Stones Of Power - The Last Sword Of Power Part 14

'No. Would that it were!'

Oleg swung back to face Anduine. 'Wotan has offered 1,000 gold pieces for news of your whereabouts. Can you imagine? 1,000 pieces! And there has been not a word. Not a sign.'

'Until now,' said Anduine.

'Yes,' he agreed. 'But we will not betray you, lady - not for ten times ten times that amount.'

'I know. It is not in your nature, Oleg.' Anduine leaned towards the girl and reached out, but the girl shrank back. 'Take my hand, Rhiannon.'

'No,' whispered the girl.

'Do it, girl,' ordered Oleg.

'She is a demon!'

'Nonsense!' Oleg roared.

Anduine leaned back, withdrawing her hand. 'It is all right; we all have our fears. How close behind were the hunters?'

'We lost them in the mountains,' said Oleg, 'but they will not give up the search.'

"They want Rhiannon,' said Anduine. 'For she too has a talent.'

'How did you know?' Oleg asked, his eyes fearful.

'She called me from the mountain; that is why Cormac came.'

'I am sorry we have caused you trouble. We will leave as soon as my leg is mended.'

'You think to escape Wotan?'

'I do not know, lady. All my life I have been a warrior - a wolf of the sea. I fear no man. And yet... this Wotan is not a man. His followers are crazed. They adore him - and those who are less than adoring are rooted out and slain. A kind of madness has infected the people of the Northlands. The G.o.d is returned. The grim, grey G.o.d walks among men. Can I escape him? I fear that I cannot.'

'Have you seen this Wotan?' asked Cormac.

'Indeed I have. I served him for three years. He is strong, which is all we ever asked in a leader. But he is more than this. He has power, in his voice and in his eyes. I have seen men cut their own throats on his order . . . and do it gladly for the honour of pleasing him.

He is like strong wine - to listen to him is to be filled with a sense of glory.'

'You sound like a worshipper still,' whispered Anduine.

'I am lady. But I am a man also - and a father. The Brides of Wotan die. My Rhiannon is not for him.'

'How did you escape?' Cormac asked.

'I was told to deliver Rhiannon to his castle in Raetia. I said that I would, but instead we boarded a merchant trireme bound for Hispania. Strong winds and fear of the following storm made the captain seek shelter near Pinnata Castra, but the storm winds were Wotan's and his a.s.sa.s.sins attacked us outside the castle. I killed two and we fled, away into the blizzard.'

'How many hunters are there?' Cormac wanted to know.

'Only five attacked us, but there will be more. And he has other forces to do his bidding, though I will not speak of them before the Lady Anduine.'

'Do not fear for me, Oleg. I am aware of the demons; they have attacked me also.'

'How then did you survive?'

"Through the courage of others. Cormac saved my life, as did the monk you heard of.'

"Then the demons are not invincible?'

'Nothing is invincible. There is no evil that cannot be conquered, not even Wotan.'

'I would like - dearly like - to believe that. But he is now the king across the water, and all the nations pay him homage - even Rome sends gifts with amba.s.sadors who bow and sc.r.a.pe.'

'Uther does not bow and sc.r.a.pe,' said Cormac. 'Wotan has yet to face the Blood King.'

"That I kn6w. It is the whisper of the world, Cormac. In every tavern men wonder at the outcome. It is said Uther has a magic Sword, a gift from a G.o.d - that once it parted the sky like a tearing curtain and men saw two suns blazing in the heavens. I would like to see the day he and Wotan face each other.'

'And I,' agreed Cormac. 'Blood King and Blood G.o.d.'

Rhiannon tensed, her head jerking upright and her hands covering her face.

'What is it?' asked Oleg, his huge arm circling her shoulder.

"The hunters have found us,' she whispered, In the silence that followed Cormac could feel his heart beating hard inside his chest. His fear rose as bile in his throat, and he felt his hands trembling. All his life he had been subject to the whims of others, lashed and beaten, allowed no opportunity to stand tall and learn the virtues of pride; no time to absorb the strength-giving qualities of defiance. With Culain his anger had carried him on, but now as the enemy approached he felt a terrible sense of despair crawling on his skin, bearing him down.

Anduine came round to stand beside him, her soft hand touching the skin of his neck, her fingers easing the knot of tension in his shoulders. Her voice whispered inside his mind.

'I love you, Cormac.' The depth of her emotion warmed him like a winter fire, the ice of his panic fleeing from it.

'How many are there?' he asked aloud.

'Three,' whispered Rhiannon.

'How close?'

"They are on the hillside to the south, approaching the cabin,' answered the girl.

'And I have no sword!' thundered Oleg, crashing his fist to the table.

'I have,' said Cormac softly. Standing, he took Anduine's hand and kissed the palm, then walked to the hearth where the sword of Culain stood by the far wall.

'I'll come with you,' Oleg said, gathering a carving-knife from the table and pushing himself to his feet.

'No,' said Cormac. 'Wait - and deal with any left alive.'

'You cannot defeat three men.'

Cormac ignored him and walked into the cold sunlight. He moved swiftly to the chopping- ring, laid his sword beside it and took up the axe. The six-pound blade hammered into a chunk of wood, splitting it neatly; he lifted another piece and carried on working. After several minutes he heard the hunters moving across the yard and turned. As Rhiannon had said, there were three men, tall and bearded, their hair braided beneath bronze helms.

Each wore a sheepskin cloak, and the man in the lead carried a round wooden shield, edged with bronze, and a long-sword.

'Are you seeking shelter?' asked Cormac, sinking the axe-blade into the ring.

