Cormac clutched at a fleeting and unlikely hope. “Cairluh is not… a woman’s name here, is it?”
Erris shook her head and cloudlike hair flew. She looked at him without smiling, and there was less colour in her eyes than in the nails of his fingers.
“Oh no,” Erris said, but she did not smile at his suggestion.
Cormac sighed. “How is it then that the people of Moytura suffer a male cousin to rule in the place of her who is their rightful queen? Is your mistress so bad a ruler?”
“She is not!” Erris snapped with some anger and much vehemence, and then she softened and explained.
Tarmur Roag was a man of considerable power. A simulacrum of Riora, created or called up by Tarmur Roag in the queen’s precise likeness, ruled in her stead. She-or it, was controlled, of course, by Tarmur Roag and Cairluh.
“Hmm. And-what differences have come of it? Does it matter who rules Moytura?”
“Of course! My lady Riora is Queen!”
Cormac nodded. Yes, yes, of course, but rulers came and went…
“And Cairluh believes that with the power of Tarmur Roag we of Danu can rise up and overthrow… you who live above. The people are being stirred up to such a belief, and all-all, men and women and girls and boys-are being forced to train with weapons, to carry red death above along with the sorceries of Tarmur Roag!”
Cormac thought: Aye, it matters who rules in Moytura within Eirrin! For even though it was a ridiculous thought, a futile concept that these people could conquer his, there’d be much, much blood shed in the trying of it. And he knew that the sons of Eirrin would not stop this time until no Danan remained alive in all the land-on or in the isle called Emerald.
Clinks and a rustle announced the drawing close of Wulfhere. His voice was a hopeful croak. “The queen? What have the plotters done with your mistress?”
New tears scudded down the white cheeks of Erris as she replied. Riora, the real Queen Riora, languished in misery of mind and body in her own dungeon, an ensorceled and pain-fraught captive who was mocked and teased and preyed upon by the torturemaster. He had made brag he’d get a child on her ere he ruined her face and body forever.
With a long sigh, Cormac stared down, half-seeing. Gentle were the de Danann of the isle; not so these of Moytura of sub-Eirrin, whose queen’s demesne included a dungeon and a master of the tortures administered there! He twisted partway about to stare at the face and robe of Bas the Druid.
Thulsa Doom.
So long as he lived, Cormac mac Art was in danger, and so was all Eirrin, for it was Cormac who had brought the monster here, and him evil incarnate and a hundred and eighty centuries old. And it was only a queen could end the mage’s unnatural life that was not life at all but foul un-death. And Riora of Moytura was such a queen… and Riora of Moytura was dethroned and crownless.
Queen Riora is… presently dethroned and crownless, Cormac thought.
“Wulfhere… in order to end the menace of Thulsa Doom… I must attempt to restore their queen to her throne.”
Standing beside the squatting Gael, Wulfhere said nothing. Cormac heard his great sigh. Then:
“Girl-Erris. We, Cormac and I, will aid ye and your queen. For no matter how many men it is that Cairluh and Tarmur… Ro have guarding her prison, we shall send them dripping gore to their goddess. Now-what of this Tarmur Ro? He is to be feared? He is impervious to this?” Wulfhere’s ax hummed in the air.
“Tarmur Roag,” she corrected.
“He-he is a… none is so powerful, not even Dithorba!”
Cormac said, “Dithorba?”
“Aye. Dithorba Loingsech, the queen’s own adviser and himself a mage. But-”
It was Thulsa Doom who interrupted. “The two of ye cannot overcome this Tarmur Roag, Cormac mac Art. Release me now, O Cormac of the Gaels, and I swear never to bring harm upon ye or your land or any of its people, wherever they be, and all your friends, and to make you a king among men… King Cormac… more than a king!”
