Ghost King (11 page)

Culain closed his eyes. 'I left his old clothes in a chest.'

'Then they can find him. Unless you stop them.'

'What are you suggesting?'

'Find the power behind Eldared and slay it. Or slay the king.'

'And what will you be doing while I am scouring the countryside?'

'I will use this,' said the Enchanter, lifting a yellowed leather-covered wedge of parchment. 'It is the most valuable possession Thuro had. The works of Plutarch. Much of his Harmony remains in it. I shall follow him through the Mist.'

*

Prasamaccus gazed around him. The landscape had changed; it was more rugged and open, the mountains stretching out into the distance beyond an immediate wooded valley. And it was bright ... he looked up, and his heart sank. Two moons hung in the sky, one huge and silver-purple, the other small and white. The Brigante feared he knew what such phenomena might mean, and it was not good news. There was no sign of the warrior with the storm-cloud eyes.

'Where is Culain?' screamed Laitha. , 'He did not manage to reach the central square,' said Thuro softly. His eyes met those of Prasamaccus, who understood the unspoken thought. Culain had fallen among the Soul Ste-alers; both had seen it. Laitha began to search beyond the circle of white stones, calling Culain's name. Thuro sat down alongside Prasamaccus.

'I did not think anything could kill him,' said Thuro. 'He was an amazing man.'

'I regret not having known him,' said Prasamaccus, with as much sincerity as he could muster. 'Tell me, how do we get home?'

'I have no idea.'

'Strange, I thought you were going to say that. Do you know where we are?'

'I am afraid not.'

'I should have been a fortune-teller. I am beginning to know the answers to these questions before you speak. One last question. Does that second moon mean what I think it means?'

'I am afraid so.'

Prasamaccus sighed and opened his pouch, producing a small seed cake. Thuro smiled; he was beginning to like the crippled archer.

How did you meet Victorinus?'

Prasamaccus swallowed the last of the seed cake. 'I was out hunting . . .' He told Thuro the tale of seeing the Atrols and fleeing to a stone circle, and of the journey with Maedhlyn back to Eboracum. He did not mention Helga; the thought of never seeing her again was too painful. Meanwhile Laitha wandered back into the circle and sat down, saying nothing. Prasamaccus offered her his last seed cake, but she refused.

'It's your fault, cripple,' she snapped. 'If we had not had to wait for you, we could have escaped with Culain.'

Prasamaccus merely nodded. It did not pay to argue with women.

'Nonsense!' stormed Thuro. 'If you had not killed the poor man's horse, we would have arrived the sooner.'

'You are saying it is my fault he is dead?'

'You are the one who introduced the question of fault, not I. Now if you cannot be civil, hold your tongue!'

'How dare you? You are not my kinsman, nor my prince. I owe you nothing.'

'If I might . . .' began Prasamaccus.

'Be quiet!' snarled Thuro. 'I may not be your prince, but you are my responsibility. It is what Culain would have wanted.'

'How would you know what he wanted? You are a boy; he was a man.' She stood and stalked off into the darkness.

'Arguing with women offers no reward,' said Prasamaccus softly. 'They are always right; I saw that in my village. You'll only have to apologise to her.'

'For what?'

'For pointing out that she was wrong. What are your plans, prince?'

Thuro sat back. 'Are you not angry with her for accusing you?'

'Why should I be? She was right; I slowed you down.'

'But . . .'

'I know, she killed my horse. But how far can we take this back? Had I not been riding into the mountains you would not have been delayed at all. Had you not been missing, I would not have been riding. Is it your fault? Arguing about it will not light us a fire, or find food.'

'You are very philosophical.'

'Of course,' agreed Prasamaccus, wondering what it meant. He stood and limped out beyond the circle, seeking twigs for a fire, but there were none. 'I think we should camp in those woods until morning,' he said.

‘I’ll fetch Laitha.'

‘I’ll do it,' said Prasamaccus swiftly, limping out to where she sat.

