Blade of Fortriu (8 page)
Authors: Juliet Marillier
Tuala came through the archway and halted. The serving girl was nowhere to be seen. Seated bolt upright on the grass, his infant hands waving in the air, was her son Derelei, engrossed in some kind of game. Opposite him, cross-legged in his dark robe, sat the king’s druid,
Broichan. It was a mark of the power the man carried with him that, even in such an undignified pose, with a little child as his only companion, the druid looked remote, grave, and intimidating. Tuala had never lost her fear of him. She stood watching them, herself unseen. For once, Derelei had not sensed her approach. Both druid and infant were deep in concentration, and now she could see, as
Broichan moved one hand before him, the fingers curving in a particular way, that her son was not, in fact, waving his arms about somewhat randomly as little children do when discovering how their bodies work. Derelei had his eyes fixed on Broichan’s, and he was copying the druid’s gesture. The tiny, plump-fingered hand formed itself into a shape graceful as a gull’s wing; mimicked Broichan’s long,
bony fingers as they flattened, stretched, came up before his face. A bird flew down to settle on the wall beside them, ruffling its feathers. Another, smaller bird arrived an instant later, alighting alongside the first with a puzzled look. Derelei gurgled with pleasure.
Broichan. It was a mark of the power the man carried with him that, even in such an undignified pose, with a little child as his only companion, the druid looked remote, grave, and intimidating. Tuala had never lost her fear of him. She stood watching them, herself unseen. For once, Derelei had not sensed her approach. Both druid and infant were deep in concentration, and now she could see, as
Broichan moved one hand before him, the fingers curving in a particular way, that her son was not, in fact, waving his arms about somewhat randomly as little children do when discovering how their bodies work. Derelei had his eyes fixed on Broichan’s, and he was copying the druid’s gesture. The tiny, plump-fingered hand formed itself into a shape graceful as a gull’s wing; mimicked Broichan’s long,
bony fingers as they flattened, stretched, came up before his face. A bird flew down to settle on the wall beside them, ruffling its feathers. Another, smaller bird arrived an instant later, alighting alongside the first with a puzzled look. Derelei gurgled with pleasure.
Broichan bent his head, his long plaits falling forward, streaks of white hair among the black, colored threads woven through
to bind the braids, and spoke softly to the child in his deep voice. Derelei did not reach and grab, as he usually did when something interesting came so close. He stayed where he was, looking up intently, and said something in his mysterious infant language. Thus far he had few recognizable words.
to bind the braids, and spoke softly to the child in his deep voice. Derelei did not reach and grab, as he usually did when something interesting came so close. He stayed where he was, looking up intently, and said something in his mysterious infant language. Thus far he had few recognizable words.
“Circle, thus …” Broichan was telling him, and using his fingers once more to demonstrate, making
a subtle sign a handspan above the grass. Derelei copied him, small hand stretched just so, circling before him. The grass flattened obediently, making a neat little ring on the sward.
a subtle sign a handspan above the grass. Derelei copied him, small hand stretched just so, circling before him. The grass flattened obediently, making a neat little ring on the sward.
Tuala was shocked. She was angry. Her first instinct was to march forward and confront the druid.
Who gave you permission to teach my son? How dare you?
For all her terror of the man, she would have done it. Derelei’s
skills were no surprise to her; she had seen already what he could do, what her own blood had given him, and if she had wished to see his talents developed so early she would have taught him herself. For Broichan to interfere without her blessing or Bridei’s was not just unfair, it was alarming. This was their child, not his. He had done enough damage to Bridei. In his assiduous efforts to
form his foster son into the perfect king, Broichan had created a young man who was, in essence, desperately alone. Of course, Bridei was unswerving in his devotion to the ancient gods of Fortriu, steeped in learning, strong in courage, and entirely equipped to lead his kingdom. In that, Broichan had done exactly what he had set out to do. He was unable to see that he had erred at all.
Who gave you permission to teach my son? How dare you?