Cormac swung and stared with his lips held tight. “I trust ye no farther than I could be throwing ye, skullface-uphill! Now be silent, and…” He looked back at Erris. “Erris, prepare yourself for a hideous sight, and remember that he is chained to me by Danu’s own bonds.” He slid an arm back and down and, found her hand. It was not cold. “Thulsa Doom: Be silent. And give over the likeness of Bas the Druid that ye dishonour-assume your own form, creature of death!”
The undying wizard obeyed. The robes and face of Bas swam, went all murky and tenuous, were gone. The gleaming head of death stared at them from above the dark robe of Cutha Atheldane.
With a gasping throaty cry Erris lunged up to press hard against Cormac’s back. She clung there, and he felt her shudders. Wulfhere glanced at her back, and down. His eyes widened and he raised pale red brows. The Danish giant looked away-and then at her again, as if helplessly, to admire the young woman’s naked back.
After glancing at him, Cormac said, “Best ye back away, Erris, and swing that cloak about yourself properly.”
“He-he-”
“He has no face. He is a mage. He is in my control. I wear the Moonbow-and ye see it on him, too, downside up. Do as I bade ye.”
She released him reluctantly, looked at Wulfhere, glanced at Thulsa Doom, and then with the cloak held before her she squatted to catch up its brooch. Unblushingly she swung the cloak about her as he’d suggested, and pinned it above her left breast. The greyish blue mantle enveloped her completely, to the toes. Again she moved to stand close to Cormac.
“Erris… where be this Dithorba Loingsech? It’s he should be as glad to be our ally as we his, I’m thinking.”
She shook her head distressedly. “Tarmur Roag mocks his fellow mage by binding him with chains of silver-” Her head jerked up and her eyes were wide as new excitement and hope came upon her. “HERE, outside Moytura!”
A smile toyed with Cormac’s lips; failed to manifest itself. “Any hands can remove the Chains of Danu, save those of the wearer of the inverted Moonbow-why have ye not released him?”
Her shiver was conveyed by the rippling of the encompassing cloak of blue-grey woollen. She licked her lips.
“I was just put forth from Moytura. Dithorba is guarded. I… I…” Erris looked down. “I was too loyal to my mistress. It is why I was stripped and thrust out here… for them. Those who guard Dithorba. Rough weapon men who are like blood-hungry beasts with Tarmur Roag’s sorcerous bidding upon them. I was… I was to be their… ‘Here, wench,’ snarled those who thrust me forth, ‘provide entertainment for the lonely watchers of Dithorba, that they may recreate themselves.’ This was just before you came.”
Cormac heard the emphasis on the word “you” without making any indication of reaction. Yet at her words of Danan weapon-men about, his and Wulfhere’s hands had gone to sword-hilt and ax-helve as if at a signal. The Dane’s crimson beard twitched, which meant he was smiling, somewhere within that flaming bush.
“And where is Dithorba, Erris… and his guards?”
She pointed past them. “Straight there. Along the other branch from… from the Door to Them.”
Cormac mac Art saw to his shield-straps. “Say not ‘them’ with such a fearful heaviness on ye, Erris… Wulfhere and I, after all, are ‘Them’!” He turned to look at his weapon companion of several years, grim and blood-splashed seagoing years as rievers. “Wulfhere?”
The giant hefted ax and buckler. Anticipation lit his cerulean eyes with bloody portents for the guards of Dithorba.
“How many guards be there?” Cormac asked Erris.
She shook her head. “I know not. Less than ten methinks but no mere two or three-five, mayhap.”
“Hmp, Wulfhere rumbled. “In that event, Cormac, why don’t ye wait here? I’ll be back from this encounter in a few heartbeats…”
Cormac gave him a look. “Stay ye well back, Erris,” he said, and the two men set their feet in the direction she’d indicated; the other arm of the Y down the stem of which they had come from outside-Outside. At Cormac’s beck, Thulsa Doom fell in behind them-and Erris stayed well back, indeed, staring at that hairless and gleaming skull.