The trio found a sheltered hollow and lit a camp-fire against a fallen trunk. Without blankets or food they sat silently, each lost in thought. Laitha grappled with grief and ill-understood anger. Thuro wondered what plan Culain might have conceived following their arrival. Would he have known this land? And if he had not, what would he have done? Set off north? South? Prasamaccus lay down beside the fire and thought of Helga. Five weeks of bliss. He hoped she would not have to wait for him too long.

When Thuro awoke Prasamaccus had already started a fire and four clay spheres were sitting in the flames. The prince stretched his cramped muscles. Laitha still slept.

'You are up early,' said Thuro, glancing at the dawn sky.

'Best to catch pigeons while they sleep. Are you hungry?'

'Ravenous.' Prasamaccus hooked a ball from the fire with a short stick, then cracked a rock to it. The clay split cleanly, taking all feathers from the bird. The meat was dark and similar to beef and Thuro devoured it swiftly, sucking clean the fragile bones.

'I found a high hill,' said Prasamaccus, 'and from there studied the land. I could see no sign of building, but there is some evidence of tilled fields to the west.'

He rolled another ball from the fire and split it; then he moved to where Laitha lay and gently pushed her shoulder. She awoke and he smiled at her. 'There is breakfast cooking. Come eat.' She did so in silence, careful to avoid even looking at Thuro.

'Why did Storm-eyes send you here?' asked the Brigante.

To find my father's sword, the Sword of Cunobelin. But I do not know where to look, and I am not even sure that this is the world we were meant to enter. Culain said we needed the power of the sun, and we certainly left without that.'

Prasamaccus cracked another clay sphere and sat back quietly. He had Vamera and therefore a constant supply of food. When they found people, he could trade skins and meat and perhaps buy a horse eventually. He would not starve, but what of his wards? What skills could the young prince bring to bear on this new world, where he was not even a prince? The girl was not a concern, for she was young and pretty and her hips looked good for childbirth. She would not go hungry. Suddenly an unpleasant thought struck him. This was another world. Supposing it was the world of the Atrols, or other demons? He remembered the tilled fields and was partially relieved. Demons tilling fields were somehow less demonic.

'We will go west,' said Thuro, 'and find the owners of the field.'

Prasamaccus was relieved that Thuro had decided to be the leader; he was much more content to follow and advise and that way little blame could attach should matters go awry. The trio set off through the woods, following obvious game trails and coming across the spoor of deer and goat. The tracks were somewhat larger than Prasamaccus had known, but not so large that they gave cause for concern. By mid-morning they spotted the first deer. It was almost six feet high at the shoulders, which were humped, and it had a flap of skin hanging on its throat. Its antlers were sharp, flat and many-pointed.

'It would need a fine strike to kill that beast,' said Prasamaccus. He said no more, for his ruined leg was beginning to ache from the long walk. Thuro noticed his limp growing more pronounced and suggested a halt.

'We have only come about three miles,' protested Laitha.

'And I am tired,' snapped Thuro, sitting down against a tree. The Brigante sank gratefully to the grass. The boy would make a fine leader if he lived long enough, he thought.

After a short rest it was Prasamaccus who suggested they move on, smiling his thanks to Thuro, and towards late afternoon they emerged from the wood into a rolling land of gentle hills and dales. The distant mountains reared white and blue against the horizon, and in their shadow - some two miles further west was a walled stockade around a small village. Cattle and goats could be seen grazing on a hillside.

Thuro gazed long at the village, wondering at the wisdom of walking in. Yet what choice did he have? They could not spend their lives hiding in the woods. The path widened and they followed it until they heard the sound of horsemen. Thuro stood in the centre of the road; Prasamaccus moved to the left, Laitha to the right.

There were four men in the party, all heavily armoured and wearing high plumed helms of shining brass. The leader halted his mount and spoke in a language Thuro had never heard. The prince swallowed hard, for this was a consideration that had not occurred to him. Whatever it was that the man said, he repeated it -" this time more forcefully. Instinctively Thuro's hand curved around the hilt of his gladius.

