Ruad pushed himself to his feet and led the way inside the cave, where two candles were burning. On a wooden tree, shining like ghostly silver, was Manan-nan’s armour restored to shimmering beauty. A new white plume had been added to the helm.
‘Put it on. I will help you.’
‘How did you do this?’
‘I made another Gate to the Citadel and retrieved it. Come, wear it, in pride and honour.’
Manannan stripped his clothing and donned the leather under-tunic, adding the mail habergeon. Slowly he buckled on the breastplate, fastened the shoulder-plates and stood while Ruad settled the greaves into place. He pulled on the silver gauntlets and lastly lifted the dread helm.
‘This held me prisoner for six lonely years. Will it do so again?’
‘No. There are no special spells, but the armour is still magic and will protect you against most weapons of evil.’
Manannan lowered the helm into place and twisted the neck-plates into the grooves at the base of the helmet. He lifted the visor. ‘It feels larger.’
‘You have no beard, Manannan. You are as you were on that night six years ago. Have you prayed?’
The Once-Knight smiled grimly. ‘Not for a very long time.’
‘Then do it now — Knight of the Gabala.’
‘To do so now would be hypocrisy. Come, Ollathair, open the Gate.’
They walked out into the waning light and Manannan called Kuan to him. He stepped into the saddle and waited. Ollathair knelt in prayer for several minutes, then lifted his arm and spoke two Words of Power.
Before the horseman the darkness gathered, forming into a great square. A hiss of escaping air came from the centre of the blackness and a long tunnel appeared, from which blew an icy wind.
Kuan backed away, but Manannan whispered words of comfort.
‘Ride now!’ shouted Ollathair. ‘I can hold it for but a few moments more.’
Fear rose in Manannan’s heart, colder than the wind from the tunnel. His body began to tremble and his heart pounded erratically. ‘Dear Gods,’ he whispered. Kuan reared as unearthly screams came from the tunnel and Manannan dragged his blade from its scabbard.
‘In the name of All Holiness — ride!’ screamed Ollathair.
Lifting a gauntleted hand to his helm, Manannan pulled shut the visor. Then, with a bellowed battle-cry, he kicked Kuan into a run and rode, sword in hand, beyond the Gate.
Lamfhada groaned in his sleep and began to shiver. Across the hut, Elodan stirred and sat up; he moved across to the youth, who was now rolling his head and moaning.
Elodan touched Lamfhada’s shoulder. ‘Wake up, you are dreaming.’
Suddenly Lamfhada screamed. His hand rose and a golden flash of light exploded from his fingers to hurl Elodan across the floor. The Knight struggled to his knees, gasping for breath, as Lamfhada awoke and swung his legs from the bed.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked, seeing the Knight crouched on the floor.
‘What the Hell did you do, boy?’
‘Nothing. I heard a noise and woke,’ answered Lamfhada, mystified.
Elodan rose. He lit a lantern and held it in front of his chest; the skin was red and burned in a wide circle from his neck to his belly.
‘What is that? How did you do it?’ Lamfhada asked.
‘I didn’t. You did. You were dreaming; I tried to wake you, then lightning flashed from your hand.’
‘I don’t remember anything — except the hooded man. It was a nightmare — I have had it often: A man chanting on a hillside; then he turns into a giant wolf. And there is a mist and a sword. But it is all hazy now.’
‘Well, the lightning was real, Lamfhada. You have a magic in you.’
Elodan moved back to his bed and sat down, while Lamfhada added fuel to the dying fire in the brazier and stoked it to life. The Knight sat in silence for some moments, lost in thought, then he glanced up at the blond youth. ‘A traveller came to the village today. He talked of a wizard and a Healer in the forest to the east of us; a one-eyed wizard, Lamfhada. I think it must be the man you spoke of.’
‘It is,’ said Lamfhada softly. ‘I sense his presence in the forest when I fly the Yellow. I wish I could go to him.’
‘Why should you not?’
‘I would be lost as soon as I passed out of sight of the village.’
‘Does he have a great power?’ asked the Knight.
‘Yes.’
‘Could he… heal this?’ Elodan raised the stump of his right arm.
‘I do not know. I think that he could… I think he can do anything he wishes.’
‘Then I will help you to find him.’ Lamfhada looked away. ‘He may not be able — or willing — to help you, Elodan. He can be a hard man.’ The Knight shrugged. ‘Then I will be no worse off than I am. We will leave in the morning.’
‘I don’t know…’
Elodan smiled grimly. ‘You are thinking of the stories of the beasts in the greenwood. Have you seen any?’
‘No, but old Tomar saw one and he said it was ten feet tall. And the howling…’
‘You think these village huts would stop such a creature? Well, they would not. You are no safer here than out in the forest. Will you travel with me?’
‘Yes, I will. I need to see Ruad again.’
‘Good.’
They set off into the snow-shrouded forest at first light. Elodan had borrowed a thick sheepskin jerkin and a cloak of white wool. He wore a small canvas pack filled with oats and dried meat, and carried a hatchet with a large curved blade. Lamfhada had cut slits in two blankets and wore them both like capes, belted at the waist. He took Arian’s spare bow and a quiver of arrows. By mid-afternoon the walkers had travelled some eight miles to the east.
Twice they had seen large tracks, and once had heard a weird howling to the north.
Just before dusk they arrived at the banks of a wide river. A thin sheet of ice had formed on the surface.
‘How do we cross it?’ asked Lamfhada.
‘We’ll search for some narrows,’ said Elodan, setting off towards the south. They walked for another hour, but found nowhere to cross. At last they came to an abandoned hut; inside Elodan built a fire and they ate some oats and meat.
In the night Lamfhada awoke to the sounds of bestial screams. He walked to the door and looked out into the darkness, but could see nothing. He built up the fire and settled down once more.
At dawn the travellers emerged into the cold air. Elodan stopped and pointed at the ground before the hut where huge paw-marks could be seen in the snow.
The Knight stood and examined the hut walls. They were made of thin timbers, crudely nailed into place. ‘Help me,’ he said. Then he walked to the corner of the building and wedged his hatchet-blade between two timbers, levering an edge loose. Lamfhada took hold of the wood and between them they ripped out a plank some ten feet long and two feet wide. ‘One more,’ said Elodan. They carried the planks to the river’s edge and Elodan moved up and down the bank, seeking out a place where; the ice seemed thickest. Then he slid one plank out on to the ice and, lifting the other plank to his shoulder, carefully stepped on to the wood. The ice crunched and crackled, but did not give. He walked slowly out on to the river, then laid the other plank in front of the first and stepped on to it. ‘Now you,’ called Elodan. Black cracks snaked out from the ice and Lamfhada moved swiftly forward.
Together they eased the first plank round and pushed it to the front.
Slowly, and with great care, they inched their way across the frozen water. With the opposite shore close they heard a hideous growl and Elodan turned.
Behind them on the bank stood a towering creature with black scaled skin, grey-furred at the shoulder. It dropped to all fours and charged across the ice towards them.