Son of the Shadows (30 page)

I did not respond.

"Is it love that binds you to this man?" she asked me.

There was a small, clear image in my mind. Myself seated on the little horse, and Bran standing by me, scowling, staring fiercely at the ground, his hand belying his expression, his patterned fingers lying warm against my thigh, the last touch.

Don't wed that man Eamonn. Tell him, if he takes you, he's a, dead man

.

"What is it, Liadan?" There was alarm in Mother's voice. The goddess only knew what my face had shown.

"He and I—we share a bond. Not love, exactly. It goes beyond that. He is mine as surely as sun follows moon across the sky. Mine before ever I knew he existed. Mine until death and beyond.

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He is in terrible danger. From others and from himself. If I could do more to protect him, I would. But I will not speak of who, and what, he is. I cannot."

Sorcha nodded, her expression somber. "You cannot delay making this known for much longer.

You have some difficult days ahead of you. I think you must tell Red this news yourself."

"I—I don't want him to speak to me as he did to Niamh. I don't want him to send me away with no kind word, as if I had become a stranger."

She sighed. "It was hard for them both. He has always seen something of himself in Niamh; he felt responsible, I think, for her weaknesses. He did try to make his peace with her; he wanted so much to

explain his decision to her, as best he could, but she refused to listen. She shut herself off from the two of us. Your father regretted bitterly that he could not wait longer and explore other paths for Niamh. Conor bound us to silence, Liadan; we could not give you the full truth and cannot. My brothers believed that doing so would bring ill things down on all of you. They had good reason for this; in time, perhaps all will be made known. It is just because of what happened with Niamh, and the way it troubles him so, that your father is not likely to treat you so harshly. He sees in you and in Sean the strengths of my own family, the people of the forest.

He has always trusted your judgment, as he does mine. Be honest with him, and he will do his best to understand."

"I scarcely know where to begin."

She rose, ready to depart. "Tell your father soon. Then I will tell Liam and Sean. You need not give this news over and over."

"Thank you." My throat was dry; I was suddenly terribly tired. "I would—I would rather wait, to make this known. I would like to wait until Niamh comes and tell her first."

There was a little frown on Sorcha's brow. "Your father can read me very well, especially now. I will not tell him; but he will sense it, and so you should not delay too long. We have no secrets from each other.

Besides, soon enough it will be plain for all to see."

Neither of us mentioned Eamonn, but I had not forgotten the roadside, and the men in green, and the friend whose throat I had slit in the darkness. Some things you never forget.

Our guests were expected any day. All was prepared. The evenings grew cold, and folk drank Tanis's potent mulled wine; but I drank water, for the wine's strong smell still sickened me. Janis had her eye on me, and so did her kitchen women, but she kept their gossip under tight control.

The men had no such insight. Their talk was all of strategies and dealings, and at times it grew heated. There was a simmering disquiet between Sean and Liam, and one night it came to a head.

A fire burned on the hearth in the small room where the family gathered for private talk. My mother was seated on a bench with Iubdan's supporting arm around her. He was quiet, tired perhaps after a long day in the fields. I registered the voices of Sean and Liam without really listening to their words. I was sewing a blanket. It was quite small. A square of gray here, a square of rose there. A border of homespun. A

scrap of palest blue-violet, with a tracery of old, old embroidery. Delicate stitches; a trail of leaves, a tiny insect. My needle moved with precision, linking all together. My thoughts were far away. Then Sean spoke again.

"Perhaps you are too old," he said bluntly, jolting me back to the here and now. "Perhaps you cannot see that your caution prevents this matter from resolution."

"Sean." Iubdan spoke mildly enough. "You are not yet master of this house."

"Let him speak," said Liam, tight jawed.

Sean was pacing, arms folded. I sensed the frustration in him without understanding its cause.

"Haven't we tried, over and over, and been beaten back every time? Good men lost, their places taken by more good men, and those in their turn slain? This feud has poisoned our lives for
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generations. We fall in the cause, and fall again, and still we keep on coming. An outsider would call it senseless."