'I asked what you were doing here,' said the rider.

'We are travellers,' answered Thuro, 'seeking rest for the night.'

'There is an inn yonder. Tell me, have you seen,a young woman, heavily pregnant?'

'No, we have just come from the woods. Is she lost?'

'She is a runaway.' The warrior turned to his men, lifted his arm and the four horsemen thundered by. Thuro took a deep, calming breath. Prasamaccus limped towards him and spoke. The words were unintelligible, a seemingly rhythmless series of random sounds.

'What are you talking about?' asked the prince. Prasamaccus looked startled and swung towards Laitha, whose words were equally strange, though almost musical. Thuro clapped his hands and they both turned towards him. He slowly pulled clear his gladius, offering the hilt to Prasamaccus; the Brigante reached out and touched it. 'Now do you understand me?'

'Yes. How do you come by this magic?'

Laitha interrupted them with an incomprehensible question.

'Might be best to leave her like that,' said Prasamaccus. Laitha was becoming angry and she shook her fist at Thuro. As she did so, the copper bracelet on her arm slid down over her tunic sleeve and touched the skin of her wrist.

'Thuro, you miserable whoreson? Do not leave me like this.'

'I will not,' said Thuro. Her eyes closed in relief, then they flared open.

'What happened to us?'

'Culain touched my sword and your bracelet with his magic Stone. I suspect we are now speaking whatever language is common to this world.'

'What did the riders want?' asked Laitha, dismissing the previous problem from her thoughts.

'They were seeking a runaway woman - heavily pregnant.'

'She is hiding in those rocks,' Prasamaccus told them. 'I saw her just as we heard the soldiers.'

Then let us leave her be,' declared Thuro. 'We want no trouble.'

'She is hurt,' said Prasamaccus. 'I think she's been whipped.'

'No! We have problems enough.'

Prasamaccus nodded, but Laitha walked away from the path and up the short climb to the rocks. There she found a young girl, no older than herself. The girl's eyes widened in terror and she bit her lip, her slender hand moving protectively across her swollen stomach.

'I shall not hurt you,' said Laitha, kneeling beside her. The girl's shoulders were bleeding and it was obvious a whip had been laid there with considerable force. 'Why are you hunted?'

The girl touched her belly. 'I am one of the Seven,' she said, as if that answered the question.

'How can we help you?'

'Take me to Mareen-sa.'

'Where is that?' The girl seemed surprised, but she pointed up into the hills where a shallow wood opened beyond a group of marble boulders. 'Come, then,' said Laitha, holding out her hand. The girl rose, and with Laitha's support began the climb.

Below them Prasamaccus sighed and Thuro fought to control his anger.

'Easier to tame a wild pony than a wild woman,' muttered the Brigante. 'Said to be worth the effort, though.'

Thuro felt the anger seep from him in the face of the man's mildness.

'Does nothing disturb you, my friend?'

'Of course,' said Prasamaccus, hobbling off in the wake of the woman. Thuro followed, his eyes sweeping the hills for sign of the horsemen.

The vanguard of the Brigante army - some seven thousand fighting men - crossed the Wall of Hadrian at Cilurnum, moving on in a ragged line to the fortress town of Corstopitum. The force was led by Gael and spearheaded by seven hundred riders of the Novontae, skilled horsemen and ferocious swordsmen.

Corstopitum was a small town of fewer than four hundred people, and the council leaders sent messages of support to Eldared, promising supplies of food to the army on its arrival. They also ordered the withdrawal of the British garrison and the hundred soldiers marched to Vin-domara twelve miles south-east. The town leaders in this larger settlement had studied the omens and followed the example of their northern neighbours. Once more, the garrison was expelled.

Eldared was winning the war even before the first battle lines had been drawn.

Now, kneeling behind a screen of bushes in the woods above Corstopitum, Victorinus studied the camp below. The Brigantes had pitched their tents in three fields outside the city, the Novontae riders further to the west beside a swift-flowing stream.

