‘But the men Elodan killed, were they not from Groundsel’s camp?’
‘He did not kill them all, boy,’ she snapped. ‘I took one of them.’
She wandered away and he cursed himself for annoying her. During the last ten days he had found her constantly on his mind, making him twist and turn in his bed, unable to sleep. He strolled down the hill and began to gather the wood around the ring.
‘I will do that,’ said the dark-haired Elodan, his face grim and bathed in sweat.
‘I have been told to do it,’ stated Lamfhada. ‘They are finding tasks to make me feel useful.’
Elodan grinned. ‘It is the same for me. But I’ll be damned if I can make my left hand work. It is a question of balance, you see. A man is not just right-handed, but right-sided: foot, eye and hand working together. Now I am just clumsy.’ He sat down. ‘It is hard to be useless.’
‘You are not useless,’ Lamfhada told him. ‘You rescued Arian single… on your own,’ he finished lamely.
Elodan laughed. ‘Do not fear to say single-handed. It is not as if your words bring home any truth I do not know. How is your back?’
‘Almost mended. Arian is teaching me the use of the bow and when I can hunt and bring meat to the settlement, I shall feel much better.’
Elodan wiped the sweat from his face and smiled at the blond youngster. Any fool could see the lad was in love with Arian. Sadly, Arian could see it too. The boy wanted to impress her, but never would, for despite their similarity of age Arian was a grown woman… and already in love.
‘What brought you to the forest?’ Lamfhada asked.
‘A dream. A quest. Both have proved to be without foundation,’ replied Elodan. ‘I shall stay for the winter and then try to get to Cithaeron.’
‘What dream did you have?
‘Gabala is awash with rumours of a revolt led by a great hero,’ Elodan said, shaking his head. ‘His name is Llaw Gyffes, and he has a mighty army gathering in the Forest of the Ocean. I came to join that army.’
‘It is not Llaw’s fault that stories about him have grown,’ said Lamfhada. ‘All he did was rescue some prisoners from Mactha.’
‘No, it is not his fault. Now I must continue with my work, and you should start gathering.’ But Lamfhada saw he made no move to pick up the hatchet.
‘Why did you go against the King?’ the youth asked suddenly.
‘You are full of questions, Lamfhada — but then so was I when young, and my questions were always of the empire. One of my ancestors marched with Patronius to conquer Fomoria and Sercia. Another fell when the Eagle was carried to the east and the Nomad tribes destroyed them. Twenty years later, his son led the Five Armies that smashed the Nomads and established cities across the Steppes to the Far Sea. Always the empire.’ Elodan picked up the hatchet and stared at the curved blade. ‘But — as all empires will — the Gabala failed. There is a truth that cannot be ignored. Empires are like men; they grow to maturity, then they age and wither. When there is nothing left to conquer, decay begins. A sad truth to understand. Ten years ago the Fomorians and the Sercians hammered that truth back at us with an uprising. Ahak led a brilliant counterattack — and he won. But he knew the victory would be short-lived, so he gave the lands back to the rebels and marched home.
‘I worshipped the man then; I saw in him the seeds of greatness. But he is an old-style Gabalan and he could not let the past rest. We talked of it often. Tell me, Lamfhada, what separates the civilized man from the barbarian?’
‘Learning, culture… architecture?’
‘Yes,’ Elodan agreed, ‘but even more basic than that: an abundance of food and wealth. The barbarian must battle for every crust. He has no time for the weak or the infirm. They die and only the strong survive. But we civilized people, we learn to care. We help the weak and we ourselves grow fat and lazy. We promote the seeds of our own destruction. Three hundred years ago we were a lean, barbarian people. We conquered much of the world. But twenty years ago the greater part of our armies were mercenaries from conquered barbarian tribes; only the officers were Gabalan. Do you see what I am saying?’
‘Not really,’ admitted the youth.
‘The King believes he can reverse the process: eradicate the weak, the tainted. Burn away the fat, and the Gabala will rise again.’
‘And that is why you went against him?’
‘No,’ said Elodan. ‘At the time I believed in everything the King was planning. But I stood for the nobleman, Kester, when he was accused of being tainted.’
‘Why?’
‘To repay a debt, Lamfhada. I killed his son.’
‘Oh,’ said Lamfhada, swallowing hard. He could not think of anything to say and his next question sped from his lips before he could stop it. ‘Was it a terrible thing to lose your hand?’ He looked up into Elodan’s eyes, which grew cold and distant; then his lean face relaxed and he smiled at the youth.
‘No. The terrible thing was to find a man who could cut it from me. Now let us work.’
The girl was not frightened when she was brought to Cairbre’s room by two of Okessa’s most trusted servants. Nor was she concerned when the Knight approached her in the candlelight, his armour still strapped to his lean frame. Her fear began when he smiled, and she saw the whiteness of his teeth and the cold gleam in his eyes.
An hour later Cairbre sat in the middle of the room, the curtains drawn, his eyes swamped in crimson. The girl’s body lay on the bed, curiously shrivelled like a tanned leather sack.
Cairbre placed his hands together as if in prayer.
The candles guttered and died; the room began to glow and seven circles of amber light formed before the Knight, swelling and brightening, coalescing into faces.
‘Welcome, my brothers,’ said Cairbre. All the faces were strangely similar, with short-cropped white hair and blood-filled eyes, yet one stood out from the rest. The eyes were almost slanted, the cheekbones high, the mouth full; it was a strong face, a leader’s face.
‘The Red is growing,’ said the leader. ‘Soon, we will have it all.’
‘How are your plans faring, my Lord?’ Cairbre asked.
‘Furbolg is quiet. We have begun to take our nourishment far from the city, where panic is less contagious. Also there are Nomad women, and none care when they disappear. But that is a small matter. When the Red takes control, the King will gather his army. The east will be the first to feel the might of the New Gabala. Now tell me, Cairbre, what of the wizard Ollathair?’
‘He escaped, my Lord. Okessa sent men to apprehend him, but they were terrified by his demon hounds. I believe he has sought refuge in the great forest.’
‘Have you located him?’
‘Not yet. It is a perplexing matter, but the Red does not seem to be growing there at the same rate. The White is strong — and the Black. I do not understand it.’
‘Ollathair is there,’ said the leader. ‘Perhaps that is the answer. It does not matter; he will be found and destroyed. I am loosing the Beasts.’
‘Will they not slay indiscriminately?’ asked Cairbre.
The leader smiled. ‘Of course they will; it is their nature. But do not concern yourself, Cairbre. The forest is a breeding ground for traitors. Loyal men do not go there. Therefore any life that is lost is already forfeit.’
‘And if the Beasts leave the forest?’
The leader’s eyes hardened. ‘Be careful, Cairbre, your weakness has not passed without comment. Why did you loan your sword to the traitor Errin?’
‘Because I was bored, my Lord. Without it he would have been dead in an instant.’
‘And yet, in giving it to him, you allowed him to wound you. That is why you needed the nourishment. You are a brother to me, Cairbre, you always were. But take no more foolish risks. The fate of the kingdom rests with us — and the future of the world. Our crusade against the evils of corruption and decay must not be allowed to falter. We have made great strides with the gradual elimination of the Nomad curse. Soon will come the real test.’