sword hand to be a Gabala Knight. It was a question, surely, of heart and soul? You told me of the woman you loved and the husband you slew. Nothing can wipe away the deed, Elodan. But that is the past, so let it lie. Let it be buried. Be the Lord Knight to the best of your abilities. Teach the others and those who will follow them.’

‘I am not worthy,’ repeated the Knight.

‘None of us is. And we have little time to become so. Come, let me help you into your armour.’

Within the hour Elodan, Llaw Gyffes, Groundsel, Morrigan and Nuada were all fully dressed in the chain and plate of the Gabala. Lamfhada called the poet to him and left Elodan to instruct the others.

‘What good will I be to the cause?’ asked Nuada. ‘I feel ridiculous; it is a sham.’

‘No, it is not,’ Lamfhada told him. ‘The sword broke because it was not needed. You will not be a warrior Knight, Nuada. It is not — thank the Source — in your nature to kill. You will be our herald. You will journey through the forest, to every settlement, and tell them the Knights have returned. You will gather men to our cause. But more than this, you will help the Harmony of the Colours. You must lift and inspire your hearers as never before. You must fill their hearts with hope. Take Kartia with you, and Brion. Go north for two days. You will find a sheltered valley and a man who breeds horses. Purchase mounts for yourselves, and ask the man to deliver seven grey stallions here during the next week.’

‘Seven stallions? Does he have that many to spare?’

‘He has — and he will part with them. He is a Nomad called Chrysdyn; he is a fair man, and you will meet the price he asks.’

Nuada!s violet eyes pulled away from Lamfhada’s gaze. ‘You have seen the future, haven’t you?’

‘Yes,’ admitted the young Armourer. ‘I have seen all the futures. Do not question me, Nuada.’

‘No, I won’t.’ The poet forced a smile. ‘You have come a long way since I found you in the forest with an arrow in your back. I think you have found a truth that has eluded me all my life. I wish you would share it.’

‘I cannot do so, Nuada — not because it is secret, but because it is not. And you will discover it; you will know, even as I know. Be careful where you ride, my friend.’

The two shook hands and Lamfhada walked with the poet to the cave mouth.

‘Where is Manannan?’ asked Nuada suddenly. ‘I have not seen him this morning.’

‘He left last night. And that reminds me: Chrysdyn has lost one stallion and he will search for him most of today. Tell him you will pay for the lost horse, and that it is safe.’

‘Manannan has it?’

‘Yes. I brought it to him.’

‘I take it Manannan will be in danger?’

‘We are all in danger, Nuada. But yes, Manannan is riding into the demon’s lair. Think of him as you journey.’

After five days of wandering in the forest, Errin was footsore and weary. Twice they had been forced to hide from outriding scouts of the King’s Lancers, and three days before they had arrived at a ruined village of rotting corpses. Errin could not forget the scenes of destruction; they had filled him with horror and left him nauseous.

Ubadai had wandered over the scene, examining the tracks. ‘They rode in from the north and south. At sunrise. Breakfast fires just lit. Villagers had nowhere to run. Maybe a dozen escaped east, but horses rode after them — they would have been caught.’

‘Such slaughter is senseless,’ said Errin. ‘What does it achieve?’

Ubadai shrugged. ‘Terror. Good weapon. Make men fear you.’

‘You condone this sort of butchery?’ asked Sheera. ‘What kind of a man are you?’