The Sword of Feimhin (26 page)

For days, as the Shee army approached the lower slopes of the Flamestruck Mountains, they had been harried by hot, dry winds. The landscape around them became arid, with desiccated spinneys of gorse and shrub, littered with the bones of animals. But, since they had woken that morning, they had been able to see a valley up ahead. As they drew closer, they began to see that a winding river ran through it, and could hear the lowing and squealing of vast herds of animals on the bank, desperate to get to the greenery of the mist-laden foothills across the river.

As evening closed in, the true number of the animals became breathtaking; there must have been millions, perhaps tens of millions of the creatures, wheeling in confused and agitated herds, like clouds blown about in a tempestuous sky.

The Shee constructed a shield wall around the more vulnerable load carriers and camp support staff. A
saddle-weary Alan approached the shelves of black rocks that poked out into the stream in staggered ledges and halted his onkkh in amazement. With horror he saw that the white gleam they had seen from further away, which they had assumed was the foam-crested tide of a wide and fast-flowing river, was in fact a monstrous torrent of bones. He stared at the spectacle flowing through the valley as a major river would. It was a good half a mile wide, curling away into the distance on either side. The air was filled with the roaring of its currents, the shearing and tearing of bones sliding and grinding and fracturing against other bones – vicious and intimidating, unbearable to behold.

He dismounted, lost for words.

He could hardly walk, with his blistered backside, and it was agony just to stretch his aching back, the result of being rocked and jolted on that miserable onkkh over nearly a hundred and fifty miles. And now he felt numbed with shock, gazing out over the abysmal scene, his eyes lifting beyond it to the soaring peaks of the Flamestruck Mountains lit by a fiery sunset.

He heard Qwenqwo's approach, his boots grinding over the gravelly beach behind Alan's back. The dwarf mage looked equally overwhelmed.

‘I suppose that the multitude of bones over the approaches was hint enough – though I would never have dreamed of this.'

Alan shook his head.

They were joined by Mo and Turkeya, and then by Ainé and Bétaald. Together they stared out into the awful abyss.

‘It's beyond cruelty,' Turkeya said.

‘In more ways than are apparent,' Bétaald added.

Alan looked at the Shee adviser. ‘You have any idea as to what's going on here?'

‘These herds of beasts – they are every bit as dismayed as we are.'

Qwenqwo agreed. ‘They're too terrified to ford the river.'

‘Indeed so.' The hissing voice of Iyezzz announced his arrival, sweeping down to land within feet of the small group. ‘Instinct dies hard. And their instincts tell them that once this was the mighty Neirann. In the old dialect of the Eyrie people, the word signified bounty. The Neirann gathered the mountain streams into a single torrent, its flood plain bringing fruitfulness to the now famished lands between here and the mighty Jourlanaa. Back then these banks were verdant with life; the greenest prairies ran all the way from the Flamestrucks to the Thousand Islands. Great herds roamed in their millions and there was food aplenty for all.'

‘Until the Great Witch came,' Bétaald sighed.

Iyezzz shook his head. ‘Not so. Spiteful as she was, she lacked the power to subvert such a mighty river.'

‘The Tyrant's work!' Qwenqwo slumped down on a ledge of rock. ‘But how, why would he conjure up such a monstrosity?'

‘I think we need to ask my mentor,' said Iyezz.

Mo looked up at the Garg. ‘You mean Magtokk?'

‘If you know where to find the charlatan,' said Turkeya.

‘I think what Iyezzz implies,' said Alan, ‘is that Magtokk is here right now, and listening in to this conversation.'

‘Clever Mage Lord!' The orang-utan manifested twenty yards from where they were standing, performing a series of somersaults to land within two feet of Qwenqwo, and causing the nearby Shee to metamorphose to cats in alarm.

‘So you have been listening?'

The orange-bearded face with its heavy dewlaps of cheeks widened to a grin as he bowed before Alan. ‘Listening and observing, both.'

‘And your opinion?'

‘If you ask me, I would agree with the consensus. This is the work of the Tyrant.'

‘But why? To what purpose?'