"An outsider cannot understand what the Islands mean to our family and to our people." My mother spoke softly. "There can be no harmony here, no balance, until they are returned. It's the Fair Folk who

demand it of us."

"What about the prophecy?" I asked.

"A pox on the prophecy," snapped Sean. "Have we ever seen any sign of this mysterious individual who's supposed to deliver us? Neither of Erin nor of Britain, but both; sign of the raven, whatever that means.

Somebody probably invented it one night after a bit too much ale. No, what's needed is a new approach.

We must get away from the idea of a straightforward assault. We must think beyond the notion that we can only overcome by superior manpower or the timeworn strategies of our grandfathers. We must be prepared to take risks, to outwit the Briton at his own game. His position is near impregnable; long years of failure bear that out. To solve the problem we must be prepared to think the unthinkable, touch the untouchable."

"Never." Liam's tone was heavy. "You don't know what you're saying. It's your youth and inexperience that speak. I've heard this argument before, and I find it no more palatable now than I did then. This family has never used dishonorable methods to win a fight, and it shames me that it should be you, my heir, who suggests such a thing. Besides, we're not alone in this venture. What of our allies? What of

Seamus Redbeard?"

"He could be persuaded." There was not a shadow of doubt in my brother's voice.

"You'd be hard put to do it."

"He could be persuaded. There is nothing more important than the recapture of the Islands.

And we are poised now to do it, for Fionn will surely agree to join our alliance, and—"

"What of Eamonn? His support is essential. He will be of like mind with myself. Eamonn is immovable.

There is no inducement in the world that would bring him to consider this."

"I could convince him."

"Eamonn?" Liam gave a bark of humorless laughter. "You don't know your friend as well as I thought.

On this, he would never move ground. Never."

I was starting to get a very uncomfortable feeling about this conversation. "What exactly is it Sean is suggesting?" I forced myself to ask, although I dreaded the answer. There was a shadow on the edge of my thoughts, and I did not want it any closer.

"It's like this." Sean came over to my chair and squatted down beside me. His excitement was intense; his energy seemed to crackle through the air. I kept the shield tight around my mind.

"You can't win with an onslaught, however strong. That's been proved. Two of our uncles fell in the last attempt, and many brave men along with them; so many it has taken us nigh on a generation to recover. And yet, our forces were strong and disciplined, our allies backed us; between our own positions and the Norse settlements, the Britons had no chance of establishing a base on this shore. So why did we fail? First, because they have the advantage of possession.

Their watchtower on Greater Island commands a wide view. There's only one safe approach, and they have that covered. Second, they have an unsurpassed network of informants here. We all know who set that up years ago. Perhaps it's his father's treachery that causes Eamonn's inflexible attitude now. In any case, whatever action we plan, the Britons seem to know it in advance. So what do we learn from this?" His long hands moved to illustrate his
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point. "We learn it's useless to follow any predictable course. We learn that there are no secrets from our enemy. However strong an alliance we have on this side of the water, he will match and better it. He has the position of advantage. No man among us has the skills and knowledge to devise an alternative approach to Greater

Island." He drew breath, his gaze intense. "At present we are particularly well placed. Seamus has a

disciplined force and years of experience to draw on. We know Eamonn's capacity. And there are the Ui

Neill, for Fionn is family and will be easily convinced to support us in this. He needs the security of our lands, and Eamonn's, as a buffer against any possible attack by his kinsfolk in the south.

We can do business with Fionn. So our resources are greater than ever before."

"Sufficient, I suggest, to take back the Islands with no need of trickery," said Liam severely.

"No, Uncle. You believe that no more than I do. Northwoods can summon what forces he needs, and his intelligence can warn him of our plans long before we set sail. We require two things. First, a superior skill at seamanship, one that will surpass any seen before in these parts.