For all her terror of the man, she would have done it. Derelei’s
skills were no surprise to her; she had seen already what he could do, what her own blood had given him, and if she had wished to see his talents developed so early she would have taught him herself. For Broichan to interfere without her blessing or Bridei’s was not just unfair, it was alarming. This was their child, not his. He had done enough damage to Bridei. In his assiduous efforts to
form his foster son into the perfect king, Broichan had created a young man who was, in essence, desperately alone. Of course, Bridei was unswerving in his devotion to the ancient gods of Fortriu, steeped in learning, strong in courage, and entirely equipped to lead his kingdom. In that, Broichan had done exactly what he had set out to do. He was unable to see that he had erred at all.
Tuala
remained in place, mute, held by something she could not name. The two of them matched gesture for gesture. They turned flowers into glowing, mysterious insects; they made shadows creep across the grass and retreat again. A toad hopped onto Derelei’s knee, then vanished. A mouse ran up Broichan’s arm and disappeared into the hood of his robe. It was not the magic, the facility of it, that held Tuala
spellbound. It was the uncanny resemblance, the exact echo of stance, posture, movement, expression, for all the stark contrast between tall, robed mage and short-legged, bulkily swathed infant. This was uncanny. It was unsettling. What she saw had a strange beauty, an odd symmetry; it was the stuff of an impossible tale or a disturbing dream. Tuala felt an eldritch prickling sensation in her
spine, almost like the feeling she had experienced in the forest by the seeing pool, the Dark Mirror, when she first encountered the Good Folk.
remained in place, mute, held by something she could not name. The two of them matched gesture for gesture. They turned flowers into glowing, mysterious insects; they made shadows creep across the grass and retreat again. A toad hopped onto Derelei’s knee, then vanished. A mouse ran up Broichan’s arm and disappeared into the hood of his robe. It was not the magic, the facility of it, that held Tuala
spellbound. It was the uncanny resemblance, the exact echo of stance, posture, movement, expression, for all the stark contrast between tall, robed mage and short-legged, bulkily swathed infant. This was uncanny. It was unsettling. What she saw had a strange beauty, an odd symmetry; it was the stuff of an impossible tale or a disturbing dream. Tuala felt an eldritch prickling sensation in her
spine, almost like the feeling she had experienced in the forest by the seeing pool, the Dark Mirror, when she first encountered the Good Folk.
“Mama,” Derelei said, turning to look at her, and the spell was broken. The birds flew off and Broichan rose to his feet, not quite as easily as he might once have done. Tuala found herself able to move forward, to kneel beside her son and speak to the
druid in civil tones.
druid in civil tones.
“Where is the serving woman, Orva?”
“Not far off; she’s sitting over there by the long pond. I gave her leave to go, but she won’t let him out of her sight.”
Derelei was tired now; he wilted in Tuala’s arms. Such concentrated practice of the craft was draining. It was too much for a little child. Tuala drew a breath to tell Broichan so; even now, it took all her courage
to confront him.
to confront him.
“It’s as well,” Broichan said before she could speak, “that he cannot be a candidate for kingship. The child has a future, perhaps an exceptional one. He should be raised in the nemetons.”
“He’s not going anywhere,” Tuala snapped, clutching her son so tightly he began to whimper in fright. “There, there,” she muttered, patting him. “It’s all right.”
“There’s time,” Broichan
said. “He need not go until his sixth or seventh year; the training is arduous, and should wait until he is strong enough to endure it. You cannot deny his natural talent, Tuala.”
said. “He need not go until his sixth or seventh year; the training is arduous, and should wait until he is strong enough to endure it. You cannot deny his natural talent, Tuala.”
“I don’t,” she said. “But he’s only a baby, and he can be anything he wants, a scholar, a warrior, a traveler, a craftsman. A druid, if that’s the path he chooses.”
“Will he choose wisely at six years of age? Will
it not rather be the path chosen for him by his elders?”
it not rather be the path chosen for him by his elders?”
Tuala thought of the child Bridei and the choices he had not been given. “It will be up to his mother and father to guide him,” she said as firmly as she could. “I do not think Bridei would be happy to see his son sent away at so tender an age. Family is precious to him.”
Broichan did not answer for a moment. He was twisting his silver
snake ring around and around on his finger and frowning. He would not meet her eyes. After a little, he said, “I would teach him. With Bridei’s permission. And yours. There would then be no need to send him away, at least not until he was old enough to make up his own mind.”
snake ring around and around on his finger and frowning. He would not meet her eyes. After a little, he said, “I would teach him. With Bridei’s permission. And yours. There would then be no need to send him away, at least not until he was old enough to make up his own mind.”