‘The River of Bones is a most effective barrier – you could regard it as an outer moat of Ghork Mega.'

‘What could possibly make it flow?'

‘That I know not, but I fear we have only just begun to probe its unpleasant mysteries. No doubt there will be more to discover.'

Alan shook his head, irritated by the riddles. The grating and grinding, the cracking of bones as they sheared and broke, was so deafening he could hardly hear himself think. ‘If this is a moat, how far are we from Ghork Mega?'

‘Approximately eighty to ninety leagues, as the Garg prince flies.'

Alan translated in his mind: about 240 miles. That was some moat. ‘How are we to get across, or around, this thing?'

‘May I speak to you in private?'

As Alan walked downstream he saw there were numerous small islands in the river. They looked like stony outcrops resistant to the stream, their surfaces worn to spiky hummocks by the grinding passage of the bones.

‘Hideous as the spectacle is, I am of a mind to consider it a manifestation of his humour,' said Magtokk.

‘Humour?'

‘A dark and exceedingly cruel humour, I grant you. But this monstrosity – is it not a message as well as a warning?'

‘What message?'

‘The River of Bones. Is there not subtlety of a kind here – beyond what might be needed for a barrier?'

Alan blinked. He had been staring out at one of the stone outcrops only to find it had disappeared. ‘I don't follow you.'

‘The Tyrant enjoys playing games.'

Alan stared at another of the many islands. ‘You think he's playing games with me, personally?'

‘You think not?'

A thought, a memory, came to Alan. ‘Is it possible that he fears us?'

‘I doubt he fears you personally. He has access to the Fáil. The goddesses who have empowered you, when you consider it, are powerless to destroy him. Why else have they not done so already?'

Magtokk's reasoning was more than a little disturbing.

Alan saw that the island in the stream had disappeared. He stared at the spot where it had stood. ‘Is this leading somewhere?'

‘What I am suggesting is that in examining his patterns of behaviour you might look for signs of weakness.'

The memory nagging at Alan was the moment when the Temple Ship had come to rescue him at Carfon. At the time he had assumed he was about to die. He knew nothing of what Mark was thinking or how he was about to use the Temple Ship to intervene. In that same moment Alan had sensed fear. Had the Tyrant revealed his own fear at the arrival of the Temple Ship?

The island had reappeared. It was hard to see it clearly in the waning light and against the obscuring cloud of bone fragments, but Alan thought the island had moved against the stream. And then, abruptly, it was gone.

He returned to the conversation. ‘Maybe you should enlighten me?'

‘We might begin with an attempt at understanding the Tyrant's aims and motives. Where you value goodness and life, he venerates darkness, death. Understanding this, he provokes you into violence, so you forego your moral nature.'

Alan watched another island while considering what Magtokk was saying.

Long ago the Tyrant had provoked Nantosueta to condemn the Fir Bolg to an eternity of death in life. He had
provoked Alan and his friends at Ossierel, where the lessons of the first battle had not been learned.
We were consumed by anger, hate, as well as fear for our own survival. We killed a lot of people. Half the army of the Gargs died there and a whole army of the Tyrant's legionaries
.

Kate – Kate might have been the only one to understand. But Kate had been kidnapped, taken, so she could play no part at Ossierel. Had that been a deliberate part of a bigger plan? In the Forest of Harrow – the trees tried to kill but they couldn't help it. Okay – so the Tyrant had a grim sense of humour, but maybe Kate had instinctively understood. When Alan had destroyed the Forest of Harrow, she had then healed it again.

Alan stared at the moving obscenity in front of him. ‘So he enjoys playing grim games with us.'

‘Indeed he does. But let us examine it further – how did you come to engage with him?'

‘To hate him, you mean?'

‘If you like.'

‘He killed my parents.'

Magtokk blew out his cheeks until they looked like inflated balloons. ‘Can you think of any other wile that would have better engaged your attention?'

Alan felt his temper rise. ‘You're telling me the murder of Mom and Dad was an opening gambit in his game?'

‘Perhaps another power had already chosen you. Perhaps the Tyrant decided to make it more interesting – from his perspective.'

