Morigu: Book 02 - The Dead Page 4

  "Put up your sword," the maker said to the destroyer. "It would do you little good against that one anyway."

  "I do not fear him," came the harsh reply.

  "Then you are a fool," Fin quietly added.

  C H A P T E R

  Three

  Lonnlarcan, Ard Riegh of the elves, stood before the silver doors of Dummo Sorcha. No farther dared he go, lest the curse of mortality once more claim him. On his right stood the Archmage Fiachra and on his left the Battlemaid Breeda. All three of the elf lords wore silver chain mail with a red satin cassock. In the Ard Riegh's hands the great sword of elfdom lay, the point of the blade resting lightly on the grass at his feet. A nimbus of power surrounded the three, a golden light that did not reflect off the silver doors behind them.

  On the hill behind the king stood the ranks of his warriors, each caparisoned as Lonnlarcan, each holding a sword, point to the ground. Brave banners of all colors flapped about them, while the two guard towers at the entrance to the glade where the hill lay burned white in the sun, as if constructed of heated metal. On the broad lawn before the king stood the captains of the army to be sent to the south. Here each of the elven warriors wore the different armor and colors of their clans and lords. Among the tall elves of Cather-na-nog stood the shorter, but no less brave, brown elves. Their armor was all of red and their colors black. The elven captains each had his own banner, but the brown elves rode beneath one. It was the coat of arms of Maeve rab Kiel, their queen. The banner bore a tree beneath a sun and moon, but each symbol and the field itself were black; only elven or dwarven eyes could have picked out the actual design and the subtle differences of shading that to such eyes showed the banner to be made of four different blacks, four separate colors. Such was the design of the queen's banner, so that all may remember the evil curse that held her land enthralled. But it was more than revenge her people wanted for their lost lands, more than retribution; they wanted justice and a new land to call their own. A land they planned to take from Arianrood, Queen of Aes Lugh.

  The horses of the brown elves were of lesser stature than the elven steeds, but of no less noble blood. All of one color they were, golden as a noon sun on a lake's still water. Each of the horses wore armor and was caparisoned as their riders and not a few of those horses had run through the fields of Mai Methra long ago. One last ally had the brown elves brought. The hawks of Diuann ai Di, large as eagles, they sat on their masters' shoulders. Intelligent as no beast should be, these birds had always ridden to war with the people of Mai Methra and all the elves of Cather-na-nog were heartened to know the noble hawks still lived.

  Maeve walked to where the Ard Riegh waited. With her came her two generals and the High Prince Cucullin. Maeve alone of her people wore black armor. Her bright red hair washed down her back, like a flow of blood. Her aura burned red, too, outshining all there, save the High King and Cucullin. She bowed once before Lonnlarcan, her followers kneeling.

  "We are ready, good lord," she said. Her eyes were as black as the banner and in them Lonnlarcan could see the hard memories of her life: assassins wrapped in magic, killing kith and kin, and more than once nearly taking the queen's life; the threat, the reality of death at any moment, the birthright of the rab Kiels. And now, long years after the fall of Mai Methra stood the last of that noble clan before him.

  Lonnlarcan bowed his head straining to contain his outrage. For beside Maeve kneeled Cucullin, and the doom light once more shone harsh about the great elven lord. "I should be riding with them." Lonnlarcan's hand tightened on his sword hilt. "Leading them, shielding them with his strength...." But such thoughts were still new to the king. Bitterness is not an emotion the elven kind ever feel, though regret is ever the lot of the immortals.

  "The people of Cather-na-nog," he said quietly, "do not laugh and sing as once they did. Many are the fallen, lives that were not doomed to end, but the sword knows no justice." He stood tall, his eyes lit with his knowledge and power.

