The Silver Tower, page 15
part #2 of Rise of the King Series
“Not in the city, but I think she’s on the mountain. I’ve been following her for weeks. She moves very quickly.”
“Why follow her though?” Brenna asked.
“A few weeks ago she attacked and killed the daughter of the Lady of the Four Hills. She has employed me to kill the lamia.” He shrugged at their puzzled faces. “I was at a loose end. And she’s paying me in tear-diamonds.”
“Oh, that explains it,” Woodsmoke said.
Beansprout looked confused. “At the risk of sounding stupid, what’s a lamia, and what’s a tear-diamond?”
“A lamia is a blood-sucking snake that takes the guise of a beautiful lady. They usually feed on the blood of children, but when they’re hungry they’ll eat anything,” Bloodmoon explained. “And tear-diamonds are the most beautiful diamonds anywhere, formed from the tears of Djinn. And as anyone knows, Djinn rarely cry. I have had an advance.” He pulled a small leather pouch from around his neck and took out two small tear-shaped diamonds that dazzled, even in the dim light of the tavern.
“But they’re blue!” Tom said.
“Not all diamonds are white, and these will fetch me a good price, which is good because I need to buy a sword of pure dragonium. That’s the only metal known to kill a lamia. And I only know that,” he added, “because I thought I’d killed her. Then her head grew back and I had to make a tactical retreat. Fortunately, a very nice satyr in the Meet told me the trick. So here I am, in the best place to get a pure dragonium sword. I’ve spent the morning bargaining. Your turn.”
Bloodmoon sipped his beer while Woodsmoke told him of their hunt. As he listened, Tom compared Bloodmoon to Woodsmoke and decided they were very different. Woodsmoke had a quiet watchfulness about him, but Bloodmoon was all words.
When Woodsmoke reached the end of his tale, Bloodmoon said, “So you’re travelling with Arturus! And searching for Merlin! You keep interesting company these days.”
“You’ve heard the name?” Tom asked, suddenly paying attention. “Nimue called him that.”
“One of Arthur’s old names, I believe. The name some of the older fey call him. That or Artaius, The Bear King of Kernow.”
“Where’s Kernow?” Tom said, even more confused.
“I believe it is the name of an old kingdom in Britain.”
Tom thought of the stories he’d read, and the name Arthur had called himself only the other day. “He called himself the Boar of Cornwall, not bear.”
“I have no idea where the name came from, I just know it exists.” Bloodmoon shrugged, giving Tom a wry smile.
“I forgot you had Fahey’s ear for tales,” Woodsmoke said.
“Does Arthur still carry Excalibur?” Bloodmoon asked.
“Of course.”
“And you’re staying with Raghnall?”
“Yes, why?”
“I have heard many things about Raghnall. Particularly regarding his collection of ancient magical weapons. Be careful while you stay with him.”
Brenna reassured him. “Don’t worry, we will. Arthur should have finished his business today, so hopefully we leave soon.”
“Ah! The dragonyx?”
Woodsmoke laughed. “News does travel quickly here.”
“I must go,” Bloodmoon said, finishing his drink. “I have a sword to buy and a lamia to track. Safe travels.” After a flurry of handshakes and hugs, he left.
When they arrived at the House of the Beloved late that afternoon, they found Arthur on the balcony with Nimue.
“How did you get on, Arthur?” Tom asked, helping himself to a drink.
“Very well! The dragonyx has gone and now I am rich. I’ve kept some money, the rest is in The Lair, as they call their banking house. And it’s all thanks to Nimue.”
“It was the least I could do.” She was sitting on the divan again, her green eyes glinting.
“Making amends for your evil deeds?” Woodsmoke said, flinging himself in a chair.
Nimue glared at him. “You could say that. Or you could say I’m happy to help an old friend.”
“Whatever you call it,” Arthur said, lowering his voice, “I would have got far less without Nimue. I hate to say it, but I think Raghnall was working with Arshok to give me less money, no doubt for his own cut of the future profits. I’m beginning to hate the man.”