Tuala was startled, as much by his seeking of her sanction as by the proposal itself. There was no doubt in her mind that
her son was destined for a future in which his particular talents would find a use. She did not, in fact, want him to become a warrior. She had seen the pitiful, ruined survivors who limped or were carried home from Fortriu’s encounters with its enemies, and she did not see how any mother could be content for her son to become a fighting man. A druid, a scholar, a craftsman, those were good occupations.
There was only one problem. “He is the king’s son—” she began.
her son was destined for a future in which his particular talents would find a use. She did not, in fact, want him to become a warrior. She had seen the pitiful, ruined survivors who limped or were carried home from Fortriu’s encounters with its enemies, and she did not see how any mother could be content for her son to become a fighting man. A druid, a scholar, a craftsman, those were good occupations.
There was only one problem. “He is the king’s son—” she began.
“Yes,” Broichan agreed gravely, “and he is your son, and we both know my opinion on that issue, although I do not express it publicly, having kept a promise I made to Bridei long ago. There is no reason why the king’s son cannot enter the service of the gods. There are precedents. And if his talent in such arts as the child has demonstrated
here today is a little … Otherworldly, shall we say? … what better way to avoid drawing undue attention to your own origins than for you to pass responsibility for guiding the boy into my hands? I can ensure he learns to harness his power, to channel his abilities to right ends. I can teach him to control what he has and turn it to the good of Fortriu. In doing so, I will protect both your
child and your own reputation.”
here today is a little … Otherworldly, shall we say? … what better way to avoid drawing undue attention to your own origins than for you to pass responsibility for guiding the boy into my hands? I can ensure he learns to harness his power, to channel his abilities to right ends. I can teach him to control what he has and turn it to the good of Fortriu. In doing so, I will protect both your
child and your own reputation.”
Tuala did not reply. He was taking over, as he always did; he would steal her son, make Derelei his own. His project; Bridei all over again.
“You don’t trust me. That is nothing new; the feeling is mutual. It has long been thus between us. Talk to your husband. Set terms for this if you will. It’s important, Tuala.”
“I want my son to be happy,” she told him.
“I want him to grow up with his family around him; with brothers and sisters, if the goddess grants it. Children don’t just need education and guidance. They need love.”
“I want him to grow up with his family around him; with brothers and sisters, if the goddess grants it. Children don’t just need education and guidance. They need love.”
There was a little silence. “I’m aware,” Broichan said stiffly, “of your opinion of my deficiencies as a foster father. I cannot take that seriously. Bridei is everything he should be.”
Tuala nodded. “Yes,” she said. “He’s grown
adept at concealing how much it costs him. You robbed him of his own childhood. I won’t allow you to take away his son, as well.”
adept at concealing how much it costs him. You robbed him of his own childhood. I won’t allow you to take away his son, as well.”
“Allow?” Broichan hissed, and Tuala flinched at the look in his eye. The air seemed to spark around him, and his shadow grew larger. Derelei began to cry.
“He’s tired; he needs his afternoon sleep,” she said, feeling a sudden weariness in her own body. The serving
woman, Orva, came hurrying over now and made to take the infant, but Tuala dismissed her with more briskness than was her habit. “No, Orva, I don’t need you. Go on, I’m sure Mara can put you to work with the linen. I’m taking him inside now,” she added, frowning at Broichan.
woman, Orva, came hurrying over now and made to take the infant, but Tuala dismissed her with more briskness than was her habit. “No, Orva, I don’t need you. Go on, I’m sure Mara can put you to work with the linen. I’m taking him inside now,” she added, frowning at Broichan.
“Baw-ta,” Derelei enunciated clearly, reaching out toward the druid. He had learned a new name. Tuala shivered as Broichan
raised his own hand and placed it gently over the child’s head of fuzzy brown curls, not quite a caress, but as close as such a man could come to it.
raised his own hand and placed it gently over the child’s head of fuzzy brown curls, not quite a caress, but as close as such a man could come to it.
“I do not request this because of a desire for power, Tuala,” the druid said quietly. “Please speak to Bridei.”
“Tell me,” Tuala said, “why did you approach me first, and not go to Bridei direct?”
“Because I know he will not agree to it if you
are unwilling. You prefer that I do so?”
are unwilling. You prefer that I do so?”
