Knights Of Dark Renown (37 page)

Scores of warriors dropped from their hiding place in the trees, knives and swords hacking at the attackers. Elodan drew his sword and spurred his horse into the midst of the fray, cutting and killing. The Scouts fell back, streaming down the hillside.

From the woods opposite Llaw Gyffes, Manannan and a score of mounted warriors galloped into sight. The Scouts scattered before them, but many were ridden down as they ran back along the valley.

Manannan kicked his stallion into a furious gallop and rode through the fleeing men. Ahead of him the Scout’s standard-bearer was carrying the King’s flag, a raven on a field of blue. Manannon cut him down and seized the standard, raising it high for the defenders to see.

The thunder of hooves filled the air and Manannan swung his mount. Riding into the valley were five hundred of the King’s Lancers. The Once-Knight cut left and rode for the trees. Several of the Lancers veered after him and, reaching the tree line, he hurled the standard to a waiting rebel and swung again to meet the charging riders; there were five in the chasing group. Lifting his sword, Manannan spurred the stallion at them. He swayed in the saddle, allowing a lance to slice by him, and hacked the rider from his mount. A second lance glanced from his breastplate and his sword stabbed out to cleave the rider through the ribs. Then he was among them. Unable to use their long lances to good effect, the attackers dropped them and drew their swords. It availed them nothing. Manannan tore into them, his silver blade slicing through armour and mail. The last remaining Lancer tried to escape, but as he turned his steed an arrow flew from the undergrowth and hammered into his horse’s side. The beast stumbled, throwing its rider to the earth; the man rose, but another shaft took him in the thigh. Rebels ran from the undergrowth to despatch him.

Manannan leaned on to the pommel of his saddle and watched the Lancers thunder into the valley. Llaw Gyffes and the other riders gave way before them, riding up into the stands of pine that circled the hills.

Elodan rode out to rein in alongside Manannan. ‘Do you think they’ll come up after us?’

‘Not if they have any sense. They can’t know how many we are, and Lancers are as useful here as a wooden sword. Did we lose many men?’

‘About a dozen. Gwydion is looking to the wounded now. Have you seen Morrigan?’

‘No, I thought she was with you.’

‘She gave chase to some Scouts over to the west,’ said Elodan. ‘Perhaps you should find her.’

Manannan nodded. He rode for some minutes, alert for any stragglers who might still be hiding in the undergrowth. Then he heard a terrifying scream and drew his blade. The stallion baulked at entering the glade from which the noise had come, but he patted its neck and spoke soothingly to it. The horse walked on for several steps, then stopped again. Manannan dismounted and tethered the beast. He pushed aside the undergrowth and saw Morrigan crouching over a struggling man; her teeth were fixed into his throat and as Manannan watched the body began to shrivel.

The Once-Knight looked on, horror-struck, while Morrigan rose and wiped the blood from her mouth. She turned slowly.

‘Manannan!’

‘Take off that armour,’ he hissed. ‘Now!’

‘Wait!’ she pleaded. ‘Let me explain.’

‘What I saw explained everything. Take off the armour, Morrigan — or I’ll kill you where you stand.’

‘You think you could?’ she spat. ‘I have the strength of the Vyre.’

‘I know I could - and so do you. Take off that armour. Now. You disgrace everything it stands for.’

For a moment he thought she would attack him, but then she dropped her sword and began to unbuckle the silver breastplate. He waited in silence until she stood before him in a simple blue tunic and grey leggings. ‘What now?’ she asked.

‘Now you go from here. You leave the forest. If ever I see you again, you will die. Get out of my sight.’

‘It is not my fault!’ she shouted. ‘I did not choose to be the way I am.’ He did not reply; she moved closer. ‘Manannan, don’t send me away.’

‘If you are still here in one minute, I shall cut your disgusting head from your shoulders. GET AWAY!’ he screamed. She recoiled from his fury and ran from the glade as Manannan slumped to the grass, his hands shaking. He was still there when Elodan found him.

The Once-Knight outlined what he had seen and Elodan sighed. ‘In one way she was right, Manannan. She did not choose to be a Vampyre; it was forced on her. But she had to go. Will you remove my helm?’ Manannan placed his hands on the helmet and twisted it loose of the neck-ring, lifting it clear. ‘Thank you, my friend. I feel more useless than ever in armour. You know, left to myself I would not be able to remove my breastplate.’

‘You are beginning to fight well,’ Manannan told him. ‘That is a boon.’

