Fallowblade (13 page)

Upon hearing the commotion one of Warwick’s captains strode up to the beggar and halberdiers. ‘We shall not treat you unkindly,’ he said, ‘if you do indeed bear important news and are no troublemaker. What is your name?’

‘They call me Cat Soup. I am so hungry I can barely speak,’ whined the beggar. He rubbed his bony hands together. The finger joints were pink and swollen.

‘Tell us first and we shall feed you afterwards.’

The old man cowered, looked up at the soldiers who loomed over him, and sniffed the cooking smells from a stew pot bubbling over a campfire.

‘Do you give your word?’

‘You are in no position to demand promises!’ snapped the captain. ‘Speak now!’

‘All right,’ Cat Soup said placatingly, blinking strands of greasy hair out of his red-rimmed eyes. ‘I will tell you what felonies I saw lately at Cathair Rua.’

And he began to relate his gruesome tale.

Uabhar hardly slept, so feverishly preoccupied was he with his machinations. In the first hour after sunrise he paced to and fro within his compound, at a safe distance from the action.

His royal lodgings consisted of a series of four huge rectangular pavilions linked together by galleries. Decorations of gold knotwork ran along the tops of the ridge-beams. Round pavilions with conical roofs jutted from this formation, five on each side. Every component was made from matching material; a heavy, close-woven woollen fabric dyed madder red, figured with gorgeous motifs of contrasting colours. Scores of guy ropes held the entire arrangement in place, and the finials were shaped like beasts from myth.

Not to be outdone by the royal tent makers, Uabhar’s personal valets made certain the king was magnificently dressed at all times, even in the throes of war. The crimson lining and gold stitch work of Uabhar’s doublet contrasted sharply with his breeches of black velvet, and he wore spurs upon his boot heels, heedless of the damage they caused to the splendid rugs strewn about the floor.

‘By rights we ought to have defeated them by now,’ he raged at the cringing valets, momentarily losing any vestige of restraint. ‘Narngalis should be ours! I am surrounded by imbeciles!’

His bodyguard heralded the arrival of High Commander Risteárd Mac Brádaigh. The soldier entered the luxuriously furnished chamber carrying his helm beneath one arm, bowed—to the accompanying sound of rustling chain mail—kissed the back of the king’s proffered hand and waited with barely concealed impatience.

Uabhar dismissed his attendants. ‘Speak!’ he said to Mac Brádaigh.

‘My liege,’ said the soldier, ‘all is in turmoil this morning. Rumours are spreading amongst the troops. It is said that swarms of deadly wights are issuing out of the highlands in the north and flooding across Tir, slaying all who stand in their way.’

‘I have heard these rumours,’ Uabhar said, his eyes darting rapidly from side to side. ‘They are false. Narngalis is attempting to terrify and undermine us with wild stories. He will fail.’

‘Men say the inhabitants of Narngalis’s northern villages are deserting their abodes. They are crowding the roads, not heading due south but making south-east and south-west, so as to avoid encountering Your Majesty’s troops.’

‘But this is a pack of lies!’ Uabhar roared. ‘Are you really fool enough to believe it, Mac Brádaigh? Who is broadcasting this nonsense? Where did it come from?’

The soldier’s visage turned brick-red with ire, but his voice was carefully controlled. ‘The stories started with the two Narngalish knights who rode under the flag of parley. They spoke of the matter to the captains who escorted them to the royal pavilion. Their words were overheard by many others. Such news spreads swiftly through an encampment.’

‘Scare-mongers will be discovered and chastised.’

‘Sire,’ the high commander continued levelly, ‘that is not the only source of the tales. The troops on the Narngalish front line have been shouting across the Fields. When the wind is in the north their words can sometimes be deciphered.’

‘Purely a strategy to weaken our resolve. A worn-out trick. Only dupes would heed the agitations of the enemy.’

Mac Brádaigh was about to say something more, but Uabhar’s sentries announced the advent of a despatch rider. The courier burst through the notched doorway like a gust of wind. He was breathing hard.

‘Your Majesty,’ said the courier, flinging himself at the king’s feet, ‘I come on the business of Lord Genan of Áth Midbine. Overnight my lord captured a Narngalish scout. Before he perished, the Narngalishman told my lord all he knew. He spoke of deadly riders, and daemon horses of green fire. Unseelie hordes are coming to destroy the world.’