“If you’ve finished business, maybe we should leave sooner rather than later, Arthur,” Brenna suggested. “I don’t trust Raghnall.”
“No, nor I. But I don’t want to upset him either. I suggested we might leave tomorrow and he looked very offended. He wants to show us the weapons room, was quite insistent in fact. Tomorrow he has to attend an important business meeting with the city leaders. He says he can’t miss it – something about trade rights with the sylphs. He’ll show us his collection when he returns, so I’ve agreed we’ll stay one more day. At first I was hoping to stay longer, but as much as I like the city I do not wish to stay here,” he said, gesturing to Raghnall’s house. “And I want to see Merlin. I’m worried about him.”
“Why can’t we see the weapons room tonight?” Brenna asked. She had taken her new knives out and examined them in the light as she spoke.
Nimue laughed dryly, and broke into an impression of Raghnall. “Oh no, tonight I must ensure it is ready for you. I couldn’t bear for you to see it other than perfect.”
Brenna narrowed her eyes. “Really?”
Nimue’s criticism of Raghnall reminded Tom of their conversation the previous night. “Why didn’t you want Raghnall to know Arthur has your poppet, Nimue?”
“Because I don’t like being too honest with him, Tom.” She smiled coyly.
“But what was your old argument about Avalon?” said Tom.
“You do pay attention, don’t you?” she said, staring at him. “He doesn’t like that Avalon has restricted access. It’s a powerful place, and he thinks its powers should be available to all. He’s wrong.”
She sipped her drink and fell quiet, and realising this was the only answer he would get, Tom turned to Beansprout. “And what about your dragon scale?”
“Raghnall has influence,” she said, “so it will be ready tomorrow. We can collect it when I do more shopping.” She grinned. “At least we’ll have time for that.”
They headed back to their rooms. Tom was so tired he dozed for a while on his bed. When he woke the bath was again ready, the water scented and steaming with towels ready at the side. He could easily grow used to this, and wished they were staying longer. But, like the others, he found it hard to feel comfortable with Raghnall. And he wanted to see Merlin again. With the excitement of the past few days, he’d pushed him to the back of his mind, but now he wondered how Merlin would be. Or whether he would even agree to see them at all.
The next morning, while the others headed into the city, Tom and Woodsmoke went to check on the horses. As they crossed the large walled courtyard where the stables were located, Woodsmoke glanced over to an archway, through which they could see a track leading behind the stables and on towards the mountain.
“Interesting. I wonder where that goes?” Woodsmoke murmured.
They found the horses well fed and groomed, although there were no servants in sight.
Woodsmoke was pleased. “At least the horses are being looked after, but this place is creepier than Enisled. There, there, Farlight,” he whispered to his horse as she nudged him. “I think you need some exercise.” He started to saddle her.
“Where are you going?” Tom asked.
He tossed Tom his saddle. “I think you mean ‘we’. We’re going to check out that path. Midnight needs a run too.”
Tom quickly prepared his horse, fumbling with the straps, and followed Woodsmoke onto the track. He stood awkwardly for a few seconds, conscious of all the windows looking down on him, and wondered who might be watching, before nudging Midnight onwards.
“Should we be on this path?” Tom asked, worried. “We could get into trouble.”
“It’s just a road, Tom. I’m sure Raghnall won’t mind.”
Very quickly the road became rutted and muddy, and then there was a tangle of branches blocking the way forward.
“It’s a dead end,” Tom said, frustrated, about to turn around.
“Wait.” Woodsmoke slipped off his horse, pushed through the undergrowth and disappeared. For a few seconds Tom waited alone, listening to cracking branches and the call of a bird, and then Woodsmoke was back, grinning broadly.
“It’s just a ruse, Tom.” He grabbed Farlight’s reins and pushed back through the undergrowth.
Tom quickly followed, pulling a reluctant Midnight behind him. For a few minutes he battled through the vegetation, and then he was through to the other side. Ahead of him a smooth, well-maintained road ran through a densely wooded area, snaking away from the house and the city and up the slopes of the mountain.
“I’m pretty sure Raghnall wouldn’t like us being here,” Tom said, looking around him.
