David Gemmell - Knights of Dark Renown

Sheera sat with the Citadel men as Bucklar, Errin and Lamfhada discussed strategy in the cave. Towards dusk the Citadel leader — a tall, stout warrior with greying hair and a trident beard — led his men south.

Sheera gathered her bow and joined them.

Nuada awoke to the sound of bird-song. Opening his eyes, he saw the dawn breaking over the mountains, the sky ablaze with colour, pink banners streaming into the virgin blue, white clouds running before the sun like sheep before a golden lion.

Kartia’s head was resting on his shoulder, her arm draped across his chest. He snuggled down into the blanket, feeling the warmth of her body against him.

This was contentment. This was joy.

Far from the front line of battle, an eternity away from the killing and slaying, Nuada was at peace. Kartia mumbled something in her sleep and Nuada’s hand slid over her hips. Her eyes opened.

‘Dawn already?’ she whispered.

‘It is a beautiful day,’ he told her. ‘A veritable prince of days.’ Pulling her to him, he kissed her softly.

For an hour they made love without haste, then lay together in comfortable silence. Finally Nuada stretched and sat up. The fire was dead, and Brion was nowhere to be seen. Usually at this time he would be broiling rabbit meat for their breakfast — or pigeon, or lamb. Nuada rose and strolled to the waterfall, wading in to stand beneath the showering water; it was cool, and wondrously refreshing.

Sunlight bathed the pool at the fall’s base and rainbows danced through the curtain of water. Paradise could not contain more beauty, Nuada thought, as he towelled himself down with his shirt. Kartia moved to a tall rock and dived into the pool. Nuada envied her the ability to swim; it was something he would have to learn. As he sat back and watched her glide through the water, his thoughts moved to his mission. So far they had visited a dozen villages, and at each settlement his words had inspired a following. More than three hundred men had pledged themselves to the cause, but it should have been more. Many more.

He must have spoken to more than two thousand warriors, he reflected, glancing back at the armour laid on a blanket beneath an overhanging pine.

The Knight without a sword. He felt a pang of guilt. Not because he did not fight, but because he was so glad that he did not. It made him feel like a hypocrite.

Go out and join Llaw, all you young men — but not me. No. I am a poet, you see. I just fill your heads with glory, and skim past the maggots and the worms and the pain.

He had tried to paint a picture of the war as a Holy cause: good versus evil, light against dark. But here in the forest all was shade.

‘Nuada! Nuada!’ called Brion. Nuada rose and saw the burly blond forester running towards the pool.

‘What is the matter?’ he asked, climbing down from his rock to meet the running man.

‘The King’s men have surrounded the village; they have herded all the people into the hall.’

‘Slow down. Tell me all.’

‘I went back just before dawn. I couldn’t catch anything for breakfast, so I thought they would let us have some food. When I got close, I saw the horses, so I hid. They gathered in Ramath and all his people. I don’t know what they plan, but we must get away from here. We’re too close.’

‘Why so frightened? We have horses; we can outrun them, surely.’

‘There is a Red Knight with them and they have dark magic. You have said this many times, that they are the Evil Ones. We must get away.’

‘A Red Knight? Here? Why?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Brion. ‘I’ll saddle the horses.’

Kartia swam to the shore and rose from the water. ‘What is for breakfast, sir Knight?’ she asked.

‘Nothing, I am afraid. We have to leave. Ramath’s village was attacked this morning; it is not safe here.’

‘Poor Ramath,’ she said. ‘I really liked him.’

‘So did I. Now get your things together.’

They gathered their packs and tied them to the saddles. Nuada climbed into his armour, which Brion helped him to buckle.

A man stepped into the clearing and Brion’s dagger flashed out.

‘Ramath!’ greeted Nuada, grinning. ‘You escaped! Well done.’

The newcomer was tall and lean, dressed in dark skins of polished leather. He approached Nuada and bowed.

‘I did not escape, sir, they let me go.’ Ramath swallowed hard and looked away. ‘It is you they want. I must return with you within the hour, or all my people die. The Red Knight, Sir Edrin, has promised that we will be freed the moment you surrender yourself.’

‘You can’t!’ cried Kartia. ‘They will kill you.’ She swung on Ramath. ‘How dare you come here and ask this of him? How dare you?’

Nuada pulled her back. ‘How… how can you be sure he will keep his word, Ramath?’ he asked.

‘I cannot be, sir. But what else can I do?’

Nuada’s mouth was dry. He lifted a canteen from his saddle and drank deeply. ‘I have a mission, you see,’ he said at last. ‘I must raise an army to fight these… evil men. You understand? I cannot…’ His voice faded to silence as he saw the look of despair in Ramath’s eyes.

‘I have three sons, sir. None has yet reached five years. They are sitting with their mother, waiting for the knives to open their throats.’

Nuada turned away. ‘Don’t listen to him,’ Kartia pleaded. ‘Please Nuada. Think of us. Think…’

Nuada stooped and lifted his helm, handing it to Brion. ‘Keep this. I will not need it. Take Kartia back to Llaw and the others. Tell them I’m sorry; I don’t have the strength to refuse.’

Kartia grabbed at his arm. ‘They’ll kill you,’ she said, tears spilling to her cheeks. ‘Sweet Heaven, they’ll kill you!’

He drew her away from the others, his vision misting as he kissed her. ‘I love you,’ he said, ‘and I think that this morning’s joy was a gift. A last gift. I never saw a dawn like it.’ He pulled her close. ‘I don’t know what to say. There are no words, Kartia.’

‘Let me come with you. Please?’

‘No. Go with Brion. I will feel… stronger if I am alone.’

He strode to his horse and mounted. Then, taking a deep shuddering breath, he touched his spurs to the stallion. Kartia ran forward, but Brion pulled her away as Nuada rode from the glade, not daring to look back. Ramath walked beside him in silence until they reached the last hill; then he reached up and touched Nuada’s hand.

‘I will never be able to thank you enough,’ said the leader.

Nuada smiled, but his mouth was too dry for words and he was trembling. As he guided the horse down into the village, soldiers ran out, ringing him with their lances.

He was ordered to dismount and did so; his limbs were shaking with fear and he stumbled. The villagers flocked out to see him, lining the way ahead. Looking at their faces, he drew strength from their sympathy. One more performance, Nuada, he told himself. Surely you have the strength for that?

He was led beyond the main hall, where only the night before he had held the villagers spellbound with tales of heroism and courage. What he would not give now to see Llaw Gyffes and the other Knights thundering down the hillside to rescue him. Now, there would be a song!

They took him to a dead tree in a clearing and there was the Red Knight, Edrin.

‘So,’ he said, ‘the story-teller returns. Where is your sword, sir Knight, and your helm?’

‘I have no sword,’ said Nuada.

‘I will loan you one. Then, at least, you can fight for your life.’

Nuada shook his head. ‘No. If I were to kill you, these people would suffer for it. You made a bargain: me for them. Honour it.’ He could see the anger in the Knight’s eyes and knew that he had won. For if the Knight had killed him in combat, the word would have spread through the settlements that the new Knights of the Gabala were weaker than the Red Knights of the King. He smiled. ‘What now, sir Knight?’