‘Enough, Manannan, my friend. It does not become a Knight to give vent to such public rage. Samildanach is entirely correct; and I will be there to meet him.’
Lamfhada heard the rustle of bats’ wings and watched them circling in the night sky, seeking insects. He shivered and drew his cloak more closely about him. In the previous autumn he had been a slave, desperate to make a bird of metal fly. Now he was the Armourer and the Dagda, the Guardian of the Colours. It was all too much, and tonight he felt his youth keenly.
A shimmering glow began to appear ahead of him, and a shining figure emerged to stand before him. Lamfhada stood and watched as the vision became solid, not knowing whether to speak or to run. As the face materialized, Lamfhada cowered back; he tried to escape, but a powerful hand grabbed his arm.
‘Do not run from me, child,’ said Samildanach. ‘I wish only to speak with you.’
‘What do you want?’
‘When I almost trapped you, and my hands closed about you, I saw many things. I saw a dying stag made whole — and young. That is power of the greatest kind. Have you considered all its uses?’
‘I will not use that power for you, dark one.’
‘Not for me, fool! For him!’ said Samildanach, pointing to where Elodan knelt in the glade below. ‘Think on it.’
He stepped back — and disappeared.
For a long time Lamfhada sat and puzzled over the Red Knight’s words. Why would he seek to aid Elodan? What could he gain? Lamfhada closed his eyes and sought the Colours, rising swiftly to the Gold, floating above the forest and then dropping to hover behind the kneeling Knight. He lifted his hands, willing them to burn with all the power of the Gold, then thrust them into Elodan’s back. The Knight stiffened and groaned. Lamfhada could feel the heat in his hands spreading through the other’s body. Suddenly Elodan arched back, his right arm rising; he began to tear at the leather pad covering his stump, ripping it from his arm. The skin of the stump was pink and bruised, and it writhed and rippled. Elodan screamed and fainted, toppling sideways to the earth. Still Lamfhada poured his energy into the Knight and the stump swelled like a ball, flattening into a palm from which the beginning of new joints sprouted, stretching into fingers. At last Lamfhada drew back and Elodan stirred and pushed himself to his knees. He stared down at his new right hand, tentatively touching it with the fingers of his left.
‘It is a dream,’ he whispered. ‘Dear Gods of Heaven, it is just a dream!’
Lamfhada returned to his body and rose wearily as the dawn was breaking over the mountains. He walked down to Elodan and found the Knight on his knees, weeping piteously.
Lamfhada sought out Gwydion in the hospital area behind the lines. Finding the old man resting on a hillside beneath the stars, he sat with him and outlined all that had happened since the appearance of the enemy Knight, Samildanach. Gwydion placed his hand on the youth’s shoulder. ‘And this deed surprised you?’ he asked.
‘Of course. The man is evil.’
‘Yes,’ Gwydion agreed, ‘he is evil. And what does that tell you?’
‘I don’t know, Gwydion. That is why I came to you. Is there some deep, cunning plan behind his action? Did I do wrong to follow his bidding and restore Elodan’s hand?’
The old man sat in silence for a moment, staring at a distant star. He stroked his white beard and then pointed to a wolf, silhouetted by moonlight on a distant hill. ‘Is he evil?’ he asked.
‘The wolf? No. He is an animal, he kills to live.’
‘And what makes a man evil?’
‘His deeds judge him,’ answered Lamfhada. ‘Cruelty, lust, greed — all these things signal what is in a man’s heart. Samildanach is a killer and a drinker of souls. His deeds show him to be vile.’
‘All this is true,’ agreed Gwydion. ‘And are you evil?’
‘I do not think so. I seek only to defend against them.’
‘But are you capable of evil deeds? Did you not once say — when Ruad was slain — that you wished you could wield a sword so that you could kill every King’s man?’
‘All men are capable of evil, Gwydion. We all have desires we must resist.’
‘And that is the point, my boy,’ explained Gwydion. ‘I spoke to Manannan about his journey to the Vyre; he was given a drink they called Ambria. Even in the few days he was among them, the drink had its effect. It erodes and destroys a man’s perception of right and wrong. As far as I can understand, it promotes the sense of Self. What is enjoyable becomes what is right, what is desired becomes what is needed. Can you understand that? It almost happened to Manannan — and he could not see it until Morrigan saved him. But make no mistake, Lamfhada, had Morrigan not warned him he would now be riding with Samildanach.’
‘What are you saying? That Samildanach is not evil?’
‘Of course I am not. By our perceptions — and those of all civilized men — he is a demon. But by his own perceptions, he is still Samildanach, Lord Knight of the Gabala, acting in what he sees as the best interests of the Realm. He is still a Knight; he will still retain something of his past.’
‘Then there is still some good in him, you think?’
‘Think of Groundseclass="underline" a killer, a rapist, a thief. Yet there was some good in him and Nuada found it. No man is entirely good — or bad. Ultimately most men act out of self-interest — and that is the breeding ground for all that is iniquitous. But most of us — happily — have an ability to judge ourselves and our deeds. We have a moral sense which stands like a wall between us and what is unjust. To commit an evil deed we have to climb that wall, knowingly. But for Samildanach and the others, the Ambria destroyed the wall, obliterating all knowledge of it. They are as much victims of the evil as we are.’
Lamfhada fell silent. A chill breeze blew across the hillside and he shivered. Finally he spoke. ‘But if Samildanach believes that all he desires is good for the Realm, how could he help Elodan, whom he must see as a traitor?’
‘I cannot answer that, Lamfhada, save with a hope. Samildanach was the finest of men — just and righteous, noble of spirit and bearing. In any age he would have been numbered among the greatest of knights. I do not believe even the dark power of the Ambria could completely destroy such a man. Aiding Elodan was a fine deed. I hope it means that, deep within himself, Samildanach is searching for the wall — struggling to rebuild it.’
‘Then perhaps he will not fight against Elodan?’
‘He will fight,’ said Gwydion sadly. ‘With all the strength and skill he can muster.’
‘And Elodan will die,’ Lamftiada said.
‘Did you not tell me you had seen the future Lamfhada? Surely you already know the outcome?’
‘If only it were as simple as that, Gwydion. When I fly the Gold, I see so many possible futures, like ripples in a rushing river. But which will it be?’
‘Have you seen any in which Elodan conquers?’
‘No, but then I saw none in which I gave him back his hand.’
‘And now you do not wish to fly the Gold?’
‘No. I cannot… will not. I will watch tomorrow-’
‘Today,’ said Gwydion, pointing at the red streaks of dawn beyond the mountains.
Samildanach waited as the other Knights of the Crimson entered the tent. Edrin, Cantaray, Joanin, Keristae and Bodarch all seated themselves in a circle around him.
‘There is a girl being brought to you, Samildanach,’ said Keristae. ‘She is young and full of life.’
‘And shall remain so,’ declared the Lord Knight. ‘I have no need of Nourishment.’
‘With respect, Lord,’ said Edrin, ‘I think you are wrong.’
‘You think I need aid to kill a cripple?’
‘It is not that, Samildanach. It is just… you are behaving strangely. Indeed, there are similarities between your actions and those of our brother Cairbre. We fear for you.’