“No. He has enough to concern him right now. And so do I; he must ride to war soon enough. I share the common fears of all women at such a time.”
“Yes.” Broichan’s voice was like a shadow made sound; like a deep well of secrets. “Will you not be tempted to follow him, to seek reassurance in the scrying bowl? They will be gone a long time: a season or
more. Surely this calls you strongly.”
more. Surely this calls you strongly.”
“Not so strongly that I cannot resist,” Tuala said grimly. “Contrary to what you imagine, I never forget how lucky I am that these folk accept me as Bridei’s wife. I don’t plan to give them any cause to doubt my suitability for the job. My husband needs me. My first loyalty is to him and to what he must be.”
“Then you would be most wise to agree to my request.
You cannot train the boy yourself unless you begin once more to exercise those secret arts. I, however, can do so without exciting any comment. Such practices are a druid’s daily bread.”
You cannot train the boy yourself unless you begin once more to exercise those secret arts. I, however, can do so without exciting any comment. Such practices are a druid’s daily bread.”
“There’s no hurry. He’s a baby.” She turned to go.
“Tuala:” Broichan spoke very softly behind her. There was something new in his tone, something that made her halt where she stood.”I don’t have as much time
for this as I would wish,” he said.”Let me give the child what I can.”
for this as I would wish,” he said.”Let me give the child what I can.”
And, looking back at him over her shoulder, Tuala saw the pallor of his long face, the way the bones of nose and cheeks jutted under the skin, the lines that had not always cut such grooves between mouth and nose, nor bracketed his lips so severely. It seemed to her there was suppressed pain in the dark eyes, and that he leaned
on his staff as a far older man might; that he used it, not so much as the major tool of his craft, but as a simple support.
on his staff as a far older man might; that he used it, not so much as the major tool of his craft, but as a simple support.
“I—” she began, and fell silent at the look in his eyes.
“As you said,” his voice was only a whisper, “Bridei is much concerned with the forthcoming endeavor of war and with the assembly, which will be challenging. We will not burden him with other concerns at such a testing
time. Speak to him only of his son; of what is best for Derelei.”
time. Speak to him only of his son; of what is best for Derelei.”
F
AOLAN WAS FOLLOWING a map he had in his mind, constructed from what little he himself had observed of the territories north of the Great Glen, and from what several informants had told him. It was enhanced by his sensitivity to warning signs in weather and terrain. He could read the moisture in the slightest of breezes, could sense the portent behind a shifting shadow, a cooling
of the air. At Abertornie, he and Ged had sat up late with one of the expert guides and discussed the path this expedition would need to take through the mountains. They talked about the narrow defiles, the precipitous slopes where riding was not possible, the places where the track was all too easy to lose. Thus far the preparation had served the travelers well.
AOLAN WAS FOLLOWING a map he had in his mind, constructed from what little he himself had observed of the territories north of the Great Glen, and from what several informants had told him. It was enhanced by his sensitivity to warning signs in weather and terrain. He could read the moisture in the slightest of breezes, could sense the portent behind a shifting shadow, a cooling
of the air. At Abertornie, he and Ged had sat up late with one of the expert guides and discussed the path this expedition would need to take through the mountains. They talked about the narrow defiles, the precipitous slopes where riding was not possible, the places where the track was all too easy to lose. Thus far the preparation had served the travelers well.
There were certain shadowy places
on Faolan’s map, places he could not see clearly in his mind. Fords that had claimed lives. Hillsides with a reputation for rockslides. Hemmed-in valleys perfect for ambush. Lastly, there would be the forest itself: Briar Wood, a place with a reputation for oddity.
on Faolan’s map, places he could not see clearly in his mind. Fords that had claimed lives. Hillsides with a reputation for rockslides. Hemmed-in valleys perfect for ambush. Lastly, there would be the forest itself: Briar Wood, a place with a reputation for oddity.
He pushed his party on as quickly as he thought they could manage. The men were good, and the servant, Creisa, was at least more
capable than her predecessor. She could ride, and her brisk competence in camp was some compensation for her busy tongue and flirtatious manner. One could hardly expect a royal bride to travel alone among men.
capable than her predecessor. She could ride, and her brisk competence in camp was some compensation for her busy tongue and flirtatious manner. One could hardly expect a royal bride to travel alone among men.