Gwalchmai moved silently alongside the swarthy Roman. 'At least two thousand more than we expected, and the main force still to come,' said the Cantii.

'Eldared is hoping his show of force will cow Aquila.'

'That is not unreasonable. The cities do not relish a war.'

Behind the two men waited a full cohort of Alia, four hundred and eighty hand-picked fighting men, trained for battle as either foot soldiers or cohors equitana, mounted warriors. Victorinus moved back from the bushes and summoned the troop commanders to him. As with the old Roman army the cavalry was split into turma - or troops - of thirty-two men each, with sixteen turmae to a cohort.

The commanders gathered around Victorinus in a tight circle as he outlined the night's plan of action. Each commander was given a specific target and the various counter-options open to him depending on the fortunes of the battle. Within such a ferocious skirmish the best-laid plans could come to nothing and Victorinus knew there would be no opportunity for tactical changes once the fight began. Each turma would accomplish its own task and then withdraw. Under no circumstances would one group go to the aid of another.

For more than an hour they discussed the options, then Victorinus walked among the soldiers checking weapons and horses and .talking to the men. He wore, as did they, a leather-ringed breastplate and wooden helm covered with lacquered cow-hide, with scimitar shaped ear-guards tied under the chin. His thighs were protected by a leather kilt, split into five sections above copper-reinforced boots which had replaced the more traditional greaves. The men were nervous, yet anxious to inflict punishment on the proud Brigantes.

At one hour after midnight, with the Bri-gante camp silent, three hundred horsemen thundered down the hill. Four turmae rode to the Brigante supply wagons, overturning them and putting them to the torch. Another troop galloped to the Novontae picket line, killing the guards and driving the horses up and into the hills. Brigante warriors streamed from their tents, but a hundred veteran lancers led by Gwalchmai hammered into them, driving them back. Behind the lancers two turmae galloped around the tents, hurling flaming brands to the canvas. The camp was in an uproar.

High above Corstopitum, Victorinus watched with concern as the flames grew and the pandemonium increased.

'Now, Gwalchmai! Now!' whispered the Roman. But still the battle raged, and the Brigante leaders began to restore order. As Victorinus verged on the edge of rage, he saw Gwal-chmai's lancers wheel into the 'flying arrow' formation and charge. The wedge, with Gwalchmai at the point of the arrow, sundered the gathering Brigante, and the other turmae galloped in behind the wings of the lancers as they broke clear into the fields. Several horses went down, but the main force escaped into the hills.

In their wake Victorinus viewed with pleasure the burning wagons and tents and the scores of Brigante bodies that littered the fields.

The days of blood had begun . . .

*

Bitterness was so much part of Korrin Rogeur's life that he was hard pressed to remember a time when different emotions had fuelled his spirit. He stood now on the outskirts of the forest of Mareen-sa, watching the small group make its way down the hill towards the trees. He recognised Erulda and was pleased at her escape - though not for her sake, but for the chagrin it would cause the Magistrate. In Korrin Rogeur's world, the only moments of pleasure came when his enemies were discomfited.

He was a tall man, wand-slim, and wearing hunting garb of browns and dark greens which allowed him to merge with the forest. By his side was a longsword, and across his back a longbow of yew and a quiver of black-feathered arrows. His eyes were dark and a permanent scowl had etched deep lines into his brow and cheeks, making him seem older than his twenty-four years.

As the group grew closer he studied the woman helping Erulda. She was young, tall and lithe, long-legged and proud as a colt. Behind her came a fair-haired young man, and behind him a cripple.

Korrin scanned the skyline for sign of soldiers lying in wait, aware that the arrival of Erulda could herald a trap. He signalled the men hiding in the bushes then moved out on to open ground. EruJda saw him first and waved; he ignored her.

'And where do you think you are going, Pretty?' he asked Laitha.

Laitha said nothing. Her upbringing with Culain had lacked some of the finer points of communication. She drew her hunting-knife and stepped forward.