‘Áth Midbine’s interrogator brings out the truth in men,’ Mac Brádaigh interjected, seizing the opportunity.

‘The truth
as they believe it
,’ snapped Uabhar. ‘Narngalis propagates falsehoods amongst his own troops to achieve his ends, knowing they will infect us with his lies.’

Mac Brádaigh said, ‘My liege, the men are restless. They are ready to battle against a foe they can see with their own eyes, an enemy who submits to the laws of life and death, but it is a different matter if they find themselves pitted against an adversary they cannot understand. There are concerns amongst the captains that fear might drive them to mutiny . . . ’

‘Rebels will be hanged!’ shouted Uabhar. ‘There are no unseelie hordes! They do not exist!’ He cocked his head to one side, then added, ‘And if they do, then let those hordes hasten south, for they will find Wyverstone barring their way before they encounter Slievmordhu. Let them destroy my enemies for me!’ To the messenger kneeling on the floor he said curtly, ‘Go back and tell that to Áth Midbine!’

‘That is not all. There is other news, sire,’ said the messenger.

‘Say!’

‘This very hour we shot down a carrier bird flying from the Narngalish encampment. It bore a message meant for Storm Lord Avalloc. Warwick has come to believe that the weather-masters have been slain by trickery.’

‘And at whose door does that deluded inventor of fancies lay this charge?’

‘At the door of Slievmordhu, sire.’

‘Rumour and hearsay! Fancies and delusions! Is that all the information my noble officers have to send me? Tell them this,’ said Uabhar, ‘any man who spreads sedition will be boiled alive. I will not tolerate the broadcasting of alarm and despondency amongst my troops. Now begone, bearer of bad news, begone! You too, Mac Brádaigh!’ Brusquely he extended his hand.

The high commander gave a peremptory bow, brushed his lips against the back of Uabhar’s hand and made a swift exit, followed by the courier. After they had gone Uabhar’s second son appeared from behind an embroidered hanging where he had been seated upon a chair of carved walnut, reading despatches. ‘Sir,’ he said, ‘is it true?’ The face of young Prince Ronin was as pale as if cast in plaster. His shoulders were draped with a cloak of rich brocade, lined with scarlet satin, and loose tendrils of dark brown hair straggled across his cheeks.

‘Is what true?’

‘Have you indeed slain the weathermasters?’

‘You foolish whelp, I have merely caused the meddlers to be removed from our path. They are Narngalish subjects, and ever in alliance with Wyverstone. Do you suppose our campaign would have advanced even this far, had they been free to do as they wished? Well, do you?’

‘I suppose not,’ replied Ronin, but his voice was scarcely audible, and his lips were compressed to two smudged lines against the whiteness of his flesh. ‘But I thought you had merely imprisoned them. Pray tell me whether—’

He broke off as Crown Prince Kieran entered the royal pavilion, throwing off his mud-spattered cloak. Having heard that the high commander and a messenger had paid a visit, Kieran was about to enquire after the latest news, but checked himself when he perceived the situation between his father and brother. The anxiety he always experienced when attending Uabhar sharpened to dread.

Uabhar ignored the presence of his eldest son, focusing his scrutiny on Ronin. ‘Do you have quarrel with my procedures?’ he barked.

The younger prince waited a moment before replying, ‘You are my sovereign and sire.’

‘Precisely. And all that I do, I do that the dynasty of Ó Maoldúin may prosper. You are second in line to the throne, an heir of this dynasty.’

‘As one of your heirs,’ Ronin said, leaving his seat and kneeling in homage to his father, ‘I ask you, as before, for your leave to join the ranks and fight for Slievmordhu.’

‘And as before I refuse the request. It is because you are one of my successors that I will not allow you to ride out to war, you understand? My sons will not risk their lives. It is for the ordinary soldiery to become spear fodder.’

Up jumped Ronin, overturning the chair. ‘You tie our hands no matter which way we turn!’ he cried despairingly. ‘You refuse to let us fight, you refuse to allow us any part in the decision-making, you refuse to hearken to our counsel!’

This was too much for Kieran. From infancy he had been schooled to loathe his father’s wrath, and to go to any lengths to appease it. His reaction was reflexive, rather than calculated. ‘How can you, in good conscience, address our father with such discourtesy?’ he loudly reprimanded his brother. ‘Obedience and loyalty above all! Recollect yourself!’