He did not quite know what to make of Ana. Sometimes she challenged him, showing wit and strength. More often she was quiet, docile, so accepting of her fate that it would have irked him,
had such matters been of any interest to him. She was like a creature led to the slaughter, all big eyes and golden hair and fastidious attention to cleanliness, when she was about to be handed over to a warrior of dubious reputation who would probably use her as roughly as he might any filthy creature by the wayside … He was letting his mind wander; he was breaking his own rules. Faolan rode ahead
of his party, fixing his thoughts on the here and now. He had not mistaken it, that slight hint of moisture in the air. Rain was coming, if not today, tomorrow; if not tomorrow, a day or two later. They had made good progress, and he judged they might reach Briar Wood close to dark of the moon or a little after, a matter of eight or nine days more. If he had imagined his map right, there was
a river to the northwest, and a ford of which Ged’s man had spoken in troubling terms. By the time the rain set in, Faolan wanted to be on the other side of it.
had such matters been of any interest to him. She was like a creature led to the slaughter, all big eyes and golden hair and fastidious attention to cleanliness, when she was about to be handed over to a warrior of dubious reputation who would probably use her as roughly as he might any filthy creature by the wayside … He was letting his mind wander; he was breaking his own rules. Faolan rode ahead
of his party, fixing his thoughts on the here and now. He had not mistaken it, that slight hint of moisture in the air. Rain was coming, if not today, tomorrow; if not tomorrow, a day or two later. They had made good progress, and he judged they might reach Briar Wood close to dark of the moon or a little after, a matter of eight or nine days more. If he had imagined his map right, there was
a river to the northwest, and a ford of which Ged’s man had spoken in troubling terms. By the time the rain set in, Faolan wanted to be on the other side of it.
He called Wrad and Kinet to ride closer; consulted briefly. Judging by the thickly wooded country they were passing through, the chain of small lakes to the south, the hazy contour of the distant mountains, they agreed on an estimate
of two days’ ride to the place in question. Perhaps the rain would hold off long enough. Perhaps the horses would make sufficient speed. Had Bridei been here, he would have called down the aid of the gods to see them safely across the water and on to Briar Wood. Faolan did not believe in gods or in luck, only in good management. He gathered the full party around him on the forest track. The pines
were tall here, and in the shadows beneath there was a strange quiet, as if the woods were listening; breathing; waiting. He would be glad when this mission was over.
of two days’ ride to the place in question. Perhaps the rain would hold off long enough. Perhaps the horses would make sufficient speed. Had Bridei been here, he would have called down the aid of the gods to see them safely across the water and on to Briar Wood. Faolan did not believe in gods or in luck, only in good management. He gathered the full party around him on the forest track. The pines
were tall here, and in the shadows beneath there was a strange quiet, as if the woods were listening; breathing; waiting. He would be glad when this mission was over.
“We’ll ride on until the light fails,” he told them. “No hunting today; we’ll eat after dark, from what supplies we have. Straight on in the morning as soon as the sky lightens.”
“But—” Creisa began, and fell silent at his look.
“It’s important that we move on quickly,” Faolan said. He would not explain why; no point in getting the women alarmed. The men would work it out for themselves.
“Is there a risk of ambush here?” Ana asked, surprising him.
“Why would you suggest that?”
She hesitated before speaking. “It’s densely wooded; good cover, I would think. And they do speak of rival tribes here, warring chieftains …”
“If he has his wits about him,” Faolan said, not believing his own words, “Alpin will be anticipating our arrival, and will have taken what steps are necessary to make our way safe. He should have received the king’s message by now, advising him of our intention to travel to Briar Wood.”
“Of course.”
There was something in Ana’s tone that alerted him. He looked at her more closely and observed
that she was paler than usual; she looked tired. “Did you understand?” he asked her. “We must keep riding until nightfall, make what progress we can.”
that she was paler than usual; she looked tired. “Did you understand?” he asked her. “We must keep riding until nightfall, make what progress we can.”
“Of course I understand!” she snapped, surprising him again; she had the good manners of a lady, and rarely let them slip even when tried severely, as with the bathing episode. “I’m not a fool. Rain’s coming and we have a ford to cross. A child
could understand.”
could understand.”