'Are you alone?' responded the leader, his voice guttural, his eyes as cold as the snow around him.

'You are waylanders,' said Cormac. 'Are you lost?'

Two of the men moved towards the cabin and Cormac lifted his sword from the ground, brushing snow from the blade. 'Shelter will cost you coin,' he called and they stopped and looked to the warrior with the shield.

'Good sword,' he said. 'Very good.' He turned to the others and spoke in a language Cormac had never heard. The men chuckled. 'I like the sword,' he said, turning back to Cormac.

'You have a good eye. Now are you going to pay for shelter - or move on?'

'You think I would pay to enter that cattle-shed?'

'You don't enter if you don't pay.'

'Do not make me angry, boy. I am cold and I have walked far. You have a woman in there?'

'She'll cost extra.'

The warrior grinned. 'Is everything for sale in this cursed country?'

'Yes,' said Cormac.

'Well, I don't want a woman. I want hot food, and information.'

'The nearest settlement is Deicester. You should head back down the hill and then east along the deer trails. You could be there by dawn tomorrow. Other than that, there is Pinnata Castra.'

'We are looking for a man and a girl - and for that we will pay coin.'

'Why are you looking here? There is no one else on the mountain but me and my wife.'

'In that case, you are of no use to me.' As he turned to his comrades and spoke softly, Anduine's voice whispered inside Cormac's mind.

'He is telling his men to kill you.'

Cormac took a deep breath and walked forward, smiling. "There is one place you might care to search,' he said and the three men relaxed as he approached.

'Where?' asked the leader.

'In h.e.l.l,' he answered, still smiling.

Suddenly Cormac's sword swept up to slash through the neck of the nearest man and blood foun-tained into the air. The second tried desperately to drag his sword clear, but Cormac reversed the blade, cleaving it double-handed through the man's collarbone and deep into his chest. The leader leapt back, hurling his shield aside and taking a double- handed grip on his long-sword.

Cormac launched a swift attack, but the Viking blocked with ease and a vicious riposte nicked the skin of the youth's throat.

'The sword is only as good as the man who wields it,' said the warrior as the two men circled. Cormac attacked once more, slashing wildly, but the Viking blocked and countered - this time ripping through the buckskin tunic and slicing the skin of Cormac's chest.

Cormac stepped back, swallowing his anger, forcing it down and clearing his mind. The Viking was skilled, battle-hardened and confident. He watched Cormac back away, smiled grimly and then with dazzling speed attacked, the sword whistling for the youth's skull.

Cormac blocked the cut, swivelled on his heel and rammed his elbow into the man's head spinning him to the ground. Then he ran in for the killer blow, but slipped on the ice.

The Viking rolled to his feet. 'A good trick. I shall remember it.' Blood was seeping from a gash on his cheek.

The two warriors circled and three times the Viking attacked, but each time Cormac countered swiftly. Then Cormac lunged, but the Viking's sword flashed down to block and then twisted as he rolled his wrists. Cormac's blade spun from his grasp.

'Another good trick,' said the Viking, advancing on the defenceless youth. 'But you will not live to remember it!' Diving to his left, Cormac rolled and came to his feet against the chopping-ring. Tearing the axe loose, he faced the Viking once more. The man grinned and backed away to where Cormac's sword lay in the snow. Stooping, he lifted it, feeling the balance. Sheathing his own sword, the warrior faced Cormac.

'To be killed by your own blade . . . not a good way to die. The G.o.ds will mock you for eternity.'

Cormac's eyes narrowed, his rage returning, but he quelled it savagely. Hefting the axe, he launched a murderous swing and the Viking leapt back. But, halfway into the swing, Cormac released the haft and the axe flew from his hands, the six-pound head smashing into the Viking's face. The man stumbled back, dropping the sword, whereupon Cormac jumped forward, swept up the blade and hammered it into the Viking's chest. The man died without a sound. Dragging the sword clear, Cormac wiped it of blood and returned to the cabin.

'That was well done,' said Oleg. 'But you need to work on your grip; you held the sword too tightly.'

Cormac smiled. 'Next time I'll remember.'

'Next time it will not be so difficult, lad.'

'How so?'

'Next time the Hammerhand will be beside you. And then you will learn something.'

CHAPTER EIGHT.

After many weeks of travel, Culain lach Feragh arrived at the ruined Stone Circle of Sorviodunum. At dawn, under a bright glowing sky, he approached the central altar and laid his silver staff upon it. The sun rose to bathe the monoliths in golden light, the staff shining like captured fire.

Culain closed his eyes and whispered three Words of Power. The ah- crackled around him, blue fire rippling over his cloak and tunic. Then the sky darkened and an emptiness smote him - a great, engulfing blackness that swallowed his soul.

He awoke feeling sick and dazed.

'You are a fool, Culain,' said a voice and he turned his head. His vision swam and his stomach heaved. 'No one should seek to pa.s.s the gateway without a Stone.'

'Still preaching, Pendarric?' he growled, forcing himself to a sitting position. He was lying in a soft bed, covered with sheets of silk. The sun blazed brightly in the violet sky beyond the arched window. His eyes cleared and he gazed at the broad-shouldered figure seated beside the bed.

'I rarely preach these days,' said the Atlantean king, a broad grin parting the square-cut golden beard. 'The more adventurous of my subjects have found various pursuits beyond the Mists, and those who remain are more interested in scholarly pursuits.'

'I have come for your help.'

'I did not doubt it,' said the King. 'When will you cease these games in the old world?'

'It is not a game - not to me.'