Elodan lifted his left hand and stared at it. ‘It is beginning to obey me, but I would not like to meet anyone skilled.’ The Lord Knight glanced at Morrigan’s armour. ‘I suppose we should select another Knight?’

Manannan shook his head. He strode to where the breastplate lay and lifted it, carrying it back to Elodan. On the outside the plate shone like polished silver, but inside it was rusted through. Manannan tensed his muscles and gripped the edges hard; the breastplate snapped and fell apart in his hands.

He hurled it aside. ‘The armour reflects the wearer,’ he said.

‘Then why was she chosen at all?’ Elodan asked.

Manannan shrugged. ‘I do not know. But we have lost Groundsel, and now Morrigan. Who is next, I wonder?’

‘Nuada is also dead,’ said Elodan. ‘Lamfhada came to me in a dream last night. The poet was nailed to a tree; he gave his life to save a village.’

Manannan said nothing, pushing himself wearily to his feet. ‘Come,’ he said. ‘The day is not yet over.’ He lifted Elodan’s helm and prepared to place it on the Lord Knight. Elodan’s eyes were sorrowful as he spoke.

‘It must hurt you, Manannan, to see the men who have become Knights of the Gabala: a cripple who cannot dress himself, a thief, a cook, a blacksmith, and a Nomad tribesman who wouldn’t understand the concept of chivalry if it bit him.’

‘You have no idea, Elodan, how proud I am. No idea.’

The King hurled the jewel-encrusted goblet at the general, who knew better than to duck. The missile took him high in the forehead, gashing the skin, but he remained at attention as a trickle of blood moved down his cheek.

‘You imbecile!’ stormed the King. ‘You incompetent! My troops will starve if it’s left to you to supply them. How many convoys have got through to us in the last six days? How many?’

‘One, sire,’ answered the man.

‘One. You have been given five hundred Lancers; you have scoured the countryside. And what have you achieved? What?’

‘Nothing, sire. We captured one of their scouts who told us the Duke of Mactha was leading the force. Under torture he gave us their hiding place. But when we got there, the Duke was gone.’

‘Who?’ hissed the King. ‘Who had gone?’

‘The Du . . . the traitor Roem, sire.’

‘Get out of my sight - and report to Kar-schen. You are no longer a general; you will take command of the next Turma into the forest.’

‘Yes. sire. Thank you, sire,’ said the man, bowing and backing away through the tent entrance as the King swung to Samildanach, who was standing beside the throne.

‘How do you read our situation, Lord Knight?’

‘The former Duke is a worthy adversary. His raids are lightning-swift and well planned. He has burned over a dozen convoys for the loss of maybe six men. He knows the land. Far more worrying is the news of unrest in Furbolg.’

‘Unrest? A few riots. My troops have seen to them,’ said the King.

‘Even so, sire, the main army is with us here. Should there be a revolt. . .’

‘A revolt? Why should there be? I am well-loved. Is that not so, Okessa?’

The new Duke of Mactha bowed his bald head. ‘Indeed it is, sire. But the Lord Knight is right to be concerned - there will always be elements inspired by envy or greed.’

‘What do you suggest, Samildanach?’

‘I think you should return to Furbolg, sire — with a thousand Lancers. That should put paid to any problems.’

‘But I want to see Llaw Gyffes and his rebels punished.’

‘You will, sire. Despite their spirited defence, it is now obvious that they lack the numbers to halt a fierce and sudden invasion. In two days the Lancers will advance on the left and right, two miles apart, and converge on the centre. At the same time I will lead the main body of the army into the forest here. The enemy will be forced to fall back.’

‘Then I will stay to see it,’ stated the King.

‘Sire,’ continued Samildanach, ‘that is only the first move. They will not stand to be destroyed at a single blow. The rebellion will be crushed, but it will take weeks to hunt them all down - and I fear the continuous pursuit through the forest would bore you to tears.’

‘Very well, Samildanach, I will heed your advice. But Llaw Gyffes is not to be killed; he must be brought, with the other traitor Knights, to Furbolg for trial and execution.’

‘It will be done, sire.’

‘And what plans have you for the traitor, Roem?’

‘We are sending one convoy from Mactha — but this time, as well as the escort, there will be Lancers a mile distant to the south, west, east and north. He will not escape. I myself will be riding with the convoy.’

‘Send me his head. I shall have it placed on a lance over the main gates of the city.’

‘Indeed I shall, sire.’

