Lamfhada stood and looked away. ‘I am not wise, Ruad. I do not know whether to speak. When I told Gwydion of my flight, and what happened, he grew upset and urged me not to tell you. But I think he was wrong. I hope you will not be angry — but I left something out of my tale.’ And slowly, falteringly, Lamfhada explained about the Red Knight, watching with growing apprehension as the colour faded from Ruad’s face.
‘Pateus? He said his name was Pateus?’
‘Yes, sir. Cairbre-Pateus. Who is he?’
‘He is a Knight of the Gabala, the eldest of my Knights. He is the sin of pride returned to haunt me.’ Ruad saw the fear in Lamfhada’s face. ‘No, no, boy, do not be frightened. You were right and Gwydion was wrong — very wrong. Some time ago, before I came to this forest, I saw a vision of eight Red Knights. Deep down I knew who they were, and I knew who led them. But I would not face my fears.’
‘What happened to them?’ asked Lamfhada, returning to sit beside the Craftsman.
‘They lost. Simply that. They found evil and it conquered them.’
‘How could that be? They were the greatest of Knights.’
‘I have no answers, save that evil rarely stalks the land with horns and fire. If it did so, all men would turn from it. Take me, Lamfhada… I sent nine good men into an unknown realm, filled with terrible dangers. Was that a good deed? I did it not for the world, but for my own glory. I tell myself it was not evil, but great evil has come from it. Do you wish to debate that with me?’
‘I am no debater, sir. But I see no evil in you.’
‘No? But then had you known Samildanach, or Pateus, or Manannan, you would have said the same.’
‘What can you do, Ruad? Are they as strong as before?’
‘If Pateus can now fly the Colours, he is stronger than ever he was. And only the Source knows how powerful Samildanach has become. I need to think, Lamfhada — best that you leave me for a while.’
The youth stood for a moment, wishing he could say something… do something to help the man who had befriended him. But there was nothing and he turned sadly away. At the bottom of the hill he found Elodan hurling stones at a target chalked on a tree. None of the missiles came close to the target and his throwing stance was disjointed and awkward.
‘A pox on it!’ snapped Elodan. Then he saw Lamfhada and grinned. ‘Never give up, boy, that’s the answer. It’s what separates men from the beasts of the herd. The problem is threefold, you see. A man is right-sided or left-sided — eye, hand and leg. I am trying to change the focus of my being: to become left-sided, if you will.’
‘Is that possible?’
‘I doubt it, but I will continue my efforts until my dying day. I can do no more. I will not sit in some hut until my hair turns,silver, dreaming of what once I was. Come, let us find some food.’ He glanced at Lamfhada. ‘What is wrong, boy?’
The youth told him of his conversation with Ruad and Elodan sighed. ‘That is grim news. I knew Samildanach. What a swordsman! It is hard to believe.’
‘Ruad says evil is not always ugly, but I’m not sure I understand what he meant.’
‘I’ll explain it to you, but first we’ll eat,’ said Elodan as they returned to the cabin, where the three golden hounds sat like statues. Gwydion was absent when they arrived and they prepared a meal of cold meat and cheese, washed down with cool spring water. Then Elodan stoked up the fire and sat facing the blond youth.
‘A long time ago, when I was young, I saw a woman who fired my blood. I met her in the King’s Park; she and her servants used to gather flowers there. She was beautiful, but she was married to a nobleman twice her age, and very unhappy. We met by chance, and then by design. I fell in love with her — hopelessly, completely. I dreamed of taking her away to my estates in the north, raising a family. But it could not be — not while her husband lived. I grew to hate him — though there was nothing to hate. By his lights, he was a good man. But I would fall asleep at night dreaming of his death. It could not be right, I decided, that someone so young and beautiful should be saddled with such a husband. Anyway, one day I told a friend of mine to whisper my name to the man, and to tell him I was seeing his wife in secret. The husband had no choice then but to challenge me to single combat. He was old, but still canny. But his years betrayed him — and I slew him. And that was an evil deed.’
