Read Online Knights Of Dark Renown by David Gemmell - Free Book Online

until at last a forester heard his feeble cries. Six men laboured for an hour to cut him free and from that day he had avoided confined spaces. Even into manhood the terror had stayed with him.
    And when the Black Gate opened the nightmare had rushed from his memories, engulfing him in a tidal wave of fear.
    Yet now he was trapped again, this time by a cylinder of silver steel locked to the neck-plates of his Gabala armour. He could not wipe away the sweat that trickled on his scalp . . . that felt like ants upon his skin. He drank more of the brandy.
    Where was Ollathair? Manannan had tried the sword-jewel often, but so far it had offered no hope. But then the Armourer had to be within a day’s ride of the wielder.
    Damn you, wizard! Where did you go?
    During his six years of self-imposed exile, Manannan had listened avidly to all the news from home; but mostly it concerned the new King, Ahak, fresh from his victory in the last Fomorian War. He had negotiated the dissolution of the empire with rare brilliance, agreeing treaties with all the territories the Gabala had once ruled. But the Knights had passed into legend and of the Armourer there was no word at all. Had he changed his mind and travelled with Samildanach? On that terrible night there was a deep, fine mist; that was how Manannan had been able to slip away unseen.
    But no ... Ollathair had said he must remain to reopen the Gate when the Evil Ones had been defeated. Five days, he said he would wait. So where could he be after six years?
    Manannan sat with his back to a broad oak and continued to drink. After a while he began to sing a ribald song he had learned as a mercenary far to the east. It was a good song - about a girl, her husband and her two lovers, and the various ploys she used to keep them all apart. He could not remember the last verse. The stallion moved away from him, cropping grass at the edge of the stream.
    ‘It is no joy to sing alone, Kuan. Even in such a beautiful spot,’ said the Once-Knight. ‘Come, stay by me and I’ll give you grain. Come!’
    The stallion lifted its great grey head and stared at the man.
    ‘I am not drunk, I am happy. There is a difference, although I would not expect a horse to understand.’ He struggled to rise, but tripped over his scabbard. Pulling it from his belt, he dropped it to the grass and stood. ‘See? I can stand.’
    ‘Look at that, lads. He really can stand!’
    The Once-Knight turned and peered at the newcomers. There were four men, three of them bearded and the fourth a youngster of maybe fifteen years. ‘Welcome, gentlemen, may I offer you a drink?’
    ‘Oh, we think you can do better than that, sir. We are in need of money and a fine horse.’
    The Once-Knight sank to the ground and chuckled. ‘I only have the one horse, and he is not for sale.’
    ‘But then,’ said the first man, a broad-shouldered fellow with a dark forked beard, ‘we are not planning to buy him, sir.’
    ‘I understand,’ said the Once-Knight slowly. ‘But he is not for stealing, either. Now be off with you!’
    ‘That is not friendly, sir, and you risk much with such an attitude. Look around you - there are four of us, all armed and not one of us drunk.’
    ‘I’ve offered you the jug,’ the Once-Knight told him. Pulling his sword clear of its scabbard, he hauled himself upright by gripping the trunk of the oak. ‘Now be warned,’ he said, his voice slurred, ‘I am a Knight of the Gabala. To face me in battle is to die.’
    ‘Well, my boys,’ jeered the first man, ‘here is an interesting sight - a regular Knight - a Gabala Knight, no less. Strange that he should wear no armour save that dented helm. Even stranger that he should be drunk. I would not doubt your word, sir, but was strong drink not frowned upon by your Order?’
    ‘It was,’ admitted the Once-Knight. ‘We were . . .’ he struggled for the word.
    ‘Pure?’ offered the man.
    ‘That’s it! Pure. Noble Knights.’ He laughed. ‘Noble