Creisa made to speak again. This time it was Ana who silenced her, making a sharp gesture.
“On, then,” said Faolan. “Let us make what way we can while the light still holds.”
When the sun was hanging low in the sky, and the dark trees stretched long shadows across the narrow, needled path, they came down to the bank of a river. The track followed its course, winding between
alders and willows. The riverbed was broad and stony, the water flowing fast. Faolan sent Kinet to wade in with a staff in his hand; they watched him take two cautious steps, three, and go in up to his waist, struggling to balance against the pull of the current. Faolan and Wrad helped him out.
alders and willows. The riverbed was broad and stony, the water flowing fast. Faolan sent Kinet to wade in with a staff in his hand; they watched him take two cautious steps, three, and go in up to his waist, struggling to balance against the pull of the current. Faolan and Wrad helped him out.
“The ford’s almost certainly downstream,” Faolan said, trying to fix this spot on his imagined map.
“Keep up the pace; we must cross before dusk.” This could not be the river Ged’s man had warned him of. They had made good speed, but not as good as that. He was sure the major obstacle was days ahead and situated in a broader valley than this wooded divide. “Move!” he snapped, seeing how the women were holding back, seemingly reluctant to start off again. They had disappeared into the woods while
Kinet was testing the water and now, returned, were slow to remount. They conferred in low voices, then Creisa helped Ana up into the saddle before getting on her own pony. “Don’t fall behind,” Faolan warned them. “We can’t afford to be trapped here after dark. We must find the crossing. Make sure you keep up.”
“Keep up the pace; we must cross before dusk.” This could not be the river Ged’s man had warned him of. They had made good speed, but not as good as that. He was sure the major obstacle was days ahead and situated in a broader valley than this wooded divide. “Move!” he snapped, seeing how the women were holding back, seemingly reluctant to start off again. They had disappeared into the woods while
Kinet was testing the water and now, returned, were slow to remount. They conferred in low voices, then Creisa helped Ana up into the saddle before getting on her own pony. “Don’t fall behind,” Faolan warned them. “We can’t afford to be trapped here after dark. We must find the crossing. Make sure you keep up.”
Creisa scowled at him. Ana rode forward without a word. Was he imagining how white
she looked? Curse this mission. Already, he had slowed the pace to accommodate the women’s weakness. In the world of men, the journey would have been relatively simple, its principal hazard the chance of ambush.
she looked? Curse this mission. Already, he had slowed the pace to accommodate the women’s weakness. In the world of men, the journey would have been relatively simple, its principal hazard the chance of ambush.
Faolan could deal capably with difficulties. He had learned early that alongside the stunning blows fate could deliver, the practical matters of day-to-day life were trivial. Once there
had been people, pastimes, ideas that had possessed significance for him. They were gone. In the space of a single moment’s decision, a single instant’s action, that part of him had died. For a long time, until he met Bridei, there had been nothing at all save the requirement to take the next breath, to set one foot before the other and move on. Bridei had given him a purpose; had offered a friendship
Faolan did not have it in him to return. Instead, he gave what he could manage: loyalty and perfect work. Hence this mission. It might not be to his taste, but he would execute it perfectly. The women were doubtless weary of living rough, but they could not be allowed to endanger the party by lagging behind.
had been people, pastimes, ideas that had possessed significance for him. They were gone. In the space of a single moment’s decision, a single instant’s action, that part of him had died. For a long time, until he met Bridei, there had been nothing at all save the requirement to take the next breath, to set one foot before the other and move on. Bridei had given him a purpose; had offered a friendship
Faolan did not have it in him to return. Instead, he gave what he could manage: loyalty and perfect work. Hence this mission. It might not be to his taste, but he would execute it perfectly. The women were doubtless weary of living rough, but they could not be allowed to endanger the party by lagging behind.
They followed the riverbank as the sun slipped lower and the valley darkened. Here the
familiar trees were joined by other, stranger ones whose twisting branches and clawing twigs stretched out across the path, scratching at horse and rider, seeking to slow their progress. The ground became slippery, the sward giving way to a slick, muddy surface; here it had already rained. Faolan pushed them on. They must cross this valley and get to higher ground. Only a fool would halt for the
night in such a spot.
familiar trees were joined by other, stranger ones whose twisting branches and clawing twigs stretched out across the path, scratching at horse and rider, seeking to slow their progress. The ground became slippery, the sward giving way to a slick, muddy surface; here it had already rained. Faolan pushed them on. They must cross this valley and get to higher ground. Only a fool would halt for the
night in such a spot.