The second island had also submerged; there could be no doubt about it. Alan frowned. He returned his attention to the orang-utan. He had to suppress his irritation at the calm, sly intelligence he sensed in that face, those eyes. The big wide tongue emerged to lick over the tombstones of teeth.

‘You think his arrogance is his weakness?'

‘Don't you?'

Magtokk the Mischievous took the opportunity for another somersault, landing with surprising lightness on those hand-like feet at the end of his short but powerful legs.

Alan paused, trying to get a firm control of his emotions. ‘You really believe he killed my parents just to get my attention?'

Magtokk scratched his bearded chin. ‘I would surmise that was part of his intention. It is no shame to suffer grief and hurt in such circumstances. Yet emotions are antipathetic to reason.'

Alan had to pause again to think. He breathed out slowly, feeling his exhaustion, his many aches and pains. ‘But none of this explains the River of Bones – or tells us how to cross it.'

‘That we need to ponder afresh – after a good night's sleep.'

*

If Alan had thought he would get some rest overnight he was disappointed. Worry about the barrier that faced them,
the thunderous grinding of the bones and the lowing and screaming of the multitude of tormented animals, all kept him tossing and turning. And now, at first light, there was the sound of sharp cracks and detonations, like gunfire.

Alan dressed hurriedly to observe the obscene river again, feeling the frustration of the animals that bayed and wheeled about in seething masses of agitation. Some among the herds resembled giant zebras, with coats of brown and tan stripes. Others, much faster moving, were flightless birds about a third the size of the onkkh, and possibly related to them. They lacked the brilliant colouring of the scales about their heads and necks, but they had the same shaggy bodies and long feathers; their wings, though too small to enable flight, flapped as they ran, like overgrown chickens. Other beasts looked too strange to compare with anything back home. And then there were numerous smaller creatures, moving among the restless giants.

Lightning balls were forming over the nearby slopes, crackling and exploding like pricked balloons. These were the source of the gunfire-like cracks that spooked the animals, causing them to panic.

‘You really have to pity them.' Mo had appeared by his side, soon joined by Turkeya.

Alan
did
pity the unfortunate beasts. Many had wasted to skin and bone, starved because terror forbade them to cross the river, though they could see and smell the food on the distant banks: a tempting landscape of lush grass
and shrubby trees fed by the streams coming down off the foothills of the Flamestrucks.

Mo spoke his mind. ‘If only Kate were here. She might have worked her miracle and greened this desert.'

‘Why hasn't she returned, Mo? Why am I still unable to contact her, no matter how hard I try?'

‘Something has delayed her. It must be something important. You have to trust her. Kate is smart – and resourceful.'

‘Still, she was only meant to be gone for a few days, not weeks. Where's that dragon that's supposed to be her friend?'

The aides, assisted by the small party of Olhyiu cooks, prepared and served the morning meal. They were now limited to two meals a day; morning and evening. They ate the food sitting on flat ledges of rock, or patches of shingle, and talked about every possible way of circumventing the river.

The Gargs had shown that they could fly over it without a problem, but for a few hundred Gargs to attempt to ferry the entire Shee army – and the loads borne by the onkkh – across the river would take weeks.

Alan asked Iyezzz, ‘Is there any other way around it?'

The Garg shook his head. ‘There is no passable route. The river twists and winds for fifty leagues to east and west.'

‘I'm beginning to think that Magtokk is right. The Tyrant is playing nasty games with us.'

Qwenqwo agreed. ‘He harries us even while playing games. He's playing for time.'

‘Magtokk?' Alan had now come to assume that even if the magician was not visible, he would inevitably be close.

‘If you please, Mage Lord.' The voice sounded from a short distance away, close enough to listen to the conversation, yet on this occasion the magician deemed it unnecessary to materialise.

‘May we have your advice?'

‘I must agree with your advisers. The Tyrant amuses himself, meanwhile he weakens your army by attrition. You cannot circumvent this barrier by moving around it. But I have been observing the maddened beasts. Can you not sense how, in their agitation and movement, they are gathering the courage to attempt a crossing? Cruel as it might seem, I for one would be most intrigued to observe what happens when they do.'