Woodsmoke smirked. “Well we must make sure he doesn’t know.”
The road rose in a gentle incline until eventually the trees thinned and they could see the city glittering on the valley floor. After a few more minutes the path turned to follow the contours of the mountain, clinging tightly to its side, but before long they came to a halt. The road was again blocked, this time by a massive landslide.
“I think this has been blocked by magic, Tom. It seems to me the path is too well maintained to end here. But there’s nothing we can do about it now. We’d better head back.”
Chapter 25
Under Seven Moons
They stood in front of the weapons room, gathered together in anticipation. The room was sealed by a door covered in runes and sigils, and Raghnall stood before it, murmuring incantations. Suddenly a seam appeared down the centre and the large door split into two. It opened with a quiet hiss, swinging back into blackness. Raghnall stepped inside, closely followed by the others.
Immediately a soft low light illuminated the room. It came from seven silvery moons hanging beneath a vaulted ceiling – moons that ranged from a tiny sliver of a crescent, to full and then waxing. The room had been transformed into a forest glade. Objects were displayed around the glade on pedestals, and as Raghnall approached the closest, a broad ray of moonlight illuminated it clearly and writing appeared in the air: Brionac. The weapon was a large spear, cradled in a silver hand on top of wooden pedestal, the moonlight glinting off its sharp tip.
“Behold,” Raghnall said portentously, “Brionac, the spear of Lugh.”
“One of the ancient fey kings of Ireland,” Arthur said. “He was myth in my time. How do you have this?”
Raghnall smiled. “I have my ways.”
“Brionac is supposedly impossible to overcome,” Arthur mused.
“All of the weapons here have true magical properties,” Raghnall told them. “They may belong to history, but their powers are real.”
Woodsmoke stepped forward to look at it closely. “May I?” he said, indicating he wanted to pick it up.
Raghnall hesitated for a second, then said, “Of course.”
Woodsmoke reached forward to take the spear as the silver hand released it. He hefted it as if to throw it. “It’s perfect.”
Arthur had already turned away to the rest of the objects, and the others split up and drifted around the glade. Tom headed to a sword lying lengthways, cradled in two hands on a long pedestal. He grasped the hilt and pulled it from the scabbard. Immediately a deep voice started speaking words he couldn’t understand.
Tom looked around, confused, wondering where the voice was coming from, before realising it was coming from the sword. He lifted the sword to his ear, as if that would help him translate it.
“It is called Orna. It’s the sword of King Tethra,” Raghnall said from behind him. “Once unsheathed it recounts all its deeds.”
“Why can’t I understand it?” Tom asked.
“Because it speaks in an old language not used for many years.” Raghnall turned to where Beansprout stood in front of armour magically suspended, as if over an invisible body. “The armour of the Elven King Sorcha, Wolf Lord of the North,” he called. “It repels all blades. None can pierce it.”
Tom replaced Orna in its scabbard and joined Brenna, who was picking up a bow. It seemed to be made of the flimsiest material, the wood delicate and the bow string so fine as to be almost invisible.
“Artemis’s Bow!” she exclaimed. She turned to Tom. “Do you think all this is real? I wouldn’t put it past him to do this just to impress us.”
“I don’t think the lock would be so elaborate if they weren’t real,” he replied.
Tom continued to wander around the glade, sometimes losing sight of the others behind the trees. Raghnall’s collection contained bows, spears, swords, helmets, rings of enchantment, gemstones, and even a silver saddle. Then he heard Arthur shout, “Raghnall! Is this a joke?”
Tom found Arthur standing before a collection of weapons in a clearing. On a large flat rock were a dagger, a helmet, a spear and a shield, and placed within the rock, the blade buried half way, was a sword.
Raghnall joined Arthur, smiling slyly. “No. Not a joke. I thought you’d be pleased?”
“How could I be pleased to see my own weapons displayed? And that!” Arthur pointed at the sword.
“What do you mean, your weapons?” Tom asked. The others joined them, concern on their faces.