'My, my,' said Korrin, 'a ferocious colt! Do you plan to stick me with your pin?'

'State your business, Ugly, and be done with it,' she told him.

Korrin ignored her and turned to Thuro. 'Your women fight for you, do they? How pleasant.'

Thuro advanced to stand before the taller woodsman. 'Firstly, she is not my woman. Secondly, I do not like your tone. That may seem a small matter, especially as you have five men in the bushes even now, with shafts aimed. However, believe me when I tell you I can kill you before they can aid you.'

Korrin grinned and walked beyond Thuro to where Prasamaccus had seated himself on the grass. 'Your turn to offer me violence, I believe?'

"This is a foolish and foolhardy game,' said the Brigante, rubbing at his aching leg. There are soldiers hunting this girl, who could come riding over the rise at any moment. I take it from her reaction when she saw you that you are a friend, so why not act like one?'

'I like you, cripple. You are the first of your group to make sense. Follow me.'

'No,' said Thuro softly. 'We are looking for no trouble with the soldiers. You have the girl; we will leave.'

Korrin lifted his arm and five men stepped from the trees, arrows notched to taut bowstrings. 'I fear not,' he said. 'I must insist you join us for a midday meal. It is the least I can offer.'

Thuro shrugged, pulled Prasamaccus to his feet and followed the woodsman into the forest. Erulda ran forward to walk beside Korrin, linking her arm in his.

The pace was too swift for Prasamaccus, despite the fist that kept prodding his back, and on a slippery patch where the path rose he fell. As Thuro leaned to assist him, a dark-bearded woodsman kicked Prasamaccus in the back, hurling him to the ground once more. Thuro hit the man backhanded across the face, spinning him to the grass. A second man leapt forward, but Thuro spun and hammered his elbow into his attacker's throat. Prasamaccus scrambled to his feet as the others swarmed in to tackle the prince.

'Stop!' bellowed Korrin and the men froze. 'What is going on?'

'He struck me,' stormed the first woodsman, pointing at Thuro.

'You are a troublesome boy,' said Korrin.

'Ceorl kicked the cripple,' said another man. 'He got what he asked for.'

Ceorl swore and rounded on the speaker, but Korrin stepped between them.

'You fight when I tell you, never before. And you will not strike a brother, Ceorl. Ever. All we have is our bond, one to the other. Break it and I'll kill you.' He swung on Thuro. 'I will say this once: You are at present a guest, albeit a reluctant one. So curb your temper, lest you truly wish to be treated like an enemy.'

'There is a difference between the two?'

'Yes. We kill our enemies. Bear that in mind.'

They walked on at a reduced pace, and Prasa-maccus was pleased to note the absence of the fist in his back. Still his leg was raging by the time they reached the camp-site, a honeycomb of caves in a rocky outcrop. He, Thuro and Laitha were left to sit in the open under the eyes of four guards while Korrin and Erulda vanished into a wide cave-mouth.

'You must learn not to be so hot-headed,' said Prasamaccus. 'You could have been killed.'

'You are right, my friend, but it was a reaction. How is your leg?'

'It hardly troubles me at all.'

'She did not even thank me,' said Laitha suddenly. Thuro took a deep breath, but Prasamaccus tapped his arm sharply. ,

'It was a fine gesture nonetheless,' said the Brigante.

Laitha dipped her head. 'I am sorry I said what I did, Prasamaccus. You did not cause Culain's death. Will you forgive me?'

'I rarely recall words said in anger or grief. There is nothing to forgive. What we must decide is how to deal with our current situation. We appear to be sitting at the heart of a war.'

'Surely not,' said Laitha. 'This is just an outlaw band.'

'No,' put in Thuro, 'the girl was some kind of hostage. And if these men were truly outlaws, they would have searched us for coin. They appear to be a brotherhood.'

'And a small one,' said the Brigante, 'which probably makes them the losing side.'