Lamfhada swallowed hard. ‘But what of the woman?’
‘She inherited his wealth — and married her lover. I was merely the instrument of her freedom. But I believed I was doing right; I had convinced myself he was evil and cruel. Self-deception, Lamfhada! That is why I stood for Kester against the King. Her husband was Kester’s son. You understand now something of what Ruad meant?’
‘I’m not sure. There are stories of terrible deeds in Furbolg, of Nomad families being massacred. How can the men responsible not see that as evil? It is not the same as being in love with a beautiful woman and fighting a duel.’
Elodan shrugged. ‘We were talking of self-deception. Samildanach loved the Realm the way most men love a woman. If he came to believe that the Nomads were responsible for the nation’s fall from power, I would guess he could come to hate them. But I cannot answer for him.’
‘They believe Llaw Gyffes has an army and they are coming here in the spring. I think it will be terrible when they arrive.’
Elodan nodded and gazed down at the stump at his wrist. ‘Even were I not crippled, I could not stand against the Gabala Knights. Cairbre took me as simply as I took the husband. Damn Llaw Gyffes!’ Elodan pushed himself to his feet. ‘I need to return to my work. I will see you later.’
Lamfhada watched him go, then cleared away the plates and cleaned them behind the cabin. Glancing up, he saw a stag in the distance. Suddenly its head came up and it sprinted for cover. Lamfhada scanned the countryside, looking for sign of wolves…
And saw the five hundred black-cloaked riders silhouetted against the skyline.
As the riders thundered across the half-mile of snow-covered meadows, Lamfhada raced back into the village shouting at the top of his voice. People streamed from the huts, saw the raiders and began to run for the shelter of the trees. Elodan gathered up a hatchet and joined Lamfhada.
‘Get to Ruad. He must not be taken,’ said the crippled warrior.
‘What will you do?’
‘I’ll stay with the stragglers.’ Some of the men had armed themselves with bows and knives and Elodan bellowed at them to make for the trees: ‘Stay together and form a line at the top of the hill.’ There were fourteen bowmen in the party, including Brion, the husband of Ahmta.
‘Why are they attacking us?’ Brion asked, as they ran. ‘There’s nothing here for them.’
‘Ask them when they get here,’ snapped Elodan.
The raiders, swords drawn, galloped into the village. An old man — slower than the other refugees — was the first to be caught as a lance took him high in the back, lifting him from his feet. For a second or so his legs flapped in the air, then the lance snapped and he tumbled to the ground beneath the pounding hooves. A child ran from a cabin, screaming with fear; her mother, on the hillside above, turned and sprinted back for her. The child was trampled to death, the mother speared.
Then the soldiers were clear of the cabins and heading for the hillside. Elodan formed the bowmen into a line. ‘Ignore the riders. Aim for the horses and bring them down. It’s the only way to stop the charge. And do not loose the shafts until I order it.’
Longbows were hastily strung and arrows notched to the strings. ‘Draw!’ bellowed Elodan. The riders were slowing now as the hill took its toll on their mounts, but still they were closing fast. At forty paces, Elodan’s raised arm swept down. ‘Now!’ he shouted. The arrows hammered home at the centre of the line and horses reared and fell. But the wings of the charging line continued forward, sweeping round towards the bowmen. ‘Left!’ ordered Elodan. The bowmen smoothly notched more shafts and loosed them. Horses tumbled to the snow, hurling their riders to the ground. ‘Now to the right!’ The horsemen were almost upon them and two of the bowmen broke and ran for the trees. Elodan ignored them as the remaining archers bent their bows and loosed their shafts at point-blank range. ‘Now run!’ shouted Elodan, turning and sprinting towards the trees. He heard a horse close behind him and turned to see a lancer bent low over the saddle, his weapon aimed at Elodan’s heart. The crippled warrior drew back his arm and flung the hatchet with all his might. It sailed over the horse’s head to bury itself in the rider’s face and he tumbled back from the saddle.