  "Many of the ancient trees are gone now, and so, too, have many of the lesser powers of Cather-na-nog fallen." He looked the queen straight in the eyes. "Once all the rivers here, all the places of quiet and magic had their special guardians. They were no match for the enemy, and now"--he looked to the south--"I wonder, can any but I hear the cry of men whose short and often brutal lives are being stolen from them by the enemy? And in the caves of the Crystal Falls often now is heard the dirge of the wake's mad pain. The lands die, and the creatures of the land." He lifted his sword, watching the sun play along the weapon's lethal edge. "It is not death so much. But it is the way of the deaths, the why of them, the how of them. The world itself shall be driven mad by this pain." He looked to his host about him and where he looked the light grew brighter.

  "What has happened to Mai Methra, to all the lands trapped by the Desolation, shall not happen again." And though his bold words were quiet, all there shivered at their message. "The Beast, he calls me Witch King; I know that. And I know, too, his chains grow weaker and his servants call him to the world. I know the enemy well, I know of their great power and evil plans, their mighty armies and lethal magic. This I know, Maeve rab Kiel, Queen of the brown elves."

  "But I know one thing more." He leaned down to face her. "I know in the soul of evil is only madness. In the mind of darkness only discord. In the arms of destruction only weakness. We shall win, little queen; though it take a thousand generations, we shall win." He waved his sword as if in benediction to the elves there.

  "Ride and reap, little sister, ride and reap." With tears in her eyes Maeve grabbed the king's hand and kissed it. With that she and her people mounted. Only Cucullin gave one last look behind. And only Breeda met it.

  Between the mighty towers they rode to where their army waited. Eight thousand elves and brown elves with five hundred of the mighty hawks of Diuann ai Di. To the south they rode with ten thousand elvish warhorses, war horns crying about them. To the south this little army went, to wrest from the treacherous hands of the eldest of them all, one of the great nations of the world. To war and death they rode, with only black hopes and bold determination to speed them on.

  Niall kicked his horse, urging it to increase its pace, but the animal was already running at full gallop and it could not catch the figure ahead. The little brown woman rode before Niall on a small, dark pony. She was naked and the lines of her body were fierce and hard, though she never turned to look at the two who chased her. Around the burrow in larger and larger circles the odd chase continued, though surely the mound could not be so large. Around and around he chased the phantom figure, but never could he catch her, though her mount never went faster than a slow walk.

  Besides the human, Dermot rode her elven steed. Wiser to the ways of magic than Niall, she no longer raced her horse, for if magic were not present then long ago the mighty animal would have left the man's mortal horse far behind. But she could not pass Niall, nor could she catch the woman ahead. Patiently she followed, her mount moving at a light canter.

  Niall never turned to look at Dermot; his eyes never left his quarry. Harder he pressed his horse, and ever it moved faster.. .to no avail. The day began to wane and still the animal tried. Neither Niall nor his horse felt any weariness or any hunger, though the sun went down and he knew both should be exhausted from the chase.

  He never considered turning his mount around and riding the other way about the hill to capture the woman. Somehow he knew if he did, it would do no good. Niall retained enough clarity of thought to realize long ago he had left the mound of Baibre and Mathwei. The hill he rode on now was a brighter green and seemed truly endless. Still he went on, oblivious to his companion, wanting, needing only to stop the woman ahead.

  For three days and three nights did the chase go on and never, no matter how either of them strained, did Niall or Dermot come closer to their quarry. Finally, on the third dawn Dermot reined her mighty horse to a stop. Niall continued, or so he thought, for though the land about the two chan
ged and though the figure in front of him continued to move and though Niall's horse continued at a gallop, still Dermot was at his side.

  "My lord," she said, and in her voice was the magic of the elven people. Startled, Niall turned to her and stared to see her horse standing stock-still. Up ahead the small horse continued moving.

  "By the blessed Moriarty!" he cried, reining his steed to a rearing halt. The woman ahead, too, stopped and all motion ceased. Niall looked at the dark, black hair on the head that would not turn to face him.

  "Och, Lady," he said, "what spell are we under?"

  "Nothing so simple," the elf answered, her voice rich and melodious, "but I think there are no steeds we could ride that could catch that lady." Niall nodded once and then in a sudden movement dismounted.

