Doctor Who_ Cats Cradle_ Witch Mark - Andrew Hunt [107]
She stepped into one of the alcoves and looked out. It was dark - had the sun vanished again? - but pushing herself further into the narrow slit, she saw sunlight shining at one end of the darkness.
Beautiful, fresh, winter morning sunlight. The window looked into the large tunnel through the wall and she could now see figures marching towards the huge wooden gates.
'Hey! You lot!' she called, hoping that they could hear her. Suddenly a heavily callused hand closed over her mouth.
'Found you!'
Dryfid led them down the muddy tunnel with Cyllell at his side. When he reached the gates he stopped and the mob of people who had gathered stopped a few paces behind him, jostling each other good-naturedly.
He stepped forward and placed one hand on either side of the crack which separated the two gates.
'Open!' he called loudly. Men hidden in the wall began to operate winches and a handful of soldiers came forward and lent their weight to the effort. When the doors were fully opened, all fell back behind Dryfid and once more he strode forward. In the light at the end of the tunnel he could see that he had a welcoming committee. Cyllell inched closer to his side as he came within hailing range of them. Dryfid stopped and whispered a few words to his fellow members of the Tuatha de Danaan and then walked on, alone except for the faithful wolf.
He stopped a few yards from the waiting emissaries of the assembled armies. The light from Dagda's Wheel was captured by his silver hair and made it gleam like a halo around his head.
'May we talk of peace?' he asked. The Firbolg, Rhiad of Teirion, stepped forward. His streaming grey mane fell like a waterfall down his back. His proud chest was swollen, filled with the glorious tasting air.
'I have been designated to speak on the behalf of Ydvort of the Sidhe, Brawd of the Fomoir and my lord, Cerdd of the Firbolg of Teirion. You have acted dishonourably, Dryfid. What is ours is yours, and what is yours is ours. You refused to allow to retreat from the enemy because you feared for yourselves.
This we cannot forgive.'
Dryfid dropped his head and shame filled his heart, but there was warmth coursing in his veins and the apology came more easily to him than it would have to a lesser man. 'I admit that we are guilty of everything you accuse us of. But I ask you now may we not unite and fight the demons now that Dagda has shown his favour and returned his wheel to the sky? Now we need not cower in the darkness, like troglodytes under fallen skies of stone.'
'Do you speak for all of your people, Dryfid of Dinorben?' Rhiad asked harshly.
'I lead the Tuatha de Danaan. I never wanted to leave Tír na n-Óg. We love the land. For centuries it has nourished us and kept us safe within its tender bosom. The fear was too great for weak men of muscle and sinew. I am sorry for what happened. I cannot begin to convey my full regrets.'
A smile cracked Rhiad's stony facade. 'You speak truly, Dryfid. We too love the land and want to see it restored. We must ask one thing of you if the peace is to be complete.'
'Ask anything if it will bring our peoples closer together. '
'It will. We ask you to destroy the route to the place called Earth. Let there be no more talk of desertion and the land will be united.'
Dryfid stepped forward and embraced the centaur. 'Rhiad, it is good to know that we may be friends again.'
Rhiad returned the embrace but then pushed Dryfid to arm's length. The expression on his face was grave. 'There is one other matter.'
'Yes?'
'Our united front against the demons will come sooner than you imagined. Our scouts have reported that the demons are moving towards Dinorben. We must ask that you admit our armies so that we may fight.'
'But of course. That would be the proof of our mutual trust.'
'Dryfid,