'Why does that affect us?' asked Laitha. 'We mean them no harm.'

'What we may intend is not the point,' said Thuro. 'This looks to be a more or less permanent camp and now we know how to find it. If the soldiers question us, we could betray the brotherhood.'

'So? What are you suggesting?'

'Simply that we will either be slain out of hand or offered a place among them. The latter is more likely since we were not killed back in the hills.'

Prasamaccus merely nodded.

'So what should we do?' asked Laitha.

'We join them - and escape when we can.'

Korrin emerged from the cave and summoned Thuro. 'Leave your sword and knife with your friends, and follow me.' The prince did as he was bid and walked behind the woodsman deep into the torchlit maze of caves, arriving at last at a wide doorway cut into the sandstone. Korrin halted. 'Go inside,' he said softly. From within the entrance came a deep, throaty growl and Thuro froze.

'What is in there?' 'Life or death.'

*

The prince stepped into the shadow-haunted interior. Only one flickering candle lit the room beyond and Thuro waited as his eyes grew accustomed to the dark. In the corner sat a hunched figure, seemingly immense in the shadows. The prince approached and the figure turned and rose, towering over him. The head was grotesque, bulging-eyed and savagely marked, while the face was a mixture of man and bear. Saliva dripped from the jaws and though the figure was robed in white like a man, the huge paws that extended from the sleeves were clawed and bestial.

'Welcome to Mareen-sa,' said the creature, its voice deep and rolling, its words slurred almost beyond recognition. Tell me of yourself.'

'I am Thuro. A traveller.'

'A servant of whom?'

'I am no man's servant.'

'Each man is a servant. From where have you travelled?'

'I have walked the Mist. My world is far away.'

'The Mist!' whispered the creature, moving closer, its claws resting on Thuro's shoulder close to his throat. 'Then you serve the Witch Queen?'

'I have not heard of her. I am a stranger here.'

'You know, do you not, that I am ready to slay you.'

'So I understand,' replied Thuro.

‘I do not wish to. I am not as you see me, boy. Once I was tall and fair, like my brother Korrin. But it does not pay to fall into the clutches of Astarte. Worse it is to love her, as I loved her. For then she does not kill you. No matter ... go away, I am tired.'

'Do we live or die?'

'You live . . . today. Tomorrow? We will talk again tomorrow.'

The prince backed from the chamber as the hunched figure settled down in the corner. Korrin was waiting.

'How did you enjoy your meeting?' asked the woodsman. Thuro looked deeply into his eyes, sensing the pain hidden there.

'Can we talk somewhere?' The man shrugged and walked back towards the light. In a side chamber containing a cot and two chairs Korrin sat down, beckoning Thuro to join him.

'What would you like to talk about?'

'This may seem hard to believe, but I and my companions know nothing of your lands or your troubles. Who is Astarte?'

'Hard to believe? No. Impossible. You cannot travel anywhere on the face of this world without knowing Astarte.'

'Even so, bear with me. Who is she?'

'I have no time for games,' said Korrin, rising.

'This is not a game. My name is Thuro and I have travelled the Mist. Your land, your world, is new to me.'

'You are a sorcerer? I find that hard to take. Or are you really hundreds of years old and only pretending to be a beardless boy?'

'I came here - was sent here - by a man of magic. He did it to enable us to escape being murdered. That is the simple truth - question my friends. Now, who is Astarte?'

Korrin returned to his seat. 'I do not believe you, Thuro, but you gain nothing by hearing me speak of her, so I will tell you. She is the Dark Queen of Pinrae. She rules from ocean to ocean, and if sailors can be believed she controls lands even beyond the waters. And she is evil beyond any dream of man. Her foulness is such that if you truly have not heard of her you will not believe her depravity. The girl you helped was one of the Seven. Her fate was to be taken to Perdita, the castle of iron, and there to see her babe devoured by the Witch Queen. Think on that! Seven babes every season!'

'Eaten?' said Thuro.

'Devoured, I said, by the Bloodstone.'