  "Well enough," he said, smiling at the beauty of the elf. "In truth I've had enough of this daft ride."

  "Indeed," a voice said. It was not as any sound Niall had ever heard. It seemed not to be made of sound, but some other substance, some other vibration, and he did not need ears to hear it. He turned and before him stood a large white horse, unadorned with saddle or bridle. On it sat a tall woman with bright blond hair and black eyes. She wore a dress of some gray material that sparkled in the light. Niall knew the object of his quest sat before him. Dermot dismounted in one smooth motion and knelt, her head bowed.

  "Lady," she said, and now her elven voice seemed harsh compared with the other woman's voice, if voice it was. "I am ready."

  "No, child, you are not," came the answer, "and never would you be. Only one Morigunamachamain will fight in this war." Niall stood quietly, trying to understand. Then he realized that Dermot was a Shee and therefore could be chosen as one of the Morigu. But if that was so, he thought, then the woman must...

  "Goddess." Niall fell to his knees. "Forgive me. I dinna know who I chased."

  "Not so much a chase, as you were led, Niall of the Long Arm." She smiled at him, her face radiant. "I have brought you two here that I might send messages to the warlords." Niall waited for Dermot to answer, but the elf still knelt with bowed head and would not look up. Hesitantly Niall spoke.

  "Messages, Lady?"

  "Yes, messages." She turned to Dermot. "I have said it before, child; repeat it to the others: No other will I choose' to bear the burden of the Morigu." Dermot just bent her head farther. "It is not from a lack in you, but a necessity of mine." Niall realized that the dress the goddess wore was impossibly thin and revealed clearly the body beneath. He could see clearly the perfect breasts, the taut nipples, light pink and beckoning, and his body surged with heat.

  "Gods!" he muttered as his face flushed in shame. The goddess turned to him and this time Her smile was not so much sweet as it was inviting.

  "Do not be ashamed, young warrior," She said. "I am not simply the mother of the peoples of the world, but lover and wife as well." But Niall could think of no answer, horrified by the desire that pulsed through him. "Sit," the woman said, and the two were surprised to find stone seats behind them. Of their horses there was no sign, though the lady did not dismount from Her steed.

  They were on the top of a vast mound, a mountain in its size, though it was smooth as the burial mounds before Tolan. Niall squirmed on the hard stone throne, not daring to look at the goddess before him. But there was nothing truly for him to focus on, for no colors marred the perfect blue of the sky, and the foot of the mound was lost in the distance. No feature of land could the man see, and the sun, though not hot, was brighter than any sun he knew.

  "How many seasons since a human sat before me?" the goddess mused. "I cannot say, for I have lost count. He was a great hero, that one, and for a while my lover." Niall ground his teeth at that word. The goddess laughed and though it filled the air and Her teeth flashed white, underneath the happy sound of Her laughter was something else; though it was not quite cruelty, its savageness frightened Niall.

  "And tell me, man, are you a hero?" But now there was no mocking in Her tones.

  "I seek to do my duty, Lady, to do what is right." He expected more laughter at his words, but there was no sound. He dared to look up and face the goddess. She watched him, Her eyes now pure black with no pupils. But Her face held an etched sadness that made Her perfect beauty somehow more real, more human.

  "In this war, Niall Trollsbane," She said, "heroes as great as any have risen to strive against the Dark Ones. It is truly the last war." She turned from him to look at Dermot, forcing the elf to meet Her eyes. What the Shee saw there Niall could not say, but Dermot flinched from it, as if in horror.

  "Child, do not mourn that I have not chosen you. For if I had, on the day you died you would curse me with hatred, as all the Morigu before have done." The goddess stared straight into the too bright sun. "Now hear my rede and bring it to your peers.