Soldiers ringed the former Duke as he stood, holding his sword double-handed and keeping them at bay. A warrior ran in, but the Duke swept aside his thrust and slashed his own blade down through the man’s neck. A half-mile to the west, the smoke from the burning convoy was rising like a giant cobra. Roem grinned. Around him lay the remains of his force; they had fought well, but had been outnumbered and overpowered. Only Roem, in his silver armour, had been able to withstand the many blows.

‘Come then, my heroes,’ invited Roem. ‘Who is next for the swan’s path to glory?’

‘I fear you are,’ said Samildanach, moving inside the circle. ‘Do you wish to surrender?’

‘Dojyou?’ asked Roem.

‘I think not. The King has asked me to send him your head and I promised I would. I am a man who likes to keep his promises.’

‘Truly? Did you not once promise to aid the poor and the dispossessed?’

‘Enough talk, Roem. Defend yourself!’

The Duke of Mactha was a fine swordsman, but never had he faced a warrior more skilled than Samildanach. With increasing desperation he fought off the Red Knight’s frenzied attacks, but as he grew weaker he could sense his opponent growing ever more strong. The dark blade hissed and cut faster and faster. Roem tried to attack, but his blows seemed clumsy and without style against the master he faced. His shoulder-plate was hacked away by a mighty blow, exposing the collar-bone; then his helm was struck, the sword ricocheting to slice open the skin of his shoulder. A second blow loosened the helm and Roem backed away. Samildanach did not follow.

‘Do remove it if it troubles you,’ Samildanach invited him.

Roem plunged his sword into the grass and lifted his damaged helm clear.

‘You are a remarkable fighter, Samildanach,’ he said. ‘I only ever saw one man better.’

Samildanach chuckled. ‘If you fought a better man than I, Roem, why are you still here?’

‘I only practised with him. He will kill you, Samildanach.’

‘And the name of this paragon?’

‘Manannan.’

The smile left Samildanach’s face. ‘The day has not dawned when Manannan could best me - and I am stronger and faster now than ever before. I think you seek to unsettle me, Roem. Is that not so?’

‘You see through me so easily,’ answered Roem with a smile. ‘But I wish I could be there when he forces you to kiss the grass at his feet.’

‘But you won’t!’ hissed Samildanach, leaping forward. Roem’s sword came up - but too slowly . . . the dark blade swept through his neck and his head toppled to the ground.

Samildanach sheathed his sword and turned his back on the corpse.

‘See that the head is sent to the King,’ he ordered. ‘Today. He should be halfway to Mactha by now.’

For five days a thunderstorm swept across the forest, swelling rivers and streams, making paths and trails treacherous, hills impossible to climb. The fighting became sporadic and the army of the King was forced to halt its advance on both wings. At the centre, under Samildanach and Okessa, the infantry pushed forward slowly.

On the sixth day the sky cleared, the sun blazing down upon the sea of mud that was to be the battleground.

Samildanach decided to wait one more day for the ground to become more firm, and rode for Mactha to report to the King.

In the hills Elodan and Manannan redirected their forces to the east and west, where the advancing wings were meeting little resistance. Lamfhada arrived at the camp at noon.

‘They have two thousand men on each side of us,’ he told Manannan. ‘If we stay here, we will be trapped; the horns will close in, drawing us on to the foot soldiers. We must retreat.’

‘I agree,’ said Elodan. ‘We cannot allow them to force us into a pitched battle; their numbers would swamp us.’

‘I can see that,’ said Manannan, ‘but I don’t like the feel of retreating - and I am not speaking of pride. Most of the men are here as a matter of choice. If they think we are losing, they will run for their homes. Every step we march back will see our army shrink.’

‘There’s truth in that,’ agreed Errin, moving with Ubadai to join them. ‘We’ve already lost some of the warriors from Bucklar’s force. Twenty men headed home last night as the rain ceased.’

Elodan shook his head. ‘You are saying we cannot retreat, yet Lamfhada tells us we are soon to be surrounded and overwhelmed. That does not leave us many choices. We cannot attack. We have not the discipline, or the lines of command. We can only fight as we are. Any suggestion would be appreciated, Manannan.’

Manannan nodded. ‘I think a small victory would serve us well at this stage. May I suggest we shift our position and hit their left wing? While the mud is still deep, their horses will be restricted and it should give our infantry a sound advantage. But there is a danger. It will leave their foot-soldiers with no opposition and they could march into the forest and sack all the settlements between here and the mountains.’