David Gemmell - Knights of Dark Renown

Strolling to the window, he stared down into the courtyard. Where in Hell’s name was his manservant? He should have found a girl by now.

He poured himself a goblet of strong wine and drained it. There was a time when wine had seemed like the nectar of the Gods. But that had been before Ambria, before the pleasures of the Vyre. Now it served only to whet his appetites.

A light, tapping sound came from the door. ‘Enter!’ called the King.

The door opened and his manservant, Mahan, stepped inside and bowed. ‘My Lord, if it please you, there is a woman from the village who wishes to enjoy the pleasure of your company.’

‘Bring her in,’ said Ahak, sweeping his purple cloak over his shoulder and drawing himself up to his full height.

Mahan stepped aside and ushered in the woman. She was tall and slender, yet full-breasted, her hips delightfully curved. As Ahak moved forward and took her hand, she averted her eyes from his gaze, looking down towards the floor.

‘Do not be shy, my dear,’ said Ahak. ‘I find it a delight to meet my subjects and listen to their cares and worries. It aids me in this lonely role.’ He lifted her chin and was rewarded by a soft smile. Dismissing Mahan, he led the woman to the window. ‘Will you join me in a drink?’

‘If it please you, my Lord.’ Her voice was soft and mellow and fired his passions but he fought them down, savouring the moment. Reaching out, he took her hand, lifting it to his lips. He pulled her close to him, his right arm circling her waist.

‘Would you do anything for your King?’ he whispered.

‘Yes, my Lord.’

He released her hand and ran his fingers down her body, squeezing her breasts, stroking her belly. ‘You know what I desire?’

‘Yes, Lord,’ she said, loosening the ties on her dress. When he pushed it back from her shoulders, it fell to the floor and she stepped from it. He led her to the bed, unfastened his cloak and removed his clothing.

For a moment he stared at her.

‘You have no idea of the pleasures in store,’ he said, sliding alongside her.

‘I think I have, my Lord,’ replied Morrigan.

Samildanach dismounted and led his stallion to the stable. Then he mounted the steps and pushed open the main doors to the hall. Mahan moved to get him.

‘Where is the King?’ asked the Red Knight.

‘He is in the Duke’s upper bedchamber, Lord. He has a woman with him.’

‘I will wait,’ said Samildanach. ‘Bring me some wine.’

‘Yes, Lord. It may take longer than normal; the woman is exquisitely beautiful.’ Mahan grinned.

‘Exquisite? Here in Mactha? That is a surprise.’

‘Yes, Lord. I think the King’s luck has scarcely been better. I found her waiting outside the castle; she was just sitting by the roadside.’

‘Describe her,’ said Samildanach. ‘Tall, with the most beautiful golden hair. She is young and yet it is already streaked with silver…’

‘Dear Gods!’ shouted Samildanach and drawing his sword he raced for the stairs, taking them two at a time. He reached the upper corridor and ran to the bedchamber, but the door was locked. Leaning back, he crashed his foot against the brass key-plate and the door burst open. Samildanach leapt inside…

The King’s hideously withered corpse lay on the bed. Morrigan was sitting naked on the floor, blood pooling at her feet from the deep slashes in her wrists.

Samildanach dropped his sword and walked over to her. ‘Why?’ he whispered.

Her eyes struggled to focus. ‘Why? Can you not see what… we have become? Oh, Samildanach! We are corrupting everything we… touch.’ She sagged sideways and he caught her, drawing her to him. Her head fell to his shoulder. ‘I loved you,’ she said, ‘more than life. And now… I don’t even know what it means.’

‘Don’t talk. Let me bind your wrists; we can save your life.’

‘There is nothing to save. I died back in the City of the Vyre when I became one of the Undead — just like you, my love.’

‘You don’t understand. We will build a new Gabala… New…’

‘Do you remember loving me?’

‘I remember,’ he said.

‘Not in the Vyre — but before. In the garden on the night you left. You remember?’

‘Yes. It was another age.’

‘What happened to that glorious young Knight?’

‘He is still here, Morrigan. He… Morrigan? Morrigan!’ He laid her gently to the floor and closed her eyes.

It was two full days before the King’s army was ready to march, the infantry pushing ahead down the long valley in phalanx formation with shields locked in four great squares.

Manannan, Elodan and the other Knights sat their mounts to the north of the advancing army, and the mood was sombre. Llaw had sent scouts east and west to gauge the strength of the enemy cavalry and the first report had been swift. Nearly two thousand riders were pushing in from the west. From the east, there was no word.

‘We must pull back,’ said Manannan. ‘We do not have the numbers to break those squares.’

Reluctantly Llaw agreed.

A forester ran from the trees, his face red, his eyes bright with excitement.

‘Llaw! Llaw!’ he shouted. ‘The Lancers have been crushed!’

‘What? What’s that you say?’

‘There are five thousand rebels, led by a man named Ramath. They smashed the Lancers; they are on their way here now.’

‘Ramath? I’ve never heard of him.’

‘The whole forest north of us is ablaze with news of a miracle — something about Nuada and the Tree of Life. I don’t understand all of it — but they’re here!’

‘Where?’ asked Manannan and the man turned and gestured to the eastern hills where armed men poured out from the trees, racing down the slopes towards the enemy.

‘Damn!’ shouted Elodan. ‘They’ll be cut to pieces!’

‘Sound the advance!’ ordered Llaw. ‘We’ll hit them from all sides.’

‘If they hold formation, they will turn us back like water from a dam,’ said Manannan.

‘Then pray they don’t,’ Llaw told him. ‘Forward!’ He spurred his stallion into a run, the other Knights following, and behind them some eighty riders in stolen armour.

At the centre of the first square, Okessa saw the attackers and blanched; there were thousands of them. ‘Back! Back!’ he screamed and the marching square faltered. They could hear the panic in the Duke’s voice and this, coupled with the wild screams of the charging horde, caused them to break and stream back down the valley. Two other squares sundered themselves but the third, under the general Kar-schen, held firm.

Okessa spurred his mount towards the safety of the plain, outdistancing the running soldiers. He was almost clear when a slender figure loped down the hill and drew back on a bow. The arrow took his horse in the chest and the beast stumbled, hurling him over its head. He hit the ground hard, rolled and came to his knees to see that his attacker was a woman. He fumbled at his belt. ‘I have money here,’ he said. ‘Take it all.’

‘You killed my sister,’ said Sheera, notching another arrow. Okessa rose and began to run back the way he had come… the arrow took him to the left of his spine, cleaving through to his heart.

Sheera turned and ran back up the hill, but none of the soldiers gave chase — they were too intent on escape. Kar-schen saved the day for the King’s army, fighting a steady retreat back down the valley. Hundreds of panicking soldiers, looking back, saw the general’s courageous rearguard and, finding their courage once more, joined him. The army suffered fearful losses, but was still intact when dusk gave way to darkness.

Samildanach and the Red Knights arrived near midnight and Kar-schen gave his report.