  "First of all wars was the war for domination of the world's destiny and that was my war." Her form seemed to shiver, and for a moment Niall saw the early guise of the goddess, small and light, savage beyond comprehension and the need woke in him again. "That war I fought alone at first, against the black fomarians, but in time the dwarves joined in to fight the spawn of the earth gods, the cronbage. I was young then, and only on this continent did life move, though the oceans were full. The elves were here, for they were first, but they were young and lost in their youth. At last with the help of the new god, the Hunter, the fomarians were cast down.

  "The second of all the wars lasted ten thousand years, and many were the places it was fought. That was when the goblins came, made by the dark gods to be the shadows of the elves, as the cronbage had been made for the dwarves. For now the elven people were coming to their power. And many were the races that fought in that long and bitter struggle.

  "The dragons came, and the centaurs, gargoyles, and the lesser elves, trolls, and many creatures great and small, good and evil, indifferent and passionate. And then at last men. Once more the forces of light and dark warred for the future and all creatures stood on one side or another. But it was not my war, but the elves and the gods, and in some ways the dwarves too, for their destiny is linked tighter to the world than any of my children. And in that war the Beast finally took form, the ultimate enemy of all the powers of creation.

  "You must understand, my children, all endings are beginnings, all acts of destruction openings for creation. Each side opposes the other with equal force, but not equal desire." Niall could see no more, as the words took hold. Vision was lost to him and maybe hearing besides, though he was overwhelmed with an odd scent. It was heavy and thick. A pungent smell of a great jungle, though never having been to such a place he did not know that. Though something in him recognized the smell and unconsciously he drew it in with heaving breaths. All sensations came from emotions and they were confused and chaotic.

  "The Beast, the Dark Lord, was the shadow of the spirit of all the living things, the ultimate summation of evil and destruction. It was men, oddly enough, who had the final say in that war, and Fealoth cast the Black One far from the paths of the world. But truly it was never man's war.

  "And now the third great war is upon us. It has been fought longer than any guessed, for there are other nations, other continents, and there the Dark Ones rule supreme. But here in the land where life began, as always, will the final battles be fought.

  "And now, my children, this is truly man's war, for Death himself has taken sides and he is man's destiny. For brutally short is human life, cut off before it begins, and truly even the enemies of the world live longer, though in years it is not always so. Of all my children the lot of the humans is the hardest, for they were born in the midst of horror and blood. It stains them, though it need not rule them.

  "So this, little ones, is the final war--the last war. It must be won, for if it is lost, nothing will remain but the Dark, endlessly chewing off its own limbs in its frenzied hunger for power. The fabric of the future has been torn from me and even if my children are victorious, I do not know
what the future holds. All that has happened was not by my will, never mine..." There was silence, and Niall's vision returned, the strange jungle slowly dissolving from about him. He sat on the grass of the burial mound of Baibre and Mathwei, and the goddess was nowhere in sight. His horse stood silently next to him. Niall turned to see Dermot looking at him, her elven eyes bright in the starlight.

  "A gift, little ones." The goddess's voice came from the mound beneath them, the sound deep and hollow. "Niall, Mathwei feasts in Death's own hall, honored by the heroes who have fallen before him. And Dermot, your aunt is freed from whatever is the destiny of the earth and her spirit dances in a brighter world."

  A bright light flared for a second at each of the two's feet. Before Dermot lay a thick, iron-bound book.

  "The Tome of Rhiannon," the goddess said. "In it lies the lore of the greatest elven wizards, long lost to your people." Niall looked down to see before him a plain, silver ring.

  "The Ring of Mannon mac Lir, it holds the power to unlock the secrets in your own soul and speed your progress toward your ultimate destiny."

  "Remember my words, my sad children, and use my gifts wisely. And one last warning: Tell the others that the gods themselves war openly in the Bright World. Time is short." And with that Niall and Dermot were filled with the knowledge of the return of Maeve and the Ard Riegh's plan to restore the queen of the brown elves.

  The two stood together to peer at the city beneath their feet. Neither said anything, but both held tight the gifts of the goddess as they walked toward the gates, their horses following. And it seemed to both that a dark wind walked beside them.