Once or twice the women fell back, and Faolan sent a man to hurry them forward. He held his tongue with some difficulty. If his anger showed in his face, so much the better. He hoped he would not need to spell it out for them: rain, a river in spate, a narrow defile in darkness. A welldefined track, wooded hills providing cover, a perfect spot for travelers to be ambushed.
“Move!” he called again, and at the same time heard a shout from farther ahead. Wrad, who had gone forward to ensure the path was clear, was yelling, “The ford!”
“Move!” he called again, and at the same time heard a shout from farther ahead. Wrad, who had gone forward to ensure the path was clear, was yelling, “The ford!”
Around a bend the river broadened, dividing into four channels across a wide expanse of flat ground covered in stones. On the other side, the track snaked away up the hill under trees. They halted. Kinet, the tallest man, dismounted
and waded across, one, two, three, four small rivers; he reached the other side wet only as far as his knees. Beyond the pines, the sun was setting. The sky was darkening toward dusk.
and waded across, one, two, three, four small rivers; he reached the other side wet only as far as his knees. Beyond the pines, the sun was setting. The sky was darkening toward dusk.
“Forward,” Faolan said. “Take it slowly. Once you’re over, straight up that track to higher ground.” He looked around and saw the women’s ponies standing together; their riders had disappeared. He swallowed an oath.
“Where—”
“Where—”
“Just slipped into the woods,” a man-at-arms called Benard offered. “Think the young lady has a pain in the belly. Might be that hare we had last night; thought it was on the rank side.”
“By all that’s holy,” Faolan muttered, making himself breathe slowly. “Wrad, you wait with me, the rest of you get on over and up, then find a campsite for tonight, it will be dark soon. Get a fire
going.”
going.”
He and Wrad waited for what seemed an interminable time. Men, ponies, and pack animals crossed efficiently and disappeared up the track. The light dimmed still further. The stones of the ford were a pale gleam among shadows. By the time the women reappeared, Faolan was holding on to his temper by the merest thread. “Your sense of timing leaves a great deal to be desired,” he said. “You
want to be left behind in these woods? Get back on your ponies! We must cross now, without delay.” As he spoke, Ana swayed, buckled at the knees, and collapsed onto the muddy ground beside her mount. Creisa, exclaiming in alarm, crouched down beside her, putting a hand to her brow.
want to be left behind in these woods? Get back on your ponies! We must cross now, without delay.” As he spoke, Ana swayed, buckled at the knees, and collapsed onto the muddy ground beside her mount. Creisa, exclaiming in alarm, crouched down beside her, putting a hand to her brow.
Faolan dismounted, addressed the serving woman sharply. “Is she sick? What is this?”
Creisa’s tone was accusatory.
“You shouldn’t have made her go on. You can’t treat a lady as if she were just another of your men-at-arms. She has cramps. And she’s tired.”
“You shouldn’t have made her go on. You can’t treat a lady as if she were just another of your men-at-arms. She has cramps. And she’s tired.”
“Cramps?”
In the fading light Creisa’s face could be seen to flush red with embarrassment. “Women’s business. She’s one of those gets taken bad when her courses come on; at home, she’d likely be two days in bed at the very least. Delicate. A real lady.
The pain’s fierce, not that you’d know. You shouldn’t have made her ride.”
The pain’s fierce, not that you’d know. You shouldn’t have made her ride.”
Ana lay limp, her head on the serving woman’s knee, her face a pale oval in the dusk.
“She should have told me,” Faolan said.
“How could she tell you?” hissed Creisa. “A lady doesn’t speak of such matters before men. I’d have said, but she wouldn’t let me. And now what, since you seem to have the answer to everything?”
Faolan looked at her. “Now you make yourself useful,” he said. “Wrad, over here. The lady will have to go across with me. Help me lift her—careful—that’s it.” Ana was returning to herself slowly, but they could not wait for that. They lifted her onto Faolan’s horse, sitting sideways, and he mounted behind her,balancing her against him with one arm, holding the reins in the other. “Go!” he barked.