Vessels that can go by stealth and land under cover of darkness in places hitherto thought impossible. Men who can infiltrate the

Briton's camp unnoticed. A force that will be in the midst of his stronghold before he recognizes it for what it is. An ally with the capacity to detect and destroy the Briton's network of informants."

"And second?" My heart was thumping. I knew what was coming.

"To gain the first, we must do the second. The second is to cast away our scruples. We must engage the services of the Painted Man, whoever he is."

My mother drew her breath in sharply. Iubdan was grave. Liam simply set his jaw a little tighter.

No doubt he had heard it all before.

"I've investigated this," Sean went on. "Among that band of men there is one, a strange, black-skinned fellow who has a knowledge of seagoing craft and a skill with them far beyond what we might dream of.

There are others among them, Norsemen and Picts, who together could teach us all we need to know. I

have heard tales of their exploits such as you would scarce believe were they not backed up by hard evidence. Their leader is a man with much to offer us. He's expert in false intelligence. I'm told he can outwit the most subtle strategist. With this man and his band in our employment, I believe we could not fail."

"He'd never consider it." I spoke without thinking, and my voice was shaking. Four pairs of eyes turned curiously in my direction. "Eamonn," I said quickly, wincing as I jabbed my finger with the needle. "He would never consider working with—with the Painted Man. You remember what he said. 'If that man sets foot on my land again, his life is forfeit.' Something like that. You'd never persuade him."

There was a brief silence.

"I understand Liam's reluctance," Iubdan said calmly. "You might have high hopes of such a venture. I, too, have heard this mercenary spoken of with a mixture of terror and admiration.

Perhaps what they say of his skills is true. But you could never trust such a man, for part of his very value lies in his ability to deceive, in his lack of allegiance. The man is a trickster, without conscience or scruples. He has the ability to make your venture. Or to break it. You would not know until the very last moment which way he would jump."

Liam nodded. "He might extract a price from us and simply walk away. Indeed, he might set his price too high."

"For this," Sean was fierce with determination, "surely no price is too high?"

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In that moment the shadow came. The room dissolved around me, and I saw instead two men locked in combat, straining one against the other. Behind them were dark pillars carven with fanciful beasts, a small dragon, a wyvern, a gryphon dagger-clawed. The man in green had his hands tight around the other's neck, squeezing, squeezing. The man in green was square jawed, with a wayward lock of brown hair

falling into his eyes. It was Eamonn. He seemed to be winning the struggle. Why, then, was he gasping for air, why were his features so ghastly pale? The shadow passed over the two of them, close in their embrace of death. Then I saw the dagger driven deep into the breast of the green tunic, a dagger held tight in a hand whose white knuckles and straining sinews bore a delicate pattern of spiral and whorl and crosshatching. I did not need to look at the half-strangled features of this man to know him. But I did look; and the vision melted and changed, and one man's face became the other's, suffused with hatred, and I could no longer tell the two of them apart. I let out some sort of cry; and the shadow released me back into the firelit room. I must have fallen forward from my seat into a kind of faint, for I was half lying on the floor with Sean's arm around my shoulders. Liam was looking at my mother, and she was looking at him, as if what they saw was all too familiar. My father brought me a cup of water, and I drank. And soon I was well again, outwardly at least. But I would not tell them what I had seen.

"Sean argues his case well enough," my father said sometime later. "It should be given consideration at least. Maybe he is right. Maybe there has been enough blood shed."

"You think the Painted Man will not shed more?" asked Liam, brows raised in disbelief. "His hands reek of it. You heard the tale Eamonn told."

"We have all killed in our time. And there are many tales. I'm not supporting either of you. I'm simply suggesting you don't dismiss Sean's idea out of hand. Put it before our allies, while you have them all assembled here. I would not broach such a topic in the halls of Tara, but here at Sevenwaters it is safe.

Put it to them before you leave for the high king's assembly. You can judge their mood."

Liam was silent.