It was Nimue who spoke first. “Clarent – The Sword of Peace.” She turned to Raghnall, frowning. “What incredibly bad taste, Raghnall.”
Raghnall’s eyes flashed. “It is a sword of great beauty, whatever it may have done.”
“It almost killed me!” Arthur exclaimed angrily.
“What?” Beansprout said.
“Clarent was my ceremonial sword, never meant for combat,” Arthur explained. “Morgan stole it and gave it to Mordred. It was the sword he used in the Battle of Camlann.”
“And the other weapons?” Woodsmoke asked.
“Priwen, my shield; Goswhit, my helmet; Carnwennan, my dagger; and Rhongomiant, my spear.” Arthur rounded on Raghnall. “Are you planning to return them to me?”
“No. They are mine now. I obtained them lawfully, presuming you dead.” He faced Arthur, implacable, his eyes drifting to Excalibur, Arthur’s hand now clutching the hilt.
“You knew I wasn’t dead, Raghnall. And as I am now standing before you, very much alive, I’d like my weapons back. Or are you wanting to add Excalibur to your collection?” A dangerous icy tone had entered his voice.
“Well, it would enhance my collection,” he said, with smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Would you like to sell it?”
“No, I would not!” Arthur yelled, pulling Excalibur out of its scabbard.
“A shame then. I had hoped not to do this, you have been such interesting guests.” Raghnall made the briefest of gestures and stepped back half a pace. A flash of light enveloped him, just as Arthur swung Excalibur at his head, so swiftly that Tom barely saw it. At the same time, Woodsmoke lifted Brionac and hurled it at Raghnall.
There was a thunk as Raghnall’s head hit the floor and rolled to Arthur’s feet. His body had disappeared, along with Brionac.
A sharp intake of breath was followed by a stunned silence as everybody looked at Raghnall’s head and then at Arthur. Within seconds the forest glade and the seven moons began to fade, and through the vanishing illusion they saw the walls start to appear.
Nimue looked quizzically at Arthur. “I’m not sure that was a good idea.”
“I think it was. He was about to do something treacherous, and I’ve had enough of him. Woodsmoke obviously agreed. I will not be threatened by a pompous idiot, who for the second time today has tried to steal from me.”
Tom felt a wave of nausea wash over him as Raghnall’s grinning rictus stared up at them. Killing a dragon was one thing, but this ... He looked at Beansprout and was relieved to find she looked as bad as he felt.
“Yes, but Arthur,” Nimue continued, “Raghnall was the only one keeping the dragons away from the city.”
Arthur stuttered as understanding dawned. “O-Oh, I’d forgotten that ...”
“How long have we got?” Woodsmoke asked, also looking a little sheepish.
“I have no idea, but it won’t be long. Arthur, I think it’s time you unbound my poppet.”
“Can you continue the spell?” Beansprout asked.
“I can’t continue it. With his death the spell has broken. But I can make a new one. I think.”
“You think?” Woodsmoke said, incredulous.
“As he boasted, it is a powerful spell, and I don’t know it.”
Arthur thrust Excalibur at Tom and started searching his pockets furiously. “I thought I’d put it in my inside pocket.” His earlier composure had disappeared.
“I’ll go and see what’s happening.” Brenna swiftly changed form and flew out of the room.
“They can’t possibly be here already!” Tom said, desperately hoping he was right. How could they fight half a dozen dragons or more?
“Arthur?” pressed Nimue.
“I’ve got it!” He produced the poppet with a flourish and thrust it at Nimue. “Here, do whatever you have to!”
As it touched her hands it immediately sizzled. Nimue cursed and dropped the poppet on to the floor. “Nerian didn’t trust me to even hold it! You will have to do it, Arthur.”
Arthur snatched it up, annoyed. “What do I do?”
“Unwind the cord that wraps it. Gently.”
He hesitated for a second and looked at her questioningly.
“You can trust me, Arthur. And besides, what choice do you have?”
“That’s what worries me,” he muttered.
In a few seconds the cord came free, and Nimue took it from him. She clicked her fingers and the cord turned to ash. “Excellent. Now we have to find where Raghnall performed the spell.”