‘Be silent, sirrah!’ The king rounded on his eldest son. ‘Do not presume to speak on my behalf!’ Embarrassed and shocked that he was perceived to have erred, the crown prince bowed low and apologised. Returning his attention to Ronin, Uabhar said smoothly and with ominous civility, ‘Prithee, give me your counsel now, my son. I would fain be privy to what discomposes you.’

‘Already you know what troubles me, Father!’ the young man said in agitation. ‘A wickedness is on the way and the weathermasters, our best defenders, are betrayed. It is we who betrayed them, while they were unarmed, and guests beneath our roof! If the weathermasters still live you must set them free.’

‘They live not.’

Ronin doubled over, as if his father had punched him just beneath the ribs. A sickly pallor washed over him as if he had taken ill, and he mumbled strings of phrases under his breath, one after the other. His elder brother sat down quickly upon the lid of an ark as if his knees had given way beneath him. Kieran passed one hand across his brow, wiping off sudden beads of cold sweat.

‘Truth will out,’ said Uabhar. ‘Eventually it will become common knowledge, in any case, that the weathermasters are slain. Why should I not be the one to reveal it to you? I have nothing to hide! I remain as guileless as always. Leave off your prayers to the Fates, Ronin; they are not listening. And do not berate yourself, for you had no part in it. Most of that sad affair was the fault of the druids.’

Lifting his head Ronin said, ‘Be that as it may, it is with Slievmordhu that the responsibility lies. Without the weather-masters, humankind is all but powerless before the wickedness of unseelie hordes.’

‘There are no hordes. It is a false report that has been blown wildly out of proportion. I myself germinated the original hearsay in a clever tactical manoeuvre, when I concocted tales of unseelie wights gathering on the South-Eastern Moors.’

‘They say these monsters are issuing from the
north
. Many folk claim to have seen them.’

‘It is a trick.’

‘What if it is no trick?’

‘Then the first obstacles on their southbound route will be the armies of Narngalis. I consider that no inconvenience.’

‘And after they have slaughtered the Narngalish, what then? A man’s loyalty is of no concern to wicked wights. Being human, alone, is enough cause for them to put us to death. They hate humankind, and would destroy us all.’

‘What would you have me do?’ Uabhar asked with exaggerated politeness.

‘Put aside all quarrels and join with Warwick in alliance against the unseelie threat.’

‘That is treasonous talk! How dare you suggest it?’ the king roared. ‘Unworthy son! Have I taught you nothing? Would you bring dishonour upon your own father?’

Quietly Kieran subjoined, ‘You show yourself a traitor, Ronin,’ but his tone was a warning to his brother to shield himself, rather than an accusation with which to persecute him. Ronin was dear to him, and in the most secret recesses of his heart he agreed with much that he was saying, though this caused him untold anguish and confusion, for it threatened to undermine the very foundations on which his life had been built. They were not weak-minded, these young men—not in the slightest. It was an insidious, invisible influence they had to contend with; one that has ensnared and ultimately ruined many a mighty man.

The king addressed Ronin. ‘Observe your brother, who stands closer to the throne than you do, praise the Fates. Of all my sons Kieran is the best, the most dutiful and steadfast. Of all my sons you are the worst. Take heed of your elder brother. Model yourself on him. He obeys his father without question, and by this he proves himself worthy as my heir.’

‘If I am a traitor and disloyal son, if I am the worst of all offenders, then let it be proclaimed,’ declared Ronin. ‘Let me be reviled for all time, but I cannot in good conscience commit treason against the whole of humanity.’

Uabhar thrust his face close to that of his second son. ‘Were you not my flesh and blood I would see you hanged,’ he hissed corrosively.

The young prince flinched, but stood his ground, avoiding his father’s eye. ‘I apologise for speaking out against you, Father,’ he said tightly. ‘If you knew what it has cost me . . . ’

‘You should have held your tongue, sirrah! I deny all you have said, and ’twould be better for you if you had never said it. Now I will reconsider my ban after all, and you will find out how generously I can reach a compromise. Put on your armour. Go forth to fight for king and country. See if you can find it in your faithless heart to wage war against the very realms with whom you so ardently desire to form alliance, and if you cannot do it in good conscience then do it while stung by guilt. Should you perish on the battlefield, at least you will have given your last strength while proving yourself no disloyal son. In that, maybe you will salvage some honour for the name of Ó Maoldúin.’