“Wrad, lead the lady’s pony. Creisa, follow him closely and keep your mouth shut. I’ll need to take it slowly. Don’t wait for me, go on up to the others. I want us out of this valley.”
“Wrad, lead the lady’s pony. Creisa, follow him closely and keep your mouth shut. I’ll need to take it slowly. Don’t wait for me, go on up to the others. I want us out of this valley.”
They obeyed him in silence, their horses moving steadily away across river channels and gravelly shoals. Using his knees, Faolan guided his own mount forward.
As they moved into the water, Ana stirred in his arms,
reaching out a hand. “What—” she murmured groggily, her eyes closed. Faolan tightened his grip; he must ensure she did not topple the two of them in her confusion. Cramps. So she had been bleeding, and he had made her ride all day. He remembered how pale she had looked; how he had chosen not to ask what was wrong. He recalled how easily he had dismissed it as contrived, insignificant. He knew
little of such matters. But the evidence was there for him to see: her face ghastly white, her eyelids purple with shadows, her cheeks hollow with exhaustion. Her hair had come partly unplaited and spilled down across his chest and over his knees, a waterfall of silvery moonlight. “How—” she muttered.
reaching out a hand. “What—” she murmured groggily, her eyes closed. Faolan tightened his grip; he must ensure she did not topple the two of them in her confusion. Cramps. So she had been bleeding, and he had made her ride all day. He remembered how pale she had looked; how he had chosen not to ask what was wrong. He recalled how easily he had dismissed it as contrived, insignificant. He knew
little of such matters. But the evidence was there for him to see: her face ghastly white, her eyelids purple with shadows, her cheeks hollow with exhaustion. Her hair had come partly unplaited and spilled down across his chest and over his knees, a waterfall of silvery moonlight. “How—” she muttered.
“It’s all right,” he said. “We’re nearly there.” Her hand came up and fastened itself on a fold
of his cloak as a child clutches its father for reassurance, an infant its mother as surety against the dark. No, not like that at all. He felt her shift against him, turning her head into his shoulder; heard her sigh. He sensed the quickening of his own heart; its beating was a music of warning, of unexpected danger. So, holding her safe, he guided the horse on in the half-dark and reminded himself
that he was a man who could not afford to feel. His job was to convey this woman to Briar Wood. When that was done, Bridei would give him another job. One foot in front of the other, step by step. Just like crossing a ford. There was room in him for exactly that and no more. And yet, as they moved forward in the dusk, and her body, pressed close against his, was the only warm thing in the chill
of the wooded valley, there was a song in Faolan’s mind, a whisper of melody from long ago, from the time he thought he had managed to forget …
Like summertime her flowing locks, like spring’s first blush her skin … Away from Fionnbharr’s dazzled mind fied home and craft and kin …
That was a tale of a fairy woman, of course, one of the daoine sidhe. Ana was real, she was alive, he could feel her
gentle breathing, smell the scent of her, sweet and pleasing for all the rigors of the journey. She was real, and there was a small part of him that wanted to be crossing this river forever; something deep inside that wanted this moment to be the only thing there was.
of his cloak as a child clutches its father for reassurance, an infant its mother as surety against the dark. No, not like that at all. He felt her shift against him, turning her head into his shoulder; heard her sigh. He sensed the quickening of his own heart; its beating was a music of warning, of unexpected danger. So, holding her safe, he guided the horse on in the half-dark and reminded himself
that he was a man who could not afford to feel. His job was to convey this woman to Briar Wood. When that was done, Bridei would give him another job. One foot in front of the other, step by step. Just like crossing a ford. There was room in him for exactly that and no more. And yet, as they moved forward in the dusk, and her body, pressed close against his, was the only warm thing in the chill
of the wooded valley, there was a song in Faolan’s mind, a whisper of melody from long ago, from the time he thought he had managed to forget …
Like summertime her flowing locks, like spring’s first blush her skin … Away from Fionnbharr’s dazzled mind fied home and craft and kin …
That was a tale of a fairy woman, of course, one of the daoine sidhe. Ana was real, she was alive, he could feel her
gentle breathing, smell the scent of her, sweet and pleasing for all the rigors of the journey. She was real, and there was a small part of him that wanted to be crossing this river forever; something deep inside that wanted this moment to be the only thing there was.
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